The Willows

by Mathew Sperle

  “You females and your foofaraws.” Lance shook his head in indulgent fashion. “I am certain the steward arranged for your trunks to be stored ashore.”

  What steward? She could have asked, but her mind was focused less on the trials of her voyage, and more on the immediate problem. “We have to go back and get it at once.”

  “You will go nowhere” Lance said firmly. “The dock is no place for a lady. Do you think I wish to see you assaulted by riffraff again?”

  Gwen had no wish to encounter anymore of noxious children, but she had to save her locket. “This is important to me, Lance. I can’t risk someone stealing my things.”

  He took her hand in his, this time holding them firmly. “Very well, let me escort you into the house, and once I’ve seen you safely settled, I shall go back for your luggage.”

  “I can see my own way inside. Please, go quickly.”

  He looked at the iron gateway. “But Jervis wished-“

  “I will deal with my uncle.” She all but pushed him towards the carriage. “If I lose my bags, daddy will be livid as my carelessness. It won’t do to have him getting mad at us now, will it?”

  That seemed to decide him. Throwing back his shoulders, smiled down at her. “You are right. Never fear, I will find your luggage, darling, and everything else, too.” His radiant smile seemed to cover her like a warm blanket. “How can I fail? Am I not your Lancelot?”

  In that moment, she envied him. Dashing Lance, always so sure of himself-a wonderful to own such confidence. He had not the slightest doubt that one way or another, he’d return with her belongings.

  “Your wish is my command.” Dipping a courtly bow, kissed her hand. “I am ever at your service, my lady.”

  “Enough of your nonsense,” she said, trying to deny the pleasure is pride gave her. “Hurry, Lance, before someone runs off with my things.”

  “To battle then.” Waving and imaginary sword, he climbed up into the carriage and struck did the driver to take him to the docks. “But upon my triumphant return,” he threw over his shoulder, “I expect to be rewarded with a kiss.”

  “You just find my bag,” she murmured to herself as the carriage rattled off and turned the corner. “We can discuss the reward later.”

  “If there is a reward,” said a deep, slightly accented voice behind her, “can anyone claim it?”

  She twisted, finding herself face to face with the stranger from the dock. “Where did you come from?” She snapped, unnerved by his presence on this all too quiet street. “What are you doing here?”

  “I assumed this was a public thoroughfare.” He gestured at the neighboring homes, closed and shuttered against the afternoon heat, all oblivious to what was happening down on the street. “I had no idea it was your private domain, my lady.”

  Whatever fear he might have aspired evaporated in her irritation. That was Lance’s romantic nickname for her; how dare he use it so mockingly. “You are right, it is most public. Please don’t let me stop you from continuing on your path.” Picking up her skirt, she brushed past him, her mind intent upon reaching the gate, the inner courtyard beckoning more than ever like an oasis.

  “Aren’t you the least bit interested in this?”

  “I truly doubt Sir, you could have anything of interest to me.”

  “I don’t have time for games, my lady,” he said, his tone training a marked lack of patience. “Do you want the bag or not?”

  She spun, noticing for the first time what he held in his hands. It was her bag; she recognized her blue wool gown, spilling out the half open side. “Those are my things. How dare you-“

  “I did not steal anything,” he interrupted. “You left this bag on the dock.”

  “I never meant to imply-“

  “Didn’t you?” He stared at her so intently, she fought the urge to squirm. They both knew the accusation had been on the tip of her tone.

  “I didn’t come here to fight with you,” he said with forced patients. “Here, take the damn thing, and I’ll be happy to leave you alone.”

  She moved towards him slowly, eyeing the blue wool with suspicion. “What have you done to it.?”

  Looking down at the bag, he said with a shrug, “The children, they were curious.”

  She snatched it from his hands. “You let those… Those little rats pillage through my things?” She asked, voice rising as she inspected the contents of the bag.

  “No one pillaged. They merely wish to see what was inside. It’s a rare child who can resist peeking at another’s belongings, especially children who aren’t custom to such finery.”

