Goddess Born (14 page)

We may pretend at being married and alter a few facts here and there as needed. That didn’t mean I was about to invite Henry into my bed to further sustain our charade. Not that I would have minded if he were truly my husband, but we weren’t really married. Well, I didn’t think we were at any rate, and it wasn’t like second opinions were readily growing on trees in Hopewell.

But this was all beside the point. We had entered into an agreement and our relationship would remain appropriate regardless of how well we got along or how handsome he was or even how badly I wanted to run my hands up under his shirt and along his bare chest...

Oh
,
will you just stop it!
I struggled to get hold of my thoughts. Not only were we not married, but by purchasing his contract I had in fact paid for Henry to act as my husband. If our relationship progressed into more intimate territory under such terms he would be degraded to a kept man, and I would become the most wretched of women—nothing less than a Jezebel. The very idea made my head hurt.

These worries must have shown on my face, for his eyes filled with concern. “Selah, what’s wrong?”

Although I guessed he would take the news in stride and behave in a gentlemanly manner, I lacked the heart to discuss the matter further. “Nothing,” I lied, trying to keep my smile in place, but then thought it best to give some excuse to forestall any more questions. “I’ve taken a sudden headache is all. Perhaps it would be best if I rest for a while.”

He stepped aside and I hurried up the stairs. Wishing to be alone, I was rather perturbed to reach the hallway and catch the sound of someone softly humming from inside my room. The door was cracked open just enough for me to glimpse Alice at my dressing room table, batting her eyes flirtatiously at the mirror. The humming stopped as she puckered her lips into a kiss.

“Aren’t ye a pretty thing,” she said to her own reflection. “The master won’t help giving ye a smile.” Then she picked up my tortoise shell combs and tucked them into her hair.

I pushed open the door and strode into the room. “What are you doing?” I asked.

Alice jumped up and snatched out the combs, dropping them on the table. “Beg yer pardon, ma’am. I was sent to fill the water pitcher.”

“Kisses and hair combs are not needed to fill a pitcher,” I said angrily. “You were preening, Alice Reed, and don’t try to deny it.”

Her face went red with shame. “I’m sorry, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

I stared at her, deciding what to do next, when a rather brilliant idea popped into my head. Through her misbehavior, Alice had just given me the means to find out who was gossiping behind my back. For sure, it would be awkward if Alice proved the culprit, but I was determined to know the truth.

Biting back any further reprimands, I smoothed my face into a smile. “Don’t fuss about it. You may have the combs if you like.”

She shook her head. “No, ma’am. It ain’t right.”

“They’re my combs and I’ll decide what’s right or not. Besides, now I’ve seen how pretty they look in your hair, I’ll never be able to wear them again with any satisfaction.”

“Mrs. Ryan will have my head if she finds out what I’ve done.”

I walked to the table and picked up the combs. “Then we shan’t tell her,” I said, placing them in her hand. “It will be our little secret.”

She gave me a shy smile. “Yer all kindness, ma’am.” Holding on to her new treasures, she bobbed a curtsy and hurried toward the door.

“Alice,” I said, stopping her at the last moment. “Would you mind if I ask you a question?”

“No, ma’am.”

“I’ve recently learned that someone from Brighmor has been gossiping about my marriage. Do you have any idea who it could be?”

Her eyes widened with fear. “I promise, it weren’t me, ma’am.”

“I wasn’t blaming you, Alice. I only wanted to know if you had heard anything.”

She glanced nervously down at her feet. “Yesterday morning at breakfast the servants and field hands were talking about ye and the master. It weren’t nothing but idle chitchat. No one meant any harm by it.”

“And you’ve no idea who might be sharing this idle chitchat with my neighbors?” I prodded her.

“No, ma’am.”

I looked at her closely, but saw no signs of deceit. “Do you promise to tell me if you hear anything?”

She squirmed uncomfortably under my gaze.

“It would be tremendous a favor,” I continued. “A favor that would have to be repaid somehow.”

Her hand tightened around the combs. “I promise, ma’am, but I don’t know nothing.”

“Oh, very well,” I sighed. “Please ask Karta to brew a cup of willow bark tea. I’ve a terrible headache coming on.”

