Janet Quin-Harkin (3 page)

Libby could hardly refuse the offered arm. She walked beside Edward down the narrow path between flowering shrubs.

“Now,” he said when they were sufficiently far from the house. “Would you like to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” Libby asked. “What should be wrong?”

Edward smiled. He had a fair, boyish face, even though he now parted his hair severely in the middle, as was befitting a a lawyer. “Libby, I’ve known you since you whipped me with seaweed on the beach at Cape Cod. I’ve watched you grow up. Your face is composed, but your eyes give you away. You’re as jumpy as a kitten, and you haven’t listened to a word I’ve been saying.”

“I’m sorry, Edward. I apologize,” Libby said. “I’ve been poor company tonight.”

“Please don’t apologize,” he said. “I wondered if I could be of help in your dilemma. A worry shared is a worry halved, so they say.”

Libby smiled and shook her head. “In this case I don’t think . . .” she began.

“It’s a marital tiff then, that I should stay well away from,” Edward said, smiling.

“There was no tiff, as you put it,” Libby said shortly. “It’s just that Hugh’s. . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“Yes, where is old Hugh, by the way?” he asked.

“I wish I knew,” Libby admitted with a sigh. She laid her hand lightly on Edward’s arm. “Edward, I am worried about him. He was gone this morning without any message, and he’s taken some of his clothes.”

Edward raised an eyebrow. “Any indication where he was headed?” he asked. “No, er, other lady in the picture?”

“Nothing like that,” Libby said. “He was very despondent last night over a letter from England.”

“You think he’s gone to England?”

Libby shook her head. “I think not,” she said. “His brother has asked him to come home, but he refused to consider it at the moment. He talked about his family and how he couldn’t face them as a failure. Edward, I worry that he could have decided to end it all.”

Edward patted the hand that still clasped his arm. “I don’t think you have to worry about that,” he said. “If he had wanted to end it all, would he have bothered to select and pack some clothing?”

“Well, no,” Libby said hesitantly, “unless he wanted us to think he was going away. . . .”

“But he worships you,” Edward said grudgingly. “He would surely have left you a parting note. He is, after all, an English gentleman. He’d be correct to the last.”

Libby thought this over and nodded. “I believe you’re right. Hugh is always correct, which makes this so troubling.”

“Have courage, my dear,” Edward said, still patting her hand. “It’s my belief that Hugh has decided to do something you would not approve of. He therefore wants to get it finished before he presents it to you. What it is, I can’t surmise, but I’m sure, before the week’s out, that he’ll be back on your doorstep, grinning like a little boy who played truant and is now back home.”

“I hope you’re right,” Libby said. “Thank you, Edward. You’re a good friend.”

She started to walk back toward the house.

“I’ll always be here when you need me, Libby. Remember that,” Edward called after her.

No news came for two weeks and each day Libby half expected to hear that Hugh’s body had been found in the river. She said nothing to her parents but they both speculated wildly about where he was. Her mother’s main theme was that Hugh had gone back to England without Libby, where he would probably claim to be a bachelor and marry the daughter of some earl or duke. Her father thought that he was probably engaged in a shady business deal that had gone sour and didn’t dare show his face again in Boston for a while. Libby was amused by both of these speculations, which she knew to be very unlike Hugh, but she could come up with no better answer.

Then on May sixth, she received a letter from him. Luckily, she was just crossing the hall when the mail arrived and was able to remove her letter from the silver tray which the maid was about to carry through to her parents in the morning room. She ran straight upstairs with it and shut herself in the bathroom, which had a solid lock on the door.

My dearest wife, my dearest children, Hugh had written, Can you ever forgive me for the worry and heartache I have certainly caused you? When you hear what I am embarked upon, I hope you will find it in your hearts to forgive and understand. Once I made up my mind to try my luck I knew that I had to leave without telling you, as you or your parents, possibly both, would have certainly tried to dissuade me. And you know my weakness, Libby. I should probably have allowed myself to be dissuaded.

