Potomac 02 - Beside Two Rivers

by RITA GERLACH

  So that is where he had been, instead of in Meadlow with Charlotte. How sad for her that her husband gave himself to another. She wondered if Charlotte felt abandoned. Did she know of Langbourne’s betrayal? She looked at her father, and realized he had been through the same thing as Charlotte, except it had not been when he was with Eliza, but away. Charlotte had no children, and only God knew if Langbourne had any. Her mother had brought a child into the world. It was a pity her father could not have forgiven her and had compassion for her.

  Hayward called to her when she headed for the door. “The letters are lost to me, but her words are seared in my mind.”

  She turned back. “Words that begged for forgiveness, no doubt.”

  “Yes. In the wilderness, I prayed for you and for the wife I wronged. I met God there. He cast down my hard heart. I have repented, Darcy, of what I did to my mother here, to my wife, to you. You believe me, don’t you?”

  Her heart swelled when she saw the sorrow within his eyes. “I do, Papa.”

  “It has been my hope to return to River Run with your mother and begin our lives over again as a family.”

  “How can you expect her to go back with you?”

  Hard as the truth was to accept, the penance in her father’s gaze and the heartrending plea in his voice scored Darcy to the quick. Tears stung and the pain of being lied to, of secrets kept from her, crawled up her throat in a ragged sigh. She strode back to the door.

  Hayward called to her, “Darcy, forgive your mother and me.” She turned and looked at him.

  “I have many things to think about.” She walked out and closed the door behind her.

  At the end of the corridor stood a latticed window. She hurried to it, shook and pulled at the latch until it opened. A rush of bitter air blew against her. She drew it into her lungs in deep gulps. Gripping the sill, she stared out at the land and saw veils of mist twist across the lawn, around the bases of trees. The rain had ended and a frigid line of purple clouds skimmed the horizon.

  Did Ethan know that the woman living in his father’s house was her mother? Did her mother know she had come to England? Had Ethan told her? Darcy balled her fists. She stared forward, her breath heaving. On the moor, near the charred ruins, he said he had something important to tell her. Then he was called away—back to Fairview.

  Darcy’s emotions overwhelmed her, and she grasped the latch to close the window. But the wind fought against her. Finally able to shove the latch in place, she stepped away and turned. Her grandmother stood in the doorway beside Mrs. Burke. Both women looked concerned, shaken by the event. They stepped aside and Darcy passed back into the room. Hayward looked over at her, forlorn.

  She stood at the edge of the bed, her mind drifting toward the vague images of the past. “If there is anything else you need to tell me, speak now. You may not have another chance, Papa. Do your best to gain my forgiveness, for it is a hard thing for me to do at the moment.”

  She remained silent, and listened to every stutter, every bumbling word, and every explanation he made. Strange as it seemed, despite her heartache, a burden lifted within her as the minutes went by, one that had been there all her life.

  25

  Sunrise came without rain, and like most mornings with birds singing and fog drifting across the land in sheer ribbons. But for Darcy, when she looked over at her father as he slept, the new day had become a new start. She did not think he would make it through the night. But color had returned to his face and his chest moved up and down evenly. She stood from the chair, and with one hand rubbed the back of her neck. Soundless, she stepped from the room, and went down the hall. Mrs. Burke was coming up the staircase.

  “A package arrived a moment ago for you, miss. ’Tis here on the corner of my tray.”

  Darcy lifted the small package wrapped in brown paper and twine and looked at the handwriting. Ethan. Recent events had not distracted her longing for him. A gift from him caused her to smile and she wondered what it could be.

  “Do you think your father can manage a dish of soft eggs and a cup of savory broth?” Mrs. Burke asked.

  “I hope so. Whatever you can do to build his strength will help, Mrs. Burke.”

  “Well, I’ll sit with him a while. You take a pause.” Down the corridor to his room she trudged, with her tray of eggs and beef broth.

