Thorns in Eden and The Everlasting Mountains

by RITA GERLACH

  Nash crossed the floor and sat in front of his father. He leaned forward with his arms across his knees and felt quite sober looking into the face of the man who had taught him everything he knew.

  “Will I shame you if I call myself a patriot? Will you disown me if I turn against the King and fight?”

  Sir Rodney drew the stem of his pipe out from between his teeth. “You could never bring me shame. Now, we must speak together in the gravest of confidences, for I must tell you what I’m involved in to help your Glorious Cause.”

  CHAPTER 8

  The following Sunday, a high wind blew cold and strong. It drove wispy slate clouds across the whole of Cornwall. Woodlands were vaporous, the moors misty. Trees blackened with winter. Roads plagued rider and coachman with potholes and deep muddy ruts.

  The church stood on a plot of grass off the road. The Nashs arrived moments before the service got underway, as the bell rung and people passed through the door. Upon entering, John Nash glanced up at the gallery. Crude wooden benches were packed with common folk, whereas the best pews below were reserved for the upper class.

  Seats were supplied for Lady Margaret and Sir Rodney. The pews were crowded and so Nash offered his to a lady and stood beneath one of the windows. Airy sunlight dusted through the mullioned glass, mellowed the wood and stone of the building.

  The minister stepped out and all stood to sing a hymn. Nash caught Lavinia’s eyes. He could hardly believe it. Her face still held the same girlish gleam he remembered. She gave him a brilliant smile. But when she leaned toward the girl beside her, he could not help but switch his gaze.

  He saw a rose among thistles, a pearl amid beads of clay. To her right sat three elder women, dressed in dreary gray and old lace, shallow of cheek and eye. The young woman raised her hand and brushed aside a curl near her eye, beneath a wide-brimmed hat decorated with a broad dark pink ribbon. He watched her as she fixed her eyes on the minister. Then she glanced at her prayer book. The sweep of her lashes, the softness of her eyelids, the graceful way she moved captivated him. He felt his heart move, and it made him uncomfortable.

  He turned his eyes away, but his mind traveled back to her. He wondered if she were Rebecah Brent. If so, how could such a flower spring from a thorny brier like Sir Richard? He advised himself to take care of his thoughts, for beauty was skin deep, and who knew what lay beneath her pretty shell?

  She looked back at the minister and Nash saw how she tried to focus on the sermon. The elderly clergyman paused, drew out a handkerchief and wiped his brow.

  “Let us rejoice.” He motioned the congregation to rise.

  A hymn filled the church. Lavinia’s voice was distinct, but lost in the sweeter voice of her companion. Between the crackling tones of the older women, the girl sang like a nightingale. She glanced over at him and their eyes met for the first time. A gentleman stood behind her, cleared his throat, and shot Nash a warning. His look was not one of jealousy or indignation, but a proclamation of ownership. And when her wrapped slipped below her shoulders, he lifted it back with a proud grin.

  The service concluded, Lavinia hurried from her seat and made her way through the crowd. “Jack,” she called, ignoring disapproving stares. “Oh, I’m so happy to see you, I can barely speak.”

  He kissed her hand. “You’ve grown. I imagine you’ve a swarm of beaus by now.”

  “A few,” she said as they exited the church. “When did you arrive?”

  “A few days ago.”

  “How exciting. You must tell me all about it.”

  Nash looked through the crowd. Where had Lavinia’s friend gone?

  “Have you returned for good?” she asked.

  “I’m here for a visit only.”

  She pouted and looped her arm through his. “Oh, that is disappointing.”

  “I’ve acquired land and must return.”

  “Have you found a wife? Pray tell me. Is she here with you?”

  He smiled. “I’ve no wife, Lavinia.”

  “Well, I suppose in a way I’m pleased. I want you to meet my cousin. She’s over there with Sir Cecil Lanley. He plans to marry her. Father has been very insistent upon the match.”

  Rebecah stood beside the churchyard fence. That popinjay with her hovered about like a love-struck schoolboy. She moved away, averted her eyes as he spoke. Lanley held her hand against his lips, and she drew it back.

