Читать книгу Wild Rose - Ruth Axtell Morren - Страница 11

Caleb looked at Geneva’s departing back as she climbed up the slope to her house. He didn’t know which of them felt the more exhausted, pupil or teacher. He tried to look on the bright side. At least she had mastered the alphabet back in school and could form the letters fairly well. She recognized several one-syllable words, though anything more complicated was beyond her. He felt sorry for her, seeing her struggle.

He felt almost as helpless, not sure how to approach teaching her. He tried to remember how he’d been taught in school. School! Like Geneva, he’d only had a couple of years of formal schooling before being yanked out and shipped off to sea. But at least his father had provided a tutor on those journeys. A man who was quick to rap an eight-year-old boy on the knuckles at the slightest sign of fidgeting. And who was fonder of sitting in the captain’s quarters over a glass of brandy than of overseeing a boy’s lessons.

He smiled, understanding the frustration Geneva tried to control but which was so evident each time she missed a word or copied his example incorrectly. It was going to be an uphill struggle—but worth it.

He could feel something stirring in him at the effort to help someone. She was obviously bright, but had suffered nothing but disadvantages since her youth. From the little she’d told him, he could form a vivid picture of the rest. A little girl struggling to nurse a dying woman, left at the mercy of a hard, unfeeling woodsman. No wonder she’d rejected Caleb’s offer of sympathy so emphatically. She probably didn’t know how to accept anyone’s helping hand.

After the lesson and once Geneva had disappeared over the ridge, Caleb watched a buggy come down the road. It held a lone woman, Maud Bradford. He felt mixed emotions at seeing another acquaintance from Boston.

He’d forgotten she summered at Haven’s End. She was an old friend of his mother’s. Part of him yearned for news from Boston, yearned to see a friendly face. But just as strongly, he wished to put everything from Boston behind him. He didn’t want to be reminded of all he’d left behind, to question his decision to leave. Still, he’d survived Nate’s visit. Surely, this would be easy in comparison.

The horse clip-clopped to his gate, and Caleb took his time walking toward it.

Mrs. Bradford waited patiently for him, her face wreathed in a smile as he approached. Despite her gray hair, her face was unlined and held a serene quality that Caleb found hard to resist.

“Hello, Caleb.”

He nodded to her and proceeded to open the gate. When the buggy pulled up at the house, Caleb helped Mrs. Bradford down from her seat.

She looked him up and down. “You’re looking well, Caleb. I must confess I wasn’t quite sure what to expect.”

It was impossible to feel any resentment toward this elegant lady who was his mother’s age, and whom he’d known since he was in short skirts. She’d always spoken her mind, but in such a simple, gentle way that it was impossible to take offense.

“And I must confess,” he told her, “I’d forgotten you summered here in Haven’s End.”

She chuckled. “Am I welcome? I heard from Nate that you weren’t entertaining.”

Caleb smiled at the understatement. “You’re always welcome, as long as you don’t expect too much.”

She gave him a look of sympathetic understanding. “I won’t expect you to do or say anything you don’t feel inclined to.”

“Good. Now, can I invite you in for a cup of tea?”

“That sounds most welcome.”

They walked together into the house, and Caleb guided her toward the back. After he’d brewed a pot of tea, the two sat in two chairs overlooking the sea.

Mrs. Bradford sat back with a sigh of contentment. “I didn’t mean to put you to any trouble, my boy, but this tea is just the thing after my ride out here.” She stirred the spoon around in her cup.

“No trouble at all.” Caleb wanted to ask her about his mother, but held back, reluctant to bring up anything pertaining to Boston.

“Your place is lovely. Lovely, indeed.” She looked around with a smile, not appearing to notice the scant furnishings. She gestured toward the view outside. “The location is simply breathtaking.”

She took another sip of tea. When Caleb made no effort at small talk, she replaced her cup in its saucer. “I promised your mother I’d look in on you.”

He appreciated her directness. “How is she?”

“Don’t you know?” Her clear gray gaze made him feel uncomfortable.

“I haven’t received any news.”

“Nor have you sent her any.”

He rubbed his cheek. “I’ve tried to write on a few occasions. Truly. But the words don’t seem to come.”

She smiled sadly. “I understand. I think she does, too. That’s why she’s giving you time. And that’s why she sent me. I shall give her a full report. It will ease her burden. I’ll say I found you fit and in good spirits, living in a very salutary location.”

“Thank you. It will help knowing she’s not worrying.”

She lifted her eyebrows in a look that said more clearly than words that keeping his mother from worrying was another matter.

