Hidden Places (19 page)

She smiled up at him as they neared the house. ‘‘Thank you so much, Frank. You can leave me here on our porch. I’m embarrassed to have Father know how clumsy I am.’’

We weren’t expecting Frank the following night, but he dropped by to ask Father a question. Lydia just happened to be outside, returning from a mysterious errand in the barn as he was leaving. ‘‘Thank you so much for your kindness last night,’’ she said, smiling.

‘‘You’re welcome. How’s your ankle?’’

‘‘Oh, it’s much better. Silly of me to twist it like that. I guess I’m just not used to walking on rugged terrain like you are. How do you do it all day?’’ She gazed up into his eyes.

‘‘Well, I...I...’’

‘‘Whenever I see you riding on your wagon or out in your orchard, you look so tall and strong, like you could stand up against just about anything! You really love your work, don’t you?’’

‘‘I...yes. Yes, I do.’’

‘‘And your orchard is so beautiful, too! How do you get everything to grow the way you do? Wyatt Orchards is like the Garden of Eden! You must be very proud of all that you’ve built.’’

‘‘Yes...Iam.’’

She took his hand and pressed it briefly between both of hers. ‘‘Thank you again, Frank.’’ She stood on tiptoe to plant a shy, quick kiss on his cheek. ‘‘Good night.’’

The next night, after concocting another lame excuse to see my father, Frank lingered in our yard, hoping Lydia would appear. She came out of the darkness as he neared the barn.

‘‘Frank!’’ Before he knew what had hit him, she was in his arms. ‘‘I’ve never felt this way about a man before,’’ she murmured as they clung to each other.

‘‘Oh, Lydia...you’re so beautiful!’’ He kissed her, clumsy with passion, his broad hands gripping her, pressing her close to himself. Suddenly, Lydia pulled away.

‘‘We shouldn’t...’’

‘‘Lydia...please don’t go.’’

She twisted from his grasp and hurried into the house. Helpless, he watched her go, beside himself with longing.

Frank called on me the following two nights but he had really come to see Lydia. All the while Frank and I sat outside together on the front porch, he seemed sweaty and on edge, glancing around nervously. After I said good-night and went inside, he waited for Lydia by the barn, pacing. She didn’t disappoint him.

Lydia teased him with stolen kisses and passionate embraces until the fire inside Frank Wyatt had been stoked red-hot. Then one night she led him into the barn, to the blanket she had waiting, spread out on the fresh, sweet hay. She became the downfall of this morally upright man as his ice-filled veins melted with years of stored-up desire.

They met in the barn every night for the next week, then one night Lydia didn’t show up. By the time she reappeared a few nights later, Frank was half-crazed with yearning. He pulled her down beside him on the blanket in the barn.

‘‘Where have you been, Lydia? I can’t...Ican’t live without you!’’

‘‘There’s something I need to tell you, Frank.’’

‘‘Please don’t say you can’t see me anymore, Lydia! You’re all I think about all day. I can’t concentrate on anything, wondering if you’ll be here, if I’ll be able to hold you—’’

‘‘I’m going to have a baby.’’

It took a very long moment for the truth to sink in. Then Frank suddenly released her as if she were a live coal. ‘‘You can’t be!’’

‘‘I can be, Frank, and I am. It’s what happens when two people...do...what we did.’’

Shock extinguished the heat of Frank’s passion. He shot to his feet. ‘‘What are you going to do?’’

Lydia stood to face him, playing with the buttons on his shirt. ‘‘I think you mean, what are
we
going to do?’’

‘‘But...but I’m engaged to Betty. The wedding is next month.’’

Lydia laughed. ‘‘I’m sure she’ll agree to cancel the engagement once she learns what her sister and her fiance
have been doing.’’

‘‘But she can’t call off the wedding. I mean...your father and I made a deal. He promised to deed all his land to me. And his pond! I can’t lose everything now!’’

Lydia saw the real Frank Wyatt and she hated him. He didn’t care one bit about her or her feelings, only about annexing her father’s land. With so much greed in his heart, there would never be any room for love. But even though she knew the truth, Lydia threw herself into his arms—a sacrifice, tossed into the flames to be wholly consumed.

‘‘Marry
me
, Frank. Not Betty,’’ she begged. ‘‘I can easily convince Father to deed the land to you once we’re married. He won’t refuse. He wants this deal as badly as you do. He won’t care which daughter you marry as long as his grandson inherits Wyatt Orchards.’’

‘‘Are you sure? I have plans, you know, and I need that pond for—’’

‘‘Trust me, Frank.’’

When Lydia didn’t come home that night I was worried sick. She had been disappearing from the house for an hour or two every evening lately, but she wouldn’t tell me where she’d been. ‘‘I just went for a little walk,’’ she would say. Or, ‘‘I needed to do some thinking.’’

I suspected from her disheveled appearance each time she returned that she was meeting someone, but I was afraid to consider who it might be. I even thought about following her, but it terrified me to think where she might lead me. I would surely die if I found my sister with Walter Gibson.

On the morning after Lydia stayed out all night, I walked through the orchard with Walter’s breakfast like a woman approaching the gallows. I fully expected to find my sister in his arms. But as I emerged into the clearing, it wasn’t Lydia I saw with Walter but his driver and two porters. They had parked his carriage near the cottage and the servants were loading Walter’s two chairs and all his books onto the back of a wagon.

