The Willows

by Mathew Sperle

  The Willows

  Mathew Sperle

  Copyright Mathew Sperle 2016

  Smashwords Edition

  Table of content

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 1

  Catching a whiff of brine, Gwen McCloud smiled for the first time in days. A few more steps and she’d be topside. It had been no easy climb, hauling the heavy carpetbag up from her mean accommodations, but after a five-year stint in Boston, and all the weeks at sea, she meant to be on deck to see every last ripple on the Mississippi as they approached New Orleans.

  Almost home.

  Weak with longing, she thought of returning to her father’s plantation. This time, she swore, nothing could make her leave. Is she being stubborn and defiant, or tossing the fits Mother had so disapproved of, Gwen would make it clear that Willows was far more than her home. It was her dream, her Camelot, and she meant to live there always.

  Alive with anticipation, she sucked in a breath and stepped out on the deck, only to find everything shrouded by thick, humid gray fog. Here and there, the morning mists swirled, as if the cool breeze hoped to dissipate them, but in merely managed to unsettle her bonnet and exposed her carefully arranged curls to the salty air.

  Dismayed, she set down the carpetbag to cover her hair. She’d spent hours primping, wanting to look her best when they docked. There was no telling who might be coming to meet her ship, though she hoped-no, she prayed-her daddy might have sent Lance.

  Her heart did a flip as she thought of her handsome neighbor. Lance and the Willows-she could not imagine one without the other. It seemed Lance had always been part of her life, first as the charming boy who’d fought battles on her behalf, then as the dashing young man, declaring his undying love.

  She leaned down to lift her carpetbag, a half smile forming on her lips. Theirs had been a special world, those happy days when she and Lance and the neighboring children had played King Arthur’s court. With Gwen, of course, been Queen Guinevere. Who assumed the others roles depended largely upon whim of the day, but Lance was always Sir Lancelot. Whenever there was a battle to be fought, a dragon slain, or enemy vanquished, she need only look to her gallant knight.

  Could she still depend on Lance? She wondered as she made her way to the rail. With all that had happened, all that had changed, would he be lost to her, too? So many doubts and unanswered questions. If only she had a wizard like Merlin to help her see into the future, since her life seemed about as clear as this fog.

  She stood by the rail, feeling lost in the mists. Eerily, a lone mast appeared out of the haze, but its long, slender outline vanished so rapidly, she could well have imagined it. All sound seemed distorted-the cry of the distant gull, the slap of water against the ship-each scent suddenly foreign. Fancifully, she let herself imagine that she’d been cast adrift, and was now slowly entering into a strange new world.

  I’m in merry Old England she thought to herself with a grin, remembering back to mornings played in a fog, pretending it was wrapped around an Arthurian caste. A land enchantment, they’d called their imaginary kingdom; a place where dreams came true. Back then, If Gwen wanted to summon that magical world, she merely close her eyes and make a wish.

  “Take me to Camelot,” She whispered now.

  And as if the great Merlin had waved a wand, the breeze surged, spiraling about her, Gwen grasped her bonnet, as the sun tried to peek through the clouds overhead. She watched bit after bit of the shoreline mertialize, until up ahead in the distance, a city rose up out of the mists.

  Disoriented, she half-expected turrets and the towers, and it was with a stab of disappointment that she traded fantasy for reality. It was clearly not Camelot, yet as the fog revealed more and more of the city, with its ornate iron grill work and European flair, Gwen realized how much she’d missed New Orleans. She’d attended her first cotillion on St. Charles Avenue, gone parading down Canal Street during Mardi Gras, and received her first proposal of marriage beneath the live oaks in City Park.

  With a stab of pain, she remembered her breathless excitement that day. Racing home to break the wonderful news, she’d never guessed her parents would deny her heart’s desire. She was their baby, their princess, and all her life, she’d invariably gotten whatever she wanted.

  Yet they’d refuse her, and in a dizzying short span of time, her life had gone from fairy tale to nightmare. How on earth had her hopes and dreams ended in such heartache and sorrow?

