Chapter Eighteen
The sun had almost completed its downward path before the carriage turned onto the tree-lined road that led to the Beaumont estate. Having endured six hours of bone-jarring torture in stormy silence, Sarah was weary beyond belief. She had played Christopher’s words over and over in her mind, but they just didn’t fit the proud, intimidating man who sat before her. Now as the carriage pulled to a stop, she wanted nothing more than to find her bed. But as she thought of Agatha, anxiously awaiting their arrival, she knew her bid for sleep would have to wait.
Her composure was firmly in place when Nick took her arm to help her from the carriage.
“Sarah . . .”
She stopped more from the tone in his voice than the pressure on her arm.
“You were right last night.” He gazed down at her, his eyes dark. “Sometimes I am a complete jackass.”
She knew he waited for her smile, but her pain was still too fresh and her smile wouldn’t come. “Yes, you are. But stay,” she said softly. “Mrs. Beaumont will be waiting for us. Why don’t you come in for a few minutes and share a cup.”
Nick felt her rejection more keenly than he would ever have thought possible. Had he been noble only to lose her completely? But you’re sending her home, his mind argued. You never really had her in the first place. His hand tightened on her arm. “I am sorry.”
“I am, too.” Her eyes mirrored her regret. “Let’s go find your grandmother. She’s probably been driving Luther mad these last days.”
Deciding she couldn’t hate him more than she already did, Nick pulled her close and hugged her shoulders to his side. “Jackass, is it?”
“Yes, Mr. Beaumont. And I’m sure your grandmother would agree.”
For the briefest moment, a worried look crossed his face. Surely she wasn’t planning on telling Gran about their disaster in the barn.
She punched his arm and laughed out loud. “Jackass,” she declared firmly, smiling up at him for the first time that day as they entered the house.
“Well, you two certainly took your own sweet time in coming!”
Nick turned to Sarah and shook his head. “Some things never change” he whispered.
But to Sarah, things had changed and not for the better. At first she thought the candles not bright enough, for Agatha had no color in her pale cheeks. Then, as she approached the bed, she felt her anxiety grow. Never had she seen Agatha look so frail. She sat propped against the pillows, new lines ringing her eyes and mouth. Sarah could hardly believe the transformation. It was as if the woman was wasting away before her very eyes. She turned to Nick, but he had already moved to sit on the bed beside her.
“So how are you, Gran? I was hoping to see you up and in your chair.”
Agatha shrugged her thin shoulders. “My arm’s been aching. Besides, with you and Sarah gone, there was nothing to get up for. Now tell me, how was the wedding? Did you give my best to Mrs. Carlson and that rascal husband of hers?”
Nick turned to Sarah. “Gran is especially fond of Mr. Carlson because of his outrageous behavior. He flirts with her constantly.”
Agatha snorted at the expression on Sarah’s face. “Oh, don’t worry,” she said, rolling her eyes. “We never did anything. Not that the man didn’t invite me down to the barn a time or two.”
Nick had the grace to cough and Sarah blushed, but Agatha’s once-sharp eyes never noticed. “I don’t think I ever had as much fun as that summer in ’74. Do you remember that, Nicky?” she questioned. “The time right after you and Chris finished school.”
Nick smiled and nodded. “If I remember correctly, you enjoyed yourself because you and Mrs. Carlson played whist for twenty-four hours straight.”
“Ah, those were the days,” Agatha sighed. “Tell me, did they set up a room for gaming this time?”
“Three rooms,” Sarah stated primly, her voice full of censure.
Nick looked from Sarah’s stiff form back to his grandmother. “I don’t think Sarah quite approved.”
“Bah,” Agatha waved a hand. “There’s no sin in a good game of whist. Now, dice – that’s another thing entirely.”
Nick’s rich laughter filled the room. “That’s because you always lose at dice,” he chuckled. He turned to see Sarah leaning wearily against the bedpost. “Gran . . .” he bent to kiss her cheek. “I’m going to leave now. Sarah is exhausted and you look like you could use some rest as well.”
