Victorian Dream
Page 29
They didn’t go directly to Walker’s house, instead they skirted the town, and she was captivated by the landscape spreading out before her. Here in America, freedom seemed a tangible spirit, a living entity. She could feel it in the countryside, in the wide-open expanses that seemed to go on forever, in the thick forests promising wild game and firewood and lumber for building a future. This land had helped shape her husband’s spirit, his very essence. She recalled the crowded dirty London backstreets seen on her rounds for Father Woolsey. The sadness and desperation felt a world a way. Here hard work seemed to result in a better way of life. This was a land of hope.
On the crest of a hill overlooking the ocean, Walker brought the sleigh to a halt. The horses stamped their feet, snorting out great puffs of frosty breath as the bells on their traces jangled in the boundless silence. An extraordinary scene, made perfect because Walker was at her side.
She sighed, and offered a quick prayer of thanks then studied his face. “Right now, this very moment, I am happier than I have ever been. I love you, Walker. I love our child yet to be born, and I love all the beautiful possibilities stretching out before us. I even love the thought of growing old with you.”
“Don’t rush us too quickly into rocking chairs on the porch,” he teased.
Slipping his hand inside her cloak, he grazed his hand across the bodice of her dress. Her breasts, made ample by her pregnancy, strained against the fabric, and her nipples hardened and ached for him. Right on queue, the rest of her body reacted hot and ready, responding to his touch, to his need for her, to the knowledge of how much he loved her.
A girlish giggle escaped her. She truly believed he could forever make her feel young and wild and beautiful, so beautiful. But she needed to hear the words. “You promise you will love me even when I’m old and gray?” she pressed, as he nuzzled her neck.
“Yes, always. I am besotted and hopelessly in love with you. And I plan to stay that way. My mission, to fulfill your every dream. Only the good ones, of course,” he corrected.
“Only the good ones,” she murmured against his neck.
Epilogue
New Bedford, Massachusetts
Their son was born midsummer, a strapping young lad, drawing his first breath in the land of the free and the home of the brave.
Rather than returning to England, everyone had agreed to extend their stay in New Bedford. Trelayne’s father was interested in seeing the workings of this exciting foreign country, and her mother was ever happy to be at his side and to be near Trelayne and their first grandchild.
This morning, in a rare quiet moment while they were both still abed, Trelayne yawned and snuggled closer to Walker, seeking his warmth in the early hours before dawn.
“We can’t keep calling him ‘the baby,’” she said languidly. “He really must have a name.”
“You’re right, of course, but regardless of what we choose, someone’s feelings will be hurt.”
“Yes, I know,” she agreed, silently reviewing the possibilities in her head.
There was Phillip for her father, Bertram for his father, Samuel for Walker’s best friend, William who had been sorely injured trying to rescue her while she was pregnant, and of course Hargis.
She toyed with the silver rattle so delicately wrought by the big Scandinavian.
Much as she liked the man, and was grateful to him, she wasn’t about to name her child Hargis. It sounded much too close to haggis.
“We could name him Walker,” she suggested.
“No.” He shook his head, his tone indicating he was adamant about the decision. “I’m not much on saddling a child with the name of the father, or any relative. Let destiny declare who he will be as he follows a journey of his own making.”
He reached over to the nightstand, snared his St. Brendan medal, and made to slip the silver chain over his head.
Before he could follow through, she caught the filigreed strands between her fingers, staying his actions.
“We shall call him Brendan,” she declared, studying the holy figure.
Walker smiled and hugged her. “A perfect choice. If my son is anything like his mother, he will definitely need watching over.”
“And if he’s anything like his father,” she countered, “he will grow up to be a great man, with adventures to follow and grand dreams beyond our imagining.”
“He’s also going to need a brother or sister,” Walker pointed out.
Rather than putting the chain and medallion around his neck, he placed it back upon the bedside table.