  “They don’t seem suitable.”

  “I agree. Ever since the day she arrived at Endfield, I’ve thought how perfect she would be for you, Jack.”

  Were all the women bent on marrying him off to the woman of their choosing? He wanted to be left alone.

  “I’m not looking for a wife, Lavinia. Do not try to push us together. It would only complicate my life and hers.”

  She sighed. “I suppose if there’s a Revolution you will be fighting and…oh, I understand how things would be. But meet her at least.”

  “Not today.”

  “Come on, Jack.” Lavinia tugged on his arm.

  She hurried him along, calling out to Rebecah. Lanley turned and looked at Nash and Lavinia. He bowed his head. Nash returned the gesture, thinking how childish this whole thing was.

  “Rebecah, Sir Cecil. May I introduce Mr. John Nash, Sir Rodney’s son from America?”

  Lanley stepped forward. “America? What is the name of your estate?”

  “Laurel Hill, Sir Cecil.”

  “It’s where exactly?” Lanley lifted his hand and waved a handkerchief in front of his nose. Nash thought he looked absurd.

  “In Maryland, near the Potomac and Monocacy rivers.”

  Lanley pursed his lips. “I’m unacquainted with those places. You are a settler in the Colonies?”

  “If you prefer to call me that, yes.”

  “I assume you live in, what is it they call them, a log cabin?”

  A corner of Nash’s mouth twitched. “Not exactly.” Disliking the way Lanley treated him, Nash decided not to describe his house. Let him wonder. He could tell by the look in Lanley’s eyes it would drive him crazy not knowing.

  Rebecah raised her eyes. The mention of a faraway land captured her attention.

  “The Monocacy flows into the Potomac, does it not?” she asked. “And the Potomac separates Maryland and the Virginias, flows from the mountains in the west, and pours into the Chesapeake. Am I correct?”

  Impressed by her knowledge, Nash smiled. “Yes, on all points.”

  “My father had an atlas in our library. I would sit for hours looking at it. I…we would love to hear about your life there.”

  “Are you extending an invitation?” he dared to inquire.

  Lavinia bounced on her heels. “Yes, Jack. You must come to Endfield. Tell us everything.”

  With one brow raised, Lanley moved closer to Rebecah. He posed a question, Nash knew, meant to affront.

  “Will you take up arms against England when this wretched war begins? Or have you returned to stay?”

  Lavinia pouted. “Must we discuss politics?”

  Lanley drew back his shoulders. “Why not, Miss Lavinia? Revolution is the main topic of discussion these days.”

  “Let us hope our differences are resolved without the shedding of blood,” Nash replied.

  Lanley narrowed his eyes. “If the shedding of blood means England will keep what is rightful hers, then so be it. The Americans will be on the receiving end.”

  A muscle in Nash’s cheek jerked. He wished he could silence Lanley’s sarcastic mouth. But for the sake of the ladies, as well as his parents, and that he stood on church grounds, he gave Lanley a steely glare instead.

  Lavinia set her hand against her head. “Sir Cecil, will you be so kind to escort me to our coach. I’m feeling a little faint.”

  Under Nash’s shadow, Lanley put Lavinia’s arm through his. He hesitated a moment, then turned and walked off.

  Rebecah moved from the fence onto the gravel path leading to the Brent coach. “Pay no attention to Sir Cecil
. He speaks his mind without thinking first.”

  “And you’re engaged to such a man?”

  “It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to discuss my situation with you, Mr. Nash. We just met.”

  “Forgive me. I spoke out of turn.”

  “No harm done.” They walked on through the gate, trailing behind Lanley and Lavinia. “I’m glad my uncle is not here today.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “A discussion with him over politics is more insufferable than can be imagined.”

  “I may call at Endfield sometime as long as Lanley isn’t there. I don’t think I could abide a conversation with him again.”

  A light laugh passed through her coral lips. “You would have to ignore him as one disregards a spoiled child.”

  When she reached the coach, she paused in front of the horses. She ran her hand down one mare’s nose. “Are all rebels like you?”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Miss Brent.”

