To Love and Cherish (8 page)

Still clutching Alfred's raincoat, Evan slowly fought his way back to the hunting lodge. The rain had subsided, but rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightning warned there was more to come. Battered and worn, he had no idea how long his struggle against the elements had taken before he finally dragged himself up the steps to the hunting lodge. With his remaining strength, he pushed open the door and fell inside the room.

“Evan!” Harland crossed the distance between them in several long strides. “I've been praying for your safety, boy.” Using his shoulder, Harland pushed the door closed and then fell against it as the wind once again raised a screeching howl. “You didn't get back here any too soon. I think we're in for another round.”

Evan dropped Alfred's slicker onto the floor. His stomach lurched at the sight of the rumpled raincoat. Surges of pounding guilt and sorrow now replaced the battering he'd withstood from the storm. He couldn't tell Harland what had happened—not yet. The words wouldn't come, even if he tried. “What time is it?”

“Near three o'clock. We've got at least four more hours until we see any sign of daylight. And if this doesn't let up, it will be even longer.” He grabbed a towel and blanket and handed them to Evan. “Best get out of those wet clothes.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “You were gone so long I was beginning to think the Lord hadn't heard my prayers.”

Delilah padded to Evan's side and wound between his legs before quickly moving away. Evan gestured to the cat. “Best stay clear of me if you don't want to get wet, Delilah.” He glanced at Harland. “Delilah got anything to say about this weather?”

Harland shook his head. “Nothing good.”

Evan looked around the room. Harland had done his best to fortify the downstairs against the wind and rain. A heavy gun cabinet had been moved in front of one window while other large pieces of furniture blocked the other windows and rear door.

“Now that you're back here safe and sound, I'm gonna push this bookcase in front of the door.”

“It's too heavy. Let me help you.” Evan jumped to his feet, and between the two of them, they moved the heavy piece of furniture close enough to block the front door.

Once they'd completed the task, Harland motioned toward the stairs. “Now you best go up and change out of those wet clothes.”

Evan didn't argue. His bones felt as though they'd been chilled to the marrow and would never again feel warmth. When he returned downstairs, Harland was sitting in one of the large leather chairs, his forehead wrinkled with concern. “The men get back to their quarters? I hope they had the sense to block the windows. You tell 'em to block the windows?”

“I think they know to block the windows, Harland.” Most of those men knew more about storms and hurricanes than Evan did. They'd lived on the coast for all of their lives. “Only a few of them were willing to go out in the storm and help secure the cottages and clubhouse. I don't know if they're safe. I couldn't make it over there once I left the boathouse.”

“Don't like hearing the men wouldn't follow orders. Some of 'em may find themselves without a job if they try that again.”

Harland's words cut Evan like a sharp knife, and he dropped to one of the chairs. If Alfred had refused to go, he'd still be alive. His throat closed as he pointed to the rain slicker on the floor. How could he tell Harland about Alfred if he couldn't even say the boy's name? Harland cast a glance at the raincoat before his gaze settled on Evan.

“That belong to one of our men? Is someone missing out in the storm?” The alarm in his voice matched the panic that flashed in his eyes. “Who is it? What happened, Evan? Tell me!” He jumped up from his chair and crossed the distance between them in three long strides. “Who did we lose out there?”

“Alfred.” He covered his face with his palms as he choked out the boy's name. “I didn't keep him safe, Harland.”

“Tell me what happened.” The older man sat down in the chair beside him.

Once Evan was able to speak, he told how Alfred went out to watch the storm. “I shouted at him to stay inside.” Grief choked him as he told how he'd searched for the young man but found nothing except for the raincoat. “I told him to fasten it, but he didn't listen.”

Harland patted his shoulder. “Fastened or not, the raincoat wouldn't have saved him if a surge hit the boathouse deck. You can't blame yourself, Evan. He didn't listen to your warning.” Harland leaned back and stroked his chin. “Doesn't look like you believe me, but if there's blame that needs placing for the boy's death, you can put it square on my shoulders. I'm the one who told you to take him to the boathouse, so the fault is mine, not yours.”

