Wilson's Hard Lesson (91 page)

When I returned home, I found Father sitting on the front
porch.  He had recovered his composure, thankfully. His eyes were dry. He’d
combed his hair and exchanged the sooty clothes he’d been wearing for another
set.

“I’ve news for you,” he said. “My daughter.”

“If you mean to tell me that Richard Benson’s come back from
Boston, I know,” I replied. “I saw his carriage on the road.”

Father nodded slowly. “He sent a boy round with the message
that we’re to join him at the dinner hour tomorrow.” He took a deep breath. “To
discuss the wedding arrangements.”

I think Father was expecting a reprise of our earlier
conflict, but I didn’t have it in me to argue with him again. There was no
point in it. I simply nodded my head a little bit and said, “All right.”

He brightened at my acquiescence. “I know this isn’t what
you wanted, girl, but things may work out better than expected. The Lord works
in mysterious ways.” A smile, slow and tentative, crept across his face. “Why,
your Mother and I hadn’t known each other but a season when we decided to wed.
And we were very happy together.”

“I know, Papa.” I leaned over and hugged him, squeezing his
shoulders gently. It struck me that there weren’t many more times when I’d get
to embrace my Father – the train for Iowa was scheduled to pull out of the
station shortly after first light. Tears sprang to my eyes, hot and quick. “I
know.”

His eyes searched my face when I stepped back. Perhaps a
tear drop or two had slipped onto his shoulder, alerting him to my distress.
Perhaps the timbre of my voice wasn’t as steady as it might have been.   “You will
be happy,” he said. “I am sure of it.”

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and nodded. “Of
course,” I agreed. I didn’t want to lie to Father, so I chose my words
carefully. “I just have to get used to everything being different.”

He nodded. “It was only yesterday that you were this high,”
he said, holding out his hand at knee-height. “Always sticking your hands in
the ink and getting prints on everything.” He reached out for another embrace.
“And now you’re a woman grown.”

He hugged me tightly, squeezing so hard I could feel that
affection and anxiety were coursing through his body in equal measure. “Oh, my
darling. I am going to miss you.”

My tears came back, in greater quantity than before. “I’m
going to miss you too.” Then I took a deep breath and stood straight, smoothing
my skirts until I composed myself. “But we’ll have to put the best face on it.”
I took another breath, feeling the air shudder its way down into my lungs. “Who
knows? Before too long, there may be another little girl running around who
can’t keep her fingers out of the ink.”

“Give him a son first,” Father said, “and I’m sure Benson
will let you have as many daughters as your heart desires.” He shook his head.
“A man in his position needs an heir. Someone to leave his legacy to.”

“A heir and a spare,” I said, forcing a smile back onto
Father’s face. “And more besides, should the good Lord will it.”

“I’m glad to see you’ve come around to the idea,” Father
said.

“What choice do I have?” I shrugged my shoulders, feeling a
sour surge in my stomach. It felt wrong, so wrong, to deceive Papa, but if I
told him of my plans – much less the fact that I’d cabled Iowa, announcing I
was on my way with Shakespeare in tow – I knew he’d do everything in his power
to stop me.  “Did Mr. Benson send a message for me?”

“No.” Father shook his head. “I expect that he’s waiting to
greet you for the first time in person.”

I nodded, as if that seemed sensible. More likely to me was
the possibility that it never occurred to Mr. Benson that there was any need to
communicate with the woman destined to become his bride; after all, I’d already
been purchased and paid for. “I’d best go get my attire for tomorrow sorted
out,” I said, stepping toward the front door. “And begin to pack my things.” My
voice wavered more than I wanted it to, but there was nothing that could be
done about that. “I have just one question for you, Papa.”

He turned toward me, with more than a little fear in his
eyes. “What’s that, darling?”

“What’s an agronomist?”

Having learned that an agronomist is a farmer who is also a
scientist, I retreated to my room with my emotions a whirl.  I knew nothing
about this man in Iowa – not even his name! – but already he seemed infinitely
more appealing than Robert Benson could ever be.

A scientist, if nothing else, came equipped with a curious
mind. Being similarly equipped myself, I found this comforting. I could imagine
life in a household equipped with a laboratory; it would be like living with
the pharmacist, with a room filled to bursting with jars full of mysterious
ingredients and glassware.

For as long as I could remember, a small trunk stood at the
foot of my bed. It was meant to hold my trousseau, and in there, I had long
treasured a precious few items that I’d inherited from my Mother. There were
linens she’d embroidered and a French chemise made of linen so fine you could
see the sunlight through it when you held it up to the window.

I took that out and stared at it. This was always intended
for my wedding night; one of the very few things I actually remembered about my
Mother was her telling me how happy I would be when I became a bride. 

