The saloon they had chosen was down by the river near the brickyard. Out of the dozen women who showed up, I was the youngest protester by about fifty years and the only one without gray hair. I craned my neck, trying to get a peek inside the “den of iniquity” while Grandma shouted to the saloon owner through the open door, asking for permission to come inside and pray. She didn’t seem surprised when he refused.
“Never mind, ladies. Let’s all stand out here near the curb,” Grandma said. “Remember, we have strict orders from the police not to block the sidewalk or the doorway.”
The women arranged themselves in a long row, and after some preliminary throat clearing we began singing hymns. Horses and wagons drove past us on the street, and laborers hurried by on the sidewalk, but nearly every man raised his hat in respect as he passed. After we’d sung two or three hymns and a small crowd had gathered, one of the ladies told the tearful story of how her son had fallen into the clutches of Demon Rum in a saloon just like this one. When she finished her sad tale, the prayer meeting began—and it lasted so long that I began wishing I had a whiskey barrel to sit on. Finally the prayers tapered off, and we ended the meeting with another hymn. I hoped that the hatchets would come out now and I would witness a little excitement, but the ladies simply wished each other a good night and went home. My first temperance meeting was a great disappointment.
“I don’t see how praying and singing hymns is going to accom- plish anything,” I told Grandma when we returned to her house. “I didn’t see any drunks suddenly turning sober.”
“Progress doesn’t happen overnight, Harriet. But if we close down the saloons one by one, the men will finally get out of that terrible atmosphere. A change of scene always worked very well for Horatio—especially when he took a vacation from the city altogether. I noticed the beneficial effects of good country air for the very first time when he came to fetch me from my father’s farm after I ran away. We ended up staying there with my parents for a week. . . .”
“This week has flown by,” Horatio said as he and Bebe walked along the path from the barn to the river. “It’s so peaceful compared to the city. I feel different here.”
He looked different to Bebe, too. The sun had bronzed his face during their long walks and burnished his hair. His hands no longer shook the way they had at first. “Why don’t we move here, Horatio? Maybe Franklin could help you find work in town.”
“That’s tempting,” he said with a sigh. “Especially when I see how happy Franklin is. But I owe a debt of loyalty to my parents. My father worked hard to build up our family’s business, and I’m his only son.”
“But you hate working at the tannery.”
“I know. But I need to try again, for his sake. We need to go home, Beatrice. I think it will be better for both of us this time. And I’m going to keep my promise to build you a house of your own.”
Bebe wanted to trust him, but she was still afraid. They walked until they reached the spot where the swing used to be, and as she looked up at the frayed rope she tried not to think of Horatio’s other broken promises. She listened in the afternoon stillness to the sound of the wind in the leaves and the murmur of the river.
“Let’s build a small house,” she told him. “Just big enough for the two of us. I want to cook for you, and—”
“You shouldn’t have to cook. I’ll hire servants.”
“But I like to cook. I’ve missed being in the kitchen. Besides, my biscuits are much better than the ones your cook makes.” She had hoped to make him smile, but he stood looking into the distance, his face somber. Bebe wondered what he was thinking. “Horatio?”
He turned back to her, and his gaze was tender as he studied her face. He loved her. She had no doubt. “Let me hire just one servant then, my sweet Beatrice. I insist. So you won’t become overly tired.”
She smiled up at him. “Very well. Just one.”
“Things will be different this time,” he said as he drew her into his arms. “I promise.”
They returned home to a reception that was as frigid as the first one had been. It reminded Bebe of the first winter morning every season when she would awaken to a coating of frost on the hardened ground and tree branches that were barren and brittle. She knew from her mother-in-law’s expression that Mrs. Garner hadn’t hoped for reconciliation. She didn’t speak a word to Bebe for three days.
The first thing Bebe did was to throw out the whiskey bottle that Horatio kept in their bedroom. He handed over his key to the liquor cabinet in the drawing room and Bebe made sure it always remained locked.
“I’ve cancelled my membership in the club downtown,” he told her. “I promise I’ll stay away from there.”
