Lydia felt a sense of shame at her sister’s distress but not too shamed to push further. “What did Galen do that was so terrible, Hannah?” She softened her voice to a gentle coax. “I really need to know.”
Hannah sighed, a long exhalation of the breath she’d been holding. “Perhaps it is time you were told. It is a hard thing to speak of, Lydia. I have kept it to myself these past eighteen months, but the holding of it grows more wearisome daily.” She took a long sip of tea and stared into space.
A sense of disquiet crept up Lydia’s throat at the resignation on Hannah’s face. Did she really want to know? What if it was worse than she thought? Was there anything Galen could do that would destroy her love for him? She thought not, but what if she was wrong? Her heart sped up, and she gripped her hands together in her lap. “I need to know, Hannah.”
Hannah, her eyes full of misery, looked up and stared into Lydia’s face. “I think you do.” She cast her gaze down again, then took a sip of tea. She set it back onto the saucer with a clatter. “Very well. Galen asked for my hand.”
“I suspected he might have. You were keeping company, and he seemed very smitten. He did not ask Father, though, did he?” The thought of her beloved Galen even looking at another woman, even her sister, stung.
Hannah shook her head. “He would have if I had not refused him.”
“Why did you refuse him? The other I surmised. There must be more to it than a simple proposal and refusal.” Why could Hannah not get to the point? Why must she drag it out? Did she take pleasure in causing Lydia pain?
Hannah sighed again. “I had seen things, heard things that caused me some concern.”
“Rumors? You turned down the most eligible bachelor in Charles Town on a whim? Where is that Christianity you tout so often? That is mere gossip.”
Hannah was silent at this accusation but then raised her head and gazed at Lydia. “I had heard he took liberties with his slave girls, so I questioned him about it.”
Lydia shrugged. “It is not an uncommon practice, Hannah. I would not condone it, of course, but once he was happily wed, it would surely have ceased.”
Her sister’s face whitened, and tears filled her green eyes again. “Hear me out, Sister. The story is not told yet.”
Lydia sighed. “Pray continue.”
“Galen not only admitted it, but did so proudly. He told me he had fathered three children already and thought it a fine way to increase the population and the quality of his slaves.” She gave a bitter laugh. “He let me know in no uncertain terms that no man was content with one woman only. I told him I would marry no man who could not pledge himself to me only. When I asked him how he would feel if his wife were to take other lovers, he grew enraged. He said that I belonged to him, and no other man would have me.” Hannah buried her face in her hands and burst into bitter sobs. “I cannot say more of it.”
Lydia’s relief left her light-headed. “Many men hold to his ideals.”
“I would have killed myself before I married him.” Hannah’s eyes shone with determination. “Now do you understand why you must have nothing to do with him? He is not honorable.”
Lydia’s heart pounded, but she felt absolved. She still loved Galen. She was almost relieved to discover that fact. “He is a lusty man, I admit that. But he will not stray any longer now that he is mine.” What exactly had Galen done? She couldn’t bear not to know.
“You are mad.” Hannah whispered the words. Her eyes were wide. “Can you not see the true man inside his handsome facade?”
Hannah would do anything, say anything to turn her love from Galen. It was all spite and hatred. “You have always preached mercy and forgiveness, Hannah. Where is your mercy now?”
“You think I want to feel this contempt for him? I have tried to forgive him and go on with my life. I married John so I would not ever have to see Galen again. I cannot have my sister married to such a man.”
Lydia clenched her fists. Hannah was overreacting. Her sister was foolish to let something like this affect her so severely. Hannah had no right to dictate her life. Just because she was not wise with men and misled him did not mean everyone else had to suffer. She would not give up Galen, not even for her sister. She was sure Galen would have a different version of events.
“You must get used to the idea, Hannah. I mean to wed Galen as soon as possible. I suggest you fall on your knees and seek God’s face. He can surely give you the grace to forgive Galen’s youthful indiscretions.”
Hannah gasped, and her face went even whiter. She shook her head, and her mobcap slid to the back of her head. “What will be your excuse for your willful blindness?” She rose and rushed from the room.
