“Of course not,” I was hasty to reply. “Would you care for
something to drink?” I offered hospitably. “Coffee?”
Elizabeth Hayes grimaced. “I can not abide the smell when I’m in a
family way,” she admitted with a faint flush of self-consciousness. I sat down,
folded my hands on the table and waited for her to tell me why she had come.
“I came to apologize for Jonah,” she said softly. It seemed
strange to hear the stalwart Reverend Hayes called with that affectionate
inflection. There was a softness in Elizabeth Hayes’s expression that clearly
indicated that while Jonah Hayes was harsh and a bully to some, he held no fear
for this woman.
However, I felt that any apology from Hayes should have come from
him personally, if it were to mean anything. I doubted that he had sent his
wife; yet I felt sorry for the gentle lady who lived with such a tyrannical
man. With Hayes, four active, mischievous sons and another baby well on the
way, Elizabeth had much with which to cope.
She smiled at me with soft appeal. “He’s not a bad man.”
“Oh, please,” I said, embarrassed. “I’m afraid I was at fault for
what happened after the Christmas program. I have no tact whatsoever when my
temper gets aroused.”
Elizabeth gave a laugh of genuine amusement. “Neither does Jonah,
I’m afraid. He can be terribly gruff and unfair when he’s angered. And he’s
been very angry with you several times.”
I smiled. “Yes. So I’ve noticed.”
“He admires you.”
My eyes opened wide with incredulity. “He does,” she insisted,
seeing my disbelief. “Oh, he doesn’t agree with you, but he respects your
spirit.”
“He as much as told me that my contract will not be renewed come
June,” I informed her.
The reverend’s wife shook her head. “Yes, I know. He was upset
that he had said that, and I think he will just forget about it. He can’t say
he’s sorry, but he tries in other ways to show he is.”
Now that she was warm, Elizabeth let her heavy shawl fall back off
her thin shoulders. She was wearing a dark-brown wool dress with plain white
collar and cuffs. The only relief to the severe outfit was a pretty enamel bird
at her neck.
“He hasn’t always been so uncompromising,” she said thoughtfully.
“He has always been a serious man, a very feeling one. It’s only since we lost
our little girl that he’s seemed angry with the world and his faith in God has
been tested.”
She shook her head. “I don’t suppose I should even be talking
about all this with you, but,” she looked up at me and smiled slightly, “you’ve
been so good for Matt, and I would hate to see you leave Sycamore Hill. Mark
and Luke like you very much, and, well, little Johnnie loves you. His first
love.” She smiled, her hazel eyes sparkling. “And you know how that is.” She
spread her hands, and her expression grew serious all of a sudden. “I almost
think Jonah is a little jealous of it all. He likes to be in total command, and
now he finds that you have a great deal of influence over the way our boys
think.”
“How old was your little girl?” I asked hesitantly, afraid my
question would open old wounds, and yet wanting to know what had made Hayes the
way he was.
“Four... and so beautiful.” Her eyes misted, and she blinked
quickly. I saw her hand unconsciously smooth over her growing abdomen in silent
prayer. “She contracted chicken pox when we were in Kansas. She wasn’t a very
strong child. She died in Jonah’s arms. I was afraid he would go mad with his
grief.” Her mouth trembled in remembrance. “And there were the two boys—Matt
was three, and Mark only one. By the grace of God, they did not become ill.”
She sighed, and then smiled at me again. “I pray this baby will be another
little girl like our Ruth, only stronger. I shall name her Rebecca.”
“I hope you have your little girl.” I smiled. I liked Elizabeth
Hayes very much. There was a gentle strength about her that made her a most
admirable woman.
“Jonah’s father was a preacher,” Elizabeth began again. “He was a
truly dreadful man.” She smiled. “Fierce, unforgiving, the
hellfire-and-damnation kind of minister,” she said with a sparkle in her eyes.
“Jonah didn’t want to be like him. I’m afraid he’s becoming that way and
doesn’t even realize it.”
