Though Waters Roar (11 page)

She bent to embrace him and felt his weaker hug in return. At last she pulled away. They both wiped away tears.

“Listen, I’m going to get you well enough to come home if it’s the last thing I do.” She set the basket of food on his bed and began rummaging through it. “Mama made you some apple turnovers, and I want you to eat one right now!”

“Better do what the pretty little lady says, Franklin. I think she means business.”

Bebe looked up, surprised to see Horatio Garner limping toward them, leaning on his cane. “What are you doing here? I thought you went home, Mr. Garner.” She saw the wry, admonishing smile on his face and quickly corrected herself. “I-I mean Horatio.”

He grinned. “Ah, how sweet my name sounds when it flows from such sweet lips. But to answer your question, Miss Monroe, I’ve decided not to go home until Franklin does. We started out in this war together, we were wounded together, and it’s only fitting that we leave here together. And so I pledge to partner with you, fair lady, for as long as it takes. I place myself at your service.” He ended with a bow and a little flourish that made Bebe laugh.

She had never met anyone like Horatio, and she wanted to know all about him. He obliged by freely talking about himself, filling the long hours at Franklin’s bedside by telling stories. Horatio described the modestly sized town of Roseton where he’d grown up, not far from the state capital of Harrisburg. He talked about the home he’d shared with his parents and his staff of servants, and the leather factory his family owned. He told tales of the two years he’d attended Dickinson College in Carlisle, Pennsylvania—and how a draft notice had ended his education.

“Why didn’t your father pay the three hundred dollars to hire a substitute?” Bebe asked.

He stared at his feet as if suddenly bashful. “It was his wish to do so—but it wasn’t mine. I felt it was my duty to serve my country.”

By the end of the week, Bebe was smitten with Horatio Garner. She hurried through breakfast every day, impatient to get to the hospital to see him. Mrs. Webster stopped her with an invitation one morning as Bebe was about to leave the house.

“Beatrice, it must be tiresome to spend all day at the hospital. My sister and I are planning to attend a very interesting anti-slavery meeting this afternoon, and we would love to have you join us. We could pick you up at the hospital on our way.”

“Um . . . Thank you very much, but I think I should stay with Franklin. I do believe he is making some progress.”

“He wouldn’t mind if you were to come with us, would he? Just for one hour? I believe the lecture would be of great interest to a young woman like you.”

Bebe thought that nothing in the world could be more interesting than listening to Horatio Garner, but she didn’t say so out loud. “Thank you, Mrs. Webster, but my mother is counting on me to attend to my brother.”

Bebe arrived at the hospital before Horatio did and couldn’t help glancing at the door while she waited, watching for him. As she cajoled Franklin into eating everything on his breakfast tray, she felt light-headed and a little breathless. She used to get this same shaky, stomach-reeling sensation when she was starved for food after working in the fields all day, only now she was starved for Horatio.

“Ah, good morning, my dear friends!” he finally called out in greeting. His warm smile made Bebe smile in return. “Franklin, you’re looking hale and hearty today. I do believe your charming sister is better for your health than a hundred nurses.”

Bebe loved the way Horatio’s eyes would soften each time he looked at her—even though she knew it could be nothing more than sisterly affection. The differences between them were much too great for it to be anything else. She was the timid daughter of a simple farmer, he the gregarious son of a well-to-do factory owner.

But the biggest obstacle as far as Bebe was concerned was the fact that the woman Horatio had met was a fraud. He saw a cleaned up, dressed up, sweet-smelling version of her, while the real Bebe had only recently changed out of men’s overalls and work boots and put away her manure shovel. The real Bebe still had dirt beneath her fingernails, hidden under a pair of scratchy crocheted gloves that she wished she could yank off and toss into the trash. Her own father kept mistaking her for a boy, yet Horatio thought she was the epitome of womanhood.

“I have never met a more selfless, caring woman,” he told her. “Imagine, traveling all this way to help your brother with his convalescence. What a brave, devoted woman you are.”

“Um . . . but you see, Mr. Garner, the truth is—”

“Say no more. I see that blush of modesty, and I am moved by your humility.”

Indeed, she was a fraud.

