The Distant Beacon

by T. Davis Bunn

  Turning back to the men, Gordon said, “The lady of the house wishes to inquire if you and your men have brought sufficient provisions.”

  Although the lead man likely couldn’t pierce the interior shadows, he leaned over the horse’s head and saluted the house. “My thanks, lady. We have vittles aplenty. But the horses could use some fresh water.”

  “I’ll walk you to the stables.” Gordon bowed a second time to Catherine. “Your pardon, ma’am, but I must interrupt this wonderful repast and see to the matter at hand.”

  “I’ll place a cloth over your plate until you return,” Catherine answered weakly.

  The governor’s steward continued, “Your lieutenant has sent the provisional bills of lading for your inspection, Captain. If you don’t mind, sir, I request that you review them and formulate your response without delay. We’re due back forthwith.”

  The men and the noise moved down the lane. Catherine felt the sharp pain of departure twist slightly in her heart at the words bills of lading. They held the tone of sea journeys and danger and the conflict beyond their sheltered haven. All those things she would keep at arm’s length for those she loved.

  Catherine watched her daughter return to the table and saw how her features showed no hint of what had just transpired. In fact, they revealed little save a determined calm. But Catherine could see Andrew also watching their daughter, obviously sensing the same things as Catherine. Their daughter was here with them for only a brief time.

  Father John seemed utterly untouched by the coming separation. Instead he grinned as he dipped his biscuit into the gravy. “Hussars and the governor’s own man, redcoats saluting and horses stamping. All just outside our front gate. That’ll set a hawk amidst the village pigeons, you mark my words.” His cackle sounded a bit like one of those hawks.

  The fourth day of Nicole’s visit was the Sabbath. Father John’s words proved prophetic, for never had the church been so full. Not on Christmas, nor Easter. People lined the way from the square to where the church stood within its white-fenced green. Father John strode like a man who overnight had shed twenty of his years. Nicole held to his arm and returned the villagers’ greetings with quiet warmth. Gordon Goodwind escorted Catherine with a gentleman-officer’s serious bearing. He attracted almost as much attention as Nicole. Many Loyalist settlers had migrated north since the American conflict erupted. Most had never exchanged personal greetings with a real British officer before that day. The fact that Gordon Goodwind was a noncombatant and wore the swordless dress uniform of the merchant service mattered not a whit. Bevies of round-eyed boys threw pretend salutes as he passed, and young village girls blushed and giggled behind their hands at the handsome officer.

  If only Catherine could give herself fully to the wonder of this good day.

  After the service, Nicole joined her mother in preparing the Sabbath meal. Father John dozed quietly by the fire. The day was warm enough for Andrew to invite Gordon to join him on the bench outside their front door. The men’s words floated clear and easy through the kitchen window.

  “My compliments to you, sir,” Gordon said. “Seldom am I moved by church services. But your words and your manner touched me most deeply.”

  “I am more interested in your normal response,” Andrew said in a calm tone, “than by what you felt this day.”

  “An officer is a man who stands alone. We are trained to rely on our own judgment and the strength of our good right hand.”

  “I would feel far more comforted to know that God formed a part of this strength.”

  What Gordon thought of his words being so evidently overheard, Catherine could not tell. But she noticed that Nicole paused in her work to listen as her escort responded, “I am well aware of the Lord, sir.”

  “You will permit me to speak freely?”

  “Of course.”

  “I wonder if you might be treating our heavenly Father as you would a distant ally. Someone best kept at arm’s length.”

  “On the contrary, sir. I am certain He is out there and available should I ever have need of Him.”

  “Alas,” Andrew countered. “That is the only time such a conversation might take place between you and your Maker. When one is required?”

  Gordon’s laugh sounded nervous. “I can only hope such a time should never come, sir.”

  “Of course not,” Andrew murmured.

  Nicole stood staring at nothing but the blinding sunlight streaming through the window. After a long moment, she sighed quietly and returned to her work.

  Following their meal, Nicole asked Andrew, “May I have your permission to walk with Gordon out to the point?”

