Younger & Wylder, page 5
Una craned her neck to see Race in his work room then turned to Millie and lowered her voice. “You’re here just in time. I am increasing and will need a whole new wardrobe.”
Sarah sucked in a breath. “Una! Congratulations! You and Ambrose have been trying for so long.” She hugged her friend.
“Mmm, yes. It’s been a trial for certain.” Una’s eyes flicked away from Sarah.
“Congratulations, ma’am. I look forward to making some dresses for you.” Millie smiled, tamping down the jealousy pinching her heart.
“Oh, please. You must call us Sarah and Una. There are so few women in this town, we shall be fast friends.” Sarah placed her hand on Millie’s.
Millie smiled with relief. This was easier than she’d hoped. “Then you must call me Millie. Do you live close by?”
“I don’t,” Sarah said. “My husband has a horse ranch outside of town, but we come in about once a week.”
“Otherwise, you’d go crazy!” Una laughed, brushing Sarah’s arm. “My Ambrose has investments here in town. He owns a little bit of a lot of places.” She laughed again. “We live near the boarding house. Have you met Eulalia Culpepper?”
“Briefly.” Millie did not want to discuss her meeting with the strange woman.
“Sour grapes, that one,” Sarah said. “She’s not friendly with us; she thinks she’s better, somehow. She’s married, but she runs roughshod over her husband. No one knows much about her and she’s so rude to me when I see her in town, I don’t even care.”
“Who needs her when you’ve got me?” Una asked. “And now Millie, too.” She beamed at Millie. She glanced toward the front window. “Speaking of sour grapes.”
A thirtyish-looking woman entered the shop and stopped short at the sight of Millie’s customers. She focused on Millie. “I see you’re busy with customers. I’ll come back later.” She quickly turned.
“No, wait!” Millie rushed around the table and caught her arm before she could run off. “Please. I want to meet all the women in town. I’m Millie Lowery. I run the dress shop. What can I do for you?”
The woman glanced over Millie’s shoulder at the other women. “Una. Sarah. Hello.”
“Hello, Sally. How are you?” Sarah asked sweetly.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
Millie didn’t think the woman sounded fine. She held her body rigid, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.
“Millie, this is Sally Smithers. Her husband is caretaker for the Episcopal church. How is Robert these days? I haven’t seen him in ages,” Una purred.
“You haven’t seen him or anyone else cause you haven’t been at church,” Sally snapped, then pursed her lips.
“I’ve been feeling poorly lately; in the mornings. But I’m there in spirit.” Una rubbed her stomach, drawing Sally’s eye. “Ambrose was pleased with the fence Robert put in and the roof hasn’t leaked since he repaired it. I know I appreciate having a younger man available to take care of the things Ambrose isn’t able to anymore.”
Sally blanched and turned to Millie. “I wanted to see if you took in mending. I have poor joints and would like to turn over the task.”
Millie nodded. “I do.”
“Fine. I’ll come back later.” Sally escaped out the door before Millie could say another word.
“What was that all about?” she asked her new friends.
“Sally Smithers is a hateful old thing.” Una sniffed.
The woman hurried down the street. Millie wouldn’t have described her as hateful. “She doesn’t look that old.”
“She’s not. She’s really more sad than hateful,” Sarah said.
“Why is that?” Millie asked, walking back around her table.
“She’s barren, that’s why.” Una flicked invisible dust from her sleeve. “She can’t conceive so she’s taken on the mantle of oldness. It’s a shame, too. Her husband is a mighty attractive man. Such a waste.”
Millie pondered how she’d feel in Sally’s position. “She should be happy she has a husband instead of being miserable about the things she can’t have.” She lowered her voice a fraction. “I could bear anything with Race at my side.”
Sarah nodded in agreement.
“Enough of that. What shall we do next week when you’re in town, Sarah? Shall we take Millie to tea?” Una asked.
Sarah exploded into giggles. “Una jests. There’s no place to go for tea in this dirty town except her own parlor.”
