Echoes (10 page)

Perhaps once he saw how good she was with children, he would have a change of heart. She peered at him from the corner of her eye, noting his stiff back and stern expression. Perhaps not. For the first time since making the decision to come, Molly began to doubt the wisdom of it. Never before had she dared to defy the Reverend and to do so only to be sent back…

No. She wouldn't go.

For her entire life she had lived with the chains of the Reverend's rules, his strict dictations of worship, his rigid religion, his lack of the spirituality that took the giving out of faith. Molly had watched from her obedient shell as her sister fought his rules, losing with painful repercussions time and time again. Through Vanessa, Molly had come to accept that their own wall of
Jericho would not be tumbled down.

But then Vanessa
had
escaped. Adam Weston had rescued her from their holy purgatory and though the Reverend never acknowledged it, he had been devastated by her defection. In retaliation, he had tightened his iron control over his remaining daughter until Molly felt that even the breath she drew had first been filtered by his set of laws. When Molly had insisted that she was needed in Ohio, that it was her duty to come and care for Vanessa's child, the wrath of the Reverend blazed like the fires of hell.

And yet, she had defied him.

Clenching her fists into tight balls, she said. "I've just spent nearly a week getting here, Mr. Weston."

He looked at her and then quickly away. "That didn't come out quite the way I meant. You're welcome here. I just meant to save you the trouble of coming."

"It would trouble me more to not see where my sister rests. It would trouble me greatly not to reassure myself of her baby's well-being."

Moments later, Mr. Weston pulled back on the reins and brought the wagon to an abrupt halt in front of a stunted wooden house perched behind an equally stunted wooden porch. Molly stared at it, trying to picture her sister living here. Dying here. She bit her lip to stop it from trembling.

"This is it," Mr. Weston said, as if it needed clarifying.

A window on either side of the front door gave a sense of balance to the structure, but compared to the home she and Vanessa had shared with their father, it might as well have been made of sod. Where theirs had brownstone and white pillars, this had rough planks with knotted wood. In
New York City, they had neighbors just a few steps away. Friends who would stroll down the avenue and stop to take tea in the afternoon or share prayer with the Reverend and his pious daughter.

And yet Molly had never felt at one with the people or life. She was—and might forever have been—nothing more than the Reverend's devout pawn. How she had envied Vanessa when she had left. Afterwards, there were many long nights when Molly pretended that it was she who had unexpectedly wed the handsome Adam Weston and moved to the wilderness.

The front door opened and a small, gnome-like woman stepped out onto the porch. She wore an apron so white it defied existence in this mud and dirt country. Beneath, a faded red dress swayed in the crisp breeze. Her gray hair was pulled back into a neat bun and the pink of her scalp showed through on top. She bounced in a gentle rocking motion and against her shoulder she held a bundle wrapped in a blue knit blanket. The baby…

Mr. Weston grabbed Molly's bags and hefted them to the porch. Molly followed him, staring as if mesmerized at the bundle in the old woman's arms.

"Guess you'll be the sister," the old woman said in an accusing voice. Before Molly could answer, the woman sniffed and trailed Mr. Weston inside the house. A gust of wind captured the door and slammed it shut with a loud clap, leaving Molly on the outside.

She stared at the closed door. In all her life, she had never crossed a strange threshold without first having been invited to enter. Neither had she ever been left to wonder if the invitation was assumed or if the door was closed against her.

Holding her head up, she reached for the door and let herself in.

"Wondered if you was going to stand out there all day," the old woman said. She no longer held the blanket wrapped bundle. Instead she had a big blue coffee pot in her hand.

"Where is the baby?" Molly asked.

"He's been cutting teeth and squalling 'bout it since the sun come up. Finally gave him some sugar teet and nip a whiskey. He'll be out for an hour, I hope. I forgot what a handful a baby can be."

She made a raspy laughing sound high in her throat. Molly noticed that she only had four front teeth both upper and lower. They were small and white but perched as they were in the front, she looked like a peculiar bunny.

"Maybe I'll get to supper with him asleep."

Molly looked around at the small house, wondering where the baby slept and where Mr. Weston had managed to vanish. Vanessa's letters had indicated that her new family was one of carpenters and that her husband was an extraordinary craftsman who had made all their furnishings. She ran a hand over the back of an elegant rocker that swayed from her slight touch on soundless runners. A smooth table with carved chairs nestled on a braided rug near the kitchen stove. Around the cooking area, crockery lined the shelves above a butcher board and heavy pots and iron skillets dangled from hooks beneath. The strong scent of bacon grease hung in the air.

"Ain't nothing grand like I suppose you is used to. Your sister didn't think much of it neither," the woman said.

"On the contrary, Vanessa wrote to me of the fine workmanship in Mr. Weston's house."

The woman snorted. "You talk just as fancy as she did. We don't go much on that here. It's going to be tiresome if you insist on calling us Mr. and Mrs. and such. I already done that with your sister and I'm not going to have it with you. He's Adam, I'm Rosie."

Embarrassed, Molly nodded. "And I am Molly."

"I know. She talked about you." Rosie turned and began bustling with a tin filled with flour. "You could grab me some pork chops from the smoke house if you was a mind to."

Molly stared at her blankly.

"Oh you
are
just like the sister."

"I'll get the chops," Mr.—
Adam
—said, coming from another room. Molly allowed herself a small, internal smile at the use of his given name, even if it was silent. The Reverend would be appalled by such informality.

"You might as well get the thickest of 'em," Rosie called after him. "I don't' reckon we can take all of them with us." She clicked her tongue a couple of times and turned to Molly. "Can you snap the beans, then, or don't you know how to do that neither?"