Evan shook his head. “This isn't your fault, Harland.”

“And it isn't yours, either. It was an accident—a sad and tragic accident that will haunt both of us for a long time to come. I think it might help both of us if we did some Bible reading and praying.” He smiled, but the sadness in his eyes didn't disappear. “You want to join me?”

The lights flickered and Evan glanced at a lamp between the chairs. “We may need to read by lantern light if the electricity gives out, but I know it would help me to do some Bible reading. Maybe I'll find something that will help take away some of this guilt.”

“The boy had choices, Evan. He could listen to your counsel and remain safe, or go about his own way and deal with the consequences. I don't mean to sound harsh, but we've each and every one of us got those same choices to make. Some of us make mistakes and live to try again. Sometimes those mistakes are deadly. Either way, it ain't up to us to make another fella's choices. If Alfred would have done as he was told, he'd be right here with us.”

“It hurts just the same,” Evan admitted. “No matter who's to blame.”

“Indeed it does.” Harland handed him one of the Bibles from the bookcase. “But this is the best salve I know. You might want to start with Romans, chapter eight.”

Evan hadn't finished reading the chapter when Delilah arched her back and screeched an ear-splitting yowl. The electricity went off at the same moment, and Evan was thankful they'd taken care to light a lantern. With a ferocity that caused the hunting lodge to shudder around them, the storm returned with renewed force. From behind their furniture barricades, glass shattered, and the wind did battle with the heavy wooden objects. Rain seeped through the windows and beneath the doors.

The heavy chest they'd moved in front of a side window teetered. “Help me hold it in place!” Both men pushed to hold their weight against the chest while Harland prayed aloud for strength. “I think the worst of the storm is upon us, Evan. Pray the winds will shift and move away from the islands and mainland.”

Evan prayed.

The hours passed like days. The wind, thunder, lightning, and rain continued, but by midmorning the storm had lost much of its intensity. The two men sloshed through the water that had entered the lodge during the tidal surge that hit in the early morning hours. Delilah remained safe and dry on the stairway leading to the second floor, watching Evan and Harland as they pushed the bookcase away from the front door.

Evan gestured toward the cat. “Looks like Delilah may have to live on the stairs and second floor until we get all this water out of here.”

Harland chuckled. “You can be sure she won't get her paws wet, and that's a fact.” He grunted as he moved the bookcase far enough to open the door. “Might as well get out here and see what's left of the place.”

The skies remained dark and foreboding, but Harland appeared calm. Uprooted trees had been tossed about like sticks. A giant cypress blocked the main path from the lodge, the limbs stretched in awkward angles like broken appendages, but Harland motioned him forward. “Getting this tree out of the path will be one of our first tasks. Let's make our way over to the O'Sullivans' place, and then we'll move on to the workers' quarters, the boathouse, the clubhouse, and the cottages. Best to check out the damage and then decide what needs our attention right away. Don't even need to go see the windmill—it was probably the first thing to fall.”

Evan stared in disbelief as they picked their way through the piles of debris that blocked their path at every turn. A gnawing emptiness settled in the pit of his stomach, the void deepening with each remembrance of Alfred's death. The thought of finding other dead or wounded workers pressed on him like a heavy weight. At least Melinda was safe.

Melinda sat at a distance keeping a close watch for Mrs. Mifflin's gesture. This afternoon's gathering was the first tea the matron had hosted since her failed social for Mrs. McKinley. All of the servants had received explicit instructions that blunders would not be tolerated. And, as usual, they'd heard Mrs. Mifflin's habitual warning that their wages would be decreased if anyone made a mistake.

Sally grinned and gently elbowed Melinda when Mrs. Mifflin had issued the customary edict. Yet they knew the words were more than an idle threat. She would execute her promise if she deemed it necessary. None of the servants could afford a decrease in their wages, but they worried more about the matron's temperamental repercussions than any reduction in pay. So on this particular day all of the servants were striving to please.

