She went as directed and seated herself. “Now tell me, Mr. Pendergast. Why did you walk all the way to my front door?” Several moments passed until he spoke.
“I found something out today about my family that was disturbing. More than disturbing, I suppose. It has changed my view of someone near and dear to me for the worse. I resent it. I resent knowing the facts, and I resent knowing that there are facts that have upset my view of the world.”
“Oh dear. That is troubling,” she said.
“It is. Very much so.”
Mr. Pendergast was still standing but had put one foot up on the bench, his elbow on his knee. He was shaking his head slowly and staring off into the trees, just getting their first buds. He looked lonely or maybe just alone. She wasn’t certain, but there was something in his attitude and bearing that made her want to offer comfort, even if that comfort required a confession herself.
“There are . . .” she began and stopped to clear her throat. “There are secrets in my family. My younger sister and brother and I have not been told all the details of our family history. I don’t know why. We came here thirteen years ago from Scotland with my parents and my Aunt Murdoch. She’s my great aunt actually. My parents died during the crossing and were buried at sea. We stayed in our berth with Aunt Murdoch when their bodies were . . .” She turned her head away sharply.
“I’m sorry to have brought up such painful memories. How old were you?”
“I was nine years old.”
She fell silent then, thinking about the glimpse she’d had of her mother’s and father’s bodies, wrapped in heavy white canvas. Even today, it made her short of breath and panicky. She looked up at him.
“I hope for your sake that your family, those near and dear to you, are not in danger. Even if there’s been some revelation that is upsetting, your loved one is still here on this earth. It’s not a trivial thing to be thankful that they are still alive or that whatever has come to light will somehow change your outlook. You can do both.”
Miss Thompson stared at him, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her words startled him, he thought as he concentrated on the arch of her brow and the contrasting shades of green in her eyes. Was he being ridiculous or overly emotional? He was going to have to think this through. Think through what he thought and why, especially in light of what she’d just said. He had a sudden vision of holding her hand in his and her leaning against him as they walked, her head occasionally tilting to touch her cheek to his shoulder.
“I love my parents and my sister. I’m very fond of my cousins and aunts and uncles. Even the ones who are less than pleasant,” he said, truthfully, he realized. “They’re my family, and my mother has always said there is nothing more important than family.”
“We have always been taught the same thing. That family is all there is.”
“But sometimes . . .” he whispered.
“Sometimes they do or say something that makes us furious.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“Even still,” she said, “I cannot hate them or even stay mad for very long.”
He straightened away from the bench and shoved his hands in his pants pockets, knowing he was not conducting himself as the gentleman his mother insisted upon. How could his father have done what he did to his mother? It was impossible to square that behavior with the way his father had always appeared, but did he love his father less? He didn’t think so.
“I doubt if I can either. I suppose we will see as I’ve never been this angry with him before.”
“Your father?”
He nodded and looked away. “He had an affair with a woman after he married my mother. He fathered a child.”
“Oh dear. No wonder you are angry.”
“Apparently, he did not see her too many times, but he did tell my mother when the woman told him she was expecting, and they decided together to support the child and its mother. The child died in infancy.”
“How terrible. But I’m glad that your mother and father supported the woman. Do you have any idea what usually happens to women who find themselves in that situation? They are maligned, even today in our modern world. They are looked down on and have little chance of a happy future. What happened to the woman? Do you know?”
“I don’t. I’m not sure I want to know any more details.”
“It can’t hurt you any more than it already has, I don’t think.”
She was right. He looked at her and found her staring at him. The initial anger and shock were wearing off, and it had much to do with her counsel. He felt like he could talk to her about anything, but that was not true because he could never tell her why he found out about his father’s affair in the first place. In fact, he wondered if he was putting her in any danger by talking to her publically like this. Certainly, Schmitt was not violent although that was not necessarily true as he’d recently seen him slap the woman from the brothel. He was crude and rough and not necessarily honest, even though he kept whatever inched close to false within the spirit of the law to himself, keeping Alexander out of meetings that might have illuminated that. She was certainly safe from Schmitt’s machinations. Wasn’t she?
But he didn’t want to leave her. She had calmed him and deflated his anger. Whatever his father had done, he was precious to him and alive. Something she could not say of her own father.
“You have been very kind to me, Miss Thompson. Allow me to escort you back to your house.”
She stood, straightened her skirts, and smiled. “I’ll be fine. I can still see my stoop from here. Good day to you.”
“Wait,” he said without the foggiest notion of what he was going to say as he hurried to her. He swallowed. “I would like, very much I would like, to speak to you again. At your convenience, of course.”
She tilted her head and studied him. He waited for her to speak for what seemed like hours, though it was certainly no more than a minute.
“My sister and I will be visiting the outdoor market on Bainbridge and Second Street on Saturday. There are several vendors there who may be interested in our goods. We’ll be there around ten to miss the early morning traffic and those shopping at noontime so we’ll have time to speak to the stand holders.”
He smiled. “I hope you have a successful day.”
“We hope so too,” she said and turned to continue walking down the street toward her home.
Chapter 6
On Saturday, Elspeth and Kirsty walked the six blocks to the market on Bainbridge, taking turns pulling the wagon loaded with Thompson jarred goods. It was a beautiful morning after several days of rain and cold winds that had kept them in the house.
“So I said to Mrs. Cartwright, you must dye your dresses pink and fashion large flowers in paisley silk to adorn the hat. I thought she might paint her walking boots lavender to match,” Kirsty said.
“Oh. Oh yes. That sounds very nice,” Elspeth said.
“She’s going to purchase a donkey and paint him pink too. She thought it would be nice to parade up and down Locust Street on a donkey that matched her dress.”
“A donkey that matched her dress?” Elspeth asked. “What are you talking about?”