  Dismayed to find how tightly she gripped the rail, she used her hands to smooth down the lines of her carriage gown. Never mind, she told herself firmly. The past was the past, and she was better off forgetting it.

  “Aha! Here you are, Gueenie.”

  Gwen tensed, hearing the overloud tones of Eleanor Tibbs, the cabin mate she’d neither expected nor wanted. As tall as she was wide, all gray and her hair to her shoes the woman was like an ironclad battle ship, plowing through the waves of people towards Gwen. Looking right and left, she weighed her chances of escape.

  “Wait!” Mrs. Tibbs barked, reaching for her arm. “We must get the matter straighten out. I sense you’re still miffed with us, Gueenie.”

  Gwen hated that ridiculous name, which, thanks to Mrs. Tibbs, nearly everyone on the vessel had taken to using.

  Now, too late, Gwen could see her mistake in asking for fresh linens the first day out of port, but at the time, she’d been too Shocked by her cramped living quarters to think straight. Having spent her childhood on Daddy’s plantation, and the past five years at Aunt Agatha’s mansion, she’d come to expect the best life had to offer. How was she to have known they’re would be no linen’s that freshness of any sort would be a rare luxury?

  Perhaps she’d overacted somewhat and raised too much of a fuss, but given the circumstances, wasn’t it understandable? A lady had certain exceptions, none of which were close to being met. The certainly was no need for the captain or his crew to show such derision, and absolution, and absolutely no call for everyone to start calling her Queenie.

  “My name is Gwen Elizabeth,” she told Mrs. Tibbs for what must be the hundredth time. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I would like to view New Orleans as we approach it.”

  “You won’t see much in this fog. Besides, this will be but a minute of your time. We really must talk about Sampson.”

  Gwen bristled. Back in Boston, her Aunt Agatha had hired the timid Lilah Sampson to serve as Gwen’s travelling companion, but Mrs. Tibbs had promptly commandeered the woman’s services for herself. Throughout the voyage, Gwen was forced to supply continuous reminders as to who was Lilah’s true mistress, yet only this morning, Mrs. Tibbs had announced that Gwen’s servant would be accompanying her to Tibbs town home when they landed.

  “There is nothing to talk about,” Gwen said stiffly, hoping to keep the hurt from her tone. Perhaps by now she should expect such lack of consideration from Mrs. Tibbs, but Lilah’s defection cut to the quick. Nowadays, must everyone abandon her?

  “I can’t see why another servant will not do” Mrs. Tibbs went on as if Gwen hadn’t spoke, “and I’m more than happy to help you find one. I’d never dream of leaving you to fend for yourse
lf, with the hardship you’d face ahead.”

  “Honestly Mrs. Tibbs, I don’t know why you persist in this. If I’ve told you once, I’ve said it a hundred times. I’m not about to face any hardship.”

  Her thick gray brows met over her piercing gray eyes. “It is a bad habit you have, Gueenie, seeing only what you wish to see. You cannot avoid the truth by overlooking it.”

  “Truth?” Gwen adopted her haughtiest tone. “And just what would you know about my life?”

  “I know what my eyes tell me. You would not be sailing on this old crate, or sharing a third-class cabin with an old woman like me, if you did not have to.”

  “It was hardly a matter of need.” Gwen sniffed delicately. “Planting season keeps daddy too busy with his sugar cane to quibble over travel arrangements. To him, a boat is a boat, and the rest is just unimportant detail. Booking such mean commendations…” She glanced about the crowded deck with dismay, “… Was mere oversight on his part.”

  Mrs. Tibbs stared at her with obvious pity. “And why is he ordering you home to get married?”

  Gwen tensed, not wanting to explore that question, wondering what madness had possessed her even mention it to this woman. “If you’re only child was 22,” she snapped’ “you two would be inpatient to see grandchildren running through the house.” That was Aunt Agatha’s kindly interpretation. Considering how they’d parted five years ago, Gwen feared that any child of hers was the last thing her daddy would want to see.