“What about the Social Club?” Millie heard the name mentioned around town. It sounded quite fancy.
The women froze, then started in on a new round of giggling.
Millie looked from on to the other. “What?”
Sarah reached over and patted her arm. “Honey, the Social Club is a brothel.”
****
1848
“Bethy, please! I just want ta borrow a little lip paint and eye powder. You’ve got enough up here for three people,” Millie pleaded.
Bethesda, the prostitute who’d been a mother to Millie for the past ten years, turned away from her mirror. “That is not the point, ducky.” She cupped Millie’s chin with her hand. “You are beautiful without all the gunk on your face.”
Millie sulked. “You wear it.”
“Mmm, but you don’t have any years to hide like I do.”
“Hows am I gonna look good to catch a husband?”
Bethesda frowned. “What your daddy is doin’ is wrong; you’re too young. I tried to talk him out of it, but he’s plumb weary of being responsible for anyone but himself.” She snorted. “As if he had any part in the raisin of ya.”
“He’s letting me serve dinner t’night at the table.”
“I know it. I’ll try to get down there to keep an eye on things, but Friday night is my busiest. Even worse since Bella Rae quit town. Be yourself and hopefully your daddy will pick someone for ya who ain’t too ornery.” A knock sounded at the door. “That’d be Silas. He’s early. Git on down the back steps and I’ll check on you in the morning.” She stood and adjusted her bust and skirts before walking to the door.
“Good night, Bethy. I’ll see you in the morning.” Millie quietly scooped two small jars off the table left out the back door.
Chapter 6
It gladdened Race’s heart to hear Millie laughing with the other women and made a point to not listen to their conversation. He didn’t know if Millie had ever made friends her own age. Living as his sister in the other town made female friendships difficult. Other girls her age were either busy wives or daughters trying to find husbands. Not forming friendships helped them both avoid awkward situations. He never told her about the women who flirted with him, nor about the boy he’d denied permission to court her. It was past time for them to resolve their relationship and move on. The thought jarred him.
“Dang it!” He fumbled a gear and dropped his truing caliper on the floor where he accidently kicked it under his desk. He’d have to start over with the repair job.
Millie poked her head into the office. “What’s wrong, Race?”
He retrieved the tool and stood up. “Nothing, Millie. Just butterfingers. I’m going to step out for a bit. Will you be all right by yourself?”
“I’ll be fine. I’m going to make tea for Una and Sarah.”
Race waited for Millie to move out of the doorway before edging past. “Good afternoon, ladies. Enjoy your visit.” He grabbed his hat and went out the front door. He crossed the street to the alley behind the Vincent House. The shortcut brought him almost to the back door of the Catholic Church. He circled to the front; this time the door opened at his touch.
He entered and pulled the door closed behind him. A simple octagonal baptismal font was positioned directly to his left. Touching the water, he genuflected and made the sign of the cross. Fourteen oil lamp sconces burned on each side of the windowless sanctuary, illuminating the stations of the cross. The smell of incense lingered, permeating the wood. The building was simple compared the Catholic churches in the east. Rectangular in shape, the traditional cruciform was accomplished by pew placement instead of transepts. Also missing was the domed apse and confessionals, though Race noted a shriving pew set aside near the pulpit.
The table beyond the lectern held a stone statue of the Virgin. Race went there and lit a reed off of a lighted votive. He used it to light two other votives in the rows before him. He said prayers for Rosemary and Mary Catherine, then left a three-cent piece in the donation box.
He turned. A woman sat in one of the pews. He didn’t know if she’d come in while he lit the candles or had been there all along. She looked like the same woman he encountered outside the last time he came. A balding man in priest’s robes emerged from a door behind the pulpit.
“Mrs. McCarthy.” His voice echoed through the sanctuary, giving the illusion of a bigger space. “Has your situation altered?”
“No, Father.” Her voice was clear and unashamed.
