The Promise of Morning (11 page)

Ellie forced her attention to her aunt. “I expect you’re going to tell me.”

“Well . . .” The older woman shifted in her chair. “You know Mr. and Mrs. Beldon live there, don’t you?”

Ellie nodded.

“Mr. Forsythe told me, in confidence of course, that it’s Mrs. Beldon who holds the purse strings in that family. She’s the one who pays the rent on their suite and on the parlor he uses for his solicitor work.”

Ellie dropped the rag she used to polish the stove and faced her aunt. “How would he know that? Surely Mrs. Beldon doesn’t confide in him.” An image of Zilphah Beldon came to her mind. A mousy woman with a hunched back and a sharp tongue. It had crossed her mind more than once to wonder why a man as magnetic as Mr. Beldon married such an unattractive woman.

“Mr. Forsythe says her father sends bank drafts addressed to her for their keep. The desk clerk told him.” Aunt Ruby’s reply sounded defensive. “He’s staying right there in the same hotel, for pity’s sake. He can’t help but notice how she orders her husband around.” She lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. “Mr. Beldon’s law practice in Virginia failed. She’s giving him one more chance to make good.”

Mrs. Beldon reminded Ellie of the biblical proverb,
“It is better
to dwell in the wilderness than with a contentious and angry
woman.”
She turned to her aunt. “I feel sorry for Mr. Beldon. His wife seems . . . difficult. We shouldn’t listen to empty gossip.”

“I don’t think it’s merely gossip. Mr. Forsythe seemed quite sure.”

Aunt Ruby’s voice dropped to a softer pitch whenever she mentioned the owner of the touring company scheduled to present
Macbeth
. For a moment, Ellie studied her. Aunt Ruby’s faded blue eyes were lit with fresh color and snap. Even her hair looked different. Instead of a severe center part with wings of hair slicked back over her ears, she had pulled some strands loose and curled them near her face.

“You look happy.”

“I’m having a good time.” Aunt Ruby anchored the needle in the fabric. Her eyes sparkled. “I feel part of something bigger than myself—important, I guess you’d say. I’m forty-six years old, and never done anything but be Arthur’s wife. Down there at the hotel, Mr. Forsythe goes out of his way to include me in all their preparations.” She flipped the cloak out in front of her and folded it while she talked. “You should see how busy everyone is. Those props are so heavy. It takes two men to tote them to the second floor. And the wardrobe. So much sewing to do. Mr. Forsythe says I’m the best seamstress they’ve ever had.”

Ellie returned the brush to a box that held the cake of stove polish and screwed the wooden cover tight. She’d hoped for an opening to share her thoughts, but so far her aunt had done nothing but talk about Mr. Forsythe and the goings-on at the hotel.

Ellie cleared her throat, then blurted, “I have something to tell you.”

Aunt Ruby set the cloak on the table. “What is it?”

Ellie hesitated. What if she sided with Matthew? “Uh, well, nothing.”

“Come on. You can talk to me. Are you and Matthew having troubles?”

Ellie’s cheeks warmed. “Why do you say that?”

“Things haven’t been the same between you since . . . Julia passed on.”

“It’s more than Julia.” She moved a chair forward and sat facing her aunt. Her words poured out, tripping over each other. “I believe my father remarried. I’m sure I have brothers and sisters somewhere in Texas. But Matthew won’t listen when I talk about it.”

Aunt Ruby closed her sewing basket and stared at Ellie. “What on earth makes you think he remarried?”

“A man needs a wife. Especially if he’s homesteading land. He settled there twenty-five years ago. Surely in all that time he found someone to marry.”

After a long moment, Aunt Ruby sighed and reached for Ellie’s hand. “We would have heard. Besides, the letter didn’t say anything about a wife.” She squeezed Ellie’s fingers. “Your family is right here. There’s no need to pretend you have another one.”

“I’m not pretending.” Ellie pulled her hand away and stalked to the window, her back to her aunt. “I see it does no good to talk to you, either.”

