Brambles and Thorns

by Jocelyn Kirk

  “I’m going to send for Miss Murdoch in the morning if you’re not better,” were Mrs. Croaker’s parting words. Elena did not argue, for her strength was gone. She fell asleep and awakened very early to a new day.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Haunted by Love

  Willa McCrea stood next to Rosalie Murdoch in the upstairs parlor and stared intently at her employer. Rosalie was scanning an express letter that Willa had just received, and Willa’s heart was beating as rapidly as a bird’s. She had not trusted her own interpretation of the letter and had immediately run upstairs to Rosalie and thrust the missive at her.

  “Calm yourself, Willa,” said Rosalie with a smile. “I will read the letter aloud so we can both better understand it, but I can certainly see it contains extremely good news.”

  Attempting to be calm, Willa seated herself. Rosalie sat beside her and read the letter aloud.

  October 10, 1842

  Dear Miss McCrea:

  I am pleased to inform you that I have finished my examination of the various documents and wills pertaining to your father’s farmland. The attached items are copies of these documents for your files.

  Your grandfather, Silas McCrea, was certainly a canny gentleman. He set up an iron-clad will regarding the disposal of the land to be inherited on his death by his only son, Seamus, your father. The provisions of the will that pertain to you are as follows:

  —The one thousand acres of property known as the “McCrea Farm” will be jointly owned by Seamus McCrea and any children of his who reach the age of eighteen years.

  —Upon Seamus McCrea’s death, if his widow survives, she will own his share of the land until her death.

  —If all or part of the land is sold during Seamus McCrea’s lifetime, Seamus and all children over the age of eighteen will share equally in the proceeds.

  Miss McCrea, I must express my surprise that your father never informed you of your part ownership of the land. Nothing in your grandfather’s will excludes female children; therefore, the law cannot exclude you. You have four brothers, I believe, but only two are over the age of eighteen. Counting your father and yourself, that makes four persons who jointly own the farm at this time.

  I have learned that a certain English gentleman known as the Duke of Simsbury has acted on behalf of the Boston & Maine Railroad Company to offer your father a considerable sum for his land. He cannot legally sell the land without the concurrence of all his children over the age of eighteen (you and your brothers Zachary and Thomas). In addition, nothing can prevent you from selling your share of the land; however, it may well be that the railroad needs the entire parcel and will not purchase one part.

  I urge you to write your father immediately and inform him you understand the terms of your grandfather’s will and want to be part of any negotiations that take place between your family and the railroad. If you prefer, I will act for you.

  Miss McCrea, you are an heiress. I send my best wishes to you. Please let me know if I can be of further service.

  Thaddeus Winkle, Esq.

  Solicitor at Law

  Rosalie and Willa were both silent for a few moments while they pondered this change in Willa’s fortunes. Finally, Rosalie handed the letter back to Willa and said, “Congratulations, my dear. This good fortune could not have happened to a more deserving young lady.”

  Willa’s eyes were round with wonder as she stared at the letter in her hand. “An heiress, he called me an heiress.”

  “He did indeed, for that is exactly what you are. But I advise you to write to Solicitor Winkle immediately and ask him to continue to represent you.”

  “Yes, thank you for your advice, Miss Murdoch. You always know the right thing to do.”

  Rosalie breathed deeply. “I’m afraid that cannot be said of any person, but I thank you for the compliment.”

  The bell on the shop door suddenly rang, and Willa hurried back downstairs to tend to the customer. Rosalie began preparations for a stew to be served at dinner, but noticing how dark the kitchen had become, she peered out the window and examined the sky. It was heavily overcast with black and gray clouds surging and boiling. A high wind was whipping through the tallest branches of the trees.

  “It looks to be an inclement day,” she informed the wolf. He waved his tail at the sound of her voice.

  Rosalie began to cut up beef, and Bramble assisted by happily disposing of gristly scraps. Rosalie chatted with the wolf as she worked.

  “Well, Bramble, what think you of Willa’s good fortune?”

