by Hawke, Jessa
“I want you to take your time to decide before you make your decision. Either way, I will be there for you and our child. With one of the choices, you will only see me a few times. With the other, we can be together every moment. Both of these lives are risky. If you decide to keep your old life, then you must keep the baby’s father a secret. If my wife finds out I have fathered a child, she will take it, Katie.”
He places both of his hands around the back of head and pulls my face towards his. There we sit, nose to nose, breathing in each other’s breath. We are madly in love and the world will not allow us to be free. Why does he have to be this bad boy? Why couldn’t he just be normal, like a builder or a plumber, a job that is mundane and normal?
“On my part, I want to be with you and our child,” he continues. “I want to see you every day of my life, smell you, make love to you. I want to see our child, or maybe our children, grow up and pay for them to go to college and have successful lives. But, I guarantee none of this. I can finance us to go and live a long way from here, in Europe, but not Italy. Maybe England, what do you think?”
I say nothing, I cannot think. Is it just a dream?
“I feel sure that my wife will forget me, eventually, though she will hate me forever for leaving her. We will take on new names, I can provide passports, but, we will always need to remain a little secretive about our past.
He stops again, but only to stare off into a daze. Poor man, he is trying so hard to join me, but I don’t know if this is the answer. I’ve never had to live the life he is describing to me. Always looking behind me for fear of some terrible retribution by his ex wife’s family. What else is it he’s done? Should I ask him?
“I want to be with you,” I say, quietly. “But, I don’t want us to have to live a dangerous life.”
He takes my frail hands in his. I’m a big quivering ball right now, afraid of my own shadow. This is not the normal me that strides around exhuming confidence. The gymnast, the dancer who raises money for other less fortunates. I’m afraid, for my baby and for the man that I love. I’m afraid to make a decision on these two choices, what if I make the wrong one?
“I will have to go, for now,” he tells me. “Think about the choices I have put to you, make one of them work. I leave it up to you. Whichever one you go with, I will honor.”
I watch him walk away, seeing only the back of his handsome body. He does not turn around. My tears fall freely as I sit in the middle of an empty cafeteria, sad and lonely. How can I make this decision alone. He wants me to decide, yet I cannot ask my parents, I can ask no one. I must make this huge decision all alone. I am tired and I need to get home and rest. I will talk to my baby and together we will try to make a choice.
8
I received another hand written love letter from Renato, detailing everything about our new life, including where we were to meet to elope together. I have a week to decide and if I’m going, then I also have to tie things up.
I spend the rest of the week as if I’m going to go, incase I decide that’s what I want to do. Writing a personal letter to my parents is a good idea, then there is no electronic record of our contact. It would be dangerous to tell them everything, I must say only that I am safe and will be contacting them as soon as I can. It’s not how I would like to do it, they will be devastated, but after Renato’s dire words, I feel I have no choice.
I clear my bank account and do many other things that Renato has said would help keep my parents safe. He tells me that his wife has no idea of anything, so once he leaves it will be almost impossible to link him up with me, but the less of truth I spread around, the less chance of any information being leaked. So, I do as he says, yet I still have not decided whether this is the course I shall take.
Is it fair to deny my child of two beautiful and loving grandparents? Will our little family be living a dangerous life? So many questions are whizzing through my brain, that I cannot make my mind up. Is the man I love is more important than the baby I’m about to bring into this world?
Renato seems to be a good man, in his heart, but in reality I don’t really know him that well. Sure, I know him intimately and I love every part of his gorgeous body. This is his baby too, who am I to say that this child should live without a father? Trying to decide what is best for my baby is so very difficult. I don’t even know what all these dangerous things he tells me he’s done, are. Has he killed anyone?
I really should not go with him. It would be best to give my child a safe life with me, and my parents. Renato would never let his wife or family know that the child was his. He loves me and my child as much as I love him. What shall I do? I just cannot decide all on my own. I want to tell someone, my parents, my friends, I don’t want to leave them behind for ever. Being decisive is the hardest thing of all, I just don’t know what to do. Tears roll down my cheeks and I sit in my apartment feeling so very sorry for myself. I have to chose between two lives, or I lose the man I love.
* * *
I’ve driven up to the Old Man of Conny, a specific small mountain that has many lovely walks upon it. When I arrive in the car lot, I see him, waiting for me in a beautiful big RV. We don’t intend living in it permanently, only to start with, until we decide where to settle.
My new name is Mrs Katrina Rowoski and my husband is Ronald, who I’ve decided to call Ronny. We hug and I see the relief in his eyes that I have turned up. I suppose he knew there was always a chance I would not come. In fact, I only decided to, right at the last minute. If I think about our situation too much, I will stay where it is safe, within the bosom of my parents. But they grow old, and I am just maturing into the world. It’s time for me to move on and be independent of them. When things settle down, in a few years, and we know we are relatively safe, I will contact them again. They know I love them and they know I am with a man that I love, right now, that’s all that matters.
