To Love and Cherish (6 page)

Harland flapped the envelope. “Well, you gonna take it or you want me to open it?”

His heart pounded a new beat as he reached for the cream-colored envelope. “Thanks, but I think I'd rather do it myself.” Happiness that Melinda had finally written flooded him with unbridled joy. He felt like a six-year-old on Christmas morning until he stuck his finger beneath the seal. What if she'd written to tell him she no longer wanted him to write, no longer wanted him? He glanced at Harland.

“Well, go on. Open it. Not looking inside doesn't change what she's already written.” The older man knew what Evan had been thinking. “Don't let worry and fear get the best of you now that you got a letter from her.”

Evan unsealed the envelope before he could give it further thought. He forced his gaze back and forth across the lines before looking up at Harland. “She says she's sorry she didn't write sooner, but she was waiting for guidance from the Lord.”

Harland nodded. “That was wise. I think she's a smart gal. What else?”

“She says she acted foolish and she loves me.” He grinned at Harland. “She also said—”

Harland put his hands up. “That's enough. You keep the rest private between the two of you. I just wanted to make sure you got good news. Didn't want you taking off for Cleveland and leaving me here to take care of things on my own this summer.”

“You don't need to worry about that any longer, Harland. I'm here to stay.”

The day of the tea, as everyone in the Mifflin household had come to refer to June twenty-third, dawned sunny and mild. Quite perfect! At least that's what Mrs. Mifflin had declared when she descended the stairs for breakfast. Mrs. McKinley had given her speech at Miss Sanford's commencement exercises two days before, but since then she'd been resting in her rooms and taking her meals there, as well. Her two maids scurried in and out to request anything their mistress required. They were careful to make their needs known only to Melinda or to Mrs. Mifflin. Melinda wasn't certain if they'd been advised against speaking to any of the other servants, but Sally had taken offense that they were ignoring her.

Melinda was passing through the upstairs hall when Sally approached. “If Mrs. McKinley and her maids think me untrustworthy, maybe I shouldn't be helping prepare for the tea. Neither of them will so much as acknowledge me.” Sally crossed her arms tight across her chest and tipped her nose toward the ceiling.

“Do cease such talk, Sally. No one except Mrs. Mifflin has spoken to Mrs. McKinley. Besides, communication with Mrs. McKinley and her staff has nothing to do with your duties downstairs.” Worried the conversation might be overheard by the Mifflins' prestigious houseguest, Melinda guided the maid toward the stairs. “Let's continue this conversation elsewhere.”

Once they entered the kitchen, Melinda directed Sally to a far corner where they wouldn't be heard by the other staff—all of them busy preparing the delicate tea sandwiches and various pastries that would be served later in the day. “Right now you are needed here in the kitchen to keep the staff working in a timely manner. Later you'll be needed to see that the service goes as planned. Your ability to make this a wonderful event is of utmost importance to Mrs. Mifflin.”

Sally's shoulders relaxed. “I suppose you're right. And if I do my best work with the tea, I'm sure the president's wife will thank me.”

Melinda wasn't certain Mrs. McKinley would go so far as to thank the staff for performing their duties, but she didn't express that thought to Sally.

After one final assessment of the parlor, dining room, and kitchen, Melinda ascended the stairs. With only two hours until the guests would begin to arrive, Mrs. Mifflin would expect a detailed report when Melinda entered to help her dress for the tea. Thankfully, she could honestly state that everything was in order.

With her thoughts centered upon how she would fashion Mrs. Mifflin's hair, Melinda hurried down the hallway. She would like to try a different style that would flatter the older woman's sharp features and narrow face, but that likely wouldn't happen today.

Holding the rail as she took the final step into the upper hallway, Melinda turned when the door to Mrs. McKinley's rooms clicked and her lady's maid appeared. “My mistress wishes to speak to you.”

“Me?”

The only answer was a slight nod. “Please, don't keep her waiting.” The words rang with an air of urgency that caused Melinda to hasten forward without further question. “In here,” the maid said, leading Melinda through the sitting room and across the threshold into the bedroom.

Melinda stared across the room and attempted to hide her alarm. She'd captured only a fleeting glance of the tiny woman when she'd arrived, and there had been no introductions. Jean, her lady's maid, had been clear that her mistress needed to rest.

“How may I be of service to you, Mrs. McKinley?” Melinda thought she should curtsy or somehow acknowledge the status of the president's wife, but she didn't know the protocol for this particular circumstance, so she remained as stiff as a board just inside the doorway.

