Too Soon for Flowers Read online

  “Then I will go.” Mr. Pelham gave a brief bow to them all. “Though I had hoped, Dr. Tucker, that I might beg a word or two, perhaps later this evening? Do you suppose you could come up and share a glass with me, after you dine?”

  Coming out of a reverie, Benjamin Tucker hastened to reply. “I would be greatly honored, sir.”

  Charlotte sensed this politeness to be a stretching of the truth, for the doctor’s voice seemed curiously unsteady. But what reason might he have to be unsettled by this fellow Bostonian, who appeared to be eager only to please?

  David Pelham again allowed his eyes to rest on Diana Longfellow. Then he turned, and withdrew.

  More might have been said about the provocative Mr. Pelham, if Jonathan Pratt had not bustled the diners upstairs. In the course of enjoying several extremely adequate dishes, and talking of themselves (while avoiding the subject of the morrow’s business), no one questioned the doctor about his handsome friend. And Dr. Tucker made no further explanation of his own.

  WITH DINNER CONCLUDED, Richard Longfellow walked with both ladies through air that had again the bite of New England spring, across the road to his home; there, Diana was settled in for one evening. Then he escorted Mrs. Willett back to her own fireside.

  Meanwhile, Dr. Benjamin Tucker climbed the broad stairs that led to several sleeping chambers situated along an upper corridor of the Bracebridge Inn. He stopped at the third door along the left passage. Hat in hand, he paused and observed the highly polished floorboards for half a minute. He then rapped softly. Hearing a voice call from inside, the doctor slowly turned the knob, and entered.

  “Ah, Ben!” said David Pelham, who sat coatless in a cushioned chair. He genially indicated another drawn close to the fire. The doctor saw that its glow made Pelham’s features seem more finely chiseled, his several pocks more noticeable. “I am glad you could spare me some of your evening,” Pelham continued. “You have dined well?”

  Dr. Tucker hiccuped in reply.

  “Then it would be de trop to offer you more. Too much wine,” Pelham said carefully, “can play the devil with a man’s constitution … and his skills … as I’m sure you’ll agree. Coffee, then? No? You’re probably right. With such marvelous country air I believe we all must look forward to our sleep. I may stay here for some time, if only for the quiet country evenings—” He broke off to enjoy a yawn.

  Against his will, Dr. Tucker followed suit. “Bracebridge does seem a healthful place,” the physician admitted. “Certainly more so than Boston, at the moment. And I will enjoy … the change from my regular duties.”

  “I suspect your stay here in Bracebridge might have benefits beyond improving your own health, and that of your lovely charge. I can even imagine that your patient, Doctor, will prove quite a plum to you—as well as being a peach to look at! Though it’s surely uncouth of me to compare a young lady to any fruit, even out of her hearing,” he added, his grin growing into an infectious smile. “For that, sir, I beg your forgiveness. But you see, Diana Longfellow is someone … someone I have admired for a long while, though necessarily from a distance. Once, of course, she was far beyond my hopes, as I had very little to offer such a lady. Now, though, there may be a chance. And a woman does become ripe for marriage, does she not? Oh—I beg your pardon, once more. I am afraid seeing her again has made me almost giddy! I will be truthful in more than this. You see, Doctor, I became aware of your plan to inoculate and watch over Miss Longfellow several days ago. That is why I was hardly surprised to see you, though you obviously were amazed to see me!”

  “But, how—?” Dr. Tucker attempted.

  “I realize that our paths haven’t crossed lately. Of course, there was my wedding voyage to the Continent, for Alicia’s health, and our brief return; you may have heard I renewed my travels after her tragic death, trying to forget what I could. But I have returned this last time in a far happier frame of mind.”

  “Indeed?” Dr. Tucker responded wearily. He was distracted by a small shiver that passed through his midsection, and wondered if he sickened of a late bout of the spring ague. He would need, he thought, to watch his bowels.

