by Lisa Prysock
“I will,” she laughed and waved, remembering all of the times they had dressed up to play princess as children. A tear slid down one of her cheeks. In the brief and unexpected moment, she felt a kind of release of childhood jealousies over the fact Lilly had always been so close to their mother; had always done everything right; and had always done everything first. After all, Father had doted on her in nearly equal measure… and one could learn a great deal from observing others who had to do things first by rite of birth. A bit of remorse remained because these things had sometimes come between them, preventing them from a closer relationship. She supposed they were closer than most siblings as it had only been the two of them, but she mourned over what it could have been in recent years. She made a solemn promise to herself to try to do better where her sister was concerned, though it would be challenging to do from across an ocean. Her letters, gifts, and visits would have to be superbly done. “Be careful, ‘Queen of Cardiff Castle!’”
“I will be…” Lillian called out, waving with her free hand as she held onto Frank to steady her steps on the walk now covered in snow.
Even Frank returned to give her a sisterly embrace after he helped Lillian into the buggy and lovingly piled blankets snugly around his wife. It was romantic observing him fuss over her sister. She needn’t fear Frank wouldn’t be a good husband to Lillian as she feared for Elizabeth with Bryn. The snowfall seemed to signal the beginning of something new and the end of a memorable era to Geneva. Despite the way folks about town were behaving toward her, and though lately she had shed plenty of tears on her pillow in the dark of night, she believed with all of her heart her childhood friends and those of the Cardiff community loved her; her childhood in Cardiff had been good; and God had a perfect, beautiful plan for her life. When Monday morning arrived, she would be bound for America.
They stood for a few moments on the porch watching the snowflakes fall to the ground as Frank and Lillian disappeared from sight when the buggy rounded the corner to head toward their own little home above Frank’s store. Geneva was glad she’d had a chance in recent weeks to have afternoon tea with her sister twice in Lillian’s very own upstairs parlor. “Go on up,” Frank had said while he worked at entering figures into the ledger at the mercantile counter. “She’s expecting you! She made tea and pie!”
“My sister made a pie? Frank, brother dear, you’ve been a very good influence on our Lilly!” Frank had chuckled in response.
Dear Lord, watch over my family and please fix things here, she prayed silently, for Father’s sake, for all of their sakes, for your great name’s sake, and for me too. As she turned with her parents to go inside the pleasant Welsh cottage, her home for nearly a decade, her heart contained a strong mixture of bittersweet excitement about the adventure ahead and sorrow for the predicament causing departure from her beloved Wales.
Geneva reminded herself she must remain content knowing Sarah had come around. She tilted her chin up as she climbed the staircase to the solace of her room. How she would miss her cheerful bedroom with the dormer window; her writing desk; the cream-colored, scrolled iron bed; and the pretty, floral wallpaper. She opened the package from Lilly and held the scarf to her cheek. Then she tucked the lovely parting gift onto a stack of favorite books she had packed into the truck. She remained on her knees beside the trunk praying the journey would be without peril. Dear Lord, one more thing… help me to genuinely have affection for Aunt Millie. Let us be good friends and bond like family, even though I’ve never met her.
Chapter 6.
Grace Hill
Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert. Isaiah 43:19
Geneva peeked out of the window of the private coach when it veered to the right and began picking up speed as the driver approached the gated drive leading to Aunt Millie’s mansion. There at the top of the slope stood Grace Hill, her stately pillars jutting out from where she nestled in a clearing shaded by rich green pines, red leaf maples, grand oaks, cherry trees and dogwoods in full bloom, and sturdy walnut trees. The sign at the gates read Grace Hill Manor & Mission. In smaller letters beneath the title the sign read: A Christian School for Ladies. It was even more beautiful than she had imagined. Her mouth dropped open as she took in the magnificent view. Polly struggled to shake herself awake on the seat opposite her, sensing the slope and incline of the coach.
