by Sawyer North
Her humor faded. “So, I am yet the adversary?”
He held up a hand. “I said traditional role. Traditions change. Windmills are imaginary foes and tilting against them is pointless. When I recently realized my mistake, I assigned you a new role.”
She cocked her head, her empty stomach suddenly aflutter with nervousness. “And what is that, sir?”
He sighed and dropped his eyes. Without looking at her, he replied, “Dulcinea. In my fantasies, you are the one for whom I battle rogues and monsters.”
The meaning of his statement settled slowly into the still, small places of her heart. The urge to respond accordingly overtook her. However, fear resisted mightily. Instead, she turned to gentler humor. “Did not Don Quixote fight imaginary rogues and monsters because he was a bit dicked in the nob?”
Adam lifted his eyes and nodded. One corner of his mouth tipped upward. “I suppose so. I should have said nothing.”
She reached out to touch one of his kneecaps with a single finger. He flinched. She held the finger in place for a moment before withdrawing it. “I am glad you did.”
He nodded, apparently relieved of embarrassment. “I have had much time to ponder the situation while you slept.”
She noticed again the stubble of his jaw. “Adam, how long have I been asleep?”
“Three days.”
The number surprised her at first, but she quickly began to calculate. “Then we left Mr. Rutley’s office ten days ago.”
He nodded grimly. “That’s right.”
In dismay, her hands found her cheeks. She stared at him woefully. “Oh, Adam. The thirty days are ticking by without progress, and it is my fault. We should go now.”
She began to sit up in bed again but his hand to her shoulder stayed the motion. “Lie down, Jane. You have been deathly ill with fever for three days. You are in no position to leave this bed, let alone travel.”
She fell back to the pillow as the weight of the situation settled heavily upon her. Fever might have ruined her chance to avoid debtor’s prison. However, she would not drag Adam to the depths with her. She lifted a finger to point at him. “You must continue without me, then. Aunt Hester can go in my stead and represent my interests.”
“What nonsense are you speaking, Jane?”
“I will not have you jeopardize your future because I happened to fall ill at an inopportune moment. You must go forward without me. I will recover here and wait for word from you.”
He folded his arms and frowned. She feared he might say nothing, so long was his silence. Finally, he shook his head resolutely. “Never. I will not leave you here alone, despite the sterling natures of our host and hostess. We go together, or we go not at all.”
“But Adam…”
“I mean what I say. The matter is settled. I will instead devote my efforts to nursing you back to health expeditiously.”
She expelled a breath and gave him a pout of her lower lip. “Do you always get your way, Mr. Ashford?”
He chuckled. “Almost never. This time is the exception.”
Her pout faded as she considered what he offered. With nothing less than his family estate at stake and precious time slipping by, Adam chose loyalty to his former adversary over his best interests. Which had changed most—him or her perception of him? She sighed again.
“Very well. However, I am still sorry for causing you trouble.”
His smile grew wider. “You have caused me trouble before. I am quite accustomed to it.”
“Do you speak of the incident at your confirmation? I already apologized for that.”
“I do refer to that incident, and many others.”
She dipped her chin to peer at him intently. “Well, I humiliated you then only because of what you did to me the day we first met.”
He did not attempt to feign ignorance of the matter, and instead bowed his head with apparent shame. “Oh, yes. That. I imagined we would come to it eventually. Do you remember the details?”
She did remember. Vividly. Until that incident, the Ashfords had merely been figments of her childish imagination, the trolls beneath the bridges and the wolves in the woods. On that day when she’d first met Adam, though, he had justified every terrible word spoken of his family within the Hancock household. Afterward, ill feelings had come easily, giving way to resentment and finally hatred. Yes, she remembered.
“I recall the details very well, Adam. They left a lasting mark. However, I wonder what you recall of the incident. How do you remember it?”
His head remained buried in shame. “Will you force me to tell it?”
“Yes.” Then softer, “Please.”
He lifted his head. “For you, then.” His eyes found the ceiling as he began recalling that day when she’d been seven years old and still unjaded.
“I was with my friends, running wild on a summer’s day as young boys are wont to do when left unattended. We slipped the iron bonds of my governess and ran down the lane, free.”
“I remember your friends. A pampered, spoiled lot they were.”
He glanced at her before averting his eyes. “I won’t argue that.”
“Go on, then.”
He nodded. “It seems our vagabond travels took us past your family’s mill. I explained to my friends my family’s death feud with the owners of the mill. I relayed the particulars of the duel and a couple of other unseemly events of which I was aware. That’s when I saw you by the tree.”
“The one down the lane from the mill.”
“Yes. That one. There you stood in a pink dress that was clearly unfit for a day of rambling. You held your shoes, one in each hand.”
She remembered those shoes. Black and shiny, and the fanciest she had ever owned. “They were brand new—a birthday gift. Mother told me not to wear them outside of Sunday, but I could not resist the temptation. In bare feet, I walked down the lane out of sight of the mill so I could put them on and prance to my heart’s content. However, I never got the chance.”
He nodded understanding. “My friends and I came along before you could put them on, I suppose.”