“Do step closer,” Mrs. McKinley said.

When the president's wife struggled to gain a more upright position in the bed, Jean rushed forward and tucked another pillow behind her. Her dark brown hair splayed across the pillow like unruly feathers.

Melinda attempted to hide her concern as she did the woman's bidding. To see Mrs. McKinley abed when there remained only two hours to dress and prepare for the tea caused a knot to settle in the pit of her stomach. The woman's pale complexion only served to deepen Melinda's concern. “Do you continue to feel weary, Mrs. McKinley?”

“I have not fully recovered from the rigors of my travel. I fear it will be impossible for me to be in attendance at the tea this afternoon. I know Dorothea will be terribly disappointed. I also know that in her younger years she was prone to fainting or painful headaches when she received distressing news.” Mrs. McKinley reached for Melinda's hand and gave a gentle squeeze. “I'm relying upon you to deliver this news in the most delicate manner possible. Will you do that for me?”

Melinda swallowed the knot that had risen from her stomach to her throat. “I'll do my best.” She could manage no more than a whisper. “Mrs. Mifflin is going to be very disappointed.”

“I know she is. That's why I'm depending upon you. I thought it best you speak with her rather than have one of my maids deliver the news.” Mrs. McKinley released her hold on Melinda's hand. “Poor Dorothea has gone to so much trouble that it truly pains me to let her down.”

“But you must, madam.” Jean's words were heavy with worry, and she lifted her head to look directly into Melinda's eyes. “My mistress attempted to get up and dress for the tea, but she hasn't the strength. Please report that any further activity will only prolong Mrs. McKinley's poor condition.”

Condition? Since their arrival, neither Mrs. McKinley nor her maids had mentioned any sort of condition. A condition suggested long-term illness, yet they had spoken only of weariness from their travels. Perhaps Mrs. McKinley needed a doctor. What if Mrs. Hollister was correct about the president's wife suffering from ill health? What if she died? Though ridiculous, the thought sent a shiver scurrying down Melinda's spine. “I would be pleased to send for Mrs. Mifflin's family physician. She has already alerted him that you would be visiting. He agreed to make himself available should you become ill during your visit.”

“Thank you, but there's no need for a physician. Rest is the answer. By tomorrow I should be much better.” She glanced at the porcelain clock on the mahogany dressing table. “You'd better go to Dorothea. I'm sure she is waiting for you to assist her.”

Melinda wanted to remain and further encourage a visit from the doctor, but time wouldn't permit. “I'll do my best to deliver your news with care, but Mrs. Mifflin may want to come and speak to you privately.”

“I would be pleased to receive her, but if she could wait for several hours. I need to sleep.”

Jean hurried to the side of the bed and gently removed the extra pillow from the bed. “Of course you do, mistress. I'll pull the drapes and see that you're not disturbed.” The maid sent a warning look in Melinda's direction.

“I'll advise Mrs. Mifflin that you'll be resting.” Melinda turned and hurried from the room.

She raced down the hallway as though her skirts were on fire. Mrs. Mifflin would be prepared to scold her soundly. The moment she opened the door, Mrs. Mifflin strode toward her with anger flashing in her eyes. “There you are! Of all days to keep me waiting, how could you be late today? Ida will think me a horrid hostess.”

“She won't think any such thing; she is your dear friend. Why don't you sit down at your dressing table and I'll fashion your hair. We have more than enough time.” Melinda waited until the woman was seated. She picked up the brush and slowly drew it through the older woman's hair. “I am late because Mrs. McKinley requested a short visit with me.”

“Whatever for? Did you see her gown? What color is she wearing?” Mrs. Mifflin met Melinda's eyes in the mirror.

“She asked that I tell you she isn't feeling well enough to attend the tea.” Melinda waited a moment, choosing her words carefully. “Her complexion is very pale, and her attempt to dress for the afternoon festivities proved impossible.” Melinda continued to brush, hoping the motion would calm her mistress. “I inquired if she needed the care of a physician, but she refused.” Mrs. Mifflin remained surprisingly calm while Melinda parted her hair in the center and brushed her dark locks. “Do you prefer loose curls around your temples?”

Her mistress gave only a curt nod. Mrs. Mifflin was trying to mask her feelings, but she wasn't doing a very good job.

