Heirs of Acadia - 02 - The Innocent Libertine

by T. Davis Bunn

  “It’s not just that.” Abigail forced a huge breath, in and out, struggling to steady herself. “Everything you said to me that night was the truth.”

  “Was it, now? I don’t recall.”

  “You said I was being frivolous. You said I didn’t belong there.” The tears started afresh. “You said I was not acting out of faith. You said my motives were selfish. You said—”

  “Enough, lass. Enough.”

  “It was true. All of it. I lied to you and I lied to my parents and I lied to myself and I lied to God.”

  “And all of us have forgiven you,” he replied quietly. “So perhaps it’s time you do the same.”

  Again she fought for control. “I don’t know how.”

  “Aye, it’s a hard lesson, that. Sometimes when heaven’s light shines upon our weaknesses, we can scarce lift our gazes up again from the shame of what we find exposed.” He smiled at her, but it was not a happy expression. “Do you think you’re the first who’s stumbled? The first who’s tried and failed?”

  She sniffed. “No, of course not.”

  “Well, then. Listen and I’ll tell you something. I haven’t been a pastor for very long. Won’t even be fully ordained until this winter. But I’ve already discovered something that astonishes me. There’s a lot of folks out there who shy away from ever changing. They hide, don’t you see. They hide behind whatever’s closest at hand. And many’s the time they hide behind mistakes they’ve made.”

  Abigail was listening too intently now to cry. “Please, what are you saying?”

  “Aye, it sounds mad, but it’s the truth nonetheless. They spend hours remembering the badness. They look around and all they see is what they did wrong. It’s an excuse, don’t you see? Secretly they claim to themselves that they don’t deserve to grow or improve or find a better lot in life.”

  Lillian found herself wanting to speak. Which was absurd. Address a stranger as she would a lifelong confidant? Yet the pressure built up in her heart like an overheated kettle, the words scalding her throat as she strained to remain silent.

  Then, to her amazement, she heard the young woman across from her ask the question on her behalf.

  Abigail asked, “But how can I leave such past errors behind?”

  “Through prayer, lass. You know that answer as well as I do. What we cannot do alone, God will do for us.”

  It was astonishing to hear such a gentle tone coming from such a man. His face was mottled with the wounds of ancient battles, his nose looked pounded and reshaped a multitude of times. Scars crisscrossed beneath his left eye, and his long dark hair could not entirely mask the misshaped ear. His knuckles were huge and raw, his fingers like staves. The rolled-back sleeves revealed arms like cordwood. Yet here he sat, speaking so softly Lillian had to lean forward to catch his words. His tone was as soothing as what he had to say.

  Abigail was speaking clearly now. “I’ve asked Him for forgiveness.”

  “Aye, and He’s pardoned you as well. Sometimes the hardest challenge we poor humans face is accepting the gift. What have we done to deserve it? You know the answer well as I. But it’s one thing to hear Christ died on the Cross for our sins, and another to come face to face with just how much we need His grace. Not once. But every single day, every moment we’re here upon this earth.”

  She nodded slowly. “I think I see.”

  “Of course you do.” He patted her hand once more. “There is a consolation I can offer you in the here and now, one coming from my own hard-earned lessons. You can best reach the unwashed when you see yourself as having been brought to the same level, do you see? Drawn down to needing the Cross by our own failings, we are neither better nor cleaner than any of them. That is my only gift, frail and meager as it is. But it is a reward nonetheless for all the mistakes I made before arriving at my knees.”

  Derrick rose and moved for the carriage door. Every motion caused the carriage to shift and creak. “You’ll have to forgive me, but I’m due to be teaching this bunch of young scallywags how to read. If I leave them any longer, next thing you know we’ll have the church burned down around our ears.”

  The soft-voiced former fighter shut the carriage door, then said through the open window, “The questions you should be asking our Maker are these: What comes next? You have forgiven me, Father. What lesson do I take from this? How can I turn my hard-earned wisdom into something that serves thee? And what would thou have me do? That’s where your future lies; that’s where hope lives.” Derrick Aimes nodded to the driver and lifted his hand in farewell. “Come see us any time, lass. You are always welcome at this house.”

