Chapter 6 #2
“What’s so humorous?” her mother asked as Caroline worked to hide her amusement; she knew exactly what had tickled her friend.
“Mr. Duffy’s new boots,” Malvinia replied.
“Hogwash,” her father said, puffing up like a toad. “I noticed them when he arrived. They’re perfectly fine boots.”
“Oh, they are!” Malvinia agreed, her head whipping back and forth from one parent to the other, as they both stared down their respective noses at her. “I was recalling when he first bought them. They took some breaking in.”
Caroline’s chest shook with contained laughter. “Forgive us for telling this at your expense,” she said to Walsh, “but it is memorable. He–” A fit of giggles overtook her, and she couldn’t go on.
Malvinia managed to get herself under control.
“What she’s trying to say is that Mr. Duffy’s boots weren’t always this comfortable.
Last month, when he accompanied us to town, he hobbled down the boardwalk like a man three times his age.
” Her glee burst forth in the form of a snort. “But he did it in style!”
Caroline’s parents couldn’t resist the howl of laughter that erupted from her and Malvinia. They began chortling at their poor guest.
Walsh turned as red as the cherry sauce on the remnants of his tart. “I had no idea I’d provided such entertainment.” Thankfully, he commenced laughing with them.
Caroline blotted the tears from her eyes with one hand and patted Walsh’s cuff with the other. “Y– You’re good to let us tease you so, without getting wroth.”
“Yes, you are,” Malvinia agreed. She sat up straight with a startled expression and checked the watch pinned to her bodice. “Oh, dear. Please, excuse me. I promised my mother I would be home by two o’clock, and it’s already a quarter till the hour.”
“Of course,” Caroline’s mother said.
“Thank you for inviting me,” Malvinia blurted as she rose. “I had a lovely time.”
Walsh hastily removed his napkin from his lap. “Do you need help ascending your horse?”
“No. I staked him near the mounting block. Thank you, though. Goodbye.”
The remaining diners sat and stared at each other, their sensibilities still recovering from the social storm that was Malvinia.
Caroline’s mother recovered first. “Would anyone like a second cherry tart?”
Her question was met with shaking heads and hands raised in refusal all around.
“I wish I had room for more,” Walsh replied. “They’re very good.”
Caroline stood and began collecting empty plates.
Her mother waved her off. “Leave them. We can clear them later.”
Before she could retake her seat, Walsh rose. “If your parents won’t be offended, I’d like to go for a stroll in the garden. Will you join me?”
“All right.”
“By all means,” her father said, saluting them with his glass, “go enjoy yourselves. Nettie and I are going to sit a while and bask in this fair weather.”
Caroline set out down the stone path, and Walsh fell in step beside her. “I hope we didn’t offend you with our teasing.”
“You didn’t. I have far thicker skin than that. In truth, that you’d abandon your manners so thoroughly in my presence makes me think you consider me a friend.”
“I do, Mr. Duffy, very much.”
“While we’re offering apologies, let me give you one. I regret that work has kept me from calling on you. I miss your company.”
“That’s kind of you.” She paused to smell a rose. “Would it surprise you to know that, in your absence, I’ve been cheering you on?”
“A little, I suppose. But whatever for?”
“All those billable hours—surely they’re helping you save for your house.”
“They are, but I still prefer time spent with you.”
Caroline wished she felt the same way.
They kept going at a sedate pace, around the beds of fragrant gardenias and under the arched trellis covered in wisteria thick with cascades of lilac-blue blooms.
“Miss Bennet,” Walsh said, turning to face her. “Hearing your father refer to your mother by her given name makes me long to do the same with you. Will you call me Walsh and allow me to call you Caroline—when we’re private, at least?”
Such a simple question, yet it fell on her like a chunk of steel from his mill, and Caroline spent several moments debating how she should reply.
The progression of courting advanced as unrelenting as the tide. The dropping of formal address didn’t equate to betrothal, but each step closer fed the suitor’s hope. “I will,” she finally said. “But only when we’re alone.”
