All She Left Behind Page 9

  “It’s not your fault.” Jennie dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief pulled from her reticule. It smelled of peppermint. Her fingers lingered on the beaded purse. Something I must sell.

  “What will you do?”

  “He’s—well, you know, we got this loan from Reverend Parrish. Both Parrishes.”

  “We thought there must be something more than this land purchase and resale.”

  “He’s using it—things are booming here. He—he needs more time to devote to it. And he can do carpentry on the side now that he’s not working at the prison.”

  “You’re all right with his decision then.”

  “I’m saying what he said.” Jennie looked away, couldn’t bear the compassion of her sister’s eyes. “I’m terrified. He—he took Dougie with him last weekend and they didn’t come home all night. And when they did, he was . . . impaired. And Dougie was . . . different. He’s been better since it’s the three of us. Dougie said he’d gotten giggly candy, whatever that is.” She couldn’t tell her about Miss Priscilla. “I need to find work, Lucinda. We need something steady coming in. And there’s a payment due on the loan.”

  “But the loan can tide you over.”

  “He’s gone through the money, Lucinda. Almost all of the two hundred fifty dollars, with so little to show for it.” She picked up the beaded purse, her hands shook when she set it down. “We’re to acquire the next two hundred fifty at the end of the month.”

  “Oh, Jennie, how is that possible?”

  “Some of it is all the accoutrements he said were necessary to look profitable so others would take him seriously, that he knew what he was doing. But two carriages, a big gelding, and a fine mare, his expensive clothes, the greater upkeep feeding two horses. This.” She lifted her skirts with both fingertips. “Insisting on expensive clothes for me and Dougie. Speaking of which, I’d better check on Douglas.” Jennie stood.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “There’s nothing to be said. I can try to sell more oils and herbs. I can promote myself more, as someone who treats minor scrapes and bruises, but I’m not trained. I don’t want doctors starting rumors about me or people calling me a charlatan. It’s going to be difficult enough to keep the rumors about Charles down.”

  “Maybe people will think he’s doing so well he doesn’t have to work for the state anymore.”

  “Maybe. But he’ll have to stop his spending habits or I won’t be able to pay the bills and then complaints won’t be rumors, they’ll be facts.”

  The sisters walked outside, elbow wrapped in elbow in a weave of love and safety. Douglas chased the girls swirling his lasso.

  “Douglas, it’s time for us to go. Would you like to walk home past the creek, see if that old fox comes by?”

  Douglas stopped. “You don’t have the brass and glass. I couldn’t see without that, Mama.”

  He was right, of course. A special lens and light were critical to seeing the smaller, important things in life that are often overlooked.

  “Look, Jennie.” It was the week before Ariyah’s wedding, well into September and the turning of leaves. Days had passed without Jennie confronting Charles, who sat now on their settee while Jennie settled her straw hat on her head before the hall mirror. “It’s time we talked.”

  “Now? Ariyah’s expecting me for a fitting.” She looked at the clock that struck every quarter hour.

  “Just sit.”

  “Charles, no.”

  He’d been wary or racing of late, frenzied at times, or morose. He spoke of land, money, and men he had deals with, the ups and downs of commerce, while showing no empathy for their personal financial strain. They lived parallel lives. Jennie assumed this was another announcement of what new acquisition he’d made and it could wait. She picked up her reticule. “You watch Douglas. I won’t be gone long.”

  He was at her side in a flash, grabbed her elbow, and turned her to face him. “You listen to what I’m going to do for you, Jennie Pickett. It might be the one decent thing I’ve done in my whole life, so don’t stop me from telling you.”

  Her pulse quickened, her heart sensed danger before her head. “That’s pretty ominous.” Her hands felt damp inside her gloves.

  “The truth is . . .” He took a deep breath. “We’re getting divorced. You’ll be free of my decisions.” What is he saying?

  Ariyah would have to wait.

  He raced on. “I already acquired the second half of the loan from the Parrishes, several days ago. I didn’t tell you, and yes, it’s already gone. I made some bad buys, paying cash and finding out later the so-called owner didn’t have deed to the land. And the man that did wasn’t interested in selling. I’ve sued . . . but that’s more money to the lawyer, and as he said to me, ‘How stupid can you be, man, to not check out the deed.’ But he’s well known, the guy who took advantage of me. I thought I was . . . maybe I took a shortcut.”