Geneva did not know how Polly had managed to fall asleep with the excitement of finally being so close to their destination combined with the jostling of the coach. At least she had been able to nap with this driver her aunt had sent to meet them at the bustling docks of the city of Louisville. The first coach driver they had hired had been reckless from nearly the coast through the mountains, and most of the way through Pennsylvania. Thankfully, there had been a driver change somewhere along the border as they neared Ohio. Still, Geneva and Polly had prayed their way over every crest and each new road, often muddy from the spring rain season. On board the ship, she found the sea calming and soothing to her emotions, even refreshing to her soul to survey the open waters; but the first coach driver had given them a terrifying ride through mountainous terrain like nothing either of them could ever remember. She could not decide if he had been skillful or mad, or if the mountains had just been incredibly dangerous. Other than that experience, she found most Americans brave, unafraid, openly friendly, and adventurous. They were every bit as rejuvenating as the birth of spring creeping upon land as they sailed over the waves toward New York.
On the last leg of their journey, they and their trunks had boarded a riverboat in Cincinnati. When they disembarked at Louisville, they found themselves on their third coach driver: a stocky, Irish fellow by the name of Henry Scott with graying wavy hair and side burns. He announced himself as the Stable Manager for Grace Hill.
The Ohio River running alongside the dirt road they traversed rippled gently farther to her left in the distance. The river seemed as though it would disappear as they entered the gates and climbed toward the mansion, but as the coach reached the top of the hill and circled around to the veranda, she could peer at the river from an even better vantage point. Taking in the flowering shrubs and sprawling lawn, she reached for her straw bonnet and tied the large bow to one side of her chin without taking her eyes off of the scenery while the driver atop the coach pulled the reins in to halt the horses. Rose colored azaleas, bright pink and red tulips, yellow daffodil, pink and white Easter lilies, white and purple hyacinth, and lavender and pink shades of mounding phlox greeted her from the flower beds surrounding the main house. Before she had finished securing her gloves snugly to her wrists, the coach door swept open and a servant waited to help her down from the coach.
She gathered her skirts, pleasantly surprised as someone else who seemed in command of the situation approached the door to the coach and offered her a hand to step down. She did not turn away the offer of assistance by the mysterious, handsome gentleman she hadn’t expected to find at the doors of Grace Hill. She caught a glimpse of what must be Aunt Millie’s skirts sweeping the veranda, but her eyes were drawn immediately back to the strong face on the other end of the extended hand firmly grasping her own.
“Welcome to Grace Hill Manor & Mission, Miss Rosemont,” the dashing gentleman offered. He looked as though he might be a rake with the amused, mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he helped her out of the coach. She wondered how he had known to properly address her, but immediately thought Aunt Millie would have informed him of such things. She wondered who he was as she stepped down. Clearly, he was too well dressed and distinguished to be a servant.
“Thank you, how kind of you to assist me,” she replied, finding her tongue as she took in his striking features and waited while he helped Polly out of the coach. He looked about ten years older than the university boys she was accustomed to in England, and far more handsome. She took note of the crow’s feet at his eyes, his impe
ccably dressed broad shoulders and chest, dark hair—dark black like her own, and a strong face and jaw line. He was tanned, tall, and had a muscular build.
Before he could introduce himself, the lady with the white hair stepped forward to offer her an embrace; a fluffy, white dog with fierce eyes tucked adorably under one of her arms. Geneva assumed the woman before her to be Millicent Gladys Rosemont Bradford, her father’s sister. As they had never met, she could not be certain.
“Ahhh, safe and sound at last! You are finally here! How was the journey? Let me get a look at you!” The gracious lady who must surely be Aunt Millie wrapped her free arm about her, enfolding her into a warm embrace. She stood back and smiled approvingly. “You are every bit as beautiful as your mother writes… and I detect traces of my brother, beginning with the Rosemont black hair. Welcome home, my dear girl! Croeso![15] Do come inside! We’ll have plenty of time for introductions with the staff once you are rested from the journey. This must be Polly with you! My housekeeper will make your Polly feel right at home. Croeso, Polly!”