You will no doubt be amazed when you hear that your good-for-nothing husband has gone to make his fortune. Libby, I am off to be a Forty-Niner, to make my fortune in the gold fields of California. You have not been around the Boston waterfront much of late, but I can assure you that all the talk there is of great wealth in California gold, lying at the feet, waiting to be picked up by those who get there first. There was no time to be lost, Libby. I am afraid I took out what little money we had in the bank to buy my ticket to the Wild West, but it will be repaid many times over.

Think about it, my darling girl. Men are making fortunes in weeks, real fortunes of thousands and thousands of dollars. When I return we can take the children to England and live in that house as country gentlefolk should with enough for fine horses and lavish entertaining and ballgowns to make you and my lovely daughters the most talked-of women in England.

So be patient, my darling. I promise I will return as soon as I have made my “pile” as they so crudely put it here. 1 am at present in Independence, Missouri, which is the setting off point for the great adventure and I fear we have left civilization behind us already. It is a world of men and of crudity. I feel like a fish out of water, but cannot let them see that I am lily-livered, as they would put it. Of course I am afraid, but I am driven by the desire and opportunity to succeed for the first time in my miserable life.

Think of me, my darling. Kiss those adorable pink faces for me and remind them often of their papa. I am consoled by the fact that you will be well looked after by your parents. Many of the men have left their wives to manage farms alone, with precious little cash, so I feel myself fortunate that I do not have that additional worry about your future.

I will try to return in the fall, my knapsack bulging with gold. What a celebration we’ll have then, won’t we?

Your devoted husband,

Hugh Grenville.

Libby stood looking at the letter.

“Oh, Hugh, you idiot!” she said out loud, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. “How do you think you can ever survive in the wilds of California!” She gazed up at the black and white tiled walls and the black and white shapes swam in her unfocussed gaze. “We’ll have to send someone after him before it’s too late. He’ll need rescuing by now. He’ll probably head out in the wrong direction for California or something.” She laughed before she remembered how serious it all was. The question was whom could she send. If she had had brothers or cousins, it would have been the sort of job she could entrust to one of them. But she had no brothers and her only relatives were elderly aunts and uncles. Family friends like Edward Knotts crossed her mind, but she dismissed them instantly. “I can’t send someone to bring him home in disgrace, like a little child,” she said. “That would be utter humiliation for him. He doesn’t deserve that. It’s very brave of him to attempt such a crazy undertaking—-just the sort of mad, foolish thing he would do. Poor Hugh, he really must have felt desperate.”

She felt guilty as if she had been responsible for driving him to this. In a way she was. If she hadn’t persuaded him to marry her, he’d never have been stuck here in Boston with two children to support. He wasn’t the sort of man who was meant to be tied down.

With a sigh, Libby unlocked the bathroom door and tiptoed across to her own bedroom. The windows were open and lacy curtains were fluttering in a gentle April breeze. The bed was piled high with white lacy quilts and pillows. From the window she could glimpse distant green countryside over the rooftops. Libby had always loved that view, and the way you could see a tiny piece of the Charles River between rooftops, if you leaned right out. Now, as she stood taking in all that was familiar and dear to her, a disturbing thought crept into her mind. Hugh could not possibly survive alone among the rigors and dangers of the Wild West. She could ask nobody to rescue him; therefore she would have to go to him herself.

Having made up her mind, she wasted no time and went downstairs.

Her parents were sitting together in the morning room, her father reading the paper as he usually did after breakfast. Her mother was going through the day’s mail, seated on the red velvet chaise by the window, while her husband always sat in the leather armchair by the fireplace, even though there was no fire alight in it. It always amused Libby that they both carried on independent commentaries on what they were reading, to which the other paid no attention. She could hear them as she crossed the entrance hall and pushed open the door.

“Oh, how nice, Sophie’s having a new dress made for the ball. Dark green velvet . . .”

“Fools in Washington. Why can’t they get their ideas straight? It’s no good giving in to these southerners . . .”

“Rather a harsh color with her fair hair, wouldn’t you think?”

“Show them who’s boss, that’s what they should do.”