“Is that so?” Playfully, she pushed at his chest then glanced over at her son sleeping peacefully nearby. Her sweetest of dreams was coming true. She had her hero of a husband, and was joyfully working on that gaggle of children.
“Would you like a daughter this time, or another son?” she asked, gliding her fingers across his belly.
“Right now, all I want is you.”
Author’s Notes
The Crystal Palace
The Crystal Palace, known as The Great Exhibition if 1851, was designed by Joseph Paxton who received a knighthood in recognition of his work. But the idea was the brainchild of Prince Albert. During Queen Victoria’s visit, she complained about the infestation of sparrows. The Duke of Wellington suggested sparrow hawks—problem solved.
Nearly six million people wandered through the 990,000 square foot creation which housed examples from 14,000 exhibitors. The displays included almost every marvel of the Victorian age, including pottery, porcelain, ironwork, furniture, perfumes, pianos, firearms, fabrics, steam hammers, hydraulic presses and even the odd house or two. The invention of cast plate glass allowed for the clear walls and ceiling which earned the structure its name—the Crystal Palace. It housed a living elm tree, a twenty-seven-foot crystal fountain, and had the first major installation of public toilets in the Retiring Rooms.
The mid-nineteenth century saw the birth of the industrial revolution and the beginning of the modern era and was the forerunner of future Worlds. The Great Exhibition was just the beginning. To quote Charlotte Brontë, “Its grandeur does not consist in one thing, but in the unique assemblage of all things. Whatever human industry has created you find here.”
After the exhibition ended in 1854 it was moved from Hyde Park to a park in Penge Common near Sydenham Hill. It stood there until it burned down in 1936, the glow of which was seen across eight counties.
The Amazon lily
Victoria Amazonica grows in the region of central Brazil. The immense leaves (sometimes exceeding seven feet in diameter) are the largest of all known aquatic plants and float on the surface of hidden ponds and lagoons deep in the forest tributaries of the Amazon River. The stems can reach as much as eighteen feet.
Discovered by British explorers in 1801, it was named after the British Queen Victoria, but it was nearly fifty years later when it was first brought to bloom in “captivity” in England. The lilies are night blooming, scenting evening air with a pineapple-like fragrance. The first night flower, a magnificent white female flower, appears one day then turns into a pink male flower the next day. Rather than by bees, they are generally pollinated by several species of beetles.
Spring Heel Jack
Spring Heel Jack was a real nineteenth-century phenomenon, and like Jack the Ripper, never captured or identified. As an interesting aside, Bigfoot was also reported to have been first spotted in Canada in the mid 1830s. Immortalized in books, plays, and newspaper clippings, Spring Heel Jack is regarded as one of Britain’s patron saints of the supernatural. Modern day theorists have suggested he was an alien.
Opium use in 1851
Prior to the 1868 Pharmacy Act, which restricted the sale of opium to professional pharmacists, anyone could legally trade in, or use, opium products. Blatant usage is reflected in the literature of the day, and opium in one form or another was seen in all levels of society. Pills, penny sticks, Godfrey’s Cordial for babies, and a mixture of opium and alcohol (lauda
num) were the most common forms in use.
Historical Disclaimer!
Although preloaded gun cylinders were a possibility (as used by my heroine onboard the Romney Maiden) they were often very unreliable when put to use, and it is highly doubtful Colt would have included preloaded gun cylinders in his shipment of gun parts from America to England for the exhibit.
General Overview
The Victorian Era appears to have been an age of wonderment and enlightenment, thwarted by superstition and the inability of the male gender and religious factors to surrender tired-out tradition to common sense and the common cause.
A word about the author...
Gini Rifkin lives in Colorado with a Noah's Ark of abandoned farm animals. When not writing or tending "the herd," she enjoys volunteering at the local historical society, especially on days when full costumes are encouraged.
Family and friends are her greatest treasure, and they're delighted with her new hobby—learning the art of baking pies and pastries.
Look for Gini’s other titles from
The Wild Rose Press
The Dragon And The Rose
Lady Gallant
Iron Heart
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