by Kari Edgren
“That’s what John Lewis told Mrs. Ryan this morning. He said the Master left before sunrise and looked to be going on a trip. John guessed it was to Philadelphia for some business, but David Smith said it might be a trip to Virginia to find out about different crops with how hard the rain has been on the wheat this summer.”
I heard the dry rustle of silk as Mary shook out my gown before hanging it up. In full light she would never have returned it to the armoire in such a state. The sleeves looked awful, spattered with tears and what not, but I wasn’t about to call this to her attention now.
“Mrs. Ryan thought it strange that Mr. Kilbrid would leave without notice,” Mary continued, giving no heed to my prolonged silence. “Especially with the two of ye being so recently married. She said it was a real pity he had to go. I told her not to fret about it, that ye had enough to keep busy while he was gone.”
Good gracious! Mary’s thoughts were so obvious, I could practically hear them turning inside her head. Poor girl, married just a month before yer husband packs up and leaves. Well, she was greatly mistaken to think I would dignify her shameless digging with any sort of answer.
“Leave me be and go fetch the tea.” I spoke harshly, unable to bear another second of her senseless prattle.
“Yes, ma’am,” she said, startled, no doubt, by my brusque manner. In hurt silence, she put away the last of the garments, and hustled from the room.
Although it couldn’t have been more than eight hours since Henry’s departure, clearly the servants knew something was amiss and were busy speculating about what had happened. Gauging by how fast my personal affairs were spreading through Hopewell this summer, the entire town would know of my predicament by sundown. If Nathan Crowley had been waiting for the right opportunity to accuse me, reports that I had been abandoned would be all that was needed to spur him into action.
To quiet the rumors, I needed to get my own story circulating how Henry had left for Ireland to visit his ailing father, and would be arriving back at Brighmor sometime this fall. In a few months Ben would travel to Philadelphia, only to return with sad news of rough seas and Henry Kilbrid’s untimely death. No later than winter, I would be a widow without having the benefit of ever being married.
Considering what was at stake, I should have told Mary a bit more to keep the servants from speculating further. But my heart felt too raw, and I could say no more other than Mr. Kilbrid was traveling. This sounded less final, less like we would never see each other again.
Turning onto my other side, I felt Henry’s letter crumple beneath my shoulder. Earlier this morning I had retrieved it from the floor in the hopes that his words would offer some comfort. With trembling fingers, I had broken the wax seal and unfolded the parchment, holding it close to the window for enough light to read.
Thank you, Selah.
Three measly words! It was unbelievable, as if this could even begin to sum up our time together. Last night while I had been busy sobbing in a pathetic heap, he really should have taken an extra minute to thank me properly. Misery washed over me anew, and I buried myself further beneath the covers, intending to sleep until the end of the summer.
* * *
This plan lasted until the next morning when I was summoned downstairs to remove a rock from Ollie Trumble’s nose. It took no more than five minutes and a long pair of tweezers before the boy left in search of more trouble. Alone in my apothecary, I sat down in the wooden chair to decide what to do next.
In truth, after spending thirty-six hours buried under blankets in a darkened room, my original notion began to wear thin. With little more to occupy myself other than sleeping, crying, or staring at the canopy above my bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about Henry. And it didn’t take long before I began second-guessing my decision to send him away.
Not that it mattered anymore. He was probably in Philadelphia by now, awaiting the next ship to England, while I gained nothing but heartache from this continual rehashing of past events. I needed a new course of action to chase these thoughts away, something distracting that would keep me busy. My determination renewed, I pushed up from the chair, resolved to clean my apothecary from top to bottom.
The afternoon was spent when I put the last of the jars back on the shelf and wiped my hands on a clean towel. For five hours I had washed and sorted, until there was not a speck of dust to be found or a single strip of linen out of place. Now, if only the same thing could be done with my own head. But regardless of how hard I worked, Henry had stayed constantly in my thoughts.
Well, if pure physical labor failed to dull my mind, then mental strain might prove more effective. Fed up with crying and feeling miserable, I set off for the study to tackle the mound of invoices and correspondence that had accumulated since my father’s death. It should have been done much sooner, but one reason or another always kept me away—like how much I despised balancing ledgers or composing letters of business.
With a heavy sigh, I tackled the correspondence first. A score of letters needed to be answered, covering a variety of issues from purchasing wheat seed and new equipment for next spring’s planting to various men seeking employment at Brighmor. I found a fresh stack of parchment in one of the desk drawers, and choosing a new quill, started to write.
It took hours to answer them all properly. My fingers were cramped and stained with ink by the time I had finished the last one to a Mr. Smyth, explaining that we were not presently in need of a new stable master, but would keep him in mind if a position opened up in the following year. I pressed Brighmor’s official seal into a pool of red wax to close the letter when Mary came in with a supper tray. She must have forgiven my rudeness, for her sweet disposition had returned and she smiled kindly at my mumbled appreciation.