Agatha sighed. As much as she hated to see him go, she was tired, and lately it was becoming more difficult to catch her breath. But now that she knew they were home, maybe she’d sleep better. “You’ll come for breakfast tomorrow,” she stated firmly, giving him a look that dared contradiction.
Nick shook his head. “I’ve been away for three days, and I’ll need to be at the docks all the earlier. I’ll stop by on my return, but it might be late.”
Agatha huffed. “When are you ever going to come when I want you to?” she challenged.
Nick dropped a kiss on her snowy white head. “Maybe when you ask instead of giving me a command.” He rose to go, and Sarah straightened.
“I’ll see Mr. Beaumont to the door and be right back,” she said softly.
“He knows where the door is,” Agatha snapped, “and I want to hear all the gossip from the wedding.”
“I’ll only be a moment.” Sarah smiled, then, turning, she left the room with Nick, pulling him away from Agatha’s door. “I think you should call the doctor. She looks terrible.”
Nick’s smile was full of compassion, and he gently patted her hand. “I do see that,” he said, “but it’s not really that bad.”
“Not really that bad!” Sarah gasped in a hushed whisper. “How can you say that? Luther said she’s been off her food. Can you not see how poorly she’s become? She’s practically emaciated.”
“What I meant was I understand your surprise.” Nick took her hand. “The first time I had to make a trip after Gran took ill, I returned to find her at death’s door, or so I thought. The household was in an uproar. Gran hadn’t eaten since I left, they told me. Well I went to the cookhouse to have a talk with Mrs. Hempsted to see what she could prepare to tempt Gran’s appetite. Only I found Mrs. Hempsted in a tizzy because someone was stealing food. Gran walked with a cane then and it didn’t take much work to find that the old faker had been refusing the meals in her room and then sneaking into her own cookhouse by night and raiding the larder.
“But now she can’t even leave her bed without assistance.”
Nick smiled. “And can you really be that sure that she hasn’t bribed a maid to bring her a snack? A coin here or there will buy you almost anything, including silence.”
Sarah shook her head, not ready to give in. “but she looks so . . .”
“Old?” Nick said quietly.
“Yes!” she gasped. “I don’t remember her looking so fragile, and we’ve only been gone three days.”
Again Nick nodded. “In the beginning, each time I went away for a few days, I was startled at her appearance when I returned. How could a person age before my eyes, I would think.”
“That’s it exactly.”
“Then as the months turned to years, I began to realize that that was how Gran really looked. The longer you’re around her, her fiery temper and wicked disposition make you forget that, beneath it all, she’s still an old woman. So to return home and see her thus was indeed a shock. Trust me, by tomorrow, you’ll think she’s improved, and within a few days she’ll seem just like always.”
Sarah’s brow wrinkled with thought. “You might be right, but I’m still not sure. I think I’ll keep a close watch anyway.”
Before she could object, Nick raised her hand and placed a kiss on her palm. “Thank you for caring about her,” he whispered as he closed her hand around the kiss. “I’ll be back late tomorrow. You try to get some rest and don’t let Gran run you ragged.”
Sarah smiled and clenched her fist tighter. “Until tomorrow,” she w
hispered to his retreating back.
“So . . .” Agatha challenged when Sarah entered her room. “Did you get him to kiss you good-bye?”
Sarah held her fist tight and slipped it into the deep pocket of her skirt. “Now, Mrs. Beaumont,” she chastised, “What ever would make you think that?”
Agatha chuckled. “Just because my legs don’t work, don’t be foolish enough to think my mind doesn’t. I can see the way Nicky looks at you. Now tell me, what did you think of Julie?
Sarah perched on the corner of the bed and leaned her back gratefully against the bedpost. “She was lovely. Her gown was the most delicate shade of pink and covered with lace and beads. She sparkled like a jewel every time she made a move. But her wig . . .” Sarah’s eyes grew wide from the memory. “Mrs. Beaumont, never in all my life have I seen such a creation. It was nearly this tall.” She gestured with her hands above her head. “It was pure white and decorated with pearls and the tiniest pink ribbons. All in all it was quite beautiful.”