"Have you a spare apron?"

Rosie made the bunny laugh and plucked another white apron from a hook. "This was your sister's. Not that she had much use for it."

Molly reached for the apron. "Rosie, I loved my sister very much. Her faults were no more, no less than my own. And since she is no longer here to defend herself, I must take offense for her if you insist on making disparaging remarks about her character."

Rosie rested her upper teeth on her lip and stared at Molly. She had the same silver gray eyes as her son. "You got more gumption than she did, don't ya?"

"I doubt that."

"I don't. It's good that a person stands up for their family. Ain't nothin' more important than that."

Rosie handed Molly a bowl and colander filled with green beans. Taking them, Molly said, "You did not care for my sister."

"Ain't true. I cared for her when she was heavy with that baby and I cared for her through the night she birthed him. After too. And I cared for her when she was dying."

"Then I owe you a debt of gratitude. Thank you."

Rosie gave a half nod and Molly noted with surprise that her eyes looked misty. "It weren't easy for her having that baby. Thought for a while she might not make it at all. She was such a small thing, just like you. And Arlie was such a big cuss to carry, bigger to deliver." The bunny laugh accompanied her words. "Just like Adam and Brodie. Big as horses they was."

"When was...Arlie born?"

"March. He'll be a year come shortly."

Molly frowned. Vanessa had met Adam Weston in New York in September and wed him in November of the year before last. During the two months between their introduction and marriage, he had returned home to Ohio. Silently, Molly counted nine months back from November to March. That did not make sense, though. Vanessa had not yet met her husband in March.

"Was the baby born early?"

"A bit."

A bit
? Even assuming that Vanessa had become with child on the eve of their wedding in November, it hardly gave the baby enough time to grow.

"Certainly more than a bit," she answered.

The front door shut behind Mr. Weston—
Adam
—she reminded herself again, and suddenly Rosie became a whirlwind of activity. She did not speak again until her son left to chop wood.

"Rosie?" Molly said.

"The baby weren't more than a bit early."

Molly shook her head, although Rosie did not strike her as one capable of deception. But if Arlie had not been born dreadfully early, then that meant—

"It were September," Rosie said. "Couldn't have been no other time."

"But Adam was only in
New York for a few days."

Rosie sucked her front teeth and widened her eyes. "Don't take more'n a few minutes."

Molly flushed hot from head to toe, remembering the first time she and her sister had met Mr. Adam Weston. They had gone to visit members of the Reverend's congregation and bring baskets of sweets and breads. Adam had been at the McCarty's home, delivering a custom dining table and sideboard that Mr. McCarty had ordered for his wife as a gift. While the Reverend blessed the new furnishings, Adam exchanged pleasantries with the women.

Molly had offered him her gloved hand in introduction and watched as it was swallowed by his own. He'd seemed somehow larger than life, this man from the west with his drawl and quicksilver eyes. She'd been excited by the sound of his voice and the flash of his smile. For a moment, it seemed that he too had found something fascinating in her and the very idea had sent her heart pounding.

Then Vanessa had moved forward, laughing and teasing her way through their introduction, flashing him her flirtatious eyes and pouty smile. Of course he had been hopelessly entranced by her wit and beauty. Who could blame him? Vanessa was a gust of fresh air in a closed and stuffy room. Before they had left for home, he had asked the Reverend for permission to call and, reluctantly, the Reverend had granted it.

Adam visited one evening and then another day joined them for church and Sunday supper. Afterwards, when he had returned to
Ohio, Vanessa had written many letters to him, and he had written back, though none so frequently or wordy as Vanessa. Then suddenly in November he had arrived at their door and asked to marry Vanessa.

But when had they….
How
had they managed a secret meeting? Vanessa had never mentioned it, never chosen to confide in Molly.

"Arlie's the sweetest babe I ever knowed," Rosie said. "You'll see when he wakes up. He's a joy."

Adam came back in with an armload of firewood and the conversation stopped. Molly wished her thoughts could be stopped as easily. She understood why Vanessa had not mentioned the coming birth of her son. A child conceived in sin would never be accepted by the Reverend. For all his talk of forgiveness, he himself had none to give to his daughters and this crime against the church could not be overlooked. How long had Vanessa intended to keep Arlie a secret? Had she intended to lie about the time of his birth once he reached an age where it would not be obvious? Why had she not confided in Molly? Had she feared her own sister would betray her?

The questions circled relentlessly through her mind while Molly finished snapping the beans and put them on to boil.

"Put a wallop of fat in there," Rosie told her as she set the pot on the fire. Molly did as she was told.

Rose dropped breaded pork chops into a skillet of sizzling grease and soon the scent of frying pork filled the house. Molly had peeled potatoes and sliced them into wafers that Rosie added to the sizzling grease in the bottom of a cast iron skillet. She could not remember food ever smelling so good.

"May I set the table?" Molly asked.

Somewhere between snapping beans and slicing potatoes, Rosie had softened in her demeanor and Molly found that her bunny laugh had a quality of contagion to it. She discovered a smile on her own lips whenever the old woman let loose the raspy titter, which was often. Rosie found humor in everything.

"Why don't you check on the baby and I'll put out the plates." She laughed at Molly's surprised glance. "Was you thinking I'd keep him hidden from you all night?"

"No, of course not. I just long to hold him."

Rosie's smile was gentle. "He done stole your heart already and you ain't even laid eyes on him yet."

Rosie led her into a bed chamber that was obviously her son's. In the corner, Adam's shirt was draped over the chair and on the chest of the drawers, his black handled comb and brush sat at neat angles to a small mirror.