Chapter 7

April 20, 1867

Elizabeth Carter sat slumped in one of the big damask-covered wing-backed chairs in front of the fireplace in her bedroom. She reminded herself that she had to stop thinking that way. It was their bedroom, and Jonathan would return. He would soon realize his mistake and she was convinced the misunderstanding that had caused their parting would be forgiven, and they would work together to find a solution to the seemingly dire situation created by her family.

The hall clock outside the bedroom chimed four as she sat huddled, wrapped in a shawl, her feet tucked under her for warmth, watching the small fire she had managed to start. Why was she so helpless? She should be able to start a fire in her fireplace without calling for Abby. The fire caught the dry logs at last and sent more light into the darkened room. She had only lighted a small oil lamp near her bed as she worked to get the fire started. The darkness and cold of the room was compounded by the incessant rain that rattled the windows on the other side of the heavy draperies.

Elizabeth had not slept through a night since that terrible Monday when she had discovered the tragedy caused by the duplicity of her mother and brother. Her sleeplessness was caused by her fear for Jonathan, and her incessant worries about her situation. What would happen to her and the household without an income? She shuddered at the thought of being at the mercy of Mark and her mother for her daily needs.

Oh God, why did Jonathan have to leave? If he had stayed she could have explained and together they would have resolved these problems.

When she head returned from the bank, she had taken to her bed and alternating between fitful sleep and bouts of weeping. Despite Abby’s best efforts to cheer her she had sunk deeper into despair. She had refused to see her mother who had made only a single visit. Mark had not attempted to see her.

Finally, on Thursday morning, Abby had come to her room and forced tea and toast on her, which her stomach promptly expelled. With that, Elizabeth was forced to admit she was very likely with child. A time of joy became a time of fear and uncertainty. How could this happen to her?

Abby must have realized her condition before she did, and now was taking measures to make Elizabeth eat, and she refused to leave her to her misery, reminding her that she had to take care of herself for the child. From somewhere inside Elizabeth found the courage to face her predicament. She opened Jonathan’s safe and discovered she was not entirely destitute. He had left enough money that she could maintain the household for perhaps six months, maybe longer, if she eschewed her normal expenses, or what she considered normal, such as new dresses and dining out with friends and attending the theater. She felt little desire to take up her old life. It had precipitated this crisis and she had become a poor wife to Jonathan. She deserved this fate, but their child did not. How could she find him? Had he gone to the West, as did so many others, to escape and to establish a new life among the wilderness and the red Indians? How would she find him then? She shook herself as she gloomily stared at the fire. These thoughts would only lead to darker despair.

Elizabeth glanced at the large wood camel-back trunk which she had James bring from the attic. It was Jonathan’s trunk, and when he returned from the war he had placed his uniforms and other accoutrements in it. To her knowledge he had never visited it since. In the morning light she intended to open it and search for some evidence of his whereabouts. Perhaps there was something there that would aid her search.

She had already written to his parents. She had been honest with them and explained that through her neglect and inattention to Jonathan, and to the affairs of her father’s estate, she had caused Jonathan to think ill of her. She had explained the means by which her mother and brother had caused Jonathan’s dismissal from his position, and she most sorrowfully begged them to entreat Jonathan to write to her if they received any correspondence from him. She hoped he had returned to the family farm in Pennsylvania, but in truth, knew it was unlikely. Elizabeth worried her perceived betrayal had wounded him in such a way that he would not return to his parents’ household. Jonathan was not a prideful man, but she felt it unlikely he would ever be comfortable there arriving under a cloud of failure in his marriage and in business. He would seek a new start. But where? Elizabeth pulled the shawl around her, finding scant warmth and little comfort as she dabbed at her tears thinking about the havoc she had caused.

