Trinity: Bride of West Virginia (Amercan Mail-Order Bride 35) (12 page)

“There never would’ve been a good time to break things off.”

“But not like this! That was inexcusable.” He frowned, turning on his heel. “I’ve nothing more to say on the matter.” He quit the room, his cane thumping on the floor.

I glanced at Nathanial, seeing a man in a black dinner jacket, looking as impeccable as always … far too handsome. “Have you no heart?”

“It’s been broken.”

“You have to stop this. What you did was … terrible. That poor woman. She deserved so much better.”

“I agree.”

“You could’ve told her in private. You didn’t have to humiliate her like that before her family and friends. How awful.”

“Yes.”

“You could’ve even made the announcement, then quietly broken the engagement later. Why ruin the night?”

“I’m in that sort of mood. If I had a hammer, I’d smash everything.”

“Nathanial.”

“It doesn’t matter anyhow,” he murmured.

“Miss Peterson is a dignified, accomplished woman. She didn’t deserve that sort of treatment. I know you’re sore about things, but hurting her was a deplorable thing to do.”

“It was.”

I wanted to strangle him for being so blasé about this. “Are you really so cold-hearted?”

“I wasn’t until I met you.”

“What about your guests?”

“They’ll dine and drink and dance. The party needn’t end on my account.”

It became clear that Mr. Witherspoon and I would have to entertain them. “And you? What do you plan?”

He held up the glass. “This is not a bad Cognac.”

Disgusted with his lack of remorse, I gave him a look. “You should be ashamed. You really should.”

“It would do no good.”

Not wanting to talk to him further, for fear I might lose my temper, I left the room, joining my husband and a parlor full of guests. We entertained them the best we could for the rest of the evening, dancing and laughing, while Nathanial drowned himself in a brandy bottle. After they left, I joined my husband in his room, having changed into a nightgown and slippers. Exhausted from having been on my feet all night, I crawled into bed with him.

“He should be taken out and shot,” griped Mr. Witherspoon, his arm going around me.

I snuggled into his chest. He smelled of cigar smoke, the odor clinging to his hair. “Do you have the energy to do it?”

He chuckled at that. “I wish I did. What in the devil’s gotten into him?”

I knew, but I could hardly tell my husband that his son was in love with me. “I suppose he had a change of heart.”

“It was badly done.”

“No one will argue that. He should’ve told her in private to save her the public humiliation.”

“It’ll be all anyone’s talking about tomorrow.”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“His mother and I brought him up better.”

“I … suppose people sometimes behave rashly. He said he changed his mind only a few hours ago.”

“But still.”

“It could’ve been done better. I agree.” I gazed at my husband, seeing an older man with grey hair, although I was slowly growing more attached to him. He wasn’t cruel or indifferent in the least. He adored me, showering me with affection and attention. His only crime was his age, and I could not hold it against him.

“You were wonderful tonight,” he said.

“I was?”

“I think we pulled it all together rather well. We rescued a disaster. My leg feels better than I can remember. I tried my best not to embarrass you on the dance floor.”

He led me in several waltzes. “You dance quite nice.”

He kissed my forehead. “You’re an easy partner.”

Although my affections lay elsewhere, I could not deny a growing closeness with Mr. Witherspoon. My emotions had been pulled in nearly every direction since the day I married him, the underlying theme that of grave unhappiness. I shouldn’t want anyone else in my life. I shouldn’t crave the arms of a younger man—my stepson. If I were to achieve any sort of lasting happiness, I had to make peace with my marriage.

I would try. It wasn’t a lost cause. But … Nathanial … what would I do with him?

Chapter Sixteen

We left the next morning, Clara packing my bag. I dressed in a grey walking suit, with an ankle-length skirt and matching jacket. I expected Nathanial to see us out, but he remained oddly absent.

“Where is Mr. Witherspoon?” I asked Gregory, as our bags were taken to the carriage that waited before the steps.

“He’s indisposed.”

“What does that mean?”

“Under the weather.”

Pursing my lips, I debated barging into his room and rousing him. Stern words lingered on the tip of my tongue. “I see.”