  “If you say so.” Mrs. Tibbs flashed her all-knowing smile.

  “Still, I can’t help but worry about you. Please, let me help find you a new servant.”

  “I had a perfectly good servant, Mrs. Tibbs, before you stole her away.”

  Mrs. Tibbs looked genuinely surprised. “I did not steal Samson. She asked to come with me.”

  “Did she? And with what did you bribe her?”

  “There was no need to bribe anyone. IF you’d stop judging folks by their outer trappings, you’d know Sampson and I were bound to become friends. There is more to a person than how they talk or what they wear, Gueenie. You must try to remember that.”

  Gwen could feel the heat rise up her back of her neck. How dare this… this servant snatcher tell her what she must or must not recall. “Obviously, you two have settled things without me, so do you think we might avoid a public spectacle? I have no wish to involve myself in a fight over this”

  “Ah, and there is the difference between us. Don’t you know that anything worth having is worth fighting for, child?”

  There was a time Gwen might have agreed, but that was when she was young and unprincipled, before Mama…

  “Ladies don’t make scenes,” She told the woman primly.

  Mrs. Tibbs shook her head. “Your kind of lady doesn’t have to. When trouble hits, she runs away and lets someone else do her fighting for her. But you be careful how much of your life you give into the care of others, Gueenie. You can lose too much of yourself when running away.”

  I don’t run-“Gwen clamped shut her mouth, refusing to give Mrs. Tibbs the pleasure of her denial. If you don’t mind,”

  She said, turning her gaze determinably away, “I’d like to be alone for my first sight of home.”

  She could hear the woman’s sigh, heavy with regret. “Fantasy is wonderful thing, child, but not if it keeps you from seeing what’s truly there. Don’t get so swept up in dreams you make the same mistake as your namesake. Remember, the first Guinevere chose the wrong man and brought Camelot tumbling down about her feet.”

  As the woman waddled off, Gwen fought the urge to stick out her tongue. She was too much the lady to indulge in such childish spite, and besides, wasn’t it that loose appendage that had given Mrs. Tibbs such ammunition to use against her? It had been a weak moment, one of those long, lonely nights in the dark, when Gwen had so foolishly confided her fantasies to the woman. Trust Mrs. Tibbs to have the sublime bad taste to throw them back in her face.

  Little she knew. Gwen wasn’t running away; shed faced the sins of her past and atoned for them. Why, shed more than made amends. Hadn’t she become so finely bred a lady, even Mama would have beamed with pride. She now accepted her role in the world, the standards of a lady must uphold, the expectations she must fulfill. So much so that upon leaving Boston, her Aunt Agatha had declared she could not hope to find a more prim and proper niece.

  It was this assessment that gave Gwen hope, for surely her father would be similarly impressed. Once John McCloud saw she was a lady, that she’d put aside her impetuous ways, he’d forget the past, sweep her in his arms, and call her his little princess.

  That was why she’d taken off Mother’s locket and set it inside the carpetbag. Normally she’d have worn the one remaining link with her mother, but meeting her father after five years separation would be difficult enough. She had no wish to remind him of what he had lost.

  Frowning, she thought of his summons. His letter was also tucked in her carpetbag. Nothing is wrong, she insisted to herself, but tiny voice-sounding like Mrs. Tibbs-kept asking why her father must be so insistent upon her getting married. And why had Edith Ann written in his behalf?

  Gwen tried hard to liker her cousin, but nothing had been the same after she and Uncle Jervis had come to live with them. In Gwen’s mind, her parents had been overly impressed with Edith’s ladylike poise, and far too determined to stop their own daughter’s hoydenish behavior. “Look at your cousin,” Amanda McCloud would say. “See how well-mannered she is, and how ladylike.” And though it was never uttered, Gwen had nonetheless heard the “why can’t you be more like her?” in her mind.

  No one seemed to notice Edith’s sly and mincing ways, or her spiteful glee when Gwen was caught in a misdeed. Had her cousin penned the letter from father, Gwen wondered? How disconcerting, to learn that Edith had control over his personal affairs. It would be just like her to suggest that marriage would tame Gwen’s impulsive nature-then slyly recommends an absolute toad she could marry.

