by Jane Peart
The boys were waiting for her when she approached the clearing.
“What have you got there, Avril?” Marshall asked, grinning. “We’ve been up and riding a full hour and we’re starved!”
She jumped down and fetched her contributions to the picnic, placing them beside the ham, biscuits, and apples Marshall had spread out on a rock.
While they sunned themselves and ate heartily, the horses wandered freely, munching on the sweet grasses and ferns. Avril, having skipped breakfast, helped herself generously until Logan made a chance remark.
“Ah, this is really living. We have company at the house and Mama has gone all elegant and Frenchified, even for breakfast. It was good to escape.” He took a bite of a peach, let the juice drip off his chin, then wiped his sticky fingers on the turf.
“Ugh!” Marshall gave a disgusted grimace. “We’re supposed to act like perfect little English gentlemen whenever her friend Madame Clarice is visiting.” He mimicked a la-de-dah tone of voice that under other circumstances Avril would have found humorous.
But with the mention of that name, Avril suddenly lost her appetite, nearly choking on a biscuit. Oh no! she thought. Clarice back so soon?
“By the way, Avril, Mama is having a party in Mrs. Fontayne’s honor this week. I’m, sure Graham will get his invitation, as she sent them out by hand this morning. It’s only for Mama’s and Father’s friends and some of Mrs. Fontayne’s from Williamsburg, too. But Mama says you can come along when Graham does and we can have our own party in the gazebo. Do come! The food is going to be very special. Our cook and her helpers have been baking for days!” Marshall went on, totally oblivious of the effect of his news on Avril.
“Did you know Mama is matchmaking, Avril?” asked Logan, regarding Avril with raised eyebrows.
“She is, Avril,” chimed in Marshall. “She thinks Mrs. Fontayne would make a perfect wife for Graham.”
Avril’s stomach gave a sickening lurch at the thought of Clarice Fontayne as Mistress of Montclair. Surely they were mistaken. How could Auntie May even suggest such a thing?
The sound of the river below, rushing over rocks, the buzz of insects in the wildflowers, the rustle of leaves in the overhanging trees suddenly grew very loud in Avril’s ears, mercifully shutting out the rest of their discussion.
Avril felt hot and faint. Shakily she got to her feet. “I must go,” she said without explanation.
The boys registered surprise. “But we were going to ride over to—” began Marshall.
“I can’t. I forgot something I was supposed to do,” fibbed Avril and went to get Fancy, who reluctantly turned from the delicious greenery she was enjoying as Avril tugged on the reins.
Without a backward look at her astonished companions, Avril swung herself up on the mare’s back, roughly pulled her around and started off at a trot back toward Montclair.
The minute they were down the small, winding cliff overlooking the river Avril leaned forward, giving Fancy her head; the mare twitched her ears, then laid them back, and took off. Avril clutched the reins, bent her head low and felt the thrust of the horse beneath her. The violence of the emotions she felt both shocked and frightened her. Somehow, hurtling along the pine-needled bridle path faster than she had ever ridden before was healing.
At the stable one of the grooms ran out, a look of amazement on his face as Avril brought Fancy to a wheeling halt. She slid out of her saddle, tossed the reins to him, then ran into the house and up the stairway to her bedroom.
Her cotton blouse clung damply to her back; her hair, wet with perspiration, stuck to her forehead and neck in little ringlets; her face was streaked with dust; and her legs trembled. She held out shaky hands rubbed almost raw from the leather reins, belatedly remembering she had left her riding gloves by the picnic spot.
She stripped off her rumpled, dirty clothes and then poured water into the wash basin and began to sponge off the sweat and grime. The cool, refreshing wash had a calming as well as cleansing effect. The knot of tension she had felt in her chest began to subside. She slowly dressed in fresh clothing and then went downstairs in search of something to soothe her throat, parched by the fast ride through the heat of the day.
There was a pitcher of lemonade in the kitchen Cookie had made to take to the spring house for later, but she poured Avril a tall glass while eyeing the girl anxiously.
