Celestial Springs

Chapter 8-1

Chapter 8

1844

The moon had disappeared completely the night before. This was the second time it had faded into blackness since Spencer had left. The sun hadn’t entirely climbed above the horizon before she found herself standing at the end of the pier, hands folded, eyes on the eastern skyline. Waiting.

Now, the sun was almost directly above her, and while her legs were weary and her throat was dry, she continued to keep her eyes on the horizon, the brim of her hat the only barrier between her and a brilliant summer sun.

The commotion at the end of the dock where the ships loaded and unloaded their wares did not distract her, nor did the hustle and bustle of others behind her doing their business or the occasional curious passerby who asked her about her day. She continued in her statuesque fashion, eyes fixated in the distance, waiting. She would continue to do so until the Mary Ann broke her line of sight.

“Ginny!”

She twirled around to see her brother, Jacob, standing next to her, pulling angrily on the capped sleeve of her blue linen dress. “Jake?” she asked. “How long have you been here?”

“A long time!” he shouted back. At eighteen, he was only a year younger than her, but he often played the part of an older brother. “Didn’t you hear me shouting your name?”

Her forehead creased. “Not until just now.”

“You need to come home,” he explained, releasing her arm. “Mother is furious. You know you can’t come down here all by yourself. It isn’t proper. Something could happen to you.”

“I have to wait for Spencer,” she replied, returning her gaze back to the sea. “He should be home today.”

Jacob sighed and kicked at the splintering timbers beneath his feet. “Ginny, you know that he just gave you an estimate. There’s no way to know for sure how long this trip might take. There’s all kinds of factors that could make it days, weeks longer than normal.”

“No, you don’t understand,” she said sternly, turning to face him. “He said he would be back before the moon waned two times. That was last night. He said before. That means he must come back today.”

His hands were shoved deep into his trouser pockets, and he rocked back on his heels. “Ginny,” he said calmly, “I’m sure Spencer will return any day now. But you can’t stand out here in the heat until he comes home, especially not considering how ill you’ve been the last few weeks.”

Ginny absently rubbed her stomach. “I’m fine,” she muttered. She had been feeling better this morning, not nearly as queasy. She hadn’t even vomited today. The sun baring down on her made her a little dizzy, but she was sure she was on the mend. “I intend to stay right here until Spencer’s ship arrives, Jacob.”

“Genevieve,” Jacob replied, tugging on her arm again. “I don’t think you understand. Mother and Father both sent me to collect you. They forbid you from standing down here all day. You must return home at once. Now, please don’t cause an uproar in front of all of these people. You know how they hate when you cause a scene.”

Once again, Ginny’s forehead puckered. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “You know I don’t cause scenes.”

Jacob glanced uncomfortably at the ground. “Well, then, come along home then. And I’m sure if the Mary Ann pulls into dock today, you shall be the first to know.”

She didn’t want to go. She’d sworn she’d stand there until Spencer returned. If only he’d allowed her to move into the house on Hanover. Then, she’d be able to look out the window and watch for the Mary Ann. With another deep breath, and one more longing stare out into the interwoven apex of ocean and sky, she turned, and taking her brother’s arm, allowed him to lead her back towards Whetstone Point.

Jacob was only slightly mistaken; furious didn’t quite do Mrs. Cawley’s disposition justice. While she did refrain from striking her daughter as she reprimanded her for sneaking out of the house and traveling alone to the pier, which may as well have been a place of ill repute when it came to the levels of danger a young woman could encounter unaccompanied, and standing out in the hot sun for hours when she had already taken ill, she had banished Genevieve to her room, which faced west and towards the back of the yard. Thus, she would have no way of knowing if anyone was coming or going, and despite the fact that one could not see the ocean from Whetstone Point, Ginny lamented the fact that she wasn’t even facing the right direction now. Looking out the window seemed pointless, and yet she was drawn to the outside, knowing that Spencer was out there somewhere, surely on his way home to her at last.

The heat was stifling, even with the window above her locked door open to create a faint cross breeze, giving Ginny yet another reason to sit in front of the open window in the hopes of catching a draft. Her thoughts wandered to the summer before, and the ones before that, when she had spent so many days in the garden with Spencer, or walking along the beach. Evenings amongst fields of fireflies and moonbeams where shooting stars held promises of happiness and laughter to come. They had been chaperoned all that time of course, either by a parent or a servant, but when she thought back to those days, of sand beneath her feet and breezes through her hair, she only remembered him, her Spencer, her adoring beau.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting there; perhaps she had dozed off. Looking around, she realized the sun had gone down and the stars were beginning to twinkle on the horizon. She heard voices coming through the wall, heard her name, and ran to press her ear against floral wallpaper to catch a glimpse of her parents’ conversation.

“She was standing down there for hours…” her mother was saying. “It isn’t right. What will people think?”

Her father’s voice was a quieter baritone, and she had to strain to catch much of anything at all. “People already talking…. Church two weeks ago…. Should know better than to act that way.”

