Thorns in Eden and The Everlasting Mountains

by RITA GERLACH

  “Hello, Jack,” Lavinia said quietly and with sadness. “I’m glad you came if no one else is. I imagine you’re leaving for America and we shall not see you again.”

  “Be silent, Lavinia!” Brent commanded.

  “No, Father. I believe you’re wrong about Jack.”

  “Be silent, I say!”

  Humiliation swept over Lavinia’s face, and she stared back at her plate. Rebecah reached over and gripped her hand. He wondered if this were a sign of empathy. Had time given her the chance to reconsider her rejection of him? Did she now realize what he had been accused of was folly?

  “Say what you want, and be done with it.” Brent shoved back his chair. “It won’t change anything.”

  “I can assure you,” said Nash, stiff with conviction, “I have one vow to keep and that is to leave and never return. Of that I’m certain you’re relieved.”

  “More than you realize.”

  “My father and his lady have done nothing against you or you against them. I wouldn’t want this to break their ties with the Brents.”

  “I do not intend to break ties with them. I do intend to have you arrested.”

  “What proof have you?”

  “I shall acquire witnesses to my brother’s story.”

  “It’s true I met Sir Richard on the road going north. There was a confrontation.” He went on describing that night in Maryland, how it was dark, how he and his companion were confronted by Redcoats, and the threats made by the officer on horseback. He told them all he knew. Yet in Brent’s eyes he saw an unwillingness to believe anything he said.

  “But I question whether my bullet was the thing that brought on the infection that killed him. How could he have survived as long as he did?”

  “You admit to firing your pistol at him?”

  “I do.”

  “There you see, Rebecah?”

  Nash stepped forward, hat in hand, gazing at her. “You once loved me. Through an accusation your feelings for me have been destroyed. Had I been questioned fairly and heard out, perhaps our love would have been spared.”

  “It was my father that accused you.” She spoke with such bitterness that her hands trembled. “I read his letter.”

  “Rebecah, forgive me. Believe me. I did not mean to hurt anyone. I may not have caused this. Let us make inquiries together to discover the truth…”

  “I can take no more.” She stood and rushed out of the room. Brent looked pleased at this, and a smug grin spread across his face.

  “Once more you’ve upset my household. Leave a once. You’ll pay the consequences soon enough.”

  Knowing there was no more he could do, Nash put on his hat and strode out. He caught a glimpse of Rebecah. He picked up his pace. She turned to face him, her back to the wall. The light from the window touched her face, etched the tips of her hair.

  He took her in his arms. “Please tell me, I’ll not be forced to live without you.”

  “Accepted it as I have.”

  “You’re asking me to forget everything between us. You want to throw away our love based on an assumption.”

  “I have a duty to my father.”

  He brought her closer, his lips within inches of hers. “Rebecah, we love each other. What we feel cannot die as easy as you say. Let us find the truth about your father together. And if indeed I am the cause, I beg you forgive me. But I assure you there’s more to this than what you’ve been led to believe. Please…”

  Breathing hard and trembling, she raised her eyes. There were tears in them, and it cut him to the quick.

  “It hurts too much. And I cannot bear it. Now let me go.”

  Pained he drew back, pressed his lips together to stifle the aching in his soul. He looked at her one last time, and walked out with thunder pounding through his veins.

  CHAPTER 19

  When night grew old and the clock in the hallway struck midnight, Lavinia and Rebecah stole down the servants’ stairway in the dark. Never before had the wood creaked so loudly. Softly now they stepped. Once down, they made their way out a side door toward the grove of trees beyond Endfield’s gate.

  A pair of horses stood beneath the trees. David stepped forward, called to Lavinia, and lifting her gown, she rushed into his arms.

  “You’re so brave to leave,” Rebecah told them.

  “It would not have come to this if Sir Samuel had given us his consent,” David said.

  “You will come see us, won’t you?” Lavinia asked.

  “Yes, of course I will.”

