Norris was still stunned by what Wendell had just said. “Yes,” he said, dazed. “My father expects me.”
“What about Rose?”
What about Rose, indeed?
She was all Norris thought about after he and Wendell parted. As he walked back to his lodgings, he wondered if his friend could possibly be right. Rose in love with him? He’d been oblivious to it. But I never looked for it, either.
From the street below, he could see candlelight flickering in his attic window. She’s still awake, he thought, and suddenly he could not wait to see her. He climbed the stairs, feeling more anxious with each step. By the time he opened the door, his heart was pounding as much from anticipation as from exertion.
Rose had fallen asleep at the desk, her head resting on her folded arms, Wistar’s Anatomy lying open before her. Looking over her shoulder, he saw that she’d been looking at an illustration of the heart, and he thought: What an extraordinary girl. The candle had guttered down to a mere puddle of wax, so he lit another. As he gently closed the cover of Wistar’s, Rose stirred awake.
“Oh,” she murmured, lifting her head. “You’re back.”
He watched her stretch, her neck arching, her hair tumbling loose. Looking into her face, he saw no artifice, no guile, just a drowsy girl trying to shake off sleep. The shawl she’d draped around her shoulders was of coarse, dun-colored wool, and when she wiped her hand across her cheek, she left behind a cindery smudge. He thought of how different she was from the Welliver sisters with their silk gowns and pretty fringed scarves and fine Morocco leather boots. There was not a moment, keeping company with those sisters, when he’d felt he was actually seeing them for who they were, so skilled were they at the dishonest game of flirtation. Not like this girl, who openly yawned and rubbed her eyes as naturally as any child awakening from a nap.
She looked up at him. “Did you tell him? What did he say?”
“Dr. Grenville reserves judgment. He wants to hear the story from your own lips.” He leaned in close and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Rose, he made a generous offer, one that both Wendell and I think is for the best. Dr. Grenville has offered to take in Meggie.”
She went rigid. Instead of gratitude, what flashed in her eyes was panic. “Tell me you didn’t agree!”
“It would be so much better for her. Safer and healthier.”
“You had no right!” She shot to her feet. Staring into her eyes, Norris saw the primal fierceness of a girl prepared to sacrifice everything for someone she loved. A girl so loyal that she’d endure anything to see her niece survive. “You gave him Meggie?”
“Rose, I’d never betray your trust!”
“She’s not yours to give!”
“Listen to me. Listen.” He took her face in his hands and forced her to meet his gaze. “I told him you’re the only one who’ll decide. I told him I’d do only what you want. I follow your orders, Rose, whatever your wishes. You’re the one who knows best, and I just want you to be happy.”
“You mean that?” she whispered.
“Yes. Truly.”
They stared at each other for a moment. Suddenly her eyes went bright with tears and she pulled away. How small she is, he thought. How fragile. Yet this girl has carried the weight of the world, and its scorn as well. She’s quite a pretty girl, Wendell had said. Looking down at her now, Norris saw a pure and honest beauty that glowed even through the smudges of ash, a beauty that the Welliver sisters could never match. They were merely two simpering princesses dressed in satin. This girl had so little to her name, yet she’d taken that half-wit Billy under her wing. She’d scraped together all she owned to buy her sister a decent burial and keep her niece fed.
This is a girl who’d stand by me. Even if I don’t deserve it.
“Rose,” he said, “it’s time for us to speak of the future.”
“The future?”
“What happens next to you and Meggie. I must be honest: My prospects at the college are dim. I don’t know if I can afford to keep this room, much less keep us all fed.”
“You want me to leave.” She said it as a statement of fact, as if no other conclusion was possible. How easy she made it for him just to send her away. How generously she absolved him of all guilt.
“I want you to be safe,” he said.
“I don’t break, Norrie. I can live with the truth. Just tell me.”
“Tomorrow, I go home to Belmont. My father expects me for the holiday. I can tell you it won’t be a cheerful stay. He’s not one for celebration, and I’ll probably spend it doing chores around the farm.”