“You did.”
He glanced up at her again and held her gaze. “Must we continue with this?”
“I think we must.”
He inhaled a deep breath and expelled it through extended cheeks. “If we must.” He stared again at the floor. “When I saw you, I recognized you. Although I did not know you personally, I knew who you were. I told my friends as much. I explained to them that you were the enemy of which I spoke. I associated you with all the darkest moments of our family feud and turned them against you. As such, what happened next was entirely my fault.”
Jane remembered well what happened next. Adam’s friends had surrounded her—four of them. All older. All self-important. All fueled by the irresponsibility of adolescence. As Adam had stood by, the boys had taken turns pushing her to the ground and breathing threats that proved terrifying to an innocent. One boy struck her twice on the face before snatching her shoes. With far too much glee, he’d hurled them into the tree repeatedly until both became stuck. They pushed her down again and went away laughing.
Adam’s thumb on her cheek startled her from the grips of the bleak memory. He wiped away the tear she had not known was there. His expression carried a burden of woe. “I am terribly sorry for what they did. For what I did. It was unforgivable.”
She sniffled and wiped away another tear. “I was devastated. I tried climbing the tree to retrieve my shoes but failed. My feet bled as I walked home. My best dress was ruined. Mother asked what happened, but I refused to tell. I was afraid she would punish me for losing my shoes.”
“Oh, Jane. I did not know.”
She breathed deeply and sighed, attempting to dispel the clinging memory. “A troubling tale, to be certain. However, there was a silver lining.”
His drawn features lifted with hope. “A silver lining?”
“Yes. When I awoke early the next morning, I dressed to go outside. When I opened the door, there were my shoes on the landing. They were clean and shiny, with not a trace of the violence done to them. I suspected that my father or perhaps one of his workers had witnessed the event. I can’t imagine the effort required to retrieve them.”
Adam shook his head and smiled softly. “I can. I had a devil of a time climbing that silly tree and collecting them.” He extended a palm and touched a faint scar. “The incident left a mark on me as well. Polishing shoes with one good hand is a task much more difficult than it seems.”
She stared at him with jaw agape, briefly speechless. “You? You retrieved my shoes? And cleaned them and left them at my door?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Why, after what you did to me?”
He rubbed his face with his hands. “After we left you at the tree, I begged off from my friends and circled back. I watched from a distance as you tried over and over to climb that tree in bare feet and a soiled pink dress. You were so terribly determined. I kept waiting for you to give up, but you would not. I was duly impressed. When you finally did surrender and go home, I went after the shoes on your behalf.”
She continued to stare at him as the memory circled her mind. This time, however, she imagined young Adam watching her and then sacrificing his hand to reclaim her dignity. Tears threatened anew. Moment by moment, her darkest memory of Adam crystallized into something new. Something better. Something more closely resembling the character of the man he had become these past days. She stared at him until his face flushed and he tugged at his collar. “Will you comment, please? Otherwise, I may be forced to throw myself from the bedroom window in utter shame.”
She smiled softly. “Thank you for rescuing my shoes. Thank you for not abandoning me. But your actions that day beg a question.”
“Yes?”
“Why? Why did you help me, the smallest of Hancocks, your worst of enemies?”
His hand darted forward to take hers. She flinched at the feel of his bare skin against hers, and a spasm shot through her chest. He leaned forward and gazed deeply into her eyes, daring her to believe him. “I helped you, Jane, because I witnessed then something that took me years to dismiss. I saw how wonderful you were, how brave, how precious. I only wish I had not forgotten that until these last few days.”
Once again, a confession of Adam’s knocked her back in surprise. She smiled sheepishly. “So, you think I am wonderful?”
“I do. God spare me the wrath of my ancestors, but I do.”
Her head began to spin. Perhaps it was only the fever, but she suspected an alternative. She drew a calming breath to steady her head, which proved difficult considering his lingering touch. Adam’s willingness to speak openly of his regard for her, though, lent her a measure of courage. She used it the best way she knew how. “I find you rather wonderful as well, much to my surprise and delight. So, then, are we truly friends?”
He nodded once, twice, three times. “Of that, I have no doubt. None whatsoever.”
Despite the warmth of the moment, cold reality began to invade her thoughts. “But what of the coin toss? What of the contract? What of your commitment to Miss Rutley, win or lose?”
Her mention of those circumstances appeared to remind Adam of their mutual dire condition. He withdrew his hand. His features went slack and he buried his forehead in a palm. “I don’t know.”
“Nothing at all?”
He looked up, wearing a mournful frown. “Sometimes, it seems, we cannot rescue the shoes from the tree no matter how hard we try.”
…
Three days of contentment. That is how Adam characterized the time between Jane’s awakening and her declaration that she was ready to travel. He worried over her condition, noting the aftermath of illness in her movements. Her walk remained more deliberate. She appeared to restrain her boundless energy, doling it out with care rather than expending it in frenetic bursts. However, he did not question her decision. Instead, he relished the indelible memories of three days by her side. Their mutual expression of affection had dismantled the final wall between them. In its absence came conversation that served to draw them steadily closer. His desire for permanent friendship with Jane proved a torment, though. Where one wall had fallen, larger barriers rose to take its place.