  “My locket is missing.” To her dismay, she heard a voice rise even higher. “Those wretched rights, they’ve stolen my locket.

  “You should take more care with your items,” he said calmly. “As you can see, no one took a thing.”

  He dangled the locket from his hand, holding it out to talk her. As much as Gwen wanted to reach out and snatches away, she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing how important it was to her.

  Something in her face must have betrayed her, for he went from studying her features to contemplating the locket. As he clicked open the clasp, as sharp, spelling features softened. “Ah, see why you were upset. You wouldn’t want to lose a likeness of your mother.”

  “You knew my mother?” When blurted out, surprised.

  “Everyone knew Amanda. Now there was a lady.”

  “Are you implying that I’m not?”

  He looked up, pinning her with gaze. “Your mother would never fling out accusations without proof. Even if by some rare chance she did, she’d apologize the instant she realized her mistake.”

  “How dare you lecture me.” The fact that he was right merely fueled her resentment. “You probably came here hoping for a reward.” She looked him up and down, returning his contempt in full measure. “As much as you clearly need the payment, sir, I shall have to disappoint you. Your rude behavior leaves me no choice but demand that you give me my things and go.”

  Her out stretched arms could not have been invisible, all the attention he paid it. Looking from her mother’s likeness to Gwen, snapped the locket shut with a loud click. “You’ve got a long way to go, my lady, “he said, setting it in her hand, “before you can hope to live up to her mother’s standards.”

  Dropping the back at her feet, he turned to go.

  “How dare you,” Gwen sputtered at his back, “How dare you say such things to me, you-you”

  She broke off, partly because she could think of nothing vile enough to call him, but primarily because she realized he wouldn’t listen, even if he wasn’t already out the earshot. It was a novel experience, having a man ignore her, and she found she did not like it one bit.

  Nor did she enjoy the memories he’d invoked. Glancing down at the locket in her hands, she squirmed inside. All these years, working so hard, and she still failed to live up to her mother’s expectations.

  “Mother,” thought out loud as she clicked open the locket. “Will I ever manage to please you?”

  It hurt, remembering. Shutting the locket and tucking it back into her bag, she decided it was far more comfortable to put all those memories away where they cannot touch her.

  “Gwen, sweetie, is that you?”

  She looked up to see her uncle at the gate, looking so much like daddy, it was all she could do not to throw herself in his arms.

  “But what are you doing out here?” He asked, clearly confused. “Wherever is Lance?”

  She looked down the street, noticing that the stranger had vanished. “Oh, Lance, he went back for my chunks,” she stammered, trying to keep her tone light. “I was in such a hurry to the home, I couldn’t wait for them to be unloaded off the boat.”

  “Well, let’s have a look at you. My, my, but you’ve done some growing up in Boston. You become quite the beauty Gwen Elizabeth.”

  She wished she could say the years had been equally kind to him. The blonde mane in which he’d o
nce taken such pride had not only grayed, but was sending to near extinction. Looking at his lined, florid face and portly frame, when it was hard to put to remember that this man was ten years her daddy’s Junior.

  As he lifted up her bag and lead the way through the gates, when saw that more than uncle Jervis had aged in her absence. The cool shade of the patio provided a will come hideaway from the heat, but she could not help notice the need for Judicious pruning, how the walls of the house screamed for paint.

  “What happened to the fountain,” she asked in a subdued tone. “Where is the water?”

  Will John cleared his throat “you’ve got to remember, please has been sitting idle for some time.”

  “I know. It’s just, well, I remember it’s all so differently. Back then, this courtyard seem so grand, so special.”

  He sighed. “That’s the thing about going away. Precious little stays the way we want it. We use day gone for five years, honey, things are bound to change in your absence.”

  Gwen tried to shrug it off, to tell herself that change was natural and inevitable, but his words struck and an easy cord. She did not like change, do not want surprises. Indeed, she’d give anything to go back to the time when her daddy adored her and mama was still alive.

  Take me to Camelot, found herself thinking again.