  “As most of Boston knows, I have gone from having only a little to having quite a lot, lately. Now I warm to the idea of capturing a loving heart, to share my good fortune! It does seem this particular young lady is reluctant to be caught—yet for me, her spirit is one of the most exciting of her many charms. Glorious, ethereal Diana! Perhaps not quite a goddess,” he smiled, “but I think it no wonder Miss Longfellow is surrounded by admirers … rather like frogs, leaping about a perfect swan!”

  Again, Pelham’s aspect became clouded, as he seemed to reflect. “You know, a man without wealth is often encouraged to marry for money. But when he has done so, a lady may look askance at his new designs—perhaps with good reason. This has been my excuse for keeping my hopes quiet for some time … until I could find a way to prove my worth to Miss Longfellow.”

  “I still fail to understand what you could want with me,” said the doctor finally.

  “As my own life has improved, Ben, I’ve learned yours has become barely tolerable, after certain ill-founded rumors began to fly about the town. I was saddened to discover your decline, but it soon occurred to me that I may now be in a position to do you a good turn. Is it really three years since we first met, in Boston? It seems such a very long time ago.”

  Dr. Tucker gave another hiccup, then lowered his eyes to consider his roiled thoughts.

  “I would like to reclaim our friendship, Doctor … in spite of our current difference in social standing. Some, of course, think that sort of thing is of little import, while others … Miss Longfellow, for instance … yet I do feel I owe you something. If I had not presented you to certain men of affairs, and had you not invested in that land company—Though you never know—Young George and the Board of Trade may soon change their collective mind and revoke the King’s new Proclamation, if they can be said to have a mind, other than that fool Townshend! Some day, they will be forced to reopen the West to settlement, for I hear a great many are going around the mountains to settle there, anyway. But I fear from your expression that none of this is helping you to digest your dinner.”

  “It doesn’t seem to be helping me in any way at all,” Tucker replied, repressing a sigh. He looked down at Pelham’s bright silver buckles studded with ruby-tipped Scottish thistles, and then to his own of plain, tarnished brass.

  “It is because I was once in your shoes,” David Pelham said kindly, looking down as well, “after the severe reverses suffered by my own family, that I know how those shoes can pinch and pain. If one is not careful, you know, they may warp the foot forever. Poverty is no pretty thing! Yet I have also learned that even among the wealthy, life has its difficulties. So, perhaps we should forgive one another for trespasses we have suffered—even sins that may have been committed—and move on. Life is sad for all, and much too soon, there will be an end to it. Let us see if we can counter your fall from grace, Doctor, and you might throw a good turn for me into the bargain; in the end, this may make many of us far happier! For my part, I will do what I can to recommend you to Boston, and help you to expand your practice. We must keep in closer touch, sir, you and I. Who knows, you might even find in me a patient, once again,” David Pelham finished, his lips twisting wryly at this affront to Fate.

  Tucker pulled a linen handkerchief from his inner pocket, then wiped his brow, which was beginning to perspire freely.

  “Although you will be glad to know that the old trouble you treated has not recurred. A fine job—yes, indeed, I will recommend you personally to my friends—and you must use your influence to bring me to Miss Longfellow’s side. There it is. As her physician, if you would encourage beneficial visits while she is in quarantine, I will attempt to amuse Miss Longfellow with my own recent experiences, and try to win her with a display of my character, such as it is. At the same time, I will be able to keep an eye on you.”

  The last wa
s flung out with a sudden hint of warning. Dr. Tucker shifted, under a pair of eyes that seemed suddenly to pierce his own. “You will be most careful, will you not, Doctor? This affair will require none of your metallic preparations, I presume?”

  “Such things will not be necessary, I am sure. However … what if Miss Longfellow should object?” Tucker queried uneasily.

  “Object? Oh, I see! I assure you there are no conditions to my offer, nor will you suffer if my cause should fail. I will still endeavor to assist you.”

  “And the old story—?”

  “What you told me that evening in the Bunch of Grapes, three years ago? It was a confidence between gentlemen in their cups, was it not? Unhappily, I know the loss of an infant is to be expected in marriage—or even out of it. Though in Virginia some suspect your chemical concoctions, I, personally, am in no position to malign them. As for the more recent Boston affair, with the other young woman—”

  Again their eyes locked, until Tucker tore his own away.