“Somethin’ de matter, sweetness?” she asked.
“Just hot and tired,” answered Avril over her shoulder as she took the glass with her and wandered out into the hall. On the drop leaf mahogany table she saw a large, pale blue envelope in a silver tray. She stopped to examine it. Avril recognized the handwriting at once. It was from Auntie May, who had written her frequent little notes while she was away at the Academy. Avril picked it up and held it for a long, tempting moment. It would be easy to destroy it. Graham would never know why he had not received an invitation to the party honoring that spiteful Clarice Fontayne.
The thought lingered tantalizingly. Then the teaching at the Academy as well as her own reading of the Scriptures overwhelmed her with the deceitful thing she had almost done. Thou shalt not steal. Thou shalt not lie—She quickly replaced the little square of blue.
Standing there, Avril lifted her head and studied her reflection in the hall mirror. She was only a girl, even though she would soon be fifteen. There was nothing she could do to prevent Graham’s seeing Mrs. Fontayne if he chose to do so, nothing she could do to keep Auntie May from bringing them together socially. A tide of helplessness engulfed her.
Outside, the summer afternoon, golden with sunshine, darkened. Avril left the hall and went into the library. Even when Graham was not here, this room seemed to hold his essence. Everything in it—the books, his chair, the hassock where she often sat at his knee while he read, the desk with its brass inkwell, the pen holder, the globed lamp—was a tangible reminder of him, Avril thought, as she touched the objects one by one.
She moved behind the desk and sat down on the leather upholstered chair, spinning around a couple of times. Then, playing with the drawer pulls absently, she opened one.
She had not intended to look through the papers Graham kept there or in any way invade his privacy. It was just that the folder at the top of the stack caught her eye immediately. It bore her name.
Almost without thinking Avril opened the cover. The first paper was crinkled and the ink rather faded. Her eyes roamed the sheet and she saw her father’s signature and then Graham’s. It was not a legal document in the strict sense, but an amateurish imitation. It was the “covenant agreement” made by two young men, promising forever friendship and a solemn vow to protect, cherish, and care for the family of the other if one survived the other’s death. This was the signed exchange that had made Graham her guardian.
It was the first time Avril had seen it. But as she lifted it from the rest of the papers in the folder for closer examination, her eyes fell on the next document.
The marriage certificate. At the time she had not fully understood the explanations offered for its necessity. She knew only that Graham felt that it was important. Now, from the Academy’s teachings on marriage as a “holy estate,” Avril knew that marriage was far more than a contractual agreement between two people. It was a binding state, recognized in heaven.
She remembered Graham’s telling her that the marriage, on paper only, was to protect her great fortune until she came of age. It still seemed a strange precaution for him to take. How had she been threatened that he should take so serious a step?
Avril heard voices outside the open windows and realized Graham had come in from his plantation rounds and was talking with Hector in the hall. Hastily she returned the folder to the drawer and shoved it closed.
In another minute Graham came into the room, saw her, and smiled. Holding up the blue envelope, he said, “Well, my dear, how would you like to go with me to Cameron Hall next Friday? It seems May is having a party, and you are invited to dine with t
he boys.”
Avril arranged a smile on her face. It was not too difficult. After all, why should she fear Clarice Fontayne, or any of Auntie May’s plans, for that matter? Graham couldn’t marry anyone else—because he was already married—to her.
Avril dressed with special care on the evening of the Cameron party. Even though she was not to participate in the real event, she wanted to look her very best, if only to please Graham.
As she experimented with several hairstyles, Avril pretended she was preparing for a great ball with Graham as her escort. But most of the styles she tried were failures. In the end she simply plaited part of her hair and let the rest fall in natural curls about her shoulders, then fashioned a garland of tiny yellow roses from the garden and pinned a wreath of them around the coiled braid.
Her dress was of crepe-lisse, a silky gauze over a yellow undergarment, with short puffed sleeves and a wide satin sash. It was quite the most sophisticated gown Avril owned, and she sent a mental thank-you to Auntie May for insisting she have some new dresses made at the beginning of the summer.
