Surrender at Orchard Rest (38 page)

“It’s just us, Somerset. No one will ever know what went on here. No one. Hear me? It’s over, he’s dead, and we’re free.”

“He looks like Eric lying there,” she said between gasps. “He looks as good and innocent as the man I really loved.”

“We’ll have to load him in the wagon and carry him home to Sarabeth,” said Kirk.

He reached out and took her hand and they began a slow trek to Joseph. He never moved from his kneeling position on the ground. Holt was standing next to him, useless to help him up.

“It’s over,” said Somerset. “Joseph, it’s over. Let’s go home.”

“It won’t ever be over,” said Joseph. “Nothing ever is. I stay so tired of it all, but I’m grateful—so grateful—grateful that I don’t have to tell my best friend that I killed his brother. All these thoughts and scenes in my head, they won’t let go. There’s ugliness inside of me that I’ve been trying to wipe clean since the war. Do you think this is what Mother feels like? Do you think it’s why she’s not right? I understand her today. I do. Like Mother, I just want out.”

Joseph turned the pistol on himself, the barrel planted between his eyes. Somerset didn’t have time to think, pray, or scream. Kirk removed the other revolver from his holster and clubbed Joseph over the head with it while he grabbed the pistol with his other hand. Joseph slumped on the ground like a corpse with the mewing sound of a kitten as he fell. Somerset screamed.

“Worse has been done to him,” said Kirk. He put Joseph’s gun in his free holster for good measure. “Let’s return Phillip to Riverside and get Joseph back to Orchard Rest. He’ll be a long time getting over this. Holt, help me load up.”

***

Somerset rode back to Orchard Rest alone. She could not be present when Sarabeth saw her dead son lying in the back of Kirk’s wagon. She saw Blanche’s face at the staircase landing as she approached the house. The servants’ faces, save Birdy’s, all pressed against various windows. She smiled wide and free until her face ached to let them know all was well.

A chill reverberated through her body as she dismounted the horse, causing her to stumble. Was all well? The image of Joseph with a gun pressed between his eyes, teeth grinding together from nerves, rattled her as Blanche almost broke the door handle in her eagerness in get to Somerset.

“He’s alive!” she exclaimed. “It’s over.”

“He’s alive,” said Somerset.

“Is Phillip?”

“Phillip died before anything could happen. Holt was going after Dr. Harlow, but I believe his heart gave out.”

Blanche’s arms found their way around Somerset.

“I’m sorry for what you thought you had that is lost,” she said.

The words were simple but true enough that they meant something more.

Somerset nodded as she looked at her mother’s extraordinary eyes.

“I loved the Russells and they’ll never want me at Riverside anymore. Sawyer will have to turn around and come home for the funeral. All this is because of me. I’ve ruined an entire family, Mother, and all because I chased a long dead dream. I’ll never criticize you again. I’m just like you. Just like you.”

“You’re more than I ever was.” Blanche ran a satin hand down Somerset’s cheek.

“I’m going to have to get out of here for a while, but I can’t think of a place to go. I can’t be here, and I hate Richmond. Amelia couldn’t tolerate me in Charleston, and I can’t find a nurses’ program, either. What will become of me, Mother? If I stay here, everyone will hate me forever.”

“The Marshalls still own Somerset Manor. We could winter there, you and I. Thomas is there so often, it makes me want to see it again.”

“You aren’t supposed to be out of bed, much less doing all the traveling you’ve been up to.”

“I’m either going to get well or I’m not,” said Blanche.

“Seeing the place where your brother died isn’t going to help you get well,” retorted Somerset.

“We’ll figure something out. Helen might travel with you for the winter. Joseph and Ivy might want to take a honeymoon without the bother of extended family. There are possibilities for getting you out of here. I promise you that I’ll have you on a train before the funeral. I understand the desire to run.”

“Joseph is not himself.”

“What do you mean?”

“He turned the gun on himself.”

“My Joseph?”

“He said he was tired and he understood how you must have felt. Kirk knocked him out, but I don’t think he’s going to be himself for months, maybe years. I’m sure Kirk is telling Ivy all about it. She ran off to Riverside to wait out the duel with Sarabeth.”

“He tried to kill himself? My brave, fearless, bold son, who loves the challenge of life more than anything, tried to kill himself?”

“I guess we all need rest every now and then, Mother.”

***

Ivy sat with Somerset in the corner of Joseph’s new bedroom. Blanche walked in languid circles at his fireplace mantel while Kirk stood in the doorway like a falcon about to swoop in any direction. He’d sent Holt to sit with Myra and Victoria in the parlor.

