Leaving Waverly: Novella

by Sara R. Turnquist

  “Henry!”

  She prayed he would hear her. As it was, his figure became smaller and smaller. Soon disappearing across the field and into the small clump of trees around the creek.

  Should she let him go? Halting, she bent in half to catch her breath. If only she wasn’t wearing this cursed corset! She couldn’t breathe properly.

  Her heart pounded as she looked toward the creek. She couldn’t give up now. Somehow, deep down, she knew he needed her.

  Groaning, she bit at her lip and pushed through the painful stitch in her side. As she neared the creek, she shifted her path to make for the shallow part where the rocks created a way across.

  But something gave her pause. Holding her breath, she listened. The gentle tumble of the water over the small stones welcomed her. But there was another sound.

  Plop.

  Yes, there it was.

  Plop.

  Where was that coming from?

  Plop.

  She strained her ears. To the right. It couldn’t be more than fifteen or so feet away.

  Stepping back onto the grassy field, she moved around the trees until she spotted him.

  Henry sat on the bank, jacket discarded and laying beside him. Back to her, he picked up small rocks at random, throwing them into the water.

  “Henry?” She kept her voice gentle and her tone soft, not wanting to startle him.

  He jerked around, eyes wide. Spotting her, his shoulders relaxed, but his eyes fell. Then he turned toward the creek again.

  With careful steps, she made her way to him. It wouldn’t do to twist her ankle on the uneven ground.

  Now at Henry's side, she stood for a moment, gazing down at him even as he kept his eyes on the water. Then she shifted her attention to the stream as well.

  “You’re a difficult man to catch.”

  “Am I?” There was no hint of humor in his voice.

  She knelt next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Why were you in such a hurry?”

  Nothing.

  “Please, Henry.” Claire rubbed his arm as she settled onto her hip, laying her legs to the side. “Talk to me.”

  Henry sat on his backside, knees in front of his chest with his arms folded on top. He shifted his focus to her then, meeting her eyes. But said nothing.

  “Did my father send you away?”

  He turned forward, examining his hands, intertwining his fingers.

  “My father doesn’t say who I can and can’t see.”

  Henry made a strange noise. A little like a snort.

  “Henry, talk to me.” Claire put both of her hands on his arm nearest to her.

  “I don’t know what to say.” His eyes met hers.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “Your father doesn’t think I’m good enough.”

  Claire furrowed her brows. “What does it matter what he thinks? I think you’re more than—”

  “He won’t let me court you.”

  Her eyes widened. “Court me?” She had not guessed. Did Henry truly feel that way about her?

  Henry's eyes softened and he captured her hands in his, angling his body toward hers. “Yes, Claire, I want to court you, to marry you. So much.”

  Claire's heart expanded. Would it explode? But then…her father had refused Henry. What did that mean?

  “But we can’t do anything. Not without your father’s blessing.” He started to turn away.

  She grabbed at the collar of his shirt, catching a fistful. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

  Henry's hands fell on her arms, his thumbs soothing her with small movements. “It’s the way things are.”

  “But…” She caught herself. Dare she speak what was in her heart? Biting at her lip, Claire gazed into his deep brown eyes. And she couldn’t stop herself. “I love you.”

  His lips spread into a smile. “And I love you.” One of his hands came to rest on the side of her face. “But that’s not enough.”

  “Why not?” Moisture filled her eyes.

  He shrugged. “It’s just not.”

  Tears stung as they fell.

  Henry gathered her to his chest.

  And as she cried, Claire began to form a plan. This would not be the end for them.

  ****

  Parting with Claire had been one of the more difficult things he had ever done. Doing so without pressing his lips to hers had been even more so. But he didn’t want to take that next step. Not if they would not be wed. It wouldn’t be right, kissing a woman who would not be his wife.

  A yawn forced its way out as he neared his father’s farm. A good night’s sleep would be refreshing. If he could sleep. Rest had eluded him these last several nights. Would Claire's declaration of love allow him to find it now?