Once tea had been served and on Mrs. Mifflin's signal, Melinda would make her way to the piano and entertain the guests while they enjoyed the afternoon repast. “Don't play too loud,” Mrs. Mifflin had sternly instructed. “I want the music to fill any silences but be soft enough to permit unhindered conversation.”

On other occasions Melinda had been granted permission to read while she waited to serve Mrs. Mifflin's needs. Today, however, her gaze would remain fixed upon her mistress. The guests, smaller in number than those who had been invited to Mrs. McKinley's tea, were seated in the parlor, while Melinda remained on the perimeter, close to the piano, within sight of Mrs. Mifflin and also within earshot of any conversations. The matrons' perfumes soon overpowered the room. Scents of spring flowers mingled with heavier musky aromas in a blend that soon caused Melinda's eyes to water. She touched the corner of her handkerchief to her eyes, thankful the ladies would be in the other room while she played the piano. Sneezing during her presentation would be unacceptable.

Martha Genesee, one of Mrs. Mifflin's close friends, snapped open her fan. “It's warm for October, don't you think, Dorothea?” She whisked the fan back and forth in front of her nose.

“A little, but we often have these final spurts of summer during early fall.” Although Mrs. Mifflin appeared to have placed her full attention on her guest, Melinda could see her employer's eyes darting about the dining room to ensure all was going smoothly. Soon Sally would have everything properly set in the dining room, and Mrs. Mifflin could relax.

“Edward and I were horrified by the news coming from Georgia. With that terrible hurricane and some of the islands underwater . . .” Her voice trailed off and she flapped the fan back and forth as though she might faint. “What did Cyrus have to say? Has he heard anything from Mr. Zimmerman or Victor Morley? Edward is eager for news and said I should inquire. He knows Cyrus keeps abreast of such matters. We'd considered going down before Christmas this year, but if Bridal Veil has flooded, we won't be going at all.”

Melinda scooted to the edge of her chair, certain she'd heard Mrs. Genesee mention Georgia and some of the islands being underwater. Shock turned to panic as the words registered in her consciousness. She longed to grab Mrs. Genesee by the arm and force the woman to repeat every word she'd said. It took everything in Melinda's power to sit at attention and remain quiet, to smile with folded hands resting on her lap, as though all remained perfect with the world. She silently berated herself for daydreaming instead of keeping an ear on the conversation.

Mrs. Mifflin frowned and clucked her tongue. “Such an unpleasant topic to discuss during tea, Martha.”

“It wasn't my idea to discuss the disaster. Edward reminded me several times that I should inquire. He'll be unhappy if I have nothing to relate. The newspapers have reported a variety of articles, and all of them differ. He doesn't know what to believe.”

Disaster? Melinda heard the word as clearly as the chimes of the parlor clock. Myriad questions lodged in her throat, but she dared not say a word. She pressed her damp palms down the front of her silk moiré skirt and strained forward, afraid to miss a word yet frightened of what would be said.

“Now, Martha, you know how newspapermen like to exaggerate. They all want fascinating headlines so they'll sell more papers than their competitors.” Mrs. Mifflin tipped her head toward Mrs. Genesee, but she cast a quick glance at Melinda.

Sally stepped into the kitchen doorway, and the moment Mrs. Mifflin looked in her direction, the maid gave an affirmative nod. Mrs. Mifflin stood and invited the ladies into the dining room. As they made their way into the other room, Mrs. Mifflin approached Melinda.

“I've decided you should begin to play now. Please take your place at the piano.” Mrs. Mifflin looked at the piano and then back at Melinda.

She stood, but her feet wouldn't move. “Has Bridal Veil been struck by a hurricane?” Her throat caught as she awaited an answer.

Mrs. Mifflin's eyes turned dark. “Were you eavesdropping on my conversation with Mrs. Genesee, Melinda?”