They continued drinking their tea. After a few moments, Mrs. Bradford spoke again. “Your father’s firm has issued a formal statement to the press that any allegations against you were completely unfounded. Investigations are continuing to uncover the real perpetrator.”

She looked down at her cup and saucer. “Details were very sketchy, however, to explain how there could ever have been a breath of suspicion surrounding your name. Errors in judgment…hasty accusations…”

Caleb sat still, not sure how the news affected him. So, his father had respected his wishes and not exposed his cousin’s part in the calumny against him. At least Caleb could be grateful for that.

The only thing he felt was the same hollowness he’d experienced from the moment his father had revealed how little he believed in Caleb’s integrity. “Errors in judgment…hasty accusations. How awkward for the firm.”

“It is unfortunate that your father’s formal statement only succeeds in raising more questions than it answers.”

Caleb leaned his head back against his chair. “People will say old man Phelps is covering up for his only son.”

“Oh, no. Surely not. And whatever you may think to the contrary, most people, after having had a chance to consider it well, don’t really think you had anything to do with any irregularities at the firm.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow. “No? I beg to differ. You weren’t the recipient of their looks.”

“Oh, I know it must have been dreadful for you.” She raised a finger to her mouth, touching her lip gingerly. “But don’t you think it made things worse by leaving Boston? Coming here might have helped you in many ways, but it gave the impression to people who don’t know you very well that you were…well, running away from something.”

“At the time, I no longer cared how my actions would be construed.”

“I know you suffered a terrible disappointment.”

Caleb didn’t know whether she was referring to the one with his father or the one with Arabella. Most likely the latter. For all her friendship with his mother, Mrs. Bradford didn’t know him very well. He hadn’t been around Boston for much of his youth, thanks to his father.

“You could return to Boston now, you know,” she continued calmly. “It might be a little difficult at first, but eventually you could pick up where you left off.”

“Pick up where I left off?” Caleb turned to the window, no longer wishing to discuss his life. “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?”

Mrs. Bradford followed the change in subject without missing a stride. “Yes. That’s why I’ve been rusticating here every summer for the last twenty years. Phineas discovered it with me, although he wasn’t able to enjoy it long thereafter.”

“I’m sorry.” He’d hardly known her late husband.

“Don’t be. He’s in a better place. And I shall join him again someday soon.” She smiled as if in absolute tranquility at the inevitable eventualities of life.

Caleb had achieved no such equanimity as yet. He got up from his chair, suddenly restless.

As if sensing his change in mood, Mrs. Bradford set down her cup and saucer. “Who was that person walking up the road when I drove up? He seemed to be coming from here.”

Caleb turned back to his visitor in surprise. “That was my neighbor. Miss Patterson.”

“A woman?” Mrs. Bradford looked puzzled. “How strange. The way she was dressed…from a distance…that hat shading her features…” She shook her head with a chuckle. “You see a lot of odd characters in these parts. I should be used to that by now.” She tapped her finger against her lip. “Patterson…Patterson. That’s a common family name around here. Wait a minute. She isn’t Big Jeb Patterson’s little girl, is she? He was a woodsman who lived down this road.”

“Sounds like the one, from your description,” Caleb answered.

She shook her head. “My, my. I remember her as this quiet, shy little thing, always looking underfed, wearing faded calico dresses and going around with dirty, bare feet. What was she doing here?”

For some inexplicable reason, Caleb didn’t like the way the conversation was going. “She’s my neighbor. From time to time she’s offered me advice on my garden.” At the question in her eyes, he smiled. “I have to do something with my time, so I thought I’d try my hand at gardening. I enjoy it, actually.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Gardening can be soothing to the soul. How nice that your neighbor has proved helpful.”

It was on the tip of Caleb’s tongue to ask Mrs. Bradford’s advice about some primers for Geneva’s lessons, but he stopped himself before voicing the question.

Perhaps as a reaction against having undergone Mrs. Bradford’s gentle, yet discerning, probing of his own affairs, he felt suddenly protective of Geneva. Her secrets were her own, and he respected that.

He was also getting tired of hearing only negative things about Geneva every time her name came up. Mrs. Bradford’s recollection brought to mind a hungry, unwashed young waif.

He’d order the reading books through the company’s agent in New York, bypassing any questions that would come up through the shipping company’s Boston office. Yes, that was what he’d do.

Jake’s barking alerted Geneva before she heard the crunch of wheels or the clip-clop of hooves, telling her that Captain Caleb’s visitor was departing.

