The Pattern of Her Heart (19 page)

H
UMMING UNDER
her breath, Prissy worked the cloth back and forth on the mahogany table in an easy rhythm, then suddenly brought her work to a halt. Had she heard something banging on the house? She cocked her head to one side and listened. With a shrug, she returned to her polishing but then a persistent knock sounded at the front door.

“Who could that be?” she muttered while shoving the cloth into her waistband and scurrying down the hall. “Them young’uns best not be playing tricks with me.”

Since Master Nolan had made his announcement to the slaves that he was giving them their freedom, not many folks had come calling at The Willows. In fact, since young Spencer’s incident after school, there hadn’t been
any
visitors. Of course, it didn’t seem to bother Master Nolan none, ’cause he said they was all gonna leave Mississippi once the cotton crop was harvested. Prissy wasn’t so sure that was going to happen. Talk of leaving frightened her. All she wanted to do was marry Toby—and the sooner the better. She didn’t want no more trouble in her life, and with all this talk of freedom, there was bound to be trouble. She could feel it coming, just like a summer storm filled with jagged lightning.

Her eyes widened when she reached the front door, and she froze in place.

“Are you going to open the door, or must we do it for ourselves?” Lydia Hesston inquired irritably from across the threshold.

“Afternoon, Prissy,” Rupert said. “Why don’t you show us into the parlor and then tell your mistress she has company. Think you can manage to do that?” he asked with a sneer curling his lips.

Lydia pulled off her gloves as she leveled an arrogant glare in Prissy’s direction. “I can find my way into the parlor. Go and tell my cousin I’ve come to call on her.”

“Yessum.” In her haste to depart the room, Prissy tripped on the edge of the patterned red and black carpet, nearly landing flat in front of Rupert.

“Clumsy girl,” Lydia chided while Prissy regained her balance and rushed from sight.

“Mean-spirited woman,” Prissy whispered.

Perhaps it
would
be worth leaving the South if she didn’t have to put up with the likes of Mr. and Mrs. Rupert Hesston, she thought. How Miss Lydia and Miss Jasmine could be cousins—blood-related—and act so different was beyond Prissy’s imagination. Both from the same family . . . one was filled with meanness and the other with love.

“Hard to unnerstand,” she muttered.

“What’s hard to understand?”

Prissy startled at the sound of her mistress’s voice. “I thought you was outside in da garden,” she replied. “You got company, Miz Jasmine. Yo’ cousin Miss Lydia and her husband is come to call. They’s in the parlor.”

“Lydia has returned? How wonderful! Would you fix some tea and bring it to us in the parlor, Prissy?”

She hesitated. The last thing she wanted to do was go back in the parlor and serve tea, yet she wouldn’t refuse Miss Jasmine. “Yessum. I be bringing it ta you directly.”

She considered asking Martha or Henrietta if they would serve tea and then offer to look after the children, but she thought better of the idea. Miss Jasmine might question why she would do such a thing. Prissy didn’t want to lie to the mistress, but she could hardly tell Miss Jasmine what she thought of her relatives. Best to serve tea and remain silent, she decided.

Being careful to watch her step, Prissy carried the tray to the parlor, placed it on the walnut serving table beside Miss Jasmine, and turned to leave.

“Why don’t you remain, Prissy? You know, Lydia, it’s Prissy we have to thank for finding our Spencer, who was injured on his way home from school. She bravely went searching for him and then came running for help once she saw his tragic condition,” Jasmine related while patting Prissy’s hand.

“I’s got silver that needs polishin’,” Prissy said while backing toward the door.

“The silver will wait. Sit down here and have a cup of tea while I tell of your heroics,” her mistress insisted.

Mrs. Hesston’s mouth gaped open, and if Prissy hadn’t been so frightened, she would have laughed aloud at the sight.

“Jasmine! Whatever are you thinking, inviting
her
to have tea with
us
? Have you taken leave of your senses?”

Rupert gave his wife a knowing look. “You see? I told you she’s become completely irrational.”