“My dear. We’re ready now. We’ll miss the train, if we don’t hurry.”

“All right.” I pulled my gloves on. “I’m coming.” I glanced at Gregory. “Please tell Mr. Witherspoon that we’re disappointed he didn’t come out to bid us goodbye.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good day, sir.”

“Have a safe trip, Mrs. Witherspoon.”

“I will. Thank you.”

It would take more than a day to arrive home, spending the night in Philadelphia before boarding the morning train. We reached the East Pike Street railroad depot in the late afternoon, hiring a carriage to take us home. Mrs. Dexter stood on the front steps of Witherspoon Mansion to greet us, the driver, Roger French, coming out to take our bags. Exhausted from the journey, Mr. Witherspoon retreated to his room for a nap, while I went to mine for tea, sitting alone near the windows, feeling a slight draft through one. It had snowed in our absence, the ground covered in several inches of white.

After having had tea, I sat down at the desk to draft a letter, dunking the dip pen into an inkpot and scribbling noisily on a lettersheet.

Dearest Nathanial,

I am not sure where to begin this letter. I firstly wish to thank you for your hospitality. I very much liked your house in Boston. You’ve done a fine job with the renovations, although I am hardly one to judge. I know little about such things.

I don’t know what to think. Your behavior was quite awful. I must tell the truth. You have disappointed your father. You have shocked me. I wish you the best; you know I do. I hope you can make things right with Miss Peterson. She is a lovely woman. She would have made you an excellent wife.

I shall close now. I don’t know if you will even write me in return.

Yours truly,

Trinity

Folding the paper, I wrote the address on the back, handing it to Mrs. Dexter. “Can you mail this?”

“Yes, Mrs. Witherspoon.”

“Thank you.”

“Mrs. Hanover’s been asking about you.”

“I’ll make morning calls tomorrow. It’s too late today.”

“What do you want for supper?”

“Nothing too troubling. Soup and bread would be fine.”

“I’ll see if cook can make a stew.”

“I’m not terribly hungry. I ate on the train.” The corset I wore felt tight, pinching at my sides. I longed to remove it and don a simple tea gown.

“Is there anything else?”

“I might have a bath, actually.”

“Shall I draw it for you?”

“No, I can do it.”

“Might I say, you seem in better spirits, Mrs. Witherspoon.”

“Trinity. Call me Trinity, please. I do?”

“Yes. You were a touch melancholy before.”

I had begun to make peace with my situation. “Being married has been an adjustment. I … feel better about it.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“You’re aware that I had never met Mr. Witherspoon before we married. His age was a bit of a shock. It’s not … well, I never expected to marry someone quite so old. My fanciful imagination had something a bit more romantic in mind, but fantasies rarely translate into reality.”

“Not in this case,” she murmured.

“I’m trying to make the best out of the situation. It’s been … difficult.”

“You’ve hidden your feelings well. I see them because I’m closest to you. No one else would ever guess at your struggle.”

“I’m glad.”

“I’m an employee here, but I would never betray your confidence. I pride myself on discretion. Absolute discretion.”

“That eases my mind.” She had seen the letters to and from Mr. Nathanial Witherspoon. She had to know there was something between us, but I did not care to enlighten her.

“I’ll bring your tea.”

“Thank you.”

***

I quickly settled into life again, meeting Mrs. Hanover for tea the next morning, where we discussed the knitting club. I wanted to help with the new library as well, hoping the project would keep me busy. I spoke with Doctor Watson about my medical scare in Boston, and he examined me again, finding nothing of worry. Relieved at my health, I relaxed into the pregnancy, ordering bigger clothing at the Ladies’ Emporium and choosing the wallpaper for the baby’s room, along with ordering furnishings.

More than a week later a letter arrived, Mrs. Dexter bringing it in on a tray. I sat in the parlor with knitting. “For you, Mrs. Witherspoon.”

I eyed the folded lettersheet. “Thank you.” Opening the paper, I scanned it.