“Hush, Jake,” she said automatically, though she knew he wouldn’t be still until the buggy had passed. Geneva went on with her task, picking off the dead pansy and marigold heads from the flowers she had planted in her front yard. The sweet smell of pinks mingled with the pungent odor of the broken flowers in her hand.

When the sound of buggy wheels stopped and Jake stood stiff-legged by the road, barking for all he was worth, Geneva finally looked up.

She rose at the sight of the buggy at her entrance and dusted off her knees. The woman handling the reins was clearly a lady. Geneva went to Jake and took him by the collar. “Hush, boy. Sit.” Although he obeyed her, she could feel the tension in his body. He was itching to be up again. She soothed him with her hand, running it down his neck, while observing the elegant-looking lady in the buggy. Her dun-colored jacket and skirt were simple, almost mannish, yet they looked well tailored and did not detract from the lady’s femininity.

Geneva watched her loop the reins around the whipstock. When she stood to descend, Geneva stepped forward, holding out a hand to help her down. At the sight of her leaf-stained fingers, and the thought of what they would do to the woman’s hand, Geneva pulled them back.

But the woman held out her hand with a smile, and slowly Geneva reached out once again. The woman was as tall as she was. Geneva always felt awkward, dwarfing most of the women she talked to, yet this woman exuded elegance rather than ungainliness.

“You have a fine watchdog,” the lady said, eyeing Jake approvingly.

It was the first time anyone had ever given Jake a compliment. “Always raising a racket,” Geneva answered, “but he don’t mean no harm.”

“What pretty flowers you have growing,” the lady continued, smoothing down the lapels of her jacket.

“Just ordinary flowers.”

“They make a pretty effect, nonetheless. You have an eye for color.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” she mumbled.

The woman looked at her with frank curiosity. “You wouldn’t be Jeb Patterson’s daughter, would you?”

“Yes’m,” she answered in surprise, unable to imagine this lady acquainted with her father.

“He used to bring me some fine trout. I remember you as a young child.”

Geneva shook her head, still amazed. “Sorry, ma’am, I don’t recollect.”

“No, I don’t expect you do. My name is Maud Bradford. I’ve been coming up here for a good many years during the summer months. I have a house in the village, the yellow one up on a hill, up past the hotel.”

Geneva nodded. “I know it. If you ever be needin’ some fresh fruits or vegetables, I supply some of the summer folks with produce once a week.”

“That would be lovely. Come around anytime.” She looked back down the hill toward the Point. “I was just paying a call on your neighbor, Caleb Phelps. I’m an old friend of the family.”

Geneva looked at Mrs. Bradford, hoping she’d continue talking, yet afraid to make any comment lest the lady think her curiosity unseemly.

“He seems to be doing well here. He mentioned you had helped him with his garden.”

He had talked about her? To hide her surprise, Geneva shrugged. “I didn’t do nothin’ much. Guess he’d never done any gardenin’ before, and it’s not easy up here.”

“No, I imagine not. He appreciates your help.” Mrs. Bradford smiled. “I’m glad he’s found a good neighbor.”

Geneva returned the smile, feeling accepted by the lady as she never had by any of the village women. At the enormity of the thought, she stepped back. She must be imagining it! She shoved her soil-stained hands in her pockets and looked away.

Mrs. Bradford didn’t seem to notice the motion but continued speaking. “Growing up here, you’re no doubt well acquainted with the woods and trails, as well as the seashore?”

“A fair amount, I’d say.”

“I enjoy bird-watching. But as I’m growing older, my family back in Boston tend to worry, thinking of me out alone anywhere.” She smiled, her gray eyes crinkling at the corners. “It doesn’t matter how many times I tell them I’m not alone, that the good Lord is ever present.” She sighed. “At any rate, to ease their minds, I’ve decided to hire a companion, a guide of sorts. I suspect you’d be too occupied in summer to consider such a position?”

Geneva’s mind had ceased taking in much of the conversation. When she realized Mrs. Bradford was looking at her, expecting an answer, she could only say, “Beg pardon?”

“I said you were no doubt too busy to consider any sort of additional occupation during the summer months.”

“I fish during the summer months mainly, but I’m always lookin’ for ways to make a few dollars. The winters are mighty long, without much chance to earn anything.”

“Would you consider acting as a guide a few times a week, the weather permitting, for my expeditions?”

Geneva nodded, not quite certain to what she was committing herself.

“Good, then. Shall we say, a week from Thursday, in the morning, if the weather is clear?”

“I’ll be there next Thursday morning. I’ll come around to the harbor in my boat.”

“A boat? How lovely. Perhaps we could go for a sail around the coast. Maybe we’ll spot a few eagles?”

