The Widow's War: A Novel by Sally Gunning

Author:Sally Gunning
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Romance, Historical fiction, Psychological fiction, Whaling, Self-realization, Marginality, Fiction, Psychological, Massachusetts - History - Colonial period, General, Massachusetts, Historical, Social, Love stories, Widows, Cape Cod (Mass.), ca. 1600-1775
ISBN: 9780060791575
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2006-01-26T05:00:00+00:00

27

On the short walk to Nathan’s house Lyddie saw nothing of the road or the trees or the houses or the sky; she saw nothing but a gray wall of anger before her eyes until she reached her son’s house and rapped on the door. Hassey opened it. Lyddie took only enough time to note what she might have noted anytime before: instead of a mahogany skin an oaken one, instead of a broad, flat nose a narrow, beaked one, instead of a soft brown eye a gleaming black one.

“I would see my son,” Lyddie said.

Hassey stepped back without argument.

Lyddie swept in. The family sat in the best room, Nathan reading to them from the Bible. Lyddie stared at Mehitable’s swollen womb and could not move her eye along. Nathan clapped the book shut and rose.

“Have I not made myself clear? You’re not welcome in this house.”

“I’m not looking for welcome. I’m looking for seven and sixpence, taken from me with Edward’s desk. It was in the drawer.”

“There was naught in the drawer.”

“Then allow a sharper pair of eyes to look, as it was most definitely there.”

“All right, Mother, I’ll look again, if it pleases you.” Nathan left the room.

Lyddie addressed her daughter. “Are you well?”

“As you find me.” She looked down, and up. “And you, Mother?”

“I am not unhappy. I wish only—”

Nathan returned and handed Lyddie her letter book. “This was all that was found of yours, Mother.”

“There were seven and sixpence in that drawer. In a brown leather pouch with a white bead on the cord.”

“I’m sorry, I found no money. Perhaps that neighbor of yours—”

“’Twas the neighbor gave it me. My pay for nursing. You may take the desk and table and hutch as yours; you may not take my pay for nursing.”

“An interesting point. I wonder how the law applies it. Your wages would belong to your husband if he were living, but in this instance, if I were charged with feeding and clothing you while you continued to make an independent income of some sort—”

“My husband is dead, Mr. Clarke, and as we all well know, you neither feed nor clothe me. The wages are mine.”

“Perhaps Jot—” Mehitable said.

“’Twas no Jot in this,” Lyddie said. “Look at your husband’s smile and you will see every penny in it.”

“Good evening, Mother,” Nathan said. He crossed to his chair, picked the Bible off the seat, and sat down.

“I would not have thought it,” Lyddie said. “Truly, I would not have thought it. That you would steal from your wife’s mother and smirk about it in front of her and in front of your own children. I’m sorry, indeed, I’m greatly sorry, that another child will be born to a father such as you.”

“Oh!” Mehitable cried. “How can you speak so to him?”

“Ladies, please,” Nathan said. He turned back the pages of the Bible. “We were at Isaiah, but I think we might now try Paul. ‘Let your women keep silent in the churches.’ I might add, ‘Let them keep silent on the Sabbath as a whole.

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