Heirs of Acadia - 02 - The Innocent Libertine

by T. Davis Bunn

  “You have sought to be my protector and friend. For that I am most grateful.” But even more than this was the gnawing certainty that she would be a constant burden to these people so long as she was to remain with them. She had no choice but to flee far and deep into this country’s seemingly endless depths. Perhaps even take a new name. Find someplace safe for her and her son to start afresh.

  Reginald interrupted her bleak thoughts. “Then you are not angry with me?”

  “Dear, dear Reginald. Of course not. I only wish . . .” It was now her turn to leave the thought unfinished.

  But he understood and spoke for them both. “That none of this had happened, or was hanging over you still. As do I. So very much.”

  Lillian shook her head. This man continued to astonish her so. “Does it not trouble you in the slightest that I am—I am a fallen woman?”

  “You are nothing of the sort,” he admonished hotly.

  “But I was, Reginald. I was. Though it pierces my very soul to speak of it, I shall have no illusions between us. I have done many wrong things and spent years hiding behind a title and station that were not mine to claim.”

  He paused so long she feared he might actually agree with her, which caused such pain she could scarcely breathe. Or, worse still, suggest that soon they would part and the problem would no longer be a concern to either of them. Her heart wrenched with the terrible certainty of coming loss. Of all the worries besetting her—the thought of withdrawing her son from his beloved Eton, the two of them leaving England forever, scandal chasing them across the Atlantic, forging a new life in an utterly alien world—this one, losing a man she knew but for a short time, caused her by far the greatest agony.

  Yet when Reginald responded, it was with a thoughtful air. “I have seen you bow your head and pray.”

  “Yes.”

  “You have done this quietly. No fanfare, no thought of being observed. But you have done something that you have denied all your life long.”

  “It is true.” She found herself missing the hours with Mr. Cutter. If only she could sit with him now, and feel his calm certainty, and pray with the strength and the clarity she had known in his presence. “And I am the better for it.”

  “There is a passage in the Bible that reads, ‘As far as the east is from the west . . .’ speaking of how God separates us from the mistakes we have made in the past. All of us have made such errors. I don’t know much—”

  “I do wish you would stop saying that, Reginald. You are a man of great strength and wisdom.”

  “You mistake my sister’s intelligence for my own.”

  “Stop, please, I beseech you. How could anyone possibly consider you anything but brilliant?”

  He looked at her in astonishment.

  “Brilliant,” she repeated, more softly this time. “You might not have all the book learning in the world, but you have built for yourself a position of success. This was not accomplished because of your sister. You are the man who leads this company. You are the man Abe looks up to. And from what I have seen, this is a sentiment shared by almost all of your other employees. You are a truly great man, Reginald Langston, and it is high time you recognized this.”

  He seemed to mull that over for a time. “Forgive me, I have completely lost track of the conversation.”

  “Mistakes,” she replied glumly. “My own.”

  “All of us have made errors, Lillian. All of us require God’s saving grace.”

  “But these mistakes could well mean the loss of everything I have. Title, position, and damage to the reputation of those I care about.”

  “Who in all these reaches will be concerned with such matters?” Reginald swept his hand in a broad arc. “Look around you. This is a new land. We have founded this nation upon the principle that a man is what he is. We are not bound by titles or inherited position. We are who we make ourselves to be.”

  Yes, and it was this same land that soon would tear them apart. Lillian stiffened her resolve, determined not to give in to her yearnings. “How can I simply pretend that my previous life never existed?”

  “How can we deny what has brought us to this point? All these years later, I still wake up in the middle of the night from dreaded dreams of the fire that left me fatherless.”

  “But of course that was not your fault.”

  “No, but it happened. It shaped me. And with God’s help, I have found lessons and wisdom even in this most bitter of experiences.” He gave her a piercing look. “This is America, Lillian. A man’s worth is measured by the man himself. His own words and his own deeds. That’s what I love about this land. God has helped me grow into a man of worth and taught me to accept the good and the bad, both in my own past and in those around me.”

  Lillian nodded slowly. She realized that here in these words lay the deeper significance to the acceptance she had received from these fine people. Here was why they had been so open to her, even after her confession. They were not friends of hers because of the title she had so valued, or the riches she no longer possessed, or her false friends in the royal court. It was astonishing that she could find such clarity in such a heartrending moment. And such love. “You are such a wise man,” she murmured.

  “I know what I know, Lillian. You have a fine heart, a great spirit. You sing like an angel. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met.” Reginald’s voice cracked at that point and he tried to cover it with a cough. But he could not quite keep his voice steady as he continued, “And as I sat in church and saw you take the old man’s hand in yours and bow your head . . .”

  At that point his voice failed him entirely.

  Lillian saw no need for further conversation. Instead, she reached over and settled her hand upon his arm. The effort of controlling the reins bunched and knotted his muscles beneath her touch. The knowledge that Reginald would soon be lost to her left her so undone the road ahead shimmered and swam in a pool of unshed tears.