  It wouldn’t be Lance, Gwen thought with a sigh. Lance Buford Sr. had been an incredible gambler, and when he’d asked on he left his son with little more than his charm and the shirt on his back. Gorgeous, dashing Lance might set any female’s heart flutter, but father would never let a him wed his only child.

  Who then? Gwen wondered. The summer boys? Both Robert Andrew were pleasant to gaze upon, and rivers edge was almost as grand as The Willows. Or maybe she should set her sights on the notorious Beau Allenton, since Edith had adored him or years. It would serve her cousin right, if after all of her plotting? Her precious objects was stolen right out from under her nose.

  But when didn’t want him or the others. She didn’t want to marry anyone if she couldn’t have Lance. He was her Lancelot, her hero, and together with The Willows, was the only remaining constant in her life. Had it he promised, that long ago day the need the oak tree, that when all others would forsake her, he would stand steadfast and strong at her side, loving her always.

  Oh please, don’t let him have forgotten, she thought, crossing her fingers as she searched the crowd lining the docks for signs of his beautiful, golden head. Brushing the skirt of her carriage gown again, she wished she could be dressed in something more seducing then heavy green wool, but without starch, or one of those hoop skirted crinolines that were now the rage, she had little hope of lessening the creases and a bit to other gowns she had in her bag. With the rest of her wardrobe packed in her trunk in the hold, and Lilith off helping Mrs. Tibbs, Gwen supposed she must count herself fortunate to be dressed at all.

  Assailed by a wave of longing, she could not wait to be home. She closed her eyes and imagined her arrival at The Willows, with father’s legion of servants rushing to see her every whim. She’d have pressed clothing, clean linen, and fresh fruits and vegetables whenever she wished for them.

  “Just one more thing, Gueenie.”

  With a start, Gwen woke from her daydream fine that the ship had docked a
nd the obnoxious Mrs. Tibbs stood before her with a hand thrust out in her direction. “Before we part ways, I wish for you to have this.”

  Gwen stared at the card. Did the woman expect to maintain their acquaintance? They moved and utterly different circles; surely even Mrs. Tibbs must recognize that.

  Apparently not. “This will be my location here in New Orleans,” she went on, waving the card with irritating resistance.

  “Feel free to call upon me, if you ever feel the need.”

  Gwen could think of nothing less likely, but then, this was less a case of charity then blatant social climbing. Preparing her set down, Gwen was surprised into silence when Mrs. Tibbs laid a gentle hand on her arm.

  “I know we have had our differences,” she said, her tone softly, “but I cannot help but worry about you. I am an independent woman, with no few connections. Should you find yourself in need of a friend, please do not hesitate to call.”

  Once more, she shoved the card forward, and this time Gwen was to stun to refuse it. Gesturing to Lilith, timidly guarding their luggage by the planks, Mrs. Tibbs quickly reverted to form. “Come, Sampson and I are happy to share our cab. Our driver will take you wherever you need to go.”

  Flustered, Gwen shook her head. “That is kind of you, but my father will be sending someone to meet me.” Benoit by the woman’s raised eyebrows, she began to embellish. “My fiancé is coming, as a matter of fact. Why, I declare, he’ll be so eager to see me, I’ll wager he will be the first one waiting when we disembark.”

  Plump hands reached out close over Gwen’s. “Don’t you be losing my card now,” Mrs. Tibbs said softly, giving an extra squeeze before letting go. “The time may yet come when you need it.”

  With that, she waddled off towards Lilith and the luggage. Dreadful female, Gwen thought, watching her fully past the other passengers. Mrs. Tibbs would be the first to leave the ship, and woe to whoever stood in her way.

  When jammed the unwanted card into her bag, but one glance at her overstuffed bag had her regretting her decision. Perhaps should have gone with Mrs. Tibbs. At least as far as the landing. What would people think of a lady who carried her own things, who stood all alone?