Not yet ready to eat, I poured a glass of wine and opened the large leather bound ledger that contained all of Brighmor’s expenses. Flipping through page after page of my father’s neat handwriting, I came to the final entries dating to the middle of May about two weeks before I had left for Philadelphia. A thick stack of invoices needed to be entered, and I started to record each merchant and the amount paid.
I had only completed the first two when my mind began to drift. Composing business letters had required significant attention, but simple transposing left my thoughts free to roam, which they did, and straight to Henry. Since he had left, two rather large concerns remained unresolved: If it had been the right thing to do, then why was I so unhappy? And why, if given half a chance, would I have changed everything that had happened the night we returned from the Lenape village? While mulling over these issues, I temporarily forgot the quill suspended in my hand over the ledger. A large drop of black ink collected at the tip and dripped onto the page right in the middle of my two entries.
“Blasted!” I cursed, snatching up a linen napkin from the supper tray to mop up the mess. Carefully alternating between dabbing and wiping, the final result was even worse than when I started. Several entries had been mucked up, and a decently good napkin ruined to boot. Frustrated, I started to cry, the tears slipping down my checks to the page below, making an even bigger mess of the ledger. Giving up altogether, I folded my arms over the book and rested my head, heedless of how many tears might wet the paper.
Try as I might, the facts were undisputable: I was a terrible accountant and I had made a serious error by sending Henry away. Footsteps sounded in the hallway as one of the servants approached the study. I hated to be discovered in such a manner, but lacked the fortitude to even lift my head from off the ledger. Whoever it was had stopped at the doorway to watch me. Oh, just go away! I thought angrily.
“Ben told me how much you hated bookkeeping.” Henry’s deep voice resonated in my ears, bringing my head up with a snap. “But I never thought it enough to make you cry.”
For two days I had wanted him back so desperately, I feared his presence nothing more
than a hallucination.
“Or may I flatter myself to think those tears are for another reason?” He leaned against the doorframe, smiling.
The delusion turned to real flesh and blood. “You left,” I said, my voice a hoarse whisper. “I watched you ride away.” I had thought never to see him again, yet here he stood less than ten feet from me.
And even this distance soon disappeared. He crossed the room to sit on the corner of the desk next to me. Retrieving a handkerchief from his coat pocket, he tilted my face up and began drying the tears. “I only left for a couple of days.”
His broad shoulders and handsome face filled my view. “Why did you come back?” I asked, still dazed by his sudden reappearance.
He shrugged. “We made a deal. And I don’t care what you say about Nora and William, you still need me.”
“But, your contract is finished. I thought you were going back to England.”
“When you released me the other night, I never intended to leave for good. I just needed some time to think and to write another letter to my father.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was afraid that seeing you again before I left would influence my decision. I wanted to clear my head, so I rode to the inn where we stayed the first night we were married.” He dipped a corner of the handkerchief into my glass of wine. “You have ink on your face,” he said, rubbing at a spot on my forehead.
“Then you should have written it in your letter,” I protested, pulling my face away. Thank you, Selah, I am going away to think, but will return in a few days... “Would it have killed you to add another line explaining your intentions?” As the depression from the past two days wore off, I was experiencing an odd combination of sheer joy mixed with a dash of anger.
“No, it wouldn’t have. I’m sorry for any undue worry you may have suffered on my account.”
“I wouldn’t call it undue worry,” I said, despite my red eyes and a tear-streaked face.
“Why don’t you just admit that you missed me?” His smile had widened, and there was that familiar glint in his eyes.
“Well, what if I did? Is that such a bad thing?”
He put his hand under my chin and rubbed his thumb along my cheek. “No, it’s not a bad thing at all. And I would be a liar if I didn’t admit to missing you, too.”
I smiled without meaning to. “You should at least tell me what decision was so important to make you leave like that.”
“I was deciding what to tell my father. He needed to know that my contract had been cancelled and I was choosing to remain in the Colonies.”
The anger vanished, replaced by a warm tide of happiness that filled every corner of my body. “And did you tell him how long you intended to stay?” I asked. Please, say forever. Please, say you’ll never leave me again.
“For as long as you need me,” he said, holding my gaze with those green eyes. “And, right now it looks like you are in need of some help balancing these ledgers.” Getting up from the desk, he pulled a chair over next to mine. “I’ve not much experience with bookkeeping myself, but those last entries don’t look quite right.”
I glanced down at the paper and laughed. Between dripped ink and tears, they were nothing more than black smudges. Gladly, I pushed the book in his direction along with the stack of invoices and the quill.
He thumbed through the invoices and then handed them back. “Put them in order by date and I’ll do the entering.”
Half grudgingly, I took them back.
We worked together until late into the night. Actually, Henry did most of the work, first writing in the entries, and then dividing the expenditures into subcategories to get a better idea how much was being spent in each area before balancing the various columns. After completing my token job of sorting the invoices by date, I watched him work, answering a question now and again, as I silently marveled at how well things were turning out.
Henry was back. It was all that mattered, and somehow I would make it work.