“
I’m
irrational? It’s
you
people who are irrational. You won’t tolerate
anyone
who doesn’t believe exactly as you do. Spencer is evidence of that! Even though I disagree with slavery, I would never teach my child to hate those whose views differ. And I am not hesitant to say that evil permeates people who would teach such behavior.”

Prissy shrunk back, wishing she could make herself invisible. Mrs. Hesston had pulled a handkerchief from her reticule and was dabbing her eyes as she looked to her husband for consolation.

“I cannot believe any of this,” Mrs. Hesston said. “I came here seeking comfort from one I remembered fondly. Since my return from abroad, I’ve been surrounded by tragedy. First I discover my immediate family has perished, and now I find that one of my few living relatives has turned against me in my time of grief.”

Jasmine set her cup down with an authoritative clunk. “Don’t be overly dramatic, cousin. We’ve all suffered. I, too, lost my family members and have suffered grief. However, life goes on. We must each move forward in the way that God leads. Fortunately for me, I find that He is leading my family away from this place!”

It was midafternoon when Justin Chamberlain’s horse-drawn wagon lumbered to a stop in front of the boardinghouse on Dutton Street. He set the brake and jumped down, pleased to finally be back in Lowell. Packing the dishes and glassware had taken a fair amount of skill and patience, and then arranging all of their household goods into the wagon had proven more of a chore than he had ever imagined. He’d soon grown weary of the task. As he now surveyed the loaded wagon, he realized his lack of enthusiasm was apparent.

Louise would be appalled to see her carefully stitched quilts shoved atop the rough-edged barrels and crates—containers that would likely snag and rip her painstaking handiwork. But he had needed something to tightly pack the dishes and glassware, and the quilts were at hand. Besides, Louise wasn’t alive to see what he had done, and Reggie wouldn’t care.

“Father!” Reggie squealed as she bounded out the door and threw herself into his arms. “You’ve finally come home!”

Justin firmly wrapped his arms around the gangly ten-year-old and kissed the top of her head. “I believe you’ve grown at least an inch during my absence.”

“Then you should have returned more quickly,” she said, tightening her chokehold.

He loosened his daughter’s clenched fingers and took a step back while gently grasping her waiflike shoulders. She looked amazingly ladylike, wearing a bright blue print dress accentuated by rows of tiny pin tucks. Her soft brown hair was neatly combed and tied with a matching blue ribbon, and instead of dirt smudges, she bore a dusting of flour on one cheek.

“You look quite charming. Tell me how you’ve been,” he said as they entered the front door.

“I’ve been wonderful—except for school. If I could have stayed at the boardinghouse and helped Mrs. Brighton all day, I would have been
very
happy.”

“Pastor Chamberlain! When did you arrive?” Elinor inquired as she came down the hallway from the kitchen.

“Just now. I came straight to the boardinghouse. I couldn’t wait any longer to see Reggie,” he said, giving his daughter a bright smile.

“Do come in and sit down. I must say that I’m almost sorry that you’ve returned. Having Reggie with me has been most enjoyable.”

Justin’s eyebrows arched. “Truly?”

Reggie folded her arms across her chest and gave her father a look of mock indignation. “Why are you acting surprised?”

“Who says I’m acting?” he retorted, wrapping his arm around Reggie and drawing her closer.

“I know you’re only teasing,” she said. “You missed me bunches.”

“You are absolutely correct on that account. And all of your friends from back home said to tell you hello. I even have some letters for you, but I promised I wouldn’t turn them over until you agreed to answer each one.”

Reggie’s eyes sparkled with delight. “Is there one from Peter?”

“I believe there is. However, I want to hear all about your new school before I give you the letters. Otherwise, I’ll not be able to pry a word from you.”

“I’m doing fine in my classes. Aren’t I,” she said to Eli-nor.

“Indeed she is. I can’t say that Reggie is thrilled with the school or her classmates, but she does her lessons as soon as she returns to the boardinghouse, and her teacher has written several notes praising her work. I’ve saved all of her papers for you to review.”

