The Kitchen House (32 page)

When Henry asked to join our midweek card party, I became more my old self. Henry initiated a cautious flirtation with Meg, and I began an easy banter with Marshall.

I
WAS MELANCHOLY WHEN
I returned from the hospital the afternoon of my birthday. The day before, Miss Sarah had asked if there was
anything special that I might like to mark the celebration. Nostalgic for the times the twins and I had shared an outdoor meal, I asked if I might take a simple afternoon dinner to share with Miss Martha. Miss Sarah seemed pleased with my request, and after she obtained permission from the hospital, she had Bess prepare a basket.

When I arrived, the hospital staff had set up a small table beside a bench in the shade of the mad yard, and I was told that Miss Martha and I had exclusive use of the yard for one hour. She was more alert than ever, and she watched closely as I covered the table with a white cotton cloth and set out blue and white china plates and silver cutlery. I had her sit beside me on the bench, then covered our laps with large linen napkins before we began our small feast of pickled asparagus, baked ham, fresh bread, and apple tarts topped with thick sweet cream. She waited until I began to eat, then delicately picked up her cutlery and began to sample the food.

While we ate, I spoke of the meals I had enjoyed in the outdoors at Tall Oaks. From the corner of my eye, I saw that she listened, so I indulged myself and spoke to her as though she understood everything. I immersed myself in memory and lived again the joy as the twins and I, sated from a basket feast, lay back onto soft pine needles. When I came back to present day, I told my silent dinner companion that this day was my birthday. I was seventeen, a grown woman. Miss Martha looked at me, dabbed her mouth with her napkin, and for the first time since her hospitalization, spoke a full sentence.

“When the captain arrives, Isabelle, we will leave for home,” she said.

I stared at her. I waited for more, but it was as though the effort to formulate the thought had drained her. She looked about as if lost. Her napkin dropped to the ground when she rose from the table, and she did not retrieve it before she walked off. Later, when I said good-bye, she was still far away.

I
MEANT TO GO STRAIGHT
to my room to finish what I had been working on. I was preparing a list of my qualifications for the prospective employer whom I hoped Mrs. Ames would help me to find. When I disembarked from my carriage, I was surprised to find Marshall there to greet me. He took my basket from my arm and set it down. “Walk with me?” he asked.

“Is Meg coming?” I looked for her.

“No, not today.”

“But Miss Sarah—”

“I have her permission.”

I might have been apprehensive had he not such a pleasant look. He took my hand and linked it to his arm, then confidently set the two of us out on a path into the golden afternoon. In silence, we walked to the park, where Marshall seated me on a bench under a blooming dogwood tree. I glanced up at him uncertainly.

“Lavinia,” he said, facing me, “I understand that you have once again demonstrated your kindness.”

I did not understand his meaning and said so.

“I have only recently learned of your visits to the hospital.”

“Oh.”

“What kindness, Lavinia. How extraordinary your loyalty.”

“It isn’t really so extraordinary, Marshall,” I said. “Miss Martha gives me comfort. She reminds me of home—that is, of Tall Oaks.”

“And do you consider Tall Oaks your home?”

“It is the only home I remember.”

“And it is your birthday today?”

I laughed, wondering where this conversation was going. “Yes, I’m seventeen,” I admitted.

“You are aware, then, that today you are a free woman?”

I looked at him in surprise. Although I knew I was indentured, I no longer thought of myself in bondage.

“I will have papers drawn up if you like.”

“Will they be necessary?” I asked.

“No.” He smiled. “Not if you agree to my plan.”

I questioned him with a look.

He took a deep breath. “Lavinia. I have a proposal for you.”

At once I was filled with enthusiasm; I realized what he was about to suggest. He wanted me as a companion for his mother! He would take the two of us back with him! I fought to control my growing excitement.

“This fall I will inherit Father’s estate. By then I’ll have completed my studies, but I won’t stay here to practice law. I plan to go back to Tall Oaks to run the plantation myself.” He took a seat beside me. “You must know I care for you. I want you to come with me, Lavinia. I want to marry you.”

I was speechless with astonishment.

He took my hand. “I’ve already discussed this with Aunt and Uncle, and both think this a fine match.”

Still I was unable to speak.

“Lavinia,” he said, “you must know how very dear you are to me.” Taking my stunned silence as a negative, he continued, “Please consider my proposal.”

“Well … yes. I would be honored,” I managed to say. In response, he kissed my gloved hand and smiled at me. I reached up to tenderly loose one of his sandy blond curls, caught under his crisp white shirt collar.

“We will be happy,” he said, and he drew me toward him in a warm embrace.

I
IMMEDIATELY SOUGHT
M
ISS
S
ARAH’S
counsel. What did she think of a marriage between Marshall and me?

“You are both young,” she said, “yet I see your influence on him. He is a happy man when he is with you, Lavinia. I do believe that you bring out the best in him.”

I was flattered to hear this.

“I know how you long to return to Tall Oaks,” she continued, “and I’m sure that you are aware of the social advantages this marriage will bring to you.” She stopped, studied her hands, and then looked at me again. “Do you care for Marshall?”

“Yes,” I replied honestly, “I do.”

“Then,” she said, “Mr. Madden and I are happy to give our blessing.”

