Horatio closed his eyes. “You don’t know how hard this is for me. I want to stop . . . and I don’t mean to drink so much, but I . . .” He sank back against the pillows and covered his face.
Bebe quickly wiped her own tears. “I know it’s hard. But maybe if we went to the lake for a few days, just the two of us . . . Remember how peaceful and rested you felt when you visited our farm?”
“I don’t think I can—”
“You have to!” she shouted. She hadn’t meant to, but fear drove her to it. “I can’t live this way and neither can you!” He stared at her as if she had slapped him. Bebe swallowed, forcing herself to speak calmly. “Please, Horatio.”
When he finally agreed, Bebe immediately ordered the driver to prepare the carriage before Horatio could change his mind. “Please pack a hamper of food for us,” she told the cook. “Enough for three or four days.” All the while, Bebe kept a close eye on Horatio to make sure he didn’t bring along any alcohol.
“Do you know the way to Mr. Garner’s fishing cabin?” she asked the driver as he loaded their belongings into the carriage.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s about an hour’s drive outside of town, up the mountain.”
Horatio was silent and sullen throughout the trip, slumping forward on the seat with his head in his hands, elbows on his thighs. He seemed oblivious to the beauty all around him, and the flaming colors of the changing leaves. Bebe sat back and enjoyed the view of the countryside, trying to let it soothe her, praying that this cure would work. The road followed the same river that flowed through Roseton, climbing steadily uphill until it reached Iroquois Lake at the top of the mountain. The mirror-like lake was peaceful and serene, surrounded by a forest that was so quiet Bebe could hear her own heartbeat. She wished they had brought enough food for a month.
“It’s beautiful up here, isn’t it Horatio?”
“I suppose so. The lake is man-made, you know. They dammed up the river about ten years ago to form a reservoir for the city.”
The carriage halted in front of a rustic cabin with log walls and a stone fireplace for heat. The driver had to kick the swollen door a few times before it would open. Bebe followed him inside. Judging by the cobwebs on the rafters and the mice nests in the corners, the cabin had been vacant for quite some time. Puffs of dust trailed behind Bebe as she crossed the room to open a window. The curtains crumbled in her fingers when she touched them.
Horatio stood in the doorway, watching her. “This is much too crude for you, my darling. We should let the servants come up here first and clean it before we try to stay here. It’s uninhabitable. Let’s go back.”
“I don’t mind doing a little cleaning,” she replied. “I can have this place tidy in no time, you’ll see. I love it up here.” She brushed the dust off her hands as the driver brought in the last of their things. “Please come back for us in four days’ time,” she told him. She feared it wasn’t long enough, but that was as long as Horatio would agree to stay. He stood outside and watched as the carriage drove away as if watching the last ship set sail, leaving them stranded on a deserted island. During the drive up to the cabin the sky had been steadily lowering on them like a gray wool blanket, but the moment the carriage disappeared from sight among the trees, the blanket split open and rain began to pour down. It rained for the entire four days they were there.
Horatio’s recovery was much rougher than the last time. His moods rose and plummeted from high to low, from anger to despair, as if he were on a swing and couldn’t jump off. Bebe read books to him, prayed for him, talked to him. They took walks together in the dripping woods whenever the rain let up—which wasn’t often. Some evenings they stood on the fishing pier in front of the Garners’ cabin in the cold drizzle and watched the waves wash over the planks. Little by little Bebe encouraged Horatio to talk about his father.
“I could never please him, Beatrice,” he said one stormy afternoon as they sat in front of the fire. “I never heard him say that he was proud of me. Not once. Not even during these past few months when I’ve been working so hard for him.”
Bebe leaned into Horatio’s shoulder as she listened, grieving for her husband and not for the man who had hurt him so deeply.
“You know what his lawyer told me after he died? My father put a condition in his will that I have to keep Neal MacLeod on as foreman for at least five years after my father’s death. Otherwise, I won’t inherit anything. What an outrage! He didn’t trust me—his own son! He gave my job to a stranger!”
