Forever Waiting

by DeVa Gantt

  She no longer wore the fiery diamond on her finger, choosing Elizabeth’s wedding band instead. The spectacular ring was suspended on a long gold chain Frederic had presented to her as a wedding gift and rested under her clothing, near her heart. “I’ll wear it on my finger for special occasions,” she had promised John. “But for now, I feel it’s safer here,” and her hand had gone to her breast.

  “I’m certain it is,” he had responded devilishly. “However, that diamond will be on your finger when we arrive in Richmond. I want those gossipmongers to really have something to wag their tongues about!”

  “John!”

  “You can’t tell me you’re not looking forward to seeing them turn green with envy when you flash that ring their way … Admit it, Charmaine!”

  Unable to deny it, she had blushed, making John chuckle.

  At breakfast, Frederic’s countenance was melancholy. Mercedes was also pensive, cradling her newborn son in her lap. George ate heartily, but said little. Sniffles carried from behind the kitchen door. Only the girls were bubbly, excited to be traveling abroad with their brother, out into that other world they’d heard so much about. Charmaine was certain if they were not coming along, the room would erupt into tears.

  Marie began to fidget, but before Charmaine could get up, Frederic went to the bassinet. With her nod, he returned to the table with his granddaughter, holding her on his lap. “You’re to bring her back,” he enjoined.

  “I will,” Charmaine vowed, but Frederic’s eyes were fixed on John.

  “Don’t worry, Father,” John appeased. “Charmaine won’t allow us to stay away for very long. We’ll return by fall.”

  “The fall?” Yvette protested. “We want to go to New York and see snow! Why would we want to come back here in the fall when it’s usually rainy anyway?”

  John gave her a lopsided smile. “It doesn’t normally snow until January or February in New York, Yvette. We can always venture there in winter. And perhaps Father will come with us then.”

  “No,” the man stated. “I’ve had enough of New York to last me a lifetime.”

  “And we can’t be away when Rebecca’s baby arrives,” Jeannette interjected.

  “Rebecca’s baby, huh!” Yvette reproved. “Wade is the only reason you want to come back. You are hoping to see more of him once the baby is born.” Jeannette smiled with the thought of it, but Yvette bristled in disgust. “I think New York and snow are far more interesting than him!”

  Rose shook her wizened head. “We won’t be seeing much of anybody if Rebecca and Paul decide to make a home of Espoir, and I am getting too old to travel all the way there and wait on that little bundle’s arrival.”

  John nodded. “To think, in a few more years, there will be a new generation running around Charmantes, instigating mischief and mayhem.”

  “I don’t know, John,” George countered. “You have a daughter, not a son. It won’t be the same as the three of us.”

  “Thank heavens!” Rose replied.

  “You never know,” John said devilishly. “Marie could grow as unruly as Yvette. Everyone knows she’s worse than the three of us combined!”

  The room roared with laughter, and though Yvette objected, her eyes twinkled loftily.

  Shortly afterward, they departed in three carriages filled to capacity, waving goodbye to Mercedes and Rose, who stayed behind.

  The town was busy, with two ships moored in the harbor. Paul descended the gangplank of the smaller vessel. “I arrived in time,” he said, taking in the entire company as they alighted from the carriages. “I wanted to say goodbye.”

  With immense pride, Frederic watched his two sons exchange handshakes. “Take care of yourself, John. And don’t stay away too long.”

  “I won’t be allowed to,” John replied. “And don’t you work too hard, either, Paulie. Save some energy for that lovely wife of yours.”

  “I get more rest when I go to work,” Paul rejoined rakishly.

  He turned to Charmaine in time to note the blush that spread across her cheeks. His eyes fell to her slumbering baby, cradled in her arms. “By the time you get back, we might have one of our own to show off,” he said affectionately.

  “We hope to return before your baby arrives,” she replied, smiling up at him.

