But I would ask. Soon.
I cleaned my apartment, rechecked my clothes, and visited with Toby. Mark and his mother had already retired for the evening. I would spend an hour before bed with my sister’s journal. With all of the activities during my stay at the lake house, I’d been unable to complete my reading.
The next two pages in her journal were filled with the varied crimes of Mrs. Simpson and the dull girls she employed. Why did my sister waste paper and ink on such undeserving people as these?
I was nearly ready to turn off the computer when an entry caught my eye.
June 14th, 1801
Mr. William Eton has returned to Raleigh. He spoke to me outside the State House today following Sunday worship. He checked my thumb and pronounced it as good as new
.
Mr. William says he will only be here for a brief visit. He has offers from Edenton and New Bern to serve as a physician. He visits his parents while he ponders a decision
.
It is not far from Union Square to the boarding house where I stay. He walked with me the whole way. Mrs. Simpson watched from the window next door
.
She told me later not to give myself airs. Mr. William couldn’t be
interested in a bit of fluff like me
.
Why would she say such foolish things? Mr. William was merely being kind. I know this and do not expect more, although it does remind me of what my sister said
.
Would it not be lovely to live in a place where there was more familiarity between classes?
I sat back in my chair, mulling over this entry. Had my unthinking words planted a seed in her mind? If so, I had done her a grave disservice. In trying to explain my situation here and reassure her of my contentment, I had given her a thought that had no place in her world.
Another dozen entries passed, with increasing injustice from her employer and, thankfully, no further mention of William Eton.
June 30th, 1801
I received a caning today and declared it to be my last. I packed my things and left Mrs. Simpson’s mean employ forever. With the rear door locked, I had to exit through the shop as customers watched in wonder
.
Is it wrong to feel pleasure at the scene Mrs. Simpson made? She screamed after me and told me I would come begging back to her. She claimed that no one would want me when they saw what a headstrong girl I was
.
But it is she who will be made to look foolish. I shall not go back. I would rather walk to my brother’s farm in Worthville and live out my days growing vegetables
.
Patty is married now, with a tiny babe. I shall stay with her and her husband until I find a new position. It is fortunate that I do not mind hard labor, for her household has fallen into disrepair. Patty has been too ill to clean, her husband too ignorant, and her mother unable to help due to her own confinement. I fear the scrubbing may ruin my hands
,
but I shall manage for now. I have no wish to return to Worthville or become a burden on my brother’s family
.
I stifled a yawn, closed the computer, and crawled into bed, a thankful prayer on my lips that Phoebe had made such a bold and fine decision.
* * *
Sherri pulled out of the driveway the next morning, late as usual. It was most fortunate that the building where she worked took hardly more than five minutes to reach.
Mark and I had a quiet breakfast together before he left, although I must say that he seemed a bit distracted. Perhaps there was schoolwork due.
I washed the dishes, fed the cat, and returned to the apartment. My life had fallen into a pattern of sorts, which I liked quite well—especially when my days began and ended with Mark.
The next chore, naturally, was studying for my high school equivalency placement exam. Today my focus would be math. I kept the algebra book from my father open and found myself reflecting on how well this book had stood the test of time.
After lunch, it was time for my sister again. I was nearly done with her journals and I found myself meting out each entry, like a treat that I feared would end too soon.
I brewed my favorite cup of tea, curled in a chair with Toby draped along its back, and read about the next adventure in my sister’s life.
July 6th, 1801
I have secured a new position in less than a week. I shall work for Raleigh’s new tailor shop. The owner and his wife are eager to make their mark. They wish to sell embroidered gloves and scarves for ladies and will ask me to add whitework to the cuffs of men’s shirts
.
I feel the burn of excitement at the possibilities
.
The wage each month will be low. I have found a small cot at a boarding house a fair distance away. I do not care, for this new position is well worth the peace of mind that comes from working with pleasant employers and not fearing that my hands will be ruined by a cane
.
* * *
July 15th, 1801
I write my inkwell dry in this journal. Kindly, my new employers have paid me for my first week’s wages, and I simply had to buy ink with the pennies remaining after paying rent. I hurried to the stationer’s shop and nearly ran into Mr. William as I was leaving
.
He told me it was a delight to see me and then tipped his hat
.
I curtsied to hide a blush and expected him to move along, but he did not. Instead, he settled in for a brief conversation, asking to see my thumb. He held my hand gently, inspected it carefully, and proclaimed himself to be grateful for my continued health
.
I thought surely he would depart but again he surprised me, asking why I had come to the stationer’s
.
The answer was simple enough. I came to buy ink, and while there, the stationer informed me of a letter that I had received. I knew it to be from Jacob Worth, as his handwriting is bold and distinctive
.
Mr. William responded that he remembered his mother teaching me to write
.
Truly, I could not allow that erroneous impression to remain. I shared that it was my sister who taught me, since she’d had the finest education a girl could expect, with a father for the village tutor. Then, lest he think that I was not suitably thankful, I added, “I owe your mother the elegance with which I write.”
I could see his surprise at the news of my father’s profession. It left me oddly ashamed, as if I ought to apologize for my present state. I bobbed my head and whispered a quick goodbye
.
* * *
July 17th, 1801
Jacob Worth is quite taken with Dorcas Pratt. She is the most beautiful, clever, and elegant creature he has ever met. His latest letter sings her praises without ceasing
.
It worries me deeply, for he must surely recognize the obstacles to a relationship between them. It is uncommon enough for close cousins to marry, even if he were to wait until she was of a better age. Nor can he overlook the issue of her health. Truly, a gentleman farmer cannot afford to have a lame wife
.