“You needn’t explain.” She turned. “I’ll be gone in the morning.”
“Yes, you’ll be gone. With me.”
Suddenly she turned back to him, her eyes wide with delight. “Go to Belmont?”
“It’s the safest place for you both. There’ll be fresh milk for Meggie, and a bed of your own. No one will find you there.”
“I can bring her?”
“Of course we’ll bring her. I wouldn’t dream of leaving her behind.”
Sheer delight sent her flying into his arms. Small though she was, she almost knocked him backward. Laughing, he caught her and twirled her around in the tiny room, and felt her heart beating joyfully against his.
Suddenly Rose pulled away and he saw the doubt in her face. “But what will your father say about me?” she asked. “About Meggie?”
He couldn’t lie to her, certainly not with her gazing so directly into his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said.
Twenty-eight
IT WAS PAST THREE when the farmer stopped his wagon at the side of the Belmont road to let them off. They still had two miles to walk, but the sky was blue and the ice-crusted snow glittered bright as glass in the afternoon sun. As they trudged down the road with Meggie in Rose’s arms, Norris pointed out which fields belonged to which neighbor. He would introduce her to them all, and they’d all adore her. The run-down house over there belonged to old Ezra Hutchinson, whose wife had died of typhus two years ago, and the cows in the adjoining field belonged to widow Heppy Comfort, who had her eye on the now eligible Ezra. The neat house across the road belonged to Dr. and Mrs. Hallowell, the childless couple who had been so kind to him over the years, who’d welcomed him into their home as if he were their own son. Dr. Hallowell had opened his library to Norris and last year had written the glowing recommendation letter to the medical college. Rose took in all this information with a look of eager interest, even the trivial tidbits about Heppy’s lame calf and Dr. Hallowell’s eccentric collection of German hymnals. As they neared the Marshall farm, her questions came more quickly, more urgently, as though she was feverish to know every detail of his life before they arrived. When they crested the rise, and the farm appeared on the horizon, she stopped to stare, her hand shielding her eyes from the setting sun’s glare.
“It’s not much to look at,” he admitted.
“But it is, Norrie. It’s where you grew up.”
“I couldn’t wait to escape from it.”
“I wouldn’t mind living here at all.” Meggie stirred awake in her arms and gave a contented gurgle. Rose smiled at her niece and said, “I could be happy on a farm.”
He laughed. “That’s what I like about you, Rose. I think you could be happy anywhere.”
“It’s not the where that counts.”
“Before you say it’s the people you live with, you need to meet my father.”
“I’m afraid to. The way you talk about him.”
“He’s a bitter man. You just need to know that ahead of time.”
“Because he lost your mother?”
“She abandoned him. She abandoned both of us. He’s never forgiven her.”
“Have you?” she asked, and looked at him, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold.
“It’s getting late,” he said.
They walked on, the sun sinking lower, bare trees casting their spindly shadows across the snow. They came to the
old stone wall, glistening with ice, and heard the bellowing of cows in the barn. As they neared the farm, it seemed to Norris that the house was smaller and humbler than he remembered. Had the clapboards been so weathered when he’d left only two months ago? Had the porch always sagged, the fence always leaned so crookedly? The closer they got, the heavier the burden of duty seemed to weigh on his shoulders, and the more he dreaded the coming reunion. Now he regretted dragging Rose and the baby into this. Though he’d warned her that his father could be unpleasant, she showed no signs of apprehension, walking quite cheerfully beside him, humming to Meggie. How could any man, even his father, dislike this girl? Surely she and the baby will charm him, he thought. Rose will win him over, the way she’s won me over, and we’ll all laugh together at supper. Yes, it could be a good visit after all, and Rose will be the charm. My lucky Irish girl. He looked at her and his spirits lifted because she seemed so pleased to be here with him, trudging alongside the crooked fence, toward a farmhouse that seemed ever more grim and dilapidated.