Bebe squeezed his hand a little tighter and tried to form her reply. She knew she should be as outraged as her husband was, but instead she felt relieved to know that Mr. MacLeod would manage the tannery for a while longer. It would give Horatio more time to learn the business—and more time to remain sober. If only Horatio would see him as a friend instead of a rival.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Horatio. I’m sure your father trusted you. It’s just that Mr. MacLeod has had a little more experience than you’ve had, hasn’t he? Your father loved you. He provided well for you, didn’t he?”
“I suppose so.” He stared into the flames for a long moment before saying, “I never could figure out the connection between my father and Neal MacLeod or why he hired him in the first place. He isn’t even from our social class. He grew up in The Flats. He barely has an education.”
“I only met him once,” she said, “and it was obvious to me that he came from the working class. But please don’t hold that against him, Horatio. I grew up poor, too, you know. Would it be fair for your mother and her friends to judge me by where I grew up rather than by the person I am now?”
“That’s different.”
Bebe wanted to ask how it was different, but she held her tongue. “Can’t you try to see Mr. MacLeod as someone who can share the burden and the responsibilities with you?”
“There was always something between him and my father. I can’t explain it. . . .”
“Did you ever ask him about it?”
Horatio didn’t seem to hear her. He was sunk too deeply in his own misery. “Father used to brag that MacLeod had earned the Medal of Honor for bravery during the war. He worked with some big general or other. Why does everything always come back to that blasted war?”
Bebe had to change the subject before memories of the war pulled Horatio any lower. “Hey, I think the rain has stopped. Let’s go fishing. We can use your father’s fishing poles.” She jumped up. “Do you think they’ll still work?”
“My father taught me how to fish when I was a boy. We had some good times up here—when Mother would allow me to come, that is. I told you how sickly I was when I was young, didn’t I?”
“You did. Thank goodness you’re strong and healthy now.” She dragged over a chair to stand on and managed to lift down one of the poles resting on wooden pegs on the wall, sneezing from the dust. “Look, these rods still have strings and hooks on them. We can dig up a few earthworms and we’ll be all set.”
Horatio hadn’t moved. He wore a frown on his face as he watched her. “How do you know so much about fishing?”
“Franklin used to take me with him once in a while. I was pretty good at it, too. Sundown is supposed to be a great time to catch fish. Come on.” She held out her hand to him.
Horatio rose from the sagging sofa like a man twice his age, and they bundled up against the autumn chill. Bebe easily found a few earthworms squirming on the rain-soaked ground, then she and Horatio walked out to the end of the pier together. The wind had stopped blowing, and the lake resembled a wide sheet of smooth gray metal. She watched Horatio untangle one of the poles, attach the bait, and cast his line into the water. The ripple from the hook made an ever-widening circle on the glassy water.
“Look at that,” she whispered.
“Look at what?”
“You disturbed the water in only one tiny place, yet the circle is growing wider and wider until it will reach all the way to the shore.” She watched as he cast
his line, over and over again, and she never grew tired of watching the ripples widen and spread. When a gentle, misting rain began to fall, thousands of tiny raindrops transformed the smooth lake into a mosaic of intersecting ripples. “How could something as tiny as a raindrop create such beauty?” she asked.
Horatio turned to her and caressed her cheek. “I’ve learned that true beauty sometimes comes in very small packages.” He smiled, and for the first time in a very long time, it seemed genuine.
Horatio caught three fish for their dinner. Bebe cleaned them and cooked them in the fireplace in a cast-iron frying pan. “These are the best fish I’ve ever tasted,” he told her.
Later, as Bebe lay in Horatio’s arms, listening to the patter of raindrops on the cabin roof, it seemed as though the rain had finally washed away his grief and nourished his withered spirit. He began to talk to her the way he had in the hospital in Philadelphia, and as he spun stories like silk, hour after hour, the beauty of his words made Bebe remember why she had fallen in love with him.
