A Love Woven True Read online

  And now the news in her father’s letter. She stood and began to once again pace the length of the room. It was difficult to believe both her mother and Mammy suffered from illnesses to such a degree as to summon Jasmine to their bedsides. She wanted to believe her father was merely anxious to see Spencer and have the two of them come to The Willows for a lengthy visit. Yet Malcolm Wainwright was not a man to use such methods to draw his family home. He would have been straightforward in his request. A hollow feeling edged into her consciousness, then yielded to fingering tendrils of fear that slowly crept into her thoughts and began to take root.

  ‘‘What if one of them should die before I arrive?’’ she murmured. Her fingers spread wide as she placed an open palm against her chest and dropped onto the brocade divan. Giving voice to her fears now caused her to face the possibility that one or both of the women she loved might be dead before she arrived home. ‘‘Oh, surely not! If I’m not careful, I’ll soon become as histrionic as some of Grandmother Wainwright’s acquaintances,’’ she muttered.

  ‘‘Mama!’’ Spencer screeched from the hallway. The boy pointed a chubby finger in Jasmine’s direction before turning back to hug Nolan’s neck in a tight bear hug.

  Jasmine gazed up at the two of them, warmed by their obvious affection for each other—a devotion that was obvious to even the casual observer. So much so that Velma Buthorne had taken exception to Nolan’s relationship with Spencer upon her first visit to Lowell, as well as on each of her two subsequent visits. It had been during her final visit six months ago that she had given Nolan an ultimatum—choose Spencer or choose her. He had quickly chosen Spencer, deciding that if Velma’s security was threatened by a mere child, she was not a woman with whom he wanted to build a future. And now with the news of this imminent journey to Mississippi, Jasmine was exceedingly thankful she could accept Nolan’s offer of assistance without worry of offending Velma.

  Nolan sat down beside Jasmine and adjusted Spencer’s wriggling body on his lap. ‘‘I shouldn’t have left you alone for so long. You’ve obviously done nothing but fret since I went upstairs. There’s not a drop of color in your cheeks. Shall we go outdoors and get a breath of fresh air?’’

  Nolan’s suggestion elicited an immediate reaction from Spencer, who instantaneously attempted to wiggle off his uncle’s lap. ‘‘Out, out!’’ he cried, pointing toward the doors leading into the garden.

  Spencer’s enthusiasm brought a faint smile to Jasmine’s lips. It was difficult for unhappiness to reign while young Spencer Houston was up and about. The child pulled at her fingers, tugging as though certain his efforts would bring his mother to her feet. ‘‘All right. We’ll go outdoors, but first you’ll need a coat.’’ She grasped his plump hand in her own, and he toddled alongside while they fetched his jacket and cap.

  Nolan remained at her other side, holding on to her elbow. She glanced toward him and said, ‘‘I promise I’m feeling better. You need not fear for my well-being. If you’ll take Spencer’s hand, I’ll gather my cape.’’

  ‘‘I will admit your color has returned, but I don’t want to take any chances,’’ he said, his features a strange fusion of apprehension and cheerfulness.

  ‘‘I’m fine,’’ she insisted, careful to speak in a firm and confident tone.

  The three of them walked into the small flower garden that had recently been given over to Spencer as a play area. Jasmine no longer fretted over the trampled or picked flowers. The perennials would shoot up voluntarily again next year, and she’d be required to choose new annuals next spring anyway. In the end, Spencer would remain a toddler for only a short time, and if his wobbly feet carried him into the roses, mums, or azaleas, so be it. Truth be told, she enjoyed his occasional offering of a partially defrocked rose or daisy.

  ‘‘You appeared deep in thought when I came downstairs,’’ Nolan commented, though his gaze was still fixed upon Spencer as they sat down on one of the benches. ‘‘Were you worrying over your mother’s condition?’’

  She followed his line of vision toward the tiny, robust child, who was examining a newly fallen leaf. ‘‘To be honest, I was thinking about Velma Buthorne—rather, I was feeling somewhat thankful that Velma is no longer a part of your life. I was selfishly grateful.’’ She leaned down and picked a handful of golden mums that bordered the walkway.

