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Being too much of a gentleman to actually say such a thing, he quickly removed his hat. “Hello, Elizabeth.”
“David...”
He hesitated, as though he wondered if he should greet her with a kiss of the hand or a brotherly peck on the cheek. He did neither. He just stood there, the awkwardness between them very apparent.
Finally, she had the presence of mind to step back and invite him inside. As he crossed the threshold, she offered to take his hat.
“Thank you,” was all he said.
Elizabeth laid it on the table and tried desperately to think of something to say to him. It was no use. All her thoughts revolved around Jeremiah. Just when Elizabeth felt tears gathering in her eyes, her mother stepped into the foyer. She cheerfully embraced David.
“How good it is to see you again. Trudy tells me you have taken a job with a newspaper here in Baltimore.”
His face brightened. “Yes,” he said. “The Free American.”
“Oh? I’m not familiar with that one. Is that one of the penny presses?”
He chuckled slightly at her mother’s question. “We aim to be a penny press, but I suppose as of now we’re more a halfpenny.”
“Well, with you there, no doubt it will grow to be as big as...as...” Her mother was searching. “What was it you and Jeremiah were always reading?”
“Harper’s Weekly.”
“Yes. That was it.”
Elizabeth winced at the mention of Jeremiah’s favorite paper. David even pronounced it the same. Hahpuh’s Weekly,as if there were no r’sin a Massachusetts man’s alphabet. “Congratulations,” she managed, forcing herself to enter the conversation. “I supposed, though, you would return to your position in Boston. You mentioned that quite often when we worked together.”
The smile he had given her mother faded. A look of uneasiness took its place. “My job at the Journal was only as an assistant,” he said. “I didn’t get to do much writing. Here I will.”
“I see.” She tried to think of something else to say but came up empty.
After another long pause, her mother directed them toward the dining room. “Well, won’t you join us, David? Everything is on the table.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
They moved to do so. Trudy also welcomed him with a hug, while Elizabeth stood silently by. As soon as her mother offered David the seat at the head of the table, however, it was all she could do to keep from crying out. No! That’s Jeremiah’s seat!
He had claimed that position on the very last evening they had dined together. Elizabeth could remember every detail. He had been the one to ask the blessing. It was his fingers that brushed hers when the serving dishes had been passed. Now David said Grace and offered her bread and butter. The pain cut so deep it was all she could do to remain at the table.
“Tell us about your reporting,” Trudy insisted. “Have you been given any interesting assignments?”
He told them about an article on the former provost marshal, but Elizabeth was only half listening. What route the conversation then took she could not say, but all of a sudden she heard David ask, “Have you heard from George?”
Elizabeth looked up just in time to see her mother and sister exchange hesitant glances. Evidently certain that David’s question was one of brotherly concern and not a reporter’s inquisition, her mother then answered.
“I’ve not heard from my son since the summer.”
“Not since Gettysburg,” Trudy added.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said.
Elizabeth’s eyes returned to her plate, her throat even tighter than it was before. Her brother’s letters had been few and far between since he’d joined the Confederate army, but he had always managed to send word. The more time that passed, however, the more fearful she became. Over six months had gone by, and she had no idea where he was currently or what battles he may have been involved in. Julia’s brother Edward was now a prisoner of war. Sally’s brother Stephen had been killed. Elizabeth could not escape the thought that something terrible had happened to George, as well.
For if harm could befall a soldier at even a safe posting such as Jeremiah’s, what horrors could the front lines bring?
“I pray for him daily.” David’s voice broke into her thoughts.
She looked up once more to find him staring straight at her. He may have been a member of the opposing army, but Elizabeth clearly noticed his concern and could not doubt the honesty of his words or his intentions. Sympathy was written all over his face.
I suppose that is something we have in common, she thought. He, too, knows what it is like to worry about a brother.
David then looked back at her mother. “Forgive me if this is too forward, but I have noticed there are things around this house which need...tending. I should like to be of assistance to you, until George is able to return.”
Elizabeth didn’t know what to think of that offer. It was considerate indeed, but she didn’t wish to have him make a regular appearance. It was simply too hard.
“That is very kind of you, David,” her mother said, “but you are our guest...”
“Please, do not think of me that way. I should like to do my part. As Trudy reminded me earlier today, we are family.”
Her sister nodded, and her mother smiled appreciatively. Clearly they welcomed his presence.
Why is he doing this? Elizabeth wondered. Why would he wish to return to Baltimore, given all that has taken place here? Why would he leave his family and his business opportunities in Boston for a paper as small as the Free American, no matter how much writing he may be able to do?
Trudy’s earlier words passed through her mind. “He is grieving as deeply as you. You could be a comfort to one another...”