CHAPTER
15
The rain was still falling steadily when the carriage arrived to take Bebe and Horatio home from the cabin. The driver looked drenched and shivery. “Come inside and warm up by the fire,” Bebe told him. “I’ll fix you a cup of coffee. Your name is Peter, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Horatio looked irritated with her. He probably would scold her later for being too friendly with the help, but she didn’t care. She didn’t view class differences the way Horatio and his mother did, and besides, the driver’s hands were raw from the cold. He wrapped them around the coffee cup she gave him and sat down in front of the fire. Horatio stared out of the window at the horses, huddled beneath the woodshed’s sloping roof. Silence settled over the three of them.
“Did you have any trouble making it up the mountain in all this rain?” Bebe asked the driver. “I imagine the roads are very muddy by now.”
“Yes, ma’am. I ran into some muddy patches along the way, and a few slippery spots with the wet leaves and all. But I don’t think we’ll get stuck going home. The horses are plenty strong.”
Bebe nodded. Rain drummed against the roof and plinked into the tin pan she’d placed below a leak. “We’ve certainly had a great deal of rain these past few days, haven’t we?” she asked. “Has it rained this much back home?”
“Oh yes, ma’am. Some of the folks down in The Flats are having a really rough time of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“The river overflowed its banks down there. You almost need a boat to get around in some places. The floodwaters forced a lot of people out of their homes with no place to go.”
“What will happen to them? Where will they live?”
Horatio spun around abruptly to face them. “Fortunately, my father had the foresight to build our home on the ridge, overlooking the river. We’ll be high and dry, my dear.”
“Yes, I know, but—”
“I think we should get going.” He scooped up their satchels himself and carried them outside while the driver gulped the rest of his coffee. Bebe quickly doused the fire. She had the unsettled feeling that Horatio was already thinking about his first drink.
Cold rain and low gray skies greeted them when they arrived in town. The road had disappeared completely beneath the floodwaters in several places, forcing the horses to wade or make a wide detour.
“Do you think the tannery will be flooded?” she asked Horatio. “It’s closer to the river, isn’t it? Maybe we should go there first.”
“Nonsense. I want to get you home, where it’s warm and dry. I’ll head over there and see for myself after I speak with Mother.”
Bebe’s loneliness returned the moment she walked through the door into the quiet house. “Where’s Mother?” Horatio asked the servant who opened the door for them.
“Mrs. Garner is in bed, sir—where she’s been for the past four days.”
“Is she ill?” Bebe asked.
The butler shook his head. “It’s grief, ma’am.”
“I’ll go up and talk with her,” Horatio said.
Bebe didn’t volunteer to go with him. Her conscience whispered that she should, but she had no desire at all to see her mother-in-law. Nor would Mrs. Garner be eager to see her. Horatio returned five minutes later.
“She’s fine,” he assured her. “But I’ll ask Dr. Hammond to come by and see her today, just the same.”
“Why don’t you take your coat off and warm up, Horatio. You’re all wet.”
He shook his head. “I’m going down to the tannery. I’ll be home by dinnertime, my dear.”
A shiver of mistrust slithered through Bebe as Horatio kissed her good-bye and left the house. Maybe she should go with him. Maybe she should warn the driver not to take him to any saloons. She should have checked with Mr. MacLeod to see if Horatio kept any alcohol hidden at work. As her suspicions rose as steadily as the river, threatening to overwhelm her, Bebe searched for a distraction. She picked up Mr. Garner’s newspaper from the table in the foyer, and carried it into the parlor to read. The unused room felt damp and cold, and she knelt by the hearth to light the logs that the servants had laid in the fireplace. The chill she felt didn’t come from the cold, rainy weather but from her fear for Horatio.
