Chapter Twenty
Henry Crawford left Shullsburg, but true to his word, he attempted to prove his constancy and his love by sending a different gift to her, and thus the Prices, every day thereafter.
Indeed, there were so many delivery people creaking up the stairs the following week that Sam likened the dingy apartment to Grand Central Station, not that he had ever actually been there.
“And not that I mind!” he had declared gleefully, after a ham, a beef loin, a two-pound box of chocolates, a basket of flaky pastries, two bottles of cider, and another huge bouquet of flowers had been delivered. The last had just arrived this morning and was addressed only to Kate, with a note:
Dearest Kate,
It has been my utter joy and delight to shower you with gifts this past week, and I hope these small efforts prove the constancy I am capable of and the devotion I feel toward you. Would that I might have this privilege for eternity.
It was my intent to attend you tomorrow, but, alas, I have just now been called back to Chicago on some rather pressing business. I will return as soon as I am able, but I live in hope that I might write to you and that you might this time deem my letters at least worth opening.
Yours eternally,
Henry Crawford
Kate tossed the note onto the table and examined the bouquet.
This one consisted of the palest blue irises she had ever seen.
They were beautiful. After staring at them for several moments, she allowed herself to sniff them, but, alas, they had no perfume.
All show and no substance, Kate thought bitterly. How appropriate.
“He’s sure sweet on you, ain’t he?” Ann asked from where she was mashing potatoes over the oven. “You gonna go for him? Susie, find her a jar for those.”
Susie began searching the cabinets while Kate momentarily studied the ceiling. “I don’t know, Ann. He’s . . . he’s not . . . well, I’m not in love with him, if you know what I mean,” she revealed.
Surprisingly, Ann did not have her usual quick retort.
“There ain’t no shame in marryin’ for money, Marie,” she said into the potatoes.
“I married for love and look where it’s got me.
” She glanced sideways at her. “You could do a mite worse than this Henry Crawford. Not like he’s a stranger.
A friend of your friends. They can vouch for him, can’t they? ”
“Found one, Ma!” Susie declared. “Had to dump out the buttons, but I—”
“There’s someone comin’!” Jenny interrupted from where she sat by the front window, Barbara on her lap.
In the rare times when she wasn’t working, Jenny could usually be found by the front window, staring, like a caged bird peering out at the world.
What Kate could never ascertain was whether she was happy as such, or if she, like Kate, perpetually longed to fly away.
For a moment, Kate feared the visitor might be Henry. It was something he would do—write her a note saying he was going away and then show up as a surprise.
“Good Lord!” Ann exclaimed delightedly. “Another delivery? Wonder what it’ll it be next?”
“It’s not a delivery, I don’t think,” Jenny said. “He doesn’t have anything in his hands.”
Footsteps sounded on the rickety stairs now.
“Is it Mr. Crawford?” Ann asked.
Jenny shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
Still holding the bouquet of irises, Kate flung open the door, ready to chastise Henry for his prank, only to come face-to-face with Edmund Bertram.
“Flowers?” he said sheepishly. “For me?”
Kate stared at him disbelievingly for a moment or two and then threw her arms around his neck, crushing the flowers in the process. “Edmund!” she cried. “Come in! What are you doing here?”
Edmund removed his hat and stepped tentatively into the apartment. He looked around cautiously, his eyes meeting Ann’s.
“Edmund, this is my sister Ann,” Kate said quickly. “And this is Susie and Jenny,” she said, pointing to each of them. “This is my friend, Edmund.”
“Yes, we can see,” Ann commented with a wry smile. “Another one.”
Kate handed the crushed flowers to Susie, who placed them in the jar of water without bothering to pick out the broken stems. She was much more interested in what was unfolding before her.
“Won’t you sit down?” Kate asked, gesturing toward the front room. She could barely think what to ask first.
“I’m afraid I haven’t time. I . . . I’ve come to take you home, in fact. If you’ll come, that is.”
Kate stopped and looked at him, confused.
“Your mom is very ill, Kate, and your dad sent me to get you,” he said in a low voice. “Please come. It’s rather serious.”
Kate’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean she’s ill?” Fear filled her.
“They’re not sure, but the doctor suspects diphtheria.”
“Good Lord!” Ann declared. “You best go, Marie.”
Kate looked desperately around the apartment, trying to think. “Yes . . . yes, of course I’ll come. I’m sorry, Ann. Let me just get my things,” she mumbled, moving toward the corner where she had stored the old carpetbag.
“Are you comin’ back?”
It was Jenny. She had crept up, Barbara on her hip.
Kate was surprised to see tears in Jenny’s eyes.