  Bramble wagged his tail and sniffed the air. He gulped the scrap of meat Rosalie tossed to him.

  “I suspect, Bramble, the Duke of Simsbury will somehow divine Willa’s status as an heiress and will pursue her even more vigorously.”

  Bramble shook his head, spraying wolf hair and bits of saliva into the air.

  “You think not? Perhaps you’re right, but from my point of view, I would not be sorry to see Willa marry him. She does not love him and never will, which is the best approach with a husband such as—”

  “Hello, Rosalie.” Her conversation with the wolf had prevented her from hearing footsteps on the stairs.

  The voice was one she could never forget, but Rosalie did not turn around. She stood completely still, holding her paring knife poised against a carrot. Bramble sniffed the air to take the measure of this new person and ambled toward him, tail down but ready to be friendly.

  Captain Andrew Reed slowly reached out a hand toward the wolf. Bramble sniffed it and walked back to Rosalie. He sat next to her and leaned against her legs.

  Rosalie’s pounding heart made her incapable of movement. A voice in her head kept repeating, It is not him. It is not him. Do not be a fool.

  “I’m afraid I have startled you,” said the voice. “I should have written a note to you instead, but that seemed a pathetic way of introducing myself. If you will allow me, I am going to take your hand and lead you to a very pretty parlor I passed yonder. The wolf, I trust, will not accost me.”

  Rosalie turned around, and there before her stood Captain Andrew Reed.

  “It cannot be!” she cried. “I-I am dreaming. It cannot be!”

  “You are not dreaming,” Andrew said. “We have been tricked, both of us, and if you will sit with me for a time, I’ll explain it all.”

  Rosalie said nothing, only stared at him. Her eyes took in his lined face and dark gray hair. His upright posture was still the same, and his hazel eyes gleamed softly just as they had more than twenty years before. How often she had looked at Elena and thought, she looks like me except that she has Andrew’s eyes.

  Andrew came slowly forward and reached for her hand. Bramble’s lip curled slightly, and Rosalie was forced to speak. She placed her hand on Bramble’s head. “It is well, Bramble.” She managed to stammer, “Go to the parlor, Andrew. I will follow.”

  Andrew obeyed. Rosalie stood still again as her mind attempted to make sense of what had just occurred. Gathering her wits as best she could, she pulled off her apron and washed her hands. She gave Bramble a bone. Then, suddenly, she was afraid. If she walked into the parlor and Andrew was not there, it would mean she was having a dream or that she had simply gone mad!

  But a low voice came from the parlor. “I have poured a glass of sherry for you, Rosalie. Will you join me now?”

  Rosalie left the kitchen and entered the parlor. Captain Andrew Reed was sitting in a wing chair, but he quickly rose as she entered. As their eyes met, she saw in his the familiar expression of kindness she had never forgotten. The memory of the expression in his eyes had guarded her from other courtships. She had loved deeply this one man and could never love another.

  “Rosalie…may I still address you as Rosalie? It is taking a liberty, I know, and yet my tongue refuses to say ‘Miss Murdoch.’ ”

  Rosalie seated herself, reached for the glass of sherry, and swallowed the largest gulp of her life. The warmth spread through her, and she felt a bit calmer. Sh
e swallowed another gulp, set her glass down, and looked at her guest.

  Her breath caught. “You…you are Captain Andrew Reed.”

  “Yes.”

  Rosalie could say no more, but an inner voice began to scold her. She must be calm, calm and rational. She sucked in a huge breath and took another sip of sherry. “You have been here—in Mystic—for a time?”

  “A few months, yes.”

  “I heard your name, but I thought it was a coincidence. I thought you were dead.” Rosalie stopped speaking as a wave of anger swept over her. “You deserted me! I was with child, and you deserted me! You had your first mate write that you had died—a despicable, cowardly act that I still cannot believe you were capable of!”

  Andrew Reed did not reply. He pulled a sheet of paper from the pocket of his waistcoat and handed it to her.

  “What is this?”

  “Please read it.”