They stepped through the sagging gate into a front yard littered with a broken cart and a pile of logs still to be split into firewood. The Welliver sisters would quail at the sight of this yard, and he imagined them in their dainty shoes trying to pick their way through the hog-churned mud. Rose did not hesitate but simply hiked up her skirt and followed Norris across the yard. The old sow, disturbed by these visitors, gave a snort and trotted away toward the barn.
Before they reached the porch, the door opened and Norris’s father stepped out. Isaac Marshall had not seen his son in two months, yet he called out no words of welcome; he merely stood on his porch, watching in silence as his visitors approached. He wore the same homespun coat, the same drab trousers as always, but the clothes seemed to hang looser on his frame, and the eyes that peered out from beneath the battered hat were more deeply sunk in hollowed sockets. He offered only the flicker of a smile as his son climbed the steps.
“Welcome home,” said Isaac, but made no move to embrace his son.
“Father, may I introduce you to my friend Rose. And her niece, Meggie.”
Rose stepped forward, smiling, and the baby gave a coo, as though in greeting. “’Tis good to meet you, Mr. Marshall,” Rose said.
Isaac kept his arms stubbornly at his side, and his lips tightened. Norris saw Rose flush, and at that moment, he had never disliked his own father more.
“Rose is a very good friend,” said Norris. “I wanted you to meet her.”
“She’ll be staying the night?”
“I was hoping she could stay longer. She and the baby are in need of lodgings for a while. She can use the room upstairs.”
“Then the bed’ll have to be made up.”
“I can do it, Mr. Marshall,” said Rose. “I’ll not be a bother. And I work hard! There’s nothing I can’t do.”
Isaac gave the baby a long look. Then, with a grudging nod, he turned to go into the house. “I’d best see that we have enough for supper.”
“I’m sorry, Rose. I’m so sorry.”
They sat together in the hayloft with Meggie sound asleep beside them and gazed down in the soft lantern light at the cows feeding below. The pigs, too, had wandered into the barn and were grunting as they competed for prime bedding space among the piles of straw. Tonight, Norris found more comfort here, amid the din of the animals, than in the company of that silent man in that silent house. Isaac had said little during their holiday supper of ham and boiled potatoes and turnips, had asked only a few questions about Norris’s studies, and then had seemed indifferent to the answers. The farm alone interested him, and when he did speak, it was about the fence that needed mending, the poor quality of hay this autumn, the laziness of the latest hired hand. Rose had sat right across from Isaac, but she might as well have been invisible, for he’d scarcely looked at her except to pass the food.
And she had been wise enough to keep her silence.
“It’s the way he’s always been,” said Norris, staring down at the pigs rooting through straw. “I shouldn’t have expected anything different. I shouldn’t have put you through that.”
“I’m glad I came.”
“It must have been an ordeal for you tonight.”
“You’re the one I feel sorry for.” Her face caught the glow of the lantern, and in the gloom of the barn Norris did not see her patched dress or her worn shawl; he saw only that face, gazing so intently at him. “’Tis a sad house you grew up in,” she said. “Not any sort of home for a child.”
“It wasn’t always this way. I don’t want you to think I had such a grim boyhood. There were good days.”
“When did it change? Was it after your mother left?”
“Nothing was the same after that.”
“How could it be? It’s a terrible thing, to be abandoned. Bad enough when the one you love passes on. But when they choose to leave you…” She stopped. Taking in a deep breath, she looked down at the pen below. “I’ve always liked the smell of a barn. All of it, the animals, the hay, the stink. It’s a good, honest smell, that it is.”
He stared at the shadows, where the pigs had finally ceased rooting and were now huddled together for the night, softly grunting. “Who left you, Rose?” he asked.
“No one.”
“You talked about people leaving you.”
“I’m the one who did it,” she said, and swallowed. “I did the leaving. What a fool I was! After Aurnia left for America, I followed her. Because I couldn’t wait to grow up. I couldn’t wait to see the world.” She gave a regretful sigh and said, with tears in her voice: “I think I broke my mother’s heart.”
