“I know. I am sorry, too. I should’ve let you see that I’d take care of you.” Mama continued brushing, then massaged her tresses in the soap until the scent of ash had gone away. “Let me go get some water to rinse you, then I’ll oil down to the root.”
Her mother’s footsteps faded, and Ester was alone again, with all her doubts and fears. Yes, Bex had lived through tonight’s misadventures, but could she live with him always taking such chances with his life?
Tears fell, plopping from her chin to drop into the water, and Ester wanted to blame the soap dripping from her hair, but this sob was all the thoughts in her head of how he could be hurt. Her tears kept falling, more than could be counted.
Her mother returned, carrying a yellow bundle of satin and another bottle in her hands. Mrs. Fitterwall bounced behind her with a shiny pitcher.
The housekeeper dumped the picture of warm water over Ester as Mama worked it through the curls.
“There you go, squeaky clean. Let’s get you out,” Mrs. Fitterwall said.
“Not so fast,” Mama said. “I have to oil her scalp. Ester will dry out faster than anything.”
Mrs. Fitterwall nodded and yawned. “If you don’t need anything further, ma’am, I am going to turn in.”
“I can handle Ester. You rest well. Tomorrow will be another hard day. Mr. Croome’s recovery will be long.”
The red-headed sprite yawned again. “God bless him. He’s a good employer. He’ll be a good father-in-law, so don’t be breaking his heart again.”
“That’s enough, Mrs. Fitterwall. Rest well.”
The housekeeper nodded and left the room.
“Mama, Mrs. Fitterwall is right. I hurt Papa, and I hurt you, too.”
Her mother said nothing and opened a jar of the coconut oil, a rich cream she’d made from mashing up the insides of the big nut. She rubbed it into the parted locks, baptizing her scalp in the sweet scent, then towel-dried the hair. “There, let’s get you out of this tub.”
Ester rose and stepped from the tub into the soft white towel, but more so into Mama’s arms. She clung to her, hoping the unsaid words in her soul touched her mother’s.
“Here, Ester, put lotion on your knees and ankles. You always forget.”
“Mama, will you ever forgive me for eloping? For not respecting you?”
The woman walked to the small table she’d set her bundle upon. With golden rings glistening, she undid it. “It’s amazing that you want forgiveness just for asking, yet you punished me for forgiving your father. He asked to be forgiven, his sorrow was true, and I forgave him. I believe he knew what it meant to hurt me. Funny, your Bex saved your father and his workers. Not once did he ask your father for Josiah’s sorrow in threatening to shoot a hole through him. You might learn something from Bex.”
“Mama, I—”
“Put more lotion on those ankles. Otherwise, you’ll ruin this.” Her mother held up the softest yellow nightgown. She walked back to her and helped Ester into it. Then she tied a bow under her bosom with the sash of the matching robe.
“This is beautiful. Mama, is this one of yours? Did the seamstress make it too short for you?”
“No dear. I had it made for you when we returned.”
That was after her parents had disowned her. “I don’t deserve this.”
Mama kissed her brow. “I was angry at you. But nonetheless, Ester Bex, never ever forget that you will always be Ester Croome, one of the daughters I love.”
She touched Ester’s elbow that showed beneath the puffed sleeve of the fairy-like nightgown. “You always miss your elbows—dry and ashy.”
Water streamed down Ester’s face, harder than before. The deep, ugly cry only stopped when she was in her mother’s embrace again. “You don’t mind that Bex is my choice?”
Mama’s light gold fingers gripped Ester’s olive ones. “If his hands are the one you want on you, and if those hands treat you well, then he’s my choice, too. Your husband has awakened. He asked for you. If you go to him tonight, tell him he is welcome in this home.”
Her mother went to the door and grasped the knob. “Your husband’s waking up in a strange place. The doctor said he’d uttered some strange things, but will be fine, and we’ll pray that your father will be fine, too. Good night, Ester.”
Mama left the chamber, and the soft close of the door took all of Ester’s strength. She sobbed anew. Her stomach ached at how deeply she’d wounded the woman and how great was her forgiveness. It wasn’t weakness to forgive. Maybe someday she’d be as strong as Mama. Maybe she could start now, by forgiving Bex.
She slipped into the hall. The house was quiet. A sconce flickered, but nothing else moved. The grandfather clock began to chime, bellowing up to her on the third floor. It had to be midnight.