“Why does he have such prejudice against Mexicans?”
“When we first came here, some young
bandídos
vandalized
the church. Two got away, but one was caught. He said something to Jonah that
truly horrified him. Blasphemy, but what exactly, I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell
me.”
“But that’s no reason to despise all Mexicans,” I said.
“No, it’s not,” she agreed. “But Jonah has not been reasonable
about many things since Ruth died. I wish I knew what to do,” she sighed. “He
seems to get worse as the years pass.”
“Have you tried sitting down and talking with him about it?”
“I don’t know that it would do any good. If I were to say anything
to him, he would look on it as a betrayal of our love. It would hurt him too
deeply.”
“Would he listen to anyone else?”
“The only person that he truly respects here in Sycamore Hill
isn’t even a church member any longer—Jordan Bennett.”
I felt the color rising into my face and quickly turned away.
Standing, I busied myself at the stove, setting on a kettle for tea. I wanted
to do anything to hide my shaking hands and the crimson flush that had swept
into my cheeks at the mere mention of Jordan Bennett’s name. I took down two
cups from the shelf and removed the lid from the canister. “It... it surprises
me that the reverend would think so much of him,” I managed.
“You mean because of all the gossip about his wife’s sudden
death?” she asked with a rueful smile. “Don’t look so surprised, Miss
McFarland. A minister’s wife hears many things from many people.”
“I suppose so.” I turned away, measuring out the tea and putting
it into the kettle. I did not possess a tea ball; so I had to carefully sift
out the leaves when the brew was made.
“I don’t believe the stories,” Elizabeth said. “People disliked
Gwendolyn Bennett very much. She was from a wealthy family in the East, and she
hated living in California. She never tried to make friends with anyone.
Everyone was aware that her marriage with Mr. Bennett was not a happy one. They
simply jumped to conclusions when she was brought into town on the buckboard.”
“How did she die?”
“Her neck was broken. Because little was said about how it
happened, people chose to believe that Mr. Bennett did it himself. So sad
really. I think he is a decent man. I don’t believe he would murder anyone.”
“I’ve heard he has a violent temper.”
“I’ve never seen him angry,” she admitted. “But he’s a loving
father.”
“Your husband believes Mr. Bennett is Diego Gutierrez’s father.
That was part of his decision to expel the boy.”
Elizabeth looked up and sighed. “Yes, I know. It’s strange that
all that doesn’t affect his respect for Mr. Bennett. Men and women usually lay
blame for such unfortunate situations on the woman involved. The man is
forgiven his momentary lapse, while the woman and child suffer for the
indiscretion for the rest of their lives.”
“Then you believe it’s true?”
“I don’t know. It’s possible, I suppose. They have lived together
for years. And neither one of them has ever denied the story, though I
shouldn’t think they owed anyone any explanations. But I really don’t know if
it is true.”
“I don’t believe it,” I said quietly. Even as I said it, I
wondered if my belief was colored by my love for Jordan. Perhaps I did not want
to believe it anymore.
“I was told that Mr. Bennett’s late wife was very beautiful,” I
said a moment later. I turned toward the kettle again as the water began
steaming. I tried to sound casual, hoping my interest in Jordan’s life was not
too obvious. Why didn’t I just leave well enough alone? But I could not. I
never stopped thinking about him.
“Oh, yes.” Elizabeth nodded. “She was exquisite. But I’ve never
seen a more pathetic creature.”
“Pathetic?”
“She came from a wealthy family and undoubtedly had everything her
own way until she married Jordan Bennett and came to live in California. Out
here she was despised by everyone, and it was her own doing, I’m afraid. She
was beautiful, and knew it. There was an arrogance about her that immediately
made people dislike her. She was bitter and resentful about having to live
here.” Elizabeth shook her head, her expression mirroring her pity. “She was so
young, and she had so much to be thankful for—a lovely little daughter....”