  Chapter 13

  On the way from Soho to Parliament, Abigail sensed something she had not felt since all the recent events had started. At first she could not even identify the mood, as though she tasted a flavor so novel her tongue had to search out a totally new description.

  She felt excited.

  She did not feel as though she sat in a stuffy carriage trundling down the tarmacadam roads linking the West End with the River Thames. She did not notice their passage past St. James Palace. She paid scant notice as they turned onto Horse Guards Road, winding their way along the back of the barracks of the king’s regiment and Whitehall. She did not see the crowds or hear the hawkers. Instead, her mind was held by a vision of a wave-capped ocean. And beyond that lay a land of endless adventure.

  Not until they left Great George Street and trundled around Parliament Square did Abigail realize she had not spoken a word to her companion since leaving Soho. She said to Lillian, “Forgive me. I have been very rude.”

  Lillian seemed to start awake. “In what way?”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “No, no, it is nothing.”

  “Please tell me.”

  Lillian hesitated a moment longer. “I have been trying to fathom what seemed so strange about our encounter.”

  “With Pastor Aimes?”

  “Indeed. The gentleman showed no interest whatsoever in my presence. I am unable to recall the last time that has occurred.”

  As Ben Talbot held the door open for the two ladies to disembark, Abigail said, “Prepare yourself for another surprising encounter.”

  Parliament was not housed in a particularly impressive building. Abigail had been in several manors which were far larger. Vague talk of expanding the structure and even adding a clock tower had swirled for years. Yet the yellow stone held a gemlike quality in the afternoon light. The gothic peaks and high narrow windows were both austere and elegant. She had come several times with her father and always looked forward to her visits. But never had she anticipated one more than now.

  A guard in splendid scarlet uniform directed them to the Black Rod entrance. They passed through high-peaked doors and crossed an interior courtyard illuminated by brilliant sunlight. Another guard asked their business, eyed the countess, then pointed them down a long high-ceilinged hallway. They passed a number of formal chambers where crowds of robed officials talked in low yet passionate tones.

  Abigail noticed that whenever men spotted the countess, all conversation halted. She had never considered Countess Houghton’s beauty as anything but an attribute until now. Abigail corrected herself and mentally spoke the lady’s first name. Lillian. She had never addressed a titled older woman by her first name before. It would require some practice. They passed another open doorway, this one crammed with gentlemen holding leather portfolios and official-looking documents dressed with ribbons and seals. Once more Abigail noticed how the men stopped their discussions to observe their passage, particularly Lillian’s. One of the men stared in slack-jawed wonder. Abigail had not realized what a burden such beauty might actually be.

  “There you are!” William Wilberforce extricated himself from a mass of berobed gentlemen, most of whom wore powdered wigs and the ermine collars of royal appointments. “I was just going to see if perhaps the guards had refused my two lovely guests entry for fear of disrupting the affair
s of state.”

  Abigail felt herself almost overwhelmed by the excitement and force of this small gentleman. “How are you today, sir?”

  “Eh? Oh, you mean my recent bout of ill health.” He waved it aside. “Thankfully, when those episodes end I can scarcely recall having felt unwell at all.”

  Abigail said, “Might I have the pleasure of introducing the Countess Houghton?”

  His elegant manners made Wilberforce’s small stature unimportant. He bowed over the lady’s hand. “You do me great honor with your presence, my lady.”

  “I hope I am not untoward in joining Miss Aldridge on her visit, sir.”

  “Quite the contrary, my lady. I shall be the envy of all Parliament for many months to come.” Indeed, the hall was frozen solid, all eyes trained in their direction. “Might I suggest we retire to chambers where I have ordered tea be served?”

  He led them into a smaller side room adorned with stained glass windows, fine Gothic paneling, and a high domed ceiling. A sterling tea service was laid out on the ancient table. “My dear, perhaps you will do the honors?”