“What monster so deeply disturbs your thoughts, Adam?”
He resolved his vacant stare to find Jane smiling at him. He pursed his lips. “I believe you know.”
She nodded sadly. “I believe I do.”
They studied each other for a time, speaking volumes without words. The silence might have lasted much longer had not Mr. Wordsworth entered the drawing room where they sat.
“Good morning. May I?” He gestured to an empty chair.
“By all means,” Adam said. “We must speak to you anyway.”
Wordsworth nodded and sat. He called through the door. “Mary, perhaps you should join us.”
“A moment,” Mrs. Wordsworth called back.
Adam’s brow creased. What of Hester and Mr. Barlow? They had grown conspicuously absent the past two days. “Does anyone know where our traveling companions are?”
Wordsworth laughed. “Touring the garden. Again. As is befitting of those engaged in a courtship dance.”
Jane’s eyes went wide. “Aunt Hester and Mr. Barlow are courting?”
“They have not said as much, but only a fool could miss it. I wish them well.”
The smile that graced Jane’s lips pleased Adam greatly. “As do I,” she said.
Their hostess soon entered the room, dipped a stately curtsy, and sat in the chair adjacent her husband’s. “Of what are we conversing?”
“I believe,” said Wordsworth, “that our fine guests are prepared to continue their journey. Am I correct?”
Adam nodded. “You are. Our unrelenting schedule is greatly displeased over the delay. We must be off again.”
Wordsworth settled back into his chair with a wry smile. “To pursue the treasure, then?”
Adam found Jane frowning at him. They, along with Hester and Barlow, had agreed to withhold the purpose of their journey from their hosts. However, Adam had already told Mr. Wordsworth the entire tale during his bedside vigil. He decided to confess.
“I told him while you slept. I broke faith, and I apologize. However, I felt we could trust our new friends.”
Jane nodded slowly but still frowned. Mary came to Adam’s rescue.
“Your telling my husband about the treasure matters not. We knew nearly immediately after you arrived what you sought.”
“How?” blurted Adam and Jane simultaneously.
“Though this house is grand, it is cozy. And the walls are thin.”
Wordsworth waved his hand in the face of their surprise. “Worry not, my young friends. We have no designs on your gold. However, we do love a good puzzle. When alone, we have spoken of nothing else for the past several days. Our curiosity is near bursting. Might you take us further into your confidence for the purpose of allowing us to assist?”
“We have lived in this area for a long time,” said Mary. “I am certain we might help.”
Adam glanced again at Jane with eyebrows raised in question. After a brief hesitation, she dipped her head with assent. He turned toward their hosts.
“Very well.”
Adam recounted their journey in greater detail than before. Jane helped him quote the lines of the letters from memory, paraphrasing here and there. The Wordsworths leaned farther forward through the telling, engrossed in the tale and asking clarifying questions from time to time. Adam finished the story with the walk from the Druid’s Circle. Mary was the first to comment.
“I declare! An epic journey, if ever there wa
s one.”
“Indeed,” said Wordsworth. “Homer himself might approve. In the interest of continuing this great odyssey, perhaps you might share with us the next lines.”
Jane retrieved her letter from her reticule while Adam produced his. She unfolded the paper. “It goes thus. ‘Betwixt water’s edge and the hip of Goliath.’”
“Down to the marsh where the ancient fort lieth,” he read.
“Ford and run southward, a westerly way.”
“Find all angels surveying a proud bird of prey.”
The Wordsworths eyed each other, the activity of thought apparent on both faces.
“If ‘the hip of Goliath’ refers to the road threading Helvellyn and Thirlmere,” mused Mary, “then the ‘marsh’ may refer to the connecting flow between Grasmere and Rydal. One could certainly ford it and run southward.”
“Good suggestion, Mary. But no fort lieth there. However, I do know of the remains of a fort situated on a marsh.”
Mary’s eyes lit. “The Roman stones beyond Ambleside! Of course. Lake Windermere overtakes the entire area at times and makes muck of the place.”
“Correct, dear.” He flipped his gaze between Adam and Jane. “South of Ambleside at the tip of Windermere lies the ruins of an old Roman fort. Foundation stones only. But ancient, nonetheless. It lies east of the Rothay in a marshland. If you ford the river there, a road on the far side runs south by southwest.”
Jane gasped, echoing Adam’s sentiments. “Ford and run southward, a westerly way,” she said.
“Exactly.”
Adam agreed that the lines fit the Wordworths’ description of the landmarks. However, what of angels and birds of prey? “And the next line? How does it fit?”
The poet exchanged another knowing glance with his wife. She smiled. “Trust us, Mr. Ashford. The meaning will reveal itself in time.”
Adam restrained his curiosity and nodded. “Very well, then. We will make for that location in the morning.” He glanced briefly at Jane and considered her state. “Tell me, sir. Is the walk to the marsh long?”
Wordsworth shook his head. “Not at all. For I will transport you there on the morrow and show you the exact place of which the letters speak.”