My heart seemed to stop beating. Walter was leaving.

He stood near the bottom step, leaning on his cane as he peered down the path, watching for me. When he spotted me, his relief was visible. ‘‘Betsy! Thank heavens! I was so afraid I would have to leave before you came.’’

‘‘You’re leaving?’’ I asked numbly. ‘‘Why didn’t you tell me?’’

‘‘Because I didn’t know. The servants arrived early this morning with the news. It seems there is a business crisis of some sort, and my father has summoned me home immediately. I’m so sorry.’’

‘‘Yes...’’ I murmured. ‘‘Yes, so am I.’’

I don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me that Walter would leave one day soon. He had rented the cottage for a month and the time was nearly up. I hadn’t allowed myself to think about it any more than I’d allowed myself to think about my approaching wedding. Walter was always going to be here in the little stone cottage to talk to me and laugh with me—except now he wasn’t.

‘‘Here, your breakfast is getting cold,’’ I said. ‘‘And it’s a long way to Chicago on an empty stomach.’’ I set the tray on the tailgate of the wagon. During the time we’d spent together I’d noticed that Walter’s illness caused a weakness in his arms as well as in his legs. He couldn’t lift anything heavier than a book.

Before Walter could reply, his driver emerged from the cottage and bowed slightly. ‘‘That’s the last box, sir.’’

‘‘Thank you, Peter. I’ll be ready in a moment.’’

Walter motioned for me to follow him as he slowly hobbled across the grass toward the pond, out of his servants’ earshot. I glanced over my shoulder as I walked and saw the driver move the breakfast tray to the table on the porch and slam the tailgate closed. One of the horses whinnied as if impatient to leave.

When Walter finally halted I knew that we didn’t dare look at each other. Fighting tears, I bent to gather a handful of stones and began tossing them into the water. He gazed solemnly into the distance and sighed.

‘‘We’ve talked of so many things this summer, Betsy. And now...now for the first time I’m at a loss for words.’’

‘‘I know...Idon’t think there is an easy way to say good-bye.’’

‘‘No, I suppose not. I think it was Emily Dickinson who wrote, ‘Parting is all we know of heaven, and all we need of hell.’ ’’ He sighed again.

I threw my last rock into the water. The waves made a
shushing
sound as they gently lapped the shore, like a mother soothing her baby.

‘‘Will we ever see each other again?’’ I asked, finally looking up at him. I had only a few more moments to memorize the contours of his face, the softness in his eyes. He turned to me at last and shook his head.

‘‘I don’t think so.’’

‘‘I was afraid you’d say that.’’ I could hardly speak past the terrible ache in my throat. ‘‘I’ll never forget you, Walter.’’

‘‘Nor I you. But ‘Better by far you should forget and smile, than that you should remember and be sad.’ ’’

‘‘Elizabeth Barrett Browning?’’ I guessed.

‘‘Close. Christina Rossetti.’’ He took my hand in his. ‘‘I left a present for you in the cottage.’’

I looked up at him in dismay. ‘‘But I have nothing to give you.’’

‘‘That’s not true. I’m a wealthy man from all that you’ve given me these past weeks. The Bible would call them ‘riches stored in hidden places.’ ’’ He lifted my hand to his lips and closed his eyes as he kissed it. I felt his warm breath on my skin. Then he let go and turned away.

I watched him through a haze of tears as he slowly limped across the grass to the carriage. The driver helped him climb aboard. Then Walter Gibson disappeared from my life, heading down the dusty road without looking back.

I don’t know how long I stood there beside the pond. Eventually I stumbled up the porch steps and went inside the empty cottage. Walter’s lemony scent lingered in the air and I wanted to close all the windows to hold it inside.

I found the present he’d left for me on the little table beside the window. It was one of his books. A leather-bound copy of
Pilgrim’s Progress
.

When I finally returned home, I was relieved to find Lydia in the kitchen, sitting across the bare table from our father. But I knew right away from the tension in the air that I had walked into the middle of something. Father’s face was as white as milk and he looked so deeply shaken that I feared he would suffer apoplexy.

‘‘Father, what’s wrong! Are you all right?’’ It occurred to me that he might have found out about Lydia’s baby.

‘‘Sit down,’’ he grunted, then he frowned at my sister. ‘‘Tell her, Lydia.’’

As I lowered myself into a chair I saw that once again my sister possessed an unnatural tranquillity. I couldn’t imagine its source, but she was as calm as my father was upset.

‘‘I have wonderful news, Betsy,’’ she said. ‘‘I’m married! Frank Wyatt and I eloped last night.’’

The enormity of Lydia’s sacrifice stunned me. I knew exactly why she’d made it. But my first thought, my overwhelming thought was,
I’m free. Thank God, I’m free!
My relief was so profound, I closed my eyes and wept. Father misinterpreted my tears.

‘‘Now look what you’ve done!’’ he bellowed at Lydia. ‘‘You’ve destroyed months of bargaining and planning in a single night and you have the gall to call that good news?’’

‘‘I already told you,’’ Lydia said, ‘‘Frank still wants to merge his orchard with ours. He’s willing to sign legal papers and everything, confirming the agreement you already made. But he’s in love with me, not Betsy.’’

‘‘Where in blazes is Frank?’’ he shouted. ‘‘Why didn’t he come here to tell me this news himself?’’