  “There’s an air of bravery about you, yet you are restrained. You could have argued back, but you didn’t.”

  “There was no point.”

  The coachman broke in. “Lady Kathryn wishes to hurry home, miss.”

  Rebecah lifted her skirts, as a footman open the door and helped her inside. Nash lingered back as Lanley strutted past.

  Lavinia poked out her head. “See mother, I told you John Nash was here.”

  Lady Kathryn leaned forward and placed one gloved hand on the sill of the coach window. “I never doubted my daughter, Jack. Your parents are overjoyed to have you home. I’m happy as well.”

  He bowed to her. Little had she changed, but for a few lines about her eyes. She spoke in the same refined voice he remembered.

  “Have you any reason to refuse an invitation if it comes from me?”

  “None that I can think of, my lady.”

  “Then we shall look forward to seeing you.”

  The coachman cracked his whip. Rebecah’s eyes caught his as the coach rolled away. Besieged, he held them fast. Stepping away, he put his hat back on.

  What have I just committed myself to?

  CHAPTER 9

  Evening fell and candles glowed in the windows of Endfield. Torches swayed along the drive brightening the stone facade. The moon hung in a vast sea of stars.

  Guests were arriving. In the courtyard, footmen in lavish livery helped ladies exit their coaches. In the center directing activity stood Henry Carrow, his shadow spreading across the lawn in the torchlight.

  “Who do you see, Lavinia?” Rebecah clasped a bracelet to her wrist.

  Lavinia looked out the upstairs window. “Sir Rodney and Lady Margaret have arrived with their son.”

  Lavinia turned and drew Rebecah over. She gazed at Nash with a quickening heart. The wonderful sensation confused her and she squeezed the lace of the curtain within her hand. He waited at the foot of the stairs, his hat tucked beneath his arm, dressed in dark blue. He looked up. A gradual smile eased over his mouth.

  “You have a new admirer, Rebecah,” Lavinia sighed.

  Rebecah turned away. “He is not my admirer.”

  “Ah, but he is. Just how you will get rid of Lanley, I don’t know.”

  “You need not worry about me. You’ve your own set of problems.”

  “I’m not worried. David and I are meant to be together.” She moved away from the window. “Do you not like John Nash?”

  “I hardly know him.”

  Lavinia looked aghast. “You make me want to scream.”

  She pulled on Rebecah’s shoulders. Rebecah gave her a look of resignation. “Yes, I like him. He is…”

  “Dashing? Handsome?”

  “Yes.”

  “Rugged and mysterious?”

  “Yes, that too. When he looks at me, I feel…Oh, I cannot find the words.”

  “I knew it. You’re in love.” Lavinia whirled Rebecah around.

  “I’m not. Falling in love takes time.”

  “You don’t believe in love at first sight?”

  “No.”

  A burst of laughter rose from downstairs. “We must hurry; else we’ll miss most of the fun.”

  Dorene entered the room. She paused at the mirror. “Make him wait, Rebecah. It keeps a man interested.”

  “I don’t need your advice, Dorene.”

  “What a pity. For I do think he shall be put off by the color of your gown.” Dorene stood back, snapped open her fan and brushed the white ostrich feathers across her chin. “It darkens your skin and heightens the rust in your hair.”

  Rebecah refused to look at Dorene. Agitated she pulled on her silk stockings. She had been at Rebecah from the day she arrived. Rebecah had tolerated her.

  “The heart is everything. Beauty fades. Silks turn to rags.”

  If Dorene’s eyes were daggers, they would have drawn blood. Raising her head, she glided over to the door in a huff. The maid hurried to open it. Dorene left the room.

  Lavinia sat beside Rebecah. “Dorene doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Your gown is lovely.”

  Rebecah stood and looked at the mauve silk in the mirror. “I should despise it.”

  “Why? You look beautiful.”

  “I don’t wish to look beautiful tonight. Lanley.”

  “Forget him. Your betrothal is not etched in stone.”

  Despite Lavinia’s encouragement, Brent’s words came back. Since that day in his study, she prayed for a way to escape. The thought of being wedded to Lanley, made her feel as though she were dying inside.

