Love Finds You in Annapolis, Maryland

by Roseanna White

  A tear tickled her cheek as she nodded. “It all seems so muddled. I want to do what is right, want him to do what is right. Because for so long neither of us did, when it came to each other. Perhaps I thought…perhaps I felt it would prove we have changed enough to build a solid life together if we could take the Calverts’ part. Yet I can do nothing, and I have forced him away by insisting he do what I cannot. He is probably on his way back to Williamsburg even now.”

  “Oh, Lark.” Alice chuckled and stared into the dormant garden. “He is in the drawing room, and when I peeked in a few moments ago, he looked ready to surge to his feet and demand justice.”

  Lark’s heart fluttered, only to fall to a ball of lead in her stomach. “Because of my ultimatum, no doubt. Now he will forever resent me for forcing him into the bad graces of those gentlemen.”

  “Does the fact that he would do so not prove he loves you?”

  It should. It ought. So why did she still feel stifled with uncertainty? Toying with the hem of her cloak, Lark found no reply.

  Alice angled toward her. “You are so fortunate. You know that, I hope. You have a gentleman in there who is considered a catch by all, who looks at you with adoration, who will do anything for the honor of making you his wife.”

  “But I am not what he really wants.”

  The silence brought Lark’s gaze up, and she found incredulity upon Alice’s face. “Prithee, why would you speak that way? He has proven his devotion, Lark. The only thing remaining is for you to accept it. For you to realize that it is not with him you must reconcile, but with yourself.” Alice pressed her warm fingers over Lark’s icy ones. “You must let yourself believe you are worthy of his affections. Once you do that, you will see that such love does not make demands, nor does it seek argument. You will see that being bound by such love is the most freeing thing in the world.”

  Points of ice pinged against brick and stone, but an ember of warmth bloomed within her. How had she failed to see that? That liberty and love were not at odds, but rather joined hands. Of course, it was love of their homeland that led the Patriots to fight for her, for the freedom to be Americans. It was love that brought Christ to earth to offer liberty from their sins.

  And so, if one were to love a person, to love him truly and fully as Scripture said one should…

  New life pulsing within her, Lark sprang to her feet and pushed through the door, Alice close upon her heels.

  “Lark?”

  “I must get his attention, let him know I am sorry for asking him to do this.” She whipped off her cloak, flew down the hall. The Calverts deserved help, yes, and Lord willing, they could find a way to offer it. But she had no right to ask him to ignore his sense of duty, when it was that very quality that made him the man she loved. No right to demand her own freedom and deny him his.

  She spun into the hallway and found Sena in the shadows, clutched to her mother’s chest. Though her tears were silent and slow, they told Lark clearly how the meeting had gone thus far. But when she approached, Sena managed a smile and nodded toward the door.

  Emerson was standing, his face confident and earnest as he said, “Thank you, governor.”

  “No need for thanks.” Paca’s gruff voice came from beyond Lark’s line of sight. “You have proven your loyalty by fighting for your nation, Mr. Fielding. You fought for the right to be heard.”

  Emerson nodded, looking more handsome than ever with the fire of justice bright in his eyes. “I did, yes. But more, Mr. Paca, I fought for his right to be heard.”

  “What rubbish!” came a voice from the corner of the room.

  “Hush, Mason. Let the boy speak.” Mr. Randel sounded calm, perhaps even amused.

  Alice moved off, undoubtedly to check on her sleeping children. Lark hoped her smile of thanks could be seen in the semidarkness.

  Emerson smiled, too, at the gentlemen within. “I am sorry if I offend any of you—heaven knows I have only the deepest respect for you all. Mr. Jefferson, your ideals and eloquence have given words to the cry of all our hearts. Monroe, we served together in the army, but rather than dedicating yourself to the concerns of youth upon our return, you went on to represent our fine state. Mr. Lloyd, you outdo so many of us by loving the confederation of states as much as your own. And Governor Paca, you have long been a leader of Maryland in whatever capacity it most needed you.”

  That Mason fellow grumbled again from the corner Lark could not see. “You think to flatter them into giving this traitor anything?”