  Darcy sat on a step and pulled loose the twine and paper. “A book. Wildflowers of England. He remembered. How lovely.” Her mind drifted back to that day in the field along the Potomac, where she gathered specimens for her uncle. He had gone with her, and it was there, beneath the shadows of the trees, he kissed her for the first time.

  She poised the book, bound in royal blue leather, the pages edged in gold leaf, in her palm. A note attached read, “I cannot endure the hours without you. My heart is, and forever will be, yours. Ethan.”

  She pressed the book and note to her breast and felt the beat of her heart. “So much to think about, Lord,” she whispered. “But oh, I am thankful he loves me.”

  Patter grew louder behind her. She turned on the step. Maxwell panted at the landing, looked down at her with his glossy black eyes, and wagged his tale. When she stood, he whined and scampered away. She followed him to her grandmother’s room, where he scratched on the door.

  Madeline sat in an armchair in front of the window. Sunlight bathed her face and sparkled through the scent bottles on her dressing table. A wool blanket covered her lap and legs. With a slight smile, she looked over at Darcy and motioned for her to come near. Darcy saw a change in Madeline—her gaze brighter, happier. Not the usual forlorn stare.

  “Come draw up a chair and sit with me, Darcy.”

  “Are you well today, Grandmother?”

  “I am. Yet my body is tired—so tired.” Wincing, Madeline shifted in her seat. The blanket slipped, and Darcy adjusted it for her.

  From a corner, she drew forward a chair covered in olive green fabric. “Did you not sleep well?”

  “I dreamed much.” Madeline sighed. “I saw my husband.”

  “Mr. Morgan?”

  Madeline smiled, eyes shut. “No. My first love … William’s father. He told me he has waited for me a long time. Then I saw Mr. Morgan. He was young and looked happy. Perhaps he is content that Hayward has come home. How is my son?”

  “He is doing the best we can hope for. Mrs. Burke is with him.”

  “Ah, Mrs. Burke is the best of servants. I do not know what I would have done without her all these years.”

  “I have appreciated her warm regard toward me,” Darcy said.

  “Yes, she has told me how much she likes you. I suppose Hayward has managed to tell you as much about himself and Eliza as he is able.”

  “He has, but illness causes his mind to struggle.”

  “Take pity on him, Darcy. You must forgive him, and your mother as well.”

  “I have tried to picture myself in their places, struggled to understand their broken hearts. But I could never reject the one I marry.”

  “Even if he were to love another woman?”

  “I could not hate him and leave him for good. We would go on for better or for worse.”

  “I know, being a mother myself, that people who love their children will do all in their power to protect them.”

  Darcy thought a moment and then nodded. “I understand.”

  “Do you? You have no children yet, my dear. When you do, that is when you will know what lengths you will go to shield them from harm. But you will not always be able to do so. Your heart will break many times over, and you will cry a river of tears—as I have.”

  Struck by Madeline’s confession to have felt such sorrow over her sons convicted Darcy. She moved from the chair and wrapped her arms around her grandmother’s shoulders. “Oh, I am sorry.”

  “Do not be. God has comforted me through it. I have prayed for Hayward and William since the days they were born. At least William’s life has been good. An excellent wife and all those daughter
s … and he raised you, Darcy.”

  Darcy made no comment, but leaned down to stroke Maxwell’s ears. Life promised sorrow and joy, she knew, and children would be a blessing from the Lord. She hoped she and Ethan would someday have their quiver full, but with that blessing would come trials.

  “Uncle Will has been a father to me, Grandmother. You would be proud to see his home, how his girls have turned out, and the life he leads. His career is well-respected.”