  Rosalie stared at him, still feeling a tidal wave of rage as her pent-up emotions of twenty-two years were released.

  “Please read it, Rosalie.”

  Rosalie tore her angry eyes from his. She unfolded the sheet of paper, which was old and creased.

  Dear Captain Reed:

  It is with great regret that I write you today, but it is only fair that I tell you what needs to be told. I have found since your departure that I acted hastily in becoming engaged to you. I am only eighteen years of age, and immaturity of mind must be my excuse.

  I hereby withdraw my promise to marry you. I hope that this information will not cause you undue pain.

  Rosalie Murdoch

  Rosalie dropped the letter. She leaned back and took a deep breath as though fighting for enough air to survive. “She…she—”

  “Rosalie, did you write that letter?”

  Rosalie whooped in another breath and whispered, “No…no.”

  Andrew rose from his chair and seated himself next to her on the settee. He took her hand and rubbed it. Gradually, she turned toward him.

  “She—”

  “Yes. Miriam. It is the only explanation. She wrote this letter herself, no doubt, and paid Tom Hatten to write to you claiming I had died.”

  “Dear God! The depth of her anger…I never realized…”

  “She took everything from us, Rosalie. She destroyed our plans and even managed to take our child.”

  “You know about Elena? How…?”

  “By an odd coincidence. Last year, I began shipping wool and malt liquor from Scotland. I did business with a gentleman who in later conversations I learned was a cousin of Clyde Bellwood. He confided to me one night when he had had rather too much of his own good liquor that Clyde had borrowed money from him shortly before his death.

  “ ‘A considerable sum,’ he said, ‘for no greater purpose than to give in to the extravagance of his wife.’

  “I became curious at that point and asked him what Miriam Bellwood wanted the money for, and he told me that it was all for show so her daughter could be a debutante and marry a wealthy man.

  “Knowing what I knew about Miriam, I was not surprised. But then my friend added, ‘And the child is not even Clyde’s; adopted, she is.’

  “As soon as I heard that, my suspicions were aroused. I traveled to New York as quickly as possible to learn the truth from Miriam, but I arrived too late. Miriam was dead, and Elena had already been sent to Mystic.

  “As soon as the demands of my profession allowed, I set sail for Mystic. I made some discreet inquiries and learned one of the young women who lived in this house was Miss Murdoch’s niece. When I saw Elena, I felt certain she was your daughter, not Miriam’s. Her resemblance to you is striking. I tried several times to speak with her alone, but I did not find an opportunity until yesterday—”

  Rosalie gasped. “You did not tell her…”

  He did not reply to her question but demanded, “Is she my child?”

  “Of course she is your child. But she did not ever need to know—”

  “Rosalie, when I received your letter—actually Miriam’s letter—breaking our engagement, I was angrier than I had ever been in my life. But anger gave way to grief and finally acceptance. About three years later, I met an English girl whose kind heart, intelligence, and spirit reminded me of you. I began a half-hearted courtship, but one afternoon on a picnic with others, I leaned against a tree to rest after rowing on a lake. I fell asleep, and when I awoke, the young lady was gone. A gentleman of the party informed me I had been crying out the name ‘Rosalie’ in my sleep. I never saw the girl again, and I made no further attempt to marry.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Don’t you see? Elena is my only child. When I first learned you had given her to Miriam to rear, I was furious. But then yesterday Elena herself told me that you had received a letter from the first mate of the Marjory telling of my death. Elena said you were sorely grieved at the time and continued so today. I knew then I had no right to be angry. You believed me dead, and you did the best you could to provide for our child. I cannot even conceive of what you suffered in giving her up.”

  Rosalie sighed. “No words can describe it. I attempted to recover her, but I had no money for legal fees and my solicitor advised me against it, for it would have revealed Elena’s illegitimacy.”

  Andrew did not speak. He placed his hands on Rosalie’s shoulders and pulled her into his arms. She did not resist but embraced him with all her strength and sobbed on his shoulder. His chest heaved as he held her, for he was crying too.