  She didn’t ask him if he’d been imbibing at the time. “You’ll have to get your job back. Plead with Joseph.” She offered sense to his senselessness, stepped over the word divorce. At last he was telling her, being honest.

  Charles shook his head.

  “Then find another job. We can pay it back. I—maybe I can sit with Mrs. Parrish. Dougie likes it there. He’d be able to come with me. Or maybe we can move back in with Lucinda and Joseph. We can sell things.” She ran the gloves through her hands. “The second carriage at least. People make mistakes. It doesn’t mean the end of things, Charles.”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t told you the worst of it. Dougie, that night, at Miss Priscilla’s, I gave Dougie—”

  “I knew that. I could tell. But you’re sorry. You are. I know because you’re confessing this.”

  “And Miss Priscilla gave me something.”

  Syphilis. She waited for him to say it. He didn’t. Instead he said, “Cocaine. She gave me cocaine. Well, I bought it, of course. And I—” He turned away from her. “I gave some to Dougie.”

  Breathe. She tried to speak, but the words choked inside her throat.

  “I’m a bad influence, Jennie. I see that now.” He’d collapsed onto the settee, held his head, spoke to the floor. “I’ve put you both at risk. Miss Priscilla’s wiles are not the first time for me, but it was the first time I let cocaine enter my son.” He looked up, combed his mustache with his fingers, bachelor-button eyes clouded over, but he hadn’t been imbibing, at least Jennie didn’t think so. “It’s a vile, enticing siren. Odysseus could not have resisted it and neither can I, Jennie.” He breathed deeply.

  She was grateful Dougie played outside. She could hear him chattering to his wooden animals, unaware of how his life would change.

  Charles’s confession, his divorce solution, cut like a river gouges a canyon, deep and long. But it also meant there was a bottom, the canyon floor. And they could ride that river out. They could stay on top of the water. Truth would be the boat to ride on.

  “We can manage this,” Jennie said.

  “You say.”

  “I do say. God is with us in this, I feel it.”

  “Wish he’d prevented it in the first place.”

  “It isn’t like that, Charles. Your telling me of what you’ve done is a start.” She could forgive him, she was sure she could.

  He took a deep breath. “I’m divorcing you, Jennie. For your sake and for Douglas’s. I actually saw a lawyer back in June. Right after we got the loan. It’s settled.”

  She was a canoe bobbing on a turbulent stream, paddles long lost to the depths.

  “I don’t understand. Women who are divorced, they have—”

  “Some women, that’s true. Some women have difficulty. Might be ostracized. But you come from a good family. They’ll support you. And as I am divorcing you, that’ll be better for you. I didn’t contest custody. That says you had no choice.” He straightened his shoulders. “You can live with your parents.”

  Her mind spun like a leaf in a whirlpool. She couldn�
�t think straight.

  “I—I will not be a burden to my family. We—I’ll have to find employment of some kind. I’ll take in laundry. I’ll—this is ridiculous.” She stood, wiping her hands on her skirt. “We can begin again. That’s what we’ll do.”

  “I’ll never give it up, Jennie. It’s like a fever with me. The cocaine, the whiskey. Don’t put your head in the sand, woman. I’m giving you a way out.”

  “There are herbs. I have oils meant to help with that. I’m a healer. Please let me heal this, us. It’s possible to—”

  “No. It. Isn’t. Jennie, stop seeing a . . . a possibility. I become the bad man because I am. You and Dougie get on with your life safe from me.” His voice cracked and Jennie saw tears squeeze at the corners of his eyes. She dropped before him, her skirts sighing onto the floor. She took his hands in hers. She felt his shoulders shake and she pulled him into her. But she knew in that moment, her love and forgiveness was not enough. He had yet to forgive himself. Perhaps he never would.

  If he’d been saying these things while drinking, she could understand it: irrational thoughts, weeping. But he wasn’t drunk.