  Abigail mostly delighted in the hours of travel. Much of the time Abe was utterly involved with his work, and she did not mind this at all. With each day, she was discovering new things about herself. She had always known she was independent and willful. Because she had never spent time in the company of a man she loved, she had not realized before that she did not need to be the center of attention, nor did she require to be entertained. She was indeed content with time for herself and her own thoughts and plans.

  Except for the occasional sound of voices drifting back into the coach from the driver’s bench, this day might have been theirs and theirs alone. Abe had his maps spread out upon the opposite seat. One was a copy of the surveyor’s map used to construct this very road. Abe found this fascinating. There were numerous circles with tiny numbers written in here and there. Away from the road upon which they traveled, the world became shaded and ill-defined. Beside the maps were two geography texts of the region, along with reams of paper. Abe hummed as he perused the maps and the books and his notes from the previous evening.

  Abruptly he looked up and caught her watching him. “Forgive me. I have been ignoring you.”

  “Is that so? I’m sure I hadn’t noticed.”

  “You are making sport of me now.”

  “Only a little.”

  “I am sorry, Abigail. There is so much for me to study.”

  “This is important for you, isn’t it?”

  “The study? Why, it is vital. I feed upon it as I do upon nourishment for my body. Sometimes I hunger for this more than I do normal food.”

  “Not to mention how the journey itself fascinates you.”

  “I have never been anywhere. Of course, I journeyed from my family’s home and eventually arrived in Washington. But I was so, well . . .”

  “Afraid,” she offered.

  “Terrified,” he solemnly agreed. “Suffering and alone. I did not understand how God could allow such things to happen to me. I still do not fathom this entirely. I have learned to accept it, though.”


  Abigail marveled at his simple yet profound view of life.

  Abe asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  She gave him as simple an answer as she had received. “Because I am learning to love you.”

  He blinked slowly. “I do not deserve this.”

  She reached out her hand.

  “I have nothing to offer you,” he said, enclosing her hand in both of his.

  “Except yourself. Which is as great a gift as anyone has ever received.”

  “Last night I lay awake and tried to describe for myself what it is you brought into my life.”

  “Tell me.”

  “You have brought me vision.”

  “My dearest Abe, you see more clearly than any person I have ever met.”

  “That is not what I meant. Let us take this coach in which we are traveling. I saw it as a splendid contraption, one that could serve a company well. What did you do, but urge me to see this as my company. You found the people I needed to speak with—”

  “No, Abe.” She shook her head.

  “You pointed out where I should look, then. You urged me to research the concept and work the figures and talk with the coach people. . . .” His gaze was a reward all unto itself. “I would never have done this without you.”

  “I don’t know that for a certainty, but it’s nice of you to say so.”

  “How could you see such things as possible?”

  “I didn’t. I simply saw the potential in you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You can do whatever it is you put your mind to.”

  “No—”

  “Listen to me, Abe. I have heard the others speak of you in this manner, and I know it to be the truth. You have astonishing potential.”

  “And you,” Abe replied, “could have anyone you wish.”

  “But I don’t want just anyone. I want you.”

  “This is the marvel that escapes my understanding.” Just then one of the carriage wheels hit a pothole and jostled them apart. Abigail nearly lost her place on the seat. When Abe determined she was all right, he began to laugh, and she soon joined him.

  When they had regained their composure, Abigail examined the frank openness in his features, a face more honest and intelligent than any she had seen before. “I had come to consider my impetuous nature a curse. Until I met you. And now I see myself in an entirely different light. I can see how God was shaping me. He even used that disastrous night in Soho to open my eyes to the truth so that I might begin to learn and change. I was broken so that I might come to recognize just how much I needed God—and you.”

  He looked stunned.

  “You,” she repeated, reaching again for his hand. “You are the man who possesses none of what I have in far too great abundance.”

  “Beauty? Grace?” He hesitated, then added, “Family?”

  “Impetuosity,” she replied. “The fire to move forward. The urge to take what is known and apply it. You speak of hunger. I suppose that describes what I have as well as anything. I absolutely hunger to act. But until the moment when God brought us together, I had no true purpose.”

  “Purpose,” Abe finally repeated after a moment. “For some reason, the way you speak of that leaves me enthralled.”

  “Then let me share with you one other word,” Abigail replied. “Cause. I have watched the way Erica speaks of her work against slavery, and have yearned so for something which stirs in me such passion and fervor. She and I spoke of this, and I have come to see that it is not something I can decide upon. I must seek this from God. It is His gift to bestow. I wish it, and I am afraid of it.”

  “You, afraid? Why?”

  “Because I fear I will be found wanting. I fear I will not be strong enough or good enough.”

  Abe looked down at her hand in his and said softly, “I would like nothing more than to add my strength to yours.”

  “And I,” Abigail said, striving to keep her voice steady, “would like nothing more than to share a cause with you, my beloved.”