  “Yes, my dear,” he said without pause.

  When Nicole reached for the wrap she had worn to market the previous day, with its lace trimmings and the lovely butterflies sewn in blue silk, Catherine hastened to offer her own shawl. “For warmth,” she murmured.

  “Oh yes, thank you.”

  Catherine handed her daughter the best she owned, a cotton and linen mix she had woven herself. Looking at the rough weave wrapped about Nicole and her auburn tresses spilling over her shoulders, Catherine found her heart moved by this remarkable blend of the daughter she had sent off and the one who had returned to her. On impulse she reached for Nicole and held her close and then somehow managed to whisper, “You are my sweet, dear daughter.”

  “Oh, Mama.”

  But when Catherine had seen the couple off and returned to where the two men sat by the fire, she found her husband staring at the glowing embers. Catherine glanced over to make sure Father John was comfortable and saw that the old man’s chin rested against his chest, his eyes closed. She decided there was no need to awaken him just to have him go and sleep elsewhere. Instead she turned to Andrew and said in a low voice, “Tell me what is on your heart, husband.”

  He spoke to the embers. “I am concerned about Gordon Goodwind.”

  “He has made a very strong impression upon me,” Catherine replied. “And a worrisome one.”

  “I could accept the fact that he is an officer, a military man in all but name.” Andrew shook his head. “But his only nodding acquaintance with our Lord is most troubling.”

  “And yet,” Catherine said, speaking words for them both, “I feel unable to caution Nicole about this gentleman.”

  “I must agree.” Andrew lifted his gaze to meet his wife’s. “If Nicole does not ask, I feel I must trust her and her faith.”

  “And our God,” Catherine added.

  Andrew nodded. “Do you know, I also see in Gordon a man of deep personal conviction and strength. Not to mention an officer’s commitment to his responsibilities. I sense that if ever he were to become a follower of Christ, he would be a convert heart and soul.”

  But Catherine’s concerns remained fastened on her inability to speak with her daughter. “She is a woman,” she said and could not hold the sadness from her voice.

  “And what a woman,” Andrew said somewhat bemusedly. “What a lady.”

  Father John drew his legs under him and used both hands to press himself upright. “You both worry overmuch.”

  “Father, I didn’t realize you were awake.”

  “Only partly. But enough to know you two speak as parents of a maiden who has grown into a duchess.” His eyes gleamed with good humor. “Did you not hear the man yesterday? All the world greets her as the viscountess now.”

  “Our daughter is not altered simply because Charles granted her some title,” Andrew countered.

  “What you fail to realize is that Charles gave her nothing.” When Catherine rose to help him, John waved his daughter back into her seat. “She has earned this title. Charles simply recognized the lady Nicole has become.”

  Father John found a reason to chuckle in the silence his words caused. He moved slowly toward his bedroom as he said, “That young Gordon doesn’t stand a chance. Between our Nicole and our God, you are looking at a marked man.”

  Chapter 5
<
br />   It was a silent walk. Nicole felt too deeply for idle conversation. Gordon sensed her emotional turmoil and held to his silence as well. Step matched step as they traversed the wooded path that wound its way in and out of the tree growth and shrubbery that hid the deep bay from view.

  Will my secret refuge be the same? Nicole found herself wondering. Everything in her world had suffered change. It was too much to hope that her hideaway had remained unscathed. The very thought was enough to make her hold her breath in fear, but also anticipation. They were only minutes now from the pinnacle where she and Anne had spent so many hours talking and praying together.

  Even as that thought filled her, Nicole knew that the same pouring out of her soul to Gordon would fill a longing in her heart. Dared she? How would the gallant young man respond to her baring her innermost dreams and fears? She cast a quick glance his way but saw only the outline of a handsome face, eyes focused firmly on the trail ahead, mouth set in a somber line.

  Nicole turned her eyes again to the footpath just in time to escape tripping over the bough of a fallen tree. Gordon had noted it. Already his hand had reached to her arm to steady her if she stumbled.

