She chuckled a bit. Then she remembered Stella was grieving her father and she, Rose, had not even remembered to send her a note. She pulled out a piece of paper and wrote a letter of condolence and told her about Captain Lovell. She knew that Stella would not be back for several weeks. She had to take care of her father’s small estate and move his things out of the church parsonage. A new preacher would be needed. Rose felt her pain.
She tucked the drawings back into the drawer and said a prayer for Stella and her family. The house loomed large and lonely. She knew now that her husband’s presence even when he was away, kept this house alive. It didn’t really belong to her. Not really. She wondered if she could will it to Mrs. Jamison. Perhaps the children could come and live here. Nettie could sew. Perhaps teachers could be brought in. She could go back to Ireland. Back home.
Such strange thoughts entered her mind. Rose wondered if she was being childish or realistic like her mother taught her. Her father taught her to dream, her mother to survive. Each was important in it’s own way. She much preferred to dream, but in order to make them come true one had to have some common sensibilities.
She could not imagine living here, under the very watchful eye of Captain Wyatt and his gruff ways. He already owned the Emerald Star. Would he buy the Ireland Rose from her? She could perhaps find family in Ireland and settle with the money she made from the sale of the ship. Certainly her family tree would show her the way. There was only one way to know and that was to try. In a couple of weeks, she may send off a few letters, see if she could go home to someone who knew who she was and where she came from.
Rose lifted herself from the desk and moseyed to the living room, fingered the new draperies and upholstery she and Ava had changed. He had not seen any of it. She cried for that. How hopeless it all looked. How silly now, when it had seemed so important then. Yet, she was among the living. Someone should have this house. It was made for a family. She picked a piece of stationery with her husband’s name on top and began to make a list.
“Sell house. Sell Ireland Rose.”
She set it aside and with one step, she began her new life. She would make it count. Somehow. Someway.
* * *
Three letters went out in Monday’s post. And Captain Wyatt was due for his afternoon appointment. Rose knew he would be livid and with a second cup of tea to sustain her, she waited in her husband’s office, sitting in his chair. Still her stomach fluttered from lack of food, but she could not eat a bite.
She didn’t know what the good Captain wanted to discuss, but she was sure he would not be happy, no matter what it was about.
When the knocker reverberated through the foyer, she knew it was time to put aside her own feelings and give Captain Wyatt a chance to state his intentions. She forced herself to take several deep breaths. It couldn’t be that bad. She had a job to do. And she would do it.
The minute he walked in the door she could feel his disdain for her.
“Captain Wyatt.” She stood and motioned for him to take a seat. “You wished to see me?”
“Aye.” He took off his hat and remained standing. He would not be seated for he wasn’t staying long.
She wisely kept her tongue, even when he would not sit. He towered over her even from across the room.
“Why did you refuse to see me?”
“I, sir, needed time alone.”
“Time alone? What you have done is waylaid the Ireland Rose. I had a Captain ready to go and the weather has now turned against us. Had he left a week ago, he would have been in front of the storm.”
Rose looked down and then back at him. “I am sorry.”
“Sorry. Sorry is it? Mrs. Lovell, there will be spoilage that we cannot atone for. Captain Quinn, Paxon Quinn has a family of eight to feed.” His eyes, dark with anger speared hers.
Tears sprung to her eyes. She stood, placed her small hands on the desk and made herself look at him. “I am sorry, Sir. If there is something I can do, tell me what it is.”
Ashton Wyatt looked away for a moment. He saw the tears form in her eyes but she did not let them fall. He wanted to take her in his arms, but she was only a memory of lost love. He forced himself to meet her gaze, all the while turning his hat in his hands.
“There is nothing we can do except wait and hope for better weather. As it is he has lost more than a thousand dollars in spoiled food. And his men are wont to get back to England as well.”
“I will pay for the loss.” She stated and not knowing what to do with her hands, intertwined them at her waist. She would not let him see she was weak.
“You will pay?”
“Yes. If I have caused the harm. I will pay. She drew her husband’s book of checks from his drawer. She was now responsible for any monies he had. “If I have enough. I will pay.” She amended.
“You have enough.” He said gruffly and regret formed in his mind. She had no idea what Captain Lovell’s worth was.
She paused and felt a pang. Did he think her uninformed? Even as she thought it, she knew she was. How was she going to work with Mr. Dalton if she didn’t have Captain Wyatt on her side.
She expressed the thought, “Sir, I must have you work with me. I cannot handle Mr. Dalton. As you know I was foolish once. I will not be taken advantage of when there are so many ways Captain Lovell’s monies could help others. Will you work with me?”
Ashton Wyatt could hardly stand up to those blue eyes. She had him soul and spirit, already. Didn’t she know that? He wanted to kick himself for his inability to distance himself from the women he loved with this woman who looked so much like her. He could Captain a ship and a boatload of men, but couldn’t commandeer his own heart.
And he wanted out from underneath her gaze.
“I will work with you.”
He banished all thoughts of past hurts and meant what he said.
“Write the check. We will give anything we have that is still good to Jamison’s Orphanage. Would that suit you?”
