The Color of Forever

by Julianne MacLean

  Evangeline

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Spring, 1881

  “I wish you didn’t have to go,” I said to Sebastian as we stood on the dock in South Portland, while his trunks and bags were loaded onto the ship. “The children are going to miss you terribly.”

  “You’ll miss me too, I hope.” He raised my gloved hand to his lips and kissed it.

  “Of course, more than anything. Perhaps, if mother feels better in the next few weeks, we’ll be able to join you.”

  “I’ll pray for it.”

  It had not been an easy year thus far, for my mother had fallen ill with a severe fever that lasted for days, and she had not yet fully recovered. Due to her continued lethargy for more than a month, the doctor feared it might be some form of cancer. We were still awaiting a diagnosis.

  At the same time, Sebastian’s brother Marcus, who operated the London office for their shipping company, had suffered a health crisis. His eyes were failing him, and blindness was a distinct possibility, which was why Sebastian was leaving me to cross the Atlantic and take up the reins in his brother’s stead.

  A horn blew on the steamship, and I squeezed my husband’s hands. “It’s time for you to go, isn’t it?”

  I could hardly bear it. My heart was breaking at the thought of being separated from him.

  “I’m sorry, my love. I will write to you as often as I can, and please keep me apprised of your mother’s health, and the children’s.”

  “I will. And give my love to Marcus. I hope he’ll be all right.”

  Sebastian kissed my hands again, then pulled me into his arms and held me tight against him. “Take care of yourself.” With that, he bent to pick up his leather portfolio, backed away from me and stepped onto the gangplank.

  I remained on the crowded dock to watch the steamship pull away, and waved to Sebastian, who stood at the rail.

  “Safe travels,” I softly said, knowing he couldn’t hear me above the noise of the steam engines and the voices of the passengers and people on the dock, waving good-bye to their loved ones.

  I remained on the dock until the ship left the harbor and I could see it no more. Then, wiping tears from my eyes, I returned home to our children.

  o0o

  Over the next three months, my mother’s health slowly deteriorated, and there was nothing to be done but visit her often, read to her, and help her through the pain. When it became too much for my father to bear alone—and since I, too, was alone with my children—I sent for my parents to come and live with me for as long they wished.

  I wrote to Sebastian about the situation, and he replied with more news of Marcus’s worsening vision and the fact that the company’s accounts had suffered from his inability to focus over the past year. The books and employee records were in a terrible state, and there was some concern over embezzlement by a previous bookkeeper who had taken advantage of Marcus’s ailment. Sebastian warned me that he would be unable to return home until at least the fall.

  And so, I spent the summer months caring for my dying mother and relying on the household staff to help me through those difficult times. Our nanny was especially helpful in keeping the children occupied.

  “Perhaps a visitor might lift her spirits,” my father said one evening after dinner, when he and I sat alone together in the drawing room, sipping brandy. “She always enjoyed Mr. Harvey’s tales of the sea. He has a sweet spot for you, Evangeline. Perhaps you could encourage him to pay a call.”

  “That is an excellent idea,” I replied, sitting forward in my chair. “Tomorrow, if the weather is fine, I will pack up a basket of goodies—some of our fresh strawberries and Mrs. Cooper’s delicious rum cake—and pay him a visit.”

  It felt good to have a plan, for I had been feeling rather lost in recent weeks.

  o0o

  I decided to walk to Portland Head Light, rather than take the coach, for it seemed a lifetime since I’d walked any substantial distance alone. Life had become too busy in the wake of marriage and motherhood. There was so little time to simply be quiet and reflect.

  Hooking the basket handle over my arm, I ventured down the veranda steps in my peach morning dress, comfortable walking shoes and wide-brimmed straw hat, with the full intention of forgetting my woes for the next half hour while I journeyed along Shore Road, past Chimney Rock and our neighbors’ homes facing the sea. Before long, the steady sound of the surf on the rugged shoreline relaxed the inner workings of my body and I breathed deeply the scent from chamomile along the edges of the lane.

