“No, thank you.”
Merry gave a little curtsy and left the room.
The moment she was gone, I wished she’d return.
A lantern on the bedside table and the fire shed a dim light. Still, the corners of the room were dark, and I was in an unfamiliar place all alone. I’d never slept in a house where my sister or mother was not near. I sat on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath into my aching chest. Homesickness really did make one feel ill. It was a terrible emptiness that couldn’t be filled with anything or anyone but the people I loved. What were my sister and mother doing now? Had they already gone to bed? Had the bitter Boston weather crept into Mother’s bones and made her tired body hurt in addition to her breathing problems? Was Annabelle keeping up with her schoolwork without me there to nudge her in the right direction?
I willed myself over to the dresser and looked into the mirror. There were no ghosts here. Nothing could harm me. I stared at myself. My hair was askew and the smudges under my eyes were dark as coal. What Lord Barnes had thought of me, I could only guess.
My hat. I’d forgotten my hat in the sleigh. It would most likely be ruined, and what would I wear into town and to work?
I put that thought aside to figure out tomorrow. There was a bath waiting. I opened the door with trepidation, half expecting one of the children to be in there despite Merry’s assurances. To my relief, the room was empty, and a deep, claw-foot tub held more steaming water than I’d ever seen in my life. I undressed, peeling my dress off my tired body and then loosening my corset and tossing it onto a shelf. The bathroom was mostly white, with round tiles on the floor. I looked at my bare torso in the mirror above the sink. If anything, I was skinnier than before I left. My collarbones stuck out, and my face was more skin on bone than flesh. Lizzie was right. I needed fattening up. I had a feeling she was the one to do it.
I lowered into the tub and let out a little sigh of pleasure. The temperature was just right. On a small table next to the tub, bottles of various soaps were lined up in a row. With a washing cloth Merry had left and a brown slab of soap, I lathered up my skin.
When my skin had pinkened from scrubbing, I let my hair down from its stack. The golden strands reached the middle of my back and tickled my sensitive skin. With my fingertips, I touched the bump on my head. The egg had not gone down in size but hadn’t grown, either. I used the liquid soap from a glass bottle labeled “shampoo” that smelled of lavender and washed my hair and scalp, then rinsed in the water.
Only exhaustion and yearning for a bed kept me from staying longer in the bath. After I lifted the plug to let the water run out, I used a towel to dry myself as best I could. Then I sprinted back into the bedroom, locking the bathroom door behind me. Shivering, I slipped my flannel nightgown over my head and pulled on the wool socks my sister had knitted as a gift before I left home.
Merry had set my brush on the dresser. I combed my hair, gently at first to untangle the inevitable knots and avoiding the bump. While I did my one hundred strokes, I blinked at myself in the mirror. I was no worse for wear, really. A little old bump on the head wouldn’t keep me down for long. My father always said I was born tough. Small but mighty.
Bluster aside, I didn’t feel particularly mighty just then. In fact, the opposite might be a better description.
The fire was dying down. A chill as sharp as a knife sliced through me. Clamping my teeth shut to keep them from chattering, I turned slowly around the room. Besides the bed, dresser, and wardrobe, there was also a small desk between two windows. The two windows reflected the firelight, giving no hint of the dark night. Was it still snowing? I grabbed the lantern and crept to the window. Holding the light near the glass, I watched the flakes of snow tumble from the sky. The vastness of this strange place might swallow me whole.
I tiptoed across the hardwood floor to the edge of the rug, then, careful not to trip, set the lantern on the bedside table. Throwing back the thick down comforter, I inspected the sheets. There were no spiders. For some reason, I thought Colorado might have a lot of spiders. Didn’t a lot of trees mean a lot of spiders? I’d ask Merry about that in the morning.
I blew out the lantern and hurled myself into bed. The sheets were cold on my bare calves. I rolled onto my side and brought my knees up to my chest. With the comforter tucked under my chin, I stared into the dying embers.
Without the soothing sounds of my sister’s breathing next to me, the darkness crept closer. We’d slept together in our small bed in the closet of a room, and I missed her warmth. I missed her. Annabelle with her flaming red hair and petulant mouth and dancing eyes. My si
ster could make me laugh harder than anyone in the world. I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer for strength.
Chapter 4
Alexander
* * *
After Miss Cooper left for bed, I remained in the library, strangely comforted by the movements of my new houseguest in the room above me. It would be a lie to say the unexpected visitor had not lifted my spirits. Since my wife’s death, life had been easier for me and the children. The days and months were predictable without the ups and downs of Ida’s mental illness.
In the three years since her death, I hadn’t contemplated having a woman in my life ever again. For some, perhaps, one terrible marriage was enough. The nightmare of living with Ida in the last five years of our marriage had made me cautious. Women were not always what they appeared to be. There was darkness hidden in some. Darkness that no amount of love could squelch. I’d tried.
Lately, though, I’d thought more and more about finding someone with whom to grow old and gray. However, the idea of a woman was a concept not born from reality. No one had piqued my interest. Alas, there were no women to choose from here in Emerson Pass. Most single women were the kind who charged for their attention and probably carried various diseases. Not exactly the sort I’d bring home to my children. Some men paid for brides to make the journey west, promising marriage in exchange for a warm home and enough to eat. These women were desperate, having lost husbands or fathers who could support them. Much like Miss Cooper, I supposed. Hiring a teacher, however, was different from ordering a bride. How could a man be sure of what he was getting, having corresponded only through letters? For that matter, I’d thought Miss Cooper was an old maid. When she appeared, young and beautiful, I was quite taken aback.
Was I mistaken that there was a spark between us? Or was I simply a lonely man taken in by her beauty? Anyway, she probably would think me too old for her and that I had way too many children.
“May I have a word with you?” Jasper asked from the doorway. I hadn’t heard him enter the room, so absorbed with thoughts of Miss Cooper.
“Yes, yes. Have a seat. Pour yourself a drink.”
“No, thank you, lord.”
For fifteen years, Jasper had been a steady force in my life and home. Through all the heartbreak with Ida, he’d never faltered or wavered in his devotion to me or the children. That said, he would never consider loosening his grasp on the ways of our old world. A world in which a butler would never have a drink with his employer.
When I’d given up everything to my brother and we’d come to America, Jasper had refused to call me anything other than Lord. He’d called me that since we were small. I figured it didn’t matter much. In America, no one cared that I would not be called that if we were still at home. Keeping with some of our old traditions gave Jasper a sense of security.
Lately, though, Jasper changed. Subtly, of course. His movements seemed heavier, more labored. It was as if something had snatched the joy from him, leaving him flat and stiff. Something troubled him. I was certain of that. The reasons for his sadness, I couldn’t fathom.