Kate’s throat suddenly ached. In truth, she had no qualms about leaving the Prices.
But she did feel bad about having to leave Jenny, to whom she had grown oddly attached.
“I hope so,” she said softly, putting a hand on the side of the girl’s head.
“But I guess I can’t live here forever, can I? Taking up your sofa?”
“I don’t mind.” Jenny’s voice quivered. And then, despite the fact that she was still holding Barbara, the little girl threw an arm around Kate’s waist. “Don’t go!” she mumbled into Kate’s dress.
Kate kissed the top of her head and then squatted down. “I’ll come back,” she said softly. “I promise.” She brushed a finger along Barbara’s downy cheek.
“I wasn’t the evil stepsister, was I?” Jenny whispered, staring at Kate with big, desperate eyes.
“Oh, Jenny,” Kate said, embracing the two of them again. “Of course you weren’t. None of you were. I’ll come back. I promise.”
Jenny didn’t say anything, but she maintained her grip.
“Kate,” Edmund urged quietly.
Kate rose. “I have to go now. But here—” She rummaged in her carpetbag and pulled out a worn, leather-bound sketchbook. “Here, you take this.”
Jenny set Barbara on the floor, who immediately plopped a finger in her mouth.
“What is it?” the girl asked, turning the book over, her sadness momentarily quelled.
“It’s my sketchbook. You take it and fill it with your own drawings or maybe stories. Then when I come back, you can show me. Okay?”
Jenny smiled her tiny smile and then threw her arms around Kate again. Kate gave her a final kiss on the head. Jenny released her then and furiously rubbed her eyes with the back of one hand.
Kate picked up her bag and hurried to the front door where Edmund was still waiting. She paused to give Susie a quick hug and Ann a longer one.
“Thanks for everything, Ann. I’ll come back. Tell Sam and the boys I said goodbye.”
“I will. They’ll be sad to see you gone.”
“Well, we both know Sam won’t.” Kate smiled. “But maybe the boys will.”
“Oh, don’t you mind Sam. His bark is worse than his bite.” Her eyes looked sad, too. “You will come back, won’t you, Marie? At least to visit, like?”
“Yes, I will. I promise.”
***
Edmund had left his old Studebaker running.
He helped her up into the truck, tossing her carpetbag in the back, and then swung himself into the driver’s seat.
As he thrust the old truck into gear and pulled away, Kate gave one last look out the back window at the ramshackle Gordon’s Tap.
She had thought that maybe Jenny or Susie or even Ann might follow her down the stairwell, but there was no one.
Neither she nor Edmund spoke until he had turned onto the main street.
“I’m sorry we had to meet like this,” Edmund said, shifting into a higher gear. “I would have rung you if they, the Prices, I mean . . . if they had a telephone.”
“Is she bad?”
“Yes,” Edmund said, chancing a glance at her. “I . . . I don’t know if she’s going to make it, Kate. I’m sorry.”
Tears sprang to Kate’s eyes. “How long has she been sick?”
Edmund cleared his throat. “A couple of weeks.”
A couple of weeks? Why hadn’t Henry mentioned it? “Oh, Edmund! This is all my fault!”
“Your fault?”
“I should never have gone away. I’ve been so stupid and selfish!”
“You? You’re the least selfish person I know.” He gave her a sad smile. “This isn’t your fault at all. You know she’s never been the same since Eula and Fern.” He broke off. “She’s not strong.”
Blearily, Kate looked out the side window. “What about Louisa and Nettie? Aren’t they there?”
“Louisa’s been at your Aunt Bea’s in Milwaukee to get some things for the wedding, and Doc Hodges advised that she not come back for fear of her getting it, too.”
“And Nettie?”
Edmund let out a little sigh. “Nettie’s there, but she stays in her room mostly, terrified of catching the fever herself.”
“So, they sent for me,” Kate mumbled bitterly. “The expendable one.”
“That’s not true,” Edmund insisted. “Your mom’s been asking for you. Calling for you. ‘Specially during the nights, apparently.”
Kate buried her face in her hands, unable to hold back her tears.
“Hey, there, Possum,” Edmund said soothingly and rubbed her back with one hand, his eyes darting between her and the road.
At the touch of his hand, a wave of comfort radiated through her, which, oddly, made her sob harder.
“Kate, hey. It’s going to be okay. Whatever happens, it’ll be okay.”
With a supreme effort, Kate stopped her tears and sat up, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “How’s Dad?”
“Worried sick.” Edmund reached into his pocket and handed her a handkerchief. She wiped her eyes and then blew her nose. “What about you?” he finally asked. “How are you? You must be happy to have found your family.”