  But there would be no escape today. Edith appeared on the porch, smiling as graciously as any lady of the manor. “Welcome home, Gwen Elizabeth,” she said sweetly enough, but as ever, Gwen felt that instant friction between them. House it. Her cousin seemed, welcoming her into her own home.

  Smiling tightly, Gwen climbed the porch steps to be at eye level when she returned the greeting. “You are looking well,” was all she could think of to say, and worse it was true. Five years ago, that soft blue morning dress would have hung on her cousins skinny frame, the time seem to build out her figure considerably. Even her complexion had cleared. With her light brown hair and amber eyes, Edith might never be the reigning beauty of Louisiana, but she was a far cry from the ugly duckling Gwen remember.

  Hamilton Colby, their good friend and neighbor, peered in the doorway behind them. “Ah, Gwen Elizabeth, it’s so good to have you home,” gushed, taking her hand and pumping it’s enthusiastically. "Edith and I were just remarking on how boring Louisiana has been in your absence.”

  This time Gwen smile was true. Like Lance, Hamilton had long been a fixture in the McCloud household, and she’d always felt a fondness for him. Two tall and gangly and prone to saying the wrong thing, Hamilton was a nice person any trustworthy friend.

  Though the longing in his gaze as he followed her cousins every movement led Gwen to suspect that some time in her abstinence, Hamilton had decided he wanted for more than near friendship with Edith.

  Not that the girl seemed aware of it. Knowing him entirely, leaving him in the parlor with her father, Edith assisted on showing Gwen to her room.

  Gwen would have been just as happy making the climb upstairs alone, for her cousin made her feel like a guest in her own home. No, perhaps that was not entirely accurate. Was the house itself that made her feel like a stranger. It smelled musty, unlived-in, and in many rooms the dust covers still draped the furniture. Perhaps Uncle Jervis meant only to stay the night, but surely he could have brought a servant or two from the Willows to make life more comfortable. With no help, how on earth was she’d to dress for the ball tonight.

  Alone in her room, she paced the floor, wishing she had her own trunk so she could air, and then choose from among her downs. As if in answer, she heard the carriage outside.

  She raced down the stairs to greet Lance. Stop by his serious expression, she poised on the bottom step to glance about the otherwise empty hallway. “Where are my trunks?”

  “I encountered a slight difficulty.”

  “Difficulty?” Gripping the oak banister, he felt the advent of a severe headache.

  Lance took a step forward, smile meant to be reassuring. “It seems your ship sailed onto Argentina. But don’t despair. She should be back in port by December.”

  “My clothes are on their way to South America?” She could hear her voice rising, and couldn’t control it. Her ball gowns and satin slippers and been in those trunks. Her hair ribbons and fans and crinolines.

  “The, the bag seems to be missing also. I’m told so man walked off with it.”

  She waved her hand dismissively, her thoughts on her missing wardrobe. “He returned it to me. It’s upstairs.”

  His face brightened. “Oh good, then you can still attend the Fosters ball tonight.”

  All she had was the green wool she now wore, and the two dresses in her bag, neither was a hoop skirt in both designed for the cooler climates of Boston. Bad enough to be in the heat, but Lance truly couldn’t expect her to go anywhere looking like a frump.

  Just then cousin came into the hallway, demure and ladylike in her soft, blue muslin. The look of appreciation Lance gave her froze Gwen on the spot.

  “Oh, dear, what seems to be the problem?” Edith asked, hurrying over to stand beside Lance. “Not bad news from your mother at Bell Oaks, I hope.”

  Had his autocratic mother summoned him back to their plantation, Gwen knew, Lance would already be gone. Annoyed, she was about to tell her cousin not to be so silly, when Lance took the girl’s arm, putting her hand as if to console her. “You are not to worry about me and fellow Oaks, “told Edith smoothly. “ As a matter of fact, Gwen Elizabeth and I were merely discussing the loss of her trunks. She seems to feel she cannot possibly attend the ball to night without her full wardrobe.”