  He stepped closer and embraced her, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Take care, Charmaine. We’ll miss you.”

  “Come on, come on!” Yvette insisted. “You act as if you’ll never see each other again. I want to get going!”

  “Just a moment longer, Yvette,” John cajoled. “Why don’t you and your sister scoot up the gangplank and find your cabin?”

  Yvette scrambled away, but Jeannette turned to her father with tears in her eyes. She hugged him tightly and whispered, “I’m going to miss you, Papa.”

  “And I, you, princess,” he answered hoarsely. “But you will have a wonderful time and come back to Charmantes with many stories to tell me.”

  Before her tears spilled over, she turned to Paul and gave him a quick kiss, too. Then she hurriedly boarded the ship in pursuit of her sister.

  John watched his father, realizing just how empty the manor would be with almost everyone away. “So, Paul,” he said, hoping to dispel what could quickly turn into a maudlin farewell, “you came to see us off, did you?”

  “Actually, no,” Paul chuckled. “Rebecca is still in the cabin. We’ve decided to move back here, at least until the baby is born. None of the servants want to stay in the house, anyway. They maintain it is haunted.”

  “And what do you say?” John asked, piqued by his brother’s uncomfortable laugh.

  “I’m more comfortable at home. No one cooks like Fatima, not even Rebecca. And she is lonely there. Her friends are on Charmantes, and Mercedes is at the house.”

  George agreed, knowing his wife missed Rebecca and would grow lonely with Charmaine away. Rebecca and Mercedes had struck up a friendship, and Mercedes had begun to teach Rebecca how to read and write.

  “Well, then,” John breathed, “I guess it’s time we were on our way.” He looked to his father and extended his hand.

  Frederic seized it and pulled John into his embrace. “I’ll miss you, son. Don’t stay away for too long.”

  “I won’t, Father,” John answered, grabbing hold of his father before stepping back. “Don’t let the tobacco wilt while I’m gone.”

  Inhaling deeply, Frederic chuckled and nodded.

  With a happy heart, Charmaine embraced the man next. “Thank you—for everything,” she whispered, but Frederic held her at arm’s length and looked at her quizzically as if to say he should be thanking her.

  “Take care of my granddaughter.”

  “I secured the cradle to the cabin floor,” George told John, “so Marie should be comfortable during the voyage.”

  John clapped his friend on the back, put his arm around his wife, and together, they embarked. When the last of the luggage had been loaded, the girls joined them at the rail, waving goodbye. The gangplank was raised, and the ship pushed from the pier. The first sails were released and instantly snapped in the wind, the lofty gales taking hold and pulling each canvas taut. The girls scampered off again, but Charmaine and John remained starboard side, watching as Frederic, Paul, and George turned away, heading for a typical day of grueling labor. Additional sails were unfurled, and the packet began to pick up speed, easily propelled through the inlet.

  Charmaine looked up at John, who’d turned Marie in his arms so she could see everything around her, her back propped against his chest. She could hold her head up now and was alert, her large brown eyes riveted first on the gulls that squawked and darted in and out of the rigging, then on the aquamarine water.

  Charmaine hugged John’s arm and sighed. He had convalesced quickly, strong once again, thanks to rejuvenating rest and Fatima’s good cooking.

  “Don’t be unhappy,” he coaxed.

  “I’m not,” she said. “Now that the departure is beh
ind me, I’m looking forward to seeing your homes in Virginia and New York.

  “Our homes,” he corrected.

  As they forged into the open sea, the winds increased, the sails billowing like giant pillows on towering spars high above them. Those on the deck were buffeted by gales that caught in their hair and whipped at their clothing. Jeannette and Yvette squealed in delight, sidestepping sailors who tried to concentrate on their work. Soon, there was nothing to see but ocean, and Marie began to fuss.

  “She needs to nurse,” Charmaine remarked. John smiled down at the protesting babe, then escorted his wife and daughter to their cabin one deck below.