  “The worst thing right now is that you think you are addicted to spirits. And that we owe money. But often the worst becomes the best thing.” Jennie took a deep breath. “We start over. You stop drinking, one hour at a time. You keep busy. We keep our commitments to the Parrishes, but we live like normal people.” She calmed her voice, kept hold of his hands. “We’ll sell the carriages. I’ll find work. You’ll get a job—”

  He lifted his eyes, resigned. “Jennie. It’s done. Over. I’ve divorced you. You have no say in it. The courts won’t even let you. Dougie remains with you, away from me. That’s the end of this discussion.” He stood, then headed for the door. She sank to the side, looked up at him from in front of the settee. “I have nothing more to say. Except you’d better treat yourself for venereal infections.”

  And then he was gone.

  13

  Each Ending a Beginning

  She told Ariyah that she and Charles were having marital discord and asked to be relieved of standing beside her as her matron of honor. How could she witness in public when her own marriage had disintegrated like a love letter left outside in the Willamette Valley rain?

  “Oh, Jennie, I will miss having you there beside me. You’ll still sign as witness though? It’s a short ceremony.”

  “I’d start crying and ruin things. This is your day.” Jennie hugged her friend, held her. “It needs to be filled with happiness.”

  “Everyone cries at weddings.” The women wiped at damp eyes. “You’ll there, that’s what matters. And you’ll wear the dress, yes?”

  Jennie nodded. After the wedding, she’d rework it and sell it to help pay off the debt.

  Jennie and Douglas slipped into the ceremony on a September day, and she prayed for God’s blessing and a long life of love for Peleg and Ariyah, prayed for wisdom and answers.

  Ariyah’s home was decorated with gladiolas and greens from the Parrish gardens. The Parrishes were there, among the happy attendees. Mrs. Parrish clung to her husband’s arm for support; she carried a cane. Her mustard-colored dress enhanced dark blue eyes that sparkled, promising a recovery. Jennie said as much to her and she smiled.

  “I’m regaining my vigor in time for the rainy season to begin.” Her voice was breathy and close up Jennie could see by her eyes that she still suffered.

  Mr. Parrish patted her hand laced through his. “She insisted we come. We take what we can get, right, Pet?”

  His intimate name for her in this public place surprised Jennie and she could tell he hadn’t realized he’d said it. They had eyes only for each other and Jennie felt an ache inside for what she’d missed—would be missing.

  “Where is Mr. Pickett today?”

  “Here,” Dougie answered. He’d found the Parrishes in the crowd just as she had.

  Mr. Parrish looked down at him, and with his arm not occupied with Mrs. Parrish, he reached out to shake Dougie’s hand. “So you are.”

  Dougie beamed and moved his small paw up and down, as though he pumped the well handle.

  “My mistake. We look forward to seeing you again soon at Mr. Chen’s kitchen, don’t we, Elizabeth?”

  “Tell Mr. and Mrs. Parrish you’d like that.” Jennie urged his good behavior.

  “Can we go tomorrow?” Dougie looked up to laughter as Jennie said, “Perhaps Monday might be more agreeable.”

  She needed to see the Parrishes and tell them some of what had transpired, but there was still so much uncertainty. Did Charles intend making payments? Would he contribute to her support? Could she stop the proceedings of the divorce?

  “Monday it is. I’ll have Chen bake extras.”

  “It’s so good to see you out and about, Mrs. Parrish.”

  “Elizabeth, please.”

  A breathy voice. She wondered if she had a lung disease or was simply weak from having come through a demanding ailment.

  “Elizabeth.” Jennie curtsied. Something about her demeanor invited respect. “We’ll come by midday on Monday.”

  They both nodded, then Mr. Parrish walked his wife away. Jennie was grateful neither had commented on Charles’s absence.

  Her father wasn’t so subtle. “Where’s Pickett? I hear he isn’t working at the prison anymore.”

  “Hello, Daddy. He’s . . . occupied, with new ventures.”

  “Is he now? And how are you doing, Dougie?” He lifted the boy into his arms, exaggerating the effort. “Won’t be long and I won’t be able to do this, you’re getting so big.”

  “Don’t drop me.”