“Sure. I’ll take you to Seal Island and you can see the puffins nesting.”

The woman gave her such a gracious smile, Geneva couldn’t help smiling again in return.

“You have a lovely smile, my dear. I shall see you on Thursday.” Mrs. Bradford turned to climb back into the buggy. With a final wave, she was on her way. Geneva watched her until the buggy was out of sight, wondering at how much had occurred in the space of a few short minutes.

She patted Jake. “What do you make of all that, boy? Your mistress has gone and gotten herself a job without even trying.”

Geneva knocked on the captain’s door but received no response. He’d told her, after their first lesson, to come over after lunch the following afternoon, so she knew he expected her. Today, she’d brought Jake with her.

To keep him from pawing at the door, Geneva turned the knob and pushed it open. She’d just glance around in the kitchen, give a holler if necessary.

At the sight of the silent kitchen, she paused. Entering it without the captain present was like catching a glimpse of him without his being aware of it. Although her mind told her to retreat the way she’d come, a part of her heart urged her forward until she stood in the center of the room. His abode.

Everything looked bare and clean. A lone teacup and saucer stood on the counter by the soapstone sink. The curtainless window above it was a quarter of the way open and the sound of waves came up from beyond the backyard.

She wondered how the captain managed his meals on his own. She knew he had deliveries made from Mr. Watson’s store every few days. But how did a gentleman’s son survive all by himself? Although he called himself a sailor, she was certain he knew nothing about sea life below the rank of captain or first mate.

Geneva grabbed Jake’s collar in an effort to suppress the temptation of nosing around in the captain’s cupboards. She tore her gaze from the kitchen and headed toward the veranda.

“Cap’n Caleb?” she called out. “It’s me, Geneva.” When nothing but silence greeted her, she said, “Anybody home?” By then she was in the large living room. “Cap’n Caleb?”

Seeing the door onto the veranda ajar, she walked toward it. Jake broke away from her and reached it first, shoving the door open and bounding joyfully toward one end of the porch. Geneva was quickly after him. She saw the hammock and Captain Caleb lying in it, but wasn’t in time to reach Jake as he jumped up to it, barking, and set it to rocking violently.

“Hey! What—” The captain’s hands came up around Jake’s head. “Hey, boy, down.” Captain Caleb looked up at her as she reached the hammock.

“Jake! Down! What’s the matter with you? Get your paws off the cap’n.” She spoke to Jake more harshly than she had intended, trying to hide what she felt at seeing Captain Caleb lying there. It was clear he’d been sleeping.

This impression intensified when he smiled up at her. “It’s all right. He meant no harm. At least he’s warming to me.” He patted Jake’s head as he talked. Long, sun-browned fingers ran over Jake’s ears and down the sides of his neck, large palms cupped the sides of his head. “What are you doing here, boy?”

Geneva could feel the heat rise in her face as she observed the captain. Thick, wavy hair swept back untidily from his high forehead. His face, just wakened from sleep, had a freshness and an openness that she hadn’t seen since he’d come back to Haven’s End.

“Uh, I jus’ came in by the back. Shouldn’a brought him, I guess—I thought you’d behave yourself, Jake.” She fixed her eyes on her dog.

“No more scolding. There, that’s a good boy.” The captain continued talking to the dog, rubbing his head and neck all the while. “I’m glad your mistress thought fit to bring you. It gives us a chance to get acquainted.”

“Thought it was time, you know, for the lesson,” Geneva explained, shoving her hands into her back pockets.

The captain pulled out his watch. “So it is.” He smiled at her again, transfixing her. “I just lay down a minute after my lunch to watch the sea, and must have fallen asleep. Went to bed too late last night, I guess. Come on, get your dog off me, and help me up.”

Geneva swallowed and took hold of Jake’s collar, ordering him to sit. Not sure whether the captain had meant it seriously, she stuck out her hand. He grabbed it firmly and held out his other hand. Geneva offered hers more tentatively, but he clasped it readily. When both her hands were ensconced in his, she felt joined to him in a way more profound than the simple touch warranted.

She pulled him forward.

“Thanks.” Once he was standing, the captain held her hands an instant longer before letting go. Geneva stepped back to dispel the feeling of abandonment.

He ran his hands through his hair and then smoothed his shirt down. Geneva just stared. He was wearing a white cotton shirt with a barely visible, blue line threaded through it. Geneva thought she’d never seen any material so fine. His collar was open, revealing the brown skin of his neck.