“But . . .” Agatha prompted as her eyes began to sparkle.
Sarah gave a tired sigh. “I can’t imagine how she managed to walk around all day with such a huge thing on her head. If you ask my opinion,” she glanced over her shoulder as if assuring their privacy, “I think it would have done better as a centerpiece.”
Agatha chuckled and clapped her gnarled hands together. “That child always was spoiled rotten. Was she up to mischief as usual?”
Already feeling guilty for her comment on the wig, Sarah could bring herself to say no more. Carefully she smoothed her skirt and folded her hands. “She made a beautiful bride.”
Agatha winced from the sudden twinge in her arm. “Damn these old bones,” she swore. “Did you get to meet Marigold?”
Sarah’s brow wrinkled in thought as she tried to remember all the names and faces of the past two days. “I don’t think so. Did you expect her to be there?”
Agatha snorted. “Wherever my Nicky goes, you can just bet that Marigold Thurmont will be there, sniffing at his heels.”
Sarah shook her head. “I’m sure I would have remembered a name as lovely as Marigold.”
“Bah,” Agatha sneezed loudly. “Lovely isn’t the word for it. Marigold has hair the color of mud and a voice that’s just as pleasant.”
Sarah smiled despite herself. “No, I don’t remember seeing any mud, on the ground or otherwise.”
“Good.” Agatha folded her hands on the coverlet. “Maybe her parents have finally pounded some sense in her head. Now, tell me, what did people think of your new dress?”
Sarah stretched and tried to settle more comfortably. “Thanks to you, I was a complete success. I actually lost count of how many asked me where it came from.”
“And what did you say?”
Sarah smiled and suppressed a yawn. “Why, I told them it had been designed by Madam Rousseau, the best dressmaker in town.”
Agatha’s pale eyes began to sparkle. “You know, I think if I play my cards right, I might make a profit at this after all.” She grinned at Sarah’s confused expression. “I made Charlotte promise me a slight commission from any referrals that came from that dress. It cost a fortune, so it’s the least she could do.”
Sarah’s eyes grew wide. “You are terrible,” she chuckled, wondering why she had ever imagined Agatha to be failing. The woman might be old, but she was still sharper than a tack.
“Not terrible,” Agatha’s expression was smug, “just a clever businesswoman.”
“Speaking of business . . .” Sarah sat up straighter. “I have some to attend to myself. I promised Madame Rousseau that I would bring Catherine to meet her."
"Catherine who?" Agatha demanded with a frown. "I know no Catherine."
"Catherine Richardson," Sarah said slowly, removing her brooch. "She made this." She placed the brooch in Agatha's palm. "Look at how delicate the stitches are. Isn't she talented?"
" 'Tis indeed good work." Agatha examined the piece closely. "I wouldn't mind having one myself. Is she going to sell these to Charlotte?"
"I really couldn't say." Sarah tucked the brooch back into her pocket. "Catherine and her family live near the end of the south road. They are in desperate want of common necessities, and if Catherine could get employment with Madame Rousseau, her family would benefit greatly."
"And what is your profit in this arrangement?" Agatha challenged.
Sarah's eyes filled with surprise. "Why, nothing."
Agatha shook her head. "Sarah, Sarah, Sarah," she said slowly. "When are you ever going to learn? There is always a profit to be made. The trick is to find out how to make it yours."
Sarah looked confused. "But why should I expect a profit from Catherine's labor? I'm not doing any of the work."
"No, but you are presenting her with the opportunity, are you not?" Sarah nodded slowly. "Then you should be compensated."
"But I'm not even sure that things will work out."
Agatha gestured toward the brooch. "Charlotte is a businesswoman even if you are not. She'll not be so foolish as to turn down the fingers that hold this talent."
Sarah clapped her hands together. "I do hope you are right. But I must ask a favor of you."
Agatha's eyes rounded with surprise, for in all the weeks Sarah had been with her, never once had she asked for a thing. "What do you need?"