The priest didn’t say another word; he simply stared at her intently.
The woman, Mrs. McCarthy, sighed and rose from the pew. She gathered her shawl in her arms and walked toward the door, head held high. She paused at the last station and performed the familiar rituals before exiting. She never acknowledged Race’s presence.
The priest turned to Race. “Good afternoon. I’m Father Donahue, how may I serve you?”
Race shook the man’s offered hand. “Race, ah Horace Lowery, Father. My wife and I are new in town.”
He smiled. “Ah, yes. The clock and dress shop. I have a mantel clock I plan to bring by.”
“I’d be pleased if you did, Father.”
“Are you and your wife wishing to transfer to our congregation?”
Race shuffled his feet. “I have a situation I’d like to discuss with you.” They sat in a front pew and Race explained his previous Episcopalian candidacy and subsequent transfer of faiths when he married his first wife. He told how his current marriage came about and his reasons for wanting to set Millie free.”
The priest listened without asking any questions until Race finished. “I can’t give you an annulment because you weren’t married in a Catholic church. Hearing your story, I don’t know that an annulment is the best course of action. I can’t absolve you for your feelings for your wife, son. They aren’t sinful.”
Race shifted in the pew like a chastised child. He knew there were ways of sinning that didn’t feel sinful. He didn’t know how to reconcile something that felt sinful but wasn’t.
Father Donahue continued, “In fact, denying your wife your body is as much a sin as if it were the other way around. I will absolve you of your guilt over the death of your first family. It’s arrogant of you to think you had any control over that situation. As a former candidate for a clerical position in any denomination, you should know this.” He frowned at Race. “I think you have been away from church for too long and it sounds like your bride is completely unchurched. Come to one of the masses this weekend. We’ll see you set to rights.” Father Donahue rose, signaling the end of the audience.
Race remained seated. “I’ll let myself out in a few minutes if that’s all right with you, Father. Thank you for your counsel.”
“Bless you, son. I hope you find the answers you need rather than the ones you’re looking for.” He turned and walked back to the little room behind the pulpit.
The sun nearly blinded him when he stepped back outside.
“Who are you, den?”
Race whipped his head to the right. The woman from earlier leaned against the building. She still seemed wary, so he didn’t offer his hand. “I’m Race Lowery. My wife and I opened a dress shop near the mercantile. I also repair clocks.”
She nodded, processing the information. “Father Donahue is a good priest, but a lettle bet pretentious. Not very accepting ‘o folks trying to get by. Likes dem stayin’ to the straight and narrow.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. What’s your name?”
She eyed him, considering. “Aoife McCarthy.”
“A pleasure. Do you and your husband live in town?”
“Widow McCarthy,” she corrected. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Lowery. Welcome to Wylder.” She pushed herself off the building and started walking south.
What an odd woman. She looked to be close in age to Millie; much too young to be widowed. He recalled the strange interaction between her and the priest. For some reason the man didn’t welcome the mourning sister in faith. Curiosity aside, he’d concerns of his own and Aoife was none of his business.
He set off to see if the Episcopal church was open. Maybe the preacher there could offer him a solution. The Catholic church visit left him spiritually dissatisfied in addition to being unhelpful.
He nodded to the men loitering outside the land office then detoured to the livery to check on his team. Chet and young Jackson were busy with the owners of two wagons loaded with furniture and household goods. Wylder might soon be as bustling as Mr. Mountroy claimed. Not wanting to be underfoot, he continued to the church.
St. Joseph’s doors and windows were all propped open, taking advantage of the spring breezes. Inside, a woman wrote on a blackboard and four students of varying ages copied numbers on their individual slates.
“If you’re looking for the preacher, you’ll have a bit of a wait. He rides the circuit and won’t be back for a month.” A man about Race’s age stood by the well. He’d raised the bucket and took a long drink using the dipper.
“Race Lowery. New to town.” He offered his hand.