Footsteps clattered on the porch. Ellie turned at the sound of children’s voices, glad of the distraction. She hurried toward the stove. “I need to get a fire going. They’ll be wanting to eat soon.”

Her children roared into the room, followed by Matthew. Harrison led the pack. “We did it, Mama. The last two acres are planted.”

Jimmy pulled the dipper from the water crock and gulped several swallows. “Got done before noon too.”

On her knees, Ellie poured live coals from a bucket into the firebox. “Good,” she said, her voice muffled behind the stove door. After the tinder caught and blazed, she placed kindling over the flames and stood. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Matthew frown when he spotted the folded garment Aunt Ruby held.

She grasped the cloak to her chest and stood. “Time to head home. Arthur’ll be wondering about his dinner.” She pursed her lips. “One thing I can count on with Arthur—he’s always hungry.”

Maria ran to her. “Are you coming to hear us recite this evening? Mama made me a new dress and I memorized a
very
long poem.”

“We’ll see, precious. Might be I’ll be busy at the hotel.” Aunt Ruby laid the folded cloak on the table and hugged her great-niece.

After she left, Maria leaned against Ellie’s side. Her blue eyes were wide with hurt. “Aunt Ruby always comes to Spring Recital. Doesn’t she love me anymore?”

“Of course she does, but . . .” She stopped, at a loss to understand Aunt Ruby’s actions. Bending, she kissed Maria’s dirt-streaked face, then patted her bottom. “Go clean up. Dinner will be ready soon.”

Ellie watched her daughter dash to the washstand on the porch, her thoughts still on her aunt’s puzzling behavior.

The next afternoon, Matthew dropped Ellie off at Wolcott’s Mercantile. “I’ll stop by for our order after I call on the Sims family.” His voice sounded distantly polite.

Ellie nodded, matching his distance with coolness of her own. “I’ll be at Molly’s working on her honeycomb quilt.” She stepped onto the board sidewalk without waiting for his assistance.

After the wagon rolled away, she watched until he had turned the corner and headed north. Prairie wind blew dust from the wheels into her face, stinging her tear-filled eyes.

Blinking hard, she walked into the busy store. Conversation ceased the moment she entered. Several women turned their backs and busied themselves scrutinizing the merchandise. Ellie remembered the cool greeting she and Matthew had received from the Sims sisters the previous week.

She stepped up to the counter, keeping her head averted from the other customers, and handed Mr. Wolcott her list. “Nothing special today. Just flour, vinegar, and such. Matthew will pick it up later.”

“I’ll take care of it, Mrs. Craig.” His gaze lingered on her. “You all right?”

“Just a little tired. We were late getting home last night.”

Mr. Wolcott smiled. “Those youngsters of yours did themselves proud. Didn’t miss a lick, no matter what the teacher threw at them.”

Ellie warmed, remembering her children’s perfect recitations. “Harrison had me worried once, but he came through.” She met the storekeeper’s eyes. “It was good of you and Mrs. Wolcott to be there.”

“Wouldn’t miss Spring Recital for the world. Without young’uns of our own, me and Charity kind of take an interest in all of them.”

Tears threatened again at his kind tone. If she didn’t leave soon, she’d break down in front of everyone. Wrapping her shawl tighter across her chest, Ellie backed away from the counter.

“Matthew will pick up our things later,” she repeated, then hurried out the door.

The wind blew steadily from the west, pushing her along Jefferson Street in the direction of Molly’s cabin. She clutched her swirling skirts as she passed Carstairs’ picket fence and turned the corner onto Hancock.

“Mrs. Craig!”

Penelope Carstairs waved at her. “I have the slip you wanted from my lilac bush. Can you stop in for a moment?”

Ellie turned. “Of course. Thank you for remembering.”

As she followed the buxom young woman, she glanced over at aromatic purple flowers covering the bush in one corner of the yard. A vision of a similar planting outside her kitchen window filled her mind.

Stopping on the porch, Penelope lifted a leafy shoot wrapped in wet burlap from a crock next to the door. “It’s started to root. I hope it does well for you.”

