The House of Closed Doors (6 page)

I said nothing, staring at Bet’s bushy, gray-streaked bun of hair as it wobbled on top of her head. Her hands were trembling slightly, and she finally let go and stared at me. Her eyes, the color of dark chocolate, were as round as billiard balls, and she clasped her hands together tightly under her chin so that the flesh of her fingers swelled over her wedding ring and the mourning ring that held a tiny, curled braid of her late husband’s hair.

I waited for her to speak, torn between fear and something almost akin to relief. The moment had come at last, but I would not betray Jack and ruin both our lives.

“Who is the father?” Bet’s voice came out in a whisper.

“Bet,” I found my voice at last. “Please don’t ask me that.”

“Mother of God.” Bet was becoming repetitive. “You haven’t been with a married man?” Her voice rose to a horrified squeak.

“No.” I was aware that I had flushed red. “Not a married man. Bet, I do not want to marry the father of this baby. It was a mistake.”

“A mistake, is it?” Bet recovered her usual bracing bad temper and drew herself up to her full height, pulling me up from the bed as she did so. I was taller than she, but she was wearing shoes and I was barefoot, so our eyes were on a level.

“Some mistake!” Bet exclaimed. “Miss Nell, you have always had your own way. But when a girl gets herself in the family way, she marries the father of the child. There is no ‘not marrying’ to be heard of.”

“Not if I refuse to give a name. What are you going to do, put up a poster in my stepfather’s store advertising for the father to come forward?” Fear made me sound more defiant than I intended.

Bet sniffed loudly. “I should slap your face for your impertinence, you little hussy.” Her breath whistled through her missing tooth, and “hussy” came out as “huthy.” I couldn’t help smiling, out of affection as much as anything, but Bet saw insolence in my reaction. Her work-worn hand closed around my wrist like a vise, and she jerked me toward my wardrobe.

“Get some clothes on right now, young woman.” I had not heard that tone of voice since I was nine and ate all the strawberries reserved for a particularly nice cake. That was not a voice I disobeyed; I opened the drawers of the chest where I kept my undergarments.

Ten minutes later, I was dressed and ready to be dragged downstairs to face my mother and stepfather.

SIX

T
he three days after my secret came out passed in an extremely tense atmosphere. My stepfather barely spoke to me; if I looked up from my plate at mealtimes, I often caught a hard, calculating stare from the head of the table and would lower my gaze immediately.

Martin called at least twice, bringing news of his mother’s worsening condition. I do not know what Mama and Hiram told him, but he went away without seeing so much as a glimpse of me. I watched him from the window as he strolled in the direction of his store, his long legs eating up the distance in easy strides, and bit my lip in frustration. Would he have understood and helped me? Or would he, a moral man if not a pious one, have looked at my disgrace with a sneer on his lips? I feared the loss of his friendship and of his mother’s.

On the third day, Stepfather informed us that he would be spending two weeks in Prairie Haven and Waukegan. Waukegan, as the county seat, was a center of political influence and therefore a place where Hiram Jackson throve; if it were not for my mother’s attachment to Victory‌—‌and the possibility that Hiram could rise to become mayor of our small community‌—‌I believe we would have taken a house there. Hiram was on the board of the North School in Waukegan, and in Prairie Haven, ten miles inland, he was active on a committee for the relief of the poor. He was also on the Board of Governors of the Prairie Haven Poor Farm, where those most in need of help were housed and given work.

On being informed of his forthcoming absence, my mother raised her china-blue eyes to her husband’s face with a worried expression. “Hiram… ,” she began, “Eleanor …” Her voice trailed off.

Hiram subjected me to another glare, and then his expression changed as he looked at my mother. “My dear,” his ice-blue eyes had softened, “I will of course be using my contacts to find a solution to the, um, problem. You need not worry about anything. I know many persons of the utmost discretion in the area and will find a place where Nell can be kept hidden until …”

“Hiram,” my mother’s eyes widened, “do you mean that Nell must leave us?”

“Naturally she cannot have her child in this house.” My stepfather’s tone was peremptory but became gentler again as my mother’s face creased in anguish. “She need only stay away until the child is born and suitable parents are found to adopt it. After that, Nell should live quietly here,” he glanced in my direction once more and his eyes hardened, “and show herself to be an exemplary citizen. There will be no more gadding about, my girl. You will take an active interest in the church and in charitable works and thereby redeem your character. I fear that news of your indiscretion will eventually come out no matter how careful we are; but there are gentlemen, widowers and such, who may marry a fallen woman if she shows suitable repentance.”

“Could we not,” my mother’s voice faltered, “send her to my relatives in the East once the child is‌—‌is adopted? To keep her confined here, in Victory, with so little society, until her looks fade …” I felt a surge of alarm at this idea. My relatives in the East were precisely where the problem lay.

Hiram’s thin mouth stretched into a narrow grin that was positively chilling, and his bushy eyebrows twitched. “My dear Amelia, the bloom is already off the rose, is it not? Be guided by me, my love. It would be unwise to send Nell looking for a husband too soon. A man expects a young bride to be,” he cleared his throat loudly, “unspoiled. He is less particular on that point when he has reason to prefer an older woman.” He smiled at my mother with a sickly-sweetness that made my stomach churn.

“And your looks have not faded, my darling Amelia. I admired you when you were the young wife of Red Jack Lillington, and I still admired you when you were a widow of several years’ duration. Nell is handsome enough; a few years of purposeful employment will add sense to her natural attributes, and she could yet make a fine wife for the right man.”

I had been silent throughout this interesting interchange, as befitted a Fallen Woman‌—‌my imagination invested my stepfather’s words with capital letters. I could not help noting that, even with an illegitimate child in the background, my mother and stepfather’s long-term concern was to marry me off. I sighed inwardly at the unfairness of it all. A widow could legitimately work to support herself; a girl born into the humbler classes would also be expected to learn a trade.

A rich woman, married or unmarried, could play the benefactress and, if thought eccentric, would at least be respected for her wealth. Why, oh why had I been born into that narrow strip of society that countenanced no other fate for a woman than supervising her home, raising her children, and pandering to her husband’s every whim?

Yet it occurred to me that my stepfather’s plan of engaging me in useful works of charity was quite fair, considering what I had done. It certainly offered more freedom than marriage, and there was the potential of travel if I kept my eyes open for opportunities. My senseless act had effectively taken me off the marriage market and given me breathing space in which to plan a different future.

I felt the baby flicker in my belly and imagined handing it over to a childless couple who would rear it as their own. Yes, I could do that. After all, what was a baby but a squalling bundle of responsibilities? I had never been fond of babies and children.

I raised my eyes to look directly at Hiram.

“I will be guided by you in all things, Stepfather,” I said in a tone of the utmost submissiveness and saw my mother’s grateful glance.

Of course, at that point I was imagining that I would be sent to stay in a respectable, discreet household. If I had known what my stepfather had in mind, I might not have been quite so compliant.

SEVEN

T
he next two weeks were peaceful without Hiram in the house. I stayed in my bedroom during calling hours, and my mother told visitors I was sick. She was out of the house very frequently because Ruth Rutherford was terribly ill and not expected to live till Christmas. Mama spent many hours sitting by Ruth’s bedside, and I worried about her own frail health; but she assured me they were just chatting peacefully when Ruth was alert, and at other times Mama read to her or simply held her hand. Devout, if rather conventional, believers both, they found comfort in their certainty that they would be together again after a short time.