“No, ma’am.”
“I’ve recently learned that someone from Brighmor has been gossiping about my marriage. Do you have any idea who it could be?”
Her eyes widened with fear. “I promise, it weren’t me, ma’am.”
“I wasn’t blaming you, Alice. I only wanted to know if you had heard anything.”
She glanced nervously down at her feet. “Yesterday morning at breakfast the servants and field hands were talking about ye and the master. It weren’t nothing but idle chitchat. No one meant any harm by it.”
“And you’ve no idea who might be sharing this idle chitchat with my neighbors?” I prodded her.
“No, ma’am.”
I looked at her closely, but saw no signs of deceit. “Do you promise to tell me if you hear anything?”
She squirmed uncomfortably under my gaze.
“It would be tremendous a favor,” I continued. “A favor that would have to be repaid somehow.”
Her hand tightened around the combs. “I promise, ma’am, but I don’t know nothing.”
“Oh, very well,” I sighed. “Please ask Karta to brew a cup of willow bark tea. I’ve a terrible headache coming on.”
She curtsied and dashed from the room.
Finally alone, I sank into the chair by the hearth to mull over my problems. In a matter of minutes, my mind was practically turning circles.
A marriage is no marriage at all until it has been properly consummated.
Yet to help prove my innocence, the good ladies of Hopewell needed to know that my marriage remained unconsummated.
What if Phoebe Trumble set her mind on winning Henry? To be sure, Henry seemed an honorable man, but honor or not, there was hardly a man alive who could withstand Phoebe’s feminine wiles.
Yesterday, I believed the gossip would work in my favor. Now, I didn’t know what to think. My best hope was that Alice would soon discover the source so I could curtail any further talk. Otherwise, the rumors would continue and I would have lost my favorite hair combs for naught.
*
These thoughts weighed heavily on my mind throughout the rest of the week as the rain finally abated and I began making social calls once again. From time to time, I debated divulging everything to Nora or telling Henry of our newest problem, but in the end decided to keep quiet in the hopes that this too would pass. “Wait and see” had provided good advice in the past, and there was no sense making mountains out of molehills.
By the time Mary laced me into my plainest gray cotton frock in preparation for Quaker meeting on Sunday morning, I had some satisfaction that the townspeople must have moved on to fresher gossip. Nothing more had crossed my ears on the subject or even been alluded to by any of Hopewell’s most respected matrons. This was good news indeed, to have one less concern when Henry and I walked into the meetinghouse together.
Unlike conventional Christian churches where the congregation sits facing a pulpit of some sort, Quakers sit on long wooden benches facing the center, the men on one side and the women on the other. Elder members or distinguished guests—such as those recognized with the gift of ministry—take their places on raised benches at the far end of the room. It was on one of these raised benches, sitting alongside Edgar Sweeney and Gideon Boyle, that I spied my accuser and sworn enemy, Nathan Crowley. His attention was currently diverted to one of the windows and I took a quick moment to study his countenance for any hint of what trouble he may have had planned for this morning. I didn’t know exactly what to look for other than a malicious smile or a wicked glint in his eyes. After a minute all I could surmise was that his cheeks looked a bit gaunt since we last met at Brighmor a week ago.
Taking my own seat next to Nora, I watched Henry settle in between Matthew Appleton and Thomas Dowling on the other side. I had told him some of what to expect from a Quaker meeting, and he didn’t seem surprised when no one greeted him, but sat instead in stony silence with their heads bowed. When the meeting officially started, the silence continued, stretching on for the greater part of an hour as each member quietly reflected and sought inspiration from their inner light. By now, I had grown accustomed to this time of stillness, and actually found it quite peaceful. Henry, on the other hand, had to stifle several yawns, which earned him stern looks from more than a few of the men.