  “I think to hold a mirror before them, so they might be reminded of who they are.” Emerson straightened, surely commanding the respect of them all by giving it so fully. “Gentlemen, we fought to be free of tyrants—not to become them ourselves. If we extend the freedoms for which we shed our blood only to those who agree with us, then how are we any better than King George?”

  Paca paced into view, face red. “He is a self-professed Loyalist.”

  “He did not take up arms against us. He did not oppose the cause of liberty, just our method of obtaining it.” Emerson slanted a half smile toward where Mr. Calvert presumably stood. “Do I agree with him on that? No. But I maintain he has a right to his beliefs, and he ought not be punished for them. He has a right to disagree with me, just as I had a right to disagree with the Crown.”

  Paca’s mouth moved without sound, and he paced to the window. For a long moment he stood there, lips pressed together and hands clasped behind his back. The twitch of his fingers was the only sign of internal tension, the only indicator of what must be racing thoughts. Then he spun back around. “Randel has told me you suffered injury at Yorktown. You gave of yourself for our cause, you fought for your liberty. Would you truly now extend it to those who did not?”

  Emerson inclined his head. “If I failed to do so, then the liberty we won would be worthless.”

  Paca’s breath eased out in a long, slow stream. “Perhaps. Perhaps it would be.” He turned his scowl toward Mr. Calvert. “Though one ought not think that even if I am convinced, it will make any great difference. The state of the treasury being what it is, we may not be able to make recompense even if I were so inclined.”

  “Then return to him the house itself, Paca.” Mr. Randel’s voice now sounded nearly bored, though Lark knew him well enough to think he could not be.

  Paca glowered, then sighed. “I will consider it. That is the best you will get from me tonight.” He glanced back toward the window as if it offered salvation. “Gentlemen, the ice is accumulating quickly out there, and I for one do not intend to be kept here until the morrow. Again, I will bid you all a good evening.”

  The mention of the weather signaled a veritable stampede toward the doors. Lark drew into the shadows along with Sena and Mrs. Randel.

  Within the room, Mr. Calvert clasped Emerson’s hand. Though he didn’t smile, high emotion radiated from his countenance, and he nodded.

  Emerson nodded in reply, tacking on a half smile.

  Mr. Randel clapped a hand on Mr. Calvert’s shoulder. “That went as well as I could have hoped. Come, Calvert, I will walk you out.” When the men stepped into the hall, the Randel women converged on them. But Emerson had lingered within, so Lark flew around the others and into the room.

  Directly into his arms. “Emerson, I am so sorry. I should not have asked you to do that—you were magnificent, but I ought not have demanded such a thing. I am sorry, so sorry.”

  He held her close and chuckled into her hair. “I am sorry too, my darling. You were right. I thought to make your argument only to appease you, but you were right. It needed to be said. Who knows if it will effect any change, but we must stand up for the ideals we fought for.”

  She pulled away enough to look up into his precious face, nearly overwhelmed by the pure flame of love within his eyes. It burned away the last echo of doubt. Filling her. Freeing her. She rested her cold palm against his warm cheek. “I love you, Emerson Fielding. I love you.”

  He pulled her clo
ser, the heat in his eyes shifting as he inclined his head.

  Mr. Randel had apparently come back in, for his cleared throat broke them apart. When Lark looked over at her guardian, she found amusement in his eyes. “I do hope you had no intentions of embracing my ward, Mr. Fielding.”

  Lark laughed and settled for tucking her hand in her beloved’s arm. “Rest easy, Mr. Randel. You can always force him into marrying me to salvage my reputation.”

  A corner of Mr. Randel’s mouth quirked up. “I have little choice, given such behavior.”

  “Well, if you are appealing to my honor as a gentleman…” Emerson reached into his pocket and pulled out a familiar green gem, gleaming with promise and history. His teasing grin leveled into sobriety. “My darling, I ask you this time for the right reasons. Will you be my wife?”

  She held out her hand so he could slide the ring onto its old place on her finger. “For all the right reasons, Emerson, yes.”

  A squeal from behind them proved that Sena had come in. When Lark turned to smile at her, she was clinging to the arm of a grinning Mr. Calvert.