“Of course. Thank you for indulging me.”
The elation in his eyes made her sick in the pit of her stomach. She was leading Walsh down the proverbial primrose path, encouraging endearment when she felt virtually none of her own.
“Do you enjoy croquet?” he asked as they rounded the circular path.
“I do.”
“You must keep this to yourself for now, as the invitations have yet to go out, but Aunt is in the throes of planning a garden party for three Saturdays hence. Will you accompany me, Caroline?”
“Yes, Walsh. I will.”
He smiled and laid a hand on top of hers where it rested on his forearm as they returned to the yard.
“Nelson?” her mother said.
Caroline paused then picked up her pace. Something about her mother’s tone was off.
As she and Walsh neared the tables, her father stiffened, and his face contorted as if he’d been struck. The glass of lemonade slipped from his grasp and shattered on the stones below as he slumped sideways.
“Papa!” Caroline cried and ran to him.
Walsh followed at a sprint and caught him under the arms before he slid from the chair entirely. “Help me lay him down. Watch the glass.”
Caroline took hold of her father’s ankles and helped Walsh position him, while her mother stood frozen, pale hands pressed to her mouth.
Walsh glanced up. “Mrs. Bennet, kindly get damp cloth and a pillow—something for his head.”
Her mother snapped into action, catching up her skirts and running for the house.
Caroline knelt beside her father, whose brow bore a fine sheen of sweat. His breathing shuddered, and his right arm lay limp and lifeless. He was too heavy to extricate from his sack coat in his current state, so she settled for removing his tie and detaching his collar. “Papa, can you hear me?”
His eyes met hers, his right lid sagging as the side of his face began to droop. The side of his lips that wasn’t flaccid moved as if trying to form words, but only a garbled, unintelligible sound came out.
“It’s all right,” Caroline soothed, holding back tears. “Don’t try to speak right now. Just rest.”
Her mother hurried back with the cloth and pillow, and gasped at the sight of her husband. “We need the doctor!” she cried in a tone approaching hysteria. “Send one of the boys—tell them to run to town!”
Caroline shared a pointed look with Walsh. “They’re fishing. Remember? They’re not here.”
Walsh stood and brushed the glass shards from his trousers. “I’ll go.”
“My brothers are at the lake on Mitchell Tooley’s property,” Caroline said as she took the small down-filled bolster from her mother and slid under her father’s head. “Find someone to ride out and tell them they’re needed at home.”
“I will.”
Caroline’s mother sank to her knees beside her husband, toweling the sweat from his face and stroking his hair. The color of his skin had turned from pale to ashen. “Don’t leave me, Nelson.”
Oh, Papa. Caroline swallowed against the rising lump in her throat. Please don’t die.
Walsh crouched down and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Just stay with him and keep talking to him. I’ll fetch the doctor and return as soon as I can.”
Caroline watched her father’s chest, marking the rise and fall of his breath, while her mother clutched his hand as if sheer will could tether him to the life they’d built.
“Nelson, please,” her mother begged in a harsh, broken whisper. “Fight. We’ve sent for the doctor. You must hold on till he arrives.”
The weight of her mother’s sorrow threatened to pull Caroline under too, but she couldn’t let it. Someone had to keep a clear head and organize the many tasks that would need doing.
“Mama,” she said softly but firmly, “we must stay calm, both for Father’s sake and our own.”
The yard surrounding them remained perversely pleasant, so achingly beautiful.
The floral-scented wind stirred the grass, and birds flitted through the trees, their songs bright and carefree, as if the world hadn’t just come crashing down.
It felt wrong—how could the land remain so peaceful when such a hale man lay stricken on the ground?
Minutes passed like hours, dragging so unbearably slow that Caroline expected to see the shadows stretch. She focused on the cadence of her father’s breath, forcing herself to count each one, as if keeping track would keep him from slipping away.
Then, finally—hoofbeats.
