Trinity: Bride of West Virginia (Amercan Mail-Order Bride 35) (13 page)

“Come inside before we all blow away.” I giggled cheerfully, Mrs. Dexter reaching for her things.

“Thank you.” Her gaze drifted over me. “I haven’t seen you since January.” She had been out of town visiting relatives. “You’ve grown larger.”

“I'm at four months now, so yes, I’ve expanded a little.” I touched her shoulder. “Do come into the parlor, where it’s warmer.” We settled on the sofa, Mrs. Dexter bringing refreshments out. I clasped my hands in my lap, gazing at my friend, who I suspected had news.

“My family is well. The children are back in school, which they protested against quite loudly.” She laughed. “I’m home alone now. How’s the library coming along?”

“They’ll break ground in the spring, after everything thaws out.”

“You look happy, Trinity.”

“I do?”

“There’s a sparkle in your eye I’ve never perceived before.”

“I hadn’t realized that. I’m just glad to be feeling as well as I am. Mr. Witherspoon’s anxiously anticipating this baby, but it’s some months off still.”

“How’s his health?”

“Much improved. Mrs. Dexter’s changed his diet, and he’s been walking more. He’s as sprite as a young man, or so he likes to say.”

“I’m happy to hear it. He’ll need all that energy to run around after the little one.”

“The nursery’s done. You should come up and see it.”

“The wallpaper arrived?”

I confided to her about Nathanial, divulging he had feelings for me. We wrote each other still, although his letters remained melancholy and jaded.

“Oh, yes, it did.”

“You really do look happy. I despaired you might never smile again.”

“Was I truly that dour before?”

“I sensed it in you. You seem more at peace now.”

“I’ve settled into my new life. You know how far I’ve come. Witherspoon Mansion is a far cry from an orphanage. It’s like night and day. I never thought I’d live in such luxury.”

“I take it all for granted, I’m afraid. I’m in the house I’ve always lived in. My parents were wealthy. My mother especially.”

“Mine were poor immigrants, who died when I was very young.”

“That is sad.”

“Perhaps, it was all meant to happen this way. I know God has a plan for everyone. A certain preordained destiny brought me here. I’m exactly where I should be.”

“You really have made peace.”

“I don’t have a choice, and I don’t wish to be miserable my entire life. My husband is a good man. I couldn’t have married any better.”

“Nathanial?”

I sucked in a long breath. “He’s still making noises.”

“Writing you?”

“Yes.”

“And you write him?”

“I do.”

“I can’t imagine how hard that must be. To be so in love, yet … ”

“It’s out of my hands. I’ve asked—begged God to manage it. I’d go mad trying to sort it all out myself. I can’t live in that type of misery, pining for something I can’t have. For my own sanity, I’ve had to accept the situation just the way it is. There are always choices in life. I’ve made my bed here. This is where I shall stay.”

“Of course. I never thought for one moment you might do something silly like run off with him.” She eyed me closely.

“I’ve … imagined it, but no. I wouldn’t.” Our beverages arrived. “Would you like tea?”

She grinned. “Of course.”

***

Later that evening, I prepared for bed, brushing the tangles from my hair. After sliding my feet into a soft pair of slippers, I left the room, as I did nearly every night, walking across the hallway to Mr. Witherspoon’s chamber. He had a light on, sitting in bed reading.

“Hello, my dear.”

“It’s not stopped snowing.” I crawled into bed with him.

“I surmise we might have a foot or more tomorrow.”

“The children will love it. They’ll be out playing in it.”

“Indeed.” He grinned. “You look lovely tonight.”

“You say that every night.” I tossed the slippers to the carpet.

He closed the book, his look contemplative. “Are you happy here, Trinity?”

“Yes.” Surprised by the question, I stared at him. “Of course.”

“I must apologize.”

“For what?”

“For how we were married. I … was far too eager to wed you. Had you looked different, I might’ve waited.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you were hideous. I might’ve given you money and sent you away.”

His honesty astonished me. “Oh, my. No,” I giggled.

“But, you came into City Hall as beautiful as you are now, although your clothing was hardly suitable. It didn’t matter. I took one look at you and I wanted to marry you on the spot.”