"I would like to borrow a few pounds." She spoke quickly as her enthusiasm grew. "I would return it to you as soon as I reach home."
Agatha waved her hand. "That's not the point. What do you need it for?"
Sarah edged closer on the bed. "If someone came to you seeking employment and their clothes spoke of desperate circumstances, you would hire them. But you would feel as if you were doing them a favor, so any wage offered would seem grand."
Agatha nodded silently.
"But if the same person came to you with skills you could use and looked as if they didn't need your employment, you might be tempted to offer more to entice them to work for you, am I not correct?"
A slow smile crossed Agatha's wrinkled face. "And this little Catherine you spoke of, her circumstances are that desperate?"
Sarah shuddered. "I don't know how the family is managing to make ends meet."
"And you wish to buy her a new frock for when she meets Charlotte so she'll be offered higher wages." Sarah nodded and Agatha cackled in glee. "After all that Charlotte has done for you, you'd do that to her?"
Sarah looked down and smiled. "Did you not say that business is business?"
Agatha's cackle turned to a full belly laugh that brought tears to her eyes. "My dear, I think I might have underestimated you."
Catherine, who had hardly spoken at all all morning, now chatted like a magpie as they reached the broken gate to her yard.
"Ma, Jimmy, come quick," she cried with excitement. And before she and Sarah could enter, Gracie Richardson, with baby Jessie on her hip and Jimmy at her side, came tumbling out of the shack. "I gotta job," Catherine shouted to the sky before reaching to give her mother and sister a fierce hug. "I'm gonna start tomorrow. Can you believe it? She thinks I have talent. She's gonna let me start with hems and then I get to work up to inside seams, and soon she promised she'd teach me to do the fancy beadwork. I just can't believe it." Catherine reached for Jimmy and swung him around in a circle.
Gracie turned to Sarah with eyes wide. "Is this true? It really worked out like you said?"
Sarah, who had not stopped smiling since they had left the shop, nodded with pleasure. "Madame Rousseau asked Catherine to do a seam for her while we waited and then she asked her to stitch a flower. You should have seen her, Gracie," Sarah beamed with pride. "Madame said she had never seen such straight stitching from one so young. She is willing to let Catherine work with her and learn the trade."
"Catherine ain't gonna have to move there, is she?" Jimmy questioned.
"No," Sarah said smiling. "I know in most apprenticeships that is common, but Catherine may come hom
e each evening. That way she can still lend a hand here."
"And she's gonna really make money?" Jimmy's eyes were now wide with the same excitement as his sister's.
Sarah named an amount that made Gracie stagger and almost drop Jessie. "They want to pay her that much?"
"You should have heard Miss Sarah, Ma, she was wonderful."
Sarah blushed. "I just pointed out to Madam Rousseau that since she usually has to house and shelter the apprentices she takes in, it would be only fair to apply that as a wage for Catherine since she would going home at night."
"I just can't believe it." Gracie felt the tears on her cheeks but could do nothing to stop them.
Now stop that," Sarah commanded softly. "We still have more business to discuss."
"We do?" Gracie sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve and setting the baby down.
"Yes. I would like to make you a proposition," Sarah said. "I have arranged to extend you a line of credit in Mr. Wilkins's store. Catherine will need at least another skirt and apron like the one we purchased this morning. Also, it will be a full month before Madame will pay Catherine anything. So if you need to make any other purchases, Mr. Wilkins will run a tab. Catherine will pay him one shilling each month starting two months from now until the account is free andclear. Does this sound agreeable to you?"
Again Gracie could only nod her head as tears coursed down her cheeks.
"Does this mean I can get a peppermint stick, Ma?" Jimmy asked excitedly.
Gracie looked to Sarah with questioning eyes. "I would think that a peppermint stick every two weeks as payment for keeping the garden clear of weeds should be a fee that your mother and sister could agree to."
"Whoooeeeee." Jimmy hopped and danced around then stopped suddenly. "Hey, Miss Sarah, do you think you could find a job for me, too?" he asked. "You know, one where they would pay me with real money."