* * *
A
lame
wife? Had I read that correctly? My sister’s entry seemed to imply that Dorcas was lame, yet she hadn’t been when I had last seen her.
I lifted shaking hands to my face. Could Mr. Pratt’s ill-timed push have crippled Dorcas permanently? Mark had claimed that her injury was likely to be bad. Whisper Falls had shielded me from what happened after her fall, though I hadn’t dreamed that it would change her life.
No longer able to sit still with my guilt, I rose and crossed to the rear window, where I knelt on the padded bench and pressed my palms to the cool glass. Phoebe wouldn’t have said Dorcas was lame unless it was true. My dear friend’s prospects for marriage had obviously dropped precipitously with a push from her father, yet she’d been educated for nothing else.
Only the wealthiest of men could tolerate the burden of a woman who lacked strength. Yet such a man would have his pick of wives. He would have no need to look past a limp to see her innate grace and rare intellect.
My trip through time had saved one and sacrificed another.
I had to know more. Did Phoebe mention her again? I raced back to the computer and scoured the pages, looking for the name Dorcas. Instead, “William” seemed to leap at me from each image, appearing in nearly every entry.
…Miss Judith and Mrs. Eton paid a visit to the shop. They were quite taken with the adorned gloves. The owners were overjoyed to see them. Mr. William inquired after my hand before waiting outside beside the carriage…
* * *
…Mr. William waved at me as he rode past on his horse…
* * *
…Mr. William greeted me after worship on Sunday. We spent but a brief time together, yet those minutes were very pleasant…
* * *
…William brought me an apple. Perhaps it would seem a silly afterthought, but I had mentioned on Sunday how I longed for a fresh apple and today I have one…
I had not found Dorcas’s name, but I had found something more distressing.
Phoebe had dropped the “Mr.”
An uneasy feeling settled over me. As beautiful and talented as my sister was, she could never be an acceptable mate for one of the Etons. Oh, my poor Phoebe. If she didn’t come to her senses soon, she was bound for heartache.
August 3rd, 1801
Mrs. Nance fetched me from the rear of the shop this day. One of our customers wished to speak a word of praise to the needlewoman who had embroidered his shirt. It was quite an unusual request. Unheard of, even
.
How surprised I was when I entered the front of the shop to find William! He was most complimentary of the vines and leaves adorning the cuffs of his newly purchased shirt. “I remain in awe of the dexterity of your hand.” He went on to say how delighted he was that a talent such as mine had been preserved
.
I am blushing still
.
* * *
August 10th, 1801
Senator Eton’s office is near the State House. I have taken to walking about its grounds on my break, hoping for a glimpse of his son
.
William crossed the street today. He said that he had seen me strolling among the trees and had come to offer company. Naturally, I acquiesced
.
He stayed with me the whole of my break and escorted me to the shop. He plans to visit Edenton in September, for his decision is imminent and he would like to meet with the townsfolk again
.
William is very wise
.
It is mad for me to admire him. Utterly hopeless and foolish. Yet his smile is so beautiful and his voice so dear. Can a simple seamstress ever be worthy of a man with his expectations?
I should not dream. No, I must not. It is not done
.
Yet I cannot help but cling to the glimmer of hope Susanna gave me. She works as a cook in the household of Mr. Lewis, and she claims they are destined for marriage. My sister would not lie
.
There must be places where my years as a laborer could be overlooked
.
Phoebe had remembered my words too well. I should never have told her, and could only pray that she wouldn’t humiliate herself before him—and that he would be kind to her if she did.
August 31st, 1801
William kissed me. It was the sweetest thing I have ever known and more potent than a fine spirit. I am giddy with joy
.
He leaves in the morning for Edenton. I shall miss him desperately
.
How easy it has become to yearn for a daily glimpse of the man I love!
I could’ve written these thoughts myself, but they were wrong for her. So wrong.
My breaths puffed out rapidly, as if I had run a long race. I closed my eyes against her words, fearful of what I would read next. Their feelings could only lead to despair. Yet why should I expect my sister to give up love when I had not?
No, truly, I needed to clear my thinking. I lived in a far different world than she. I lived where it was acceptable for the classes to blend. She did not. An alliance with William Eton could never work. He must know this. Was this a mere dalliance for him?
With a newfound determination, I read on, my eyes skimming over the bits of ordinary life and the foolish musings of a girl who waited.
September 12th, 1801
As I hurried to the shop this morning, a horse stopped abruptly beside me and a young man called my name
.
It was a voice I recognized well, though I had not heard it in over a year. Jacob!
He dismounted and kissed my hand, right there on the city street. I could not help a laugh. Had we not had an audience, I do believe that I might have hugged him
.
After we exchanged greetings, he informed me of his plans to purchase land near Asheville
.
I am most pleased for him, although the import of this news struck me deeply in the heart, surprising the admission from me that I would miss him fiercely
.
He laughed and said, “Letters may be posted from Buncombe County, dear friend.”
* * *
September 20th, 1801
Mrs. Eton separated herself from the crowd after worship and made her way purposefully toward me. “Phoebe, a word, if you please.”
I fell into step beside her, trembling at such a visible honor. We strolled some moments before she finally spoke, telling me that her son would return soon from Edenton with the promise of employment
.
My heart fluttered with delight at the news and pain at the thought of his departure. How could I bear to never see him again?
She continued, adding that William had received an offer also from the town of New Bern. It was her opinion that New Bern was his preference, given the family and friends he had there
.
I nodded, confused as to the point behind these confidences
.
She stopped and watched me closely as she stated his plans to practice medicine in Edenton
.