  It was several minutes before their unbearable emotions subsided, and their tears were spent. Andrew’s lips brushed against Rosalie’s hair and then her face. She simply held on to him, for it was impossible to let him go.

  Abruptly, he released her, and at the same time she became aware of someone else in the room. Willa had just entered, but seeing Miss Murdoch in an embrace with the strange gentleman who had entered the shop a half hour earlier, she was turning about to leave on tiptoe when they realized they were not alone.

  “Willa, do not go,” Rosalie said. Willa obeyed and stood quietly, looking at anything in the room except the two people on the settee. Captain Reed rose and faced her, smiling. He waited to be introduced while Rosalie applied her handkerchief to her face.

  “Willa, dear, I’d like you to meet Captain Andrew Reed. Andrew, this is Miss McCrea. She assists in the shop but, more importantly, is a very dear friend.” Willa curtsied and Reed bowed, but then he stepped forward and offered her his hand.

  “I am very pleased to meet you, Miss McCrea.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Willa replied. She curtsied again but then turned to Rosalie. “Miss Murdoch, Megan Garrick is in the shop. She wants to see you. I told her you have a gentleman caller, and she wouldn’t come up until I came and asked you if she might.”

  “Elena is not with her?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Rosalie felt a tremor of fear that Andrew would use this new visitor as an excuse to leave, and she could not bear the thought of parting from him. But before she could reply to Willa, Andrew turned to her and said, “Rosalie, with your permission, I will sit quietly in the corner with a newspaper while you see Miss Garrick. She’s the sister of Elena’s fiancé, is she not?”

  “Yes. Willa, please ask Megan to come up.”

  Andrew settled in a chair and buried himself in a newspaper while Rosalie put water on the woodstove for tea. Megan’s light step was soon heard on the stairs.

  When Megan entered, one glance at her face told Rosalie that something was amiss. Megan barely curtsied to Captain Reed when he was introduced. She eagerly took Rosalie by the hand and said in a low voice, “I must speak with you.”

  “Of course, Megan. What is the matter?”

  “Two things,” Megan sighed, “no, three. But I need to speak only of one.”

  Rosalie suddenly knew what she was about to hear. Elena, having just learned of her parentage, was upset, no doubt horribly upset.

&
nbsp; “Miss Murdoch,” Megan began, “Elena was supposed to call on me yesterday evening. But she sent James Scott to tell me—”

  “James Scott…how did he come to be the messenger?”

  “That is…another story. He stopped at my brother’s home after seeing Elena at your farm. Elena sent a message saying she had a headache so severe, she was unable to call on me. I’m afraid she’s ill and making light of it.”

  Rosalie became aware of Andrew setting his paper aside as she said, “Megan, Elena has my carriage at the farm. Can you take me there in your gig?”

  “Of course.”

  Andrew rose. “Miss Murdoch, with your permission I shall accompany you. Go ahead with Miss Garrick, and I’ll take a horse from the livery stable and catch up to you on the road.”

  This was done. Rosalie and Megan were soon trotting along the lanes toward the farm. The weather had become sultry, and the day was almost as dark as evening. A cool wind was rattling the fall foliage.

  “It looks like a storm will soon accost us,” Rosalie commented.

  “Yes indeed,” replied Megan with a sigh, sounding as though a storm was also raging in her heart. Rosalie remembered her companion had earlier made an odd remark that three things were distressing her.

  “Megan, my dear, are things well with you? If you need a confidante, you know I’ll listen and help to the best of my ability.”

  “Thank you, Miss Murdoch. I may as well inform you I broke my engagement to the Reverend Edward Ries.”

  “Did you,” Rosalie answered calmly. “I will not ask why, for I’m certain you had a good reason. I will only inquire as to your state of mind—it must have been a difficult decision—and even more difficult to carry out.”

  Megan dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Very difficult at first, but now I want to ask—oh, how can I ask you such a question? Even you, such a dear friend…”

  “Megan, ask me anything. I will not lie, and I will not judge.”