“You know about our interest in Jamison’s?” She was surprised.
“Captain Lovell and I spoke about it.”
“I see.” She paused glad their conversation had taken a turn, because for the life of her she wanted to sit down and cry. “Then take this…” she wrote furiously and handed him a check. “And we will call it fair then. And finished?”
“Fair and finished.” He said without looking at the check, pocketing it, bowing slightly and as was his usual way, clomping out the door, his boots heavy across the marble floors.
Rose fell into her husband’s chair and let out a puff of air. What in the world am I going to do Lord? This man does not like me and I’m afraid I do not like him.
Tears popped out of her eyes like huge raindrops and she just let them fall.
Chapter 29
Rose stood on shaky knees and made her way to the living room. She fingered the new drapes and sat on the sofa as she eyed the newly upholstered chairs. The improvement was beautiful but she had no desire to rework an already suitable house. Something inside her had changed. She stood and wandered about, looking at each lamp, every piece of art on the wall. None of it was hers. Not even the items in the attic. She scolded herself for acting so childish. What did anything matter? Was it all about how one dressed? How one looked? How many manners one kept? How many rules one did not break?
Sighing, she looked out the window and saw the people coming by her house, the sidewalk full of new passengers alighting from someplace else and coming here to Charleston, for the holidays, for a visit, to live. She watched them go by. Husbands with adoring wives on their arm. Children following or being carried along.
She had to find a purpose for her life.
Days passed and finally the unspoken rule of visiting was upon her. Callers began to come and pay their respects. Portia had done a good job of waylaying them until Rose was ready. If ever she would be.
Mr. Dalton came and sashayed around, touching and almost taking inve
ntory of her space. She shuttered. Foster Perry came and shared news about Stella. She was not yet home, having been gone a month. Ava came but she seemed preoccupied. She didn’t even suggest ideas for another re-do. Mr. McGuire was not with her. Several ladies from the church brought dinners and notes asking her to call on them if she needed anything. But she knew she would not call. Everyone had their problems and hers were not theirs. She had to learn to face them on her own.
Besides day after tomorrow was Christmas Eve.
* * *
The day arrived rainy and cold, at least for Charlestonians. She remembered Baltimore Christmases and they were nothing like these. She did miss the soft white winter snows lit by moonlit nights. And she missed her mother and father. She wondered how Mr. Smithers was doing with the business he bought from her father. How her school friends fared. Were they married with children? Had they all forgotten her because she left? There was one boy in school she always liked. She’d never forget his name. Aaron Alexander. He threw paper snow at her one day and the teacher made her clean it up. And she at her fourth level and he his sixth. She had no older brother to protect her. When it came up at home, her father had said she could do one of two things. Ignore him. Or hit him.
She chose the first and from then on he pursued her diligently trying to get her attention. Rose smiled thinking of it now. No doubt Mr. Alexander was a businessman by now, for his father owned the Copper Penny hotel in downtown Baltimore. They were considered a very wealthy family in contrast to hers. She remembered something about his attending Yale. She had had two beaus but only in school. Her parents knew nothing about them.
As the night began to fall on Charleston’s residents, Christmas candles began to appear in windows, lights from every room seemed to be shining. She cast a quick glance outside and smiled. Many folks were walking along the boardwalk in their sweaters and hats, many, she knew were anxious to see the Ashley and Cooper Rivers where they met in a V on the battery. She gazed through gauze curtains and wished for days gone by.
“Ireland Rose” she scolded herself aloud. “Pop out of it this instant.” Her mother’s words. “No time to dawdle, there’s work to be done.”
She fashioned her shawl tighter around her shoulders and went up to bed. She wanted nothing more than to forget Captain Wyatt’s disappointment in her and all the faces she wore for each visitor hoping to keep her husband’s memory in good standing in the Charleston community. She must do that for him.
Pulling on the railing for strength, she climbed the stairs then stopped at his room and pictured him there the last time she saw him. He was white and the life had gone out of his eyes. Slowly she shut the door, but could not shut out the memory from her mind.
The door to her room shut with a loud click in the quiet house. Rose changed into night clothes and crawled under the counterpane covering her head. Her eyes closed and she remembered nothing.
Chapter 30
Sometime during the night deep in sleep she heard Portia calling her name. “Miz Rose, Captain Wyatt down in the drawing room. He wants to see you. And he don’t look too good neither.”
The words were real weren’t they? She didn’t know for sure until she saw the candle dancing in Portia’s face, her dark eyes large.
“What? Captain Wyatt?” She tried to sit up. “He’s here? Whatever for?” She wondered. No fear entered her mind. Her husband was gone and he could not bring her bad news anymore. She trusted him enough to know he would never make an unnecessary visit. The coverlet was pushed away and as before Portia made her suitable enough for a mid-night visit.
She pulled her neck-to-toe woolen wrap around her nightgown and tied it closed. Portia tied up her loose hair in back. “It be good ‘nuff.” She said and handed her the candle just like before.
“I be waitin’ up here you need anything chile.”
Rose descended the stairs, her slippered feet making no noise.