He didn’t need to ask; he knew, just by the mournful droop of her head, that her mother was no longer alive.
She sat up straight and said firmly, “I’ll never abandon anyone again. Ever.”
He reached out to take her hand, so familiar to him now. It felt as if they had always held hands, had always shared secrets in the gloom of this barn.
“I understand why your father is bitter,” she said. “He has a right to be.”
Long after Rose and Meggie had gone to bed, Norris and Isaac sat together at the kitchen table, a lamp burning between them. Though Norris had drunk only sparingly from the jug of apple brandy, his father had been drinking it all evening, more than Norris had ever seen him drink before. Isaac poured himself yet another glass, and his hand was unsteady as he recorked the jug.
“So what is she to you?” said Isaac, gazing bleary-eyed over the rim of his glass.
“I told you, she’s a friend.”
“A girl? What are you, a Nancy-boy? You can’t find a regular friend, like other men?”
“What do you have against her? The fact she’s a girl? The fact she’s Irish?”
“Is she knocked up?”
Norris stared at his father in disbelief. It’s the brandy talking. He can’t mean it.
“Ha. You don’t even know,” said Isaac.
“You have no right to say such things about her. You don’t even know her.”
“How well do you know her?”
“I haven’t touched her, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Doesn’t mean she isn’t knocked up already. And she comes with a baby, too! Take her on, and you take on another man’s responsibility.”
“I hoped she’d be welcomed here. I hoped you’d learn to accept her, or maybe even love her. She’s a hardworking girl, with the most generous heart I know. She certainly deserves better than the reception you gave her.”
“I’m only thinking of your welfare, boy. Your happiness. You want to raise a child that isn’t even your own?”
Abruptly Norris stood. “Good night, Father.” He turned to leave the room.
“I’m trying to spare you the pain I knew. They’ll lie to you, Norris. They’re full of deceit, and you won’t find out till it’s too late.”
Norris stopped, and with sudden comprehension, he turned to look at him. “You’r
e talking about Mother.”
“I tried to make her happy.” Isaac gulped down the brandy and set the glass down hard on the table. “I tried my best.”
“Well, I never saw it.”
“Children don’t see anything, don’t know anything. There’s a lot you’ll never know about your mother.”
“Why did she leave you?”
“She left you, too.”
Norris could think of no retort for that painful truth. Yes, she did leave me. And I’ll never understand it. Suddenly exhausted, he returned to the table and sat down. Watched as his father refilled his glass with brandy.
“What don’t I know about Mother?” asked Norris.
“Things I should’ve known myself. Things I should’ve wondered. Why a girl like her would ever marry a man like me. Oh, I’m not a fool. I’ve lived on a farm long enough to know how long it takes for a sow to—” He stopped and lowered his head. “I don’t think she ever loved me.”
“Did you love her?”
Isaac lifted his damp gaze to Norris’s. “What difference did it make? It wasn’t enough to keep her here. You weren’t enough to keep her here.”
Those words, both cruel and true, hung in the air between them like spent gunpowder. They sat silent, facing each other across the table.
“The day she left,” said Isaac, “you were sick. You remember?”
“Yes.”
“It was a summer fever. You were so hot, we were afraid we’d lose you. Dr. Hallowell went to Portsmouth that week, so we couldn’t call on him. All night, your mother stayed up with you. And all the next day. And still your fever wouldn’t break, and we both thought for certain we’d lose you. And what does she do? Do you remember her leaving?”
“She said she loved me. She said she’d be back.”
“That’s what she told me. That her son deserved the best, and she was going to see that you got it. She put on her best dress and walked out of the house. And she never came back. Not that night, or the night after. I was here all alone, with a sick boy, and I had no way of knowing where she’d gone. Mrs. Comfort came to watch you while I searched. Every place I could think of, every neighbor she might have visited. Ezra thought he saw her riding south, on the Brighton road. Someone else saw her on the road to Boston. I couldn’t think of why she’d go to either of those places.” He paused. “Then a boy turned up at the door one day, with Sophia’s horse. And the letter.”