  By the time I spotted the sturdy lighthouse on the point—like a beacon of hope to bring my husband home—I felt calmer and stronger, and believed I would somehow find the strength to weather these hard times of loneliness and grief.

  With purpose, I strode to the little stone house at the base of the tower and knocked firmly on the front door. No answer came, and I wondered if Mr. Harvey might be inspecting the light in the tower, or perhaps he was fishing off the edge of the cliff.

  Just then the door opened, and I found myself staring at his nephew, Mr. Williams.

  He appeared disoriented and disheveled, as if I’d just woken him from a deep slumber. Running his hand through his tousled hair and reaching quickly for his jacket on the hook by the door, he shrugged into it and said, “Good morning, Mrs. Fraser. How nice to see you.”

  “I’m very sorry, Mr. Williams,” I replied. “Perhaps I’ve come too early.” I tried to remember what time it had been when I left the house. It must be at least 9:30.

  “Not at all,” he replied, stepping back and opening the door wider. “Please come in.”

  I entered to discover the front room was tidy and clean. The stove did not appear to have been lit that morning.

  “I don’t usually sleep this late,” he said, “but I was up most of the night trying to fix the tower door. It came right off its hinges in a sudden gust of wind.”

  “My word. It certainly was windy last night.”

  He yawned and rubbed the back of his neck.

  Clearing my throat, I set my basket down on the table. “Well. Today is a new day. I thought you and Mr. Harvey might like some fresh bread, strawberries and rum cake. Is he here?” I glanced around. “I would like to speak to him, if I may.”

  Mr. Williams glanced eagerly at the basket on the table. “I’m sorry, but my uncle’s not here. He had to travel to Boston. An old friend of his passed away, and he wished to pay his respects.”

  “Oh, I’m very sorry to hear that. Were they close?”

  Mr. Williams regarded me for a long moment before his broad shoulders rose and fell with a heavy sigh. “I’m afraid so, Mrs. Fraser. It was a lady friend—a woman he’d loved all his life but could never be with because she had married someone else. They were sweethearts in their youth and remained friends. I think she loved him too, even though she remained faithful to her husband. They wrote to each other for over fifty years.”

  “How sad,” I replied. “Why in the world did she marry that other man if she loved Mr. Harvey?” I asked innocently.

  “Well…the man who asked for her hand was very wealthy. My uncle was just a fisherman. In the end, I don’t think he begrudged the choice she made, until he found out she’d died. I swear on my life, there was no consoling him. I think only after her death did he realize he’d always held out hope that she would be a widow one day and they could finally be together. But now, that will never come to pass.”

  “Oh, dear me.” I covered my mouth with the tips of my gloved fingers. “What an excruciatingly sad story.”

  I don’t know what came over me in the next moment, but my eyes filled with tears and a jagged, painful lump formed in my throat. Perhaps it was all the hardships I had endured in recent weeks, with my mother’s suffering and my constant longing for my husband who was on the opposite side of the Atlantic. I was normally in control of my emotions and had always maintained a stiff upper lip in situations such as this, but that day, I had rea
ched the end of my tether.

  I covered my eyes with my white-gloved hand, bowed my head and shuddered with despair.

  Almost instantly, a handkerchief appeared before me. I opened my eyes to find Mr. Williams holding it out, his brow furrowed with concern. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  I took it and dabbed at the corners of my eyes. “It’s not your fault, Mr. Williams. Good gracious, I didn’t realize I had become so fragile.”

  He watched me carefully. “I understand your mother is ill. I hope she’ll feel better soon. She’s a kind and lovely lady, and I am sure she is very grateful to have you at her side.”

  Again, I fell apart, without warning, like a piece of crockery hurled upon rocks. “I don’t know what’s come over me,” I said, apologizing profusely while I wiped my eyes with the handkerchief.