Lydia could hear her sobs, then her bedroom door slammed, and the sound of weeping was muffled. She pushed away the stab of guilt. She was certain she was woman enough for any man. She would have no trouble with slaves and other women. Galen loved her. She was sure he did. They would travel to England and have a wonderful life. She refused to even contemplate anything else.
The muffled weeping soon stopped. Lydia felt a shaft of relief. She hated to cause her sister pain. Hannah had been good to her. When they were children, Hannah had always made sure Lydia had the larger share of their meager meals. She gave Lydia first pick of their few toys and often deliberately incited their father’s anger if he seemed to be unduly harsh with Lydia. Her offer of a home had been an escape from the strained atmosphere at home and had been like a lifeline.
Lydia prepared supper. She took the salt pork from the larder, cut off thin strips, and dropped them into a kettle of water. She cut up vegetables and added them to the pot, then put the lid on and swung the crane over the fire. When it began to bubble, she went to stir it. A stray spark flicked from the fire and landed on her skirt. It quickly began to smolder and the spot blackened.
She gasped and beat at the spot, but instead of dying, the fire licked eagerly at the fabric of her skirt and spread. Reaching frantically for the wooden bucket beside the fireplace, she nearly stumbled in her haste. Empty. She had emptied it into the pot for stew.
The skin of her legs could feel the heat of the flames now. Panicked, she beat at the fire with her bare hands. The flames had consumed the fabric of her skirt and started on her petticoat. The burning sensation intensified. “Hannah!” she screamed and turned to run.
Before she could get two steps, her sister was beside her beating at the flames. Hannah seized a rug on the sofa and threw Lydia to the floor. She wrapped the rug around Lydia, and the flames touched Lydia’s legs.
“The fire! It hurts!” Lydia struggled to get up and continue her fight, but Hannah held her down.
“Lie still.” Hannah panted, her arms pinning Lydia to the floor. “It’s almost out.” She lay across Lydia. If the fire ignited again, she would be consumed as well.
Gradually Lydia realized the fire was out. Her hands hurt and her legs felt as though they were still on fire. Was her face burned? Her hands flew to her cheeks, and she felt her face all over. The smooth skin soothed her fears even as the pain increased.
“Hannah, I’m still on fire!” She felt light-headed from the pain.
Her sister raised the rug and looked at her legs. “No, Sister, the fire is out. But I must put butter on the burns. Can you walk to the sofa?” Hannah helped Lydia to her feet.
The skin on Lydia’s legs and hands felt tight, and she walked stiffly to the sofa. It had happened so quickly. She was fortunate, she knew. If Hannah had not been there, she would have burned to death. It was a grisly thought. She would have been like Martha, their older sister who had died in a fire when she was twelve.
The pain from the burns intensified, and Lydia wept. She could have died. Galen would have been devastated at her loss. She wept as her sister smoothed cool butter on her burns.
CHAPTER 12
Raised patches of red marred Lydia’s legs, nearly all the way to her hips. Some spots were even blistered, but it could have been much worse. Hannah cringed at t
he sight of the burned flesh and thanked God for his protection of Lydia. Their sister Martha had lived only a few hours, but Hannah would never forget her agony. Her cries of anguish were a memory she had never been able to release. How could she have borne it if Lydia had suffered and died like that?
The near tragedy made Lydia even more precious to her, but she felt helpless to fix things between them. How could she stand by and watch her sister destroy her life, and do nothing? Yet her hands were tied. Her hands shook as she tried to keep her sister calm.
Lydia moaned and thrashed about on the sofa. “Hannah, it hurts.”
“I know, Sister. I wish I could take the sting for you.” She did too. She had always been the strong one, the one who protected Lydia from their father and schoolyard bullies.
Lydia was pale, and beads of perspiration clung to her upper lip. She gritted her teeth with her determination not to cry out.
“Perhaps a cool bath would calm the burning.” Hannah didn’t know what else to try. Butter was the accepted treatment for burns, but it didn’t seem to be helping.
