Bebe wasn’t surprised when Horatio was too ill the next morning to get up and go to work. He didn’t seem to recall last night’s conversation or that he had confessed to being a coward. She left him in bed and went downstairs to eat breakfast alone. The dining room looked the way it always had, with the chafing dishes on the buffet, but now Bebe was the only one at the table. The room was so quiet that she could hear the case clock ticking out in the hallway and the low rumble of the servants’ voices in the kitchen. She looked at Mr. Garner’s empty chair and marveled at how quickly life could change. Why did he have to die now, just when she and Horatio were going to move out of this place and away from his mother?
Bebe folded her arms on the table and lowered her head onto them. She didn’t want her love for Horatio to slowly erode again, but if he continued to drink she feared that it might. The only thing she could think of to do was to pray.
Her prayers, it seemed, went unanswered. Horatio’s one night of drinking turned into two, then three. Mrs. Garner was no help to him or anyone else. She remained in her bedroom, consoled by the laudanum pills that the family doctor had prescribed. Bebe felt utterly alone. When she could no longer stand the silence in the cold, echoing house, she decided to follow the maid upstairs when she took Mrs. Garner her breakfast, determined to offer comfort.
Bebe’s mother-in-law looked years older, lying in the rumpled bed with her hair loose and disheveled. “Leave the tray on the table,” she mumbled to the maid. The girl obeyed, then quickly left the room. Bebe cleared her throat.
“Mrs. Garner? Is there anything I can do for you? I’d like to help.”
Mrs. Garner rolled over to face her, frowning. She looked Bebe up and down for a moment, as if wondering who she was and where she’d come from, then pointed to the pile of condolence cards heaped on her nightstand. “You can write thank-you notes on the family’s behalf . . . and you can leave me alone.” Bebe scooped up the cards and backed from the room.
One week after her father-in-law’s death, Bebe was writing notes at the desk in the parlor when someone arrived at the door. “My name is Neal MacLeod,” she heard him say to the butler. “I’m the foreman down at the tannery. Might I speak with Horatio Garner, please?”
Horatio was still in bed, of course, passed out cold at eleven o’clock in the morning. Bebe hurried out to the hall, and when she saw a ruddy young man about the same age as Horatio standing in the doorway, she could only stare in surprise.
“Excuse me . . . did I understand correctly that you’re the foreman down at the tannery?”
“Yes, ma’am. Neal MacLeod.” He swept off his hat and bowed slightly.
No wonder Horatio had viewed MacLeod as a rival. No wonder he had been angry with his father for hiring him. He looked no older or more experienced than Horatio was.
“I’m Beatrice Garner, Horatio’s wife.” She offered her hand, and it seemed to disappear inside his large, freckled one. “I saw you at the funeral, but we weren’t properly introduced.”
Neal MacLeod reminded Bebe of one of her father’s yearling calves—sturdy and square and large-boned, with all of the latent power of a bull but none of the brashness. His round boyish face and gentle nature made her feel as comfortable with him as with her own brothers.
“My husband isn’t feeling well, Mr. MacLeod. May I relay a message to him?”
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you, ma’am. I understand that your household is still in mourning. I’ll come back another time.” He ducked his head shyly and began backing away.
“Wait. Please. It’s no trouble at all, Mr. MacLeod, I assure you.
Especially if it’s important. Won’t you please come into the parlor and have a seat?”
He seemed to step carefully as he followed her into the overstuffed parlor, as if picking his way across a stream on uneven stones. He gazed around uncomfortably at the abundant bric-a-brac just as Bebe had the first time, then sat down on the very edge of the sofa, gripping his hat in his hands. Why would her father-in-law, known to be a ruthless businessman, hire such a gentle, unassuming man to run his tannery? Could it be that MacLeod’s lumbering physique discouraged arguments among the workers or threats of labor unrest? Judging by his deferential manner and threadbare suit, he probably had grown up in The Flats alongside the other workers.
“Tell me what brings you here, Mr. MacLeod?”
“First of all, please extend my sympathy to your family once again for their loss. Mr. Garner was a very fine man and—” His voice faltered as he choked back his grief. Bebe had no doubt that it was genuine, and it surprised her.