“But, if I had been ugly … ”

“I might’ve waited. I never thought I’d share that with you, but I want you to know the truth. I understand if you find it deplorable.” He grinned crookedly.

“I don’t know.”

“Then I married you with all due haste. I … all but forced myself on you that night. I should be ashamed of it, but I justified those actions. You were my wife. I never stopped to think how you might feel about it. You had no experience with men prior to that.”

This conversation astounded me. “I would’ve liked to get to know you a little better, but … ” I shrugged. “You were rather eager.”

“I am sorry about that.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I’ve come to truly care for you, Trinity. I miss you when you’re out with your morning calls. I miss you when I’m at work. I find you’re often on my mind. I care about your welfare, emotional and physical. I worry you might hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“But it’s taken quite a while for you to be happy here.”

“This is all so new to me. I’ve never … lived in such luxury. I’ve never had a relationship with a man before. It doesn't mean I’m unhappy. Things have taken a while to grow on me.”

“Do you think I could be one of those things?”

I stared at him. “Yes. I admit, at first I doubted it, but now … I feel differently.”

“I behaved unfeelingly towards you. I never considered your thoughts on anything. I just took what I wanted.”

“We are married. It’s your right, sir.”

“You’ve never called me John.”

“I haven’t?”

“You’ve always called me Mr. Witherspoon. We mustn’t be so formal.”

“I think it’s a habit.”

“Will you accept my apology?”

“I will, but you don’t have to apologize. I’ve been rather moody myself.”

“I’ve noticed. You hide away in your room. You write letters. I’m not certain to whom, but you’re in communication with someone. Whatever the letters contain often leave their mark on you. You’re either quite gay about it or upset.”

“I … write to old friends. We share stories.” I hated to lie, but I could not tell him the truth. I hadn’t known my emotions were so transparent.

“I try not to interject myself into your personal life. I’ve been content with the way things are, as you’re always with me at night, but that’s a bit shallow, isn’t it? I let things slide, as long as I get what I want. Perhaps, I should be asking you exactly whom you’re communicating with. Is it an old lover?”

“No. I’ve no lovers.”

“But it’s someone you care about.”

“I care for all my friends. It’s just a friend.”

His fingers closed over mine. “Fine. I shall leave it at that.” He lifted my hand, kissing it. “You’ve brought me such joy, Trinity. I’m grateful each day for your presence in my life. It’s given me a second chance at things. I cannot wait to see this baby. I do hope I’ll be around long enough to watch it grow up.”

“Why, of course you will.” His health had improved dramatically. He oftentimes walked without his cane now. “You’ll be able to run after it and chase it down.” I giggled at that happy thought.

“I will.” He grimaced, his face twisting.

“Is something wrong?” A strangled sound came from his throat, his hands gripping at his chest. “John?” I sat up, staring at him, as he groaned. “What’s the matter?” Mr. Witherspoon fell to his side, tumbling from the bed, landing with a thud. I sprang to my feet, coming around to the other side of the mattress, where he writhed on the carpet, gripping his chest. “Oh, my God!” I ran to the door, throwing it open. “Help! I need help!”

Mrs. Dexter appeared, wearing a nightgown. “Yes?”

“There’s something the matter with Mr. Witherspoon.”

The entire household suddenly came alive, lights coming on and people arriving, Roger French being one of them. Our driver knelt by the side of the bed, gazing at his employer.

“Call the doctor! We need Doctor Watson at once!”

I stood there in horror, watching the once vibrant features of my husband turn to grey. Something terrible had happened to him. He wasn’t breathing at all, his eyes fixed.

Chapter Eighteen

In the early hours of the morning, after the priest left, I sat in the parlor with Mrs. Dexter, gazing at nothing in particular. The embers in the fire had died out long ago, the logs smoking. Holding a glass of brandy, I’d had a small sip, the heat of the fluid warming my belly.

“You’ll have to notify Mr. Witherspoon. I’ll take you to town tomorrow to make a telephone call. A letter won’t do this time.”

“No.”

“I’m terribly sorry.”

“So am I.”

“I know this hasn’t been easy for you. You’ve struggled to adjust. Just when you’d made peace … this happens.”

“Life is unpredictable.”

