TIME WILL TELL

CHAPTER ONE (Excerpt)

 Doctor Rafe Reynolds removed his hat and brushed the ice crystals from it. Stamping his feet in the thin layer of fresh snow, he prepared to enter Barstow’s. The years since he had lost his dear Constance had ticked by quickly, propelling him here to the door of the Cherrybrook drapers without the good sense of a wife to help their daughter plan her wedding clothes.

Ellen was in the shop. Through the rippled panes of shop glass lightly touched with frost, he could see her gesturing for him to enter. Catching sight of his reflection as he stepped toward the door, he acknowledged his hatless head of thinning hair with a throaty grunt, for even though he kept his hair cut short (and had grown a beard to offset the loss on top), it was blowing in the December wind like some grey shawl fringe. He planted his hat firmly upon his head and reached for the door, but even before he touched the handle, the bell jingled merrily as the door was jerked open from inside. His cheerful daughter reached out and took his arm. With Ellen’s expectant eyes and dimpled smile, he could not be unhappy, so he set aside the pangs of age and entered Barstow’s.

Inside, women flitted about carrying bolts of fabric, and a harried, youngish man with a measuring tape around his neck was behind the counter, writing up an account for Mrs. Kent. There were occasions in life, reflected Rafe, when one might wish to command a lesser height. This was one of those times. There was no tall shelving to step behind in Barstow’s. Nothing for it but to place his full attention on his daughter, and hope that Mrs. Kent, the local busybody, was in too much of a hurry to talk.

As he discreetly turned his back to the counter, a saleswomen, just a girl really, stopped in front of him and bobbed up and down politely. Ellen guided him to a small, sturdy table, piled high with drawings, bits of fine fabric and thread. In the middle were two bolts of light-coloured material. The sales girl lifted the top one and began unrolling it.

“What do you think, Father?” Ellen stood attentively, looking up at him. “Either of these silks are within our means, but I cannot decide which I prefer. Which do you think suits me better?”

Rafe shifted uncomfortably. “Should you not ask your husband-to-be?”

Ellen cast him a pitying look, “That is never done, Papa. I know you don’t feel up to the task, but do please try!”

Here, his golden-haired daughter Ellen turned, and with the help of the sales girl, began to drape a pale apricot-coloured swath over one of her shoulders, and a cream-coloured one over the other. Rafe took a step back and tried squinting, first at the cream, and then at the apricot. This was ineffective, and his method only succeeded in making Ellen giggle. The assistant turned away, doubtlessly to conceal her mirth.

Letting his hands fall helplessly to his sides, he said, “I am doing my best to be impartial, Ellen, but try as I might, I cannot tell which looks best.” Hoping to escape an uncomfortable moment by praise bordering on flattery, he added, “You know that I think you are beautiful in any colour. How can I possibly advise you?” Although he wanted to be patient with his dear girl, trifles mattered little to him. He glanced longingly toward the door.

Ellen sighed at this in mild frustration. “Surely Aunt Mary will have an opinion! Have you written to her yet?”

“Yes,” Rafe replied, “We can expect a reply from her any day. I certainly hope that she can find it in her heart, and-” he added with a sympathetic raise of his eyebrows, “-in her schedule, to come. I foresee several of these delicate decisions for which I am a poor substitute for a mother.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Mrs Kent, who had been standing at the counter, was now making her way to the door. Rafe took a bracing breath and covertly watched as the sharp-eyed lady nosed around the room like a good bird dog. He stepped closer to Ellen and tried to look absorbed, but it was of no use. The matron marched purposefully towards them. Rafe lifted his hat in reluctant greeting, and Mrs. Kent tapped his arm with her folded gloves as she spoke to Ellen.

“You are here choosing wedding gown fabric then, Miss Reynolds?” Mrs. Kent asked, doubtlessly spying the silks.

“I am,” Ellen replied blandly.

Mrs. Kent peered at her keenly. “And you will be leaving Cherrybrook once you are married, is that so?”

“Yes. Mr. Carter and I will live in Weymouth, but I will come to visit Cherrybrook as often as I may.” Ellen glanced briefly at her father.

Mrs Kent shifted her gaze away from Ellen’s face to the shop girl holding the fabric. She pulled in her chin in a critical, considering sort of way. “There is all sorts of talk that the queen’s wedding dress will be pure white, you know. White as snow,” she said, casting a disparaging glance at the cream silk. “Doubtlessly, it will be a brighter white than what the likes of us can afford, but still… it bears consideration. After all, if it’s good enough for our young Queen Victoria, it is good enough for us in Cherrybrook. Do you not agree, Doctor Reynolds?”

“I do, but-” he grunted in the direction of Mrs. Kent before turning to his daughter. “Ellen, do not let keeping up with the queen be your sole guide.”

“No indeed,” said Ellen quietly. “Father, have you – ?”