  “Of course.” For once, Abigail was enormously grateful for her mother’s insistence upon teaching her the polite art of serving tea. She waited for Wilberforce to hold Lillian’s chair, then served them both a cup before pouring one for herself. She seated herself opposite Lillian, so that they sat to either side of Wilberforce.

  The gentleman tasted his tea and nodded approval. “I of course knew your late husband, my lady,” he addressed the countess.

  “Indeed. He never mentioned the fact.”

  Abigail noticed how Lillian’s voice had become muted since their arrival, such that it sounded almost faint. She could well understand. William Wilberforce was an astounding individual. So much power was encased within this diminutive figure. Even when seated and still, he seemed nearly bursting with sheer unbridled force.

  “I am hardly surprised.” Wilberforce took no notice of the lady’s subdued nature. “Since we normally occupied opposite sides of the hall.”

  Abigail understood his expression because of her father’s work in politics. When votes were called in Parliament, many times its members were required to move to opposite sides of the chamber, such that all could see how each stood upon issues. This also lessened the risk of any miscount.

  Wilberforce went on, “Might I ask, my lady, if you share your late husband’s views?”

  When Lillian hesitated in responding, William Wilberforce leaned forward to say, “I implore you, my lady, to take no offense. I ask only because I understand that you might be traveling with my dear young friend.”

  “It is not that, sir.” Lillian patted her lips with the starched napkin. “To be perfectly frank, at present I am uncertain precisely how I feel on any number of issues.”

  “Is that a fact.” Wilberforce leaned back in his seat. For reasons Abigail could not fathom, he seemed rather pleased by the lady’s response. “You don’t say.”

  Wilberforce waited, but Lillian said nothing further. Instead the lady lowered her gaze and traced one finger along the royal crest adorning the cup she held.

  Again Wilberforce seemed to take delight in Lillian’s response. He turned to Abigail and examined her closely. “You appear much recovered, my dear.”

  “I scarcely know what to say,” she replied, mirroring Lillian’s reaction. “In truth, it seems I should ever remain overwhelmed with remorse.”

  The gentleman’s entire frame rocked in accord. “If only we could go back and change the past,” he gravely agreed. “You know the story of Lazarus, of course.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why should I mention this now, you may well ask. After all, what does the old story of a dead man locked in a tomb have to do with a young woman positively filled with life and hope? Perhaps nothing. Who am I to seek and impart wisdom to such a lovely and intelligent young woman?”

  “You are a dear, dear friend,” Abigail softly replied.

  “Thank you. But you see, I was reading about Lazarus this very morning, and I find myself captured anew by the man’s story. It seems that death is not a future problem. Death is now. Death is the state where all dwell until—what? Until the hour comes where we choose life, choose Jesus, choose to rise again.”

  Lillian’s gaze rose to fasten upon the gentleman. Wilberforce’s eyes remained intent upon Abigail. Yet he seemed to be aware even of this silent act. For he pushed his chair back a trifle, opening the space to include Lillian.

  “If only we could change our past,” Wilberforce repeated. “If only we could have more control over our present, cleanse away all the tainted memories we carry with us. If only we could rise from this burden that feels almost as heavy as death. If only we could improve ourselves and our future lot in life.”

  Abigail was held from speaking, but not by the gentleman’s words. Rather she was restrained by her companion’s expression. Lillian’s lovely gaze looked mortally stricken. Her lips parted, her eyes stared unblinkingly at the gentleman. She did not even appear to breathe.

  “When the sisters of Lazarus turn to Jesus in their grief, our Lord tells them, Be not concerned with the past. Your brother will rise again. Even the impossible is given to you. Your future has burst into the present. Redemption lives in the here and now. If only you are able to face your fears and your pains and your errors. If only you can seek the eternal truth. If only you can believe.”

  Wilberforce then did an astonishing thing. He turned and peered directly into Lillian’s solemn gaze. And he smiled. It was a gentle smile, one filled with the silent speech that Abigail could not understand. Yet it did not matter, she realized, for this communication was not intended for her at all.

