Evelyn in Marriage

Debra Tillar                                                                                                   

2049 words

Evelyn in Marriage

by Debra Tillar

“I do.”

The joy Evelyn had expected to feel was uncomfortably absent. Summoning the effort to play a convincingly happy bride distracted her from her disappointment. She smiled pleasantly throughout the small ceremony as they spoke their vows and exchanged the gold wedding bands she’d had initialed by a London jeweler. Her father had rallied enough strength to attend; his eyes were lit with pleasure. His wedding gift, a new horse and buggy, had been decorated with flowers and ribbons; it carried them from the chapel to the old farmstead.

Although she was considerably younger than Julian Markham, the marriage had been encouraged by her dying father.

“Julian is a good man. He’ll merge his land with ours and oversee it all. I’ll be able to truly rest in peace knowing everything will be cared for. But if you say no, my dear, I will tell him the deal is off.”

“You’ve already spoken to him?”

“Yes, and he is very eager. He thinks you are lovely.”

Julian was a handsome man with sleepy blue eyes, nearing thirty and never married. He was a Londoner, well-traveled and sophisticated, had moved to the village just a year earlier and with inherited money had bought the piece of land next door. There was chatter about him around town, about his looks and charm. Women of all ages admired him and he could have had his pick; Evelyn was flattered that he’d chosen her. She knew she’d been pitied for having to leave school that year to care for her sickly father but as Julian’s wife she would now be envied.

He came to dinner several times. Evelyn noticed how he watched with appreciative eyes as she wheeled her wheezing father to the table and catered to his needs, then sat quietly as the two men discussed the future of the farm.

They were married in cold February. Evelyn’s father died a week later.

Bleak winter turned to spring.

#

Her father had been wrong about Julian Markham in many ways, and the pain of his misjudgments weighed on Evelyn increasingly as the months of marriage wore on. She kept her smile on for the townsfolk, and most of the farmhands believed the mismanagement of the crops was due to the new boss’s honest inexperience. But Silas had been on the farm longer than any of the other farmhands and he knew Julian had skimped on the seed, had bungled that first harvest out of stinginess and greed. And Becky had been working in the house since Evelyn was still in nappies, since the old mistress passed, and she knew her young mistress’s disposition better than anyone. The house wasn’t large enough to keep secrets. Julian Markham was a egotist and had a snap temper that he hid well from the townsfolk but unleashed freely at home. Nobody thought much about Evelyn’s withdrawal from social events; she was married now and it was proper that she focus on her home and her new husband. It was well known that the first year without the old man had been a difficult one for the farm.

The following summer there was talk of war in Southern Africa. Men gathered on street corners and lingered after church to bluster about the Boers and their gold mines and the build-up of British troops along the Transvaal border. Young men began to enlist in the army, and that fall the Boers declared war.

“Evelyn, I will not stay home when most of the men in town have already joined up.”

Evelyn wasn’t sorry at the prospect of having the house to herself—she prayed for forgiveness at the selfish thought—but several of the field workers had already left to join the army and she felt her husband should stay to oversee what would probably be another difficult harvest.

“The government has asked farmers not to enlist in the army, Julian. To stay home and support the country by providing food for—”

“What do you know about the war and what the government says?”

“You seem to have forgotten I can read.”

She was used to Julian belittling her, insulting her age and her lack of education, but this retort spilled from her without her usual restraint and it earned her a cuff to the face. Her stinging cheek was nothing; she ignored it and enjoyed a moment of pleasure in letting her temper loose.

“You promised my father you would take care of the farm! That you would take care of me!”

“I’m going to war, you stupid girl.”

“You’re running away from your responsibilities! Goodness sakes, you’ve already managed to ruin my father’s farm in just one season! It’s shameful!” This insult earned her significantly more than a cuff to the face. Becky, listening from down in the kitchen, fumed. But the brute had already threatened her job several times for insubordination, both imagined and real, so she kept silent.

#

When Julian Markham didn’t return from the South African War the townsfolk, now better informed about life at the Markham homestead, considered it a blessing for his young wife. It had been over two years since Julian had gone to fight the Boers. No longer receiving the meager but regular army stipend, the farm was in deep trouble and Evelyn expected help from the government. An agent from the Ministry of Defense came from London in response to her many letters.

“Yes of course you’re entitled to a war widow’s pension, madam, but as your husband’s body was never found he can’t yet be declared legally dead. Many British were taken prisoner at the Battle of Onverwacht and yes, most died. But soldiers have been known to desert, you know. Not that we suspect your husband of such a thing but there is a process we must go through. In the meantime I suggest you contact the Royal Patriotic Fund. Perhaps they can be of help.”

“I have contacted them.” Evelyn squeezed her fists. “They said the same thing.”

“Well then. You should visit your local magistrate to get the legalities sorted. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” The officer looked around the modest parlor with a forced smile. “You have a... lovely home. Perhaps you could take in boarders to help with expenses.” Evelyn wanted to slap him.