Joseph’s head was dressed with a loose bow of gauze, already stained cherry red. His mouth fell open a little as he slept, his face whiter than the gauze. Dr. Harlow said he would recover from the wound, but he sat alone in the library with a cigar and newspaper until Joseph woke to evaluate his mental faculties. Somerset didn’t know how much Kirk told the doctor.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him that bad,” Kirk said.

“I’ll owe you until I die,” said Ivy.

“Yes,” said Blanche. “I’m in your debt as well. I’ll always be looking for a way to repay you for my only son.”

“He’d have done it for me,” Kirk said.

Somerset locked eyes with Kirk across the room. They would keep each other’s secrets forever. There was a covert bond between them now that no one would ever guess. Attempted murder. She’d never love again, she was sure of it, but she rested easy in her notion that she and Kirk were too similar to be happy together. She couldn’t be certain but thought he winked at her before looking behind him in the doorway.

Ivy crossed her wrists behind Somerset’s neck and pulled her near.

“I’m not pregnant,” she murmured. “My time came since I was at Sarabeth’s. I’m still sick, but like you told me, it could be anything: dirty water, a bad oyster, less than fresh fish. I don’t know.”

“Are you happy?” asked Somerset.

“I was getting used to the idea of it, but given what happened with Joseph today, I’d say it’s a blessing.”

“Does Riverside hate me?” asked Somerset. She already knew the answer. She needed Ivy to soften the blow.

Ivy paused and thought.

“Sarabeth doesn’t,” she said. She sounded sincere.

“I’ve ruined her family.”

“She doesn’t see it that way. Lawrence, Laura, and Eve feel differently about you, but Sarabeth is horrified that Sawyer shot Eric. I think she’d rather he be in the Territory than here. She doesn’t hold you responsible for his departure.”

“Were you with her when she saw the body?”

Ivy nodded. Tears hung from the ends of her bristly lashes.

“She—broke down.” She cleared her throat, tears saturating her voice. “She doesn’t hold anyone responsible. She holds Phillip at fault for you breaking off the engagement, but she thinks Joseph is at fault for challenging him to a duel over it. She’s angry at Phillip because he escalated the problem by demanding a duel to the death. I think she can find peace in the fact that no one killed each other. Her mother died in midlife from a bad heart so she can make peace with it in the end. Part of her feels pity for you. I think if you’re patient the two of you can patch a friendship back together. She’s loving and gentle. It’s possible.”

“I have to leave. I can’t stay here. If I’d gone to Richmond and followed the plan, none of this would have happened. I may not care for Sawyer, but I know what a fresh start means when all of civilization sees your mistakes. I understand why he left.”

“You don’t have to go,” protested Ivy. “Sawyer has his mother’s heart. He won’t blame you.”

Cleo and Birdy entered with trays of mugs of steaming coffee and piles of triangular tea sandwiches as a light lunch for the crowd that had eaten no breakfast. Blanche and Somerset waved away their portions, but Kirk accepted the tray of sandwiches and put them near him on a bureau top where he could reach them as he pleased. He put his elbows on the bureau as he leaned there and ate. When Birdy offered it, Somerset took a mug of coffee from the silver tray etched in little apples. Nothing could drive out the cold in her heart but she sipped as if she could.

Ivy reached for a cup. Somerset watched her long bone-china fingers brush Birdy’s as she accepted the cup. Birdy’s eyes met Ivy’s for a second before she took the heirloom tray and left, but Somerset saw the mysterious expression in Ivy’s gray eyes. A spark passed between the two women. Somerset knew she and Kirk weren’t the only pair in the room with a secret.

Birdy must have given Ivy something to stop the pregnancy, Somerset thought. She didn’t want to be a widow with a baby so she ended things.

Then Somerset dismissed the thought. Ivy wouldn’t give up any baby of Joseph’s. Unless—

Ivy’s uncharacteristic spirit and anger with Joseph that morning. Her disappearance to Riverside to comfort Sarabeth. Phillip’s look of ill health upon their arrival at the field.

“You didn’t,” Somerset said.

Ivy sipped her coffee and said nothing.

“She didn’t what?” asked Blanche.

“Cleo didn’t bring milk for my coffee. I didn’t see that she left,” Somerset said. “I’ll drink it black.”