Then it made sense to her. David had left Boston because he could not sit at his own family table. He could not view Jeremiah’s empty chair.
A wide array of emotions rushed through her in that moment. David’s voice, his face would be a constant reminder to her of what could never be, but Elizabeth knew her sister was right. He was grieving as deeply as she, and Elizabeth wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone. If oiling a few squeaky hinges and having a bite to eat with us now and again will help him cope with his loss, I can hardly say no. After all, Jeremiah would want his brother to be looked after.
As if reading her thoughts, her mother urged her with a hint of a smile. Elizabeth drew in a quick breath, then looked to David. She tried to sound calm, but her voice was shaky. “I believe we will accept your offer of assistance, only if you will accept an open invitation to dine with us whenever your schedule permits.”
“Thank you, Elizabeth. You have no idea how much I appreciate that.” His face had visibly brightened, and for a moment he looked almost happy.
* * *
The hour was not late, but David knew he should go. He could tell the evening had been difficult for Elizabeth, and he did not wish to prolong her pain. She had done her best to manage polite conversation, but it had clearly been a struggle. For him it had been, as well. The moment she’d opened the front door, a rock had lodged in his throat that he could not swallow.
The sight of those hollow cheeks and vacant eyes cut him deeply. Her grief had been apparent at the funeral, but the weeks since had levied an even harsher effect. Her skin was as pale as New England snow, and those green eyes of hers held no promise of spring. As they walked to the foyer so he could take his leave, he searched desperately for something encouraging to say. All he could come up with was a promise to return tomorrow or the following day to oil the hinges on the kitchen door.
She nodded quietly, and thanked him.
“I noticed there is a sizeable oak limb on the parlor roof,” he then said.
“Yes. It came down a few weeks ago during an ice storm.”
“I’ll see to that, as well. Some of the roof tiles may have been damaged. If they have, they’ll need to be repaired before the next rainstorm.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
The tension between them was so thick that you could cut it with a knife. As uncomfortable as he was, though, he believed he was doing his duty. His father, although he knew not David’s true feelings for Elizabeth, had encouraged him, as well.
“Looking after those ladies is the Christian thing to do,” he had said. “There is no guarantee that young Mr. Martin will ever return from battle.”
And if he does, David thought, in what condition will he return?
He’d served in the hospital long enough to know how many veterans, rebel and Union alike, would return in wretched condition. Scores would be legless, armless, others half-witted or unable to comprehend at all.
They return as helpless as they were in infancy. They can no longer care for their families. Their families must care for them.
He wondered if Elizabeth thought of such things. Did she fear that fate for her brother?Had she ever confessed such fears to Jeremiah? Had he been able to comfort her?
The thought of his brother holding her tight, kissing away her tears, made David’s chest burn, but he forced the image away.
I have no right to think of such things. I came to protect her, to lend a hand in practical matters, as any decent male relative should.
When they reached the front door, Elizabeth asked about his sister. “Has Clara recovered? Is the baby strong?”
Trudy had asked the exact same question at dinner. Elizabeth must not have been listening. “Yes,” he replied once more. “Both mother and son are doing well.”
She tried her best to smile. It wasn’t a very convincing one. “I am pleased to hear that. I imagine that is a great comfort to your family. What did they name him?”
David swallowed hard. “Jeremiah.”
Immediately her eyes clouded, and it was only then that she asked about the burial. David delicately told her the details. Her chin quivered when she learned the band had played his favorite hymn.
“‘What a Friend We Have in Jesus,’” she whispered.
“Yes.”
He was hesitant to give her what he’d been carrying in his vest pocket, uncertain how she would respond, but taking a chance, he withdrew the handkerchief. A ragged gasp escaped her throat when he unfolded it and revealed the lock of his brother’s hair.
He stumbled through his words. “I thought you would like to have it...perhaps for...a...piece of jewelry...”
Brooches and pins made from a loved one’s hair were common art forms where he came from. David suspected the trend was practiced here in Baltimore, as well, for Elizabeth quickly accepted what he had offered, pressing the handkerchief to her heart.
“I never asked him for a lock of his hair because I did not want to think that something terrible could happen. And yet...”
Tears squeezed past her eyelids. David ached to hold her, but he didn’t dare. He knew no matter what repairs he made to her home, he’d never be able to repair the damage to her heart.
“Elizabeth, I’m sorry—”
She looked up at him with those sorrow-filled eyes. “It is I who owe you an apology,” she said. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did at the funeral. It was wrong. Please, forgive me. It’s just... I miss him so much...”