“Do you care for sugar? I can’t offer you cream or milk. I haven’t
any at the moment.”
“No, thank you. This is just fine.” Elizabeth Hayes lifted the mug
and sipped gingerly at the hot brew. “This is very good.” We sat in
companionable silence. Elizabeth sighed and then leaned forward to rub the
small of her back.
“Are you feeling all right?” I asked, concerned. Her face seemed
quite pale with the strain. Then it cleared with a bright, amused smile.
“It all goes along with being in a family way,” she said with a
faint flush. “Sometimes every muscle in my back seems to be protesting the
coming of this baby. But at least I can be thankful that the morning sickness
is letting up some.”
“Morning sickness?”
“They call it that because it comes mostly in the morning. Some
women are unfortunate enough to have it all the time. I suffer from it for the
first few months, and then it goes away. Sometimes I feel a little faint, but
that passes also.” She leaned across the table and patted my hand. “Don’t look
so worried, Miss McFarland. I’ve been through this five times before. This is
my sixth baby.”
“Yes... yes... well, I hope you will be feeling better,” I
stammered as my mind whirled with horrifying thoughts.
“I hope I haven’t embarrassed you by talking about it,” she
apologized.
“Oh, no, no.” Backaches? Dizziness and nausea? Fainting spells?
Oh, dear God in Heaven....”
Elizabeth Hayes finished her tea and stood up, pulling her shawl
up around her shoulders again. “I’ve kept you much too long, and you’re so
kind. I’m very grateful for what you’ve done for the boys, Matt especially. He
must learn to stand on his own two feet.” We shook hands at the door, and she
told me not to be so upset about her husband’s angry threat. I wished her well
and closed the door.
Trembling, I sat down at the table again. My stomach churned
sickeningly, and my head began to ache with tension. Now I knew what was wrong
with me. It only seemed impossible that I had not realized it sooner. I was
carrying Jordan Bennett’s child!
****
That night I lay awake for hours, trying to think. No solution
presented itself. Never once did I consider going to Jordan with the news of my
condition. To suffer further humiliation or rejection from him was unthinkable.
Was I ever to be a fool? Hadn’t I been fool enough over the
Haversalls? And then Jordan? How could I have let myself fall in love with a
man who cared nothing for me except as a trollop to roll with in the field when
he needed satiation? What a mistake I had made giving myself to him in such
abandonment, never once thinking of the consequences! And now I would pay, and
so would my unborn child.
I thought of what the situation would be when my condition became
known. It would not be long before I would not be able to keep it secret. It
would be obvious to everyone. Then I would lose my position, my livelihood,
small though it was. Then what would I do? Would I be able to keep my pride, or
would I have to crawl to Jordan and beg his help? I would rather die!
Could I run away? But where could I go? And how would I leave? I
had no money, and who could loan me enough to start somewhere new. And how
could I even start somewhere else when I had an infant to care for? The
situation seemed to grow worse and worse as I contemplated it.
Perhaps I could save some money over the next few months. But I
could see no way to save enough to support myself for even two months. Who
could I stay with? Ellen in her tiny room overlooking a garden? What would she
think of me if I were to tell her of my condition? I pressed my hands tightly
over my face, wishing I could die.
By morning I had no answers, and my head and body ached from lack
of rest. The nausea only further reminded me of my dismal, terrifying future.
It was Sunday, and I was expected at church for services and Sunday school.
Mechanically, I dressed and gathered my things together.
Somehow I managed to get through the morning, though my thoughts
were far away and frightening in nature. When people looked at me, I wondered
if they guessed my secret, though I knew that was impossible. It was only my
own guilt that was torturing me.
Ellen stopped me as I was heading back for the schoolhouse. “You
look dreadful, child. What are you doing to yourself?”
“I haven’t been sleeping well,” I answered.
“Why don’t you come over, and we’ll talk?” she suggested, her face
even more wrinkled with her obvious concern over me. I felt miserable.