  They embraced, bound by the selfsame search for tender love. But one held fast that treasure, while the other had tossed it away as if, instead of choice gold, it had been rust and tin. If only things had been different, she and Nash would have run away together too. She wondered if her father’s letter had saved her or ruined her life. Time would tell.

  “We must hurry.” David helped Lavinia onto her horse. He looked at Rebecah and sighed. “My thanks, Rebecah. You took a risk.” He leaned over, kissed her cheek, and climbed into the saddle.

  Turning the horses out onto the road, they rode off and vanished in the gloom. Rebecah stood alone, listening to the hoof beats fade. Silence followed, then the wind rose and whispered through the trees. She gripped her arms together oppressed by the shrouding darkness. The wind blew back her hair from off her face. It stung her eyes until tears welled.

  “I know you are everywhere, God,” she whispered. Tears fell down her cheeks and she shook with broken emotion and a beating heart. “You are even in this dark place, where it seems there’s no escape, where love seems a fantastic dream and I’m lost and now without a friend.”

  She tasted the salt of her tears on her lips. Then she walked on but not back to the house. She wanted to lose herself in the fields, lose herself there in the wind and cold, under the beckoning sky. But fear seized her, and she turned and ran back to Endfield.

  She envisioned her beloved an ocean away, dressed in buckskins, a hunting shirt and leather leggings, moccasin boots laced to his knees, his hair tied back in a leather strip, an Indian standing beside him with folded arms. In the background she saw smoke and fire. She heard the blast of flintlocks, muskets, and the screams of men.

  Then in a moment, he was gone, gone with the drumbeat of battle, and the cold winds of war.

  CHAPTER 20

  March 1774

  It was not the most beautiful months for a wedding. The hills were thick with frost, fields brown and muddy. Rivers and streams swelled, rushed, and murmured. Skies by day remained gray and nights were long and cold.

  Outside Rebecah’s window, hungry sparrows ate the breadcrumbs she left on the sill. They pranced, chirped, and fought for the morsels with beating wings. Sitting on the side of her bed, she stared at them, then at the gown hanging from the armoire. It was not what she had dreamed of wearing on her wedding day.

  She had imagined a gown done in lace and apricot silk, trimmed in pearls. This gown was somber ecru linen, trimmed at the neck and sleeves with satin piping, laced in the back.

  But it was not only the gown that made her sorry. It was the fact she was marrying a man she did not love. Yet she was going through with it. It was what her father wanted, what her uncle now demanded.

  Seizing upon the chance that Nash was far from her, Brent expedited the arrangement. There was money in it for him and the freedom of an unwanted burden.

  Lanley was more than pleased to change his plans. Rebecah’s dowry was minimal, but he did not care. He was filthy rich. He had two country manors and a townhouse in London.

  She tried to love Lanley. It was impossible. But she had come to esteem him at least. He indulged her with presents and love letters. He made promises she knew he would never keep, but they were pretty to hear.

  She went to the fireside. As the flames warmed her, she thought of the night she and Nash were together at Ashburne. She loved him, but buried her feelings deep into an unforgiving heart.

  * * *

&n
bsp; John Nash stood at the rail of a ship with a heavy heart unaware it was Rebecah Brent’s wedding day. He looked out upon a shining sea and brilliant blue sky. The smell of saltwater was strong. The roar of the sea crashed against the ship’s haul and could not compare to the roaring in his soul. He gripped the timber of the ship, and looked west to a different world where an uncertain future awaited him.

  He pressed his hand against his breast. Inside his coat pocket was the small leather-bound Bible his father had given him before his departure. Sir Rodney inscribed a dedication.

  To my son, John Alexander Nash.

  Herein find your courage and strength. Let God be your fortress and high tower, and an ever-present help in times of trouble.

  Your loving father,

  Sir Rodney Nash

  In the year of our Lord, 1774

  He missed him already, wished he could be half the man his father was. With the news he had heard from crewmen, he knew he would need more courage and strength than he could ever imagine.