“It is.”

“We had one of our better conversations tonight. He was incredibly honest.”

She took a sip of tea, mulling that over.

“I’ve been corresponding with Nathanial.”

“I know.”

“I suppose I should feel guilty now.”

“Not necessarily. You’ve been an exemplary wife. You’ve taken good care of your husband. There is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“But I do feel guilt.”

“Because your affections are elsewhere, or is it his death?”

“Both.” I met her gaze. “I could’ve grown to love him. I was beginning to feel a great fondness for him.”

“Of course.” She smiled kindly. “You’ll have to plan the funeral.”

“Will you help me?”

“Yes.”

“What will happen to us?”

“That’s a good question. Everything you see here now belongs to Mr. Witherspoon.”

I wondered if she included me in that assessment. “I suppose it does.”

“You should go to bed. It’s late.”

The scene from earlier lingered in my mind. The body of my husband had been laid out on his bed, the doctor examining him, although there was nothing anyone could have done to save him. His heart had simply stopped.

“I’ll go to bed, but I doubt I’ll sleep.”

“Try.”

“Good night, Mrs. Dexter.”

“Good night, Trinity.”

I lumbered to my room, shivering at the sight of the open door to my right, where my husband had been. They had taken the body away to the undertakers. I knew I would not be able to blot out what had happened, the tragedy far too fresh in my mind. Getting into bed, I tossed and turned for hours, grateful for the first streams of sunlight, as I needn’t pretend to sleep any longer.

Mrs. Dexter waited for me when I came down, having donned a coat. “Good morning,” she said.

“I’m not hungry.” I wore a woolen outfit with heavy stockings. “I need to make that telephone call.”

“Of course. I’ll have Roger bring the carriage around.”

“Are the roads passable?” I glanced out the window, seeing a blanket of snow.

“Mostly. We’ll be fine.”

Affixing gloves, I waited to leave, stepping into a cold morning, the frigid air seeping straight into my bones. We spoke little on the ride to the mercantile, where the nearest phone was. The world had yet to know of the events of the night before, the town in ignorant bliss. Doctor Watson would not make a formal announcement until all family members had been notified.

At the mercantile, I stepped from the carriage, holding the coat closed around my neck. Mrs. Dexter followed me in, shutting the door behind us. The bells chimed, alerting the clerk.

“Good morning!” she said cheerfully. “How may I help you?”

“Mrs. Witherspoon needs to make a call.”

“Oh, certainly. You’ll find them around that corner.” She pointed.

“Thank you.”

Mrs. Dexter and I made our way into a tight hallway, standing before two mahogany boxes mounted to the wall. I had little experience with these, so Mrs. Dexter hand cranked the generator to signal the operator. She then held the bong to her ear, speaking into the mouthpiece.

“Yes, hello. I need to call Boston.” She listened for a moment, and then gave the number. “Of course. I’ll wait.” She glanced at me. “They’re trying to reach him.”

I stared morosely at the floor, dreading this conversation. When at last the operator placed the call, one of Mr. Witherspoon’s servants answered.

“This is Mrs. Dexter from Mr. Witherspoon’s household. Is Mr. Witherspoon at home?” She waited on the other end of the line. Then she said, “Oh, thank goodness.” She glanced at me. “You may speak now.”

“Thank you.” I took the bong, holding it to my ear, where I heard a fair amount of static.

“Hello?” a man said.

I recognized that voice. “Nathanial.”

“Trinity?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“What’s the matter?”

I could barely hear him, his voice sounding as if it came through a long tunnel. “You should know your father’s … he’s passed away last night. He collapsed in his bed. I’m so sorry.”

“What?”

I said louder, “Your father passed away last night.” The entire store would have heard that, but it could not be helped. “Can you come?”

“Dear God.”

“I’m terribly sorry, Nate.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“And the baby?”

“It’s fine. Everything’s fine, but your father’s not with us. He’s gone.”

“I’ll catch the first available train. I’ll be there in a day.”

“All right.”

“It’s so good to hear your voice.”

“Just come as soon as you can.”

“I will, my love. I will.”

Thankfully his words were for my ears only. The line went dead, the operator saying, “Would you like to make another call?”