Tempest of the Heart

by Jocelyn Kirk

  My sister’s entering the room pulled me from my thoughts. “Cassandra, Dr. Carter’s gig has entered the paddock. Are you fit for company?”

  “So early!” I replied. “What is he doing here at this hour?”

  “I do not know. Perhaps he needs us at one of the farms. Pray tell him I am feeling ill and cannot go with him.”

  John Carter hitched his horse to the paddock fence. A strange sensation swept over me, as I observed him. His tall, graceful figure appeared to advantage in a brown coat and breeches, and his dark hair waved in the sea wind. He patted his horse and strolled toward the house, pausing near the entrance and gazing at the lane and the meadows beyond.

  I straightened my dress and hair. Carter’s knock came, and Mattie answered the door, for Lila had run upstairs. I stood and greeted him, and he regarded me with more admiration than I had ever seen expressed in his visage before.

  Here is a good man, I thought as I shook hands with him. I had learned through painful events to know the value of a good man, and in that moment I resolved within myself to be as true a friend to John Carter as he had been to Lila and me.

  Dr. Carter, to my surprise, took my hand and raised it to his lips as he bowed. A shiver pulsed through my body, and warmth rose in my cheeks. He raised his eyes to mine, and I lost myself in their blue depths. My hand remained in his as our eyes met, until I forced myself to gently withdraw.

  Moving away from him, I indicated a chair with a trembling hand, and he seated himself.

  “Tea?” I asked, raising the pot. My hand still shook slightly, for it held the sensation of his warm lips.

  “No, I thank you. Please accept my apology for calling so early. I am here to issue an invitation to you and your sister to dine with me this afternoon. I have special guests I wish you to meet.”

  “I can speak for both of us, I am sure. A delightful invitation! But who are these guests you speak of?”

  “My mother and sister arrived last night from Ireland.”

  “Oh! How wonderful!”

  He rose. “I will expect you at three, then?”

  “Yes.” I curtsied. “Thank you.”

  Dr. Carter left, and soon Lila descended the stairs. I pretended to pour tea when she entered the parlor because I knew from the glimpse I had had of her earlier that her face bore the traces of tears.

  “Dear sister…,” I began.

  She shook her head. “No, I cannot speak of yesterday, not yet. What did John want?”

  “His mother and sister are here from Ireland. He wants us to dine with them.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I accepted for both of us, but if you feel unable to go, I will make your excuses.”

  “I will go.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it.”

  I donned a cloak for my daily walk. Lila seated herself in the parlor and opened a book. “I will be back soon,” I said with a smile. She did not reply but only nodded.

  As I walked among the dying roses in the front garden to reach the lane, I worried about leaving my sister with only Mattie to see to her. I paused and looked back. Lila was at the window watching me. I waved, and she waved in return. She smiled, relieving me of some of my anxiety. I waved again and walked on.

  I intended to call on Lady Lovell, but the earlier brilliant sunshine had given way to a rapidly moving bank of clouds. The breeze had sharpened, making it uncomfortable for me to walk that far, as I would have been heading straight into it. I loitered in the lane, uncertain what to do. On impulse I decided to walk to Dr. Carter’s house. It was early for visitors, but by the time I reached his cottage, a respectable hour for visiting would be nearly at hand. I would face the rushing air on my return trip, but it was a distance of only a mile.

  I marched briskly along the lane. The wind was not quite at my back but was coming at an angle from the sea. When the lane curved nearer to the cliff, I halted and observed the turbulent water. Something…I knew not what…was not right. The incoming tide hit the beach in fits and starts, and dark waves jumped straight up and crashed down on themselves. The gale shifted and strengthened. A sharp gust beset me and pulled so hard at my bonnet that the strings came loose. My hat flew over the cliff and into the sea.