That same night I broke my silence and wrote to tell Belle of my good fortune. I was elated! I was coming home! I wrote how happy I was and how grateful I felt to Marshall for his saving me from an unknown future.

H
OW
I
PLAYED OVER MY
homecoming! Married to Marshall, I would be in a position to cast favor on my waiting family, and I spent many hours daydreaming of how we might improve on their homes and find ways to ease their workload. I took the fantasy so far that I even believed it possible Marshall would give them their freedom one day, as I had been given mine.

I did have some concerns about him, but I kept them to myself. He clearly trusted me as he trusted no other, and because of it, I saw his vulnerability—something he hid well from others. He was considerate of me, but if I gave opposition, offering an opinion that differed from his, he took it as a personal offense and would isolate himself in a dark mood. As a consequence, I learned quickly to stand with him on any subject. Fortunately, making myself amenable was not foreign to me, as I had lived this way for much of my life.

A lesser worry, yet one that I noted, was Marshall’s lack of physical affection. Our social outings were few, though he escorted me twice to theater events. He clearly took pride in having me on his arm, but we did not stay after to socialize. In fact, we came home immediately after, and once I was safely deposited, Marshall soon made an excuse to leave. As his time at university was ending, his need for study time had increased, so our Saturday classes were dropped. He came for evenings of card playing, where Henry and Meg were always at the ready, but he never stayed late, nor did he request to see me alone. In truth, after Mr. Boran’s display, I was relieved, yet I wondered why Marshall did not at least attempt a kiss. In many ways, his treatment of me reminded me of the way I had behaved toward the doll that Mama Mae had given me as
a child. I favored it so that I had refused myself the joy of playing with it, daring to love it only with my eyes. But in doing so, I had denied myself its very purpose.

T
HOUGH
M
EG AND
I
REMAINED
steady companions, she was curiously silent about my relationship with Marshall. Sensing her reluctance to discuss the topic, I did not bring up any of my own concerns.

In the last week of August, when I was being fitted for three new dresses—a gift for my upcoming marriage compliments of the Maddens—the dressmaker came with the stunning news that Mr. Boran was dead. The town hummed with gossip. The unfortunate man had been found in the woods, close to a wayside tavern some miles out of town. This tavern, it was rumored, sheltered women who, as Miss Sarah put it, “saw to the needs of a certain type of man.” What made it curious was that it was well known Mr. Boran did not drink. However, it appeared that he had imbibed so heavily the evening of his death that he had fallen from his horse and fatally struck his head on a rock.

My first concern was for his daughter, Molly, until I remembered that she had an aunt who loved her well. I could not say that I regretted to hear the news, as I still had fear of the man. Though I had not told the Maddens, I had confided in Marshall that on more than one occasion I was certain I had seen him at night on the street outside my window.

Miss Sarah, Meg, and I gossiped wildly, but at dinner that day we were subdued. Mr. Madden, we did not forget, had been a friend to Mr. Boran. I offered my sympathies to him, and though he thanked me, his look was troubled.

I wanted desperately to discuss the news with Marshall, so I was disappointed when he sent his regrets and did not visit that week. When I next saw him and raised the subject of Mr. Boran, his comment was dismissive. He was bored with the topic of that miserable man’s death, he said, and I knew from his behavior to let the matter rest.

T
HROUGH
THAT SUMMER
I
CONTINUED
to visit Miss Martha. She and I did not have conversations as others might know them, but she always appeared interested in what I had to say. If she was particularly drawn to a subject, she often repeated one or two of my words. I knew then to embellish, to give further details.

I had not spoken to her of Marshall, nor of our relationship, but as our wedding date approached, I knew the time had come. The day I chose to tell her, we sat outside in the shade of the mad yard. It was late afternoon, and the hot August sun had no mercy for those in the enclosure, but the outdoors provided us the most privacy.

“I am going to marry Marshall,” I said bluntly.

She did not respond.

“Miss Martha,” I said, for some reason wanting to cry, “do you understand? I am to marry Marshall, your son.”

She began to pick at the sleeve of my dress. “Marry Marshall,” she said in a singsong voice, “marry Marshall.”

I interrupted her as I had learned to do. “Yes,” I said. “In September we will marry, and we’ll go back to Tall Oaks.”

“Tall Oaks,” she whispered, “Tall Oaks.” She lifted her head and stared off as though seeing beyond the wall.

“What do you think?” I asked.

She turned back to me and smiled, something I had not seen her do in the past five years. It touched me so that I began to cry.

I
T WAS
M
ISS
M
ARTHA’S SMILE
that gave me the courage to plead her case with Marshall. From what I knew, he had not seen her since that unfortunate visit years before with Miss Sarah. I did not tell him that I had knowledge of that time, but instead asked him if he would accompany me on my next visit to his mother.

“I cannot do it!”

I heard the pain in his statement and pressed him no further. But I asked him if it was not possible to take her home with us. I promised to be responsible for her care.

His initial response was no, but I noted a small hesitation, and
the next time I felt the mood right, I remarked on the benefits that Miss Martha would have in her own home: how Mama Mae and the twins might care for her and how good food might stimulate her appetite. I was optimistic and said that I thought it possible she might fully recover. I used to my advantage his eagerness to satisfy me, and a few short weeks before our marriage, I won him over.