Melinda felt sorry for the woman and decided to do her best to offer encouragement and perhaps a little mercy. “Mrs. McKinley knew that you would be terribly disappointed. She cares very much for your well-being and hopes sincerely that her bad news won't cause you too much despair. She said you might visit her later . . . in a few hours . . . after she's had a rest.”

Using a deft hand, Melinda finished styling Mrs. Mifflin's hair in quick time. She was amazed that the older woman had remained calm. In fact, she didn't utter a word as Melinda assisted her into her corset and layer of petticoats. When she'd finished adjusting the gown, Mrs. Mifflin turned to gaze in the mirror.

“I'll need my jewels.” She sat down in front of the dressing table and waited while Melinda removed them from the case.

Perhaps this was going to go better than anticipated. She had expected Mrs. Mifflin to show some kind of emotion. In fact, she'd expected Mrs. Mifflin to take to her own bed rather than face the women who would soon be arriving.

Melinda arranged the gold necklace encrusted with small emeralds around Mrs. Mifflin's neck. “Perfect. You look absolutely lovely.”

Mrs. Mifflin gave a slight nod, pushed up from the dressing table, and immediately fainted.

End of September 1898

Summer had slowly melded into fall, and with each passing day Melinda's desire to return to Bridal Veil grew stronger. Her longings weren't at all helped by Mrs. Mifflin's disposition. The first few days after the fiasco, the older woman had barely managed to run the household. After Ida McKinley's departure, however, Melinda's mistress had taken to bed and was given to long hours of sobbing.

Mrs. Mifflin's frustrated sorrows over the tea for Mrs. McKinley had finally subsided, though she continued to refer to the incident as “the greatest disappointment of my life.” The president's wife had extended her regrets with handwritten notes to each of the invited guests, delighting the matrons of Cleveland society and elevating Mrs. Mifflin's status among her friends. Once assured her position among the social elite remained intact, her outlook greatly improved. She had risen from her bed much like a mythical phoenix from the ashes to start life anew.

Evan's weekly letters helped ease the distance between them, but they couldn't compete with having him near her side. Reading his letters over and over had become a nightly ritual. In the past he hadn't shared much about his off-season work, and now becoming familiar with his daily routine during the summer months caused her to feel a new closeness to him.

The details of how Evan and Harland had spent weeks setting controlled fires in the hunting areas to encourage new growth had surprised her. She couldn't imagine that burning the underbrush and grass would have a positive effect on the land, but that's what Evan and Harland did each summer. Combined with the summer heat, it was one of Evan's least favorite tasks, but he said the process helped to provide the best conditions to increase wildlife for the next hunting season. With such attention and care, it was no wonder guests had little difficulty bagging deer, marsh hens, bluebill, quail, grouse, and pheasant.

As assistant gamekeeper, Evan was expected to ensure the animal population remained well developed. His tasks had expanded to include the upkeep of the hunting lodge in addition to lending a hand at the stables and wherever else he might be needed. Melinda couldn't help but wonder what duties she might take on as the wife of such a man. Perhaps she would be called upon to assist with the wives of the guests who hunted, but she wasn't exactly certain what that assistance might entail.

It seemed there was no end to the many chores that needed attention—and there were few workers left to complete them. Evan spoke of working night and day and having little time for simple necessities such as washing clothes and cooking. Melinda smiled to herself. She would point out in her letters that these were the jobs a wife could perform in order to ease the burden of a workingman. Even the hotel and club superintendent of Bridal Veil Island had a helper, although it wasn't in the capacity of wife.

Mr. Zimmerman worked at a resort in the Adirondacks during the summer months, so he delegated his supervisory duties on Bridal Veil to his temporary assistant, Mr. Nordegren. The investors always turned over a long list of tasks that they expected to see completed before their return in early winter.

While Evan's letters made it clear there was little time for anything but hard work during the humid summers, Melinda did smile when she read that he and Harland took occasional dips in the ocean. “Harland isn't very fond of being in the water, so he rolls up his pant legs and stands there watching while I get myself soaked from head to toe. He says that's enough to cool him off, but not for me.” She grinned each time she pictured Harland with his pants rolled up to his knees.