  Yet for all their affection for one another, what did it mean? There was naught they could do about it. He could not whisk her away. Her father had been right. How could Henry provide any manner of comfortable life for her?

  His dream of going out west, of escaping this place and these memories seemed hopeless at best. Most likely just plain foolish. Who was he to drag Claire along on these boyish fantasies? Perhaps it was best her father stood his ground.

  Reaching for the door’s latch, Henry realized he had not been bowled over by Jeremiah and Josephine. They couldn’t still be busy with chores. And it was yet early for dinner.

  He pulled the door open and stepped inside the cozy living space. The aroma of Ma’s dumplings greeted him. Closing his eyes, he soaked it in.

  But only for a moment.

  “The prodigal son returns.” Pa smiled from his seat at the table.

  Why was Pa in so early? Shouldn’t he be out minding the animals? But there he was, plain as day, sipping coffee.

  The older farmer stood and closed the distance to his son. He laid a weathered hand on Henry's shoulder. “Ma told me you borrowed my jacket. I can only imagine what for. Girl, is it?”

  Henry's gaze fell to the floor as he nodded. There was no reason to hide it from his father.

  “Aren’t you one for secrets?” Pa moved to the stove and poured more coffee from the pot warming on the burner.

  Giving him a sideways glance, Henry wondered how much he would have to disclose. How much did he want to share?

  Ma stepped into the room from the partitioned off bed space. “I declare, those two troublemakers will be the death of me!”

  Henry shifted his eyes toward her. “What are they doing now?”

  “The usual. Chasing chickens and scaring the milk cows. It’s a wonder how we get anything to produce around here. I set them out by the barn to snap peas.”

  Henry winced. Ma’s favorite punishment. Of course snapping the peas had to be done. But it was such a mindless chore that she reserved it for…special occasions.

  Ma caught Henry's eyes, brows raised. “How did it go?”

  Pa arched a brow.

  “The meeting didn’t go as well as I hoped.” Henry stepped back as Ma passed in front of him, making her way to the dish cabinet and pulling down plates.

  She handed them to Henry. “No? Well, no matter. You’re a fine farmer whether Mr. Crawford sees it or not.”

  “You had a meeting with Mr. Crawford?” Pa coughed. Had he sipped too fast? Choked on his coffee? Perhaps Henry wasn’t the only Garrett intimidated by Mr. Crawford.

  “Yes. But it wasn’t like that.” Henry sighed. Maybe it was time to tell them the truth. “It’s not what you think.”

  Ma turned her head from her position at the stove, stirring dinner.

  Pa paused mid-sip, setting his cup down.

  Henry set the dishes on the table and leaned on the back of a chair.

  “Perhaps you should tell us what all of this is about.” Pa’s voice was calm, but firm.

  Nodding, Henry pulled out the chair and landed in its seat.

  Ma stepped hesitantly to the table. She slid into the seat next to Pa, across from Henry.

  Placing hands on the table, Henry
examined them before raising his face to catch his parents’ gazes. There was no better way than to just come out with it. “I went to ask him for his daughter’s hand.”

  Pa’s mouth twitched.

  Ma frowned.

  “It wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t intend for it to. But it just did. We met one day…the day Clementine died. Then I saw her again at the Amos’ home…”

  Ma’s eyes widened.

  They wouldn’t understand. How could they?

  Henry looked away. “It all must seem strange to you.” Then he caught their eyes again, each in turn. “But I love her.”

  They continued to watch Henry, as if waiting for him to continue.

  “But Mr. Crawford refused me. And I would do the same in his shoes. I don’t know what I thought. Who would give their daughter to a man who has nothing to his name but a dream and only a few dollars to get him there?”

  Henry pushed back from the table and crossed his arms, looking at the floor. “How am I supposed to take her away from all this if I can’t free myself?” He stole a glance in their direction.