  Mr. Randel cleared his throat. “Well, I am glad to have that resolved. Now then, gentlemen, I fear Paca was right about the ice. Get yourselves home. You may come back tomorrow to engage in all the nonsense of plans.”

  Emerson lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss on her knuckles. “Tomorrow.”

  Yes, tomorrow they would plan. And then in a little over a month she would become his wife. Six and a half weeks. Forty-five interminable days.

  Not that she was keeping account.

  * * * * *

  Lark admired the emerald on her finger as if it hadn’t been there for two years. It felt, for all their past, as if finally the future’s promise lived within the green depths of the stone. She looked up to smile at Emerson.

  His returning smile was a bit sheepish. He had been looking out the window with a frown.

  She reached for his hand. “What is worrying you?”

  He shook his head and looked outside again. “There seemed to be an abnormal number of grumbling men outside the State House this morning when I walked by. Unusual for so icy a morning.”

  Mr. Randel looked up from his book. “Unusual indeed. Could you hear any of these grumblings?”

  “No.” His smile started as forced but then thawed. “I ought not let it bother me. We must plan our return to Williamsburg, darling, for whenever you are ready. If you wish to tarry here longer, the winter would make a postponement of the wedding perfectly understandable—”

  “Not necessary.” Lark rested her hands in her lap. “The first break in the weather, I am in favor of heading home. Though we will need a chaperone, of course.”

  Mr. Randel set the tome upon a table. “My daughter has already convinced me that she and I are obliged to see you home so she might attend the nuptials. Since it seems my students have no intention of returning until the last cloud is gone from the horizon, it was easier to agree than to argue. And I would enjoy seeing your brother again.”

  “And he you. I thank you, Mr. Randel. That would be delightful and is so kind.” Lark gave her host a smile.

  He cleared his throat and waved it away. “Someone must be sure young Fielding behaves himself, and I have the most practice at it.”

  Emerson chuckled, though it faded away and darkened to another frown as he glanced out the window. “Is that not your maid rushing up?”

  Lark turned to the window, mouth falling open at seeing Alice fly up the walk in a way only Sena was usually wont to do. Perhaps Mr. Mattimore had finally come home—that would warrant the rush.

  But no, Alice’s face was not filled with joy. Rather, with fear.

  Leaping to her feet, Lark rushed to the front door, since that seemed to be Alice’s destination, and threw it open. “Alice, what is it?”

  Alice glanced over Lark’s shoulder, breath heaving. Lark turned to find that Emerson and Mr. Randel had followed her out, that Sena even now rushed down the stairs. The redhead sucked in air. “Calverts’ house. There is a mob. I think—they looked as though—”

  Neither Emerson nor Mr. Randel waited to hear more. They both snatched up their cloaks and squeezed past Alice. Emerson called over his shoulder, “Remain here.”

  “Does he really expect us to obey that?” Sena shook her head and grabbed their cloaks, passing Lark’s to her with trembling hands.

  Lark gripped her friend’s fingers and squeezed. “If your Mr. Calvert were here, he would tell us to pray before we do anything.”

  Sena looked bent on arguing, though at length she nodded. “We should. Could you? I do not think I can find any words.”

  There was no time for awkwardness or nervousness. Lark reached for Alice’s hand, too, and shut her eyes. “Dear Father, we know not what is happening at Calvert Hall in this moment, but we thank You for bringing Alice here to warn of trouble, and for the quick reaction of Emerson and Mr. Randel. We ask that You help them resolve the situation, that You give them peace and wisdom in dealing with these men. And if there is anything we can do, Father, please show us. Most of all, keep everyone involved safe, we beg You, and please preserve the Calverts’ home as well. Amen.”

  The others echoed her amen, then turned without another word to the still-open door. Icy wind gusted over them, piercing the wool of Lark’s cloak and making her shiver. Or perhaps that was as much from anxiety as the cold.

  Neither of the men were within sight by the time they gained the sidewalk. Sena motioned across Tabernacle Street. “We had better hurry. I have such a terrible feeling about all this.”

