Trinity: Bride of West Virginia (Amercan Mail-Order Bride 35) Page 11

  “Call the doctor! We need Doctor Watson at once!”

  I stood there in horror, watching the once vibrant features of my husband turn to grey. Something terrible had happened to him. He wasn’t breathing at all, his eyes fixed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  In the early hours of the morning, after the priest left, I sat in the parlor with Mrs. Dexter, gazing at nothing in particular. The embers in the fire had died out long ago, the logs smoking. Holding a glass of brandy, I’d had a small sip, the heat of the fluid warming my belly.

  “You’ll have to notify Mr. Witherspoon. I’ll take you to town tomorrow to make a telephone call. A letter won’t do this time.”

  “No.”

  “I’m terribly sorry.”

  “So am I.”

  “I know this hasn’t been easy for you. You’ve struggled to adjust. Just when you’d made peace … this happens.”

  “Life is unpredictable.”

  “It is.”

  “We had one of our better conversations tonight. He was incredibly honest.”

  She took a sip of tea, mulling that over.

  “I’ve been corresponding with Nathanial.”

  “I know.”

  “I suppose I should feel guilty now.”

  “Not necessarily. You’ve been an exemplary wife. You’ve taken good care of your husband. There is nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “But I do feel guilt.”

  “Because your affections are elsewhere, or is it his death?”

  “Both.” I met her gaze. “I could’ve grown to love him. I was beginning to feel a great fondness for him.”

  “Of course.” She smiled kindly. “You’ll have to plan the funeral.”

  “Will you help me?”

  “Yes.”

  “What will happen to us?”

  “That’s a good question. Everything you see here now belongs to Mr. Witherspoon.”

  I wondered if she included me in that assessment. “I suppose it does.”

  “You should go to bed. It’s late.”

  The scene from earlier lingered in my mind. The body of my husband had been laid out on his bed, the doctor examining him, although there was nothing anyone could have done to save him. His heart had simply stopped.

  “I’ll go to bed, but I doubt I’ll sleep.”

  “Try.”

  “Good night, Mrs. Dexter.”

  “Good night, Trinity.”

  I lumbered to my room, shivering at the sight of the open door to my right, where my husband had been. They had taken the body away to the undertakers. I knew I would not be able to blot out what had happened, the tragedy far too fresh in my mind. Getting into bed, I tossed and turned for hours, grateful for the first streams of sunlight, as I needn’t pretend to sleep any longer.

  Mrs. Dexter waited for me when I came down, having donned a coat. “Good morning,” she said.

  “I’m not hungry.” I wore a woolen outfit with heavy stockings. “I need to make that telephone call.”

  “Of course. I’ll have Roger bring the carriage around.”

  “Are the roads passable?” I glanced out the window, seeing a blanket of snow.

  “Mostly. We’ll be fine.”

  Affixing gloves, I waited to leave, stepping into a cold morning, the frigid air seeping straight into my bones. We spoke little on the ride to the mercantile, where the nearest phone was. The world had yet to know of the events of the night before, the town in ignorant bliss. Doctor Watson would not make a formal announcement until all family members had been notified.

  At the mercantile, I stepped from the carriage, holding the coat closed around my neck. Mrs. Dexter followed me in, shutting the door behind us. The bells chimed, alerting the clerk.

  “Good morning!” she said cheerfully. “How may I help you?”

  “Mrs. Witherspoon needs to make a call.”

  “Oh, certainly. You’ll find them around that corner.” She pointed.

  “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Dexter and I made our way into a tight hallway, standing before two mahogany boxes mounted to the wall. I had little experience with these, so Mrs. Dexter hand cranked the generator to signal the operator. She then held the bong to her ear, speaking into the mouthpiece.

  “Yes, hello. I need to call Boston.” She listened for a moment, and then gave the number. “Of course. I’ll wait.” She glanced at me. “They’re trying to reach him.”