  When Paul returned to the other ship, Frederic spoke to George. “I’ve a favor to ask of you. I’d like you to make a trip to North Carolina and a plantation known as Silver Maple, west of Durham and south of Burlington.”

  George’s interest was piqued as Frederic produced a paper from his pocket and handed it him. “Maximilian Sledge owns the Silver Maple plantation and a slave named Henry Clayton. I want to purchase that slave. Actually, I want you to purchase him under your name. I don’t want the Duvoisin name mentioned in any of the negotiations.”

  “Why?” George asked, further intrigued.

  “Mr. Clayton has a beautiful wife, who is free and lives in New York City with their three children,” Frederic explained. “Lily Clayton helped save John’s life, and I would like to repay her.” The memory of Nicholas Fairfield and Hannah Fields was potent, a driving force. They were of another time, and yet so much a part of everything that had happened. That realization allowed him a glimpse of Colette’s smiling face, and he knew that, wherever she was, she greatly approved. He relished the vision a moment longer, then turned back to George, who remained attentive. “It is the least I can do for her and her children.”

  George nodded, having met Lily two years ago when he had gone in search of John, bearing Colette’s letter. “But why me?” he queried.

  “Because, according to Michael Andrews, Maximilian Sledge would not sell Henry to a Northern sympathizer like John. His Southern loyalty runs as deep as John’s abolitionist views, and Mr. Sledge was not about to sell a slave who would ultimately be freed. Therefore, he must never know your intentions concerning Henry Clayton. He must believe you are purchasing him to work on another plantation. To that end, you are to tell Mr. Sledge you’ve purchased a plantation and are interested in buying three strong men. Henry mustn’t be singled out, or Sledge will grow suspicious.”

  “And what if Henry is no longer at Silver Maple?” George queried.

  “According to what I’ve heard, he was too powerful a man to lose, lighter skinned and very big. However, if he has been sold south, do whatever it takes to find him and spend whatever amount to purchase him.”

  “And after I’ve done that?”

  “That second address is Lily’s home in New York,” Frederic said, nodding at the paper George now held in his hands. “Once you’ve secured the purchase, sign the documents entitling him to his liberty and transport him there.”

  “And the other two men?”

  “I’m certain John can find them work in New York.”

  George nodded, but Frederic could read hesitation in his eyes. “If you’re concerned about leaving your wife behind, why not take her along on an extended holiday?” The younger man’s reservation disappeared, and Frederic produced a sizable purse. “If you need more than this, there are signed notes within. They can be redeemed in the States through the Bank of Richmond.”

  “Well, then,” George said. “I guess it’s a matter of asking Mercedes.”

  They turned together to begin the day’s labor. When Frederic reached the end of the boardwalk, he looked up at the meetinghouse, remembering his precious Colette. For you, ma fuyarde, for you …

  It was dark when John left the cabin. The twins were finally asleep, giggling for the longest time before succumbing to the lull of the rocking ship. Marie had been fussing since they left port, but she eventually accepted the nipple Charmaine had been offering all afternoon. She’d sleep soundly once she had nursed her fill.

  John strode to the railing and contemplated the ocean, the choppy water that no longer mirrored his life. Contented, he breathed deeply of the salty night air. After a while, he reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew Colette’s letter. He unfolded it, and his eyes roamed over the delicate script. It was impossible to read her words in the poor light, for there was only a crescent moon, and the lamps on deck burned low. It didn’t matter. He had memorized every line. He brought the stationery to his lips and savored the delicate scent of lily that still clung to the pages. Slowly, he allowed the sheets to slip from his fingers. The ocean breezes caught them, catapulting them high into the air, tossing them about like the seabirds that had careened around the ship that afternoon. The leaflets were carried off, three white specters flying effortlessly in the freedom of openness, luminescent against the inky night. They relinquished the buffeting updrafts and fluttered to the water, settling on the swells and floating serenely away.