  “Oh, but think of all the fun she will miss.” Edith smile proved she wasn’t thinking of Gwen at all but of all the good time she meant to have in her absence. Cataloging the night activities, she spoke to Lance alone, as if Gwen were not even there.

  Watching how easily her lifelong love laughed with her cousin, Gwen felt a prick of unease. Things had changed while she was away, uncle Jervis had warned. Have these two, in burying their differences, discovered a good deal more alert beneath their animosity?

  All at once, the loss of her wardrobe seemed unimportant. She was Gwyneth Elizabeth McCloud, the bell of seven parishes; she could go to a bowl in a potato sack if she chose to. Lance was hers-always had been, always would be-and no female, be she cousin or otherwise, would be allowed to steal him away.

  ***

  Patrick gave a sideways glance to Jude, sitting on the other side of the bouncing wagon, visibly angry that they were being sent back to the cabin. Knowing that there was generally trouble when Jude got in one of these moves, Patrick tried to point out the advantages of going home. “Can’t wait to be fishing,” he said, forcing a smile. “And it sure will be good to see Jeffery again.”

  Jude merely scowled. “Our first trip to New Orleans in months and we had to leave early. It’s all her fault, that clumsy cow.”

  “Come on, you know weren’t going to stay long anyway. It’s not safe for us in the city.”

  “Yes, maybe, but she’s the one got us in trouble. No one would have noticed us, if she hadn’t started screeching. I still say I showed been able to keep that locket. She owed us.”

  Patrick was shocked.” But that would be stealing. No mama would want us taking what’s isn’t ours-“

  he regretted that outburst, for Jude’s face went instantly rigid, as it always did whenever their mama was mentioned. He was glad the younger boys were sleeping in the straw between them, for even now, nearly a year later, they all had trouble dealing with mother’s death.

  “That lady in the locket,” Jude said quietly, “didn’t she remind you a little of mother?”

  Jude said nothing else, going as silence as their three brothers, but Patrick understood. It wasn’t easy, living without a mother.

  Looking up at the stars, he offered a prayer, the same one he prayed for some time now. Somewhere in all the world, he believed, there had to be one special woman, meant for them alone.
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  “Send us a new mother,” he begged silently, “and I promise, we will love her always.”

  Chapter 3

  Edith stood in the shadows at the rear of the Fosters ballroom, watching Gwen. She found it hard keep her resentment under control. She’d dreamed of this night for so long, and printed and preened and planned, Gwen appeared, and in a few short moments, ruined everything.

  Draped with streamers, the ballroom reeked of camellias and carnations, but Edith barely caught a whiff. Small orchestra played unheeded, lavish dresses of myriad colors waltzed by on the dance floor put all her concentration remains centered on spot near the doorway, where when it flirted with Lance and his friends. Each laugh seemed to pierce Edith’s heart, every smiled turned green with envy.

  Ever since the day her daddy first brought them to the Willows, Edith had been jealous of her cousin. Everyone they met, everywhere they went, treated Gwen like a princess. She had the best looks, the best clothes…Even her name was prettier.

  And tonight, Gwen should be home, hiding her head under a pillow, like any other woman who lost her clothes would do. Instead, she’d dusted off that outmoded burgundy velvet and strolled into the ballroom with Royal applause, behaving as if by wearing her mother’s locket, she’d donned the crown jewels. It wasn’t fair. On the night when Edith had expected to shine, when it had not only once again stolen the show, her cousin seemed well on her way to stealing the one man she loved.

  To keep others from guessing the truth, she pretended to swoon over Beau, but from the first day she seen Lance riding his dads white stallion across their joining fields, her dreams had focused on their golden-haired neighbor. He was Sir Lancelot, knight extraordinaire, and if she could but snatch him away from her cousin, perhaps she would become queen of the castle instead.

  Yet it would not happen tonight, not with the way Lance danced attendance on her cousin.

  It made it Edith sick inside, watching his determined pursuit you do not love Gwen, she wanted to shout at him. All you ever truly wanted is the Willows.