To Laugh Once More
Chapter One
January 1895
Lydia Barrington Scarbrough
had promised herself three years ago that she'd never let the joy of her wedding
day fade from her memory. Now if only she could, life would be easier, for
remembering it made her daily mundane tasks seem like captivity. She stood at
the kitchen sink, scrubbing the utensils she'd used to prepare her stew. She stood
here every evening at this time.
She could still see herself that day, the
youngest Barrington child, standing in white in the gazebo, her favorite
childhood refuge, with Hamilton and the minister. Winter flowers and ferns had
adorned the gazebo, and lace bows had encircled every column. The Live Oaks
mansion had never looked so warm and inviting. A banquet fit for a king and an
evening of dancing had ensured the guests would never forget the long-awaited
union between Lydia and her prince.
However, Hamilton hadn't kept his promises. Promises to forsake ambition
for her. Promises to take her with him on his travels. He'd said he was doing
it all for her, but his motives
mattered not for he was doing it all without
her. Once he'd captured her heart and claimed her as his wife, he'd chased
affluence and societal acceptance but had failed to include her in his world.
She loved him still. She always would. Did his river of love run as deep?
Hamilton's buggy ambled up the sandy
path, lined with hemlocks and palmetto palms. Plunging her hands into the
dishwater, Lydia pushed her dreadful thoughts away. There was no room in a
woman's mind for regret or doubt. No room for fretting over missed parties and
forgotten ball gowns.
She'd talk to him soon about her concerns,
but today was not the day. After a day in St. Andrews filled with appointments and
the long chilly ride home, he'd want a hot meal and his warm-hearted wife to
sit with him beside the fire. Lydia straightened her shoulders and sighed. Hamilton
opened the back door, and she fixed a smile upon her face.
"Hello, my love." Hamilton
stepped up behind Lydia and wrapped his arms around her waist. He positioned a
kiss upon her neck after nudging away with his nose a rebellious curl that had
escaped her bun.
"Hello." Lydia closed her eyes
and leaned into him, longing for his touch to soothe the ache in her heart.
"Are you well?" Hamilton turned
her around to face him, dishwater dripping on to the floor.
Lydia wiped her hands on her apron. Her
knees buckled at the sight of his strong jaw and squared shoulders. She dove
into the waters of his sea-green eyes but tried to resist the current. She
wanted to be angry with him, after all. However, when he hugged her, she
submitted to the riptide and accepted his love.
The lines across his forehead relaxed as
he studied her face—her mouth and then her eyes. He'd told her a thousand times
that her eyes were like blue diamonds. If only he'd realize he was the one that
put the sparkle in them and that their lackluster now was because he'd spent
little time with her of late.
"Lydia?" He cocked his head to
the left and tossed his dark hair out of his eyes. Behind him, the robin's-egg-blue
wall accented his eyes, and Lydia sunk even deeper into them. "Yes, I'm
fine."
"What have you done today to occupy
your time while I was away?"
"The same things I do every day."
She willed a smile to her face.
"Well, good then." Hamilton
released her, and she stumbled into the iron sink. He removed his suit coat, hung
it on the hook by the door, and descended into his chair at the kitchen table. "What
are we having for supper?"
"Stew."
"Smells good. I have to get to bed
early tonight. I leave for Georgia tomorrow to meet with several grocers about
carrying our oranges, limes, and grapefruits. After the freeze last month, we
can't afford to turn away opportunities." He picked up the St. Andrews
newspaper. "Since the gold reserves fell and the stock market crashed,
more people are trying to sell goods, and I've got to prove myself to these
grocers."
Lydia slumped, ignoring the report on the
nation's financial status and the recollection of the aromatic orchard in the
summer months. Why couldn't she travel with Hamilton? Why hadn't his father
continued to sell porcelain china and silverware? The potential for exotic
travel had been much greater then. The beauty and abundance of the orchards
paled in comparison to adventure. Hamilton's face showed his weariness.
"Georgia again? When will you be
back?" The room flickered before her eyes, and she leaned against the
sink.
Hamilton's eyes remained on the newspaper.
"It'll take more than a week probably. You know how long it takes to
travel this time of year. I'll take the train part of the way, but then we'll
go by coach the last leg of the journey. The roads are difficult to travel."
What he dreaded, she longed to do.
"You should stay with your parents.