Yesterday afternoon she had finally had the presence of mind to send a note to Mary Keith. Her counsel had been invaluable while Jonathan was absent during the war. She hoped Mary would overlook the fact she had not maintained contact after Jonathan had returned. They did not travel in the same social circles, although she knew Jonathan kept in contact with his former commander. Former Brigadier General, and now, Alderman Keith was a very influential man in New York City, and it was more than rumored that he had much higher political ambitions. Elizabeth felt ashamed. Mary had befriended her in a time of personal discomfort during the war and it would now appear that Elizabeth was a false friend who only sought her counsel during times of crises.

In desperation, Elizabeth had swallowed her pride and asked for an appointment. She hoped to hear from Mary shortly, perhaps today, and hoped most fervently that Mary’s wise counsel and calm demeanor would again prove the key to solving her predicament.

Dawn and Abby, found a sleeping Elizabeth huddled in her chair, the fire dying and the room cold. Abby brought the breakfast tray and looked at her charge. She was a pitiful sight and looked like a beautiful child suffering from some illness. Abby was much more worried than she let on to her mistress. She had an indefatigable constitution, and she would not let Elizabeth wallow in pity nor remain the wretched creature she appeared to be. Abby understood their economic peril if Mr. Cater did not reappear in short order. They would be at the mercy of Miss Elizabeth’s brother and mother, a situation she knew that would not bode well for any member of the household staff, or for Elizabeth.

Elizabeth’s pregnancy had complicated the situation, but Abby had used the fact of the new life inside her to chivvy Elizabeth into some semblance of action. She thought that searching through Mr. Carter’s trunk was futile, but it would distract Elizabeth from her misery for a few hours perhaps. Unfortunately, it might also lead to discoveries that would fuel her feelings of failure and loss.

Abby gently woke Elizabeth and led her to her bed. She was as cold as the grave but soon a warming pan for the bed and a cup of mint tea had her comfortable and asleep again in the familiar surroundings of her bed. Abby stirred the ashes and added more wood and soon had a bright fire warming the room. Abby sat in the chair recently vacated by her mistress and sipped the remaining tea. The situation was not yet dire. Thank the Lord, Mr. Carter had not left them destitute, but the household expenses would have to be reduced.

Just last evening, she and the cook, Mrs. Adams had sat at the big oak kitchen table and discussed the crisis. They agreed that they would do everything in their power to help husband the remaining gold and silver coins. They would work together and present an austere budget to Mrs. Carter. Fortunately, the household staff had been kept small at the insistence of Mr. Carter. Miss Elizabeth had not been happy about that, but now it would save them for at least a few months.

“I expect I’ll see a lot more of the fish monger than the butcher.” Mrs. Adams sighed.

“Yes, that will help, and of course without Mr. Carter, we shan’t worry about entertaining.”

They sat in silence for a few moments reflecting on the misfortune that had overtaken the household. Abby would never leave Elizabeth, but Cook, a widow with a son to care for, would be forced to look for a position elsewhere if they did not turn to the young Mr. Ross for assistance. Both were now well aware of the cause of Mr. Carter’s leaving and were loath to be at the mercy of that rascal and his cronies. They were agreed that nothing good would come from Mark Ross being in charge of Ross Bank.

Abby shook herself awake, feeling cramped from dozing in the chair. She was embarrassed to see it was half past nine, but relieved that Miss Elizabeth was still asleep. She tiptoed to the bed and looked at her. She was very pale, the contrast even greater with her dark hair on the pillow framing her sweet face. At least she seemed to be sleeping without the troubles that usually plagued her in the night. Abby stoked the fire and kept the window curtains tightly drawn, trying to keep the cold at bay. The dampness of this most inclement spring seemed to permeate the household along with the personal tragedy that was unfolding within. She wanted nothing to disturb her mistress. Elizabeth would need her sleep and her strength to lead the household and care for the growing child within her. Abby took the breakfast tray and slipped from the room. She would have Cook prepare a hearty broth, and then after Elizabeth had finished every spoonful and not before, she would be free to examine the contents of Mr. Carter’s trunk. Abby wondered if she would be permitted to help. She had a great curiosity about its contents.

