A Place Called Freedom (1995)

Mack was not just a bonny footman, of course. She had gradually come to realize that he was the most remarkable man she had ever met. He was arrogant and opinionated too, she knew. His idea of his own importance was ludicrously inflated, and it led him into mischief. But she could not help admiring the way he stood up to tyrannical authority, from the Scottish coal field to the plantations of Virginia. And when he got into trouble it was often because he stuck up for someone else.

But Jay was her husband. He was weak and foolish, and he had lied to her, but she had married him and she had to be faithful to him.

Mack was still staring at her. She wondered what was going through his mind. She thought he was referring to himself when he said “run away to the frontier with some ne’er-do-well.”

Mack reached out tentatively and stroked her cheek. Lizzie closed her eyes. If her mother could see this she would know exactly what to say. You married Jay and you promised to be loyal to him. Are you a woman or a child? A woman keeps her word when it’s difficult, not just when it’s easy. That’s what promising is all about.

And here she was letting another man stroke her cheek. She opened her eyes and looked at Mack for a long moment. There was yearning in his green eyes. She hardened her heart. A sudden impulse seized her and she slapped his face as hard as she could.

It was like slapping a rock. He did not move. But his expression changed. She had not hurt his face but she had wounded his heart. He looked so shocked and dismayed that she felt an overpowering urge to apologize and embrace him. She resisted it with all her might. In a shaky voice she said: “Don’t you dare touch me!”

He said nothing, but stared at her, horrified and wounded. She could not look at his hurt expression any longer, so she stood up and walked out of the room.

* * *

He had said, “Make up your mind to be a wife to Jay, and have another baby.” She thought hard about that for a day. The idea of having Jay in her bed had become unpleasant to her, but it was her duty as a wife. If she refused that duty she did not deserve a husband.

That afternoon she took a bath. This was a complicated business involving a tin tub in the bedroom and five or six strong girls running upstairs from the kitchen with pitchers of hot water. When that was done she put on fresh clothing before going downstairs for supper.

It was a cold winter’s evening and the fire roared in the hearth. Lizzie drank some wine and tried to chatter gaily to Jay the way she used to before they were married. He did not respond. However, that was to be expected, she thought, when she had been poor company for so long.

After the meal was over she said: “It’s been three months since the baby. I’m all right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“My body is back to normal.” She was not going to give him the details. Her breasts had stopped leaking milk a few days after the stillbirth. She had bled a little every day for much longer, but that too had ended. “I mean, my tummy will never be quite as flat again, but … in other ways I’ve healed.”

He still did not understand. “Why are you telling me this?”

Trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice she said: “We can make love again, that’s what I’m saying.”

He grunted and lit his pipe.

It was not the reaction a woman might have hoped for.

“Will you come to my room tonight?” she persisted.

He looked annoyed. “It’s the man that’s supposed to make these suggestions,” he said irritably.

She stood up. “I just wanted you to know that I’m ready,” she said. Feeling hurt, she went up to her room.

Mildred came up to help her undress. As she took off her petticoats she said, in a voice as casual as she could manage: “Has Mr. Jamisson gone to bed?”

“No, I don’t believe he has.”

“Is he still downstairs?”

“I think he went out.”

Lizzie looked at the maid’s pretty face. There was something puzzling in her expression. “Mildred, are you hiding something from me?”

Mildred was young—about eighteen—and she had no talent for deceit. She averted her eyes. “No, Mrs. Jamisson.”

Lizzie was sure she was lying. But why?

Mildred began to brush Lizzie’s hair. Lizzie thought about where Jay had gone. He often went out after supper. Sometimes he said he was going to a card game or a cockfight; sometimes he said nothing at all. She assumed vaguely he was going to drink rum in taverns with other men. But if that were all there was to it, Mildred would say so. Now Lizzie thought of an alternative.

Did her husband have another woman?

A week later he still had not come to her room.