  I stared morosely at the floor, dreading this conversation. When at last the operator placed the call, one of Mr. Witherspoon’s servants answered.

  “This is Mrs. Dexter from Mr. Witherspoon’s household. Is Mr. Witherspoon at home?” She waited on the other end of the line. Then she said, “Oh, thank goodness.” She glanced at me. “You may speak now.”

  “Thank you.” I took the bong, holding it to my ear, where I heard a fair amount of static.

  “Hello?” a man said.

  I recognized that voice. “Nathanial.”

  “Trinity?”

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  I could barely hear him, his voice sounding as if it came through a long tunnel. “You should know your father’s … he’s passed away last night. He collapsed in his bed. I’m so sorry.”

  “What?”

  I said louder, “Your father passed away last night.” The entire store would have heard that, but it could not be helped. “Can you come?”

  “Dear God.”

  “I’m terribly sorry, Nate.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “And the baby?”

  “It’s fine. Everything’s fine, but your father’s not with us. He’s gone.”

  “I’ll catch the first available train. I’ll be there in a day.”

  “All right.”

  “It’s so good to hear your voice.”

  “Just come as soon as you can.”

  “I will, my love. I will.”

  Thankfully his words were for my ears only. The line went dead, the operator saying, “Would you like to make another call?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I glanced at Mrs. Dexter. “He’s on his way.”

  She nodded soberly. “I’ve a funeral to plan. You needn’t do a thing, Trinity. I’ll take care of it.”

  I found myself in her arms, tears falling from my eyes. “Oh, how awful. My first telephone call ever, and it was to deliver the worst news.”

  “That is a shame.” She hugged me tightly. “Are you ready? We should go home.” She escorted me into the mercantile, where the shopkeeper stared at us. They had heard every word. Mrs. Dexter saying, “Mr. Witherspoon passed away last night. Thank you for the use of the phone. I must take Mrs. Witherspoon home at once.”

  “Oh, how dreadful,” someone uttered. “Is there anything we can do?”

  “We have it in hand. Thank you.” Mrs. Dexter accompanied me from the shop, where the carriage waited.

  ***

  Every hour seemed like an eternity. I spent the next day pacing the bedroom, where I had gone to hide. I needed to be alone with my thoughts, sorting through conflicting feelings. I missed my husband greatly, realizing he had truly been a good man. He had never once raised his voice to me, even when I had been wrong. He behaved with politeness and consideration. He had apologized the night he died for marrying me so soon after my arrival, but that was why I had come to West Virginia in the first place. I knew my husband would be a stranger. I had already resolved myself to that fact well before I made the decision to be a mail order bride. What I hadn’t counted on was Nathanial. He seemed to crawl straight into my skin, the source of a craving that could never be satisfied.

  The following day, early in the evening, we were about to sit for supper, the cook having made pork chops with fried apples. The aroma of nutmeg and lemon lingered in the air. We did not hear the rap on the door, a gust of cold wind blowing thro
ugh.

  Mrs. Dexter’s eyes widened. “Who’s there?”

  Not having sat yet, I glanced towards the doorway, seeing Nathanial appear, white flakes of snow mantling his shoulders. He strode towards me, his expression guarded, yet something indefinable flickered in his red-rimmed eyes.

  “Nate,” I breathed, my heart thudding in my chest.

  “Trinity.” He drew me into his arms, his coat smelling of fresh air. “Good God.” He held me tightly, his cold face in my neck.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I thought him to be improving.”

  “He was. He was far more energetic than when we first met. It’s a shock for everyone.”

  “And you were alone with him when it happened.”

  “We had just gone to bed. We were talking. It was one of the most honest conversations we’d had.”

  “I went to the mortuary to see him.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mrs. Dexter’s arranged for everything. The funeral’s tomorrow. You must be exhausted.”

  He stepped away from me, although his hands remained on my person. “You’re bigger than I remember.” He looked aggrieved, devastated, his eyes watery.

