The Birthright

by T. Davis Bunn

  She felt torn between her paralyzing grief and the needs of others whom she loved. Bedraggled and confused and without the capacity to make a sound decision, she took it all to prayer. Anne laid aside her indecision and left the matter with her Lord. But later she struggled with taking back the load on her own frail shoulders and reasoning her way through the dilemma. What should I do? What would Cyril want me to do? What was right for John? “Lord, I need some kind of sign,” she whispered in her anguish. “Show me what you would have me do. If I am to go, I must go soon. I fear that before long there will be no more ships sailing because of the war.”

  Furthermore, it did not seem the right time of the year to be setting sail for England. Already fall was flowing into winter. By the time arrangements were made and passage booked, they would be past Christmas and into the coldest months. The thought of a storm at sea in the dead of winter made her afraid. It was hard enough to face an ocean crossing during the mild months, but in wintertime? That seemed like a foolhardy venture indeed.

  But if God wished her to go, would He not then take care of the dangers?

  It had been some months since Anne had been to her home in Halifax, but she felt it was now time to return, if only to take care of things and settle her finances. She could not bear the thought of living on in the beloved little house without Cyril. His memory would be everywhere, calling to her with the chime of the clock he used to set faithfully every Sunday morning…creeping up behind her and looking into the supper pots when she was preparing a meal…tugging at her sleeve when she stepped toward the cold outside, to remind her to put on her shawl. No, Anne did not think she could live in the house ever again.

  But she needed to go back. She hated the idea of asking her folks to accompany her, yet knew she could not make the trip alone.

  Andrew and Catherine did not appear surprised when she voiced her request. “Of course,” her father had said for the both of them. “I shall make the arrangements straightaway.” Then things happened far more quickly than Anne had wished. She needed time to prepare herself, to pray. To steel herself against pleasant yet haunting memories that were sure to greet her the minute she stepped in the door. But this had to be done while they rattled over the rutted frozen road, winding their way along the familiar trail.

  Thankfully the baby slept well. And when he was awake, he seemed preoccupied with the adventure, noticing every branch that hung close to the road, every bird that winged over their heads.

  Andrew smiled. “That boy does not miss a thing,” he said with a grandfather’s pride.

  Anne passed the child to Catherine. Her arms ached from holding him, but even so she hated to give him up. The closer they got to Halifax, the more pronounced her grief. This would not be an easy time. Not for any of them. Anne bowed her head in prayer once again. She would need all the help heaven could give to make it through the next few days.

  The following morning she called on Cyril’s banker. Andrew drove the rig, while Catherine stayed home with baby John. Surprisingly, Anne, who had felt in a daze, was able to take charge of her own business matters. Cyril’s medical practice was to be sold to another doctor. The new doctor was also a Loyalist, one of the many who had migrated to Halifax to escape the impending war.

  Anne tried to ignore all the talk of trouble that surrounded her. Talk of fear and of fleeing. Anger and hate and rebellion. Talk she was afraid would eventually lead to a large-scale conflict, where homes would be lost, families displaced, and men killed. She shivered at the thought and longed for a lasting peace, for a world where the life of her boy would not be threatened. For although the grievance was between the new colonies and England, the Loyalists were now crowding Canada’s shores with ships used to escape the war. So might not the war then follow them and Nova Scotia become haplessly embroiled again?

  “Please, I beg your indulgence,” Anne said to hush the words of terror, “but I must get back to my infant son. You do understand?”

  The men nodded, and the torrent of words ceased to flow. The papers were pushed forward and dealt with in quick fashion, then the new doctor left. After the banker resolved a few more minor issues, Anne was free to hurry home. She breathed a deep sigh as though washing her soul of confusion and fear.

  Anne knew now she would not be staying in Halifax. She’d allow her home to be sold. With all the Loyalists milling about, whom the city now harbored, it would no longer be safe for her and little John. Surely it would be the first place the armies would strike should the war spread beyond the shores of the American colonies. Therefore, she’d move inland, to one of the villages hidden among the forests. There her family should be safe. With this thought, Anne felt the constriction gradually ease around her heart.

  The following day Anne forced herself to return to Cyril’s office and collect his personal items. She hated the prospect of walking into the rooms where she and Cyril had served together. But Cyril’s papers needed to be gathered. And she could serve neighbors who had no access to a doctor once she had Cyril’s medical aids at hand.

  Anne was surprised at the sameness as she stepped through the door. As always, the room was teeming with those seeking medical attention. Anne let her eyes travel over the chairs lined against the wall. Thankfully, she did not recognize any of their former patients. For one awful moment, she imagined herself back in time. Anne found herself having to resist the ridiculous urge to hang up her coat on the hook behind the door and take her position behind the small table that serviced the patients coming in. Another woman—much older and seasoned by life than she—now occupied the chair that had once been hers.

  “Is Dr. Warren in?” she asked in a shaky voice.

  “Yes, miss. But you’ll need to wait your turn just like everyone else,” the gray head said gruffly, never lifting.