Sarah smiled. "I'll see what I can do, but for now I think your mother could really use your help around here."
Gracie looked at the shack and then back to Sarah. "Mr. Wilkins will really extend credit?"
"Ma . . ." Catherine grabbed her mother's hands with excitement. "What if we were to get a bucket of paint and maybe a few nails?"
"I'm real good with nails," Jimmy piped in.
"We could . . . Hey, who's that?"
The group turned to see Ruby clutching her heart and running down the road as fast as her thick legs would carry her.
"Miz Sarah," she cried, gasping for breath. "Miz Sarah, you gotta come quick." The maid stopped and almost doubled over from the pain in her side. "It's Mrs. Beaumont," she gasped. "I think she's really dying this time and she didn't even write no note."
"Dear God. Sarah grasped the woman's hands and tried to calm her. "What happened, Ruby? Where is Luther? Did he go to fetch Mr. Beaumont?"
Ruby shook her head and struggled for air. "Luther had to go down to Jamestown this morning. He's not gonna be back till super."
"Did you send anyone to fetch Mr. Beaumont?" Sarah tried to keep the panic from her voice as she watched Ruby nod her head.
"Oscar took the wagon. But Miz Sarah, Oscar, he don't know the dock like Luther does and I don't know if he's even gonna be able to find Master Nick." Tears ran freely down the woman's face.
"Catherine, run in the house and fetch Miss Ruby some cider," Gracie said, shifting anxiously from foot to foot, not knowing how to help.
"Did you send for the doctor?" Sarah questioned.
Ruby shook her head as her hands twisted her skirt in distress. "Mrs. Beaumont, she said no doctors. She said she just wanted you and Master Nick. Miz Sarah, we didn't know what to do. I ran to the dressmaker shop and then all the way here. Mrs. Beaumont, she ain't never been so bad before." Ruby gratefully accepted the cup of cider and took a gulp.
Sarah turned to Jimmy. "Can you run fast?"
His chest popped with pride. "You just watch me."
"Then I want you to run to the doctor's as fast as you can. Tell him to get over to Mrs. Beaumont's."
"Yes ma'am." Jimmy saluted, and was off like a shot.
"Ruby, you stay here until you catch your breath. Gracie, get Catherine to the store for the things she'll need for tomorrow. Mr. Wilkins is expecting you. I'll see you again as soon as I can." Turning, Sarah hiked her skirt past her knees and ran down the lane as if the devil himself were chasing her.
It seemed like a lifetime before she reached Agatha's front steps, and Tanzy yanked the door open before Sarah's hand even touched the knob. "Thank God you're here Miss Sarah. Miss Agatha is so sick."
"Who is with her?" Sarah took a deep breath and started up the stairs, Tanzy close on her heels.
"Why, no one would dare go in without Miss Agatha's permission," she whined. "It's just so awful."
Sarah bit back the reply about common sense that rested on her tongue. "Fetch me hot and cold water, a basin, and some clean cloths," she snapped, "and get them now." Tanzy nodded and scurried back down the stairs.
Taking only a second to calm her breathing, Sarah turned the knob and entered the room where the feared Agatha Beaumont lay all alone and dying. She found Agatha flat on her back, struggling for breath, and nearly blue from the effort.
"It's going to be all right," she soothed, gathering the old woman in her arms and gently easing her into a sitting position. "Just be calm. You're not alone anymore. I'm here now."
Agatha's gnarled hand clamped onto Sarah's arm like a claw. "Sarah?" she gasped.
"Don't try to talk. Just concentrate on breathing deep, easy breaths." With a firm hand, she kept Agatha's shoulders braced and began to rub with a slow, steady motion on the woman's back. As Agatha's breathing eased slightly, Sarah let her relax back against the pillows that she had propped into place. "You'll breathe better if you're not flat." She struggled to keep her voice calm, for Agatha was clearly terrified. "Just relax and take slow, even breaths."
Tanzy knocked timidly and entered with a tray and a steaming kettle. "Tanzy . . ." Sarah's voice was soft and even, "when the doctor arrives, be sure to bring him right up."