“You were fond of him, weren’t you?” She saw his eyes glisten as he nodded.
“He was like a father to me, ma’am. I will miss him. . . . Excuse me . . .” He cleared his throat.
Bebe waited, liking Neal MacLeod more and more every minute.
“I understand that your husband, Horatio Garner, will take over for his father according to the terms of his will. And I know that in the past he didn’t always agree with his father’s decisions and even argued against some of them. I’ve been running the tannery the same as usual for the past week, but I’ve begun to worry that I’ve been too presumptuous. I came here to ask your husband if I should continue with the plans that his father set in motion before he died, or if he—young Mr. Garner, that is—has different plans.”
Bebe’s stomach turned over in dread. Horatio wasn’t capable of running the business in his present condition—and perhaps not even when he was sober. His father hadn’t seemed to trust him and had hired MacLeod precisely for that reason. Nor had Mr. Garner promoted Horatio to the foreman’s position even after three months of sobriety. The fact that Horatio hadn’t always agreed with his father’s more experienced decisions made Bebe feel ill. Might his decisions sink the company, now that he was at the helm?
“I see,” Bebe murmured. “I’ll certainly convey your message to my husband, Mr. MacLeod. But in the meantime, I don’t see how it would be presumptuous of you in the least if you continued to operate the tannery the way you did when Mr. Garner was alive. I’m certain that Horatio would trust your judgment completely until he’s feeling better.”
And then what would happen? Would Horatio fire Neal MacLeod when he did return to work? Bebe feared that he would. The young foreman’s plain, honest face revealed that he had arrived here fearing the same thing. And she had done nothing to relieve those fears.
MacLeod rose to his feet, squaring his broad shoulders. “Thank you, ma’am. I will continue the daily operations as usual, for now. Please tell your husband that I hope he feels better soon. I know that there will be documents that will require his signature, and while I have the authorization to sign in some instances, I don’t in all of them.”
Bebe remained seated as another wave of fear washed over her. Horatio’s oversight would be required soon. If he didn’t pull himself together, the business could suffer serious consequences.
“You are welcome to bring the papers here for Horatio’s signature whenever necessary, Mr. MacLeod. I’m not certain how long it will be until he’s well.” Her future rested in his drunken, shaking hands. If only Horatio could go back to her family’s farm to dry out again, as he had the last time. If only the farm wasn’t so far away. As she finally stood to walk the foreman to the door, Bebe struggled to think of a way to convince Horatio to make the trip.
“We may be leaving the city for a few days so that my husband can rest and recuperate in the countryside. It’s so much better for him, you see.”
MacLeod nodded. “I know that your father-in-law always enjoyed visiting his fishing cabin up on Iroquois Lake. I can see how spending some time up there might bring consolation. It shocked all of us when he died so suddenly.”
Bebe hadn’t known about the existence of such a cabin, but she nodded as if she had. “Thank you for coming, Mr. MacLeod.
I’m certain that Horatio will be back to work very soon.”
As soon as MacLeod left, Bebe hurried upstairs and began packing two satchels with clothing and toiletries for Horatio and herself. The foreman’s visit had fueled her rising fears for the future, but he’d also given her hope for a way to help Horatio. He heard her rustling through the bureau drawers and rolled over in bed to face her, squinting in the light.
“What are you doing, Beatrice? Must you make so much noise? What time is it?”
Time for things to change,
she wanted to tell him. But she didn’t, aware that she needed to console him and coax him, not confront him. “Have you ever been to your father’s fishing cabin on Iroquois Lake?” she asked.
“Yes, of course. Why?”
“I think we should go there for a few days.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The factory foreman was just here. You’re needed at work. He says there are questions for you to answer and papers for you to sign, and you can’t do your work when you’ve been drinking this way.”
“I don’t think I can—”
“Nothing can bring your father back, Horatio. But if you loved him—and if you love me—then you need to take charge of the business that he worked his entire life to build. You need to stop drinking. And you need to keep all of your promises to me—” Fear and grief choked Bebe’s voice. She couldn’t finish.
Horatio closed his eyes. “You don’t know how hard this is for me. I want to stop . . . and I don’t mean to drink so much, but I . . .” He sank back against the pillows and covered his face.