It hadn’t been her idea to come to Philadelphia to take care of Franklin. She hadn’t been the least bit brave about it. And now that she was there, she had no idea how to nurture him or anyone else back to good health. The Beatrice that Horatio Garner saw was a creation of his own flowery imagination and her mother’s frugal grooming. She would have told him the truth if he had asked—or if he had let her get a word in edgewise—but Horatio never stopped talking. And, oh, how she loved to hear him talk. His words sounded just like poetry.

Little by little, Bebe’s feelings for Horatio Garner began to grow and bud and blossom until she was certain she resembled one of her father’s apple trees in full, glorious bloom. And little by little, the food she’d brought from home, and the laughter she shared with Horatio and Franklin, coaxed life and health back into her brother. By the end of the second week, Franklin was eating like a farmer again, and the color had returned to his cheeks. Bebe and Horatio managed to convince him to take a few hobbling steps on a pair of crutches. When he could limp as far as the front door, Horatio boosted him into a hired carriage and the three of them toured Philadelphia. The carriage rides soon became daily ventures. Sitting close to Horatio gave Bebe the same dizzy, giddy feeling she’d had when soaring through the air on the swing. She tried to forget that they soon would have to go their separate ways, certain it would feel much like the shock of plunging into the river when she had let go of the rope.

All the while, Bebe’s hostess continued to invite her to attend the anti-slavery meetings. “They have such wonderful speakers— you really should hear them, Beatrice.” Bebe made excuses, but truthfully she didn’t want to give up a single moment of time with her new friend.

It took a month for Franklin to regain his health, but at last he was strong enough to go home. Bebe knew it had very little to do with her influence and everything to do with Horatio Garner’s. The day of Franklin’s discharge was a bittersweet one. Bebe was elated for her brother, who had learned to maneuver quite well on his crutches, but devastated to have to say good-bye to Horatio. He drove them to the train station, making sure Franklin’s bags were loaded on board and that the porters were well compensated. And just before saying farewell, he presented his ebony and silver cane to Franklin, holding it out to him like a medieval king bestowing a great honor on his knight.

“This is for you, my friend. I want you to keep it as a token to remember me by.”

Franklin scowled. “I can’t use that. I need two crutches to get around.”

“Only for now, my good man, only for now. I’ve heard there is a doctor here in Philadelphia who can outfit you with a fine wooden leg when you’re ready. By this time next year you’ll be running relay races.”

Franklin mumbled his thanks and gave the cane to Bebe to carry. Horatio turned to her next. “Before we part, may I ask a very special favor, Beatrice?”

“Of course.”

“On the day you arrived, you graced your brother with a kiss, and it was like watching the sunshine melt the frost. Would you favor me with one farewell kiss before we part? It would mean so much to me . . . I don’t know when I might meet another woman as beautiful and kind as you are.”

“You must have a sweetheart back home. . . .”

“No, I have no one.” He leaned toward her and pointed to his cheek. “Please?”

Bebe had never kissed anyone who wasn’t a family member. Tears filled her eyes as she stood on tiptoes and briefly pressed her lips to Horatio’s cheek. His ruddy beard felt soft, not scratchy as she had supposed. His warm, rich scent smelled like something she would eat for dessert.

“Thank you,” he said softly. He took her hand in both of his and pressed it to his heart, then raised it to his lips. “Before you came to Philadelphia I had forgotten how sweet and good a woman smells, how soft her skin feels. Tenderness . . . gentleness . . . beauty . . . I’ve missed those things these long, dark months when I’ve been surrounded by death. But a woman is made for life. How beautiful that reminder is to me.” He gave her captive hand a gentle squeeze and released it.

“Good-bye,” she murmured. “I’ll never forget you.”

Horatio helped her and Franklin climb aboard, then waved to them from the platform. Bebe waved back, her heart aching. Horatio had filled her life with laughter and delight these past few weeks, and now she would never see him again. Their parting had been inevitable. She wasn’t the vision of loveliness and gentility that he imagined her to be. The rose water that had provided her with the sweet fragrance he’d admired belonged to Bebe’s mother. From now on, Bebe was much more likely to smell like the bacon that she fried for breakfast every morning rather than rose water. She leaned out the window, watching until the train station—and Horatio—disappeared from sight.

