The Distant Beacon

by T. Davis Bunn

  “And I think,” said Andrew, looking straight into her eyes, “that we shall be hearing from them very soon.”

  Catherine felt her distress rise. “But how? You hear the war news and the rumors more than I. Nothing is getting through the blockades. Nothing!”

  It was no longer possible to ignore the war. The conflict had become woven into the fabric of their daily lives. The actual battles remained well to the south and west of them, yet war now touched every aspect of their world.

  The Halifax harbor was jammed with ships, either joining the New York and Boston blockades or ferrying troops to the conflict in Quebec. Even when the roads had become impassable from vicious winds and lashing snow, still the news had managed to filter through, carried by desperate refugees. And almost all the news was of death and darkness.

  Andrew did not shush her so much as soothe away her words as he caressed her cheek. “I cannot tell you how I feel these things, or why. But that is how it seems to me. That we shall soon be hearing from them both, and the news will be good. Very good indeed.”

  Catherine slipped out of her husband’s grasp and turned to the worktable. She didn’t want to send Andrew off with tears. “Let me see to your meal,” she said briskly, managing to wipe her eyes while pretending to adjust her apron. “I believe there is some of that good salt beef left along with biscuits from breakfast . . . and the last of the dried apples.”

  Nicole resisted the urge to crane out the carriage window yet again. There was nothing to be seen save more trees and another stretch of empty road. “Why is it taking so long?” she asked again, recognizing it was a childish query.

  She knew Gordon Goodwind would not respond. She spoke because she could no longer hold on to her impatience.

  After a sharp lurch the carriage jarred to a halt. The horses in front whinnied a protest as they jangled their leads. The conveyance rested at an uncomfortable angle. Nicole watched Gordon lean out his window as the driver leaped down from his station. She knew the tidings before Gordon moved back in and the driver clambered up on the step to report, “Looks like we’re good and stuck this time, missus.”

  “What, again?”

  “They’s been dragging cannon through here, from the looks of things.” The driver was an impossibly cheerful soul, someone Nicole would have loved to visit with under different circumstances. “Either that or plowing furrows down the lane. We’ll have to unharness the horses and drag her out backwards, that’s my guess.”

  “We might as well get out and have something to eat,” Gordon offered.

  Nicole bit down hard on her tongue. There was nothing to be gained from expressing again her impatience. The men were doing the best job they could. That they had come this far at all was a miracle. More than that, a series of miracles had occurred, one after another, as though angels assisted and protected her at every step.

  Even so, the voyage from England had taken nearly five months. Had she known she would be forced to fight her way across the tides of conflict, Nicole doubted she would have had the fortitude to begin the journey at all.

  Twice their ship had been waylaid by the British. The first time was on the high seas. A war squadron suddenly appeared out of a squall line and sent three shots through their rigging before the captain could convince the hostile ships that he was in fact their ally. Apparently the French had taken to flying false colors as a means of getting their ships through to help the Americans. Which had done little to ease their captain’s anger at being struck by one of the king’s own. Only his wife, who served as Nicole’s official chaperone and companion on the voyage, managed to hold off a dangerous confrontation.

  A month later, following the frigid winter crossing of the North Atlantic, they had been stopped by the British blockade off New York. These blockade ships held royal grants, which permitted the requisition of all foodstuffs and armaments from vessels sailing through the blockade line. Their own stores already had been reduced to primarily hardtack and jerky. To their captain’s dismay, the blockade lieutenant had scrounged their last wheel of Wesleyan cheese and the remaining half barrel of apples, not to mention the better part of their gunpowder and shot.

  New York proved to be firmly in British hands. The city was crammed tight with troops and Loyalists who were fleeing the conflict in other areas. The place held to such a chaotic din that Nicole made no protest when Gordon, who was serving as her escort and protector, suggested they stay berthed on the ship. So there they had remained for three of the most tense and frustrating weeks of Nicole’s life. The wind had blown continuously from the north, causing every rope and every stanchion to grow icicles as long as her arm.