“That was very thoughtful,” Justin said before turning his attention back to his daughter. “And what is it you dislike about your classmates and the school, young lady?”

“The school is much larger than the ones I’ve attended. I like smaller schools.”

“And your classmates?” he urged.

“The girls are very persnickety and the boys don’t want to play with a girl, so they’re mean—except for Moses. He’s still nice to me.”

“I see. Then it sounds as though you have your work cut out for you if you’re going to make friends, and it appears you’ve already taken the proper steps with that new dress and ribbon in your hair.”

“I didn’t wear this dress to please any of those girls. One of Mrs. Brighton’s boarders gave me several dresses. She said they were more appropriate for a schoolgirl than a woman of her years.”

“Yes, Ardith is nearly an old maid—she must be all of ten years older than Reggie,” Elinor teased.

“Perhaps I should offer her a few coins for the dress,” Justin suggested.

Elinor shook her head. “She was pleased Reggie was willing to wear the dresses. I think it would spoil her gift if you offered to pay her. Do tell us about your journey. Reggie was worried you had fallen victim to some difficulty. But I attempted to reassure her that all was well.”

“There is no denying I was gone longer than I anticipated, and I do apologize for my delay. Both the packing and the journey were more difficult than I expected. There was a great deal of rain on my return, and with the weight of the wagon, I made little progress each day. Also, I stopped in Portland for a br ief visit with the church leader who appointed me to the position here in Lowell. He and his wife are fine people, and since I was passing nearby, I decided to stop and see them. Rather thoughtless of me, now that I think about it,” he said apologetically.

“Not at all. We’ve been having a grand time, haven’t we, Reggie?” Elinor said enthusiastically.

“I learned how to bake bread while you were gone,” Reggie proudly announced.

“Now that is truly an accomplishment,” Justin replied. “And when will you be baking some of this fine bread for your father?”

“You can take a loaf home and have a taste this very evening,” Elinor suggested.

Justin rubbed his hands together. “I can hardly wait to sink my teeth into it. But be prepared, young lady: I’m a harsh judge of bread, and you’ll not be getting any praise unless it’s justly deserved,” he teased.

Reggie giggled at his remark. “I’m not worried. If the bread suits the girls who live here, I believe you’ll find it passable.”

“Harsh critics, are they?”

Reggie bobbed her head up and down. “Some of them like to complain about most everything. If the soup is a little too cool or a little too hot, if they hoped for white bread and Mrs. Brighton serves corn bread instead, if they have to work three looms instead of two at the mill, or if they must share their bed with two girls instead of one. Mrs. Brighton says not to pay them any mind when they’re short-tempered. She says they complain because they’re tired, but I think they’re spoiled by Mrs. Brighton’s fine food and good treatment.”

Elinor blushed at Reggie’s praise. “The girls receive fine treatment at all of the boardinghouses,” she said with obvious embarrassment.

“I’m sure Reggie speaks with great authority regarding your abilities. I would like to remain and visit, but I believe we had best get the wagon home. I hope to unload at least a portion of the goods tonight and then finish tomorrow— especially since it will be Saturday and I’ll have Reggie there to assist,” he said, winking at his daughter.

“Let me get your loaf of bread. Do you want to pack your clothes tonight or come back and get them tomorrow, Reggie?” Elinor asked as she began to rise from her chair.

“I’ll come back and see you tomorrow. I’ll fetch the bread,” she said, jumping to her feet.

“Wrap it in one of the linen cloths in the far drawer.”

“I will,” Reggie called over her shoulder as she raced off to the kitchen.

Justin shook his head. “I can’t believe how much she’s changed. She appears much . . .” He hesitated and then shrugged his shoulders.

“Happier?” Elinor ventured.

“That too,” he said. “I insist upon paying you for all you’ve done,” he said as Reggie hurried back into the room, carrying the linen-wrapped bundle.