  ‘‘Were you?’’ he asked. His tone was almost playful. ‘‘And why is that?’’

  She met his gaze and then quickly looked back across the garden. ‘‘Because Velma would have objected to your offer to accompany us on the trip.’’

  ‘‘Hmm. Only a short time ago, you told me you didn’t want to impose upon me, and now you’re pleased I’m making the journey?’’

  ‘‘I was merely being polite when I said I didn’t want to impose,’’ she said, giving him a sheepish grin. ‘‘There is no doubt that having your assistance will prove invaluable, and I know Spencer will find the journey much more to his liking with you along.’’

  ‘‘It’s my desire that my presence will make the journey more pleasant for both of you. And since we’re discussing the voyage, have you come to any decision regarding when we might sail?’’

  ‘‘I can be ready by week’s end. I hope that will give you sufficient time for your return to Boston to make preparations—if you still intend to accompany us,’’ she hastened to add.

  A sheepish grin tugged at his lips. ‘‘I made my preparations before leaving Boston. I had Paddy take my trunk out to the barn when I arrived.’’

  His words brought back the reality of the situation. Surely Nolan must believe the circumstances ominous if he had already prepared to make the journey. Her thoughts were in a state of unrest—one minute calm and collected, the next fearful and apprehensive—uncertain what to expect when she arrived at The Willows. ‘‘I see. Well, then, I suppose I had best begin packing. With Kiara to assist me, I think everything should be in readiness by the day after tomorrow.’’

  ‘‘Why don’t you go inform Kiara of the news and I’ll remain out here with Spencer? I’m certain he’ll be happier playing outdoors.’’

  ‘‘And likely will sleep better tonight,’’ she replied. ‘‘Thank you.’’

  Nolan reached into his jacket and pulled Malcolm’s letter from the inner breast pocket while he watched Spencer tug at a small purple bloom. The child appeared to be completely engrossed with the blossom, unaware of the activity that swirled about him.

  Nolan held the envelope between his thumb and index finger, his guilt beginning to take root as he stared at the missive. It went against his nature to tell untruths. In fact, all his life he’d prided himself upon his truthful nature.

  ‘‘It was a kindness to withhold the truth,’’ he muttered. Revealing the full contents of her father’s letter would have been nothing less than cruel. After all, Malcolm had written to him instead of Jasmine in order to protect her from the truth—at least until her arrival at The Willows. And Nolan didn’t intend to second-guess Malcolm Wainwright’s decision. He unfolded the missive and reread the carefully scripted second paragraph.

  I fear my wife’s condition hangs in the balance. The doctor has not given me hope that she will live much longer. However, knowing that Madelaine’s life is in God’s hands, I believe the possibility exists she may rally. Therefore, please do not convey the gravity of her mother’s illness to Jasmine. It is useless for Jasmine to spend the entire voyage fretting over her mother’s condition. Try to assure her that although I’ve summoned her home, she should remain calm. Being unduly distraught over Madelaine’s condition will serve no useful purpose.

  Nolan believed Mr. Wainwright’s position was the correct one. However, his confidence waned as he considered how Jasmine might react once confronted with her mother’s condition or possible death. Perhaps his thoughts were selfish, but he didn’t want to be the object of Jasmine’s anger when she discovered he’d withheld information from her. Yet he felt an obligation to honor Malcolm Wainwrigh
t’s request. For now he would say nothing further and continue to pray for Madelaine Wainwright’s recovery.

  Spencer struggled to remain upright as he wobbled across the uneven terrain of the small garden. A winsome smile tugged at his bow-shaped mouth. Reaching Nolan’s side, he extended his chubby hand to offer a large fall mum, now minus its leaves and the majority of its purple petals. ‘‘Well, thank you very much,’’ Nolan said while taking the fading bloom from the child’s hand. ‘‘Why don’t we take your flower into the house and see if we can revive it with a vase of water.’’

  ‘‘Wa-der,’’ Spencer said in a childish attempt to mimic his uncle.

  ‘‘Yes, water. I fear you may be seeing more water than you’d like in the next several weeks. But we won’t worry about that for the time being. For now, we’ll get your flower a drink.’’