  They exchanged a long look.

  Ma nodded.

  Pa stood and walked to the partitioned off bedroom.

  “I know you two don’t want me to leave. You think I’m foolish to want to do anything but what I was raised to. But I believe I can have a better life out west. There is opportunity for anyone who will dare take it.”

  In the next moment, Pa loomed over Henry. He held his hand out, holding a stack of bills wrapped in a brown leather binding.

  Henry looked between his parents. “What is this?”

  “Take it.” Pa nudged Henry’s shoulder with the money. “It’s for you. Your mother took on some folks’ laundry and mending and the hogs had a good litter this year. We knew you would need it.”

  Not sure what else to do, Henry held out his hand to receive the precious gift. “I…I don’t understand.”

  Pa walked away, circling the table and returning to his seat.

  “Your Pa and I may not understand, but we will always believe in you.” Ma’s eyes were glassy.

  Was it just Henry's imagination or did Pa sniffle?

  Perhaps it was Henry's emotion that welled in that moment.

  “But I can’t take—”

  “You can.” Pa turned on Henry. “You must. It’s the only way.”

  Henry pressed the bundle with his other hand. The only way. Yes, there was a way. But dare he take it?

  ****

  Stepping into the oversized entryway, Claire smiled to herself. The warmth of Henry's embrace still lingered. And the skin of her forehead tingled where his lips had pressed a farewell kiss. How she had wanted him to truly kiss her. Why did he hold back?

  But he was a gentleman and pulled away after the simple contact that affected her more than she would have imagined possible.

  Moving toward the stairs, she sighed.

  “You are not to see that boy again.” The voice was gruff, coming from the shadows at the doorway to the far hall.

  Claire paused, foot already on the first step. She didn’t have to look in that direction to know it was her father.

  “I will not suffer this humiliation.” His voice was stern.

  Removing her hand from the banister, Claire faced the darkened figure. “You cannot cage me forever, Father.”

  He stepped into the fading light of the day, streaming in through the window. His features twisted into an angry grimace. “Do not forget yourself, young lady. You are my daughter. And as long as you wish to live under the protection of my name, you will do as I say.”

  Claire met, and held, his stony gaze. There would come a day she would have to stand up to this man. Had that day come? She swallowed against an impossibly dry mouth and opened her lips to speak.

  Nothing came.

  She dropped her head, looking to the floor. Why couldn’t she say her peace to him? Tell him she cared not for his position nor this fine house?

  His features relaxed. “You may be excused.” Pa turned and moved toward the hall leading to the family parlor. “Please dress for dinner. I don’t want your mother to be embarrassed by your dress.”

  Her face warmed. Say something. Speak your heart! “I will take dinner in my room.”

  He spun. His eyes hard on her once more. After a few moments, he nodded. “As you wish. But remember what I said.”

  Biting at her lip, she looked at the lowering sun outside the window. The clipping of his shoes on the floor let her know he had moved off down the hall.

  Once the sound faded, she whirled and raced up the stairs.

  What cowardice! How could she face Henry again? Could she not stand up to her father for her heart? For the man she loved? She was hopeless.

  Jerking her door open, she slammed it for good measure. Then flung herself upon her bed. What would become of her and Henry? The plan that had begun to form in her mind, a dangerous plan indeed, seemed to lose form and substance in the face of her timidity. It could not be done.

  God, I need Your strength. I need Henry, to be with him. I know he will care for me. I know we can make a life together. And I know I need to be free of my father. But I am powerless to do so. Give me strength. Give me wisdom.

  As she prayed, Claire was filled anew with determination. And she knew what she had to do.

  Chapter Five

  Flight

  WHERE COULD SHE be? Dare he venture to the manor house again? Would her father banish him from the property? End his tenancy for good? Did it matter?

  Henry had not seen Claire in four days. Rather unusual on the face of it, but all the more heart-wrenching after their declarations to one another. And he became fearful of what her father might have done. How far would he go to ensure Henry and Claire wouldn’t see one another?