“Why are you crying?” Franklin asked when he saw her tears.

She quickly dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief and forced a smile. “I’m so happy that you’re finally coming home, Franklin.” It wasn’t a lie.

Philadelphia had seemed like a strange, foreign place when Bebe had first arrived, but after being away from home for a month, the village of New Canaan now seemed like a foreign place to her, shabby and colorless after the glittery bustle of the city. Each day on the farm moved as sluggishly as mud as she settled back into her daily routine. For Bebe, the river of life had dwindled down to a trickle, and the most she could hope for was to cool her toes in its shallows. She wondered if her brothers felt as restless and bored as she did. After all, she’d spent only a month in Philadelphia and they had marched all over the country for the past few years, seeing new things and meeting new people. She remembered complaining to her mother about not liking change, but now she longed for it.

Then one Sunday morning Mrs. Webster stopped to speak with Bebe and her mother after church. “I have good news, ladies. Our local chapter of the Anti-Slavery Society has decided to hold meetings again. We have a speaker coming from Philadelphia on Wednesday evening, and I just know you’ll be fascinated when you hear what she has to say. You remember one of our society’s most outstanding proponents, Mrs. Lucretia Mott, don’t you? Well, she’s coming to speak to our organization, Hannah. Do you think you and Beatrice might attend?”

“We’ll see,” Hannah replied.

Bebe hated it when her mother said, “We’ll see.” It usually meant “no.” Bebe remembered attending meetings before the war, and although they hadn’t been very exciting, hiding the occasional slave in the attic had been. She couldn’t imagine what work the society would do now that all the slaves were free, but she was curious—and more than a little bored. She decided that she would go, with or without her mother.

“I would like very much to go into town for a meeting on Wednesday evening,” she told her father on the drive home. “May I please borrow the wagon?”

“Is it a prayer meeting?”

“No . . . it’s for the Anti-Slavery Society.”

The horses traveled a full quarter of a mile before Henry said, “Seems to me the abolition people got what they wanted, didn’t they? Didn’t Mr. Lincoln free the slaves?”

“Yes . . .”

“Then why are the abolitionists still meeting?”

“I don’t know, Papa. I guess there must be other things they would like to accomplish. May I please go and find out?”

Her father began shaking his head, his expression already warning her that he was about to say no. Surprisingly, Hannah intervened.

“Let her go, Henry . . . please.”

He drove all the way home in silence. He remained silent on the subject throughout the afternoon and into the evening hours. Bebe didn’t know how her mother could be so patient with such a taciturn man. She thought of Horatio Garner—as she had every day since leaving Philadelphia—and wished he were there to fill the silences in her life with his ever-flowing words.

As Henry rose from his customary chair in the parlor at bedtime, he turned to Bebe and said, “You may go, but you’ll have to take care of the horse and wagon yourself.” She would have hugged him, but her father never had cared much for affectionate displays.

Bebe rushed through her chores on Wednesday evening, then hitched one of the horses to the wagon for the long, dusty drive into town. Only a handful of women had gathered at the church for the meeting, and Bebe was the youngest. Several of them took out their knitting as they sat in a circle, waiting to hear what Mrs. Webster and her guest had to say.

“Like all of you, I thought our work for the society was finished,” Mrs. Webster began. “I’m sure you recall the many meetings we held before the war, and all the prayers we offered up to heaven in order to end slavery here in America. The Scriptures say, ‘The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.’ And I do believe that the same can be said about the fervent prayers of women. We all thank God that He heard our prayers and freed the slaves. But while visiting with my sister in Philadelphia recently, I became aware that there is still more work to be done. Ladies, I would like to introduce our special guest this evening, Mrs. Lucretia Mott, who is going to explain what our next task must be.”

Mrs. Mott looked like a peacock among hens in her fashionable city clothes. She wore her hair coiled in an elaborate knot that Bebe wished she could copy. Her alert, observant expression told Bebe she was very intelligent, yet she seemed to have the same kind, gentle nature that Bebe always admired in her mother, Hannah. Mrs. Mott waved away the spattering of applause and remained seated as she began to speak.