Horatio rose early every morning and went to work with his father, even when his nightmares kept him awake much of the night. Father and son arrived home for dinner together in the evening, and Bebe could see their relationship begin to change. Their conversations flowed more easily and the men seemed much more relaxed at the table. Mrs. Garner remained cool and distant, but Bebe consoled herself with the thought that she and Horatio would be moving out soon. Whenever the family carriage wasn’t in use, Bebe borrowed it to search for a home of her own to purchase, unwilling to wait for a new one to be built.
On a warm autumn afternoon three months after she and Horatio reconciled, Bebe found the perfect house. She met Horatio in the foyer the moment he returned from work that evening and told him about the house before he even had time to remove his hat.
“I know it’s going to seem small compared to this mansion,” she said, “but it will be just right for us. It’s in a lovely neighborhood on a quiet street, not too far from the tannery or the center of town. Come with me after dinner and look at it with me. Please, Horatio?”
“If you wish.” His voice sounded flat and toneless. She saw none of her own excitement mirrored in his expression. But in spite of his lack interest in the venture, he went to see it with her after dinner. His face fell when he saw it.
“That little cottage? It’s much too small, Beatrice. I want something better for you. Why won’t you let me build you a proper house? We can hire the same architect that Father used.”
“Because it will take too long. I want our own place now. Please? I like this little house.”
He was quiet for such a long time that she thought he would refuse. She saw lines around his eyes that she hadn’t noticed before, and his face looked strained as he stared at the house. She reached to take his hand, but he held it tightly clenched into a fist. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Everything’s fine. If you’re certain you want this place, I’ll go to my lawyer’s office tomorrow and ask him to buy it for you.” His lack of enthusiasm worried her.
“If . . . if you’d rather not, Horatio—”
“I said I would buy it!” He raised his voice with her for the first time. Tears sprang to her eyes, but he didn’t seem to notice. They rode home in silence.
At breakfast the next morning, Horatio still seemed preoccupied. He hadn’t said another word to Bebe about the house, and she was afraid to raise the subject again. She watched him poking at his eggs while his father silently read the newspaper and decided not to remind him of his promise. Maybe he would be in a better mood that evening.
Mr. Garner folded the newspaper and rang for his carriage. “You ready?” he asked Horatio. He nodded and pushed away his untouched plate.
Bebe gave his arm a gentle squeeze as he rose to his feet. “I’ll see you tonight,” she whispered. She remained at the table to finish her tea as the men headed toward the front door. A moment later she heard a loud thud, as if someone had dropped a sack of grain.
“Father!” Horatio shouted. “Help! Somebody, help!”
Bebe ran out to the foyer and saw that Mr. Garner had collapsed to the floor. His face was the color of ashes, his arms and legs splayed lifelessly. Horatio dropped to his knees beside him and lifted his head. “Father? . . . Father!”
Bebe flung open the front door and called to the waiting carriage driver. “Fetch the doctor! Hurry! It’s an emergency!”
But moments after he’d collapsed, Mr. Garner died in Horatio’s arms.
Bebe stayed close to Horatio’s side for the next three days, throughout the wake and the funeral. His spirits had plummeted into a depression that was as deep and dark as the grave they had dug for his father. Horatio barely spoke. He closed his eyes as the men lowered the casket into the ground. Bebe gripped her husband’s hand, trying to will her own strength into him. They rode home in the carriage together after the graveside service, but he wouldn’t come into the house.
“I need to go to the tannery,” he said. “Father left some unfinished business that I need to take care of.”
“Let me go with you, Horatio. I’m sure it will be hard for you to go into your father’s office all by yourself and—”
“I would prefer to do it alone. I’ll be home shortly.” She released his hand reluctantly and climbed down from the carriage. When she looked back to where he still sat, he seemed to have shriveled in size, like bread dough that had been punched down, releasing all the air.
He arrived home after midnight. Drunk.
Bebe’s anger kindled when he staggered into their bedroom, bumping into a chest of drawers, knocking over a chair. “How could you, Horatio! You promised me you wouldn’t start drinking again and—”
“He was my father!” he shouted. “And he’s
gone
!”