Mrs. Kent smiled a bit too sweetly, and tilted her head to one side, “Well,” she sniffed, “if you need my assistance, Miss Reynolds, do not hesitate to ask. I still recall all the organising that needed to go into giving my eldest an elegant wedding.”

Turning to Rafe, she added, “Believe me when I say it takes a lady of experience.”

“Thank you for your offer, Mrs. Kent,” said Rafe smoothly, “but my sister is likely to arrive soon, and she will be happy to bear the burden with us. Give our best regards to your husband and daughters.”

Mrs. Kent stiffened at his discreetly-phrased but obvious dismissal and, as she pulled on her gloves, she used one to tap Ellen’s silk-covered shoulder and said, “White. You ought to go with white, my dear.” Then looking again at Dr. Reynolds, she drawled, “I am glad to hear that your sister will be coming shortly, Doctor. Will she be living with you when Ellen leaves, then?”

“Certainly not! Her husband would miss her. No, she is only coming to help Ellen with the wedding arrangements, and then again for the wedding itself. Wouldn't miss it for anything.”

“Then you will be left utterly alone. It will not be easy, you know.”

“I imagine not,” conceded Rafe with a cold smile.

“And what a pity that your cousin died,” Mrs. Kent went on. “I know it was a good many years ago, but to think he could have settled nearby with a family of his own and been company for you in your old age.”

This remark touched Rafe on the raw. His nostrils flared and his tongue itched with angry words that could not be spoken.

Ellen stepped forward and fixed a dark stare upon Mrs. Kent, “Papa is not too old to marry again! Indeed, he plans to remarry this winter and needs no pity whatsoever. He will be well looked after when I have gone away. Good day, ma’am.”

With a sniff of indignation, and a final nod and glance at both Dr. Reynolds and Ellen, the woman finished pulling on her gloves and without taking the time to button them, departed.

Rafe clenched his jaw and scowled at Ellen. She ignored him. He would have had words with his impudent daughter then and there, but he caught the eye of the shop girl who still stood just behind Ellen. The girl looked keenly from daughter to father, apparently eager for a grand display of emotion. He would not give a shop girl the satisfaction of hearing his rebuke. It was best done in the privacy of home. Although seldom voiced, Rafe knew that locals still remembered his cousin Archie’s accident and the terrible loss it was. It had changed his life, but that was a long time ago. No, what bothered him was that Ellen had recently begun to drop a great many hints that she desired to see him remarried. But for her to make such a claim to Mrs. Kent? Soon, it would be all about town that the doctor was in need of a wife. He wasn’t. His purpose in life was to see the people he loved kept safe and healthy. Nothing else mattered. It was too late for more.

When they were finished at the drapers, Ellen bounced in and out of a second shop while her father had the carriage brought about. Whether out of anxiety that her father would bring up the subject, or out of sheer joyful forgetfulness, she kept up a non-stop stream of wedding chatter from the moment they entered the carriage until they pulled up in front of their house.

Rafe might have chosen to broach the subject and give his daughter a deserved set down for her wildness in the shop, but one step out of the carriage showed that they had unexpected company. Their arrival had been preceded by another’s. A travelling carriage stood in the drive, with horses stomping and snorting. Its door was open and Rafe could see the backside and boots of a maid rummaging about in the carriage box. The driver turned around and lifted his hat to Rafe and Ellen who stood in surprised silence.

Before Rafe could ask who it was that they had the pleasure of receiving, a familiar figure, still dressed in her travelling clothes, appeared on the doorstep of his house and called out to them. Behind her, Rafe could hear his own dogs barking excitedly, and one second later the pair of young pointers shot past the lady and ran helter skelter.

“Rafe! Ellen!” shouted the woman. “This storm is dreadful! I cannot believe that at home there was not a snowflake in sight, yet here you are with a veritable blizzard!”

Rafe wryly considered the skiff of snow that barely covered the toe of his boot. His sister had always been prone to exaggeration. While he was happy enough to see her (despite her deplorable habit of coming unannounced), Rafe took a deep breath, exhaling slowly in an effort to restore his tranquillity.

“Aunt Mary!” cried Ellen, rushing forward.

“Come in, come in!” shouted Mary from the open door. “And Rafe, will you do something about these dogs! Why you persist in keeping hunting dogs in the house is beyond me.You have indulged them far too much! Whoever would have thought you would be the sort to allow such wildness. I am sure I never did.”

“Boys! Williver! Oswald! inside!” commanded Rafe, and the pointers barrelled past him and into the house, nearly upsetting Mary.

He followed Ellen and Mary’s maid into the warmth of his front hall.

Once inside, Martin (the Reynold’s young footman-in-training) and Mary’s maid, Lucy, darted about, pulling bags and boxes out of the way of the incoming people, waggling dogs, and tracked-in snow. After a few more moments of chaotic jostling, Rafe and Ellen unwound their mufflers and removed their winter hats, coats and boots. Rafe called for Belinda, their housemaid, to prepare his sister’s room. Belinda bobbed a curtsy, and after recruiting the help of the reluctant Martin, withdrew to attend her duties. Finally, the hall was clear, and Rafe was about to plant a brotherly peck upon his sister’s cheek when she drew back, staring critically at his face.