She made her way to the room and stood in the doorway. Her mouth opened to speak but she stopped short of entering and clamped her lips shut. He was pacing across the width of the room in front of the fireplace, back and forth, his hand rushing through his hair twice. Slowly she placed herself in the square open space. At once he turned. Rose took a step forward.
“You’re injured Captain Wyatt…” her voice hoarse from sleep.
He stopped pacing for a moment and as though thinking what to say, he took two steps forward, but as was his usual manner, did not draw closer. “Mrs. Lovell, I have an extreme favor I must ask of you.”
Rose took couldn’t help but draw closer to him. Once he’d stopped pacing she could see in the candle’s light that his eye was nearly swelled shut. Blue wounds covered his face. A patch of his cheek was scraped. His dark eyes had blood in them.
“Shall I call for Portia to attend your….your wounds?” She kept her voice soft. Captain Wyatt, she knew, carried a strong undertow beneath the surface. Always had. Especially when it came to her.
“No.” He said defining the moment with his sharp growl. “I’m not here because of myself.“ He gave her his back again.
He hesitated so long, and swept his hand through his hair twice before turning back.
“Mrs. Lovell, I am sorry to say there is a young woman from the orphanage . . .
Rose interrupted.
“Jamison’s?” she took several steps forward. She must know.
“No, the white orphanage.”
“I see.” She settled but was not calm inside.
“She is with child.” He said quietly.
Rose’s mind told her that Mr. Wyatt had some trouble on his hands. She had heard about his women. But a young girl from the orphanage. She was incensed but with difficulty, held her tongue.
“She needs a place to stay.”
“Where is she?” Rose would not deny the woman assistance.
“She is waiting in the carriage. I did not know what to do with her at this hour. So I came here.”
He had turned to face her. Rose could see the hurt and anger in his bloodshot eyes. She had never seen Captain Wyatt undone.
“Bring her in.” Rose said. “She will stay here.”
Captain Wyatt brought his eyes straight up to hers. “Are you certain. You have only lost your husband and….”
“Yes, I know.” She stopped him with her words. “And I am only a child.”
“That’s not what I was going to say.” He shot back.
Rose kept her lips glued together.
The man had enough trouble, it looked like and she knew in a few days, weather permitting he was following Captain Quinn across the Atlantic in an unusual mid-winter journey.
And, it looked as though someone had already given him a good talking to with those punches to his face.
“Go on. Bring her in, it’s cold outside. She must be shivering. I’ll attend her myself.” She watched him turn without a word and walk rather gingerly it seemed. He must have suffered other injuries.
Rose stood back a few feet from the front door and heard the steps creak then as they walked across the verandah.
She schooled her face. “Lord please make me kind and loving. Show me what to do.” Her quick prayer lessened the beats of her heart. She pulled in a deep breath and felt a soft smile come across her lips as the door opened.
She watched as Captain Wyatt, his arm around the girl’s shoulders, drew her in. Blonde hair shone in the candlelight. She girl was young, perhaps sixteen. Her downcast eyes hurt Rose’s heart. She could see the young girl was about halfway through her pregnancy.
“Come.” She drew her in with a sweep of her hand. “Would you like some tea? I was about to make myself a good hot cup.”
She looked to Captain Wyatt, and he nodded.
“Yes ma’am, if you don’t mind.”
“I would not mind at all. Captain Wyatt you must go and tend to your wounds, we will have tea.” She said gently. “You may come tomorrow.”
“Remember what I told
you.” He spoke to the girl.
“I will remember.” She said shivering again.
Rose put her arm around her and called softly to Portia, whom she knew waited up at the top of the stairs to make sure no harm came to her.
“I am called Rose, this is Portia.”
“Ma’am.” The girl said to each, her eyes still looking at her feet.
Rose wanted to ask her name, but perhaps she had instructions from Captain Wyatt, so kept her silence.
“My name is Matilda Jane.”
“Matilda Jane. What a handsome name.” Rose took her elbow and drew her toward the house and into the dining room. Portia had gone out to the cookstove where water was always hot for tea.
The three of them sat in the large dining room. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Emmanuel laying logs into the fire for them on this rather cool evening.
Portia brought cups and saucers and even a plate of bread and butter with a side plate of ham. Rose saw Matilda Jane’s eyes widen. She gently pushed the plate of food toward the girl and said, “Eat.”
Portia’s eyes met hers and Rose signaled that they should partake first. Rose took a small piece of bread and slathered butter on it generously. Portia did the same. Matilda waited and with jerky movements did the same and ate heartily.
Rose secretly condemned Captain Wyatt. Why hadn’t he made sure she had food. Was he so low as to let her go hungry knowing she carried a child. She would speak to him about that on the morrow.
When it appeared the girl had her fill and it was apparent she was ready to retire, Rose suggested that Portia go up and turn down the bed in the Cottage Room. It was the smallest but the best lit during the day and coziest. Portia cleared the table and Emmanuel stoked the fire. Rose took Matilda Jane’s hand and pressed it into her elbow and together they walked up.
“Your home is so…so large…and handsome Mrs. Lovell.”
“Ah, you remember my name.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “Captain Wyatt told me and”…” she hesitated, “I have a good memory.”