Her own collar felt constricting. Giving herself a mental shake, she walked toward the worktable. Her hand trembled as it reached for a pencil. The captain seemed so at ease; clearly he had no idea what he did to her.

During the lesson Geneva felt more ignorant than she’d ever felt during her short time up the road at the schoolhouse. She couldn’t seem to make sense of anything this afternoon. She mixed b’s and d’s, m’s and n’s. She stumbled over words of more than three letters.

It was worse than when she’d had to trudge to school each morning, wearing the same dress, until Mrs. Stillman’s daughter, Sarah, started spreading the rumor that she had fleas. After that, no one wanted to sit with her.

She vowed never to set foot inside the schoolhouse again, but then Pa demanded to know why she was hanging around at home. When she told him she wasn’t going back, he hauled her up the road to the schoolhouse, vowing no offspring of his was going to grow up into a lazy, worthless, good-for-nothing.

By the time they entered the schoolroom, she was late, everyone else seated and quiet. All the children turned around, staring at her, then shifting their gazes to follow her father. His black hair and beard always spooked the little ones. The older ones said he’d probably been sired by one of the black bears he always hunted in the fall.

She’d hated her father for the shame he caused her, especially when he’d gone and pulled her out of school himself the following year.

Captain Caleb’s sigh jolted her back to the present. “Let’s try this word again. Ap—” he began sounding out for her.

“Ap,” she repeated, then struggled with the other letters his fingers had formed on the paper. Another p. “Puh,” she expelled the sound. That other letter, what was it? Two sticks. L. “Lll.” Then e. What did that sound like again? “Eee.” Now, to put it together. By this time she’d forgotten how the beginning sounded.

“That e is silent,” the captain corrected.

“Why’d they put it there, then?” she asked in annoyance. She looked at Jake sleeping so peacefully on the gray porch floor, his tail thumping every once in a while, while she was strung so tight she was afraid she’d spin around like a top if the captain so much as touched her. Why’d she ever get herself into this?

“I don’t know why it’s there. Usually if there’s an e at the end of a word, it’s silent. So, let’s begin at the beginning. A-P-L.” He said it more quickly, “Apl. What is it?”

“Apple!”

The captain sighed with relief. “Good. Maybe this will help to remind you of the sound.” He took the pencil and began drawing a little circle beside the word. When he added the stem on top, Geneva recognized it as an apple.

“An apple,” she guessed, looking in awe at the neat little picture.

He nodded, continuing to draw. “This should help you remember the a sound in apple. A makes a whole lot of other sounds, but we’ll worry about those later. There.” He put the pencil down and moved the paper toward her. She saw he’d added a little worm coming out of the apple. She looked up to find him grinning at her.

“I don’t know why you bother with me,” she said with a shake of her head. “If I haven’t learned this stuff by now, I don’t think I ever will.”

“Nonsense. People learn new languages every day, and it’s the same thing. It takes a lot of practice and patience. Now—” he took the paper back and began forming a new word “—B comes next. Ball, that’s easy to draw.”

Geneva watched his fingers curve around the pencil, and knew exactly why nothing would come to her that afternoon. She could think of nothing but him sitting there so close to her. Her gaze traveled up to his head bent over the paper. The dark hair glinted reddish gold in places.

She was going to have to stay up real late every night poring over those letters he was writing to make up for her wandering thoughts during lesson time.

As if reading her mind, he said, “I shall have to get you a slate so you can practice making these at home. Now this one’s easy.” He finished printing the letters and moved the paper toward her.

She stared at the letters, willing her mind to concentrate. “Kuh…Kuh,” she repeated. “Uh…rr…ll.” Then she tried putting the sounds together as the captain was teaching her. “K-uh-r-l. Cuhrl. Curl!” She looked at him in triumph, meeting the look of satisfaction in his eyes.

“Good.” He wrote another word. “This should be familiar.”

She looked at the three-letter word. “D-d…” She took a stab at the vowel, “aw…guh. Dawg. Dog!”

“All right. Let’s try something harder.” Again he took the paper back and bent over it.

That night she took out the list of words and copied them out on a separate sheet of paper by the glow of her kerosene lamp. She wrote each one and read it over and over until she knew it perfectly. As she sat on the edge of her bed in her nightgown, she took one last look at the paper, smiling at the captain’s pencil drawings. A curl of hair, a little dragon, its spiked tail curved upward, a flame coming out of its mouth. She traced the drawings with her fingertip. An oblong circle for an egg, a squatting frog. Silently she mouthed the words, vowing she’d master each lesson, if it meant receiving the smile of approval the captain had given her this afternoon.