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My body goes rigid, but I don’t pull away. “I’ll marry you,” I whisper. “But we’ll never be happy.”
30
THERE ARE ANYnumber of things I should be feeling that night as I slowly undress and get ready for bed. But as I slide between the sheets and blow out the lamp, I’m filled only with numb acceptance. It washes over me like a frigid wave, leaving me cold and cleansed. I won’t have to worry about Mother ever finding out about what went on between Catherine and Charles, about the child that now rests at the bottom of the pond. I won’t have to worry about whatever it is that’s inside of me bubbling out because Cyrus has already seen it, and he simply doesn’t care. If I give him what he wants, maybe he won’t use it against me later. I won’t have to worry about scandals or rumors or anything that could hurt Father’s business ever again. Catherine and I won’t have reason to be enemies; we won’t even have reason to live in the same town for that matter. It’s for the best. The only thing that gives me pause is Emeline. She will walk the woods of Willow Hall for eternity because I am too cowardly to come back and find a way to set her free.
But no matter how much sense my decision makes, a painful tug of my heart drags my mind in the other direction. I idly trace a path with my fingers down my collarbone, between my breasts and to my navel, then up again. What would it have been like to lie naked beside John Barrett as his wife? What would it have been like to share not just my body, but my soul, my life with him? My fingers skitter lower. I imagine him embracing me, pulling my body tight against his, a refuge of love and passion. His mouth hot and urgent as it finds mine as my body rises to meet him. I can almost smell him, that clean, woodsy scent with the underlying musk of male sweat.
I stop my hand. Nothing good can come of thinking like this. What if Catherine and Cyrus are right, and there is something wrong with me, something that makes me different? Would Mr. Barrett have really wanted me, knowing that? Cyrus was right about one thing when he asked how many other men would be willing to accept me as I am. Maybe it’s better this way. From now on I must cut free my silly hopes and impossible dreams. I must be an empty vessel. Even if I shatter completely, at least I will have nothing to lose. At least my family will be protected.
* * *
A letter arrives the next day from Catherine. I’m sitting, struggling to keep my eyes open after a night spent lying awake when Blake comes in with that silver tray I’ve learned to hate. This time the letter is for me. I sit up straighter, my eyes widening as I quickly take in the few hastily written lines. Mother has taken a turn for the worse, and I must come, right away. Apparently the illness is far graver than Catherine let on, and the doctor thinks Mother might not have much time.
Aunt Phillips hovers in the door, propped up on her crutch, worrying at her pearl necklace as she watches me throw things into my trunk. “But what about Mr. Thompson? He told me the good news before he left last night...you can’t just up and leave now! What will I tell him?”
I press my fingers against my eyelids. I don’t want to think about what’s waiting for me at home, but if the worst happens and Mother is gone and Mr. Barrett is married, I’ll be back here again soon.
“Tell him whatever you want,” I say, slamming down the lid of my half-filled trunk. “He’s waited this long, another few weeks won’t kill him.”
* * *
If Boston had been indifferent to my return, then Willow Hall has been waiting for me, holding its breath every moment that I was gone. My heart sinks as I step out of the carriage. The house glares at me accusingly from behind tight shutters and a mantle of snow.Look what happens when you leave. You thought you could run away, that you could abandon your sorrows here, but there is no escaping the sorrow that I hold in my walls.
I shut my ears against the house’s taunts and race inside, nearly slipping on the ice, my heart in my throat. What if I’m too late?
Ada intercepts me in the hall. Before I can say anything, she throws her skinny arms around me, squeezing like her life depended on it. “Oh, thank goodness you’ve come, miss. You’re in time, but she’s been asking for you.”
The air comes out of me in a whoosh of relief, and my knees sag under me. “Oh, thank God. What did the doctor say?”
Ada shakes her head and looks away, but her fingers fidget nervously at her cuffs. “It’s a fever, and he’s afraid it will move to her brain.”
I slump against the wall. A fever is never something to be taken lightly, especially for someone who is already so diminished and frail. A few summers ago a fever swept over Boston, taking with it dozens of lives of elderly people and children. Our neighbor alone lost her three little boys.
“Can I do anything for you, miss?”
Ada looks at me expectantly, her small, freckled face etched with concern, and I find myself pulling her back into my embrace. “I don’t know what we ever did to deserve you, Ada. Thank you, for everything.”
She flushes and mumbles something, but I catch the fleeting smile as she runs off to the kitchen to make tea.
I find Father in his study, stacks of papers and ledgers towering above him, threatening to topple over and bury him completely. He’s pale, his eyes dull and filmy. I have to knock on the doorframe three times before he looks up. “Oh, Lydia. You’re back,” he says, as if I had just stepped out for a walk and not gone to Boston for three weeks.
“Yes, Father.”
He gives a heavy sigh, chin in hand. “All these papers, all these reports and contracts and meaningless numbers. How will I go on? How will I do it without my Martha?”
I’ve never seen my father like this, so helpless and drained. I put my frozen hand over his and squeeze. “I know, Father. It’s all right. She’ll be all right.” But the truth is I don’t know that she’ll be all right, and I have to brace myself for what I’ll find when I go upstairs.
“All these papers and numbers,” he repeats listlessly, already lost in his own thoughts again.
Catherine’s voice floats down the hall. “Ada, I asked about that broth over an hour ago, don’t tell me it’s still not ready. And have you checked the windows in Mother’s rooms? They were letting in a draft before. I want them tight as a ship.” I wince at the way she orders Ada around when Ada is already doing so much to help.
When she passes by the open door she stops and frowns at me. “Oh, you’re here.”
“You told me to come.”
Her arms are full of stained linen, her eyes shadowed and bloodshot. “The doctor just left. Mother is resting now.”
I nod, mute. What is there to say? Catherine gives me a curt nod in return and then disappears down the hall, already an expert in her new role as capable daughter and nurse.