  It would have been nice to walk the rest of the way with his hand protectively beneath her arm, but as soon as the danger had passed he dropped his hand once again. Nicole noted his distance as keenly as she had felt his presence just a moment ago, yet she dared not risk expressing such feelings. She was even hesitant about determining how he would respond to this place that to her somehow felt holy. Apart. A silent and vast sanctuary from a disturbing and tumultuous outside world.

  Suddenly there it lay before them. The bay glistened in the sunlight. No ships of either commerce or war rested in the harbor or traversed the waters. Only a small fishing boat bobbed gently on the swell. No crashing waves crested and foamed. No dark clouds hung low with menacing gray. Nicole took a breath as if to draw in the scene before her. A silent prayer of thanks drifted heavenward from her heart. There was still one place of serenity left in her world. One place where she could feel safe and at peace. At least for the moment.

  At the same time that she felt blessed to be allowed this gift, she also felt the stab of pain at the absence of Anne. Never had she missed her sister with such a sharp awareness. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, and Nicole turned her face into the gentle breeze, which always fluttered the leaves of the hillside aspens.

  She became aware of a stirring at her elbow. Gordon had moved up beside her. He too was looking out over the bay, eyes half squinted against the reflective glare of the sun. “It’s a picture,” she heard him whisper and wondered whether he was indeed speaking to her or merely musing aloud. She had never seen his eyes so expressive of deep feeling, his jaw relaxed from all need to be vigilant. He too seemed to drink in the scene before him with a deep breath.

  She turned toward him then, and her slight motion appeared to break his reverie. He flushed slightly as though caught exposing his inner thoughts.

  Her eyes swung back to the familiar yet always changing scene that stretched before them. “Anne brought me here,” she said in a flurry of words, partly to express her feelings for the place and also to remove for him any need to feel embarrassment. “It’s very special. I felt it the moment I stepped out on the point. Before I returned to Nova Scotia as an adult, Anne often came here alone to sort out just who she was and what had happened in our lives. She knew, you see, long before I knew. That her parents were Acadians and that we’d been switched as infants. She had to accept that long before I did. I fully believed I was part of the Acadian community in the Louisiana bayous. My parents hadn’t told me otherwise.” She paused a moment, then said, “Our mothers, Catherine and Louise, had a special meeting place, too, on the high bluffs above their two villages.”

  Nicole found she couldn’t go on and so fell silent again. She sensed Gordon move a step closer. Though she appreciated his comforting presence, she could not make herself look at him. After a moment she gave a slight shrug and straightened her shoulders. “Who’s to know which parents were right to tell or not to tell? Maybe they both were. Maybe God knew I would have fought against the knowledge, whereas Anne was more the one to accept things and work through it in prayer. It took me years to learn about the power, the inner peace, found in prayer.” She faced Gordon and gave a small smile. “Grandfather used to come here with us. I suppose it has been some time since he’s visited the point.” Her eyes turned somber. “And I would imagine he has visited it for the last time.”

  Gordon touched her arm. “Would you like to sit down?” he asked, his voice low and solicitous.

  With the words came further remembrance. Yes, sit down. They had often sat together on a makeshift bench created by God through nature. Was their bench also still in place? Nicole glanced to the spot and was glad to see it was just as she’d remembered. She pointed to it, saying, “Anne and I often sat there together. Sometimes we read the Scriptures, or prayed. Sometimes we talked for hours. Other times we just sat in silence, feeling the same thing but in different ways.”

  He took her arm and led her to the seat, then with a gloved hand brushed away from it the dirt and scattered leaves of the winter past. Nicole was relieved when, after a moment of staring out over the peaceful bay, he sat down beside her. His nearness brought unexpected joy— and a mingling of sorrow, for there was the realization that she secretly longed to share her life with this noble man sitting so close to her. But did she have any right to such intimate thoughts? She shook herself free of the troubling inner discourse and began to speak. She wasn’t sure if the rushed speech was to distract her from her present pattern of thinking or to quiet the deep need to share her buried thoughts. She hoped that he might understand.

