Forever Safe (Beacons of Hope) (17 page)

When she returned to the front sitting room, she was tempted to peer under the table at Zelma’s legs. But hadn’t her own mother’s condition taught her something? Her mother didn’t want other people to gawk or treat her differently because of her blindness. She wanted people to treat her like they would anyone else. Surely Zelma wanted the same.

“I have to admit, I’ve never been in a kitchen, except in passing,” Victoria said, as she stood next to the table wondering how to go about satisfying the ache in her stomach.

“If you’re used to having a housekeeper, then your family must be well-to-do,” Zelma said, eyes still warm and welcoming.

“Yes, my father has profited with his lumber and mining holdings,” Victoria replied, wondering how much Tom would allow her to share. Probably less was better at this point.

“Well, I’m not surprised Tom caught your eye. I always figured that, with his handsome features, he’d draw attention from some of the rich ladies he associated with.”

Victoria had no doubt Zelma was right and that Tom had gotten plenty of attention wherever he’d worked, but at the moment she was too hungry to think about it. “So, as you can probably guess,” Victoria said, “I’m fairly useless when it comes to household tasks.”

“Not useless, dear.” Zelma lifted the blanket covering her lap and pushed her chair away from the table. “Just not instructed.”

Once Zelma was removed from the barrier the table had provided, Victoria noticed the large wheels on the sides of the chair and a small one in the back. Apparently the chair was portable.

“I’ve always believed that anyone with a willing attitude can learn anything new.” Zelma gripped the two wheels in front and strained against them, causing the chair to roll backward even more. “Especially if they have a patient instructor.”

With the blanket pulled up almost to her knees, two uneven stumps were visible beneath Zelma’s skirt. Victoria could only imagine the many things Zelma had to learn to do without having her feet, just as her mother had to learn to do things differently after she’d lost her sight. If Zelma and her mother could overcome obstacles and adjust to challenges, certainly she could too.

“I’ve had to learn a lot of patience over the years,” Zelma said following Victoria’s gaze to her missing limbs. “So if you need a patient instructor, I’m more than happy to be one for you.”

Victoria nodded. “Thank you, Zelma.”

“You can call me Mom if you want to.”

Victoria knew she should decline, that to call Zelma
Mom
would only take the deceit about the true nature of their marriage relationship to new level. But the hope in Zelma’s eyes was too hard to resist. “Thank you. Mom.”

With that, Zelma smiled. “Now, why don’t you get behind me, dear, and help wheel me into the kitchen. We’ll start with learning how to make coffee. How does that sound?”

Victoria rounded the back of the chair. “That sounds perfect.”

T
om picked at the charred cod, searching for any edible pieces. He moved his knife to the fried potatoes, and was met with the same problem. The food Victoria had prepared wasn’t worth feeding to the sharks.

Across the dining room table, his dad was shoveling bite after bite into his mouth without a break, as if the meal was fit for a king. His dad paused with the fork halfway between his plate and mouth. He pointed his forkful of food at Tom’s plate, and his eyes held a rebuke. Tom could almost hear his dad’s voice—
Every
good husband eats the food his wife puts in front of him gratefully and without complaint.

“I like the seasoning on the beans,” Dad said to Victoria, his mouth half full. He looked pointedly at Tom again.

And a good husband always finds something positive to say to his wife, even when there doesn’t seem to be anything
. Tom had grown up with his dad’s nuggets of wisdom and had seen him practice everything he preached. But he’d never had the opportunity to test any of the advice himself. Until now.

Next to him, Victoria sat in her chair stiffly. Strands of her hair were plastered to her forehead, and her face was flushed—likely from the heat of working in the kitchen on an already sweltering day. Although the interior of the house was cooler than outside, it was still uncomfortably hot with the humidity that had rolled in.

She’d only taken five tiny bites from her own plate. And she’d nearly choked on two of them. If Victoria couldn’t eat the meal, surely Dad didn’t expect him to attempt it, much less compliment her.

But Dad continued to eat, and Mom did likewise, albeit much more carefully and slowly. Another glare from Dad told him that yes, indeed, he was expected to follow Dad’s example. Tom hesitated and then dug his fork into the potatoes. Before he could talk himself out of it, he gulped a mouthful and swallowed.

Not bad, if he didn’t let the food settle in his mouth.

He picked up another spoonful, shoveled it in, and forced it down quickly. Now he understood why his dad was eating so fast. So that he didn’t have to taste it. Maybe there was hope after all.

After the third mouthful, his dad cocked his head toward Victoria. The look told Tom it was time to pay the compliment.

When she’d suggested hiring a housekeeper, he’d been so irritated by her helplessness and the way it reminded him of his mother, that he’d worked right through lunch without a break. As the day had passed, his irritation had spent itself in the heat and the hard work of repairing the tower. He’d been left with a dull ache in his chest, knowing that Victoria wasn’t to blame for her desire to have a maid. That kind of lifestyle was all she’d ever known, and he couldn’t expect her to want anything different. Besides, she’d return to her opulent way of living after a month. In fact, the hard labor was a change for him as well. He was accustomed to a life of ease now too.

The real truth was that he was angry at himself. It was his fault Mom needed the help in the first place. If he hadn’t failed in his scouting duties that fateful day in ’64, she wouldn’t have had to trek through the wintery weather to rescue him and Ike from the Confederates. She would have stayed home, safe and dry.

Now, seeing her only made him loathe himself all over again.

His dad paused in his eating and stared at Tom. Waiting.

Tom swallowed another burnt bite and cleared his throat. None of this was Victoria’s fault. In fact, he gave her credit for spending the afternoon in the kitchen and attempting a meal. At least she’d made an effort to help, even if the results were awful. He could compliment her for that, couldn’t he?