It was a blessing that Mother hadn’t lived long enough to
see what a travesty my life had become. I carefully folded the chemise and laid
it on the bed; I knew I wouldn’t be able to bear leaving that behind.

The trunk was another question. It was stout and strong –
perfect for travelling – but it was also quite heavy. My departure from
Father’s house was going to have to be stealthy. There was no one to help me
carry a trunk, and I’d not the ability to do it myself.

The black leather satchel I’d used to use to carry my school
books would have to do. It wasn’t particularly spacious, but it was large
enough to contain the essentials: the Shakespeare, Mother’s chemise, and my
most practical dresses. I didn’t see life on an Iowa farm affording many
opportunities for dancing. The prettier dresses were consigned, one by one, to
the trunk. One pale green ensemble I couldn’t bear to leave behind; people
always said I looked fetching in it, and it wouldn’t be amiss to have something
attractive to wear for my new husband.

Father appeared in my doorway just as I was tucking the
skirt into the satchel. He didn’t say anything. Instead, he stood staring at
the trunk, which now held a modest rainbow of finery.

“Papa?” I asked, after a time. “Are you all right?”

He shook his head. “Every Father knows that this day will
come. And you ask the Lord to let it stay a distant possibility rather than a
present reality for as long as possible.” His voice broke. “You are my only
child, Abigail.” His shoulders shook and he choked back a sob. “When you are
gone, what will I have left?”

I froze. My Father was already grieving, and the magnitude
of the loss he was about to experience was even greater than he knew. Marrying
Richard Benson meant moving to the other side of the Valley; while we’d be
apart, Papa had every right to expect that he’d see me now and again.

Going to Iowa meant we’d be apart forever. This night would
be the last one we’d ever spend under the same roof; there would be no visits.
He would never see his grandchildren.  He would indeed be truly alone.

I burst into tears, sobbing intensely. I was crying so hard
there was no sense in talking, but of course I tried anyway. “I don’t know,
Papa!”

He took me in his arms. “Abigail. Stop.” Father squeezed me
gently, and sounded like himself again, the reliable source of comfort and
strength I’d always known him as. “You needn’t worry. Everything is going to be
all right. I shouldn’t have troubled you.” 

“I don’t want you to be unhappy,” I said to him. “And who is
going to take care of you when I’m gone?”

He laughed. “I’ll manage,” he said. “One way or the other.”

“I need to know that you’re going to be all right,” I said
to him, grabbing his arms and staring into his eyes. “No matter what happens.”

Father paused for a moment.

“Kitty Benson didn’t survive this, Papa. I might not
either.” I squeezed his biceps, hard. “Promise me that you’ll be all right.”

He nodded and gulped. “But you make me a promise too, girl.”

“Anything, Papa,” I said.

“If it comes to it…if things go badly between you and Mr.
Benson…” Father steeled his voice. “You do what you need to do to survive. You
stay alive. No matter what.”  It was his turn to insist.  “Promise me.”

“I will, Papa,” I said. “I promise.”

That night, I hardly slept at all. My bed seemed as if it
had turned to stone; I couldn’t get comfortable no matter how I turned.
Downstairs, I could hear Father pacing back and forth into the small hours of
the night. His mind wasn’t resting easily either.

Everything was so uncertain. Iowa was a mystery to me; I
knew next to nothing about the country I was headed into. The clerk at the
train station had been very enthusiastic about all the new track that I’d be
riding on; the spur to Sioux City was barely a year old. He’d found this
wonderful. I myself would have preferred a situation with a little less
novelty.

Even the name of the town scared me a little. Sioux City.
Perhaps it had been founded by Indians. I’d read about it as one of a handful
of boom towns blossoming out west; people were moving there every day. While
these towns certainly didn’t have the population of New York or Boston, they
were crowded enough and sufficiently distant that it would be difficult for
Robert Benson to find me. Even if he did follow, by the time he arrived, I’d be
married to another man, and there’d be nothing he could do about my flight.

I wished, not for the first time, that the personal ad had
revealed more about this Iowa agronomist. I didn’t know if he was young or old,
sickly or healthy, rich or poor. He hadn’t mentioned children, but that didn’t
mean he didn’t have any: I could be getting off of this train to find myself
serving as stepmother to a brood of six!

It was entirely possible that the Iowa agronomist was every
bit as repulsive as Robert Benson. I thought of the near-encounter I’d had with
the man at the train station and shuddered. There was no way I could spend my
life that way. It didn’t matter if I was here at home in the Shenandoah Valley
or out in the mysterious land of Iowa: I wouldn’t marry a man who evoked such
strong feelings of fear and disgust in me.