The anguish in his voice tingled through her. Bebe laid aside her own anger to offer Horatio comfort instead of condemnation. “Thank goodness you made your peace with him, Horatio. Your father was so glad to have you working with him these past few months, wasn’t he? At least you had that time together.”
Horatio stood with his fists clenched, just as he had when they’d looked at the little cottage together three days ago. His eyes looked dull and lifeless. “My father fell down dead right beside me . . . I couldn’t do anything for him.”
“It wasn’t your fault that he died. There was nothing you could have done.” But Horatio stared straight ahead, not at Bebe, and she saw the gleam of tears in his eyes. He looked as fragile as glass, as though he might shatter if tipped the wrong way, if she said the wrong words. “Horatio, talk to me,” she begged.
“Did I ever tell you about my friends? Jacob Miller and Peter Griffin? We met during the war. . . . One day we were all charging forward with our bayonets fixed, one fellow on either side of me. . . .” Horatio held up an imaginary rifle and stumbled forward a few steps to demonstrate. “Then they both fell down dead, just like that . . . and I was left standing. I don’t know why God would do that, do you, Beatrice?”
“That’s something only He can know.”
“So do you know what I did that day? I wasn’t wounded, but I dropped down on the ground, same as them. . . .” Horatio sagged to the floor. “And I covered my head, and I . . .” He fell facedown, weeping, his arms folded over his head. Bebe leaped from the bed and sank down beside him to comfort him.
“It’s all in the past, Horatio. It happened a long time ago. There was nothing you could have done—”
“Yes there was!” He raised his head to glare at her. “I could have stood up and fought like a man. But I was a coward, Bebe . . . and my father knew it, too. I didn’t want to go to war, but he made me go. He refused to pay the money and forced me to go!”
“Shh . . . shh . . .” She pulled him close and sat with his head on her chest, stroking his hair.
“Your brother Franklin wasn’t a coward. He wasn’t afraid of anything. But when Franklin fell . . . when the Rebels shot him in the leg, I—”
“Hush now!” Bebe put her hand over his mouth to cut off his words, afraid of what else he might confess. He pushed her hand away.
“First thing tomorrow, I’m going to go down and enlist. I’ll go out West and fight the Indians and prove to my father that I’m not a coward.”
“No, Horatio. Tomorrow you’re going to go down and run the tannery in your father’s place. You can prove yourself to him that way.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think I can. Running that place is . . . is too much for me . . . and I . . . I feel like I’m drowning.”
Bebe could see how overwhelmed he was. No wonder he had started drinking again. Horatio had never liked working at the tannery in the first place, and now he was in charge of it. She hugged him tightly, rocking him. “You can do it, darling. I believe in you.”
He clung to her like a child. “I’m so sorry, Beatrice, but having a drink was the only way that I could cope. You understand, don’t you? Just one drink . . . ?”
“We’ll start all over again tomorrow.” She held him until he relaxed and his breathing eased, then helped him to his feet to undress.
“I never bought that little house you wanted. I promised I would, and now—”
“That doesn’t matter right now. Let’s get you into bed.”
“But don’t you see? Now I can’t keep my promise. My father is dead, and I own this house.”
Bebe froze. “Doesn’t it belong to your mother?”
He shook his head. “It’s mine . . . yours and mine.”
“But what about your mother? Where will she live?”
“She’ll live here, too. We have to take care of her from now on.”
Bebe fought the urge to moan. She wanted her own house, far away from Mrs. Garner. She wanted Horatio all to herself. She hated this monstrous house and the three years of bad memories that it held. She had hoped to move out soon so she wouldn’t have to see her mother-in-law anymore. For the past three days, Mrs. Garner had been insufferable as the grieving widow—more so because Bebe had never seen any sign of affection between the Garners, much less love.
As Bebe’s anger and bitterness sprouted and bloomed, she tried to recall the advice her mother had given her. Mama would say that she needed to change her attitude toward her mother-in-law and learn to love her. She would tell Bebe to let go of her plans and make the best of her situation. Again.
Wasn’t that what she had been doing all her life?
Horatio passed out quickly once she helped him into bed. But Bebe lay awake for a long time, unable to sleep.