Elizabeth woke to a delicious smell, and for a change, her appetite seemed to have revived. She felt refreshed, and somewhat amazed that she had slept uninterrupted until well past noon. Abby insisted she take her luncheon while still in bed, and she offered no resistance, eager to taste the source of the wonderful aroma.

“Miss Elizabeth, I’ve had Cook prepare some soup.”

Elizabeth smiled at her, noticing her inability to hide her concern. She felt blessed that she had this fine woman to look after her.

“Abby?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Thank you.”

Abby didn’t have to ask why her mistress was thanking her, she was proud to be a member of this household. Now if Mr. Cater would only hurry home to take his rightful place.

Refreshed from the filling meal, the fire newly stoked and the curtains pulled back to allow the feeble light from the rain-swept sky, Elizabeth knelt before the large wooden trunk. She was alone, having sent Abby from the room. She knew Abby was disappointed she couldn’t view the contents of Jonathan’s trunk too, but the inventory of the contents was a private matter. Fortunately, Jonathan had not kept it locked, and with trembling hands, Elizabeth lifted the heavy lid.

As she moved the lid back on its hinges, the aroma of cedar mixed with the smell of cigar smoke and wool wafted from the interior. Jonathan was a fastidious man, and she was startled at the disarray inside. Her curiosity turned to dismay as she realized that the jumble of clothing and other items was certainly caused by haste. She pulled Jonathan’s dress uniform from the top of the pile. It was wrinkled and showed signs that it had been hastily returned to the trunk. She laid it out on their bed, caressing the blue wool, smoothing the creases caused by being thrust carelessly back into the trunk. Her mind was flooded with the memory of the last time he had worn this uniform, with its gold buttons, sash, and the bullion thread on its epaulets. He had gone to war a captain and returned a colonel. She had been extremely proud of him and wanted his achievement memorialized, and had insisted they sit for a photographic portrait at Mr. Brady’s studio not long after Jonathans return. Elizabeth blushed at the memory of their love-making that very morning and how the joy of their passionate and loving coupling had been captured in the photograph on that day.

Her happy memory turned to sorrow as she gazed at the photograph she had retrieved from Jonathan’s desk. It was now on her bedside table. She brushed a tear, reminded how he must have felt when he left his office for the final time that Friday evening. Had he looked upon their smiling images, despising her for her deceitfulness? She turned away from photograph and the uniform, and returned to the trunk.

On top of some well-worn shirts lay his swords. The ornate dress sword he wore in the photograph gleamed in its almost pristine state. It seemed made to augment some costume in an operetta. By contrast, his cavalry sword, which he called a ‘saber, ‘ was an unrefined length of curved metal. She lifted it from the trunk surprised by its weight. It was a heavy piece, its brutal purpose undisguised by its scared and dented metal scabbard. She did not draw it from its case, for it frightened her, bringing forth thoughts of the battles he had fought, which marred the image of the gentle man she married. It was a brutal instrument of death that had been wielded by the strong arms of her husband – the strong arms that caused her to feel so secure and loved as they surrounded her. She shuddered as she placed it on the carpet.

Elizabeth removed the white shirts from the trunk. They seemed no more than dingy rags now. Why had he kept them? Perhaps he could not part with these items that had been with him during such difficult times.

Under them, she discovered a beautifully polished dark wooden box. As she lifted it from the trunk, she saw the inscription on the brass plaque on its cover.

To Captain Jonathan Carter for the reunification of our Nation. Godspeed. April 1863

Elizabeth had never seen this box before, but obviously it had been presented to Jonathan shortly before he left. She opened it and saw the case had compartments for two pistols. They were gone. Elizabeth was distressed to think of Jonathan going to such a place that he would be in need of these weapons.

Also in the box was a small white envelope addressed to Jonathan. It was in her father’s handwriting. She extracted the card.