  “After Anne left to marry Cyril I would come here by myself—when my loneliness for her became too much to bear. I have always felt that my prayers from here are more connected, more free to reach God.” She looked upward as she spoke and raised a hand toward the blue sky. “The answer to my prayer for her is more at hand because He connects with her too. A triangle of love, in a way. I sense her prayers for me as well. It gives me strength.”

  She watched as Gordon turned to her and nodded. His face had softened. No longer was he the full British officer—eyes ever alert in duty or danger. He was simply a man intent on hearing and understanding. She could read it in his eyes. It both thrilled and frightened her.

  Gordon seemed to be deeply affected by her sharing so much of herself with him and in such an intimate way. He turned toward her again. “Nicole, I . . . you must know how I have come to feel about you. I know this might not be the proper time to express—”

  “I fear you are right,” Nicole said, cutting off his ardent words. She sprang to her feet. “This is not the proper time for any further lingering. Mama will be awaiting our return. I promised to help her.”

  She bit her lip. Why had she spoken so hastily? Just a moment before she had hoped to hear Gordon express his love. Yet the very thought of such an alliance made her tremble now. She felt caught in a riptide, pulled out to sea. Enjoying the lift of the underlying current, yet at the same time aware of the dangerous power that swept her helplessly beyond her willingness to think clearly. This was how she had felt when Jean Dupree had spoken words of love. So overcome with waves of emotion that she could barely discern her own mind. Her feminine heart yearned for marriage—a home. A man with whom to share her life. Surely God had included that in His plan for her life. But was the man to be Gordon Goodwind? She must be careful not to rush God’s plans. She had heard Gordon’s words to her father; they had troubled her heart. She could not—dared not—give her heart to a man who didn’t know her Lord. Yet she felt a hesitancy to voice an outright refusal to his suit. She wanted to throw her love, her life, totally into his hands, to share the joys and the struggles that might lie ahead. For she was keenly aware that, in spite of all her resolve to hold steady and not let her heart lead the way
, she loved him.

  Another thought stirred her. He was, after all, an officer, and it appeared that their countries—his Britain and hers America—could soon be caught up in a full-scale war. A war in which, unless God intervened, even Gordon would be forced to take sides. Nicole realized she couldn’t bear to lose him to either side of the conflict.

  Silently Nicole prayed that her inner tears might not be revealed on her cheeks. She could not share her tumultuous thoughts with the man beside her. Oh, if only Anne were here, her heart cried. Perhaps she could help me sort out my feelings. But then she reminded herself that her best counsel would be found in prayer. Be patient, an inner voice seemed to whisper, and Nicole felt her shoulders lift just a trifle. After drawing a deep breath, she turned to Gordon, who had risen from his seat now and stood next to her. She offered an arm in hopes of reclaiming the distance that had suddenly come between them. “Mama must be wondering what is keeping me,” she said, attempting to keep her voice even.

  Gordon cleared his throat, and she watched his eyes drift out over the bay one last time. A wind had come up. It stirred the water’s surface into small waves and rocked the fishing boat back and forth. “Indeed” was his only reply. She noted that his jaw was firm again, and his eyes held the look of disappointment. But he managed a brief smile and accepted her arm, tucking it close in the crook of his own.

  They began the walk back, closer in proximity than the outward trek had been, yet somehow Nicole felt they were now even more distanced from each other. Earlier he was about to express his deep feelings, and she had abruptly cut him off. Surely he must feel rejected. Perhaps shamed. But that was never her intent. She loved him. She knew it for certain now. Still, he had been right. This was not the time to speak of love. With a feeling of despair she wondered if it would ever be. Was this love like her other—not meant to be?

  He helped her around the fallen branch again and then spoke for the first time since leaving the point. “I thank you for sharing your little bit of heaven with me. I feel more privileged than I can hope to express. It’s a beautiful place and one I shall carry in my memory for a long time to come.”