“You’ve gone all to whiskers, little brother! You ought to take better care of yourself. Why, you look like a conker! And Ellen,” said Mary, lovingly drawing Ellen to her generous bosom, “for Heaven’s sake, you must speak to Mrs. Thomas about baking more; you both could use some fattening up!”

“Yes, dearest of aunts,” smiled Ellen with a wickedly smug look at her father.

Rafe lifted his eyebrows and waved his hand dismissively. He suggested they all take some time to recover from the weather and their travels in front of the fireplace in his study.

“Not the study, Father.” Turning to her aunt, Ellen said, “Do not mind him. We shall sit in the sitting room. There is a fire lit in it as well, just as warm as the one in the study.”

“As you like,” submitted Rafe reluctantly. “Call Martin for refreshments, Ellen.”

She did as she was asked, calling upstairs to a grateful-looking Martin. He was obviously happy to escape Belinda’s orders, for he looked delighted to be asked for warm brandy, three cups and a piping hot pot of tea.

Once inside the sitting room, Rafe stood just inside the door for a moment as the women settled themselves onto the soft, fawn-brown settee. It was near the fireplace, and across from it were two tall chairs with a small, square game table between them. Rafe sat in the chair nearest the crackling fire, and looked at the inlaid chequered surface of the table. It sat unused, the pieces now lovingly stored in a box in his study. Rafe had enjoyed countless rounds of chess with his father, then Archie, then Ellen, when she was old enough, whilst Constance had sat stitching behind them on winter afternoons such as this. He and Ellen played draughts and backgammon often, but always in his study where he was more comfortable.

Looking up, he said, “You know Ellen, I can scarcely recall the last time I have sat down in this room.” He gave a snort of amusement. “Funny, I cannot think why ever not! It’s a most pleasant room. I suppose it is because we seldom entertain.”

“To you it may seem so, but I often spend evenings here. I used to think that you avoided it because the memories of Mama were too painful, but I think now it has merely become your habit.” Ellen watched him carefully, and added softly, “After all, she has been gone a good many years now.”

“That must be it,” mused Rafe as he took his time looking about the room, his gaze coming to rest on the needlepoint fire screen that his wife had made. “It still feels like your mother’s room.”

Mary scooted back into the cushions, and relaxed an arm over the low back of the settee. She smiled broadly at Ellen and said, “My dearest niece, I cannot tell you how thankful I am that my brother had the shockingly good sense to write to me! I was afraid that he would forget all about those things that a girl needs to hear from a married woman before her wedding.” Here she flashed a mischievous smile at Rafe, while Ellen blushed mightily.

“Sister, I did not ask you here to frighten or excite Ellen,” Rafe said sternly. “Being a man of medicine, I would have given her a book or something…” He trailed off uncomfortably and cleared his throat.

Mary chortled at this. “Ah! Of course, reading for her wedding trip! You think of everything, don’t you?” This second phrase was delivered in a playfully sarcastic tone. Then she said, with a fond pat upon Ellen’s knee. “No, my dear. I will not embarrass you further. I am here this time to discuss shopping and household preparations. Tell me what you have done so far, and how I can be useful to you.” She leant forward to listen intently as Ellen began her list of most urgent decisions and tasks as she understood them to be.

Soon, the tea was brought in. And when Ellen had prepared the cups, she handed the warm brandy to her father, and the freshly-made tea to her aunt.

As the women talked, Rafe sank deeper into his chair, stretching his feet toward the fire, and loosening his cravat. Ellen said he was old-fashioned. He still tied up his cravat in the old way, whilst the younger men had moved on to starchy and time consuming knots with ridiculous names. Rafe preferred things as they were already. No fuss. No change.

No sooner had this warming appreciation for the familiar floated through his tired mind, when he was startled by the turn of the ladies’ conversation.

“You are right of course,” Mary was saying. “having your father remarry is the only sensible way for us to know that he will be cared for. As it is, he has no sense of what a lady needs to do to keep a rattling old house like this running properly. We cannot have that sort of negligence. Besides, by the looks of him he hardly remembers to eat.”

“And that is whilst I am here to cajole him,” emphasised Ellen. “Imagine how he will be when there is nobody to hide his spectacles from time to time and pull him to the dining table.” Ellen gave her father a guilty smile.

Rafe scowled. He could not believe what he was hearing and, when they turned almost in unison to study him, he felt at once as though he were a fat goose dangling in a fowl shop window.

He stood quickly, and took a few steps to the fireplace. After staring into the flames for a moment, he said with a careless wave of his hands, “Bah! I am perfectly content on my own as long as there is work to be done, and there always is. Besides, no lady will take a stubborn old fellow like me.”

I hope you enjoyed the beginning of “Time Will Tell”! The paperback and digital book will be coming 11/30/22!