  Before I could comprehend what was happening, Mr. Williams stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me. He held me close, with tenderness, and I set my cheek upon his broad shoulder and wept for many minutes in the privacy of the little stone house.

  Finally, I gathered my composure and withdrew from his embrace.

  “Please…” He pulled a chair out from the table and waited for me to take a seat. As soon as I did, he sat across from me with his hands clasped together on the table, saying nothing, simply waiting for me to collect myself.

  For a long while, I fiddled with the balled up handkerchief on my lap, then at last, I lifted my gaze to meet his. “Thank you.”

  “No need,” he replied.

  We continued to sit in silence while the ocean roared like a beast outside the windows.

  “It’s been a difficult time,” I explained, dabbing at my eyes again. “I’m sure you know that Captain Fraser has been in London throughout all of this, ever since the spring. He was already gone when I learned how serious my mother’s illness was. I don’t think she’s going to last much longer, Mr. Williams, and I feel very alone.” I paused and took a breath. “Of course, I cannot blame Captain Fraser for not being here. His brother needs him as well, and so does the company. It’s necessary for him to be there. It’s just a bad time, that’s all.”

  Mr. Williams nodded. “Sometimes life saves up its worst and doles it all out at once.”

  I nodded. “Everything seemed so perfect and wonderful for the longest time. I supposed I knew it couldn’t last forever. Life can’t always be roses and sunshine.”

  “Sometimes it’s dark clouds and hurricanes.”

  I managed a small smile. “Indeed.”

  “Would you like some tea?” Mr. Williams asked. “My mother always said a hot cup of tea can make anything better than it was five minutes ago.”

  I inhaled deeply and nodded. “Thank you. And perhaps a little rum cake will improve the day even more?”

  Mr. Williams grinned at me as he lit the stove. I made myself useful by emptying the contents of the basket onto the table. Then I moved about the room, searching for plates and a knife with which to slice the cake. Mr. Williams pointed to where I could find the items I needed.

  A short while later, he was pouring my tea and I was feeling much better.

  “What did you want to speak to Mr. Harvey about?” he asked as he dug into his cake with a fork. “Is it anything I can help you with?”

  I set my teacup down in the saucer with a soft clink. “I was hoping he would pay a visit to my mother. As you can imagine, her spirits are very low, as she is confined to her bedchamber. But she always enjoyed his stories of the sea. I thought it might cheer her up, at least for a little while.”

  “I am sure he will be sorry to have missed your call.”

  “Do you know when he’ll return?”

  “I have no idea. He was going to visit his brother as well, in New Hampshire. I told him to take his time. That I have everything under control here.”

  “I am sure that you do.” I took another sip of tea.

  The waves continued to explode on the cliff below the tower, while the rum cake in my mouth tasted sweet and moist.

  Mr. Williams finished his tea. “Please tell me, Mrs. Fraser, if there is anything I can do for you. It cannot be easy for you to manage everything, with your husband out of the country.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Williams. You’ve always been such a good friend to me.”

  We had encountered each other many times over the past few years, at local events, passing each other on the road, here and there, with me in my luxurious coach and Mr. Williams on foot, walking along with a sack of supplies slung over his shoulder. I took advantage of opportunities to stop and chat with him, as he was always so cheerful and friendly. I valued our conversations.

  “I hate to see you unhappy,” he said.

  “You are very kind.”

  Neither of us spoke for a long moment, and a tight knot formed in my belly. When I lifted my gaze, he was watching me intently, with great caring and concern for my welfare. I sensed—or rather I feared—that he was about to reach across the table and squeeze my hand.

  Suddenly, I became aware of how alone we were, and something about this felt wrong. Nothing had ever seemed improper with Mr. Williams before, but today was different. Nothing was quite the same as it had been.

  “I must go,” I said, finishing my tea and setting the cup down in the saucer. “It’s a long walk back, and I am sure my mother must need me.”

  “Of course.” His chair scraped across the plank floor as he quickly rose to his feet.