Melinda's letters to Evan didn't include much lighthearted news. Instead, when she put pen to paper, her letters detailed the boring activities of Cleveland society. While she'd once been in the midst of such activity, she now sat on the fringes when she accompanied Mrs. Mifflin to her teas and soirees. No longer did she harbor a desire to return to a life among the wealthy residents of Cleveland. Now she wished only to leave Mrs. Mifflin's employ and marry Evan. Each of his letters expressed a strong love for her, but he hadn't yet written the four words she longed to hear:
Will you marry me?

“Melinda!” Mrs. Mifflin's shout brought her back to the present and sent her rushing down the hallway. She'd been lost in reading Evan's letter and completely forgotten the time. Flinging open the door, she was met by Mrs. Mifflin's angry frown. “Where have you been? You know Lucy Hollister can't abide people arriving late to her home.”

Melinda inhaled a deep breath and approached in a calm fashion. If she appeared flustered, it would only heighten Mrs. Mifflin's ill-tempered manner. “There's no need for concern. You'll be ready in plenty of time. Matthew knows to have the carriage around front, and your dress is ready.” She pointed to the chair in front of the dressing table. “It won't take long to fashion your hair.”

Mrs. Mifflin looked into the oversized mirror attached to her dressing table and focused on Melinda's attire. Her eyebrows dipped a notch. “I see you made some alterations to that dress. The color becomes you.”

“Thank you. Your gowns are always of the finest quality, and this shade of green is one of my favorites.” Melinda hoped the small talk would continue to calm her mistress.

“The lace at the neckline is a nice touch. You added that, as well, didn't you?”

Melinda nodded. “I removed it from one of my old worn dresses.”

“It's good that you've learned to make do. I count myself fortunate that I've been able to help you in your time of need.” She straightened her shoulders. “I'm sure you feel much the same, since your parents did nothing to provide for your well-being in their passing. That is why it is such a public disgrace to incur debt. It only serves to humiliate those left behind.”

The woman's comments stabbed like a hot poker. She continued to allude to the failure of Melinda's parents to leave an inheritance. She appeared to enjoy the opportunity to reopen Melinda's slowly healing wounds. In truth, Melinda cared little about the inheritance; it was the fact that her parents had been living a lie that pained her. Never once had they mentioned their financial difficulties to her or to her brother, Lawrence.

“I'm pleased that you continue to find my assistance to your liking.” There was so much more she wanted to say, but Melinda knew her place. Unless she intended to speak words of praise, a lady's maid should remain silent.
And that is all I am. A companion and maid to a woman of means. Nothing more.

“Sally tells me you continue to receive letters from that hunter at Bridal Veil. I do trust you're not encouraging him.”

Melinda cringed at the comment. Would Sally never quit prying? The clock chimed as she placed a final pin in a curl. At least she'd been saved from the need for a direct response. “We'd best hurry or you'll be late.”

On more than one occasion Melinda had requested permission to remain at home rather than accompany the older woman to her social functions, but Mrs. Mifflin had made it clear she would not grant approval. Like the other ladies' maids, Melinda was a symbol of Mrs. Mifflin's social status. Much like the jewels and accessories worn by their mistresses, the maids had to be shown off, as well.

That afternoon's gathering was no different than the hundreds that had gone before. The genteel ladies of Cleveland gathered in Lucy Hollister's parlor, and after a few cursory bits of conversation, the maids were dismissed to sit in the expansive hallway or on the veranda that surrounded the Hollister home. Of course, they weren't supposed to be out of earshot, in case their mistresses would send the butler to fetch them. Melinda chose to sit outdoors. She'd tucked her stitching and a copy of
Emma
into her bag. Mrs. Mifflin had loaned her the book as well as some of Jane Austen's other books. Although Melinda read all of Austen's novels while a student, she'd been taking pleasure in them once again.

Spotting several chairs under a large buckeye tree, she wandered away from the porch. No doubt Mrs. Mifflin would be unhappy if she saw her so far away from the house, but the tree would provide her a quiet, shady place to read. Better to apologize than seek permission—that was the servants' oft-quoted mantra at the Mifflin household, and one Melinda had adopted of late.

Melinda was soon lost in her book. From her earlier reading, she recalled the arrival of Frank Churchill's friend Jane Fairfax and Emma's reaction to the young woman, but it didn't diminish her pleasure as she continued to read.

She didn't hear the sound of approaching footsteps and let out a gasp when two large hands covered her eyes. Someone leaned close to her ear—a man—and whispered, “Guess who?”

“I have no idea, but you best unhand me before I scream for help!”