  The countess did not respond. She did not move, save to blink once. This was enough to dislodge a single tear. It ran down her otherwise perfect cheek. She did not lift a hand to wipe it away. She did nothing save continue to meet Wilberforce’s gaze, as though she had neither will nor strength for anything else.

  Wilberforce’s delight over this silent exchange was so great the chair could no longer contain him. He bounded up and exclaimed, “My dear Abigail, I wish to settle a commission upon you.”

  The sudden change of direction was most shocking. “Upon—upon . . . ?”

  “None other. First I must explain the situation. You shall forgive me, Countess, if I burden you with facts you might prefer not to hear.”

  His address to her released Lillian so that she could swiftly wipe the tear from her cheek. Her voice cracked slightly as she replied, “Pray continue, sir.”

  “Miss Abigail, no doubt your father speaks of the dire situation faced by so many of our more impoverished brethren in the countryside. The past two planting seasons have been murderously bad. Last summer’s wheat, barley, and corn crops were destroyed by constant rain. The village workhouses of York are so full that people are being left to starve in the gateways. There is famine in Wales and Ireland both. And what does our ruling government in London do? I will tell you. They do nothing! They sit in their well-lit rooms and dine at their gleaming tables, while outside their very windows a nation starves!”

  Wilberforce began pacing the front of the chamber. “Some of our church leaders have begun speaking of following our Pilgrim ancestors and leaving these shores. They hear rumors of a bright new future opening in America’s western reaches.”

  To Abigail’s surprise, it was Lillian who quietly responded, “Land.”

  “Just so. Land and more land. I have been handed yet another missive this very morning. The price of land in Missouri has dropped to a dollar and a quarter an acre.”

  Lillian exclaimed, “That can’t be!”

  “Perhaps not. I find it astounding myself. But that is what the pamphlet says. Here, I have brought it with me.” Wilberforce withdrew the leaflet from his inner pocket and handed it to the countess. Then he moved over behind her so he could read over her shoulder.

  “A dollar and a quart
er per acre,” Wilberforce read again. “And only twenty percent as deposit. One is obliged to purchase lots no smaller than half a square mile. Why, that is larger than the former commons land of most English villages.”

  He resumed his pacing. “I have received one distressing letter after another from Erica Powers. Their battle against slavery in the Americas does not go at all well. They beg to return to England, where they feel their efforts might bear more fruit. They are disheartened. They feel they have wasted their years in Washington. I want you to go straight to them and tell them that nothing could be further from the truth.”

  “Of course I will do—”

  “Wait, my dear Abigail. Wait. There is more. I want you to tell Gareth and Erica that before they return to England, they must help me with this matter. I wish for them to proceed forthwith westward. They must evaluate this land issue personally. They have never written on this. Their pamphlets are trusted all over England. All over the Continent for that matter. Their word is known to be steadfast and true. People rely upon them. Tell them of the dire straits faced by so many here in Britain. Better still, I shall write them. But I wish for you to reinforce my words. This is not an entreaty. If ever they have sought to do my bidding, it is now. We must know for certain the truth behind these rumors. Is the land fertile? Can it be farmed? Is there indeed hope to be found in these claims?”

  “I will do as you say, sir.”

  “Excellent. I wish for the Powerses to write with first-hand authority. We must know for certain if these rumors are to be trusted.” He pointed at the pamphlet in Lillian’s hands. “Do we see here a great opportunity, or a terrible risk?”

  Wilberforce held Abigail with a gaze that wrenched her with its urgency. “Not a moment is to be wasted. You must proceed with all haste and tell Gareth and Erica to do the same. We must know, and know quickly.”

  Packing for America proved a much more difficult affair than Abigail had imagined. It was not simply the matter of putting things in order. A trunk and matching case were purchased, offering far more space than Abigail supposed she would need. The folding of her gowns and other garments was done in less than an hour and took up only half of the trunk. That proved the easy part.