  I collected my empty basket, hooked it over my wrist, and allowed him to escort me to the door. “Will you tell Mr. Harvey that I came by? If he returns soon, I would welcome a call from him.”

  “I am sure he will be knocking on your door the moment he returns.” Mr. Williams followed me into the yard. “And please, Mrs. Fraser, do not hesitate to come and see me again if you require anything at all. I want to be of service, if I can be.”

  “I appreciate that, Mr. Williams. Good day to you.” I turned away and started off down the lane.

  As I walked, my heart felt lighter, for I had allowed it to open up and release some of the pain inside. And while a part of me still felt foolish for weeping so despairingly upon Mr. Williams’ shoulder, I did not wish to think that there had been anything untoward about our encounter. I was confident in Mr. William’s integrity, discretion and genuine concern for my welfare. He was a kind-hearted and decent man. Always a true friend.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  October—normally my favorite month of the year—came and went without my usual awareness of the colorful changing leaves, the crisp, juicy flavor of a fresh apple, or the rich, royal blue of the autumn sky. Instead, it was a bleak and lonely time, for my mother passed away in her bed during the second week, and a few days after her funeral, my father announced his intention to return to Boston and work for a former colleague as an office clerk in a tannery.

  “I cannot stay here without her,” he told me as we stood at the balustrade on the veranda one foggy evening after the children were asleep. “Your husband will soon return home,” Father continued, “and I do not wish to be a hanger on. I don’t wish to return to Blackstone Cottage either, for there are too many memories there. The house will seem so empty and lonesome without her.”

  “But the children and I will miss you terribly,” I said, reaching for my father’s hand. “I hope you know that you can stay here as long as you like. Forever, if it pleases you.”

  He raised my hand to his lips and kissed it. “I will miss you, too, my sweet pea, but it’s only a train ride away. We can visit each other.” He paused. “But I simply must to return to some form of work and prove myself worthy of something. Otherwise, without your mother’s constant chatter to fill my days, I fear I will just wither away in silence. She always kept me so amused with her silly ideas and laughter.”

  We were quiet a moment, thinking of her.

  “I understand,” I said, “and please know that what I want most of all is your happiness.”
<
br />   I had spoken the truth, but what left me uneasy about our conversation was the fact that I still didn’t know when Sebastian would return to me, for whenever I received a letter from him, he always promised it would be just a few more weeks. He had been saying that for months.

  o0o

  Perhaps it was my mother’s passing that inspired my husband to make the necessary arrangements at the London office, so that he could return home to me at last. He hired a new manager to take over most of Marcus’s duties, and boarded a ship which arrived in Portland Harbor on the first Monday of November.

  When I finally heard the hired coach rumbling up the long tree-lined drive to our home, I ran down the stairs and out the front door without even pausing to check my appearance in a looking glass. All I cared about was seeing my beloved husband again—stepping into his arms and breathing in his familiar, masculine scent that always enchanted me.

  The coach pulled to a halt in the driveway and the door was immediately flung open. I froze on the spot, at the top of the veranda stairs, looking down as Sebastian stepped out.

  Dressed in a fine, black traveling jacket with a new blue paisley neckcloth, he looked up at me and laid his hand over his heart.

  My own heart leapt with joy, and tears spilled from my eyes as I descended the stairs and walked into his waiting arms.

  “I’m so sorry about your mother,” he whispered into my ear, nuzzling me close for a few seconds before he kissed me deeply and ardently on the mouth. I was still grief-stricken and so grateful for the comfort he offered, that I barely noticed the coachman climbing down from the driver’s seat, and the flurry of activity as the servants emerged from the house to collect the trunks and bags and welcome their master home.

  When we finally stopped kissing and stepped apart, I could not yet smile, for though I was overjoyed to have him home, I was damaged from recent events and still heartbroken over our separation.

  “I wish you had been here,” I softly said. “I needed you.”