  “He told me so in a letter. William never gave me a moment’s grief, except when he left for America. It has been difficult not seeing him all these years.” Madeline tugged at the blanket and her eyes grew misty. “I knew Hayward was stealing away that night with Eliza. I could have tried to stop him. But I did not, knowing it would make no difference.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I knew he needed a wife, wanted a wife. Eliza was not afraid to follow him to America. I remained silent until my husband argued with me over Hayward’s choice. I urged him to accept it, but he followed them, enraged that Hayward would defy him. Your father stood up to him and refused to annul his new bride.”

  “But he denounced her later. She believed he had died, and I have thought she must have wallowed in such deep grief that is why she fell prey to another man. Papa could have gone on loving her.”

  “Yes. And you see how he loves her still.” Madeline touched Darcy’s hand. “I am content now. My prayers were answered. I have seen you and Hayward. Tell me you will not grieve if God takes me home.”

  Darcy breathed out. “I will not be able to help myself. But that is long in coming. We must all go back to America together. You could be with both your sons that way, and all your grandchildren.”

  “No, Darcy. It is not meant to be.”

  “Why not, Grandmother?”

  “I can sense my time is near. Do you know the hymn by Mr. Charles Wesley, ‘Father, I Stretch My Hands to Thee’? ”

  “I know it well.”

  “Then you must sing it to me.” Madeline leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “It will comfort me, Darcy. Go on.”

  Pausing a moment, Darcy gathered the beginning words in her mind. Then she took her grandmother’s hand in hers and sang:

  Father, I stretch my hands to thee;

  No other help I know;

  If thou withdraw thyself from me,

  Ah! whither shall I go?

  What did thine only Son endure,

  Before I drew my breath!

  What pain, what labor, to secure

  My soul from endless death!

  Surely thou canst not let me die;

  O speak, and I shall live;

  And here I will unwearied lie,

  Till thou thy Spirit give.

  Author of faith! to thee I lift

  My weary, longing eyes;

  O let me now receive that gift!

  My soul without it dies.

  It surprised her to see tears form in the corners of Madeline’s eyes. And when she opened them, she blinked them away and smiled. “You have a beautiful voice, my girl. Thank you for comforting an old woman.”

  “I would do anything to give you ease, Grandmother.”

  “Good. Then you do realize what you must do for your parents?”

  “I am not sure. My mind is torn.”

  “You must do what is right. I expect Langbourne to return soon. He despises Hayward and if he knows he is here under this roof, he will cast him out and you with him. Not only that, but Hayward must see Eliza. You must see to it that he gets away to Fairview before it is too late. Promise me you will.”

  Darcy squeezed her grandmother’s hand. “I promise.”

  Madeline leaned her head back against the chair. “ ’Tis well, Darcy. Now you will see how God mends the breaches.”

  26

  Back in the lonely wing, inside the neglected room, Darcy approached her father’s bedside. Propped up on pillows, he made short, quick efforts to breathe, his flesh moist. She laid her ear against his chest and listened. Soft gurgles of liquid infected his lungs. Earlier in the morning, he seemed better, but now he had returned to the struggle.

  Mrs. Burke drew up behind her. “He has not improved, miss.”

  “When I woke this morning, he seemed better.” That he could regress so quickly worried Darcy. She laid her hand across her father’s brow. His skin felt cool to the touch, yet perspiration beaded on his skin. “He needs a doctor. Tell me where to go and I’ll bring him back.”

  “The closest I imagine is hours from here. I haven’t known a doctor in these parts since I was a young girl. There isn’t enough time to find one.”

  Darcy bit her lower lip. “I need to send word to Fairview and ask my mother and Mr. Brennan to come.”

  Mrs. Burke stepped back to Darcy, her hands folded over her breast. “Oh, no, miss. Mr. Langbourne will be returning.”

  “How can you be sure?” Darcy asked.

  Mrs. Burke hesitated. “He told me so. I know him well enough to say he would do your father harm. He hates him that much, and Eliza as well.”

  “But he is too ill to travel, and how would I get him there? I need Mr. Brennan.”

  “I will go to Reverend Reed.” Mrs. Burke stepped through the door. “He is close by and will help us.”