  I decided I had better seek shelter; this seemed no ordinary storm. I tried to gauge whether I was nearer to home or to Dr. Carter’s cottage; seemingly I was about halfway between the two. I turned and braced myself against the violent thrusting of the cold air to get home. A faint screeching reached my ears through the roaring of the sea and storm. I clutched my cloak tightly and turned about, but saw nothing. No gulls were aloft; no doubt they could not fly in such a fierce flow of air.

  I stared at the sea, shielding my face with my hands. A mountainous wall of water collapsed downward, revealing the mast of a small fishing sloop. I pushed my hair away from my eyes, attempting to see clearly. The mast tilted and flew back up, and the cries of the desperate sailors faintly reached me.

  Suddenly three tiny, distant figures came into view rushing down the beach. I ran toward the cliff path, about a half mile away. But what of Lila, alone in the cottage with a storm strengthening? She would be terribly worried about me, but it was my greater duty to assist the rescuers.

  I scrambled down the cliff path, fighting the gusts at each step. John Carter and two women were on the beach. The women were tying cork floats to John’s chest, and he held a great coil of rope.

  “You cannot swim out there!” I cried as I ran up to them.

  “I must,” he said, glancing at me. “Mother, Caitlin, meet Mrs. Stanfield.”

  I managed a slight curtsy. There was no time for pleasantries, and the others simply nodded.

  John tied one end of the rope firmly about his chest and the other to a large boulder. He embraced his mother and sister and waded into the sea. Suddenly Caitlin cried, “She’s capsized!” We strained to see what was happening as John pushed into the water. Far out to sea, a head bobbed up and then another, and then the waves surged and we could see nothing more of the sailors.

  John swam into deep water, aided by the floats. The waves lifted and dropped him, and then he struggled forward until the next surge lifted him again. Soon he was nearly lost from sight, and I turned to my companions to see how they bore the knowledge of his terrible danger.

  Both women were tall and strongly built like John, but their slenderness gave them an attractive, feminine appearance. Mrs. Carter was fair complexioned, with hair a combination of dark red and grey. Caitlin was dark-haired like John, with a pretty face and bright green eyes. I moved closer to them, and Mrs. Carter, trying to smile, took my arm and linked it to hers.

  “May God protect him,” I whispered. Mrs. Carter nodded. The wind blew the tears off her face. Caitlin stared out to sea as if her very concentration could keep her brother safe. We stood there helplessly, waiting for the unbearable, the unthinkable, to happen.

  Suddenly the rope went taut. “They’re coming in!” Mrs. Carter cried.

  The wait was agonizingly long. We tugged on the rope to assist the survivors in their battle to reach the shore. The storm strengthened, and water surged around our feet. I had forgotten the tide! If we did not get John and the sailors in to shore and up the cliff, they could drown.

  “The tide!” I cried. “It is very rapid!” Mrs. Carter and Caitlin understood immediately. We put every bit of strength we had into dragging on the rope, but the water was up to our knees before the men were in sight, and the undertow pulled at us fiercely.

  Finally, we could see the three men clinging to the rope. John shouted and gestured for us to run up the cliff path. With no thought of politeness, I seized Mrs. Carter’s arm and pulled her to the cliff path.

  “Get up there!” I shouted. She was reluctant, but I pushed her forward. Caitlin, fighting the waves, thrashed her way to us and climbed up behind her mother. I stayed on the beach, hauling on the rope, refusing to heed my rope-burned hands and freezing legs.

&n
bsp; A high, curling wave surged toward the shore. It seized the struggling men and tossed them like corks onto the rocks at the base of the cliff. It knocked me off my feet, and we all clung desperately to rocks to resist the receding wave. The rough stone surface tore the skin of my arms. When I had regained my balance, I seized one of the fishermen, a young man, hardly more than a boy, and dragged him toward the path. John and the other man staggered together behind us, with the waves unbalancing us at every step. I used strength I did not know I had to drag the half-drowned boy up the path. Somehow, we all reached the top in safety.