  “You should sit. Eat something.” I pulled out a chair for him. “Please.” I glanced at Mrs. Dexter. “Have cook make another plate.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Witherspoon.”

  I sat next to Nathanial, although instead of eating, he took my hand, kissing it. “You’re so beautiful. Even dressed in black.”

  “You look very tired.”

  “I didn’t sleep much.”

  I touched his face. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am you’re here.”

  “Everything I’ve ever wanted is in this room. It’s mine now.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  After supper, I had Mrs. Dexter make up the guest bedroom, intending on giving it to Nathanial. He hadn’t eaten much, picking at his food, although he did consume a fair amount of brandy. I excused myself shortly after, feeling exhaustion. Changing into a nightgown, I brushed out my hair, leaving it hanging down my back. Turning down the lights, I prepared for bed, the door to the room suddenly opening.

  “I’m fine, Mrs. Dexter. I don’t need—” I turned to see Nathanial. “Is something amiss?”

  “Not at all.” He closed the door behind him. “Everything is just as it should be.” Removing his jacket, he unbuttoned the waistcoat.

  “Mrs. Dexter made up the bed in the guestroom.”

  “She needn’t have bothered.”

  Alarm raced through me. “You … you don’t intend on sleeping here, do you?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”

  “No. This is my room, sir.”

  “And this is my house. The will’s not been changed. Everything you see here belongs to me.” A determined look entered his eye. “That includes you.”

  Although tired, his words stirred anger within me. “I beg your pardon. I’m a married woman, whose husband isn’t even cold in his grave yet.”

  “He’s quite cold, I assure you.” He unbuttoned the sleeves of the shirt. “That bed’s big enough for the both of us.”

  “B-but, that’s shocking!”

  “How so?”

  “We’re not married. I’m in mourning, and I shall be for at least a year. You can’t stay here, Nathanial.”

  “I can, and I will.” He tossed the shirt aside, revealing a toned chest with a smattering of hair. “It’s been a long day, Trinity. I wish for sleep, nothing else.”

  “And there’s a perfectly good guestroom to accommodate you.”

  “I’m staying with you.”

  I headed for the door. “Then I shall take the other room.” A hand thrust out, fingers wrapping around my arm. “Let me go!”

  He dragged me to him, his bloodshot eyes glaring at me. “No. You’re mine, Trinity. I will not be separated from you again for another minute. Do you understand? Have you any idea how long I’ve waited for you? A hundred and twenty days, to be exact.”

  “That may be, but I’ve only just lost my husband.”

  “You may grieve in my arms.”

  “Nathanial, be reasonable.”

  “I’m more than reasonable. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I’ve stopped myself more times than I can count from coming here and taking you away with me. I’ve even gone so far as to buy a villa in Italy. I’ve been planning our escape for months. I’ve come to New York City on the train several times before stopping and turning around.” He grasped my shoulders, shaking me. “I’ve come so close to having you … so many times. There’s absolutely nothing stopping me now, my love. Nothing.”

  “You’re in a dangerous mood.”

  “I am.”

  I swallowed the fear and grief and yearning I felt, afraid it would all show in my eyes. “I’m terribly tired, Nate. I don’t have the strength to argue with you.”

  The harsh planes on his face softened. “Get in bed.”

  Knowing it was useless to continue to fight over the issue, I slid beneath the sheets. Sleep was the only thing on my mind. If he had other ideas, I would scream loud enough to bring the house down. I waited for him, lowering my eyes, as he undressed, leaving on a pair of drawers. He joined me a moment later, turning off the light. I scooted to the furthest edge of the mattress, turning my back to him.

  “Come here.” He grabbed me, drawing me into his arms. “That’s better.” His lips grazed my forehead.

  I felt the beating of his heart, with only a sheet separating us. His warmth seeped through the blankets. He shook then, his chest trembling. Grasping me tighter, he wept inconsolably, a torrent of grief escaping unchecked. I shed a tear too, because we grieved for the same reason.