The shield dropped away from her eyes, and Melinda twisted around in the lawn chair. Recognition was immediate. “Lawrence! Where did you come from?” Her book clattered to the grass when she reached to embrace her brother. With his arms still encircling her, she leaned back and looked into his eyes. “I can't believe this.”

He chuckled and squeezed her a bit tighter. “You can believe it. I'm quite real. Surely you didn't think you'd never set eyes on your brother again.”

“No, of course not, but you haven't kept in touch, and I've been worried. The last I heard from you was before you accepted a position on a ship and said you planned to sail the seas and make your fortune.”

His hazel eyes twinkled as he released her from his arms. “I've accomplished part of what I set out to do.” He leaned down, retrieved her book, and then motioned for her to sit down before he took the chair beside her. “I've sailed the seas, but I haven't yet made my fortune.” He grinned. “But I'm still working on it.”

“Doing what?”

“At the moment I'm working as a groomsman and jockey for Harris Dangerfield.” He leaned back in the chair and stretched his legs in front of him. “Rather surprising for the son of Kathleen and Lincoln Colson, wouldn't you agree? I'm a tad taller than most jockeys, but my thinness is to my advantage.”

Melinda heard the pain in his voice. “It's honest work, Lawrence. And hard work never hurt anyone. Isn't that what everyone says?”

Their parents' deaths had been difficult for both of them, but she had worried about Lawrence and his love of gambling. Her father had done his best to keep Lawrence on a tight rein, but mostly it had been unsuccessful. Like a moth to a flame, Lawrence was drawn to wagering on cards, horses, and everything else.

“Maybe, but I don't plan to work hard for the rest of my life. I'll find a way to make my fortune. But I'll not follow in Father's footsteps and lose it all.”

Bitterness replaced the pain she'd detected in his voice only a few moments earlier, but she was pleased to hear that he didn't plan on losing his fortune once he'd made it. Perhaps he'd truly given up his penchant for gambling.

He leaned forward and grasped her hand. “And you shouldn't be working as a lady's maid. To see you kowtow to the likes of Dorothea Mifflin would have destroyed our mother.”

“Well, it is far better than living on the streets. I'm thankful I received the education and training that allowed me to secure honorable work.” She glanced around to make certain no one else was nearby. “But I don't think I'll be working for Mrs. Mifflin much longer.”

He released her hand and once again relaxed in the chair. “And how are you going to manage that feat?”

“I'm in love with the assistant gamekeeper at Bridal Veil Island.” She hesitated a moment. “The Mifflins spend most of the winter months there. I met Evan at Bridal Veil, Evan Tarlow. We were introduced the first year I went to work for the Mifflins.” Her words gushed forth like water streaming from a well-primed pump. “I think you'd like him.”

“I realize your opportunity to marry someone from the upper class has disappeared, Melinda. But surely you could find someone better suited than a gamekeeper living on a remote island down in Georgia. Is that really what you want?” His eyebrows arched into twin peaks.

“He hasn't yet asked me to marry him, but when he does, I won't hesitate for a minute. He's a wonderful man, and I want to spend the rest of my life with him. Where we live doesn't matter to me as long as I'm with Evan.” She jutted her chin for emphasis.

“Then, if that's what you want, I'll wish you all the happiness in the world when—or should I say
if
—you marry him.” He grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “Living on that island would probably be better than dealing with Dorothea Mifflin. She seldom has a kind word to say about anyone.” He shook his head. “And her husband bullies any of his business associates who show the slightest sign of weakness. Father always said that Cyrus and Dorothea were a match deserving each other.”

“That isn't kind, Lawrence.” During the years since her parents' deaths, Melinda had missed her brother and his jocular attitude. Throughout his life, Lawrence had been able to make his way without exerting much effort. He let his good looks and humor—and the family money—carry him. But his carefree days had ended when their parents died.

“I came back to Cleveland to spend time with my sister, and now I discover you'll soon be leaving for Georgia. Maybe I should have remained aboard those steamers.”

“No, you should not! I won't be leaving Cleveland all that soon. I don't think Mr. and Mrs. Mifflin will want to leave until after Christmas, but I'm hoping I'm wrong.” Melinda had been doing her best to encourage a departure prior to Thanksgiving but had met with little success. “What was it like, living like that these past years? I can't imagine sailing from one place to the next, never sure where I'd be.” She glanced toward the front porch. Several of the maids were returning into the hallway. “I want to hear all about the places you visited.”