Geneva breathed in a sigh of relief as she accepted the warm embrace. Yes indeed, this was her Aunt Millicent Bradford, a Rosemont as a maiden before her marriage to Uncle George Bradford, the Colonel. She knew Uncle George had passed onto heaven from the letters Aunt Millie had written. She had no idea who the handsome gentleman was who had helped her step out of the coach, but refrained from a second glance, sufficed to hear him behind her assisting the servants with her trunks. She vaguely longed for another glimpse of the handsome gentleman, but it might seem noticeably forward to turn and look again.
“Diolch, Aunt Millie! I may address you as Aunt Millie, may I not? It has been a very long journey, indeed. I will certainly sleep well tonight,” she replied as her aunt tucked a hand inside her elbow gently. She led them across the columned veranda and through the double doors. A long line of servants and staff waited to greet them, but her aunt whisked her inside and toward the staircase before she could meet any of them. Polly managed to follow from a short distance behind, suddenly wide awake as she took in the splendor of the magnificent surroundings rendering her speechless. The bamboo cage covered with a cloth of white linen dangled from a chubby fist gripping it as though the contents were the last piece of Wales in the world.
“I can’t wait to hear the news from England, but certainly it can wait until you have a chance to freshen up. I’ll show you to your room and then we’ll have tea. Yes, of course you may call me Aunt Millie, just as in our letters.” As they ascended the staircase she continued, “I intend to spoil you rotten now you are finally here, so I hope you’ll be happy to have a doting aunt who has no children of her own, though I do see the students here as my spiritual children. I hope we will become very good friends. I want you to consider Grace Hill your very own home. I sincerely hope you will be very happy here. You can’t imagine how delighted I am to have some of my very own family at long last with me.”
“Diolch, Aunt Millie! I hope we will be very happy here as well, don’t we Polly? Grace Hill is stunning! It’s very grand!” Geneva responded as she tried to take in her new surroundings. The high ceilings, rooms with double doors, the tall windows, the wide staircase with several landings, and elegant furniture put her in the mind of Miss Meadow’s Finishing School in London. Her second thought was the manor house was far more lavish and much larger than Miss Meadow’s school. “I’m afraid I’m rather used to our cozy vicar’s parsonage. ‘Tis merely a cottage. This… this is so spacious and elegant!”
“I do hope you will enjoy it as much as I do! I hope you will like your room. I labored over deciding upon the perfect room to give you for weeks. We’re almost there now,” Aunt Millie replied as they walked the length of a grand hall with windows and French doors leading outside to the second floor balcony along their right side. “In the end, I settled on the Rose Room. It is the only bedroom on the second floor with a set of French doors leading to the balcony. I thought you might enjoy being able to access the outdoors at any time.”
“Lovely!” Geneva breathed. “’Tis very kind of you to consider my comfort.”
“I’d be mighty content with just ‘bout any corner in this fine house,” Polly chimed in, her eyes wide with wonder.
“We’re just passing my corner bedroom here on the left if you ever need anything. Any time of the day or night, do not hesitate to wake me. I sleep like a rock though, so you may have to let yourself in and shake me a bit,” Aunt Millie chuckled. “Polly, your room is on the third floor. I hope you will find it pleasant and comfortable. It has a stunning view of the river, as does your room, Geneva.”
Polly positively beamed as they reached the Rose Room.
“What a story! Did you ever get to say farewell to Elizabeth before you boarded the ship?” Aunt Millie asked. The white dog reclined pristinely at her aunt’s feet. From time to time, the dog glanced at Geneva while Aunt Millie conversed with her from the neighboring armchair. The topic of the discussion centered on the journey and why Vicar Rosemont had ultimately agreed to let his youngest daughter cross the ocean. She rested her hands on the mahogany arms of the chair while taking in the details of her new surroundings as she chatted. She paused occasionally to sip the refreshing tea, choosing carefully the most appropriate details to share. She did want to make a good first impression. It felt good to be out of the coach. Polly had been whisked away to meet some of the plantation staff. Geneva could only assume Polly was being settled into accommodations near other staff members on the third floor. There was certainly no lack of bedrooms in the three-story mansion from what she had observed.