THE END
The Betrothal
Chapter 1: The Visit
Summerly Court, Suffolk
August 20, 1816
It was in the “Year Without a Summer” when Sarah first set eyes on Commander Harrison William Hargrove, recently returned from his duties in the South Pacific. She had no way of knowing it would be an auspicious occasion, given the exact nature of their meeting. Yet, it was a meeting that profited, at the least, by being memorable.
After completing her chores on the farm, she began her early afternoon with the necessary weekly journey into the village with Beth, her youngest sister. It was a mandatory ritual, one that she usually enjoyed all the more when Beth accompanied her. Some years later, Sarah would become one of the first ladies of her county to purchase a bicycle, or “running horse”. Her family struggled in the past year to do farm work without the benefit of an actual horse – Augustus had died during the bitter cold of that spring – so in later years she would come to appreciate the convenience. However, on this chill, rainy August day, walking was an unfortunate necessity for her family’s continued sustenance.
“My feet tire, sister,” Beth complained. She was still quite little for her age and full of energy most days, but on this particular day, the four-mile journey was wearing upon her. Her brown curls, so like Sarah’s own, bounced as she walked and she would have looked the very picture of a sweet young child were she not about to launch into one of her well-practiced long complaints.
On any other day, she was a delight to be around and Sarah found her to be the sibling she most naturally felt an affinity towards. Today would not be that day, though.
“You are more hungry than tired, I should expect,” Sarah chided her. She felt her cheeks growing cold as they walked and, to her continued bemusement, observed tendrils of fog from her own warm breath mixing with the wintery currents about them. “And this would account for your ill mood. I trust you will feel much relieved when we reach Aunt Mary’s.”
Beth stopped and kicked at the dirt with her worn leather shoes. “It’s not fair! I don’t want to vi
sit Aunt Mary, I don’t.”
“Don’t be silly. She dotes on you.”
“She will pinch my cheeks and call me baby names,” Beth complained, folding her arms.
Sarah knelt down beside her, gently pinching her sister’s cheek. “Oh, do you mean like this? ‘There’s my widdle Bethy-Wethy, come to call upon her dear old Auntie!” she said, the words in a high, wheedling voice that was a little too like their real Aunts.
Beth broke into peels of giggles and pushed her hand away. “If she calls me her darling Sweet Pea once more I shall simply scream.”
“That would be terribly unwelcome. Your voice is even shriller than ‘dear old Auntie’s’ when you have a mind to make it so heard.”
Beth sighed and reached over to take Sarah’s hand. “I wish we didn’t have to go to town at all. Why must she see us all the time?”
Not knowing the specifics of the familial relationship to Aunt Mary, Sarah kept her counsel. “She’s old and loves us very much. It’s not so much to ask to expect a visit. We call upon her as much to see that she is well as she does to see how much you’ve grown. We must go and present ourselves for her benefit as well as ours. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I suppose. Could Louisa go in my stead next time? It’s too far to walk.”
They continued reluctantly trudging along the dirt road. Until recently, there had been drifting snow and ice to make the usual trek far more uncomfortable and even dangerous on the coldest of days. However, the abnormal winter had slightly lessened by August, and though the ground was hard, the unending winter wasn’t as bad.
“Father would have us treat her with courtesy and kindness. I can rely upon you, can’t I?”
The young girl shrugged her shoulders. “You can. It’s not very fun though and I will complain to father about it.”
Giving the matter further consideration, Sarah decided to hint at the necessity. “Think of how many others are less fortunate than we. The Dawsons, the Havershams, the Roberts family - their crops are all failing. In her way, Aunt Mary is our security against these difficulties.”
“So- they won’t have as much money?” Beth tugged at her bonnet strap, looking uncomfortable.
“It is rather more serious than that. But I don’t wish to dampen your spirits. There’s lovely Wyecombe now. Be a good girl and put on your brightest smile.”
Beth glanced up at her, showing off her estimation of what Sarah had asked for. Her older sister chuckled in response. “Even Aunt Mary with her failing vision will see through that pretense! You must do better.”
“Oh well. I’ll practice.” Beth suggested. Although to Sarah’s ears, her promise didn’t sound particularly sincere.
---
“Ah, let me look at you, let me look at you,” Aunt Mary demanded, gazing upon the two girls at her doorstep. Nineteen year-old Sarah stood at eye level with her aunt, but her sister, ten years her younger, required Mary to stare down her pince-nez to see her.
“Not eating well enough. That can be remedied soon enough. Come inside, before you catch your deaths of cold, children.”
She bustled the pair into the warmth of Summerly Court and led them into the sitting room. The moment that Beth was seated, Aunt Mary reached down taking both her cheeks in her hands, an unprecedented double pinch. “My widdle Bethy is getting so tall! I scarcely recognize you; you have changed so much since our last visit.”
“It is lovely to see you, Aunt.” Beth beamed a cherubic smile at her relative, much to Sarah’s relief.
“Goodness, child, such a smile. And here I was thinking that you had grown weary of my company! Louisa, Sarah, and Jane I see often, but you-“
“It’s been very cold, you know, and I’m not as good of a walker as I should like,” Beth lied. She’d actually begged, bargained, and pleaded with her siblings to avoid the past two visits that should have been part of her rotation. By creating enough of a nuisance, she’d gotten what she wanted.
