The rain continued to fall outside as we talked and I found myself stealing long glances out the window looking for Henry and wondering when he would return home. My distraction must have been evident for Nora proclaimed that if the conversation could not hold my attention then I might as well play a song or two on the harpsichord to pass the time. She spoke as though my behavior had left her little choice, but I wasn’t fooled for a minute. Quakers did not approve of musical instruments, though Nora adored singing and if I just happened to be in need of playing then it was her Christian duty to assist me. We had been going through this same routine for more than ten years, since the harpsichord first arrived from England. Fortunately for me, my father loved to hear me play, and since my mother had been a Catholic, there was no fuss about having the instrument at Brighmor.
Seated together on the wooden bench, I started with some basic scales for Nora to warm up and then moved to a familiar repertoire of our favorite songs. On occasion I would join her in singing, adding my own contra soprano to the melody, but mostly I just played and listened to her sing. We had gotten through a good half dozen songs when I glimpsed someone standing by the door. Stealing a quick look, I saw Henry leaning against the wall, watching us. Nora’s voice was so lovely, I played through to the end of the song before bringing his presence to her attention.
“We have an audience,” I said, when the last notes faded away.
Henry clapped his hands, applauding our performance as he stepped the rest of the way into the drawing room. “That was magnificent,” he said, meeting my eyes, and I smiled at his approval.
“How long have you been listening?” I asked.
“Not nearly long enough,” he said, returning my smile. I would have been content just to stare at him but Nora surreptitiously reached over and pinched my leg.
“Henry, let me introduce my dearest friend, Nora Goodwin. Nora, this is my husband, Henry Kilbrid.”
Nora scooted off the bench. “Pleased to meet you, Henry Kilbrid.”
“And you, Nora Goodwin. I do not think I have heard sweeter music in all my life.”
“Then you ought to get out more often,” Nora said, dismissing the compliment in her normal manner, though I believe she only did so to hide her embarrassment at being caught so flagrantly disregarding her faith. “And how are you finding our fair colony of Pennsylvania? I hope it is tolerable enough and not lacking in physical advantage.”
I coughed slightly at her direct use of my own description of Henry. He had changed into dry clothing but his hair, though neatly combed, was still wet from being outdoors much of the day, and in truth he looked nothing less than divine.
“It bears all the signs of being an advantageous land,” he said cordially. “Though the weather is warmer than I am used to.”
“Have you ever been to Greece?” Nora asked him. “I’ve heard the heat there surpasses the Devil’s kitchen at certain times of the year. It’s no wonder the Greek gods were believed to reside on Mt. Olympus.”
Nora said all of this without giving the slightest inclination of how carefully she was choosing her words, but I knew exactly what she was up to and how this was an attempt to tease me for not telling the complete truth earlier. While keeping my eyes on Henry, I slyly took hold of her hand, making sure to keep it well hidden in the folds of our skirts, and gave it a fearsome squeeze. Nora didn’t so much as flinch, but pulled her hand back and then stepped out of my reach.
“No, I haven’t been any further south than Rome,” Henry admitted. “How have you gained such knowledge, living where you do?”
“My grandfather was a sailor, or more precisely a pirate, before coming to the Colonies to find a wife and invest his ill-begotten gains in a large tract of land for farming. During his travels, he visited most of the known seaports, and on long winter nights would relay some of these adventures to his grandchildren.”
Henry looked highly amused by Nora’s story. “I see,” he said. “But I was actually referring to the Devil’s kitchen. Did your grandfather also visit this place or did you learn about it through other means?”
“I admit it was pure conjecture,” Nora laughed. “But I’ll wager it gets terribly hot in there with all those miserable souls simmering away in his pot.”
I was practically holding my breath just waiting for Nora to say something about a special pot for young ladies prone to fibbing, but the sound of carriage wheels came from the front drive, diverting our attention.
“Oh, goodness,” Nora said. “We will have to continue this conversation another time for I’m sure William is in a rush to get home.” She darted a glance in my direction and I knew she meant to spare her brother the displeasure of running into Henry.
“I look forward to it,” Henry said. “Good day, Nora Goodwin.”
“It was a pleasure meeting you,” she said. “Selah, would you mind seeing me out?” Not that I could have done otherwise since she had taken my arm and was guiding me to the door. Out in the entryway, she leaned over and whispered in my ear. “You little liar,” she hissed. “It’s no wonder William came home in such a state yesterday, with your husband looking the very image of Adonis.”
I tried to interject, but she shushed me and went on. “Take my advice and place your claim on Henry at once, before Phoebe Trumble casts her eyes upon him and decides she would make him a better wife.”