The Beloved Land

by T. Davis Bunn

“Who could ever have imagined such a moment?” Catherine quietly agreed. “But here we are. And at a time when I thought I should never laugh again, my darling daughters arrive. Struggling against the tides of war and man. Facing hardships I cannot imagine. Yet still they have come. And I am able to smile again. I have my husband back.”

  Catherine reached into the folds of her dress. “I have been carrying this around since your arrival. But you have been so busy, and the times so trying, I thought it best to wait a bit.”

  Anne’s heart leaped at the familiar handwriting. “A letter from Nicole,” she said eagerly.

  Catherine was long in replying. “When was the last time you heard from your sister?”

  “Ages and ages. Why?”

  She handed over the letter. “She married her young officer, Gordon Goodwind, while they were here.”

  “Oh, Mother, I am so glad for her. And, oh, I wish I could have been here for the wedding.” Anne’s bittersweet emotions tugged at her heart.

  “Nicole has grown into a beautiful lady,” Catherine answered. “She is Gordon’s wife. And her path is not yours.”

  “I don’t understand. She has not lost her faith, I pray?”

  “On the contrary. Her devotion, her love for God, is stronger than ever.”

  “What is it, Mother?”

  Catherine pointed to the letter Anne held. “Read this, then we shall speak.”

  Anne hesitated, then said, “First I want to ask you something.”

  Catherine turned her face to the sun and closed her eyes. “Yes, please do so.”

  “There is no way I can put into words the anguish I have known over leaving my John behind. During the days and nights of this voyage, I have come to glimpse for the very first time what you must have suffered.” Anne leaned closer and whispered, “Mama, how did you live with the loss, the wrenching uncertainty? How did you survive?”

  Catherine was long in replying. “I survived because of my God and because of Andrew and because of you. As for enduring the unthinkable, there was no intention to my deeds at all.” She opened her eyes and turned toward her daughter. “You, on the other hand, had the power of choice. I would imagine that was both a blessing and a curse.”

  The memory of days of heartache and confusion flooded back. “Yes. It was good that I had time to grow as accustomed to it as I could. But there was no way I could ever truly anticipate how it would be.”

  “Two loves divided by your loyalties,” Catherine mused. “In some respects, yours is the harder course.”

  “For a season. Only for a season.”

  Catherine studied her daughter with wise and loving eyes. “Over the years, I have felt such a closeness to Louise through our shared distress and longing for the children we bore. Yet we both were sustained by the love we felt for the child we raised.”

  Anne rose to her feet and held out her hand to her mother. “Yes, love sustains us all. But we also need some dinner. It’s almost ready.”

  The two women shared a chuckle as they moved to the kitchen.

  Chapter 29

  As soon as Anne had finished with the dishes, she wiped her hands on the coarse towel hanging by the corner basin, then let her fingers trail down to her apron pocket, where the letter, potent with mystery, was tucked away. The doors were open to a warm and welcoming breeze. The sunlight was strong one moment, then gone the next, as clouds chased one another off the sea and across the land. Anne stared out, debating whether she should go off by herself and break the letter’s seal.

  Making up her mind, she walked into the front room to tell the family she was going out for a bit of air.

  They were in conversation as she entered, and her presence seemed unnoticed.

  “If only Nicole could have stayed longer,” Anne heard her grandfather murmur, his gaze directed to the fire.

  “She remained as long as she could,” Andrew replied, his own eyes averted as well.

  “True, true.”

  The words were puzzling.

  Anne changed her mind about leaving immediately and seated herself beside her husband, a frown furrowing her brow. She did not speak but waited for the next bit of conversation.

  It was Thomas who finally broke the silence. “Nicole had to leave before she was ready?”

  “Here and gone in three days,” Catherine said, sorrow catching at the words.

  Thomas looked a question at his wife. Anne shook her head in reply. This had not come up in Catherine’s recounting of the wedding details.

  “I certainly did not have enough time with the lass,” John Price mused.

  “None of us did. But we must be grateful for what we had,” Andrew said.

  Anne held the words in her mouth for some time, tasting the question. Her hand shifted to touch her letter through the apron’s fabric. She asked, “Why was Nicole required to depart so soon?”

  “Their journey did not end here,” her grandfather said to the fire.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Catherine looked at her. “She is now making her way to Louisiana.”

  “She’s going to see Papa Henri and Mama Louise? But that’s wonderful news! How long has it been since she’s seen them?”

  “Not since they visited here,” Andrew replied. “Not since before the war.”

  “Nonetheless,” Thomas pointed out, “it seems a strange time to be making such a dangerous journey.”

  “They do not do it for themselves. At least, not for themselves alone.” Andrew now was speaking. “The commandant of the Boston garrison has entrusted Gordon and Nicole to bear messages to the leaders of the Louisiana colony. And to bargain for some supplies—”

  “Nicole is involved in the fighting?” Anne burst out in shock. “She’s working for the Americans?”

  “And Gordon?” Thomas had bolted upright. “A British officer has gone over to the enemy?”

  Andrew’s gaze drifted over, though his voice remained mild. “The Americans are not enemies. Not in this house.”