That way I'll not have to worry about you."
Lydia took the white milk glass pitcher
from the table by the sink and walked to the corner of the room to the water
pump. She pumped her frustrations into the pitcher and groaned under her
breath. "What will keep me from worrying about you?" The pitcher
overflowed on to the soapstone below, and Lydia grabbed the rag from her apron
to wipe up the excess water.
"You've nothing to worry about,
Lydia."
She brushed her hair out of her face and carried
the pitcher to the coal stove. She poured water into the cast iron stew pot and
some into the coffee pot for after dinner. "Well, I prefer to go with you."
"That's out of the question."
She sighed. "Then I prefer to stay here.
Your father and mother will watch after me, although I don't need watching after."
She opened the top drawer in the spice box and took out a pinch of salt. She
tossed it in the pot and wiped her hand on her skirt.
"You'll be more comfortable with
your parents."
She lifted her gaze to the ceiling. "I'll
be more comfortable here. When I go home, they treat me like a child. Why can I
not go with you?" She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and
prayed he'd feel her desperation.
Hamilton looked up and smiled. "The
travel would be too harsh on you, my sweet. It's cold in Georgia this time of
year, and I fear you'd be dreadfully miserable."
She raised her eyebrows. "On the
contrary, Hamilton. I'll be dreadfully miserable home alone without you."
She cast a faint smile in his direction and stirred the contents of the pot
with fury.
"That's why I want you to stay with
your parents. So you won't be alone."
"Do you not want me to come with
you? This month is our third anniversary, and it'd be so nice to get away
together." She tasted her concoction and opened the spice box once again
to retrieve the black pepper.
"I know. However, it's not a matter
of whether I'd like you to be there with me. Of course, I'll miss you, but I'll
be about my business. This won't be a trip of leisure." He rubbed the back
of his neck.
The ticking of the New Haven clock on the
shelf failed to match the beating of Lydia's heart. "Couldn't we take a
day or so to explore Georgia?"
"No, not this time. Maybe next time."
She nodded and allowed her shoulders to
slump. "Next time." It's always
next time.
***
"Your stew made me forget about my tiresome day,
Lydia. There's nothing quite like a meal made with loving hands."
"I'm glad you liked it." She
mustered a smile from deep within, but a cloud of rejection hung over her head.
"Have you given any more thought to letting me go with you to Georgia? I
can have my valise packed in no time. As your wife, I could be a great
representative of our business and our produce."
"No, I haven't given any more
thought to it." Hamilton laughed. "It's not the right time."
Lydia rocked in front of the blazing
fire, the rocking chair taking her nowhere as it pitched forward and back. Her
eyes slid above the fireplace to the painting of them on the beach a handful of
years ago. Where had the urgency to be together gone?
"Why are you so desperate to leave
home?" Hamilton pulled socks from his drawer and packed them away in his
case.
"I'm not desperate, Hamilton. I
simply would like to spend time with you away from here—away from the constant
interruptions of family. Doing little more than wifely duties suffers in
comparison to a trip to Georgia." She stared into the fire, her hope
turning to ash.
"I see. There'll be other times to
go away though. Winter isn't a good time to take a woman on a trip. You'll be
much happier here." He removed his shirt, stepped out of his pants, and
walked over to his side of the bed. "I'm going to bed. Are you ready?"
"No, I need to clean up a few things
in the kitchen and then I'll come." Lydia stood.
"See you in a bit then."
Hamilton walked to her side, leaned over and pressed his lips onto her
forehead. "Wake me when you come to bed. I'd love to spend some time
together before I leave." He ran his thumb across the nape of her neck,
impressing his meaning into her skin.
Did she have to show Hamilton affection
on this night? Why didn't he want her for more than that? She tried to find
satisfaction with just being a wife, but she wasn't. She needed more. Why
wasn't she content with the life God had given her—with the man she'd chosen?
Lydia's heart stirred with verses she'd
found not long after her marriage to Hamilton—Psalm 30:11-12. The words flooded
her memory like the ocean tide on the sandy beaches of Shell Island on a summer
morning.
"Thou
hast turned for me my mourning into dancing: thou hast put off my sackcloth,
and girded me with gladness; to the end that my glory may sing praise to thee,
and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give thanks unto thee forever."
Her chest trembled. Tonight she would
honor God and bless her husband.