  Having talked himself into and out of barging up to the mansion several times now, he sat on the edge of his allotted land, stuck in a moment of indecision.

  No, he could not tarry. He had to do it. Regardless of the risks. She needed him.

  Rising, he made his way toward the looming house. He could have counted the yards to the front door, but they seemed immeasurable today, dragging out in front of him.

  As he neared, he saw a horse-drawn carriage, prepared and sitting in front of the house. Was Crawford sending Claire away?

  Henry picked up his step, arriving at the small porch as Mr. Crawford emerged from the house, Abraham in tow. Crawford spoke hurriedly to the man. Perhaps giving him instructions.

  Abraham spotted Henry. His eyes widened. Did he wish to warn Henry? He did not betray Henry's arrival, but his altered focus alerted Crawford to another’s presence.

  Crawford turned in Henry's direction and then his eyes narrowed. He halted. “Mr. Garrett.”

  Henry closed the distance between them.

  “What can I do for you?” the older man spoke through clenched teeth.

  “I want to speak with Claire.”

  “She is no concern of yours.” Crawford shoved his hands into gloves as if Henry was a minor annoyance. “And if I were you, I would spend my time worrying after my farm. If you have one after today.” He arched a brow toward Henry.

  “I just want to know that she is all right.”

  “I have said what I will on this matter.” Crawford stepped into the carriage. “Abraham, will you see this farmer off of my property?”

  “But, I—” Henry asserted.

  “We will speak about your tenancy tomorrow. As you see, I have business to attend to right now. Good day, Mr. Garrett.”

  With that, Crawford nodded at the coachman and the man slapped the reins. The horses took off and Henry could do nothing but watch the carriage circle the dirt path in front of the manor house and drive off into the distance.

  Abraham put a hand on his arm. “Mr. Garrett, please don’t make this more difficult.”

  Henry nodded, holding up a hand. “I’ll be on my way.”

  He se
nsed Abraham’s eyes on him as he took the steps that would carry him farther from Claire.

  Once he was several feet from the house, the door shut. Was there still a chance he might see her? Could she be in her garden?

  He glanced over his shoulder.

  Abraham was nowhere in sight.

  Altering his step, he moved to the back of the house. In a few minutes, the garden came into view.

  There was no one in sight. Indeed, the garden appeared as if it had not been tended in days.

  Henry frowned. Had she not been allowed outside at all?

  Sensing eyes on him, he glanced up. There, at the window, he spotted Abraham, watching him. The man gave him a stern look.

  Henry nodded and moved off toward his own apportioned land. His heart fell, his opportunity lost.

  As he neared his tenant farm, his thoughts turned briefly to his work. What was the point? If Crawford would end his tenancy tomorrow, was there any reason to continue? He made short work of putting away his tools. There was nowhere for him to go but back to his father’s farm.

  What now? There was no Claire. No farm. No way to see his dream come to fruition. Though, without Claire, did he even want that dream now? Or had it, just like the world, lost its color, its appeal?

  Nearing the creek, he found the embankment where they had sat not one week prior and said words of love to each other. Such a tender memory.

  Plopping down, he plucked a few strands of grass and let them fall from his grasp.

  A rustle behind gave him pause. He held his breath.

  “You’re a difficult man to catch.”

  He jerked around, rising at the same time. Closing the distance between them, Claire was in his arms in a moment. Henry held her as if he would never let go. Indeed, he never wanted to.

  “Are you well?” he spoke into her shoulder.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He pulled back to look into her eyes. “I can’t. I can’t be without you.”

  Her fingers grazed the side of his face. “I know.”

  “But I don’t know how, Claire. I’m so sorry. I wish I had a way to—”

  She placed a finger on his lips.

  He quieted.

  “I have a plan.”

  His eyes caught hers. Whatever it was, he would do it…anything to be with her.