Cameron Hall was ablaze with light as Graham and Avril arrived just after dark. Liveried servants waited in the drive to lead away the fine coaches after the elegantly gowned occupants alighted and ascended the “welcoming arms” stairway to the pillared porch where Judge and Mrs. Cameron stood to receive their guests.
Auntie May, looking lovely in blue satin with fluted ruffles and wearing the famous Cameron sapphires, exclaimed over Avril’s dress and charming hairstyle. To Graham she confided, “There is someone here who has been most eager to see you!” She squeezed his arm and her eyes twinkled merrily.
Avril felt a sickening chill even on this warm, balmy evening. She knew Auntie May meant Clarice, and glancing into the lighted foyer, she saw her. What man could fail to appreciate such beauty? She was enchanting.
Clarice was surrounded by a small group of gentlemen who appeared to be hanging on her every word. She wore a rose satin creation with an overlay of white lace. The low-cut bodice was draped with lace and satin roses, ornamented with tiny pearls like dewdrops. Her hair was arranged in ringlets that fell on either side of her exquisite face. She carried an ivory fan, which she was fluttering flirtatiously as she chatted.
“Logan and Marshall are waiting for you, darling,” said Auntie May, snapping Avril out of her reverie. “You three will have supper on the upper balcony. Go along, dear. You know the way.”
A rebellious protest rose to Avril’s lips. She did not want to be relegated to a “children’s party.” She wanted to stay downstairs with the grown-ups—and keep an eye on Graham and that woman! But Graham was already moving away from her, speaking to some friends who had hailed him. So there was nothing Avril could do but make her way through the throng of adults, who took scant notice of her, and reluctantly mount the steps to the balcony, where Marshall and Logan waited impatiently.
“Come on, slowpoke!” Marshall exclaimed when she reached the top of the stairs. “Our supper is served and we’re famished. Do hurry!”
Auntie May had planned a wonderful feast for them, Avril had to give her that—all kinds of delicious dishes and an assortment of desserts as well. If she had not been so resentful of being excluded from the more sophisticated gathering downstairs, Avril would have enjoyed herself thoroughly.
After they had eaten, they got out the dominoes and played several games until the sound of music from below distracted Avril. She looked up from the small black rectangle she was attempting to place and listened.
“They’ve started the dancing!” she said to the boys, who seemed not the slightest bit interested. “Let’s go and watch!” she suggested, getting up from her chair.
“But we haven’t finished the game—and I’m winning!” objected Marshall, but Logan was already on his feet.
Resigned, Marshall followed the other two out to the upstairs hall. From their vantage point at the balcony rail, they had an unobstructed view of the center hall and a portion of the drawing room. Both areas had been cleared of furniture and the floors polished. Intrigued by the intricacies of the dance steps, the three hung over the banister, unseen observers of the colorful panorama below.
Avril immediately sought out Graham. His tall, handsome figure was easy to spot. He moved with unexpected grace for such a big man, she thought, her heart swelling with pride and admiration. Then seeing his partner, her worst fears were realized. Graham was leading the lovely Clarice, giving her his rapt attention.
Mesmerized, Avril’s eyes followed them as they bowed, twirled, came together, and sidestepped through the arch created by the uplifted arms of the other couples. Graham was laughing at some comment Clarice had made. Avril’s heart twisted with envy. If only she could be his partner, sharing this lighthearted pastime!
“Would you like to try?” A voice beside her cut into her absorption. She turned her head quickly. It was Logan, blushing a little as he explained. “I learned last year. One of the chaps at school invited me down to his family’s country house for the holidays. There was a ball for his older sister, and his mother employed an instructor to teach us.”
“Well, yes—,” Avril replied hesitantly. “If you think I can—”
“It’s very simple, actually. Just a few steps to learn, then you repeat. See, I’ll show you,” he offered and took her hand.