  CHAPTER• 2

  JASMINE EXTENDED her gloved hand. ‘‘Thank you for your assistance throughout our voyage, Captain Harmon. I know having us aboard has caused delays in your schedule that will require you and your men to make a return trip in record time. My prayers will be with you for steady winds and clear skies.’’

  The bewhiskered captain appeared embarrassed by her gratitude but quickly recovered. ‘‘It’s been an honor having you sail aboard the Mary Benjamin once again, ma’am. And it appears we’ve made a sailor out of young Spencer too,’’ he said, tousling the boy’s thatch of soft brown curls. ‘‘I hope you find your mother’s health much improved, and I look forward to returning all of you to Boston whenever you’re prepared to depart. I’ve had one of my men take your trunks to be loaded on the River Queen. Once you reach Rodney, the smithy should have a carriage available to take you to the plantation.’’

  Hoisting Spencer into his left arm, Nolan extended his right hand to the captain. ‘‘Thank you, Captain Harmon. I’ll send word once we’ve finalized the plans for our return.’’

  Spencer soon grew restless aboard the River Queen, entirely weary of being restrained. ‘‘Only a little longer,’’ Jasmine promised as the boat finally neared the dock.

  ‘‘We’re going to ride in a carriage for a little while and then we’ll see your grandpa,’’ Nolan added.

  ‘‘Horthie,’’ the boy excitedly yelped.

  Jasmine smiled at Nolan. ‘‘At this point, even a carriage ride sounds appealing to him,’’ she said with a laugh.

  They disembarked the moment the captain gave his permission, Spencer more wobbly than usual when he finally was able to walk about on dry land. He giggled as he tottered around, attempting to remain upright.

  ‘‘He looks like he’s imbibed a bit too much,’’ Nolan said with a hearty laugh. ‘‘I’ll check on the carriage, and by that time they should have our trunks unloaded and we can be on our way.’’

  When the carriage finally arrived at the plantation, Jasmine was exhausted and frightened at what news might greet her. She scanned the front of the mansion, praying there would be no black shrouds draping the expansive front porch or gallery.

  She gazed at Nolan and nodded toward the house. ‘‘Either they’ve elected to await our arrival before shrouding the entries or death has not descended upon the household.’’

  Nolan’s eyes widened. ‘‘You expected your mother to be dead before we arrived?’’

  ‘‘The thought certainly entered my mind. I wondered if perhaps you and Father were attempting to protect me until my arrival. Forgive me for misjudging you.’’

  ‘‘Of course that possibility could exist,’’ he ventured. ‘‘It’s been nearly two months since your father wrote his letter.’’

  She adjusted her bonnet, her brow furrowing ever so slightly.

  ‘‘Then you did anticipate Mother’s death?’’

  Nolan nervously brushed at some unseen spot on his pant leg.

  ‘‘With lingering illness, death is always a possibility, isn’t it? However, I was praying all would be well and that both your mother and Mammy would be much better by the time we arrived.’’

  The carriage came to a halt in the circular driveway fronting the Wainwrights’ balconied Greek Revival mansion. And although Jasmine couldn’t be certain, she thought Nolan emitted a loud sigh of relief as he jumped down from the carriage. She assumed he was pleased to have their discussion come to an end. Before she could say anything further, he held out his arms for Spencer and then assisted her down.

  ‘‘Look who’s arrived!’’ her brother David bellowed as he hurried out the front door and down the steps. Her father and her younger brother, McKinley, followed close behind.

  ‘‘Jasmine! How good it is to see you,’’ her father greeted. He pulled her into an embrace, then turned his attention toward Spencer. ‘‘And how this young man has grown. He looks much like McKinley did as a child, don’t you think?’’

  ‘‘Yes, of course. How is Mother? May I go up and see her?’’

  Malcolm’s smile faded and his mood abruptly turned somber. ‘‘Of course you may see her, but don’t expect much response. She’s not spoken for days now, and although I don’t claim to be a physician, she appears to shift in and out of consciousness,’’ he said, but quickly added, ‘‘but perhaps she’s merely sleeping.’’