  Prices within the city itself were beyond belief, for the Revolutionaries had cut off all the roads leading north so that only a trickle of supplies was coming in from the Loyalist colonies farther south. One morning Nicole witnessed a refugee family buying a sack of cornmeal in exchange for a solid silver candelabra.

  The garrison commander had wanted to requisition both the ship and all the men. Only two factors saved them. One was Gordon’s offer to travel north for supplies and more troops. The second was a surprise her uncle Charles had kept well hidden, one she had discovered when they were more than halfway through their journey. At the bottom of one of her trunks, amidst a mass of other papers related to her new landholdings in western Massachusetts, Nicole found a charter officially naming her the Viscountess Harrow. Charles had attached a terse note, stating simply that the sanctioned title might come in handy in these uncertain times. Indeed it had. Not even the commander of the New York garrison was willing to risk royal ire by depriving a viscountess of her ship. As had been planned, Captain Madden and his wife remained in New York. At Captain Madden’s suggestion, Nicole had formally contracted the vessel and its crew to take her north, with Captain Gordon Goodwind as her official escort. A family, desperate to flee the war, begged for passage north, as they had kin homesteading on the outskirts of Halifax. Nicole was happy to acquiesce since the woman and her two daughters would provide female companionship for the remaining journey.

  The voyage to Nova Scotia had taken another month. Twice they had spotted sails on the horizon and elected to detour far out to sea rather than risk running afoul of a French man-o’-war.

  Halifax itself turned out to be in colossal chaos. They had berthed next to a hulk so blasted and war blackened that Nicole couldn’t even read her name. The city was one mass of troops and Loyalists. The roads were nearly impassable, more closely resembling half-frozen swamps than lanes. Horses strained and fought to drag even empty carts through the mire. Men and animals alike were spattered in red mud up to their chests. Planks had been laid across the busiest thoroughfares, but one wrong step and one was plunged into muck. Most women elected to be carried from one covered walkway to another—that or stay at home. For it wasn’t merely the mud and the endless wet that made the streets of Halifax unsafe that long winter.

  Once again Nicole’s title had proved to be a boon. Rooms were made available in the governor’s own manor, and Nicole had enjoyed her first full bath and fresh hot meal in weeks. Three days they had stayed there, enduring a barrage of war news and ugly rumors. Time and again Gordon was urged to take up the king’s arms and join the struggle. He had carefully countered that his immediate allegiance was already given to those who had entrusted him with the vessel at his charge. At such times Nicole felt her feelings surge to the bursting point for the young officer. Without him she knew she would have made no progress whatsoever.

  When they had found it impossible to beg or buy transport, the governor offered Nicole his personal carriage. Normally she would have balked at the idea of arriving home in such grand style. But after all the frustration and delays, she nearly wept with gratitude. But here again their way had been met by further frustration, more obstacles. First there had been no horses trained to pull in tandem. Then the rain had set in once more, which made the roads worse still.

  Finally the
re came three sunny days in a row, enough for the driver to pronounce the roads fit for travel. Only then it seemed as if the entire city had elected to start off along the Georgetown road. Nicole had never seen such congestion of beast and vehicles. What should have been a long day’s journey, two at the most, had stretched into four days, then five and still there was no sight of Georgetown, no sign they were even drawing near to her beloved parents.

  As the driver’s young assistant handed down the hamper to Gordon with their daily provisions, Nicole stretched her legs while keeping an eye on the road ahead. By now her habits were well-known to all. At every halt she would be the first to survey the scene before them, searching her memory for any sign of familiarity. So much had changed. The narrow trail had been broadened and cut with trenches from the many heavy carts. In earlier days it was rare that they would pass other travelers more than once between the rising of the sun and its descent. If they happened upon someone in the late afternoon, it was tradition to stop and see if these were folk with whom they might camp overnight. Bandits preyed upon travelers, and there was greater safety in numbers.