“I’m growing fearful, Joseph,” her mother began. “What if….” She couldn’t make the rest out, but her father clarified.

“Shouldn’t worry about that, Clara. She’s not my mother….”

“But if what we are hearing of the Mary Ann is true….”

“I shall go and speak to Alex again in the morning,” Her father’s voice had grown louder now, perhaps in an attempt to calm her mother. “It is possible he has heard something from the captain of a returning vessel.”

“But you heard what he said last week! The Continental returned from the West Indies without ever seeing the Mary Ann!”

“… passed each other….”

“…not possible….”

“…can’t give up hope… yet.”

Ginny wasn’t sure if the voices were growing fainter or if her spinning head was keeping her from comprehending all that was being said. She closed her eyes and pressed the side of her face even more firmly to the wall in an attempt to keep from passing out. Whatever they were saying, it did not sound promising for Spencer. Perhaps his ship had been delayed. Perhaps he had had to take another route. Perhaps… no, there was no other perhaps. Those must be the only two options, and that must be why he was so late in returning.

“… call the doctor in the morning... hasn’t been feeling well… nervous stomach….” came her mother’s voice.

“Yes, I’m sure that’s all it is,” her father replied strongly. “She is likely feeling very anxious, and that is enough to make one ill. It is best to keep her here until we know for sure….”

Know what for sure?

“Come along, then,” her mother said with a loud sigh. “I believe Julia has supper ready. I will ask her to take something to Genevieve in her room. She needs her rest.”

As the door next to hers opened loudly, Ginny hurried to her bed and tossed herself onto the duvet, just in case her mother should come to check on her. Clearly, her parents were as worried as she was about Spencer—but that didn’t seem to be all that was concerning them, and she had no idea what her father meant when he said she wasn’t his mother. It seemed the doctor would be paying her a visit tomorrow, and while she had always hated doctors, perhaps he could give her something to calm her stomach. Not her nerves, though. She would never take anything to calm her nerves for fear it might cloud her mind. She needed to be completely astute and focused so that when Spencer returned she could be the wife he had always deserved.

Dr. Martin Wilson always smelled of cigars and formaldehyde. The latter was a smell Ginny associated with all doctors, but since he was the only one she had seen in the past several years, the moment he entered her room, a flood of memories came back to her, and she absently rubbed the scar on the back of her head where he’d patched her up after she’d tumbled down the stairs when she was eleven.

“Genevieve,” he greeted her, setting his black bag on one side of her legs and lowering himself down next to her on the other. He had to be in his sixties by now, as one could tell by his graying hair and beard, but he smiled, and despite the fact that her nervous stomach was rivaling a high-wire act at the moment, at least he approached her with kindness. “What seems to be ailing you, young lady?”

Ginny cleared her throat, and before she could formulate a response, he took out his stethoscope and began to listen to various parts of her anatomy. This made her uncomfortable, and the words got tangled up on the tip of her tongue, refusing to budge further.

Thankfully, her mother was standing at the foot of the bed, wringing her hands, and said, “She’s been quite sick to her stomach the past few weeks. And I believe she’s been having a few… nervous spells. She hardly eats a thing….”

“I see,” the doctor acknowledged, putting the stethoscope down and picking up another utensil Ginny wasn’t so familiar with. He began to look into her ears, eyes, nose, and mouth. “And why am I just now hearing of this?” he asked in a singsong lilt.

“Well…” Clara Cawley began, “we thought maybe…. Perhaps if the Mary Ann returned, she would be back to her usual self.”

The doctor sat the instrument down and turned to look at the mother at the foot of the bed. Ginny could read nothing into their exchanged glances, only finding it odd. A long moment later, he returned his attention to the patient. “Does it hurt when I push here?” he asked, examining her stomach.

It did, and Ginny let him know. His brow wrinkled a bit, and he checked several other places. Some of them hurt, depending upon how deeply he pressed, and some of them did not. At the conclusion of his physical examination, he asked, “What sort of nervous spells?”

Ginny couldn’t answer, as she truly had no idea what her mother was talking about.

Clara hesitated as well. But when the doctor turned to address her, she managed, “There was an incident at church, a few weeks ago. It was nothing really, but… it wasn’t like Ginny.”

“What are you talking about, Mother?” Ginny asked, her forehead creased. “What incident?”

Her mother’s look was admonishing, but she replied, “You know, Ginny. When Mrs. Alambaugh mentioned it had been several weeks since the Mary Ann disembarked. She said she thought it should have returned by now.” Turning her attention from her daughter to the doctor, she said only, “My daughter did not represent the fine manners and upbringing we have modeled for her that day, Dr. Wilson, and it caused a bit of a … discussion… amongst some of our fellow worshippers.”

Ginny was confused. She had absolutely no idea what her mother was speaking of. “Mrs. Alambaugh?” she asked. “When did I speak with Mrs. Alambaugh?”

“Perhaps in her nervous state, she has forgotten the conversation,” Dr. Wilson offered.