  “Of course not. They are not enemies in either Harrow household. I fully concur with Charles’s stand in support of the revolutionists’ position.” Thomas paused a moment, then continued. “But I do find myself thoroughly perplexed by Nicole’s and Gordon’s getting involved in the action. Surely the matter can be settled by treaty. By agreement. To actually be engaged in the war—”

  “It is shocking, I agree,” Andrew said. “But after the British stole Gordon’s ship, press-ganged his men, imprisoned him, and threatened to hang him, I can hardly disagree with his choice.”

  Andrew looked directly at Thomas and Anne. “Gordon had made it clear he will not bear arms against his former countrymen.”

  Thomas rose and began pacing the front room. “Of course. Though I’m not sure he would be able to maintain that resolve if push came to shove. I have never met him, but I am certain Nicole’s choice of husband would be a Christian and a gentleman. Even so …”

  When her husband seemed unable to continue, Anne said for them both, “For Nicole to be directly involved in this conflict between countrymen who share the same heritage, at times the same faith, seems incomprehensible. How can they. . . ?” But Anne also drifted to a stop, looking helplessly from her parents to her husband, then to her grandfather.

  John Price now cleared his throat and spoke up. “Nicole has spent her entire life searching for a home. I think she has found one to our south. In Massachusetts. In America.”

  Anne heard not just the words but also the calm assurance behind them. She again looked around the room. Catherine’s face was serene in her inner certainty. As were her father’s and grandfather’s. Suddenly Anne knew she could wait no longer to read Nicole’s letter.

  She rose to her feet. “If you will please excuse me.”

  The point was empty. A few tattered wedding garlands shivering in the rising wind.

  Anne seated herself upon the familiar trunk, the place from which she had watched the sea below the cliff, read fav
orite books, thought of the past, and dreamed of the future.

  She pulled the letter from her pocket and began to read.

  Before the first paragraph was completed, her sister was there beside her once again, the other half of her own life. Anne pressed the pages to her heart after reading the words, “I am sitting here on our log in the meadow overlooking the sea. …”Anne blinked away the tears and searched for the place she had stopped reading.

  Anne was astonished by how matter-of-fact Nicole seemed to be about her dedication to the American cause, to their current mission. Anne halted three times during the initial read, staring out to the sea and asking herself, where did her own loyalties lie? The immediate answer was, To the Lord above. And certainly to Thomas and their son. But it was too simple. Too convenient. She thought about her uncle Charles declaring his support for the American Revolution, though it had cost him dearly. She had agreed with him, not so much because of strong convictions about the American cause, but because of the distress she felt over the course England and her rulers were taking, both against the colonists and against England’s own poor and dispossessed. But it was also true that she and Thomas wanted peace. Peace and security for all. Freedom to live and worship God as one saw fit. A life lived in safety, children raised in lands sheltered from combat. Swords beaten into plowshares.

  As Anne read on, Nicole made very clear her own abhorrence of the conflict, and Gordon’s belief as a former British naval officer that he could not personally justify going into combat against England. Yet they both were acting on behalf of generals and their warriors! Anne rose and began pacing the point, as Thomas had done in the front room.

  Anne halted toward the back of the meadow and reread the letter from start to finish. She did not want to argue with Nicole. She wanted to understand.

  She looked up from the letter and found herself staring at a forgotten wedding wreath. One by one the last petals were plucked away by the strengthening wind and hurled upward to the sky. Anne stood and watched until the wreath was nothing more than a knotting of empty vines.

  She lowered her head to her hands, and she wept. Though if asked, she could not have said the reason why.

  Anne’s days remained full with ministering to Andrew and helping about the house. At night the slightest cough from her father was enough to snatch the sleep from her. Free moments were filled with her mother and grandfather Price, repeating the news of Charles’s search that Anne and Thomas had brought with them, including much speculation on what further might have turned up during the intervening months.

  The diary of Catherine’s mother provided quiet moments before the fire at night as they sat together and read passages aloud.

  I cannot express my joy. I have been trying to do so all morning in my prayers heavenward, but there simply are no words. I am with child. I keep saying those words over and over in my heart. I am with child. I am quite sure of it now. It is a miracle. I will count the months—the weeks—the days—and then—oh, bliss—I shall have my heart and arms filled with a little someone. I know not who, but I am sure that God, in His infinite wisdom, will send me the perfect one to share my heart and feel my love. How I long to immediately share with John my hidden secret. He is so busy. So anxious. I know he feels that the frontier is no place to raise a child. Not with the French so close. So threatening. He does not trust them at all.

  He is still unforgiving. I have prayed and prayed for his release from his bitterness. How I long for that day—and I pray that it will not be far in the future. But back to my wonderful secret. I will keep it tucked in my heart until I am really sure. There is no use causing him to fret for no good reason—and I feel he will fret at first. He worries so about me, an adult, so I cannot think how he will respond to our helpless baby in this primitive settlement.

  I talk to my little one sometimes when I am lonely. Oh, not aloud. But she helps me through the dreariest of days. I think my dearest John would have a difficult time understanding that, being such a no-nonsense person. He is so busy with the matters of this new land I scarcely see him except in early morning as I serve his porridge and again when his shoulders already droop with weariness. I worry about him. He has so much to bear. I am blessed to have been granted partnership with him.