“I cannot bear it, Hannah. Please, we must try something.” Lydia moaned.
“I will fetch water and the hip bath.” Hannah hurried to the kitchen and took the hip bath from the nail on the wall. She set it in front of the fireplace and poured hot water from the kettle over the relit fire, then went out the back door to the well and hauled in buckets of water. When it was filled, it was barely tepid. She would not have wanted to bathe in it, but she hoped it would sooth Lydia. She helped her sister undress to her shift, then supported her while she eased into the water.
“It’s cold!” Lydia gasped. Her shift was quickly soaked and clung to her. “But the pain is easing.” She shivered.
Hannah draped an old quilt about Lydia’s shoulders to warm her upper body while the cool water soothed the burns. Lydia soaked in the water for nearly an hour before she could be persuaded to come out. Lips blue, she shivered almost uncontrollably, though Hannah dried her and dressed her in a warm flannel nightgown and helped her to bed.
Hannah was exhausted, but the lights needed to be lit. They should have been lit hours ago. It was nearly nine o’clock. She pulled on her cloak and hurried along the path to the lighthouse. Its dark form was becoming so very familiar to her. How many times had she walked this path in the four months since John had left? She wished she had a shilling for each step. She trudged up the steps to the first tower. She looked out over the dark water before she lit it, but she could see no lights, only blackness. The sound of the sea carried to her, but no creaking of masts or the flapping of sails. Mayhap she had lost no ships this night.
She quickly lit the lamp, went to the next tower and did the same, then walked wearily back down the steps. The cold wind pierced her clothing and she shivered but paused anyway to take a deep breath of salty air. Where was Birch now? Did he ever think of the lightkeeper who had cost him his ship? He would be too busy with his new job to spare a thought for her. She sighed and turned to go back to the house.
As she neared the front door, she saw a dark figure standing there, and her heart skipped a beat. She bit back a cry, then relaxed. “Olive. You’re out late.” What could her sister-in-law possibly want here at such an hour?
“Mother sent me to inquire as to why the lights were not lit,” Olive said stiffly.
Hannah sighed. “Would you care to come in?”
Olive stared at her a moment, then inclined her head. “It’s cold. Perhaps it would be best to discuss it indoors.”
Hannah opened the door and ushered her inside. The flames in the fireplace illuminated the room. The hip bath still sat by the fire with the clothing and quilt littered beside it. Olive would report back to Mother Thomas on the state of her housekeeping, but she really didn’t care. She had ceased trying to be the ideal picture of a daughter-in-law long ago.
“Would you care for tea?”
Olive shivered, then nodded.
Hannah took off her cloak and set to preparing the tea. As she shaved bits of tea from the cube into the caddy, she wondered what Olive’s true motive was in coming in. She could have said her piece at the front door, then hurried back to her warm bed. Did it have anything to do with Birch? Pity for her sister-in-law welled up in her. Criticized by her mother constantly, no wonder the poor girl seemed so desperate.
Hannah carried a tray with tea and scones into the parlor and placed it on the center table. The tea’s aroma relaxed her, and she poured two cups, then offered Olive a scone, which she took with a stiff smile of thanks.
“As you can see from the state of the room, this has been an eventful evening. Lydia’s skirt caught fire while preparing supper, and she was burned. I was tending her burns and was unable to tend the light until moments ago. Luckily, there seems no harm done.”
Olive’s mouth dropped open. “Is she disfigured?”
The genuine concern in her voice warmed Hannah. “No, praise God. Only blistered and reddened skin on her legs and hands. She will recover.”
“Oh, indeed. God be praised. I shall inform Mother.” Olive fiddled with the fringe on her shawl and took a sip of tea. “Ha-have you heard from your former boarder in recent weeks?”
Aha, she was right. She resisted a smile. “No, nothing. But Captain Meredith is a busy man with an important new job. He is unlikely to contact me again.”
Olive sniffed. “Your relationship appeared to be more than friendly to the village the day he left. I have heard reports that you kissed him in broad view of the entire population.”