"No doctor," Agatha pleaded with a pitiful cry.
"There, there." Sarah took Agatha's hands within her own. I'm not going to leave you, but you must try to stay calm." She turned back to find Tanzy beside the bed, her eyes wide in horror. If Agatha hadn't known she was sick, one look on the maid's face would have placed her six feet under. "Set down the tray and then you may go, she said firmly, giving the girl a threatening stare. "And close the door behind you."
Sarah sat quietly and watched Agatha's eyes flutter open. "Can you tell me what happened?" she asked gently, taking a damp cloth and wiping the perspiration form the woman's face. "Are you in pain?"
Agatha nodded. "The worst seems to be over now," she wheezed. "But when it happened, it felt like some giant fist was trying to rip my heart from my chest." Tears began to gather and Sarah blotted them gently with the cool cloth.
"Sarah, I'm so afraid of dying." Her tears came faster and Sarah could only blink back her own. "I'm going to die and Nick isn't going to come in time."
"Hush," Sarah scolded. "You're alive now and shall stay that way until Nick arrives."
Regretfully, Agatha shook her head back and forth on the pillow. "He won't, you know." Her voice was frail and haggard and her eyes drifted closed. "But the fault is my own. I've sent for him so many times when naught was amiss that now he'll not know the difference."
"Oscar will find him," Sarah promised desperately. "Agatha, open your eyes and look at me. I've never lied to you and I know that if we both have faith, Nick will get here in time."
Agatha blinked and for an instant her eyes grew clearer. "Sarah?" she questioned.
"I'm right here." Sarah pressed gently on the woman's hands. "I'll not leave you."
Agatha struggled to sit a little straighter. "Why, you're different. Why did I never notice that before?"
"Just hold my hands and hang on for Nick."
> Agatha smiled and felt a gentle peace seep into her aging bones. "It's all right," she whispered hoarsely, "I don't seem to be afraid anymore. Do you know how much you look like my little sister, Helena?" She gave Sarah a quizzical look. "You do, you know."
Sarah struggled to keep her tears at bay. "Agatha, you have to stay for Nick."
Agatha's eyes began to flutter. "Never going to forgive himself for not being here." She struggled to keep her eyes open. "Promise me you'll help him. Take his pain like you took my fear," she gasped.
Sarah swallowed hard against the knot in her throat. "Please just hold on."
"No," Agatha's voice grew stronger. "It's my time. But I can't go if Nicky . . . if Nicky suffers. Promise me you'll be with him tonight. Promise you'll give him comfort."
Sarah nodded, unable to see for the tears in her eyes.
"Good, pull the pillows away." Sarah sniffed, praying that any minute she'd hear the front door open and Nick's steps flying up the stairs.
"Won't die sitting up," Agatha said firmly. "Spare you the horror of breaking my bones."
Sarah struggled to stay calm. "Darling, no one is going to break any of your bones, but you have to sit up to breathe."
Agatha weakly shook her head. "When Hallie died . . . she froze in place. Doctor couldn't get . . . her body to straighten . . . had to break her bones." Agatha shuddered from the memory. "Hardest thing . . . I ever did. Let me . . . spare you that."
"Agatha, please."
"My time . . . Sarah." Agatha's voice was the barest whisper, but her thin lips smiled. "You. . . you know . . . better than I . . ."
"Agatha, think of Nick, please, just a few minutes more."
Agatha's eyes brightened. "Nick has you now . . . Please, Sarah . . . Hallie needs me. Don't . . . make me wait . . . Let me go home."
With tear-filled eyes and hands that trembled, Sarah eased the pillows from beneath Agatha's frail head. She watched the woman heave a great sigh as if a giant burden had been lifted.
"Remember . . . promise to Nick," she whispered. "Oh, Sarah . . . look . . ." Her voice grew weaker. "There's . . . my darling . . . Roger."
Sarah watched Agatha's eyes flutter closed on the name of her husband and knew she had truly started her journey home.