Don Gutteridge - Vital Secrets

“Rastus also told me how well you’ve nursed Aaron through his illness.”

The low morning sun blazed through the fringe of Beth’s hair below the tuque and transformed it into a russet halo. It took all of Marc’s willpower to resist pulling the tuque away.

“I’d have even prayed to the Anglican God if I’d thought He could help,” Beth said.

“Ah, but you know perfectly well He’s always been a Congregationalist.”

Beth laughed, and for the first time glanced sideways at Marc. The force of her gaze, the infinite blue intelligence of her eyes, struck him like a blow. He felt numb and then, strangely, invigorated. His blood hummed.

“Whichever gods intervened,” Beth said, guiding him briefly around a submerged stump, “Aaron’s made a wonderful recovery. In a minute you’ll hear him chopping wood out behind the summer kitchen.”

“Chopping wood? But-”

“Oh, I see that he naps every afternoon. But I figured he needed to get outdoors as soon as he could. He lives for the animals and his chores around the barn.”

“And he’ll be needed more than ever now that Thomas has a battered hand.”

“Seems we just get through one trial when a new one comes on.”

“Who’ll help with the spring ploughing and planting?” Marc said, trying his best to make the question sound disinterested.

Beth slowed her pace, for which Marc was grateful, as it suggested she was not overeager to arrive at the cabin. In the distance he could now hear the staccato chunk of an axe on wood.

“Well, Winn won’t take money, from me or her father, so it’ll have to be mainly me and Aaron and Winn. Winn and me have done some sewing this winter, so we’ll have a few goods to trade for a bit of hired help. And we can work the ox-team together if we have to.”

Of that Marc had little doubt, even though, under the bulky mackintosh and cloth trousers, Beth was tiny and trim and not much more than a hundred pounds.

“But that means you might be stuck down here until June or later?”

“It’s not a matter of choice. We often get ‘stuck’ where we ought most to be.”

Marc winced at the reproof. And he realized with a sinking heart just how difficult and possibly hopeless a task lay before him. How could he plead a lover’s cause in the face of such competing exigencies, of such overriding moral claims? There seemed for him, equally, to be no choice: he, too, was where he “ought most to be.” So he plunged recklessly ahead: “But surely your aunt Catherine will be needing you at the shop? Spring and summer are your busiest seasons.”

“I hadn’t realized you were so well acquainted with the millinery business.”

Ah, that teasing tone again, but he persevered. “Your aunt did pull up stakes in New England, as I recall, to join you in Toronto. Surely you can’t-”

“Your ‘recall’ is as keen as it’s always been. But I can do without your ‘surelys.’”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not. But it doesn’t matter because I’ve taken care of Aunt Catherine and the business.”

“You haven’t sold it?”

Beth laughed for a second time. “No, we haven’t. When I left in January to come here to nurse Aaron, we hired a young girl from the town to help Aunt Catherine with the seamstressing side of the business. And next month a distant cousin from her husband’s side of the family is coming up to Toronto from Rochester to stay with her.”

“Can she sew? And help run the business?”

“He certainly can’t sew-”

“He?”

“A great-nephew. About your age, I think.”

“And what help could he possibly be in a millinery shop?” Besides being a male presence, and possibly a handsome one to boot.

“Since you’re so curious, he’s really interested in starting a business of his own. Things’ve been bad in the States since the dollar went crazy down there, and he wants to start a new life. He’ll live in and keep his aunt company, help with any heavy work, and learn how to operate a shop. Any further questions, counsellor?”

For Beth’s benefit, Marc managed a smile at this reference to his aborted law career. They walked a few paces in silence, but neither seemed in any hurry to speed up. Something remained to be said.

“How long will it be before Thomas is able to work again?”

“Well, it was his left hand he cut, thank God, so he’s still able to do quite a bit with the right. Dr. Barnaby says it should be completely healed in a month, six weeks for sure, if he doesn’t tear it open or let it get infected.”

“Barnaby should know if anyone does. He’s repaired a thousand sword cuts in his time. But what about Winnifred?”

“I see the good news is out.”

“Due in late September, Rastus tells me.”

“She’s as strong as an ox. You’ll see quite a change in her.”

“Her father was extremely worried about her.”

Beth stopped. The axe-blows were much sharper. Along the northwestern horizon a bank of black clouds curdled the otherwise pristine blue of the winter sky.

“You know about her going to the meetings?”

“Not much. But enough to realize how much her thinking must have changed since I last saw her. Moving from church bazaars and social teas to smoky barns and questionable associates is quite a shift for anyone, and incredible for a-”

“Woman? I think we’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we?”

“Surely she won’t take such risks now.”

They were still face-to-face: assessing, gauging, probing.

“Surely not,” Beth said.

“Well, then, I’m glad she’s being sensible. And Thomas, too.”

Beth put a mittened hand on Marc’s arm. She smiled wanly, and he noticed now the dark shadow under each eye and the vexed wrinkling at the corners of the mouth he wanted to press against his own and breathe into comfort. “I haven’t been to any of the meetings,” she said. “I’ve been too busy with Aaron.”

Marc’s relief was palpable.

“I listen to what Winn and Thomas are saying, which isn’t a lot-at least not outside their bedroom. But I say nothing.”

“It’s hard to believe you’ve given up,” Marc said, turning with her and walking, slowly again, towards the ring of Aaron’s axe.

“Oh, I haven’t given up. But after we lost the election last June, after all our effort and after all the promises made and not kept by the governor, I couldn’t summon up the energy to protest-even though I was raging underneath my numbness. Auntie and I worked hard at the business all summer, and hard it was-dispensing bonnets and frippery to the very people that engineered us out of the Assembly. Then, when the bad harvest hit and the Yankee dollar collapsed and Sir High and Mighty reneged on his solemn word, just when my blood was starting to boil like it did when Jesse was alive and we were up to our necks in Reform Party politics, I discovered that everything had changed.”

“In what way?”

“The open talk of violence. And I don’t mean the vicious talk we’ve all got used to.”

“Talk of revolt, you mean?” Marc could have bitten his tongue, but it was too late.

Beth stopped and looked searchingly at the man who had done so much for her last winter and who had more than once declared his love for her.

“Damn it, Beth, I’m not here as a spy!”

She stared at her boots. “I’d not be honest if I didn’t admit that when I dropped those eggs at the sudden sight of you, that was my first thought.” She peered up. “But I haven’t thought it since. Nor will I again.”

“But I’m still in this uniform?”

“Yes, you are, aren’t you?” She started walking again, as if afraid to hold his gaze any longer for fear of what she might detect in it and preferred not to see.