“I know you do.” He swallowed back the lump in his throat. “And you need not apologize. You were to be his bride. You’ve done nothing for which you need feel ashamed.” Elizabeth now stared at the floor.
“I should have asked this from the beginning,” he said. “I want to be of assistance to your family, but in doing so, I want to respect your wishes. Please, answer my question honestly. Does my presence trouble you? Would you rather I keep my distance?”
She was still clutching the handkerchief to her heart, only now with both hands. David couldn’t help but notice the engagement ring she still wore on her finger. He braced himself for the rejection that was surely coming.
“No,” she said finally, looking up. “I appreciate what you are trying to do. It’s just...you remind me so much of him.”
He knew she meant that as the dearest of compliments, but the words were still hard to take. He picked up his hat. “I’ll see you sometime tomorrow,” he managed, and with that he turned for the door.
* * *
Elizabeth stood in the foyer for a few moments after David had gone, still holding the handkerchief close. It smelled like peppermint drops. She was not surprised, for David always kept the candy in his pockets. Elizabeth had often seen him munching on them at the hospital.
Words could not express what his gesture and the acceptance of her apology meant to her. She would indeed have Jeremiah’s hair made into a memorial brooch as soon as she could afford to do so.
She turned for the kitchen. Although Elizabeth would rather seek solitude, there were dishes to be washed, and she did not want the burden to fall to her mother and sister yet again. But being the expedient workers they were, the task was already complete by the time she stepped into the room.
Did I really spend that long conversing with David? It didn’t seem so. “I’m sorry, Mother,” she quickly said. “I’d intended to help.”
Her mother smiled at her, as did Trudy. “Oh, Beth, you have already been a help,” she said. “I am so thankful that you invited David to join us. I’m certain he appreciated that greatly. Did you see how his face lit up when you did so?”
“I did.” But the look hadn’t lasted long. The moment they were alone, his troubled expression had returned. She understood. Her heart was just as heavy. She showed them the handkerchief with its precious contents.
“That was very thoughtful of him,” her mother said.
“Indeed,” Trudy said, laying aside her dish towel and reaching for the lamp. “I shall enjoy having him about. I hope he will come often.”
Elizabeth then thought of something she had not before. “Mother, I am sorry, I did not even think of the hardship this may bring. The extra food to prepare, the extra expense...”
Jane Martin kissed her daughter’s forehead, like she had often done when Elizabeth was a child. “We will make do,” she said. “I, like Trudy, shall enjoy having him about.”
Elizabeth wished she could feel the same, but she didn’t. There wasn’t anything she enjoyed these days. Life was not something to be celebrated; it was something to be endured.
“Come, join us in the parlor, Beth,” Trudy then insisted. “I’m going to play a few hymns. Your voice would benefit my playing greatly.”
But Elizabeth told them she didn’t feel much like singing. Instead she went to her father’s library. Her sketchbook was lying on the desk, and although she had not touched it in weeks, tonight for some reason she felt a pull toward it. Picking it up, she claimed a nearby chair. Her father had given her the book when she was sixteen, shortly after visiting a gallery showing in New York.
As a child Elizabeth had always been interested in art, and when she became older, her interest grew. She had been so taken with the works of Thomas Doughty and others from the Hudson River School that she wished to copy the quiet, serene landscapes they had painted. She’d spent hours trying to emulate what she had seen, views so lifelike that one could almost expect to step right into them. There was nothing, however, even remotely realistic about her landscapes. Still, her father had encouraged her to continue.
“You’re a talented young lady, Beth, but perhaps landscapes aren’t your strong suit. Why don’t you try something like those sketches you see in the paper?”
She’d been intrigued by the suggestion, and so her father saved the newspapers. Elizabeth made careful study of the sketch artists’ lines, their use of perspective and shading. She’d copied drawing after drawing, everything from the local politicians’ portraits to the political cartoons poking fun at then President Buchanan.
Her work had improved, and soon she was capturing everyday life in the household.
She fingered through the drawings of her father, her mother, of Trudy and George. Our life was so happy then, she thought.
Turning from those early efforts she came to the more recent pages, ones she’d done from memory, or from her imagination. There were numerous sketches of George marching along some distant battlefield. There were soldiers from the hospital, as well, the ones that haunted her dreams. The drawings had been her offerings to God, prayers of a sort when her mind was too troubled to formulate words.
Then she turned to the final sketch, the one she’d desperately poured out just before David had come to fetch her the night Jeremiah died.
Dark wavy hair, that clean-shaven chin, the dimples when he smiled...
When she’d first met Jeremiah she hadn’t known she would fall in love with him. Back then he was simply David’s brother, just another steward she occasionally worked alongside. She’d had no idea he had taken notice of her until after she had left the hospital.