The man wiped his mouth on his sleeve and shook Race’s hand. “Robert Smithers, deacon, caretaker, and everything in between. My wife and I keep up the rectory.” He pointed to the small house next to the church. “Digging a new privy today. What can I do for you, Race Lowery?”
Women would probably consider Rob Smithers attractive. His smile and friendly manner made him easy company for men as well. Race’s unusual marital situation made him avoid anything other than casual acquaintances in the past. It would be difficult to be friends with an unmarried man but refuse to let him court his ‘sister’. Friendships with married men would lead to ‘couples’ activities and shared confidences. Both invited awkwardness.
“Robert?” A tiny woman rounded the corner of the church. “Oh! I didn’t know you had company.”
“Sal, come and meet Race Lowery. He and his wife are new in town. Race, this is my wife, Sally.” Robert pulled his wife to his side and kissed the top of her head.
Race smiled. Her voice was familiar, and he thought she might have stopped by the shop earlier. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.” He tipped his hat.
Sally tensed in her husband’s arms. Her eyes narrowed. “I met your wife earlier. She was visiting with Una and Sarah.” She stepped away from her husband. “You’re new in town, so you won’t know this, but as a Christian woman, I feel I must speak out. Sarah Holt is a good sort but she’s not very discerning in her female friends. You’d do well to keep your wife,” She glanced at her husband, then raked her eyes over Race’s form. “And yourself away from Una. She’s a bad influence and she’s loose to boot.”
Robert coughed. “Now, Sal. You don’t want to be accused of spreading gossip.”
Sally glared at him. “Don’t I? Don’t you dare defend her to me.”
Robert took her hand and pulled her back to him. Using both his hands, he began gently rubbing her knuckles. She closed her eyes and winced.
“I wouldn’t. Forget about Una.” He let go of her hand and began ministering to the other one.
Eyes still closed, she said, “Until the next ladies’ auxiliary meeting. She’s never gonna be out of my hair, Robert. And now she’s pregnant.”
This time, Robert stiffened. He returned her hand to her side. “Why were you looking for me?”
Sally opened her eyes. The pain displayed in them seemed far deeper than purely physical. “I was checking to see what time you thought you’d be in for dinner.”
“How about seven?”
“That’ll be fine.” She turned to Race. “Nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy living in Wylder.” She turned and briskly walked back the way she came.
“Sal!” Robert jogged a few steps to catch up to her. He bent and said something to her while rubbing her back. Then he placed another kiss on her head. She continued on and Robert returned to Race. “We’re having trouble conceiving. She gets touchy anytime anyone turns up breeding. It’s worse that it’s Una.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
Race thought it seemed like more than that. This was the type of shared confidence he avoided. He’d keep an eye on the Una situation, though.
“Let me buy you a drink one night.” Robert’s smile returned but had dimmed.
“I appreciate the offer, but I tend to make bad decisions when I drink. Try to avoid the hard stuff, but I’ll take you up on a cider or soda water if it’s available in these parts.”
“I understand. I have my share of drink-related regrets. Drinking’s the only way I can forget some of my bad decisions anymore.” The man focused inward, and the last statement seemed made more to himself. “Sal’s not wrong about Una. If you value your marriage, steer clear of her.”
“Thanks for the advice. I need to get back.”
As Race hurried home he thought about the conversation. He didn’t not value his marriage. He didn’t value it the way a husband ought either, he supposed. He’d never thought about it in those terms, and it made him feel lower than a snake’s belly. He’d never do anything to hurt Millie. She didn’t understand that an annulment was the best thing he could do for her, if it could even be done. He’d based his whole plan on it. He wouldn’t saddle her with the shame of a divorce. This wasn’t her fault. But something needed to be done soon, before his resolve weakened and broke.
Chapter 7
Millie turned the sign and locked the shop door. It had been a successful first day, as far as meeting folks, anyway. She planned to start on the pile of mending that evening and an order for a christening dress wouldn’t take any time at all to complete.