  We fell on the ground, and I desired simply to lie there. But Mrs. Carter would have none of it. “Up, quickly! We must get you warm!” she shouted against the wind. She and Caitlin dragged me to my feet and hurried me to the cottage. John and the man half carried the boy, and we staggered forward, fighting the relentless air.

  I hadn’t realized I was cold until I was in the cottage wrapped in blankets. I could not stop shivering, and John and the sailors were also shivering. Mrs. Carter and Caitlin prepared tea with brandy for us and built up the fire. It was a deal of time before we were comfortable, but even then John’s mother checked us frequently for fever.

  The sailors were from the village—a man by the name of Samuel Welk and his nephew, Jonas. They thanked John profusely for saving their lives, but as soon as they were warm, they struggled off through the storm to relieve their family of the terrible worry they must have been enduring.

  Gradually, we all became comfortable in the cottage, we women wearing dry frocks, mine borrowed from Caitlin. John had huddled in pain as the blood coursed into his frozen legs and arms, but he rose eventually and went upstairs to change his garments. When he returned, he joined me at the fire. Mrs. Carter and Caitlin entered the room, and John gestured toward them.

  “I owe you a more formal introduction to my family. Mrs. Stanfield, may I introduce my mother, Dr. Carter, and my sister, Caitlin Carter.”

  “Doctor Carter!” I said, forgetting my manners.

  “Yes. My mother is a physician.”

  I quickly curtsied. “It is a pleasure to meet both of you,” I said. “Mrs. Carter…I mean, Dr. Carter…I have never known a woman physician. How…how remarkable! What an amazing achievement!”

  “Thank you. Your words are kind. But at this moment I would like to speak of your achievement rather than my own. Your courage in remaining on the beach to assist the others! Such bravery!”

  I stared at her, completely puzzled. “Do you think I was brave?” I laughed. “How strange. I suppose my actions were courageous, but I assure you, I did not think of that at the time. I am as cowardly in general as the next person.”

  Caitlin handed me a cup of tea with a smile. “That is the very definition of bravery, Mrs. Stanfield. You did not consider what might or might not be courageous; you simply did what needed to be done.”

  I stared at my shoes in discomfort at receiving such praise and turned the subject quickly. Under my questioning, Dr. Carter described her medical practice in Dublin. She had inherited extensive property from her father and used it to set up a hospital for the poor. Caitlin had no turn for medicine, but she undertook the preparation of reports and correspondence and kept necessary supplies available.

  “I wish John would join me,” said his mother, “but I understand his reason for remaining here.”

  My eyes opened wide, but no one volunteered further information. However, when the storm began to wane and John hurried outside to hitch his horse to drive me home, I hinted that I was not privy to his reason for remaining out of Ireland.

  Caitlin looked surprised. “You are not aware, then, that his wife and child died here?”

  My hand flew to my lips. “No, indeed! I knew nothing of this tragedy.”

  “If ever a man loved a woman,” said Dr. Carter with a sigh, “John loved his Abigail. She died in childbirth and the baby with her.”

  “How terrible!” I breathed. “And he a doctor but unable…” I recalled John’s comment of a few days ago: there are worse things. No doubt he remembered standing helplessly by while his wife and child perished.

  “Terrible indeed,” said Caitlin, “and he cannot bring himself to leave their resting place.”

  Dr. Carter smiled and took my hand. “John’s letters have been full of your praises,” she said, “and I confess that Caitlin and I are hoping—I must not say more—I am being impertinent.”

  Before I could reply, John entered, and I took my leave of his family with promises to call on the morrow with my sister. John assisted me into the gig, and we trotted down the lane with a quieter breeze ruffling the steed’s mane.

  We both spoke at once. I started, “How charming are your mother and sister…” when John said, “I must applaud your courage, Cassandra.”

  We laughed. “You first,” I said.

  “Very well. I hesitate to make you uncomfortable, for you dislike being praised, but without your bravery, I could not have saved both fishermen. Your courage was exemplary, and I thank you with all my heart. You are an exceptional woman, and perhaps…”

  He did not finish his sentence, but his words of praise brought a blush to my cheeks. “You compliment me beyond my deserts, but pray let me remind you that if you had not intervened in my plan of self-extinction in July, I would not be here.”