“I wasn't—”

“Go to the piano. We will discuss this after my guests depart. And play well. I don't want my guests to hear any sour notes.”

Hands trembling, Melinda took her seat at the piano. Worried or not, she must play well. Otherwise, she'd gain little information from Mrs. Mifflin. She inhaled a deep breath and caught her lower lip between her teeth. She must concentrate. “Please, Lord, help me play well,” she whispered.

For the remainder of the afternoon, her fingers moved effortlessly across the keys, playing the concertos of Mozart, Beethoven, and Chopin that she'd memorized during her endless hours of practice. Now she was thankful for the years of piano lessons that made it possible for her to perform under such pressure and worry. Several of the ladies clapped when she completed Mozart's Concerto no. 21.

Mrs. Genesee strolled toward the piano. “I do love that piece, and you play beautifully.”

Melinda glanced at Mrs. Mifflin. Had she been playing too loudly? The matron's expression appeared detached, which generally was not a good sign. The ladies had finished their tea, and more of them now strolled into the parlor and gathered around the piano.

Mrs. Williston took a seat near the piano. “I'm so pleased you supplied us with entertainment, Dorothea. I do appreciate an opportunity to enjoy artistic talent along with our tea. I had planned to have poetry readings at my next gathering. I think we could all benefit from more than idle chatter, don't you agree, ladies?”

“Indeed! Leave it to Dorothea to be the one who encourages us to expand our cultural horizons.” With a smile large enough to swallow her face, Mrs. Genesee gestured toward their hostess.

A polite round of applause followed. While Melinda worried over the news she'd heard and the safety of Evan and the other employees on Bridal Veil, the ladies discussed a variety of offerings they might introduce at future gatherings. She longed for them to leave so that she could make further inquiry. None of the servants had mentioned anything about a storm, but how would they know? Most of them cared little about the world outside of Cleveland.

When the last of the guests had departed, Mrs. Mifflin gestured for Melinda to follow her upstairs. She hoped the guests' approval of her music would temper Mrs. Mifflin's earlier displeasure. She remained at a short distance behind Mrs. Mifflin while she climbed the steps. The older woman glanced over her shoulder when she arrived at the top of the staircase. “I cannot abide this dress any longer. The lace has scratched my neckline the entire afternoon.” She strode to the mirror in the upstairs hallway and leaned forward for a better view. “Look at these red splotches. Everywhere the lace touches, I have a red mark. You need to do something to fix the neckline, or this dress is unwearable.”

“I'll see to it this evening.” Melinda followed Mrs. Mifflin into her sitting room and then into her bedroom, where she set to work unfastening the dress and corset. Mrs. Mifflin frowned as she touched her fingers to her neckline. “Your guests appeared to enjoy themselves this afternoon.” Perhaps a bit of conversation would distract Mrs. Mifflin from her concern over the neckline of her gown.

“They did, indeed. Your musical training proved a benefit to all of us. At least your mother did not fail you in that area. I am pleased the ladies have decided to use our gatherings for more than idle chatter, which ultimately leads to unfounded gossip.” She removed the dress from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. “In the future, you need to refrain from eavesdropping, Melinda.” She stepped out of the dress that lay in folds around her feet. “I don't intend to decrease your wages for the improper behavior, but only because you redeemed yourself at the keyboard.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Mifflin. I truly was not eavesdropping. It was only when I heard mention of Bridal Veil that my attention was drawn to Mrs. Genesee's comments. Surely you can understand my extreme worry over the employees residing on the island, especially if a hurricane has left them flooded.” Melinda lifted the gown from the floor and then removed a day dress from the wardrobe—one that didn't have any lace embellishment.

Mrs. Mifflin's eyebrows dipped low above her eyes. “You're worried about all of the employees or one employee in particular?”

“My concern is for all of them, as well as for those who may be stranded on the other islands. Of course I'm extremely distressed that something may have happened to Evan.”