After the agent left Evelyn looked at the room, trying to see it with the disdain she’d seen in his eyes. She couldn’t. She walked into the kitchen where Becky was preparing supper and surrendered to tears.

“I don’t know what I’ll do. With no more army money coming in I’ll have to let Gowan go but I can’t expect Silas to run the farm by himself, even with three fields lying fallow. He’s a farmhand not an overseer. I can’t sell the farm until Julian is declared dead and that might take years. And that Ministry toff had the nerve to tell me I should take in boarders. As if I were a pauper!”

“Well miss,” said Becky. “I suppose you are a pauper.”

Evelyn turned on Becky, indignant. But Becky was smiling.

The farmhouse had several unused bedrooms—there had been no children—and the dining room table sat ten quite comfortably. Becky was an excellent cook and Evelyn was well-accustomed to doing household chores. Manor Farm’s easy proximity to London kept them busy and within the year two extra rooms were built in the attic and another dining table set up in the solarium. Evelyn was able to hire a Scotsman named Gabriel Wood to manage the farm.

#

“I do.”

This time she understood what she’d been missing those years ago, the futility of the ritual she’d posed through with Julian, and instead of reminding her of the disillusionment she’d felt back then the comparison made her happy, grateful the other wedding had turned out to be a blunder, that this marriage was her first real joy. She looked into her new husband’s adoring eyes and felt herself swept away.

#

Silas lowered the line into the well until the weight hit bottom, then pulled it up. He frowned at the meter’s hollow float that marked the water level.

“That’s the third reading, Gabriel. I’m afraid the well’s indeed running dry. ‘Tis likely the increased usage from the inn. Laundry and such.”

“We’ll have to dig a new one. I’ll send for the dowser tomorrow.”

“Whyn’t just reopen the old well down ‘back of the carriage house?”

“There’s a well down there?”

“Didn’t Mrs. Wood tell you? They drained it when they pulled down the old Markham house but it connects with the reservoir and the pipes are still intact. I’ll climb down, check that the seals are good, and turn on the valves. ‘Twill need a new pump but it’ll be cheaper than digging a well. We can go have a look right now.”

Evelyn was sitting on the back porch chatting with guests. Leisure time was new to her; a girl from the village had recently been hired to clean rooms and help Becky serve. Gabriel had insisted that Evelyn get more rest, as her swelling waistline was becoming uncomfortable. Their first baby was due in three months.

The magistrate had declared Julian legally dead after five years, enabling Evelyn to properly inherit the farm and to marry Gabriel, the kindest man she’d ever known. He now came onto the porch and greeted the guests politely, but his face was pale, his eyes uneasy. He jerked his head and Evelyn excused herself. They went inside.

Gabriel whispered. “I don’t want to upset you, my darling, but there’s no way around it. I’ve had to call for the constabulary.”

“What’s happened?”

“Silas and I found a skeleton at the bottom of the old well.”

Evelyn felt lightheaded and Gabriel helped her to a chair. “Becky! Bring a glass of water!”

Gabriel attempted to direct the commotion away from the house, but the activity was impossible to hide. Several constabulary vehicles came, and word spread quickly. Everyone was delightfully intrigued. Becky kept a sharp eye on Evelyn, nagged her to stay off her feet and away from the kerfuffle of the alarming discovery. But after her initial shock Evelyn recovered and helped serve pots of strong tea to her guests who congregated on the back porch and speculated ghoulishly on the circumstances surrounding the dead body. A detective came up to the house.

“How long has the well been closed?”

“Julian, my first husband, closed it after he tore down the house on his old property, a few months before he went to fight in the Transvaal. That would be... almost nine years ago.”

“Sorry for your loss,” the detective said mechanically. Evelyn bowed her head.

Gabriel put his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Any clues as to who it might be?”

“It will be impossible to say. There are only bones left and they’re in very poor condition. No way to tell if the damage was made before the fall or after. We’ve searched the well carefully. The clothes are disintegrated and there are no other clues.”

“So you think he fell.”

“Fell, pushed, we have no way of knowing, Mrs. Wood. Most likely an intoxicated vagrant looking for a drink of water.”

Evelyn couldn’t sleep. She got up and stood at the window, looking out to the dark shape of the carriage house, knowing that beyond it was the old well, left gaping and empty of the spirit that had lain there all those years. She could hear Gabriel move out of the bed. From behind, he put his arms around her.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded and leaned against him.

“You needn’t worry, Evelyn. I took the ring off his finger. Silas didn’t notice.”

She turned quickly and began to speak but Gabriel put a finger to her lips.

“You don’t have to say anything, my love. I know about the brutal things Julian did to you. You’re safe now. There is nothing more important to me in this wide world than you and this precious baby. I will never let anything happen to either of you.”

He held her close and kissed her.

“Do you know how much I love you, Evelyn?”

She wept quietly.

“I do.”