She curtsied and dashed from the room.

Finally alone, I sank into the chair by the hearth to mull over my problems. In a matter of minutes, my mind was practically turning circles.

A
marriage is no marriage at all until it has been properly consummated
.

Yet to help prove my innocence, the good ladies of Hopewell needed to know that my marriage remained unconsummated.

What if Phoebe Trumble set her mind on winning Henry? To be sure, Henry seemed an honorable man, but honor or not, there was hardly a man alive who could withstand Phoebe’s feminine wiles.

Yesterday, I believed the gossip would work in my favor. Now, I didn’t know what to think. My best hope was that Alice would soon discover the source so I could curtail any further talk. Otherwise, the rumors would continue and I would have lost my favorite hair combs for naught.

* * *

These thoughts weighed heavily on my mind throughout the rest of the week as the rain finally abated and I began making social calls once again. From time to time, I debated divulging everything to Nora or telling Henry of our newest problem, but in the end decided to keep quiet in the hopes that this too would pass. “Wait and see” had provided good advice in the past, and there was no sense making mountains out of molehills.

By the time Mary laced me into my plainest gray cotton frock in preparation for Quaker meeting on Sunday morning, I had some satisfaction that the townspeople must have moved on to fresher gossip. Nothing more had crossed my ears on the subject or even been alluded to by any of Hopewell’s most respected matrons. This was good news indeed, to have one less concern when Henry and I walked into the meetinghouse together.

Unlike conventional Christian churches where the congregation sits facing a pulpit of some sort, Quakers sit on long wooden benches facing the center, the men on one side and the women on the other. Elder members or distinguished guests—such as those recognized with the gift of ministry—take their places on raised benches at the far end of the room. It was on one of these raised benches, sitting alongside Edgar Sweeney and Gideon Boyle, that I spied my accuser and sworn enemy, Nathan Crowley. His attention was currently diverted to one of the windows and I took a quick moment to study his countenance for any hint of what trouble he may have had planned for this morning. I didn’t know exactly what to look for other than a malicious smile or a wicked glint in his eyes. After a minute all I could surmise was that his cheeks looked a bit gaunt since we last met at Brighmor a week ago.

Taking my own seat next to Nora, I watched Henry settle in between Matthew Appleton and Thomas Dowling on the other side. I had told him some of what to expect from a Quaker meeting, and he didn’t seem surprised when no one greeted him, but sat instead in stony silence with their heads bowed. When the meeting officially started, the silence continued, stretching on for the greater part of an hour as each member quietly reflected and sought inspiration from their inner light. By now, I had grown accustomed to this time of stillness, and actually found it quite peaceful. Henry, on the other hand, had to stifle several yawns, which earned him stern looks from more than a few of the men.

For fun and perhaps to keep from falling asleep on Thomas Dowling’s shoulder, Henry caught my eye and winked ever so slightly. Never before had I witnessed such a brazen gesture during meeting and I watched him closely, thinking I had been mistaken. But he did it a second and a third time and I had to clamp my mouth shut for fear of laughing. He must have started receiving stern looks from the women’s side as well, for he finally stopped and descended back into utter boredom.

Within minutes, Henry’s eyes began to droop again, and I thought for sure he would fall asleep when Gideon Boyle stood and cleared his throat to speak. Henry revived and turned expectantly to listen.

“We Quakers are a plain and sober people,” Gideon started in his usual solemn manner. “We value simple things and do not strive to keep pace with an ever-changing world. Our children are taught to seek no more than is needed and to resist the temptation of coveting what others have gained. While I reflected this morning I found myself greatly troubled that any member of this fellowship would be guilty of squandering their time wishing for fancy things. My friends, such desires are traps and snares set by the Devil himself to distract us from our true mission in this life.”

Gideon spoke along this vein for some time and I tried in earnest not to smile as I stole a quick glance at his wife, Anne Boyle. It was no secret that Anne had been soliciting her husband for the past six months to build a brick oven in her kitchen next to the hearth. Fed up with trudging outside to bake, she was most adamant that he should do this for her, and if he desired any peace at home this coming winter, he was to have it done before the first snow.