  “Oh no…” Anne said, taken aback by the woman’s retort. “Please, I am not here to see him as a patient. I am Mrs. Mann. Mrs. Cyril Mann.”

  The woman looked up. Her ashen face showed a glowering expression.

  “The previous doctor’s wife,” Anne stumbled, then added, “widow, that is.”

  The woman rose from her chair, pushing it back noisily. “Come along,” she said, her words and manner conveying what she thought of the interruption. “He said you would be stopping by. He’s with a patient. Guess you would know that.”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  Anne followed the woman, though she could have led the way with her eyes closed. They went into the side room where all the supplies were kept.

  “I expect the doctor will want you to make a list of everything you’ll be taking,” said the woman bluntly. “There were things included in the purchase price. He’ll be wanting those left behind.”

  “Of course,” Anne replied, taken aback that her honesty was questioned.

  The woman left after supplying Anne with paper and quill to record what she would be taking. Anne flung aside her coat and hurried with her task. She could not escape the confines of the little building a minute too soon. Her eyes blurred with tears as she worked. There really was not much to be claimed; most of the supplies were sold along with the practice. She retrieved Cyril’s black medical bag, stroking it lovingly as she set it among the other things she’d gathered in a small crate.

  Taking one last look around to be sure she had not missed anything, Anne wiped her eyes and heaved a deep sigh. God had helped her through another difficult chore. She had taken one more step in her break with the past. She reached for her coat and then picked up the crate and the list she had written out. She would hand it herself to the sour woman who now ran the office.

  Anne braced herself as she wiped at her face again, using a small cotton hankie, then left the room.

  She had taken only a few steps when a voice stopped her short. “Aw, now. ’Tis Mrs. Mann herself.”

  An elderly woman hoisted herself with some difficulty from her chair and crossed over to Anne with a ragged gait. Anne recognized the woman at once.
But before she could say anything, the woman had reached out and caught hold of her hand. “So sorry we did lose the good doctor.”

  Anne felt herself reel under the unexpected expression of sympathy. She could only nod. But she managed to give the woman’s hand a slight squeeze.

  “He was a gem of a man, to be sure. Always giving hisself no matter the hour of night or day.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. McKenzie,” Anne said finally. She made an effort to withdraw her hand. She knew if she did not leave soon, she’d be breaking down in front of a room full of staring strangers. Mrs. McKenzie had attracted the attention of everyone.

  “And you yourself. What are ya to do now?”

  “I…I am with my folks,” Anne stammered.

  “Aw, but we be needin’ ya here,” the woman continued. “I know it’s too soon for ya to be back yet, but in the future—”

  “No,” cut in Anne. “I am sorry, but I won’t be back.”

  “You’re givin’ up helpin’ the sick? But you’re so natural at it.” The woman’s hands tightened on Anne’s. She leaned in closer to Anne’s face.

  “Well…I am not sure. I have my baby…our baby, that is, to care for now. Perhaps sometime in the future.” While Anne struggled to explain, she became conscious of a man who had gotten up from his chair and walked over to them.

  “You’re a trained healer?” he asked bluntly.

  Anne turned to him. “No. I merely served as my husband’s aide.”

  “She’s more than that,” Mrs. McKenzie contradicted. “Far more. Everyone who came knew the wonder in this lady’s touch. She could soothe the most fretful bairn, she could.”

  “God be praised,” he said, so quietly Anne barely caught the words.

  “I beg your pardon. I don’t understand….”

  “Cox is my name. Paul Cox. I desperately need someone to tend my wife, Matilda.” He turned and waved a hand at a pale woman propped in a chair in the corner. “She is very ill. But she longs to go back to England. She’s sure she’ll get better if only she can reach home safely. But I am no good with that sort of thing, you see. A ship’s captain will take her aboard only if she has someone to care for her. Please, ma’am. I should pay you well.”

  Anne felt the world spinning around her feet. “But I…I have a child.”

  “I shall pay your child’s fare, as well.”

  “But I had not thought…”

  “Then would you think on it? We’re desperate, you see. And soon. I fear we don’t have much time, due to the war that’s coming.”

  Anne swallowed hard and shook her head as she tried to collect her thoughts. The whole thing was preposterous, unthinkable.

  “Would you be so kind as to give me your name and where you can be reached?” the man continued. “I should like to talk with you further. Here’s my card if you wish to check my references. Please, I pray you, give this serious consideration. Of course, I shall also arrange for your return voyage. Just as soon as you wish to make the journey back. But perhaps it would be wise if you spent the winter in England. I can arrange for that, too.”

  “No,” Anne said, shaking her head. “That would not be necessary. I have kin there.”

  “Splendid!” For the first time, he gave her a smile. Anne watched as years dropped away from his eyes. He was not nearly as old as she had first suspected. It was his worry that had pressed his features into looking prematurely aged.

  “I haven’t given my consent yet,” she corrected him, then immediately regretted being the cause of the darkness that fell over his face again.

  “But you will think on it?” he urged.

  “I will do better than that,” she said. “I shall pray about it.”