So this was the real crux of the matter. Hannah felt the warm tide of color on her cheeks. She had rued the way she had thrown herself at Birch that day. She had expected a visit from the elders of the church, but they had not reproached her so far. But it was coming.
“I must admit emotion stole my sense that day,” Hannah said softly. “I had caused his injury and still felt badly about it. But I fail to see why you bring it up now.”
“He is a Tory, and the British killed your husband!” Olive wrung her hands.
“And your brother. And you sought to wed him but a few short weeks ago.”
Olive’s cheeks mottled with color. “But I did not know his sympathies lay with Britain. You did. Mother is very distressed by your behavior.”
“I am sorry for that, but she need worry no longer. Captain Meredith is gone, and I doubt I shall ever see him again.” Hannah took a sip of tea with hands that shook slightly.
They were from two different worlds. Their paths had crossed for a few short weeks, but he was in New York City where there were many beautiful women who shared his love of Britain. He would not remember a lowly lighthouse keeper from a small village in Massachusetts.
“It would be best for him never to show his face here again. Now that the village knows he is a Tory, he would be tarred and feathered.” Olive rose, then hesitated. “Do you know how to get in touch with the captain? Perhaps I should warn him of the danger here.”
“I have not heard from him.”
Olive sighed. Hannah showed her out and locked the door behind her. She stoked the fire and took the candle to light her way to bed. She didn’t want to think or feel anything else today. The emotional toll of the day had left her weary beyond belief. She just hoped she could awaken to tend the light at midnight.
Lydia was much improved by the next morning. Her legs and hands were still sore, but she said most of the worst pain was gone. Hannah wished she might lie abed herself most of the day. She still felt the effects of her late night and lack of sleep. She prepared porridge for breakfast and set the parlor to rights. She carried in a load of wood, then set the kettle over the blaze to boil for tea.
The rattle of a carriage out front brought her to the door. Her heart sank when she recognized two elders from the Congregational church. The minister was not with them, and for that she was grateful. These two would be bad enough.
She inclined her head. “Good day, Mr. Reynolds,
Mr. Newsome.”
“Widow Thomas.” The elder gentleman, Marcus Reynolds, fixed his steely-blue gaze on her. He slipped the gold-tipped cane to one gnarled hand and tipped his cocked hat. “We come on a matter of great importance. Might we come in?”
“Of course.” She opened the door and ushered them into the parlor. Lydia looked up wide-eyed at their entrance. She moved to one end of the wooden bench.
The younger man, Roger Newsome, tipped his hat in her direction, and his ferret eyes gleamed with appreciation. “Miss Huddleston.”
Lydia inclined her head regally. “Good day, sirs.”
Mr. Newsome sat on the sofa. “We were told this morning of your misfortune yesterday, Miss Lydia. We prayed for your safe recovery before we set out.”
“Thank you.” Lydia sent him a dazzling smile that made him blink.
Lydia’s flirting wouldn’t help the day. Hannah suppressed a smile. These men would not be swayed by womanly wiles. She seated herself in a chair near the fireplace and folded her hands in her lap. She knew why they had come, and it wasn’t to inquire after Lydia’s health. She willed herself to be calm and accept their rebuke.
Mr. Reynolds gripped the gold-tipped cane and wheezed as he sank into the chair opposite the bench. “We bear a grievous burden for our community, Mistress Thomas. Our town has certain standards to uphold. When infractions occur, no matter how slight, they must be dealt with before they become rampant sin. It is a charge we do not take lightly.”
“I understand, Elder.”
He preened slightly at her recognition of his position. He fixed his gaze on Lydia. “A serious matter has come to our attention involving Miss Huddleston.”
Lydia almost visibly shrank. Hannah clenched her fists in the folds of her skirt.
“Is it true, miss, that you consorted at the tavern all night with a man, a loyalist, and were delivered home at dawn?” He thundered out the words, and Lydia turned a piteous gaze to Hannah.
“I shall have to ask you to leave, sirs.” Hannah rose to her feet. “My sister is not well. We shall answer these accusations at a later time. Perhaps in a week or two when my sister is recovered.”