  “You admit, then, that you planned to throw yourself from the cliff?”

  “Yes, but at the last second I changed my mind. My foot slipped, and then you seized me. But I wonder, John, how you knew of my intent. You must have run toward me before I stumbled in order to catch me so expeditiously.”

  He took a breath. “I knew your intent…because I had had the same once…six years ago.”

  I clasped his hand. “Your wife…when she died.”

  “Yes.”

  We drove on in silence, with his hand still held in mine. But as we neared Caemre Cottage, John turned off the lane and guided the horse along a meadow path. He pulled up under a maple tree, with its red leaves all blown about by the storm.

  My heart thudded as I turned to John.

  He reached forward and brushed tendrils of hair from my face. “Cassie, you are very beautiful.”

  I made to disclaim, but he silenced me with a finger on my lips. “However, beauty is nothing,” he continued, “without other fine characteristics, such as honesty, intelligence, kindness, and courage. As I’ve come to know you—”

  I interrupted, trying to speak lightly. “Well, then, I must try to maintain my appearance, for I fear the other attributes you mentioned are not in my possession.”

  He shook his head. “Your worst character flaw is a desire to denigrate yourself. But I can overlook that, for I see evidence every day of your goodness.”

  “Having been blown about and drenched, I fear at present my beauty is all flown. I will need to rely on my goodness, scant though it is.”

  “You could not be any more beautiful than you are at this moment,” he whispered. Then he kissed me.

  Chapter Six

  If John’s kiss had been gentle, I might have kissed him gently in return, a kiss of friendship. But his kiss was as wild as the storm. I wriggled to escape his clutching hands, and he quickly released me. His expression was one of confusion.

  “I beg your pardon,” he muttered. “I thought my attentions would be welcome.”

  I pulled farther away from him. “How can you say so? Are you not aware of my status?”

  “Of course. How foolish of me. I’m a village doctor, and you’re the daughter of Sir Somebody or Lord Somebody—how could you possibly accept the attentions of a lowly country physician!”

  I stared at him, almost breaking into laughter. “How on earth could you think…? Our stations have nothing to do with it! I am married, as you know!”

  His wide open eyes and raised brows told me that, indeed, he did not know. “Married! I believed you to have been widowed! Where is your husband?”

 
; I wanted to run away then to avoid humiliating disclosures, and I nearly jumped from the gig and scampered across the meadow. But I did not. I twisted my hands but looked directly at John. “My husband is in London. I abandoned him.”

  “I see,” he replied. “No doubt you had a good reason for what you did.”

  “Oh, a fine reason! I did not love him. I loved another and left my husband in the hope of marrying him. Do you understand me now, John? Do you begin to perceive the kind of person I am?”

  He leaned back, his eyes focused away from me. The gig crept forward as the grazing horse sought a new patch of grass, and John looped the reins around the rings to prevent entanglement in the horse’s legs. I waited with beating heart for him to find the words to courteously reject me, but instead he took my hand and caressed it in both his own. “May I ask…is your husband seeking a divorce?”

  I stared off into the meadow. “I don’t know. I would imagine yes.”

  “Then at some point you will be free.”

  I shivered. That word free again. I will never be free.

  John reached behind the seat of the gig and pulled forth a quilt. He placed it around my shoulders and leaned back with arms folded, his body turned toward me but not touching me.

  “I’m falling in love with you,” he said, “and I hoped in time we could wed. I tell you this frankly, and I ask that you be equally honest with me.”

  In my confusion, words would not immediately come to me, but at last I took a deep breath and replied. “Very well, I will be as honest as—as possible. It does not surprise me that you thought your advances would be welcome, for it is quite true that I find you—oh dear, words escape me.”

  “Are you attempting to say that you find me attractive?”