  Finding company was no longer a concern. Even this far from Halifax the road was still clogged with traffic. Much of the valley, Nicole noticed, had been cleared. The forests were razed back, and newly built cabins now spouted smoke.

  Here on the road a handcart was tucked up tight beneath the boughs of a nearby tree, with an exhausted family sprawled alongside. Nicole’s heart twisted at the sight of two bedraggled young girls, their tattered boots held together with twine. Nothing but their eyes moved as she walked toward them.

  She gave them all a smile and then, as was the custom, addressed the man. “Good day to you, sir.”

  But it was the wife who responded first. “It’s a fine day for traveling, missus. At long last.”

  “Aye, for them as can travel in fitting style,” the husband muttered, casting a dark glance at Nicole’s steeds and carriage.

  “Enough, Harry,” scolded the woman. She turned to Nicole. “Don’t mind him, m’lady. We’ve been sorely put upon by them what’s selling goods back in Halifax.”

  “Which she well knows and profits from, by all accounts,” the husband spat out.

  “Harry, I’m warning you now.” The woman’s smile was bent sharply by her weariness. “We came in with plans to provision up in the capital, but the prices—”

  “I understand.” Because she hadn’t been invited to sit, Nicole remained standing. “The prices they are charging are beyond belief.”

  “If it’s so for folks in ribbons and lace, imagine what it’s been for the likes of us.” The husband’s bile could not be held down. He waved an angry hand toward his wagon, piled high with their possessions. “I paid more for that pushcart than should have cost me for a proper rig and mules!”

  Before the woman could direct another reproach toward her husband, Nicole said, “You have every reason to be upset.” She gestured back to where Gordon and the boy were unpacking the hamper. “We have extra provisions we are happy to share.”

  The woman’s eyes gleamed at the words, and the two young girls scrambled to their feet. But the man growled, “We don’t take charity from nobody. I’ve worked hard all my life, I have, and earned my way fair and square.”

  Nicole knelt in the dirt beside their cart. She had worn the same traveling garments every day of the journey. They had met such people at every stop, and she didn’t want fine clothing to form yet another barrier. The carriage itself appeared so filthy and pitted by hard use that the royal crest was now a single colorless gray. Yet the social distance between her and this family was far too great, which meant she had no choice but confess, “I too have paid my dues upon the road, sir.”

  The man’s mouth twisted hard. “You?”

  “I know it would be easy to disbelieve me. But it is true. My family lost everything when I was younger than your own sweet girls, in another war. And we were forced to journey against our will.” She indicated Gordon where he stood waiting. “Please permit me to offer you what I can only wish had been granted to us.”

  The woman replied hastily, “We thank you, missus.” To her husband she insisted, “For the children, Harry.”

  When the husband remained intent upon the ground by his feet, Nicole stood and smiled for the girls alone. “Would you like to see inside the carriage?”

  Their eyes grew round. The younger of the two inserted a finger into her mouth, but the older one piped up, “Yes, missus. We would.”

  “Come along then.” She took one by each hand and walked them over to where the driver was unhitching the steeds. “What is your name, my friend?”

  “Maggie, and my sister here is Nel.” She pointed at the lead stallion. “Can I touch him?”

  Nicole led the girl to where she could stroke the horse’s nose. “Isn’t he a grand big horse, now?”

  “We had three such, but none as nice as him. What’s his name?”

  “I don’t know. This isn’t my carriage, you see.”

  “Whose is it, then?”

  “A man who wanted to help me return home.”

  “Where’s home for you, missus?”

  Nicole lowered the girl back to earth. “Georgetown.”

  The young girl brightened. “That’s where we’re headed, missus. Papa’s bought us a parcel up by Georgetown. I remember him saying the name.”

  “That’s wonderful. You’ll like it there. Georgetown is a lovely place.” She walked over and opened the carriage door. “Come have a look.”