“You’re here now, and that’s all that matters” her aunt proclaimed before setting herself down in a tall-backed, overstuffed chair. “Tell me in truth, Sarah, how do the animals on the farm fare?”
This was Sarah’s cue to fill her in on all that was taking place on their ancestral holdings. The Whitcastles had once been great land barons, rulers of a manor and several holdings across much of East Anglia during the Middle Ages. As the centuries passed them by, the Whitcastles had gradually seen their possessions dwindle through custodial mismanagement or hard times. The last of their lands encompassed a modest acreage and represented a great deal of daily work for Mr. Charles Whitcastle, his wife Frances, and their four daughters.
However, Charles’ sister Mary, his senior by more than a decade, had been fortunate in her marriage to a wealthy exporter. Their uncle passed on some years earlier, but the estate he’d left in care of Aunt Mary had been impressive in size. Careful investment had left Mary with the ability to sustain her family at the price of a weekly visit from her nieces and the family attending to any particular whim that caught her attention. She was a decent-hearted benefactor, if on occasion a touch tyrannical.
“The cattle have suffered little, thanks to your payment of the feed bill to Mr. Dunlop, Aunt. The sheep are well. The poultry, I confess, do not lay as they should and have not weathered the cold as we had all hoped. It has become necessary to prepare many more meals from chicken. I should think they will all be spent before long.”
“Dodger has gone lame!” Beth loudly interrupted.
This had Aunt Mary’s instant and confused attention. “A lady’s voice should be heard only within the room she speaks, not throughout the entire household, child. Who, pray tell, is this Dodger?”
“One of the dogs. It is nothing,” Sarah reassured her. They all stopped their conversation to listen as the wind outside howled. The noise apparently reminded Aunt Mary of something unpleasant, and she rolled her eyes theatrically before continuing.
“Sarah, I know you are unnaturally fond of watching the ships come in to port. If you wish, now would be the ideal time for your walk and for you to spy them. I fear the snows and sleet may be returning, and if that is so, then you must both stay the night here at Summerly Court. Though, I must say, whatever it is that fascinates you with these tall ships I’m sure I don’t know.”
“It’s the romance of the sea, I suppose.” Sarah tried to explain, but her Aunt raised her hand quickly.
“I do not care to hear your justifications for these expeditions yet again, thank you. Youthful fancies and flights of the imagination matter not a jot to me, you see. I merely wish for you to be on your way now if you are going to do so, as we shall take tea in one hour. It’s all so frightfully pointless, as I see it, to gaze upon great hulks of wood and nails, managed by so many great, doltish rabble. Be that as it may, one must agree that the exercise is beneficial for a young woman, so make haste if you really must.”
Grateful for an opportunity for escape, Sarah quickly bundled back up and bid goodbye to the two before stepping back into the biting wind.
She had walked nearly halfway to the docks when a blast of frigid air rushed up the street and into her face. Briefly, she considered turning back. It wasn’t a far walk, though, and the small town of Wyecombe had a safe reputation, even for unaccompanied ladies. She had merely turned a corner from her Aunt’s home to reach the main, descending main street leading to the port’s modest docks.
Sarah knew that her family felt her interest in shipping was unhealthy and unladylike. It had never deterred her from these walks during her weekly visits. She lived for the sight and smell of the North Sea, and felt most at home when she spotted tall masts with white, billowing sails on the horizon. Though she’d never set foot off land, it had long been her fantasy that she would get to visit the distant ports of the world, places like Shanghai, Boston, or Bombay. Anywhere but the daily grind of the country would be a welcome change in her dull patterns of life.
She was lost in thought as she
passed beside a tavern when the door opened, nearly knocking her off her feet. Two young men stepped out and ribbed one another as they saw her stumble.
“Easy there, my fine lass! Find your sea legs.” The tall blonde admonished her. Wearing rough, woolen clothing and a scarlet kerchief around his neck, he grabbed her shoulders to steady her. “You all right, then?”
“Yes. Yes, thank you.” She tried to step around him, but his grip tightened.
“Now then, where’s a pretty morsel of a lass like yourself bound for? Come in and share a cup with me and my mate. It’s only sociable.”
“Sir, kindly allow me to pass. I ask for nothing further from the likes of you.” She had meant to be polite in hopes of shaming him from his aggressive hospitality, but found she couldn’t hide her contempt at the last minute. A flash of anger in his eyes warned Sarah she might have trouble getting out of the situation.
He scoffed and his partner stepped next to him, helping block her towards a possible avenue of escape. “You’ve a saucy and sharp tongue, my girl. I think I may well teach you manners!” He drew back his hand to slap her and she cringed, covering her face with her hands.
Instead of feeling the sharp sting of his open palm, she heard the sailor cry out in pain. She peeked between her fingers in time to see a wild-looking white-haired man with a black stick viciously beating the two men about the head.
“Back to the boat, you vile curs!” he shouted with all his strength, furiously wailing on each of them with his walking stick. A large-built man with a thick, unkempt white beard, he continued yelling and berating them as they ran away from him. “Treating a lady so contemptibly! I’ll see you flogged for it, mark my words Job McCracken!”