  ‘‘Perhaps seeing Spencer would help,’’ Jasmine suggested.

  ‘‘Why don’t we wait until you’ve had some time alone with your mother. We can take Spencer up after he’s had an opportunity to eat and play for a short time.’’

  ‘‘I’ll be happy to attend to him—unless you’d like me to accompany you upstairs,’’ Nolan offered.

  ‘‘Spencer will likely be more content if you remain with him,’’ she said before turning her attention back toward her father. ‘‘And Mammy? How is she faring?’’

  ‘‘She remains the same. I told her you’d be arriving, and she’s anxious to see both you and Spencer. The doctor assures me there’s no possibility of contracting illness from either your mother or Mammy.’’

  ‘‘I’ll visit her once I’ve seen Mother,’’ Jasmine said, quickly moving up the front steps of the house, then stopping and turning toward her brothers. ‘‘There’s plenty of baggage to be unloaded if the two of you would be so kind.’’

  ‘‘Of course,’’ McKinley said. ‘‘You go on now.’’

  ‘‘She’s lived in the North far too long,’’ David muttered. ‘‘I’ll have Solomon fetch the trunks. My sister has apparently forgotten we have slaves.’’

  ‘‘Quite the contrary,’’ Nolan replied. ‘‘I don’t think she forgets for a moment that the South is filled with slaves.’’

  Jasmine stood outside her mother’s bedroom door for a moment to prepare herself. Should her mother be awake and detect any sign of concern, she’d likely become overwrought. Jasmine tapped lightly on the door and then entered the room. The heavy green velvet drapes had been pulled to prevent the infiltration of daylight, and Jasmine hesitated until her eyes adjusted to the darkened room before tiptoeing to her mother’s bedside.

  She leaned close to her mother’s ear and whispered, ‘‘Mother, it’s me, Jasmine. I’ve come to visit with you. Can you open your eyes? Mother?’’

  The only response was the chirping of a bird outside the window. Jasmine pulled her mother’s rocking chair close to the bed and sat down. Grasping her mother’s limp hand in her own, she began quietly telling her of the journey with Nolan and Spencer, of Spencer’s antics on board the ship, and of the news that he was now downstairs in the parlor being entertained by McKinley and David. ‘‘He is quite the little boy. I know you will enjoy him,’’ Jasmine said. ‘‘When you awaken from your nap, I’ll bring him up to see you if you’d like.’’ She fought back the tears that began to form.

  She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting by her mother’s bedside, but when she could think of nothing else to say, she leaned back in the chair, still holding her mother’s hand, and began to sing the lullaby her mother had sung to her when she was a little girl. She closed her eyes and r
epeated the tune over and over again in her sweet, soft soprano voice. A faint tug of her fingers caused Jasmine to startle.

  Although her eyes were barely open, her mother’s lips curved into a feeble smile. ‘‘Jasmine,’’ she whispered, her voice barely audible.

  ‘‘Yes, Mother, it’s me—Jasmine. I’ve come all the way from Lowell just to be with you. And I’ve brought Spencer too.’’

  Her mother stared back at her with dull, lifeless eyes. ‘‘Water.’’

  ‘‘Yes, of course.’’ Jasmine jumped up from the chair and, propping her mother in the crook of her arm, held the engraved goblet to her lips.

  When she sputtered and coughed after only a few sips, Jasmine lowered her mother back onto the pillow. ‘‘Would you like me to wash your face and perhaps brush your hair, Mother?’’

  ‘‘Later. I need to rest,’’ she whispered. Her eyes closed, and the rasp of her shallow breathing began to once again fill the room.

  ‘‘Yes, of course. I’ll come back and see you in a little while,’’ Jasmine said, feeling compelled to announce her departure, yet knowing her mother did not hear.

  She walked from the bedroom and closed the door softly behind her. Spencer’s childish jabbers floated up the staircase, and Jasmine smiled as she peeked over the balustrade at the enchanting scene below. Young Spencer was seated in the center of the parlor floor playing with a set of carved horses that had been McKinley’s favorite toys as a young boy. Nolan and her father, however, appeared to be engaged in a serious conversation.