  The firebrands of revolution smoldered in France. The wheels of religious intolerance ground slowly and finely in Europe. The British lion and the American eagle stood eye to eye, one to preserve its power and dominion, the other to break free of what had become cruel and unjust dominance. Church bells tolled in Philadelphia, and children were starving in Boston. And out in the frontier and Indian War had begun.

  Tucking the Bible back into his coat, he looked back toward the east. England and he had separated for good.

  * * *

  After a soft knock on Rebecah’s door, March stepped inside and announced Lady Margaret wished a word. The slim, but stately lady, entered with a sweep of her skirts. Her face looked rosy and young, with sad, searching eyes. Rebecah curtsied and greeted her warmly.

  Her ladyship’s expression showed a strange pity, not joy for a bride to be. She held out her hands.

  “Forgive me for coming to the house. We were meant for the church, but I could not stay away. I wish to speak with you before you go downstairs. I know we have time.”

  “I am always happy to see you,” Rebecah said. “Especially today.

  “Yes, your wedding day.” Lady Margaret slipped off her gloves and set them aside. “How pale you look. Where is the bright bloom of a young woman in love?”

  “I was not aware there should be a physical change, one way or the other,” Rebecah replied. “I’m as I’ve always been.”

  “I don’t agree. May I have my say?”

  “I suppose you’ve come to advise me on the duties of a good wife.” A smile struggled over Rebecah’s lips.

  “As your elder I could demand your ear. But I shall not impose on you in that way. I’ll speak if you’re willing to listen.”

  “Of course I’ll listen, out of my esteem for you.”

  Lady Margaret frowned. “I suppose that shall be enough. But I hope your heart is willing.”

  “If I implied otherwise, excuse me for it. I sense you are troubled.”

  “I am.”

  “I hope I’m not the cause.”

  Lady Margaret clasped her hands together. “I’m grieved. My heart is pained for what you are about to do.”

  “Dispel your misgivings. Lanley will make a good husband.”

  “In name only. See sense.”

  “There’s no better blood in England. I shall not lack for anything.”

  “He may be willing to provide dutifully toward you, but have you no regrets?”

  “I do, but not with the decision I’ve made.”

  “You are not in love with him.”

  “I admit I am not.”

  “Do you no longer believe love is a prelude to marriage? The heart is what binds a man and woman together, not a title or wealth. Must you throw away your life?”

  “My father made me swear before he died I would marry Lanley. I cannot go back on my word.”

  “You were once willing to do just that. Or have you forgotten?”

  Lady Margaret stepped to the window to look out at the empty scene toward the woods. “You must forgive me for being so bold with my words.”

  “It’s a quality I admire in you, my lady.”

  Lady Margaret hung her head. “I would have preferred you had called me mother.”

  Rebecah sighed. “I would have, if…”

  Her ladyship turned sharply. “Please tell me what happened. Tell me or I shall fall apart. What did he do to make you despise him?”

  “I don’t hate him. But we cannot be together.”

  “I’m not blind, Rebecah. Jack was deeply in love with you.”

  Rebecah stared into the fire. He loved me, yes, but not enough to tell me the truth.

  “What we shared was a brief infatuation.”

  Lady Margaret shook her head. “I don’t believe it. You still love him.”

  “There are unhappy moments in life and one must accept them.”

  “Yes, and you are placing yourself into one by marrying Lanley.” She paced away from the window, along the carpet the met the door. “I should not have come to you at all.”

  Rebecah knew Lady Margaret was right, but refused to admit it. She could not bring herself to tell her ladyship what had transpired. Already she was hurt by his leaving. To add injury to an open wound Rebecah could not do.

  Lady Margaret took her by the shoulders. “I think you are making a grave mistake. Please reconsider. Please think.”

  Rebecah tried to give her a reassuring smile. “I have done both.”

  “Then you are going through with it?”

  “Yes.”

  Lady Margaret shrugged. “Well, I am only too glad Jack is not here to witness it. He left, you know, for his friends and property.”