Long, sage green drapes pulled back by thick, gold cords with fringed ends billowed in piles on the floor, adorning the windows of the upstairs sitting room. Golden-yellow pillows accented the sage green, velvet arm chairs, chaise, and sofa; the latter upon which the stranger who had helped her down from the coach now occupied one side. The mysterious and strikingly handsome gentleman had been introduced to her by Aunt Millie as Ridge Morgan, “…a dear family friend and neighbor I view like the son I never had.”
Thus far, he had merely listened and observed, a friendly smile or nod appearing now and then. He seemed somewhat amused and… did she detect an air of delight over her presence as she chatted comfortably with her aunt? A heart shaped piano took up the other side of the room. Three bookcases lined a wall to her left, the windows to her right. Vases of flowers located at the fireplace, on the piano, and the round tea table nearest them were cheerful additions to the room. A grandfather clock ticked quietly in the background.
“’Twas a miracle! Just as I was about to climb into the buggy with Papa for the drive to board the ship in Liverpool, I heard a carriage pull onto our street. It was very early in the morning, so it surprised me. As they neared, a voice called out my name sounding like my dear friend! When I turned around to see if I was really hearing my friend, there Elizabeth stood, bundled up on a February morning in cloak, gloves, hat, and scarf. Seated in Bryn Palmer’s carriage were every one of my friends come to bid me farewell. I would have left Wales brokenhearted had they not come.” They were seated in her aunt’s sitting room on the second floor in two sage green, velvet parlor chairs near the fireplace. Geneva sat up very straight, not yet at home enough to sink into the furniture. She sipped her tea from time to time, thankful for the refreshing liquid, aware of the fact she was rambling a bit. “I believe I owe the outcome to Sarah, moved by the Lord in answer to my prayers for reconciliation prior to my departure.”
“Did Bryn finally tell the truth?” Aunt Millie inquired. “Pendleton wants to know.”
“Pendleton? Who’s Pendleton?” Geneva looked around curiously.
Ridge Morgan laughed so hard he had to set his tea cup and saucer onto the end table near the sofa where he was seated.
Aunt Millie chuckled, “Pendleton is our precious furry friend…” She reached down and scratched the dog lovingly behind his ears. Pendleton looked up at the mi
stress of the manor with true adoration.
“Oh, I see. Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Pendleton.” The dog looked over at Geneva and blinked contentedly upon hearing his name mentioned. Then he turned back to look up at Aunt Millie. Jen continued her story. “Yes, Bryn finally did tell some of the truth as I understand it, at the urging of Sarah. I believe my dear Papa and some of the others in my circle may have also had something to do with the outcome.” Geneva thought it best not to bring up the fact Ned, Oliver, and Charles had stood glaring directly at Bryn as each had given her an embrace. It had been a hurried moment of affection with Father insisting she and Polly not be late. Though it had been brief, in her mind the reconciliatory farewell had meant a great deal to her. The memory would last an eternity.
“It sounds as though you suffered quite an ordeal. It must have been a relief to leave England on such good terms in the end then,” her aunt remarked.
“I suppose so, though I still do not believe I left on the best of terms. There were weeks of being cut from society and dark days of snobbery to endure in public. At the very end, some of the damages were remedied.” She paused to sip her tea. “For Papa’s sake and Mama, I am very glad things were on the edge of being made better. I hope to hear all resumes to normal when I receive letters from them. Frankly, if these events had not transpired, I do not believe my parents would have agreed to let me come to America, let alone mention the possibility you so generously offered.”
“I think you are very wise for your age,” Aunt Millie commented. “These things have a way of working themselves out when the Lord has a new plan or direction for our lives.”