  In the hours of quiet intimacy, the fabric of Catherine’s life knit the two women more closely together. Though not by birthright, Anne felt a connection to Catherine’s mother and to the French sister Grandfather Price had never known.

  It is getting near the time. I reminded John last evening as we sat before the fire that we must think of names. He looked surprised. I could not help but laugh. It was as though he thought we were just to go on and on in our present state. I could almost see him mentally counting the months, then nodding agreement. I suggested the name of John if it is a boy, but he said he would rather give the child a name of his own. He favored Reginald. It sounds too military to me—like regiment, but I bit my tongue. If John wishes his son to be Reginald, then Reginald he shall be. I asked him about a name for a girl. I do not think he had ever considered such a possibility. A girl? I think he deems our frontier village far too rough and rustic for a girl. So he passed the need for a girl’s name off to me, saying that I should have the privilege—if perchance I gave birth to a daughter rather than a son.

  The next page brought joyous news, but the hand holding the pen looked not as steady.

  Baby Catherine arrived an hour past midnight, five days past. I think that John was stunned at first, but he was quick to recover. I watched him with her today. I think she has already captured his heart. I should be jealous were she not so much a part of me. I have never seen such love shine from his face.

  Gradually the months and years they had been apart were filled with facts and thoughts and emotions. The two women discussed Nicole and Gordon’s marriage in great detail, the way the villagers had gathered to celebrate with them, how the point above the cove was decorated like an outdoor chapel. Catherine’s lovely gown was brought out, and of course Anne begged her to don it again. Anne reveled in the sharing, pushing away the sorrow that she had not arrived in time to share the day also.

  Chapter 30

  Anne emerged from the forest to find Thomas standing where the path joined the village lane. Thomas leaned toward her, questions in his eyes, but he only tucked her arm in his.

  “A group of the French elders have asked for me,” Thomas told her as they walked, “and Catherine is busy with Andrew, and, well—”

  “You need a translator. Come, let us be off.”

  “Today is the time each week when the outlying French settlers visit the market,” Thomas told her. “I would not have interrupted your contemplation, but with their long homeward journey, I did not want to make them wait overlong.”

  When they arrived at the market square, they found a large number of Frenchmen gathered by one of the last wagons. Her uncle Guy was not among them, but Anne recognized several other faces. The men all doffed their hats at their approach. Anne could not help but notice how the men seemed genuinely happy to see them.

  There was no mistaking the Acadians. Most of the men were clean-shaven, with strong faces seamed by the sun and a farmer’s hard life. Dark eyes normally sparkled with good cheer. Today, however, they glanced at one another before the man Anne recognized as a village elder said, “Your family is known to all as God’s instrument in times of hardship.”

  Anne moved her head to use the bonnet’s brim as a shield against the westering sun. Yet there was no sign in his expression of what lay behind the elder’s strange tone. “You know I stand ready to do all I can for you and your clan,” she said.

  “Apologies, but not you, madame.”

  “My mother. Of course, she—”

  “Not your mother, bless her, not this time.” The elder nodded toward Thomas. “All the village tells us of the wisdom he has shown in God’s house. He is also trained as a man of law and letters, is that not so?”

&nb
sp; “Yes, that is true. But—”

  “Then,” the elder replied, “he may indeed be an answer to our prayers.”

  Thomas agreed to the meeting held three days after speaking with the French elder. For those three days people in the village spoke of little else. There was no place in the community large enough to hold everyone who wanted to attend.

  John Price noticed. “Everybody who passes our house is watching and waiting.”

  “Apparently this issue has been building for a long time,” Catherine agreed.

  Thomas spent the three days studying the Scripture and praying. When Anne had wondered what he was about, he had simply told her he was making preparations.

  Anne queried her mother, “You have known about this disagreement?”

  “Not this one in particular. Just the fact that such a problem was bound to arise.”

  Thomas moved quickly to the door, saying over his shoulder, “Forgive me, but if I am to do my duty here, I must not be privy to any information in advance of the hearing.”

  Andrew rose to his feet and cast aside his quilt. “Do me a kindness, son, and help me out to the garden bench.”

  Thomas turned back to ease his arm around Andrew’s form, and Anne slipped her arm around his other side to help him to the bench.

  “I am indeed proud of you, son,” Andrew said as the two seated him.

  “I have done nothing yet.”

  “You have done everything possible,” Andrew countered. “You have equipped yourself with the armor of God, Scripture, and prayer, along with a fine legal mind. You are ready.”

  Commotion from the lane beyond the gate drew their attention. A steady stream of people were passing by the cottage, all of them headed toward the center of town. “Where are they going?” Anne wondered aloud.

  “They’re vying for the best seats to watch your husband wield the wisdom of Solomon,” Andrew answered with a small smile directed at Thomas.

  Thomas at first looked embarrassed, then sheepishly returned the smile. “Ah yes, Solomon it is,” he quipped. Then he turned serious as he asked Andrew, “Do you object to holding this hearing on the church grounds? It seems to be the only area large enough—”