My love,

I trust you are in good health. Your letter surprised me. I thought you would never write me again. You said we were not to communicate any longer. I guess that is out the window? I should have said goodbye to you, but I could not bring myself to do it. I am a vile beast now, you know? I have no manners. Why pretend to have them? I wish you were here still. I would rather have you in my house and angry with me, than you being so far away. I don’t ever recall feeling such anguish. It is not something I would wish on my worst enemy.

Yours eternally,

Nathanial

I held my face in my hands, not knowing what to think of that letter.

“Is everything all right?” Mr. Witherspoon stood before me, a coat on, with a hat in his hand.

“Yes, just fine.” I forced a smile. “Where are you going?”

“For a walk. The brisk air shall do me good.”

He had been in fine spirits lately, taking daily walks, his gait improving. “Shall I join you?”

“You were out all morning. You should rest.”

“All right.”

I watched him go, pleased he was feeling so well. Then I left the knitting on the sofa, taking the steps to my room. I sat at the desk and wrote.

Dearest Nathanial,

You are not a vile beast. I don’t think that way about you. I am unhappy with how you broke things off with Miss Peterson. That was poorly done. She deserved far more consideration than you showed her, but it is too late now. I forgive you for that. It is over and done with. I understand your motivations. I did tell you not to marry someone you did not love. You listened to my advice—perhaps a little too well. I hope you meet another woman whom you can love. You should not spend the rest of your life pining after me.

I am slowly coming to terms with my situation. Your father is a wonderful man. He is kind and generous. He is impatiently waiting for this baby. He shall be an attentive father. I am happy to be able to give him a child at this stage in his life.

Will we see you for the holidays? I doubt we can come to Boston again. I hope you are feeling better now. I wish only the best for you, Nate.

With love,

Trinity

Folding the letter, I scribbled the address on the back, staring out the window at the falling snow. It would not be long now before we set up a Christmas tree and decorated it. Mrs. Dexter said there were boxes of ornaments in the attic. I needed to plan several parties as well, New Year’s being one of them.

***

The days came shorter and shorter; the periods spent indoors increasing. Busy with my knitting and the new library, I scarcely had time to ponder my predicament, going about my daily duties with vigor and enthusiasm. I joined my husband at night, as he requested, slipping from his bed once he slept. This arrangement suited me fine, whereby I could sleep in my own bed, whilst he snored in his.

A few days later, another letter arrived, and a small package came with it. Mr. Witherspoon had gone to work, taking a meeting with other mine owners in the area at the local hotel. I sat in the bedroom, having closed the door behind Mrs. Dexter. A mixture of curiosity and apprehension drifted over me, wondering at what might be in the box.

I used a pair of scissors to cut away at the string, lifting the lid gingerly. Within, I found something small wrapped in tissue paper. Removing the paper, I held what looked like a silver heart ornament, which was meant for the Christmas tree. Inscribed in a pretty script I read,
Mr. and Mrs. Witherspoon’s First Christmas December 25, 1890.
I smiled at it, finding it lovely.

Then I opened the letter.

My love,

I hope this finds you in good health. You needn’t worry about me. I am still alive. There is another present at the bottom.

Yours eternally,

Nathanial

Reaching into the box, I withdrew a small velvet pouch. Loosening the top, I pulled out a gold chain embedded with diamonds. At the end of the chain, I found a blood red ruby in the shape of a heart, surrounded by even larger diamonds. Stunned, I gazed at the present, knowing it was wildly inappropriate and outrageously expensive.

“Oh, gracious, Nate. It’s too much.”

Chapter Seventeen

February 1891

Elise arrived shortly after ten, braving blustery conditions, a storm blowing in from the east. The fire blazed warmly, hot chocolate bubbling in a pan in the kitchen and tea as well. Hearing the clatter of a carriage, I left the sofa, approaching the door. Mrs. Dexter arrived.

“I got it.” Flinging open the door, a gust of wind threw snow into my face. “My word, it’s rather inclement out there.”

Mrs. Hanover alighted, bundled in a warm cloak. She hurried up the steps. “How awful! I thought perhaps the worst was over for the season, but I’m wrong.”