Ivy had poisoned Phillip. It was clear. The way he struggled blind across the dueling field spoke of it. His loud, slow, labored breaths, which she could hear over her own frantic breathing, proved it. Joseph’s gait had looked as good as Phillip’s, when in reality Phillip’s was as bad as Joseph’s. Dr. Harlow wouldn’t suspect any of them of foul play, least of all Ivy, and he had accepted Kirk’s narrative as a heart attack and suggested no further investigation.

Birdy loved Ivy. Somerset thought of her short opaque bottles of tinctures and the innumerable racks of drying herbs and plants in the kitchen and the way Cleo wasn’t done fussing about giving up counter space. She wondered who approached whom and how that particular conversation started. She imagined the night before, how Birdy must have slipped a bottle or vial into a pair of ivory, trembling hands with firm instruction on what to do. There were whispers in the dark kitchen before everyone sat up, hollow eyed and miserable, through the night.

I’ll never ask her if she did it, thought Somerset. I don’t need or want to know. Phillip is dead, and that’s all that matters.

She looked at Ivy and the delicate way she held Blanche’s Limoges cup. She looked untroubled, as if she could lie down beside her husband and fall asleep if the family vigil would break up and depart. Somerset knew that it was on purpose that she didn’t meet her eyes.

“I love you,” said Somerset, and affection surged through her.

“I love you,” said Ivy. She sounded as though nothing were amiss.

Somerset wondered if she should write Ophelia. She would grieve Phillip. He was Ophelia’s Eric Rutherford, her one true love.

“Is Eric’s house yours now?” asked Ivy.

“He hadn’t changed his will yet,” said Somerset. “It reverts to Sarabeth and Lawrence. I guess it’s fitting that it remains in the family.”

“He’s stirring,” said Kirk.

With a moan, Joseph turned onto his side. Ivy went to him and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Where am I?” asked Joseph.

“You’re in your room at Orchard Rest,” said Ivy.

“I’ll get Daddy,” said Kirk.

“My new room,” said Joseph. “Oh. Did he hit me?”

“Kirk hit you over the head with his revolver. You’re not shot.”

“Why would he do that to me? Oh. I remember.”

Joseph tried to sit up. Ivy propped the pillows behind him and he sat against them, looking pinched and exhausted.

“I wanted out.”

“Why?” said Somerset. “Why would you try to leave us when we need you so?”

“None of you needs me,” said Joseph. “You’d be better off with me gone, the things I’ve done.”

Somerset sat down on the edge of the nightstand by Joseph’s head.

“Your wife may be happy that you made it, but I’m furious with you for putting us through all this. Do you know what it did to me to see you kneeling with the barrel pressed to your skull? Why would you challenge Phillip to a duel and then try to kill yourself afterwards? Were you looking to die from the beginning? I love you, Joseph! None of us can do without you.”

Dr. Harlow came in and shushed her. He took a long time examining Joseph. He poked and prodded his skull and his abdomen, and then when they thought he was done, he repeated the exam all over again. He said there was no reason that, in due time, Joseph wouldn’t recover from the physical wounds, but he looked old and exhausted as he continued.

“I am going to assume that you were temporarily in a state of duress after being challenged to a duel to the death and that you do not actually wish to die,” he sighed. “Most of Century Grove depends on you, young man, and it would be unfortunate for community morale if you turned out to be no more than a hard-drinking crazy who would leave his young wife and ailing mother behind with no consideration for their regard.”

“I don’t think that of you, Joseph,” Blanche was quick to say.

“Why would you do such a mad thing after surviving a challenge to death?” asked Dr. Harlow. “I’ve cared for this family since Orchard Rest was built and I’ve bit my tongue on several issues that I feel compromise me as a physician. I draw the line here today. Why?”

Joseph sat and looked at all the concerned faces in the room with a look in his brown and green eyes that bordered on feverish.

Somerset brought out Eric’s charm. The smooth stone rested in her palm, the bands of colored rock vibrant against her white flesh.

I’d give anything to have him guide me through this day, she thought.

With Phillip dead, she could picture Eric’s face. It was softer, less distinguished than Phillip’s face. The chin was more pointed. The eyes were bluer. The nose was thinner. Love softened Eric’s face. His heart was full of love. It transformed him. It gave him a sense of humor and a sense of self.

“Where did you get that?” asked Joseph.

Somerset handed it to him.

“It’s Eric’s good-luck charm,” she said. “I took it out of our house. I carry it with me wherever I go, the next best thing to having Eric with me.”

Joseph ran his thick yellow thumbnail over the curving carved indentations of the bright rock.

“It was in the house he built for you?”