  Rebecah glanced at her with a start. “He is gone?”

  “Yes, and I doubt he will ever return. I pray it makes him happy. But I doubt it. Not until he meets a woman who will love him unconditionally.”

  Rebecah lowered her eyes. He is gone. I’ll never see him again.

  “I pray he knows God’s forgiveness,” said Lady Margaret. “I wish he had yours.”

  “I cannot give it. My life now must go on with Lanley.”

  Lady Margaret snatched up her gloves. “Then take your path, Rebecah. I’ll always be here for you if you should need me. I hope Lanley makes you happy. But try to see the course of unforgiveness is a lonely one. The end results of its achievements may bring more disappointment than you may imagine.”

  The maid entered to help Rebecah dress. Lady Margaret left to join her patient husband in the coach.

  Inwardly, Rebecah grieved their meeting had ended so badly.

  * * *

  Lavinia could not stay away. Words had to be spoken, and so she and David traveled back to Endfield to see Rebecah married and try to make amends with Brent. The house buzzed with activity. Tables were being set, maids rushed about. Lanley’s aunts were directing everything for the wedding feast, and complaining like a flock of geese.

  “Your cook hasn’t brought up the cake,” they said. “How can we conduct a reception without the cake?” Brent walked away from their cackling.

  Lavinia waited at the front door watching the scene within. “Father?” she called.

  Abruptly Brent turned, and when he saw his wayward daughter, he looked at her stern and cold.

  “Father, David and I are married. We’ve come to make amends and attend Rebecah’s wedding.” She held both hands out. “Give us your blessing and say you love me still.”

  Brent paused. He sighed. “You’re not welcomed in this house. You will not see your sister or Hugh. No one is to speak to you again.”

  “Father, please!” Lavinia continued pleading with him, but he turned his back and walked away, leaving her in tears. David put his arm around his wife and led her back down the steps outside.

  Despite her father’s rejection, they would head for the church, fearing the worse was about to befall Rebecah.

  * * *

 
An hour later, the Brents’ coach came to a stop in front of the village church. Rebecah felt the deepest sense of foreboding course through her when she saw the cold stone facade and the black clad minister standing beside his church door.

  With eyes moist with quick sensation, she looked beyond the hand extended to her to see people passing inside. Then her resolve weakened. Taking in a deep breath, she fought to regain it. She gripped a fold in her gown, and with her arm in her uncle’s, she crossed the threshold.

  At the altar, Lanley turned to see her. His expression appeared as one of gentlemanly arrogance. He wore a white silk coat and a silver-shot waistcoat, with breeches of blue brocade and white silk stockings. His scanty hair lay hidden beneath a fashionable wig, the buckles of his shoes silver, and an exquisite ruby sparkled on his finger. Lace tumbled in soft cascades over his hands.

  Lanley looked boorish, effeminate to the girl approaching him. His receding chin quivered under a drooping lower lip. He fanned his nose with a lavender scented handkerchief. A moment more and their eyes made contact. Rebecah hesitated and busied her hands with the nosegay of holly she held. She felt her skin grow cold and she shivered. She wondered if Lanley could see in her eyes a fearful apprehension.

  She saw passion rise in his eyes. She knew then her effect on him was overwhelming. He was experiencing carnal love, the desire for something kept from him, the kind that grips a worldly man furiously if allowed. He could not remove his lustful eyes from her.

  Soon her hand lay sedate in his. Before her mind’s eye, she saw herself lavished with gifts, flowers, and well wishes. Dinner was to be given with wine and dancing. Then Lanley would carry her off to his Georgian manor, a chilly house with enormous rooms and elaborate furnishings. There, weary and exhausted, she’d sit in an armchair beside a fire. Nearby would be a bowl of fruit, a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a candle. The fire would bathe the room amber. Its trembling light would set her skin to a velvety rose, her hair an irresistible bronze cascade. But her silken beauty would not dismiss the frightened glaze of her eyes. She was to be Lanley’s, his to possess and enjoy as he wished.