* * *
Around midnight we went upstairs to bed, each holding a single candle to light the way. Though it had not been openly discussed while we worked on the ledger, there was something different between us. Our relationship had changed in the two days since Henry had been released from the contract, placing us on untested ground.
I stopped at my door, unsure what to expect. Henry leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, his mouth lingering for a delightful moment. “Goodnight, Selah,” he whispered, his warm breath tickling my ear.
I shivered from his touch. If he were really my husband, our celibacy would have ended tonight. “Goodnight, Henry,” I said, fighting back the urge to wrap my arms around his neck. We needed to go slowly, especially since I had yet to figure out how to control myself. Having just gotten him back, the last thing I wanted was to scare him off with a sudden burst of mysterious power.
My skin tingled pleasantly when I closed the door to my room. Moonlight passed through the open drapes, illuminating the space around me in a silvery light that made my candle unnecessary. Blowing out the small flame, I passed over to the window to stare out at the large white orb suspended just above the trees, so close I could nearly reach out and touch it. Something stirred inside of me, called forth from another world.
It was too dangerous to go just yet. Weeks before, Henry had watched me run into the woods, dressed in no more than a thin white sheath and a shawl draped over my shoulders. The next morning when he had hinted to my outing, I practically dared him to follow me one night. With such a history, I couldn’t leave until he fell asleep.
For the next hour I paced through my room, much like a caged animal in need of escape. It had taken a great deal of power to heal Teme of lockjaw, and I should have gone into the woods that very night. As I was otherwise engaged, crying uncontrollably in a heap on my bedroom floor, I had put it off for another time.
When the moon had risen about a hand’s width above the trees, I unpinned my hair, letting the dark curls fall loose, and changed into my sheath. Across the hall, I pressed my ear against Henry’s door. Though absolutely silent, I was not about to risk having him watch me run into the forest once again. I twisted the iron knob until the latch slid back just enough to open the door. The sound of his slow, methodic breathing came through the crack, confirming that he was asleep.
Anxious to be on my way, I hastily pulled the door closed, scraping the latch against the wood frame before it clicked into place. In a panic, I released the knob and retreated back a full step. For several minutes I listened for the smallest noise, my heart thumping against my ribs, prepared to dash back to my room if necessary. Nothing happened, and I remained in the hallway long enough for my pulse to slow.
Henry must have been sleeping deeply, and no wonder after traveling so far just to write a letter. Feeling almost at ease again, I tiptoed down the stairs to my apothecary, where I got a flint and a small bundle of herbs. Once outside, I avoided the most direct route in front of the house, passing instead at an angle around the barn and through a wheat field to stay mostly out of sight of Henry’s window on my way to the woods.
On dark nights, a lantern would have been needed, but with the full moon and cloudless sky, sufficient light illuminated the path, and it wasn’t long before I arrived at the altar. Kneeling down, I placed the dried herbs on the stone surface and struck the flint for a small shower of white sparks. With the first tendril of fragrant smoke, I closed my eyes and began to chant the words to crossover.
After the third repetition, the mortal world wavered in and out of view. For half a heartbeat, everything went completely black as my soul slipped free of its physical form. Then a brilliant flash of light, a tug at my midsection, and my bare feet found the soft soil within the thick gray mist. Opening my eyes, I stepped forward into the garden, inhaling its sweetness.
Long before I was born, this place had been created for my grandparents when they first immigrated to the new land. Patterned after the ancient gardens in the Old World, it served as a refuge for them and their descendants, of which I happened to be the only one still living. Despite the lack of visitors, it was truly a paradise for my kind, so fertile and lush it verged on wild. Each plant and tree was perfectly formed, held at its fullness, like a breath just before its release. Everything pulsated with life and the power to sustain it.
Just standing in the thick grass made me feel stronger. Yet to regain my full strength I had to drink from the spring that bubbled nearby. A woman sat on its bank, trailing a finger along the surface of the water. She was fair skinned with long auburn hair, her tall, slender frame covered in a white sheath similar to mine. Though her face was turned away from me, I recognized her at once as the creator of this garden and the source of my gift.
I had first met Brigid on my eighth birthday when my mother brought me to be formally introduced to the goddess. At one time she had dwelt freely in Ireland where she married a high king, King Bres, and had three sons. These children grew up, married mortals and had children of their own. Part human, part divine, the leath’dhia had come into the world. Though in possession of divine power, they were beings of flesh and blood that would live like humans—and die like humans. Charged with the duty to use their gifts for good, the majority of these children remained in their ancestral land, but there were some who left, fanning out across Europe. My maternal grandparents were the first of their kind to cross the Atlantic, forced to flee for reasons I had never been told.
Brigid no longer lived in the human world, preferring now to dwell with the immortals. Under Tuatha dé law, mortals of any kind were not allowed into the Otherworld unless they had first passed through death. Still wanting to see her living descendants, Brigid had created these gardens to serve as anterooms of sorts for the Otherworld where she could meet with her sons and daughters. From what I understood, she had many gardens to tend and so only came here once or twice a year to speak with me.