April, 8, 1863.

Jonathan, a gift, which along with our prayers, I hope will keep you safe. Your friend, Abner Ross.”

She realized the reason she had not seen this box, or had knowledge of it was because that was a dark time for her and their marriage. She was still feeling the effects of the loss of their child, and she seemed to indulge herself by making everyone around her, including Jonathan, as miserable as she was. She was a terrible wife and her feelings of loss were only compounded by Jonathan’s imminent departure for the war. At the time she could see no reason for him to leave her and his position at the bank to go to a war that had little day-to-day meaning in their lives. She felt betrayed as he talked about his duty and the preservation of the Union. His words had no meaning for her, and she very much resented the time he spent away as the regiment readied itself. Even the regimental ball, where she had been introduced to Mary Keith had done nothing, except to briefly alleviate her anxiety and sadness. At the end she closed herself off from him, even refusing to go to the railroad station to see him off.

Elizabeth felt shame as her tears fell on the silk lining of the box. She replaced the note and set it aside, feeling a wave of sadness.

Next, was a battered short uniform jacket, often patched and threadbare in places. It had faded almost to gray. She recalled the last time she saw it – it was the day Jonathan had returned from the war in 1865. He had sent word by telegraph with his arrival time. It was a terse message which simply said, ‘Arriving by train 2:13 pm, May 20th. Jonathan.’

Elizabeth remembered the day she received his telegram very clearly. She was breakfasting alone as was her habit in the dining room, enjoying the view of the sunny back garden. The day promised warmth after a dismal spring, and the roses had finally showed their first flowers. Abby brought her the telegram and set it on the white tablecloth next to her plate. She wore a look of fear and uncertainty. They had not heard from Jonathan in some weeks and Elizabeth tore at the envelope with trembling hands. She wept with joy and relief when she finally understood Jonathan was finally coming home and would arrive in less than a week’s time. As she sat at her table staring at the words on the telegram, reading them again and again, she tried to ignore the lack of any words of affection.

On the day Jonathan returned Elizabeth accepted Mary Keith’s invitation to join her in her large coach to travel to the station. She frantically searched for Jonathan on the long railroad platform thronged with people – people carrying flags, people laughing and crying, and raised voices in greeting when they caught sight of a loved-one. There was the sound of a band somewhere in the background as the regiment disembarked. Hundreds of men in faded blue uniforms disembarked. Some were bandaged and shuffling through the crowd, others perhaps stunned by the noise and chaos, seemed to have turned to stone as they considered the crowd. But by far, the overriding emotion was one of joy – joy at arrival of these men - back to the families who had waited so long. Propriety was thrown to the winds as men and women openly, and often passionately, embraced, their faces aglow, clinging to each other with relief and happiness, children shyly clinging to dresses.

Standing on a temporarily unused baggage cart she finally spotted Jonathan. Tall, wearing his black uniform hat and a faded cloak over his uniform jacket, he was making his way toward her carrying a cloth satchel. As he approached, having not seen her yet, she studied him, and was dismayed at his appearance. He was gaunt and she winced as she observed the terrible red scar which ran down the side of his face, she saw that he limped as he walked. Worse, was the look of resigned indifference that he wore like a mask, his eyes those of a man saddened and hardened by years of turmoil and grief.

Undeterred, she pushed her way through the happy mob. As their eyes met he stopped and removed his hat and smiled an uncertain smile. Elizabeth unabashedly flung herself into him, grasping him around the waist and sobbing into his chest, tears leaving streaks along the front of the jacket she now held. When she felt his arms slowly grasp her waist she finally lifted her face to him. She would never forget the look that crossed his weathered and scared face – a look of relief and wonderment, and then his eyes seemed to find life again. Gazing on her, he smiled and bent to kiss her as she sighed, her body going limp with relief and joy.

Elizabeth pulled the faded jacket to her chest, grasping it tightly and again her tears streaked the coarse and oft-patched wool.