Libby glanced around the room with affection. It was cluttered with furniture, potted plants, draperies, pictures and ornaments according to her mother’s taste, but it represented home and security.

She took a deep breath and closed the door behind her.

“I’ve finally heard from Hugh,” she said casually.

Two faces looked up expectantly.

“And?” her father demanded.

“He’s gone to California, to join the gold rush,” Libby said.

“Damn fool,” her father muttered, loud enough for his wife to hear and say, “Language, Henry” in a shocked voice.

Libby’s father put down the newspaper he had been reading. “Well, I suppose that’s that then. What was I just saying, my dear?” He addressed his wife. “I remarked to you only yesterday that I thought it would all turn out for the best. I’ll get onto young Knotts to start dissolution proceedings right away.”

Libby looked at him as if he was speaking a foreign language that she didn’t understand. “What are you saying, Father?” she asked.

“I’m saying we’ll be able to do what I’ve been itching to do for years. We’ll get the marriage dissolved. Desertion—that’s good solid legal grounds. Give you a chance to start again while you’re still young enough. Plenty of fine young fellows in Boston for you and you’ve still got your looks and figure.”

“I have no intention of getting divorced,” Libby interrupted, not knowing whether to be amused or angry. “I married Hugh for better or worse and this just happens to be a temporary worse.”

“But dearest child, he could be away for years. You could grow to be an old woman waiting for him. He might never return,” her mother said soothingly. “Why take that chance?”

“I quite agree with you, Mama,” Libby said. “I have no intention of waiting around and growing old. A wife’s place is with her husband. I came to tell you that I’ll be leaving for California to join him as soon as possible.”

She thought her father might explode at any moment. His face had turned beet red and his eyes bulged. “Follow him to California? Are you out of your mind, child?”

“I’m not a child, I’m a married woman,” Libby said, “and I’m perfectly sane.”

“I always knew the fellow was a scoundrel and a weakling,” her father blustered, “but I never thought he’d sink low enough to ask you to undertake that worst of journeys. The man has no pride and no conscience.”

“He did not ask me, Papa,” Libby said. “All he asked of me was forgiveness for leaving me alone. I made up my own mind to join him. I don’t think he is the type to survive alone for long on the frontier.”

“And you are?” her mother demanded, her voice quivering on the verge of tears. “Do you think that we’ve brought you up to be a lady, given you the finest education so that you can become a frontier drudge? You can have no conception of what life is like for women out there, none at all.”

“Neither do you, Mother so that makes two of us,” Libby said.

“Don’t be rude to your mother, young woman,” her father interrupted.

“Father, I’m not a little girl, so please don’t speak to me like one,” Libby said. “I’ve made up my mind and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“Oh, isn’t there? We’ll see about that,” Mr. Parsons blustered. “It takes money to get to California and I’m holding up any further allowance for you as of now. I doubt your husband left you a bank account healthy enough to pay for such an undertaking.”

“And the children,” her mother interjected. “How could you think of leaving those little angels for what might be years?”

“I’m not,” Libby said. “I’m taking them with me.”

“Now you’ve convinced me that you really have taken leave of your senses,” her father shouted. “You’re insane. You’re no mother taking innocent babes to hardship and suffering.”

“You can’t be serious about this, Libby,” her mother said, getting up and coming to put an arm around her daughter. “She’s distraught, Henry. The shock has unhinged her mind. We’ll take her to the Cape for the summer. I know the good ocean air will make her strong again.”

Libby shook herself free. “I’m perfectly well, thank you, Mother. I know this whole thing has been a shock to you and father, but I want you to understand that I am a grown-up, married woman. I’m no longer your precious little girl who has to be spoon-fed and coddled.”

“You’re right about that, miss,” her father said shortly. “If you go through with this foolish, harebrained scheme, you are no longer our little girl. Leave this house and you can expect no further help from us. Furthermore, do not think that we will sit by and let our grandchildren be taken away. I’m off to consult our lawyers instantly. I’ll have you certified as an unfit mother. I’ll have you certified as insane if I have to. I might not be able to stop you from going, but you’re not taking the children with you.”