  The two girls scrambled inside. They exclaimed over the plush seats and the dusty red curtains that could be pulled down over the windows, and how they looked out at the world from up high. When they had climbed back down, the elder sister said, “We had us a farm once.”

  “Where?”

  “Yorktown. But we lost it. My dad says it’s on account of us backing the wrong horse. But I don’t know what he meant. We only had the three and two mules, and we sold them when we had to leave.”

  Gordon walked over and handed her a sack of goods, by now well used to Nicole’s kindness to strangers. She had resisted the urge to tell him much of her early days, about her immediate connections to all these who had been uprooted from their homes in that ceaseless search for security, for peace. She felt it would only have forged bonds that were already threatening her heart with uncertainties. But Gordon seemed to sense her need to give from what she had, and she admired him all the more for not requiring a defense of her generosity.

  Gordon rejoined the driver and his assistant, and together they began rocking the carriage out of the ditch. The older girl watched them for a moment, then asked, “Please, missus, will there be the guns in the night?”

  “I’m sorry—?”

  “Up Georgetown way. Where we’re headed.” The girl brushed tangled tresses away from her eyes, leaving a dirty streak across her forehead. “Will there be the guns again? They scared little Nel something awful, them guns.”

  The little girl whimpered around the finger she had kept in her mouth. Her sister draped a protective arm about the little one’s shoulders. She continued in her piping voice, “That’s why we had to leave in the end. We didn’t want to go. But them guns, they kept coming closer. Every night they went booming and flashing, till one night they was right in the next valley over.”

  Nicole resisted the urge to sweep up both girls in a fierce embrace. The parents were watching closely and might not care to see a stranger hold their children so. “I am absolutely certain,” she said, forcing her voice to hold steady, “there will be no guns around Georgetown, not in the day or the night.”

  “It’s all right, then.” Maggie hugged little Nel to herself. “See there, what did Papa tell you? We’ll be safe and sound—you just wait.”

  Nicole walked the two girls back over to their parents and set the sack of provisions at their mother’s feet. “My father is vicar of Georgetown.”

  “Your fat
her?” The husband seemed to have difficulty fitting his mind around that news.

  “That’s right. He and my mother do all they can to help out newcomers like yourself. I urge you to seek them out.”

  He slowly rose to his feet, slipping the sweat-stained hat from his head. “Your pardon, missus. I thought, well, with the carriage and all—”

  “It’s not mine. I’ve been away for almost two years, and this was lent to me to help speed my way home.” She gestured to the sack. “Please accept this as a token of welcome to your new home.”

  Gordon called, “Nicole!” When she turned, he said, “The carriage is free now. We can eat and continue on our way.”

  “One moment.” She turned back and urged the parents, “Please contact Pastor Andrew Harrow as soon as you can. And do not consider what they offer as charity. They seek only to build a better, closer community. When you can, give to the next ones who arrive and are in need.”

  To free them from any necessity to find words of thanks, Nicole bent down and placed both hands on the shoulders of young Maggie. “Remember what I say to you, little friend. Hold fast to God, and be strong. This too shall pass.”

  She then strode back to the carriage, heartsore at the matter-of-fact way the child had learned to carry her suffering. She looked at Gordon as he watched her approach.

  They had seen this kind of hardship numerous times before. They moved to the side of the road and bowed their heads to thank the Divine Creator and Sustainer of Life for the gifts before them, simple as they might be.

  Chapter 2

  Finally the road rounded a bend that seemed carved from Nicole’s most heartfelt memory. She could no longer contain herself and cried for the carriage to halt. Before the driver had fully reined in the horses, Nicole opened the carriage door and dropped to the ground, almost spilling head over heels. But she managed to keep her balance as she hurried forward. A hundred yards along the trail, a hundred fifty, then she suddenly stopped. She pressed hands tightly to her heaving chest.