  Darcy nodded in agreement. “Please, hurry and bring him back.”

  “I’ll go right away, Darcy. Now don’t you worry. We will see your father through,” Mrs. Burke said, as she hastened out the door.

  Hayward lifted himself and reached out to touch Darcy’s arm. “I must get to Eliza. No more waiting.”

  “No, Papa. You are not well enough.”

  He reached for his boots. “Help me with these, child.”

  She snatched them up and put them behind her back. “You must wait. The vicar is coming, and with his aid we will leave for Fairview.”

  He looked up at her, his eyes glistening with hope. “I will see your mother at last? You swear it?”

  She touched his cheek. “Yes.”

  Mrs. Burke had not been gone a quarter of an hour when Darcy heard the beat of a horse coming down the drive. Her heart swelled, hoping it were Ethan. She rushed to the window and looked down. Disappointed, and fearing for her father, she drew back when she saw Langbourne swing down from his saddle. Mrs. Burke had been right.

  The front door slammed shut. The sound reverberated throughout the old house, and the anxious churning in Darcy’s chest trembled through her limbs. She hurried away from the window and to her father.

  “Papa.” She placed her hands on his shoulders. He looked at her. “Langbourne has returned. You must stay quiet. Do not attempt to move from the room.”

  “I do not care if he finds me. He took my letters and I want them back.”

  “Please, Papa. Stay here until I return. You shall have your letters one way or the other.”

  Faint as it were, she heard Langbourne call out for Mrs. Burke, then for her. He deserved to wait. He had taken her mother’s letters, treated her father cruelly, and she would not hurry to his beck and call. The urge to confront him brimmed over as her hand gripped the door handle.

  She went out into the narrow hallway and down the servant’s stairs at the rear of the house. Her steps soundless, she approached the landing. Down to the next floor she went and within reach of the broad staircase that led down to the first floor a shadow crossed the wall below. With a catch of her breath, she froze. Dread prickled over her skin. A blast of winter, a heartless soul, had returned to the house. His shadow grew larger and Langbourne halted a few steps below when their eyes met.

  Hatless, his hair looked uncombed, wisps curling about the edge of his neckcloth. His eyes were weary and he narrowed them upon sight of her. “Confound it, Darcy. This house is like a tomb. Where is everyone? Why did you take so long?”

  “I did not hear you at first.”

  “I called for Burke. She should have met me at the door.”

  “I sent Mrs. Burke
on an errand.”

  The skepticism in his gaze did not escape her, and she feared he would ask what kind of errand. Then what excuse would she make to satisfy him? “An errand?”

  “Yes. To post a letter.”

  “She should be in the kitchen preparing supper.”

  Lowering her eyes, Darcy moved on. He followed and made his way ahead of her, causing her to stop short. It unnerved Darcy, the way his eyes scanned her face.

  “I have not told you, Darcy, how pretty I think you are— with the way your hair falls over your shoulders, how the light catches it. It is enough to drive any man mad.”

  She felt her face burn, at once stung with anger. How dare he treat her in this way, bar her from going on, speak to her with such unbridled lack of inhibition. “You should not say such things.” She moved. He stopped her. She had to keep her head, think how to escape without causing alarm. Defiant, she folded her arms and stared at him.

  “Do not be so offended,” he said.

  She glared. “Your compliments should be reserved for your wife—or your mistress.”

  He laughed. “Charlotte is not pretty. Why should I lie to her? As for my mistress, she is, and she knows how to please me.”

  Darcy frowned. “How can you live as you do? How can you have no conscience that it is wrong to betray Charlotte? Did you not mean the vows you made before God?”

  “Ah, now you would preach at me? Charlotte is as cold as death and always complaining of illness. If you would see her beneath her chemise, you would be shocked at how frail a woman she is. She has given me no heir. And does she care? Not a whit.”

  “Let me pass.”