What would I do if that were the case? I knew no one in Iowa,
and sneaking out of town before my wedding day surely meant I wouldn’t be able
to come home again.  I’d spent almost every penny I had on my train ticket,
banking on the fact the Iowa agronomist would be able to support the wife he’d
sent for.  If this didn’t work out, I’d be far from home with no support, no
connections, and no prospects. It was a terrifying idea. If it idea of marrying
Robert Benson wasn’t even scarier, I never would have considered it.

But marrying Robert Benson was a scarier idea. The rumors
that he’d killed off both his wife and her purported lover had to come from
somewhere. Father took them seriously enough to ask the Sheriff – and the
lawman hadn’t said they were unfounded. He’d only said he’d not been able to
find any proof. These were two very different things, and I could find no
comfort in the lack of proof.

Another issue was the man’s appearance. We’re not meant to
judge a book by its cover, and in truth, I’d met many a homely yet honorable
person over the years. But there was something about Robert Benson’s visage
that exuded evil; his very presence seemed to taint the air around him.  In
even a brief observation it was clear to me that he knew the impact he made and
he had clearly decided to do nothing to mitigate it.

No matter what the Iowa agronomist looked like, I doubted it
could be nearly as bad as Robert Benson.

The skies had begun to gray with dawn’s first light when I
finally heard Father retire to bed. It didn’t take long for his snores to fill
the house. When I was certain he was fully asleep, I slipped out of bed, took
up the black satchel, and started out. I didn’t know what the future held, but
I knew what I was leaving behind: Richard Benson.

It is more than 1,200 miles from the Shenandoah Valley to
Sioux City, Iowa. This meant three days on the train. I had provisioned myself
for this by taking some cheese, bread and sausages from the kitchen, but I’d
not thought about drinks at all. After the better part of the day, I asked the
conductor if there was any water on board.

The conductor looked me up and down. He was the same man
who’d remarked on how strange it was to travel with such a small bag for such a
long journey. “We certainly have water available, Miss. It’s a dollar a glass.”

I blinked. “For that price, I’d expect you’d be serving
champagne!”

His laugh was not pleasant. “Champagne costs quite a bit
more than that.” He let his gaze drop again, slowly scanning my bosom before
speaking again. “So do you want some water or not?”

I considered my finances. “I can’t afford that.”

He smirked. “I didn’t think so.”  He let the tone of his
voice drop, so he was barely speaking above a whisper. I had to strain to hear
him above the loud click-clack of the train’s wheels. “But if you need a drink,
I’m sure we can work something out.” His leer let me know exactly what kind of
arrangement he had in mind.

“Sir!” I said, shocked. “I am a lady!”

He laughed. “Do you know what they call a lady with no
money, honey?”

I didn’t answer him, because I couldn’t find the words. My
silence seemed to infuriate him. “Well, do you?” he insisted.

“No,” I muttered, fearful that his temper, barely contained
now, would quickly boil over into a situation I couldn’t control. “What do they
call a lady with no money?”

He sneered and I feared the worst. All my life I’d been
treated with courtesy; my Father was far from rich but we were respectable
enough. Now this conductor was going to humiliate me in front of a car load of
passengers.

“Thirsty,” he said with a nasty laugh, and walked away. I
slumped down in my seat, feeling my emotions waver between fury and a strange
sense of relief. If he had called me a loose woman, I didn’t know what I was
going to do; alone on the train without a friend in the world made me realize
how truly defenseless I was.

I stared out the window, watching the darkened landscape go
by. Perhaps this entire journey was a mistake. I was so thirsty. My head ached,
and the pain doubled every time I thought about what things must be like back
home. By now, Father had discovered my absence, and had had to explain to
Robert Benson that I was nowhere to be found.  The consequences of that
conversation were too terrible to imagine. As dry as I was, tears still came to
my eyes. I licked my lips as they slid down my face; their salty moisture was
better than nothing.

“Excuse me, Miss?” A young girl settled into the seat beside
me. “Are you all right?”

I blinked back my tears. This girl couldn’t have been ten
years old, far too young to hear about my troubles. “I’m fine. I’m just a
little thirsty, that’s all.”

She nodded, very seriously. “Mother and I heard the
conductor being horrid to you. That’s why she wants me to give you these.” In
her small hands suddenly appeared a bunch of grapes, wrapped in a fold of
paper. “They’re from our farm. Very juicy.”

“Oh,” I said. “Thank you.” A thought struck me. “I haven’t
any money to pay you.”

The girl waved her hand, and across the way, I could see her
Mother shaking her head in agreement. “We don’t need any money. Just don’t be
sad. You’re too pretty to cry.”