  “We both know a physician depends on the confidence of society,” the doctor retorted, “but I have found such confidence difficult to maintain—especially when I am made the victim of lies I myself only hear the half of, told behind my back—told, I presume, by those who would have me gone … rumors spread even by those of my own profession, I suppose, as in Virginia! And because I am free to say little to the world regarding my patients, as you well realize, it is difficult to defend myself—or even to maintain my honor! And then, and then, when I am cast aside by one such as yourself, the appearance must go against me—”

  “But what else could I have done, with Alicia begging me to consult with her own physician? Women will listen to gossip, even though it is unfounded, and must have their favorites. Could I argue with a loving young wife—especially one already so ill? Someone I knew to be dying? Would your honor be so fed, sir?”

  Again, pain veiled David Pelham’s eyes, but he soon became its master. “I will do what I can to help you, and I hope you will allow me to visit Miss Longfellow, so that I might earn her respect, and affection. But I see that you are fatigued by your day. And I know you have a great deal to do tomorrow, so I bid you good night.”

  Dr. Tucker rose to his feet, swaying slightly.

  “You are too kind, sir,” he replied, though he now seemed to hear a keening note in his own voice, which he found disturbing. But David Pelham was oblivious, for he had already settled back in an effort to collect himself.

  His eyes were still closed when Benjamin Tucker softly shut the door.

  THROUGH A NARROW window beside the inn’s main entrance, Jonathan Pratt watched Benjamin Tucker move down the stone walk into the lilac and green of the crisp evening. The landlord prayed it wasn’t something his guest had eaten that had lowered his spirits so noticeably. Then he shrugged, imagining that contemplation of the coming day’s duties had most certainly snatched the joy from the fellow’s manner. A moment later, Lydia Pratt rustled out of a dark corner, and Jonathan soon found that his wife, too, had Dr. Tucker on her mind.

  “You do know the Reverend Rowe is extremely concerned about that man’s presence in Bracebridge,” she began with obvious displeasure. “He’s upset the entire village, coming here bearing the seeds of pestilence! The whole idea of inoculation goes against the will of God! That is what Reverend Rowe says.”

  Jonathan nodded gravely. It filled him with wonder to think that he had once been drawn by something in this perpetually affronted woman. What could it have been? How easily he had forgiven the previous autumn’s dalliance with a guest, which was suspected by all of Bracebridge, for it had brought him little discomfort—far less, in fact, than her new alliance with Reverend Rowe, who practiced seduction in his own strange way. Lydia now let the clergyman direct her suspicions, as well as her impressive font of malice, in support of his search for evil among his flock. The reverend had other helpers, of course, but Lydia had become one of his most devoted disciples.

  Yet the truth was, he needed someone other than servants to help run the inn that bustled around him. That, too, was something at which Lydia excelled. It was a dilemma with which Jonathan Pratt had learned to live, by sometimes resorting to subterfuge, and always cultivating a deaf ear.

  “You treat this Tucker as if you enjoy having him suck up our wine and hospitality, while he threatens to kill us one and all,” his spouse went on, fixing her husband with a glare.

  “But, Lydia, I couldn’t turn him away, after he was invited here by one of our selectmen. He seems presentable enough … and besides, I have hopes that he may improve while he’s here.”

  “Indeed?” Lydia arched her long, dark eyebrow.

  “If only you will lead him, my dear, by your many kindnesses and your good example, along a better path. I believe the reverend would tell you this is one of a woman’s many duties. Though of course she is also to follow, and obey her husband in all things.”

  Lydia did not answer. But the look of boundless annoyance that flitted across her thin face was enough to make Jonathan Pratt smile as he returned his own gaze to the gathering dusk.

  Chapter 3

  Tuesday

  THERE WAS SOMETHING glorious, the Reverend Christian Rowe decided as he stood at the edge of the placid millpond, in the dawn breaking on the dark trees above him, over the straight saplings as on the mossy limbs of their elders, twisted with age. For all were gilded, as they were touched by the virgin day. It reminded him, somehow, of the biblical patriarchs. King Solomon, sick with longing, had sung of young love in the morning.

