Mrs. Carter’s big blur, her thick arms like coconuts, began to clap. “Nice say, Ruthy. Mr. John Marks will believe you. But you can tell us…or should we be watchin’ your waistline?”
All the women snickered, but I shuddered. I wasn’t wanton. I desired to be respected, and it hurt to be deprived of it for my one crime—having no legal proof of my marriage to Adam.
Mrs. Johnson put her hand on mine. She shook her head, dangling her sleek blue-black curls. “You do look pale, Mrs. Wilky. I know pale.”
Thinking of Adam, of losing Adam, shredded my insides anew. Hating my weak eyes, I wiped at the moisture pooling in my lashes. “I didn’t sleep too good last night. Nothing more is wrong.”
“Didn’t sleep toowell?” Mrs. Daly’s possession of language skills was perfect and as stiff as a piece of fine furniture. “You do look sickly, Mrs. Wilky.”
Two weeks and little to no sleep had taken a toll. Fourteen days since my lost trunk landed on the steps of the Croome house.
Since its arrival, everything had come back and not just at night. I was a walking nightmare, and I kept seeing Adam’s death—in the shadows, down the stairs, outside of Nineteen Fournier.
The creases under my eyes must have creases. “I’m fine, ladies,” I said. “Thank you for your concern.”
The door to Mama’s parlor creaked, and the patter of little feet came to me.
My beautiful three-year-old son, Christopher, tugged on the dull salmon-pink print of my gown.
I scooped him up and prayed the women wouldn’t make any jokes. My boy was perfect and was smart enough to understand. He already asked questions about hispapa.
“Mama,” he said, “I want outside.”
I tweaked his nose. “No, Chris, you’re just getting over a cold.”
He poked out his thin lips. Brown eyes looking dull, the boy was just a day from the sniffles, but even healthy, I hesitated to let him outside in the open.
My nerves couldn’t be put on my baby.
That couldn’t happen.
He couldn’t suffer because of me. Never.
I kissed his forehead. “Grandpa will be home soon. Maybe he’ll go with you for a little fresh air.”
Chris tossed his chubby arms about my neck, giving me one of his best hugs. He smiled as if I’d given him a new toy. He scooted down to the floor, fighting his light-blue pinafore and running to the hall.
“A little wild boy, aye, Ruthy. Definitely in need of a true father.”
“Mrs. Carter, I’m not up to your teases.”
“Ruth, I could get a physician to come.” Mama came close to my chair, inspecting, fretting. “It wouldn’t take too long.”
She would return to hear me speak of weakness. “No. I’m…I’m fine.”
“It would be no trouble.”
“No, Mama.”
Her offer was a trap. To admit to being sick and weak would mean I’d miss going to Adam’s family because I’d have to wait for the physician. There was proof at Blaren House, the address Adam had written on the back of my half of the marriage registry…the half that remained in the lining of my missing trunk.
Adam Wilky’s half was at Blaren House, I was sure of it.
Having both pieces would prove my truth, that I’d been awife, who had married too young, to a man who wasn’t prepared for the dangers of this world, a man whose secrets had destroyed us.
Knit one. Purl one.
I fingered my watch. Still didn’t hear Papa’s carriage.