  Pulse pounding in her ears, Lark nodded and followed her friend across the snowy street. Only a single line of wheel tracks marred the pristine white—obviously most Annapolitans had better sense than to be out and about on a day like today. So what had drawn some to the State House, and then to Calvert Street?

  Whatever the answer, it would equal trouble.

  They traveled the length of Tabernacle, a turn of Church Circle, and stepped onto Northwest Street. “There they are.” Lark pointed to where Emerson and Mr. Randel turned the corner ahead of them. When the men broke out in a run, Sena did too.

  Lark glanced over at Alice, who sighed. “We had better keep up as best we can.”

  Not having taken the time to put on pattens, Lark’s shoes were encrusted with ice and snow, and attempting to turn the corner with any great speed sent her reeling. Alice steadied her, nearly fell herself. They righted each other.

  Any other time, it would have warranted laughter. But Lark felt no mirth when she saw the score of men gathered on the lawn of Calvert Hall. Men armed with muskets, and a few with flaming torches.

  Her blood ran cold as the frozen waters of the Chesapeake.

  Alice gasped and gripped her arm, tugging her to a halt away from the fracas that Sena had already run into the middle of. Their friend jostled her way through the crowd, shouting, “Stop! What is the meaning of this?”

  “Silly, rash Sena.” Alice shook her head and held tight to Lark’s arm. “She will not help matters here.”

  Lark patted Alice’s hand, fearing she spoke truth. Though a few of the faces were familiar, a few of the suits of clothes and cloaks of high quality, the majority of the men assembled looked rough and dirty, the creases on their faces not made by smiling. What care would they have of Sena’s sensibilities? Even less than Sena herself had, which was pitiful indeed.

  One of the men made a growling response that Lark couldn’t make out, but which seemed to ignite Sena’s wrath all the more. Her voice carried easily. “I will not get myself home.This will be my home, just as soon as—”

  A roar covered the rest of her speech. Lark could hear phrases like “Tory lover” and “traitor” but little else.

  A well-dressed gentleman finally stepped to the front of the path, though he looked none too pleased with Sena either. “Randel, control your daughter.”

  The voice was famili
ar—the Mr. Mason who had been at Randel House just last night. Alice gasped beside her.

  Even as Mr. Randel called Sena’s name and tried to reach her, Sena spun on Mason. “You! You are naught but a warmongering, bitter man who seeks trouble where peace would reign.”

  A poorly clad thug stepped forward, arm pulled back. Lark pressed a hand to her mouth. Surely he wouldn’t raise a hand to a gentlewoman, one whose father was so near. Surely he wouldn’t…

  Sena’s scream pierced the air as the back of the man’s hand came across her cheek. Mr. Randel was there in the next second, pulling Sena up and against him. Emerson rushed forward and plowed a fist into the attacker’s face.

  Dear, strong Emerson, so ready for peace, yet so bound by his duty to protect those who were weaker. He shouted something at the man, something about the fellow’s lack of honor, but then four more men surged forward and knocked her beloved to the ground.

  Instincts battled within her. She wanted to rush to tend Emerson, to plow her way through the crowd. To assure herself he was well. Yet fear rooted her where she stood, fear and better sense.

  What could she do in the face of such men?

  Mason sneered. “Who is the brave war hero now, Fielding? So respectable, so eloquent, are you? Well, Paca may have been swayed, but I am not. If the governor tries to return this house to that swine, he will find no house left to return!”

  Emerson was back on his feet, thank Providence, though being restrained by four sets of grubby hands. He wore the proud defiance on his face of one who knew he was right and was willing to pay the price for saying so. A Patriot, tried and true.

  Lark could not swallow, could not breathe. Could do nothing, nothing but stand there and wish it were otherwise.

  Alice’s grip on her arm tightened, and a whimper came out. “That is my father.”

  “Your… Alice. Him? And yet still Mr. Randel invited him last night, knowing how he has treated you?”

  “One cannot ignore certain associations that have been so longstanding.” But Alice trembled, and her face had lost all hint of color. “Did I mention that he said he would sooner kill me than ever look on me again, when I married Matty?”