Anne did not waver from her usual serene expression as her husband praised the plain life while ranting against the evils of worldliness. Half an hour later when he finally concluded, his face beaded with sweat from the exertion, little doubt remained in my mind, and probably those of most of the wives present, that Anne would get her oven.

The meetinghouse fell into silence once more when Gideon sat. I anxiously waited to see if Nathan would stand and speak next, but he remained seated, staring down at his feet. Edgar Sweeney stood after a few more minutes had passed. He was an old man, being somewhere above seventy years of age, with deeply etched wrinkles and close cropped gray hair framing his face. By nature he was the most pleasant of men, which was of itself rather amazing considering the tragedy that marked his earlier days. When he’d been no more the thirty years, his wife and infant son fell ill during an outbreak of scarlet fever. My grandmother had also been stricken by the disease, and by the time she recovered there was nothing to be done for Edgar’s loved ones other than grieve their death and offer prayers for their immortal souls. Following such a loss, Edgar never found it in his heart to remarry, and became instead an honorary grandfather to many children over the years. I had known him my entire life and had always considered him a member of my extended family. I suspected a similar sentiment by most of the people seated in the room this morning, patiently waiting to hear what he had been moved to say.

“God has commanded us to be still that we may know Him,” Edgar began in his warm, full voice that I found so soothing. “There are those who wonder at our love of silence and how this could lead to any measure of truth. ‘What good is silence,’ they argue, ‘for one man must speak and another to listen for knowledge to be of use.’ But I say there is but one voice worth hearing and that is the one speaking from inside each of us. By this voice alone can we understand the will of God, for it is His voice and He speaks directly to every man, woman and child if we will but take the time to listen.”

I looked over at Henry. After being taught a more hierarchical form of religion in England, I could well imagine how radical it must sound that God presided in every person and by this inner light did we receive revelation without the necessity of any clerical go-between. Henry’s brows creased in thought as he listened to Edgar, though whether or not he agreed remained a mystery.

When Edgar sat back down, my heart leapt right into my throat, thinking Nathan would surely stand next as he spoke nearly every Sunday. The minutes passed slowly and I felt the beginnings of a cold sweat coming on despite the summer heat. But Nathan remained seated with his eyes fixed on the floor until Gideon finally reached over and shook hands with the Elder next to him, signifying the meeting had come to an end. I took a deep breath and sighed my relief, seeing the danger had passed for today at least. From my efforts this past week Nathan may have discovered that I wasn’t entirely friendless nor such an easy target as he first believed. I crossed my fingers, wishing for this same luck to continue until either his hatred of me faded or he dropped dead from a raging distemper. Given the circumstances, I didn’t think it prudent to be overly picky so long as he left me alone.

People all around began addressing their neighbors, shaking hands in a friendly manner and I watched as Henry was surrounded by a group of men eager to make his acquaintance and probably to better gauge the new Master of Brighmor Hall. Seeing him thus engaged, I turned my attention to Nora.

“What did you think of Gideon Boyle’s sermon this morning?” I asked.

“Anne will have her bake oven by autumn or my father’s the king of Norway,” she said. Her gaze wandered to Nathan, who had stood and was speaking to Edgar Sweeney. “It’s unusual for Nathan to lack inspiration during meeting. He doesn’t seem to be in good spirits today. You should inquire if anything ails him.”

I blanched at the suggestion. As the primary cause of his flagging spirits, I had absolutely no intention of approaching the man of my own free will. “I’m sure it’s nothing more than a poor night’s sleep,” I said.

Nora leaned closer to whisper in my ear. “Selah Kilbrid, how can you be so unfeeling, especially toward a man who holds you in the highest esteem.”

“His esteem disappeared the moment I refused to marry him,” I whispered back.

“I think his heart is just broken, like my brother’s, but that’s no reason to be so mean and refuse to help him. Really, it’s the least you could do.”

Startled by Nora’s reproach, I considered telling her in no uncertain terms just how much I despised the man when she linked her arm through mine and began leading the way toward the raised benches. I began to protest and pull away, but Nora held tight, determined to inquire about his health and if I could be of service.