  “Until the day break …”

  A passionate man, certainly. His father, King David, had also satisfied a remarkable lust, taking the woman Bathsheba after glimpsing her washing, then seeing to it that her husband was slain. As the father, so grows the son. His own father, thought the preacher, had found ways to satisfy himself with forbidden fruit, although possessed of a meek and submissive wife.

  Reverend Rowe took a deep breath of moist, fragrant air. Then he clasped his hands tightly together behind his dark coat as he scanned the pond’s rim. What else did the Song say? “Who is she that looketh forth as the morning, fair as the moon, clear as the sun, and terrible as an army with banners?” Whoever she was, she was only one of many, for in Solomon’s house it was also said, “there are threescore queens, and fourscore concubines, and virgins without number” It must have been a most lively establishment, Rowe thought with rising emotion.

  The trouble with women was, they all had a terrible facility for falling into sin. You could not entirely blame them, of course. It was a natural condition, put into them by the Lord, well explained in His Scripture. It was up to Man to transport them through life, and for most men, one woman was enough of a burden to carry. But … might it not also be God’s wish that leaders of men, ones with marked strength of will, should take more than one woman, as had the patriarchs? The Lord only knew what might happen if all of one’s flock were to try the same thing—but a leader and a scholar might do well to emulate the wise men of old, by allowing himself an occasional, rejuvenating foray.

  The reverend looked down, observing the sun’s blinding light on the surface of the still, dark pond. Once again, he wondered at his turn of mind this morning; again, he attributed it to a single cause. Phoebe Morris—a fragrant, pristine lily—was to be contaminated this very day.

  Last week he had spoken at some length to Phoebe, and to her young man, William Sloan. He had counseled them not only as a pre-nuptial service to the boy’s family, but as a testing of the girl, for she might one day apply for membership in his church. The minister knew little of this child of Concord, but he intended to find out a great deal more. He suspected she had certain tendencies. She surely held power over men, whether she knew it or not. And that was not good.

  The reverend had explained to the two young people that they would soon be joined in spirit and in body, in an honorable estate. And they would multiply. Taking the boy aside, he h
ad asked if Will knew of the need for a man to satisfy a woman, to ensure that conception would take place. Then, seeing the boy seemed to grasp this duty, the reverend had also warned him….

  The mill’s wooden wheel rolled softly above the gently flowing water, ready to turn the stone within whenever the miller should desire to engage it. Another bit of verse, this time from Isaiah, crept into Christian Rowe’s mind to further confound him.

  O virgin daughter of Babylon … take the millstones, and grind meal: uncover thy locks, make bare the leg uncover the thigh, pass over the rivers … thy nakedness shall be uncovered, yea, thy shame shall be seen: I will take vengeance….

  Rowe shivered, and quickly blamed the damp air. Had not Phoebe Morris passed over the Musketaquid, a bit of which eddied quietly here before him, on her way from Concord? Yet why had she come? Will Sloan was more mule than boy. But at least he had a temper, which he would need for keeping this young wife to himself, once she truly discovered her passion. Phoebe, like others nearby, was too alluring for her own safety. Rather like Mrs. Willett, up the hill. Was this one stubborn as well? Or would she listen to reason … to talk of duty … to cajoling? He would see.

  But today, Miss Morris would submit to a thing shockingly like a pagan ceremony—along with the far less tractable Miss Longfellow. Despite his curiosity, Reverend Rowe vowed again to keep away, for he knew the thing to be wrong. He did envy the misguided physician from Boston, though. Such interesting feelings it must give one to lay the pustulant thread, after cutting into a slender arm. Occasionally, it might be advisable, after all, for youth to engage in something unclean, if they could then be saved from greater peril. But it could hardly be so with the smallpox! No, interfering directly with the Lord’s will was deadly folly.

  The sun was swiftly becoming hotter, and Reverend Rowe wished to remove his coat to cool himself. But first he intended to make his way back to his stone parsonage where he would find other duties to think about, thus allowing his over-exercised passions to sink back into the cooler depths of Reason. At least, that was his hope, as he walked quickly from the ever brightening pond.