“So I would assume. Sally tells me that he continues to write you every week. Sometimes even more often.” Her frown deepened. “You truly should cease this letter writing nonsense, Melinda. Though I find it inappropriate, I haven't forbade you from keeping company with a gamekeeper while we're on the island. I realize he's a pleasant diversion during your time off, but there's no need to continue corresponding throughout the year.” She fussed with the bodice of her dress. “I find it completely inappropriate that the two of you would exchange words of affection with each other.”

Melinda was stunned to hear Mrs. Mifflin mention the possibility of forbidding her to keep company with Evan on her time off work. But it was her final remark that truly gained her attention. “Words of affection?” Anger welled in her chest, but she forced an even tone. Sally had obviously been up to her old ways again. “Why would you think such a thing?”

“As I've often mentioned, with a bit of persuasion, Sally can be most informative. She does enjoy an extra coin in her pocket now and again.”

“Since it would seem she has been steaming open my mail and sharing the contents when it is to her advantage, you already know of my deep feelings for Evan, so it should come as no surprise that I would be very distressed to think he'd been stranded on Bridal Veil during a hurricane.” Melinda looked away, but not before Mrs. Mifflin noticed her tears.

“There's no need to become overwrought. I'm sure Martha Genesee was exaggerating what she'd heard. She loves to make a story out of nothing. When Cyrus returns for supper, I promise to inquire. Surely you realize that if there was any need for concern, he would have already mentioned the storm.”

Melinda didn't know any such thing. Mr. Mifflin never discussed anything of consequence with his wife—at least not when she was attending to the woman. Instead, their hours together consisted of small talk and long silences. Melinda thanked the woman, but waiting for Mr. Mifflin's return would surely seem an eternity. In the meantime, she would go downstairs and ask the other servants if they'd heard anything about the storm. She also planned to have a word with Sally about her snoopy behavior.

Melinda started toward the door, but Mrs. Mifflin stopped her. “This would be an excellent opportunity for you to begin removing that lace on my gown.”

Melinda sighed. Instead of carrying through with her plans, she'd be stuck in Mrs. Mifflin's sitting room removing tiny stitches from lace while Mrs. Mifflin wrote a letter to her cousin in New York.

Careful not to rip either gown or embellishment, Melinda had detached the lace by the time Mr. Mifflin returned home. When the downstairs door opened, she turned toward the sitting-room door. If Mrs. Mifflin wasn't in the downstairs parlor, Mr. Mifflin usually greeted his wife in her sitting room. Melinda fervently hoped he would do so today. She strained to hear the sound of footfalls on the carpeted stairs and silently cheered when she finally heard Mr. Mifflin approach.

He tapped before entering the room. “I see you ladies are hard at work. How did your tea go this afternoon, my dear?” He crossed the room and placed a fleeting kiss on his wife's cheek. “I thought you might be resting after an afternoon of activity.”

Mrs. Mifflin set aside the pen and paper. “I would have enjoyed a short nap, but I have correspondence that must be answered. What with all the plans for today's social, I'm behind in my replies. There's so much that requires my attention, it seems unending at times.”

“You do a marvelous job, my dear. No one could ever complain about your adherence to proper social etiquette.” He glanced toward Melinda. “Isn't that correct, Melinda?”

“You're absolutely right, sir. Your wife's accomplishments are exemplary. Even today, her guests were praising her abilities.”

Mrs. Mifflin preened while she explained. “They lauded me with a host of compliments.” She gave a little shrug. “And all because I had Melinda play the piano.” Uttering Melinda's name seemed to jar the older woman's memory. “Tell me, Cyrus, has there been any word of a hurricane hitting Bridal Veil? Martha Genesee said she and Edward had heard reports of damage to some of the islands off the coast of Georgia. Edward instructed her to inquire, but I knew nothing to report.”

“Nothing definite yet, although I do know there was damage in Biscayne. A storm, but I don't know if it was a genuine hurricane. The reports have been varied, and I can't say we know anything of a precise nature just yet.”