While Marshall looked on sullenly, miffed at being left out, Logan led Avril through a few basics and then they began to move together quite fluidly to the rhythm of the music floating up to them from downstairs.
“You caught on very quickly!” Logan said and Avril felt pleased, nearly forgetting her futile wish that she could be part of the crowd downstairs.
“You look very pretty tonight, Avril,” Logan said, then blushed furiously, as if he had paid her this rare compliment by accident.
“Thank you, Logan!” she replied, as surprised as he seemed to be.
But in that moment a curious confidence flowed through Avril. The potential of the future flashed through her mind as swiftly as a bird in flight. Maybe she was growing up.
Someday she would dance at a real party and someone else would think her pretty and clever, would look at her the way gentlemen looked at Clarice Fontayne—the way Graham looked at Clarice Fontayne. A sense of anticipation tingled along her spine and she smiled up at Logan.
Logan smiled back, having overcome his initial diffidence, never suspecting that Avril was practicing on him while dreaming of someone else.
chapter
11
LATE IN AUGUST Avril began in earnest her campaign to convince Graham that she should not return to the Academy. With her birthday only a few days away, Avril launched the first stage of her strategy.
It was nearly dusk after a late afternoon horseback ride when Avril and Graham turned their mounts back toward Montclair, proceeding by a different route than they had taken before. Suddenly spying something through the dense foliage, Avril reined in her mare and pointed.
“What is that, Graham? It looks like a little house.”
He had pulled up alongside her, and as she turned to him for an answer, she saw a shadow of inexpressible sorrow cross his face before he masked it with a smile. In her enthusiasm Avril did not attach any significance to this glimpse of pain nor did she connect it with the small building a short distance away, obscured by a leafy screen of verdant foliage.
Not waiting for Graham’s reply, Avril gave Fancy a light flick with her crop. “Let’s do go take a look!” she called over her shoulder, ducking her head to avoid a low-hanging bough and moving forward through the underbrush. “Why, it’s a cottage—a dear little cottage! Graham, it looks like a miniature Montclair!”
Excited by her discovery, she jumped down and tethered Fancy to a nearby limb and whirled around just as Graham on his gray Gallant came up behind her.
Avril ran up on the small porch and tried the handle of the fanlighted front door. It was locked. She ran to look in the window
s but the shutters were closed. Disappointed, she turned to Graham, who had dismounted and was standing by his horse, making no move to join her.
“Oh, it’s all shut and boarded up! I wonder who lived here. Did you know about this place, Graham?”
His hesitance piqued her curiosity. At the look on his face, she halted in her attempt to see inside the quaint replica of the larger mansion.
“What is it, Graham? Is something wrong?”
He shook his head. “No, not really. It’s just that this place brings back some sad memories. This is ‘Eden Cottage.’ It was the architect’s model for Montclair,” Graham told her. “Grandfather Duncan Montrose designed it before the big house was built. It became a tradition for Montrose men to bring their brides here to live the first year of their marriage. It was a ‘honeymoon house.’”
Avril’s heart sank with pity. Auntie May had told her of Graham’s tragically brief marriage.
“Oh, Graham, I’m so sorry! I never knew, I never thought—” she blurted out, feeling wretched to have opened old wounds.
He waved his hand, dismissing her apology. “It’s not your fault, Avril. We—I—Lulie and I never came here. You see, she became ill on our wedding journey. Although the cottage was made ready and waiting for our return to Montclair—we never lived here.” He paused. “After she died, the cottage remained unused. Eventually it was boarded up …”
Tears welled up in Avril’s eyes. Impulsively she went over to Graham and embraced him tenderly. She felt his hand upon her hair, smoothing it gently, comforting her. She should be comforting him. Oh, how good he was! How kind and understanding. How she loved him!
It was then that a kind of revelation stole over Avril—a kind of clarification of that love. It had been there all the time, changing, growing into a different kind of love. Though Graham still thought of her as a child, his ward, his sacred responsibility—and that notion momentarily dismayed her—in time, perhaps, who knew what the future held? Only God.