She lifted her head as Dr. Hewitt’s carriage barreled up the road, kicking up a cloud of dust. The sense of relief left her boneless, but she fought the temptation to crumple. She couldn’t afford to break, not yet.
The doctor hopped down, black bag in hand. “Mrs. Bennet... Miss Bennet,” he greeted with a quick nod to each. “Mr. Duffy said your husband collapsed. Is that what happened?”
“Yes. Nelson was perfectly fine, sitting here talking with me, and the very next moment, he was stricken. We laid him on the ground and bathed his face with a cloth,” she went on in a tone of frightened desperation, “but it didn’t do any good.”
“You did fine, just fine,” the doctor soothed as he knelt beside them. “I’m here now.”
Her mother frantically glanced around. “Where are my boys?”
“They’ll be here soon. Mr. Duffy rode on to fetch them.”
“Oh, bless him!”
The doctor worked calmly, his hands moving with rote precision, as he checked her father for signs of health and ability. He pulled a stick of polished wood from his bag then placed the flared end against her father’s chest and listened through the other.
A cacophony of hooves sounded in the distance as he put the instrument away, thundering closer and closer until they vibrated the ground.
Her brothers came racing up the drive, their faces tense, and their horses lathered. They swung down and ran to their father.
Caroline gave a brief recount of what had happened, then reached up and took hold of Landon’s hand. “Go stable the horses.” Not only was he the equine expert of the three, he was the most sensitive and the one who would take his father’s infirmity the hardest.
Landon turned a moist gaze on her then walked away and began gathering reins.
Not long after he’d led the last horse away, Walsh arrived in his carriage, worry etched on his face.
The doctor sat back on his heels as Walsh approached. “I need to do a more thorough examination. Bring a sturdy sheet so we can get him inside.”
“I’ll get one,” Knox said.
When he returned, her brothers and Walsh placed the sheet under her father and used it like a hammock, to lift him and carry him to the house. Caroline followed close behind, her heart pounding beneath a deceptively calm exterior.
Since the home had only common rooms on the ground floor, the decision was made to take him upstairs to his bed.
“I can manage from here,” Dr. Hewitt said once they’d removed her father’s shoes and sack coat, and laid him back on the pillows. “I’ll come speak with all of you when I’m done.
Caroline sat in the parlor beside her mother, her hands clasped tight in her lap, while her brothers and Walsh occupied various spots in the room, Landon staring out the window and Simon pacing.
The wait was unbearable, even worse than before.
Her mother rocked slightly, her lips moving in silent prayer.
The stairs creaked, and Dr. Hewitt emerged from the hall. Simon stopped pacing, and everyone gave the doctor their full attention as he took a seat in her father’s leather chair.
“Mr. Bennet has suffered an apoplexy,” he said.
“Will he get better?” her mother asked.
“It’s too early to say how much function he’ll regain.”
Simon pinned him with a determined glare. “Tell us the truth.”
Dr. Hewitt looked around the room, from person to person, his gaze lingering on the women before returning to Simon. “Some patients do improve with time, but your father’s affliction is one of the more serious cases I’ve seen. He will likely be bedridden for the remainder of his life.”
Mrs. Bennet whimpered and tightened her fingers around the handkerchief she clutched, while Caroline’s stomach felt as if it dropped from a cliff.
Simon was brooding, staring at the air in front of him with silent, singular focus. He was only seventeen and suddenly the man of the family.
Her mother exhaled a shaky breath. “Oh, Caroline… What will we do?”
Caroline took hold of her hand. “Father has provided well for us. We’ll manage.”
“I can run the business,” Simon said.
The brave declaration stirred feelings of relief and regret. Their father had been preparing Simon to one day follow in his footsteps. Now he would be forced to shoulder the role.
“You don’t have to do it alone,” Walsh said. “If you need help keeping the books, I can handle that for you. No charge.”
Caroline looked up at him and uttered, “Thank you,” in a raw voice, having never meant the words so much. Then she turned her gaze to the ceiling, toward the bedroom where her father lay.
Her world had shifted again, and it would never be the same.