  The tension relaxed in his face a bit, and his eyes took on a new light. “Then perhaps my prayers have been answered,” he said with confidence. Then he took a step back and doffed his hat.

  Visibly shaken, Anne bid good-day to Mrs. McKenzie and took her leave. Was she to be the answer to someone’s prayers? Was this the sign she had asked God for? She did not know, but she dared not dismiss it as mere coincidence.

  Over the next several days, Anne met with Mr. and Mrs. Cox, and a sympathy for them grew within her heart. She saw their distress and felt a strong desire to help them. Still, was it right to pack up little John and travel all the way to England? Finally she went to her parents and asked, “What do you think I should do?”

  They discussed it for a while, looking at it from different angles, at the good but also the potential risk and heartache.

  “Certainly, if you feel that it is God’s calling, then you can do naught else but to obey,” Andrew concluded.

  Anne nodded solemnly. “But how can I know, for sure, the will of God in this?”

  “Which decision would bring you peace?” he answered. “There is where you most likely shall find the right answer.”

  “But I feel torn both ways.”

  “And I, too. But in my heart I feel that, at this time, perhaps England is a safer place for you and John than here.”

  “You think war is truly coming, then?”

  Andrew hesitated before responding, and when he did, his voice sounded low and somber. “I fear that is so.”

  From this point on, Anne no longer wavered. Word was sent to the Coxes that she was willing to accompany them to England. Gradually a sense of peace permeated her heart and mind. She had prayed. She would now trust God that she’d found His answer.

  Chapter 21

  It was not till February that passage was booked for Anne and the Coxes. But December and the Christmas season had found Anne beginning to look forward to life beyond her present sorrow. Though she did not offer much cheer to the holy days, there was a relaxing of tension and a hint of the former warmth in their home. January was given over to packing and preparations, which became so frenzied that any lingering doubts had to be set aside.

  Soon it was time for their departure. This entailed a frigid journey into Halifax, prayers at the quayside, and rejoining the Coxes—all a tide of action that plucked Anne from the known and flung her into the storm-tossed Atlantic winter.

  In some ways, the voyage turned out to be easier than Anne had expected. Yet in others, it proved quite perilous. The wind and waves and freezing rain bothered her far less than it did some of the hardier passengers. Anne found the adverse weather almost comforting, as if she were bringing some of her beloved homeland with her. For the weather remained almost constant the whole way to England.

  The day they had sailed from Halifax was blustery and cold, punctuated by a wind-lashed rain that held out day after day. Many of the passengers were frightened by the howling wind. But not Anne. She took comfort from the stoical sailors, who seemed to find nothing distressing in the weather that pounded their ship. In fact, she heard one of the officers say how the weather was with them. For as long as it blew hard from the north, there was little chance of being struck by an unpredictable storm of greater and more dangerous power. “The wind is with us and holding steady,” she heard repeatedly from the sailors on board. With each passing day, England grew ever closer.

  Anne never suffered from seasickness, though many others weren’t so fortunate and had become desperately ill. Mrs. Cox was among the afflicted. It was left to Anne most days to see to the children’s needs. There were two other young mothers on board, both of whom were laid out by the ship’s lurching. But Anne was glad to help with their babies, and she welcomed the work.

  By the end of the second week at sea, she no longer found it hard to make her way across the pitching deck. There was a certain timing to the ship’s motions, one she had learned by watching the sailors. The ship would ride steady over the longer combers, then give warning to a swooping rush by first raising its head high. Then followed a crashing impact that seemed to almost burst the ship’s seams and brought shrieks of fear from many of the women.

  The constant damp was also a great nuisance. Anne was bothered by how mold had found a
way to attach itself to nearly all her garments. Yet Anne had spent a lifetime wrapped in layers against the wet cold of the Nova Scotia winters, so she knew how to adapt to such hostile surroundings and endure.

  Baby John seemed to love everything about the voyage. He cooed and laughed. His only fretting came from the rash that most of the children had picked up from wearing wet underclothes. But not even his rash dispelled his happy nature for very long. And at night the ship’s incessant rocking sent him into a deep and settled slumber.

  Another dinnertime was signaled by the sailor’s piping and the subsequent drumming of wooden-clogged feet. Anne waited till the commotion died down, made sure the recently fed John was resting comfortably, then climbed the narrow, steep stairway up to the main deck.

  Snow whipped about her in fitful blasts, and the wind lashed her face with stinging cold. Two men in woolen caps stood at the wheel, almost lost within the folds of their greatcoats. Icicles clung to the wooden rails and from many of the windward lines. The sea roared and crashed. Darkness crouched beneath a low gray sky.

  Anne returned belowdecks and followed the long passageway that connected the passenger hold to the ship’s kitchen. The chef beamed his welcome, a great smile made comical by the hole where his two front teeth used to be. “How’s the missus this grand evening, then?”

  “No one in their right mind could refer to such a freezing dismal day as grand,” Anne replied. “I am fine, though.”

  “And that strapping young boy, is he well?”

  “Fed, content, and sleeping,” Anne said proudly.

  The chef and his two assistants exchanged grins. “Born sailor, that one. You mark my words.”