  “If only you knew the threats your father has made, and how difficult he has made things.”

  “I know better than you think.” Lavinia headed for the door. “Tonight you need not worry about my father or Lanley. Jack is here.”

  * * *

  Nash felt out of his element with the new clothes and the scent of milled soap upon his skin. And then there was Rebecah. He had seen her four times, in the village or passing on the road, since they had first met. Their encounters had been brief, always in the presence of others. Conversation had been limited to the fine day, or the wellbeing of their loved ones. When he saw her standing in the window, his heart pounded. Then she moved away and he bounded up the stairs and stepped inside the house.

  Lavinia and Rebecah emerged from upstairs and his eyes lifted to see her, to watch the way she walked down the runner toward the stairs.

  “Is that your cousin?” A girl dressed in blue damask, whose powdered face and black patch made her look more like a harlequin than a young woman, moved beside Dorene at the foot of the staircase.

  He slipped back, so not to be seen, listened, and watched how she vied for attention. Dorene has not changed at all.

  Another girl in the cluster tapped her fan. “I caught a glimpse of her in the market. I thought no great thing of her.”

  “I’ve seen her in church,” spoke a third. “The men cannot keep their eyes from wandering her way.”

  “Is it true Sir Cecil Lanley has asked for her hand?” probed the girl with the patch.

  “Yes, and someday my cousin will get all she deserves.” Dorene proceeded into the ballroom with her clutch of friends. Nash breathed a sigh of relief she did not see him. A moment with the prideful Dorene surrounded by gawking females would vex him.

  Samuel Brent walked by, stopped and turned.

  “Sir Samuel.” Nash bowed. “How are you, sir?”

  Brent looked him over with scrutiny. “I’m always in excellent condition. Come to Endfield with your parents, have you? Rodney told me you intend to sell your land and are seeking a buyer. Why?”

  “I’ve settled in America, and can use the money.” Nash took a step back to let a lady and her gentleman pass.

  “So, have you become a traitor to king and country?” Brent leaned forward. “Are you one of those Sons of Liberty we hear about?”

  Nash made no reply. Why get into a debate?

  “You are aware I’m in favor of hanging tra
itors.” Brent smiled in quick greeting to his guests. “We’ve enough loyal Englishmen in the Colonies to squash a rebellion.”

  “Yet they should not underestimate the patriots’ fervor.”

  Brent frowned. Lady Kathryn drew beside him. Nash kissed the hand she held out to him.

  Rebecah was coming down the stairs. Brent’s face flushed and Nash saw something dreadful snapped in his mind.

  Lady Kathryn touched his arm. “What is it, my love?”

  “You don’t see it, do you? She is the image of her mother.”

  “Slightly, Samuel.” Lady Kathryn opened her fan.

  “You will excuse me.” Pain and anger glazed Brent’s eyes. “I’m not good at parties.”

  His wife looked disappointed. “It would be discourteous, Samuel.”

  “I don’t care, Kate. This is my house and I shall do as I please.” He took his wife by the elbow and led her down the hall. Nash heard the door click shut over the din of people.

  Brent’s reaction to his niece troubled Nash. Was he over protective, or was there something else concerning the past that caused this slight?

  He walked toward her. She gave him a hint of a smile. “I heard the roads were filled with fog. I hope the journey was not too unpleasant.”

  “The hard ride was worth it now that I’ve seen you.”

  “There’s Lavinia, and David Harcourt. Perhaps you haven’t spoken to them and should?”

  “I’m beginning to think you don’t like me, Miss Brent. Is it so difficult for you to accept a compliment?”

  “How am I to know you are sincere?”

  “You must take my word for it. Perhaps it’s a matter of the two of us becoming better acquainted.”

  A roll of laughter and a voice drawn and high pitched, drew their attention. When Lanley entered, heads turned. Dorene took his arm and led him inside. Ladies fluttered and clustered around him like bees drawn to honey. Tapping his silver snuffbox, he bobbed his head to search the crowd.

  When Lanley started toward her, Rebecah looked at Nash with entreaty. “Take me into the other room before…”