  “Got a good grip on you. Soon, you’ll be carrying me.” He rubbed Dougie’s nose with his own. Dougie leaned his head into his grandfather’s neck.

  “I can carry Quilton, but not you, Paw-Paw.”

  “Quilton? Have I met Quilton?” He frowned. “Who is this Quilton fellow?”

  “He’s a por-co-pine.”

  “A porcupine. Well. Something innovative. Like father, like son, eh?” He winked at Jennie. “What does Quilton do with his quills?”

  Douglas looked thoughtful as he held onto his grandfather’s neck, his small fingers gripping. “They sleep on him. He holds his bowl up for milk in the morning, doesn’t he, Mama?”

  “He does do that. It’s the cutest thing to see.”

  “I’ll stop by one day to gawk. Oh, there’s the bride signaling me.” He set Dougie down and Dougie hugged his legs before running off toward the table covered with food and where other short-pants-and-gallus-clad boys plucked away at Norwegian Omelettes. “I’ve got to make this marriage official.” He started away, then turned back. “You don’t look well, Jane. Eyes are puffy. Everything all right?”

  “Fine, Daddy,” she lied. “All the gladiolas, I suspect.”

  “Never knew them to bother you.”

  “I’m getting older, more things irritate.”

  “Getting older. You’re twenty-three. Still a child.” His eyes were filled with such compassion she nearly told him everything.

  “Go do your duty.” She patted his shoulder.

  “You have to sign as a witness. Come along.” He took her elbow, waved to Ariyah across the room that they were on their way.

  It pleased her that her father knew her age, though that day she felt much older than twenty-three.

  A narrow staircase that challenged women’s wire hoops led to Ariyah’s third-floor ballroom, where hired servers had already carried trays of sweet treats and apple punch up the stairs. No alcohol. Jennie let the music comfort, reluctant to end the day escaping from her uncertain world. When an unknown gentleman bowed before her asking for a dance, she knew it was time to leave. They never should have come up to the dance floor without an escort. Tongues would wag. She found Douglas as he pushed a bigger boy who pushed back. “Time to leave,” she said.

  He sulked, and as they reached the staircase, he raced down and out the door
before she’d barely settled her hoopskirts to whisper across the landing. A servant helped her with her cape taken from the coat closet, and Jennie caught up with her son, who was hiding behind a potted plant. She gripped his hand. “Let’s go home.”

  He pulled.

  “Maybe Papa’s back.” That calmed him and they marched in the early twilight, dodging oak leaves scattered on the path.

  The evening laid its quilt on the shrubs they passed, muffling bird sounds, so only the click of their shoes broke the silence. In the yard, Jennie noticed that both buggies were gone, and she hoped Charles had taken them to sell. But that also meant he likely wasn’t home.

  “Where is everything?” His little voice expressed surprise.

  “I . . . I don’t know.” She scanned the room. No tables or chairs, no beds, no doughboy, no paintings, no mirror. A single oil lamp sat on the floor next to an open trunk where her clothes and Dougie’s spilled out. Quilton occupied his cage beside it. The rodent’s toenails scratched as he pulled himself up on the tin slats and made a plaintive cry.

  Douglas stomped toward Quilton’s cage, took the animal out, and stroked the quills.

  “You made Papa mad and he took everything—except me. Why didn’t he take me?”

  “I did not make your father angry. I—” She swirled in the room, unable to believe her eyes. How could I have missed Charles’s anger? Only outrage or disdain would lead him to do this, strip their home of not only himself but everyday things. Why?

  “My horses!” Dougie ran into the only other room, came back out, frantic. It must be empty too. He rummaged in the trunk, the only place to look. Jennie’s hands shook.

  “Your hobby horse might still be in the barn,” Jennie said. “Let’s go look there.”

  “You sold my horses!”

  “I didn’t. I—”

  Even then she didn’t want to blame Charles. She fought back tears. The night Charles had left, she cried, but knowing she needed to look presentable for the wedding, she’d put slices of cucumber on her eyes at sunrise, going over all that Charles had said, wondering what she might do that could change his mind. The slices were on the floor where the bed had once been.