Eden Rising (The Eden Saga Book 5)

by Marilyn Harris

  Would they never speak?

  Someone would have to move soon. Some silences were good. This one was not.

  Just when she felt certain no one could endure like this a moment longer, the gentleman ducked his head and stepped still closer. “Do... you play marbles?” he asked John quite seriously, though his voice was hushed.

  At once the tension on John's face broke, and along with it broke his composure. “On... occasion.”

  The gentleman grinned and boasted, “I have four blue cat's-eyes. Do you want to...?”

  But he couldn't finish, for suddenly John reached out for him with surprising strength and both men concealed their faces in the embrace itself.

  Susan saw Alex turn away and concentrate with undue effort on the gravel path at his feet. Nor was she faring too well, nor was the lady, nor was anyone who watched the two in close embrace. Susan gave herself a few moments. She knew who they were: Lord Richard and his wife, Lady Eleanor, and their infant son. She assumed the reference to the game of marbles had something to do with a memory from their boyhood.

  The reunion was sweet, as both men seemed more than content to stand forever in the embracing forgiveness. “Welcome home, Richard,” she heard John murmur at last in a voice that was scarcely recognizable.

  Lord Richard did well to nod, and only then drew Eleanor forward, presenting her to John and the company, then went himself and took the baby, a plump cherub, from the nursemaid's arms and introduced both. “My wife, Eleanor, and our son, Geoffrey.”

  At that Susan stepped forward and greeted the pretty woman. “Welcome to Eden Rising.” She smiled. “How glad we are to see you...”

  Eleanor looked pleased and took the baby from Lord Richard to cradle him close. “We meant to arrive earlier. But it's difficult traveling with a child. More stops...”

  Susan nodded, understanding, and thought of the extra foodstuffs she'd prepared for the past two weeks tucked safely away in the kitchen. Tarts and meat pies. What a lovely picnic they would have on the grassy meadow of Eden Rising.

  To Eleanor she invited, “Come inside. You must be exhausted.”

  Though the woman nodded, she held up a restraining hand and looked back toward the place where Lord Richard and John were still standing, Richard talking softly, his hands shoved easily into his pockets. “Look,” Eleanor whispered, close at her side.

  Susan followed the direction of her gaze back to the gate. Standing there, with Bates close at hand, she saw a dignified old gentleman, his gleaming white hair visible despite the distance. But of greater importance to her were the two young boys he clasped by the hands, all three gaping at the activity about the cottage.

  It was Eleanor who directed John's attention toward these newcomers. “John, I believe...”

  That's all she said, for he looked up from his quiet conversation with Richard, peered into the distance at the three standing at the gate, and whatever it was he was saying to Richard was promptly forgotten. He started forward, a look on his face Susan had never seen before. Then he was running to be reunited with himself, with his sons, who broke loose from their grandfather and were now racing pell-mell toward John, the tallest crying out, “Papa! Papa!” over and over again.

  The collision was magnificent, the two boys threatening to topple John. But he regained his balance at the last minute and scooped them both up in his arms, a struggling, laughing, weeping reunion which concluded in a curious, almost ritualistic silence. John dropped heavily to his knees, releasing both boys, then inviting them back into his embrace one at a time, the youngest, Frederick, first, who appeared to approach the kneeling man with a degree of hesitancy but then was in his arms, his small face buried in John's shoulder. Then Stephen, who needed no second invitation and now clung to his father as though to a lifeline.

  Susan was aware of the embarrassment of indisposition that issued from all and tried to ease it. “Mr. Aldwell, there are pitchers of ale and lemonade in the ice house. Would you...?”

  The big man looked so grateful. She saw Eleanor stripping off her lovely pink feather bonnet and pushing up her sleeves to ask almost plaintively, “Please, let me do something.”

  Susan nodded, understanding, and motioned the nursemaid carrying the babe to come inside. As the women passed before her into the large roomy kitchen, she looked back in time to see John standing again, clutching his sons by the hand, all going forward to greet the distinguished-looking gentleman, who must be Lord Harrington.

  By eight-thirty everyone was groaning pleasurably, satiated with good food and drink, stretched out in varying positions of relaxation on the green-velvet lawn.

  There had been only one minor flaw in the perfect reunion. According to Alex, repeated messages had been sent to Mary, John's cousin in America. And there had been no response. To this sad news John nodded quickly, as though to say he understood.

  And Alex said further, rather hurriedly, as though to get it over with, “And Aslam could not get away. You know the pressing demands of the firm...”

  Again John nodded and gazed out at the evening too long and ultimately bowed his head, only to be drawn back into the life of the moment by Stephen and Frederick, who challenged him to a race on the headlands. John laughed and drew them close, seeming literally to gain strength from their closeness. “All right, you're on.”

  Before the race was launched it was decided Eleanor and the children would spend the night in the cottage, while the men would find adequate couches in the castle. Besides, Lord Richard was anxious to chart the specifics of restoration ahead of him, for, to John's great pleasure, he announced he was indeed coming home to stay.

  Now, as the others wandered off toward the castle, torches in hand, John, Susan, and the two boys cut a straight path through to the headlands, the boys racing ahead, though stopping to examine everything, every leaf, every curiously shaped stump, every stone, endlessly curious.

  She grasped John's hand and felt it tighten about hers in a loving accusation. “I suppose you were in on this plot.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I hope you're not angry.”

  He drew her close and kissed her forehead. “Why should I be angry with you for giving me the most perfect day of my life?”

  Quickly she returned the kiss and saw Stephen and Frederick twenty yards ahead turn back, as though fascinated by the intimacy.

  “What do you think of them?” John asked.

  “I think they are perfect,” she said. “Stephen is a mirror-image reflection.”

  He nodded, pleased. “And bright. They are so - ”

  “Papa, come! Let's race!”

  As the boys drifted back, Susan and John stepped out onto the vast expanse of the headlands, the view uncluttered in all directions, a panorama of breathtaking beauty.

  “Papa, cornel” the boys shouted impatiently.

  “Go on,” Susan urged. “Go show them how to run. A boy's first race should always be with his father.”

  He looked down on her, and she thought in that one look was enough love to warm her for the rest of her life.

  “John?” she called out just as he started away. She waited until he looked back. “A favor?” she asked.

  “Anything.”

  “Hold in reserve a portion of your love for your third child...”

  For a moment she wasn't certain he'd understood. Then he started slowly back toward her, his hands reaching out. “Oh, my dearest!” he whispered, and drew her to him.

  Beyond his shoulder she saw his two young sons approaching shyly, again drawn to the sight of two adults embracing.

  “Come,” she invited, stood back, and urged them forward. “There's room.”

  They hesitated and looked at each other as though to confirm the wisdom of becoming a part of such closeness. Stephen rallied first, though Frederick was right behind him, and as the boys pushed eagerly against them, she drew them close.

  In that protective cocoon she vowed silently to fill the small cottage on Eden Rising with as much
love, understanding, and compassion as the four walls would hold.

  Then she felt John tighten his grasp on all of them, and felt, as well, the channel breeze enfold them like a caring hand.

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  About the Author

  Marilyn Harris (June 4, 1931 — January 18, 2002) was born in Oklahoma. She was best known for her “Eden” series, an historical saga about the Eden family of England. The series also includes The Other Eden The Eden Passion and The Women of Eden.