  Charmaine grasped his hand.

  Startled, he turned a guilty face to her. But she said nothing; rather she squeezed his fingers and looked out at the vast emptiness.

  “Charmaine—” he began.

  “I found the letter,” she whispered before he could say more. “I didn’t read it. I was afraid to read it.”

  “It’s over, Charmaine,” he promised. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “But you kept her letter—all this time.”

  He heard the despair in her voice, wanted to put it to rest forever. “And you should know why. You should know what it said,” he murmured, beckoning her to step into his embrace as he leaned back against the railing. With his arms around her waist and chin atop her head, he recited:

  My dearest John,

  I cannot know your present state of mind. It is not my intention to cause you greater pain. I pray you receive this letter. I have every faith in George to deliver it into your hands.

  I know I have few days left in this life. If I am to go to the afterlife clear of conscience, I must do what I can now to end the terrible hatred between you and your father. I desire eternal serenity, but without your help, this is impossible. Your father is in a miserable state, consumed with jealousy, anger, and sadness. If he leaves this life this way, then I will be responsible, because I am the one who came between you. I do not want to die knowing he will shortly follow me in such a state of mind. The ferocity of his rage belies the depth of his love, but he needs somebody to show him the way. I was unable to do so, but I know you are. If you have ever truly loved me, please take my dying prayer to heart, return home, and make amends with your father.

  I also beg your forgiveness. I am sorry for turning to you in my loneliness and selfishly taking your love, only to abandon you to suffer all on your own. I think of you every day, wonder how you are, and pray you will be happy again. I long to see you just one more time before I leave this earth. If I could only behold your smiling face before I close my eyes, I wouldn’t be so frightened of going into that dark, endless night.

  Our son is a beautiful child, John. I beg you to come home to see him. I want Pierre to experience the excitement for life that only you can show him, and I want you to know his innocent love. He has so much of it to give, and you need that love desperately.

  I beg you to look after Yvette and Jeannette’s happiness, too. If your father cannot put his bitterness behind him, the only love my children will have when I am gone is that of their young governess and Nana Rose. It is important they know the love of family, so please, please take care of them for me. Show them how to run and play, how to laugh and sing.

  I love you, John. I love you for the comfort and happiness you brought to me, not once, but twice. I love you for showing my daughters how to seize the day during that miraculous time when we were all together. I love you for your courage in letting go, for sacrificing your own desires i
n the noble interest of doing what was best for everyone. Live and love again, John. There is somebody in this world who deserves the privilege of sharing your unique zest for life and your beautiful, intense love.

  Even though I know I am dying, I have hope for the future and for my children—hope that their lives will be happy and that some day, a true family will surround and embrace them. I have hope you will find contentment in this life and a loving wife and children you can call your own. And lastly, I have hope you will find empathy in your heart for your father. Forgive him, John, so we can be forgiven. If God is so good as to take me into his perpetual light, I will watch over and pray for you and all of my loved ones here on earth.

  Until we meet again,

  Your loving Colette

  Charmaine was weeping by the time he had finished, her arms wrapped tightly around him. On a ragged breath, he finally spoke. “Yes, I came home, but selfishly, it wasn’t to answer Colette’s prayer.”

  “And yet,” Charmaine said in amazement, “her prayer was answered all the same.” Suddenly, the tears she shed were bittersweet and joyous. “You saw her, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, Charmaine, I saw her.”

  “But you came back to me,” she choked out, lifting her eyes to his. “Why?”

  “I had a choice,” he rasped. “And I chose you.”

  He pulled her farther into his embrace, buried his head in her hair, and held her more fiercely than ever before. He was weeping, and she could feel his tears trickling down her neck, uniting with her own. “She never belonged to me, Charmaine,” he breathed. “But you do. You’re all mine.”

  “Always,” she promised, “and forever.”

  About the Author

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  DEVA

  GANTT

  AND