Ellie extended her hand to take the dripping bundle. “This will be lovely. I’m going to plant it as a memorial for our little Julia.”

A closed expression came over Penelope’s face. “Yes, your loss is most unfortunate. Surprising such a thing could happen in a preacher’s family, isn’t it? Makes one wonder.”

A pain started near Ellie’s heart and filled her chest. She stepped back, gripping the lilac shoot. “Wonder what?”

“Well, a preacher and all. Is it . . . a judgment?”

Darkness filled Ellie’s vision. “Who’s saying such things?”

Penelope’s face reddened. “Uh, different folks. I don’t believe it, of course.”

Somehow Ellie got down the steps and out of Carstairs’ yard. Walking as fast as she could without breaking into a run, she headed for her sister-in-law and sanctuary.

10

Ellie held her needle between trembling fingers and studied Molly’s face. “You’ve already heard? Why didn’t you tell me what people were saying?”

Molly’s expression showed dismay but not surprise. “I didn’t think it was worth repeating.” She shook her head and gazed at Ellie across the quilting frame. “There’ve just been a few remarks here and there, far as I know. Karl and I wonder who started it.”

Ellie knew her husband didn’t deserve this poisonous accusation. He’d always been steadfast in his devotion to the ministry of their church. “Do you think Matthew knows what’s being said about him?”

“I couldn’t say. Why don’t you ask him?”

“I can’t.”

“Why ever not? That’s the best way to tackle a problem—head on.” Molly’s gold-flecked eyes shone with love and concern.

A moment’s silence fell between the two women.

Ellie poked her needle into a six-sided patch of flowered cloth and joined it to an indigo hexagon already pieced to the quilt top. Then she sighed, abandoning her stitching. “Matthew and I seem to be at odds with one another right now.”

“Is it about Julia?”

“That’s a big part of it . . . but there’s more.” She tilted her chin upward and took a deep breath. Beginning with the letter from her grandfather, Ellie related how she learned of her father’s recent death, the confrontation with Aunt Ruby, and then her own conviction that her father had left a wife and children somewhere in Texas. “Matthew thinks he’s protecting me by refusing to make inquiries. And Aunt Ruby called it a fantasy.” She noticed Molly’s dumbfounded expression. “You don’t believe they exist either, do you?”

“I . . . suppose it’s possible.” Molly tucked her needle into the fabric and pressed her fingers to her mouth, forehead wrinkled in thought.

“Possible, but not likely. Is that what you mean?”

“No, not at all.” She leaned back, lips curved in a half smile. “Why don’t you write your grandfather?”

Ellie’s heart sang a song of gratitude.

Molly drew her chair closer to the frame. “Do you still have his letter?”

“No.” The admission silenced the music in her heart. Ellie slumped and stared at her boots. “I threw it on the floor at Aunt Ruby’s. She probably burned it weeks ago.”

“Then ask Matthew if he kept the envelope.” Molly sounded ready to take up the challenge. “Your grandfather’s address will be on that.”

“I told you. I can’t. Matthew doesn’t want to talk about my father.”

“Maybe you can soften him up. You know, nice supper, early to bed. Then after . . .” Molly’s face reddened. “Well, then ask him about it. When he’s in a good mood.”

Blood pounded in Ellie’s ears. “I can’t do that, either.” She lowered her head and focused on joining a double pink hexagon to the growing pattern on the quilt top. “I haven’t . . . been a wife to Matthew since Julia died. I’m afraid to. I couldn’t bear to lose another baby.” Dropping her voice, she looked at Molly. “How do you and Karl keep from having children? You’ve been married over six years.”

“We don’t keep from it.” Molly bit her lower lip. “I just haven’t conceived. We don’t know why.”

During the ride home, Ellie’s mind circled the events of the afternoon. Molly’s support of her theory about her father gave her new courage to pursue the quest for brothers and sisters. But her suggestion to inveigle Matthew into helping them left Ellie in despair. As sorry as she felt for Molly following their conversation, she felt sorrier for herself. She’d hoped for some answers, not more problems.