  “You made him happy,” he murmured.

  “What?”

  “You made him happy. His final months were happy ones.”

  “I hope so.”

  “You never knew him after my mother died. He was angry for a long time. He stopped taking care of himself. He drank too much. He was a lost soul for years. He never smiled.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Then he married you, and things changed. I was terribly jealous. I feel guilty now for feeling that way. I should’ve been happy for him, but, instead, I yearned for what was his.”

  “We must let that all go, Nate. It’s the past now.” Knowing how close he came to stealing me away left a strange impression on me. “When God calls us home, we go. It was your father’s time.”

  “I’ve not been the best son, but … I’m glad he found happiness, for a while anyhow. He left this earth at peace.”

  “But he’ll never see his baby.”

  At the mention of the child, Nathanial’s hand closed over my belly. “Are you well? Forgive me for not inquiring before.”

  “I’m fine, as good as can be expected for just losing my husband.”

  His arm tightened around me. “We shall grieve together.”

  “The entire house will know where you spent the night. It’s scandalous. People talk. The servants talk. Everyone will know.”

  “I could care less. I don’t plan on staying long anyhow.”

  He would leave after the funeral, and then I would be alone in this great big house. “I see.”

  A sigh escaped him. “Go to sleep. We’ve a busy day tomorrow.”

  My hand strayed to his chest, where it drifted to his throat, feeling a rough, shorn beard. I inhaled the scent of him, whatever soap he used smelling lightly of mandarin and cedar wood, with hints of brandy.

  “If you persist in that, I shall kiss you. I’d doubt I’d stop there either.”

  I dropped the hand. “Sorry.”

  He turned, flinging a leg over my hip, drawing me even closer, and his breath near my ear. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted.”

  “Nate … ”

  “I adore you, Trinity. I love you.”

  “I love you.”

&nbs
p; “I know you do.”

  I closed my eyes, succumbing to sleep a short while later, entangled in Nathanial’s arms, the blankets offering a warm cocoon around us. In the morning, I became aware of not being alone in the room, Mrs. Dexter having brought in a tray, as she did every morning. I knew she had perceived us in bed together, embarrassment bringing heat to my cheeks. Although we had only slept, our behavior would create gossip.

  Sliding out from beneath the covers, I sat and drank tea before the windows, although the draperies remained closed. Leaving Nathanial to sleep, I took my clothes and scurried to the water closet, where I bathed and dressed. Mrs. Dexter waited for me after I emerged.

  “I need Penny to fix my hair. I don’t want to disturb Nathanial. He needs to rest.”

  “It seems Mr. Witherspoon failed to find the guest chamber.”

  I sighed, hating this conversation. “He was quite determined to … to use my room. It was impossible to refuse him, although … all that occurred was sleep.”

  “I’m quite aware of your relationship, you know.”

  Stunned, I stared at her. “Pardon?”

  “You’re in love with him.”

  Tears sprang to my eyes. “I … really can’t discuss it.”

  “All the letters. All the presents. The way you look at one another. I’d have to be blind not to see it.”

  At a loss, I glanced down the hallway, not wanting to meet her eyes.

  “As an employee here, I’m in no position to judge, nor shall I. You’ve been a marvelous influence on Mr. John Witherspoon. I’ve never seen him as animated or happy as he was with you. The short time you were married were the best for him, I believe. None of us could’ve foreseen his untimely demise, but the Lord thought it prudent to take him.”

  “He did.” I swallowed the lump in my throat, fighting tears. Today would be difficult, the funeral only two hours away.

  “Although your feelings run deep for Nathanial, I doubt either of you would’ve acted upon them.”

  I braved a look at her. “No. You’re right about that.”

  “I saw how torn you were, how heartbroken. You brought such happiness to Mr. Witherspoon, yet you suffered in silence.”