“I can tell you worked hard today, Victoria,” he said.

At his quiet statement, a sob broke from her lips. She cupped her hand quickly over her mouth and scooted back from the table. She rose to her feet, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

Startled, Tom pushed back too. Before he could stand, she rushed across the room, and he stared at her retreating back in confusion. She ran out of the dining room to the stairway. Then she clomped up all twenty steps, ran down the hallway, entered their bedroom, and slammed the door.

So much for paying her compliment.

Her footsteps crossed the bedroom, and from the squeak of the bedsprings, he guessed she’d lain down.

Maybe she was just tired.

He sighed and began to scoot his chair back, only to stop at the ominous silence in the room. He glanced across the table to find that both Mom and Dad were staring at him. Reproach was written all over their faces.

“What?” he asked.

“
You worked hard
?” Dad said in a low voice. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

“Well, she did.”

“You couldn’t find something praiseworthy about the meal?”

Tom glanced at the blackened fish and the mushy burnt potatoes. “No.”

“Then you didn’t dig deep enough.” Dad tossed his napkin onto the table and pushed away, his eyes full of fire.

Mom laid a steadying hand on Dad’s arm. “It’s my fault everything burned. I got so busy instructing her on how to make a pie that I forgot to have her flip the fish and potatoes.”

He dreaded to see the pie, but instead of making another remark that would anger Dad, he kept silent.

Dad was quiet for a moment too, as though trying to rein in his anger. Finally, he spoke. “The key to a good marriage is to do all you can to uplift your wife and treasure her—even in her worst moments.”

Tom wanted to blurt out that it wouldn’t matter if he had a good marriage to Victoria, because it would end in a month anyway. But he nodded respectfully. “You’re right.”

“You should go up and apologize to her,” Mom said gently.

Apologize for a compliment? Tom started to protest.

“Your mom’s right,” Dad said. “She usually is.”

Mom smiled and leaned toward him, lifting her face for a kiss. He eagerly obliged, kissing her with the same fervor he always had.

Tom shifted in his chair and examined the painting on the wall above the sideboard, even though he knew it more intimately than anyone.

“There,” Dad said, finally breaking the kiss. “You go on up, apologize, and earn yourself a kiss just like that.”

Mom’s cheeks were a rosy pink and love radiated from her eyes.

Tom rose to his feet and began to gather the dishes.

“Shoo.” His dad waved him away. “Go to her right away. The longer you wait, the madder she’ll get.”

Victoria wouldn’t be mad at him for his attempt to compliment her, would she? She was usually so strong, so sure of herself, so in control. Even when her carriage had been hijacked on her wedding day, she hadn’t cowered. She’d thrown her shoe at the driver.

“She won’t be angry at me,” Tom said. “But I’ll go up and make sure she’s okay.”

His parents nodded their approval, and he made his way up to their room. He paused for a total of five seconds before taking a deep breath and opening the door.

He stepped inside and was greeted with a scream and a flying shoe. He sidestepped, and the shoe hit the wall behind him.

Victoria was sitting on the bed with her bodice off, revealing her corset, which covered her waist and bust but left the upper edge of her soft flesh exposed, along with her shoulders, neck, and arms.

Tears streaked her face and mortification had widened her eyes. “Get out!” she shouted and scrambled to pull the coverlet off the bed. She yanked it over her shoulders, attempting to cover herself, but not before he caught sight of at least half a dozen red welts forming under her arms, where apparently the corset had chafed her skin.

“I just came to check on you—”

“I don’t need you to check on me.” A strand of hair had fallen across her face, sticking in the sweat and tears. Heedless, she wrapped the blanket around her tighter, even though the air in the upstairs room was stifling. “Just get out.”

Perspiration was forming on his back standing there doing nothing. “I wanted to apologize—”

Her other shoe went whizzing past his head and smacked the wall. “I don’t want your apology. I just want you to leave.” In spite of the tears, her eyes flashed with anger. She started to reach for a hairbrush on the bedstead. He wasn’t sure if she was intending to throw that at him too. He didn’t wait to find out but backed out and closed the door.

She apparently needed some time to herself. Or maybe she was upset at him for refusing to hire a housekeeper.

He shook his head, retreated downstairs, and slipped out the back door in an effort to avoid another encounter with his parents. No doubt they’d heard Victoria scream at him and order him from the room. And no doubt they blamed him for her bad mood and would tell him to go back to her.

But they didn’t understand that Victoria was pampered and that he had no need to apologize for telling her
no
about the housekeeper. It was for her own protection. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt her to start doing some things for herself. And he certainly wasn’t being overly demanding by asking her to help, Mom. Was he?

He made his way to the shed that held the fog horn. Dad had mentioned that it wasn’t working properly. Now was apparently a good time to tinker on the amplifier. But as he hunkered down and worked, he couldn’t concentrate. He kept seeing the tears streaking Victoria’s cheeks, kept hearing that sob after his comment at dinner, kept feeling the anguish in her voice.

Finally, after hitting his thumb for the fourth time, he stood, wiped his hands, and started back to the house. When he entered, Dad was in the process of situating Mom in the sitting room. At the sight of him, they both grew quiet.

Tom sighed. “Yes. I’m going back up.”

Dad smiled. “That’s my boy.”

“You won’t regret it,” Mom added.

Tom wasn’t so sure about that. Nevertheless, he knew he wouldn’t have peace until he made peace with her.

“The Bible says not to let the sun go down on your anger,” Dad said. “I’ve applied that to our marriage, and it’s helped us work through plenty of problems and disappointments.”

“You’ve had problems?”

At the surprise in his tone, Mom laughed. “Of course we have. We’re both sinners, aren’t we?”

“I never noticed anything wrong.”