  “Do you think we might pray for guidance on this?”

  They did just that, holding hands in the rocking coach, speaking both with each other and with God, using the same conversational tone with their Lord as they did with each other, as though He were sharing the day and the ride with them. This lasted until the tilled fields and softly undulating hills suddenly gave way to the bustling cacophony of a market town. Abruptly Abe broke free to peer out the coach window. “Why, this must be Farmington!”

  Amen, Abigail silently amended. Amen and thank you for this day and this wonderful man. She said, “Is it?”

  He began rooting through his maps and notations. “I am certain of it! We have arrived in Farmington, and we are . . . Yes! A full two hours ahead of schedule.”

  “Are we indeed. How utterly remarkable.”

  Finally her tone must have gotten his attention. “You are making fun of me again.”

  “Perhaps just a touch.”

  “But this is extraordinary.”

  “Tell me why.”

  “We have traversed the better part of a state and arrived at the point where we depart from the National Road, and we have done so on schedule! Do you have any idea what this means?”

  “No, but I want to learn,” she replied, seeking to match his enthusiasm. “Please do explain.”

  “We are negotiating unknown territory, with untrained drivers, in unfamiliar coaches. We have not been able to take on fresh horses, which has slowed us immensely. And yet we have managed to hold to a proper schedule! This means we can make precise timetables for our coach service. Which means we can calculate reliable costs for the journey!”

  She shook her head, not over the news, but rather over the man’s unbounded energy. “Tell me what you are seeing.”

  “The National Road,” he said, his face back now at the side window. “It is an utter marvel of modern engineering. And you shall see just what I mean when we turn here and begin traveling north on a more primitive road to your relatives’ estate.”

  “Not my relatives. Reginald and Erica’s.”

  “Of course. Forgive me. It is just that your families are so intertwined I often think of them as one.” This was spoken as he looked out on the noisy market square. “Before the turnpike was completed, Farmington was just one more village in the Pennsylvania foothills. Now just look at it! A picture of the prosperity that such roads promise.” He pointed ahead. “I do believe we are approaching the turning now.”

  And indeed Abe was right, both about the juncture and the sudden change in the road’s condition. The carriage bucked hard as it maneuvered over rain-washed gullies and ruts.

  “My goodness,” Abigail exclaimed as she was thrown against the side.

  “There, do you see? The National Road measures thirty-two feet in width, of which the center twenty feet is made of broken stones placed to a depth of eighteen inches.”

  None of this was new information for Abigail, of course, as he had been extolling the virtues of the road for days now. Nevertheless, she listened patiently.

  “The bottom twelve inches are of stones smaller than seven inches in diameter,” he continued, “and the top six inches are of gravel and sand pressed into a solid surface using a specially designed three-ton roller.” Abe addressed this thrilling news to both windows as he bounded from one side of the rocking carriage to the other. “It is a road to be proud of. It is a road that carries the future of our great nation!”

  Abigail watched this astonishing man with a love so great she felt her whole being was smiling.

  Just beyond the town’s market square, a broad circle had been formed around a pair of long watering troughs. The turning was large enough to permit several coaches to halt, water their steeds, or return in the direction from which they had come. Without such turning circles, a driver was required to unhitch their horses, lead them around, manhandle the coach about, then reattach the horses. When their coach slowed to
a halt, Abigail poked her head out the door in time to see Reginald leap easily down. “Is everything all right?”

  “I just want to check on something.” Reginald walked around to examine the traces of the right front horse. “Stay as you are. We won’t be stopping for long.”

  Abigail started to retreat into the coach when she saw Reginald looking back to where the second coach was pulling up behind them. She watched him walk back and begin a conversation with Horace. “Please would you go and see what they’re talking about?”

  Abe caught her tone. “Is something wrong?”

  “I couldn’t say. But they look rather serious.”

  Without further comment, Abe slipped past her, opened the coach door, and stepped down.

  He was not gone long. When he returned, he wore an expression as grim as Reginald’s. Abigail demanded, “Is something wrong? Maybe a horse—”

  “The horses are fine,” Abe said quietly, shutting the door. The coach rocked as Reginald climbed back on board. “They think we’re being followed.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Come over here.” Abe pushed aside some bundles and made room for her on the seat facing backward. “Don’t let him see you. The man rides a roan with a white patch on its forehead.” “I see it. There by the hitching post.”

  “Reginald says he’s noticed that same horse for the past two days. Never coming close enough for inspection. But dogging our path.”

  “Strange for a horseman to match the pace of a pair of heavily laden wagons,” Abigail said softly, suddenly feeling breathless and a tightness in her chest.

  “Those were Reginald’s thoughts exactly.”

  “But who . . .” Abigail answered her unformed question. “Lillian.”

  “That is what Reginald fears.”

  “It must be someone sent by that banker.”

  “It could be. It could also be that they are after Erica. Or perhaps even us.”

  “But why?”