Bebe quickly wiped her own tears. “I know it’s hard. But maybe if we went to the lake for a few days, just the two of us . . . Remember how peaceful and rested you felt when you visited our farm?”
“I don’t think I can—”
“You have to!” she shouted. She hadn’t meant to, but fear drove her to it. “I can’t live this way and neither can you!” He stared at her as if she had slapped him. Bebe swallowed, forcing herself to speak calmly. “Please, Horatio.”
When he finally agreed, Bebe immediately ordered the driver to prepare the carriage before Horatio could change his mind. “Please pack a hamper of food for us,” she told the cook. “Enough for three or four days.” All the while, Bebe kept a close eye on Horatio to make sure he didn’t bring along any alcohol.
“Do you know the way to Mr. Garner’s fishing cabin?” she asked the driver as he loaded their belongings into the carriage.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s about an hour’s drive outside of town, up the mountain.”
Horatio was silent and sullen throughout the trip, slumping forward on the seat with his head in his hands, elbows on his thighs. He seemed oblivious to the beauty all around him, and the flaming colors of the changing leaves. Bebe sat back and enjoyed the view of the countryside, trying to let it soothe her, praying that this cure would work. The road followed the same river that flowed through Roseton, climbing steadily uphill until it reached Iroquois Lake at the top of the mountain. The mirror-like lake was peaceful and serene, surrounded by a forest that was so quiet Bebe could hear her own heartbeat. She wished they had brought enough food for a month.
“It’s beautiful up here, isn’t it Horatio?”
“I suppose so. The lake is man-made, you know. They dammed up the river about ten years ago to form a reservoir for the city.”
The carriage halted in front of a rustic cabin with log walls and a stone fireplace for heat. The driver had to kick the swollen door a few times before it would open. Bebe followed him inside. Judging by the cobwebs on the rafters and the mice nests in the corners, the cabin had been vacant for quite some time. Puffs of dust trailed behind Bebe as she crossed the room to open a window. The curtains crumbled in her fingers when she touched them.
Horatio stood in the doorway, watching her. “This is much too crude for you, my darling. We should let the servants come up here first and clean it before we try to stay here. It’s uninhabitable. Let’s go back.”
“I don’t mind doing a little cleaning,” she replied. “I can have this place tidy in no time, you’ll see. I love it up here.” She brushed the dust off her hands as the driver brought in the last of their things. “Please come back for us in four days’ time,” she told him. She feared it wasn’t long enough, but that was as long as Horatio would agree to stay. He stood outside and watched as the carriage drove away as if watching the last ship set sail, leaving them stranded on a deserted island. During the drive up to the cabin the sky had been steadily lowering on them like a gray wool blanket, but the moment the carriage disappeared from sight among the trees, the blanket split open and rain began to pour down. It rained for the entire four days they were there.
Horatio’s recovery was much rougher than the last time. His moods rose and plummeted from high to low, from anger to despair, as if he were on a swing and couldn’t jump off. Bebe read books to him, prayed for him, talked to him. They took walks together in the dripping woods whenever the rain let up—which wasn’t often. Some evenings they stood on the fishing pier in front of the Garners’ cabin in the cold drizzle and watched the waves wash over the planks. Little by little Bebe encouraged Horatio to talk about his father.
“I could never please him, Beatrice,” he said one stormy afternoon as they sat in front of the fire. “I never heard him say that he was proud of me. Not once. Not even during these past few months when I’ve been working so hard for him.”
Bebe leaned into Horatio’s shoulder as she listened, grieving for her husband and not for the man who had hurt him so deeply.
“You know what his lawyer told me after he died? My father put a condition in his will that I have to keep Neal MacLeod on as foreman for at least five years after my father’s death. Otherwise, I won’t inherit anything. What an outrage! He didn’t trust me—his own son! He gave my job to a stranger!”
Bebe squeezed his hand a little tighter and tried to form her reply. She knew she should be as outraged as her husband was, but instead she felt relieved to know that Mr. MacLeod would manage the tannery for a while longer. It would give Horatio more time to learn the business—and more time to remain sober. If only Horatio would see him as a friend instead of a rival.