She pulled a chair close to the fire and opened the newspaper. Bad news covered every page, drawing her in as she began reading about problems larger than her own. The mayor called the flooding the worst the town had seen in fifty years. Workers filled empty sacks with sand to try to protect the downtown area from the swollen river. Store owners scrambled to move their merchandise to the second floor whenever possible. But worst of all, an outbreak of cholera had already taken two lives down in The Flats.
Bebe closed the paper and stared into the flames. After she’d reconciled with Horatio and returned from her parents’ farm three months ago, she had vowed to do something purposeful with her life rather than simply attending social events and delivering food that the servants had prepared. Instead, she had wasted the past few months searching for a house to buy—a house she never would live in. The needs she had just read about seemed enormous, and she longed to keep her promise and do something useful to help. But what could she do?
By the time Bebe finished reading four days’ worth of newspapers, the family doctor had arrived to see Mrs. Garner. Bebe poked the fire and added more wood as one of the servants led him upstairs. She felt a tremor of fear when she thought about how helpless and self-pitying Mrs. Garner was—and how weak Horatio was, too. Might she end up just like the two of them someday?
Bebe brushed sawdust off her hands and went into the foyer to wait for the doctor.
“Do you have a moment, Dr. Hammond?” she asked when he came downstairs from Mrs. Garner’s room. “I would like to ask your advice on what I might do to be of help.”
“Don’t worry, your mother-in-law should be back to normal soon. Grief affects people in different ways—and the gloomy weather and all this rain haven’t helped, either. I suggest you spend some time with her, talk with her, read uplifting books to her to help raise her spirits.” He reached to remove his coat from the hall tree.
Bebe looked away so he wouldn’t see her irritation. “That wasn’t quite what I meant. I was talking about the much greater needs here in Roseton because of all the flooding. I’ve been reading the newspaper reports and wondered what you can tell me about the cholera outbreak down in The Flats.”
“You have nothing at all to worry about. It won’t spread up here to this part of town.”
She nearly stomped her foot in exasperation. “I’m not concerned for myself. Our tannery workers and their families live down in that area.”
The doctor stopped buttoning his coat and studied her for a moment. Bebe grew impatient. “I’m not my mother-in-law, Dr. Hammond. I may appear young and delicate to you, but I am determined to help those poor people if at all possible. I need to know what to
do.”
He exhaled, and she saw the lines in his face soften. “The cholera is being spread through the sewage. Someone must have brought the disease to town unknowingly—perhaps one of the newer immigrants. With all of this heavy rain we’ve had, the sewage spilled over into the drinking water. People don’t know they’re drinking contaminated water and the disease keeps spreading.”
“I’ve visited The Flats on occasion to do charity work. I’ve seen the open gutters and raw waste. I’ve also noticed that the sewage is taken care of in this part of town. Why haven’t the city officials done something about The Flats long before now? On our farm back home, we kept our barn cleaner than those streets are kept.”
“You’ll have to ask the mayor and our city councilmen, ma’am.”
“Perhaps I will. In the meantime, what can be done for those poor people?”
“The disease could be stopped if they were taught to boil all their drinking water. And once someone becomes ill, people need to avoid contact with contaminated bedding and clothing.”
“Is it really that simple?”
“Yes. The problem is, once a mother contracts the disease, her children quickly get sick, as well, because there is no one to care for them or boil their water. The diarrhea can become so severe that if the patient isn’t rehydrated, death can occur within several days for an adult, within hours for a child.”
“If I gathered together some volunteers, what would we need to do to help?”
“Teach people to boil all of their water. The city is supposed to post signs with the warning—but many of the people in The Flats can’t read. Patients that are already ill need to be kept well hydrated with clean drinking water. Get rid of any soiled clothing and bedding—boil it or burn it if you have to—and make sure no one comes in contact with it.”
“Would volunteers be in any danger?”
“Not if they’re careful. If they scrub their hands in hot soapy water and don’t drink any untreated water, they should be fine.”