Chapter 8
Anne was seated in the small corner garden below the library window when Thomas and Charles came around the house together. She smiled at them and said, “England never ceases to amaze me. One day, all is midwinter bleak, and the sky so gray I feel certain the sun will never dare show its face again.” She waved her hand about her. “The next, and all the world is alive and green with the joy of new awakenings.”
Neither Thomas nor Charles seemed to know how to respond. The older gentleman tugged on his embroidered waistcoat. Her husband finally asked, “What are you reading?”
“The Psalter. King David reminds us to take shelter under the shadow of God’s wings. What a descriptive thought that is!” Anne moved to one end of the bench and motioned to them. “Why do you not join me? We can read aloud together.”
But neither man made any move to accept her invitation. Anne looked into her husband’s face, and she knew then why they had sought her out, and why they had come together.
But she held to her inner calm, the peace that had been a gift from God. “This was the last book I studied with Nicole,” she continued, “and this bench was where we had many wonderful discussions. It was here in this garden that I truly came to know my sister.” She smiled up at Charles. “I have never properly thanked you, Uncle. How wonderful it was to have this time and this place to know Nicole as both sister and dearest friend.”
Charles lowered himself into the bench. “I used to look out upon the two of you from my library.” He indicated the window directly overhead. “I often have marveled at how different you two were, and yet how alike.”
Anne moved closer to Charles, making space on her other side. She patted the bench. “Come, my husband, sit yourself down and tell me the news of our departure—information that requires two strong men to deliver.”
The gentlemen exchanged looks of astonishment.
“Here, I will make it easier for you.” When Thomas still did not move, Anne held his hand and pulled him down. “You have found berths for us, and you have the date of our departure for Nova Scotia.”
Thomas inspected her face. “You … you are accepting this with great calm.”
Anne did not answer immediately, gazing out over the garden.
“I should have thought, well, with John—”
“John is staying,” she confirmed. She took a long breath and Thomas squeezed her hand. She needed to know if she could state the facts and retain her composure. To her great relief, the peace remained. “John is staying here at Harrow Hall. I know the Lord who is making it possible for me to go to my father will also be with John. …” She slowed to a stop, but her voice did not break.
Charles took her other hand. “I can only assure you that we shall care for him as though he were our own son.”
Anne turned to look into Charles’s face. “I was blessed with two fathers,” she said. “Why should John not have the same gift?”
“My dear …” Charles stopped to clear his throat. “Forgive me,” he said, his voice still husky. “Thank you, Anne, for the gift of your trust. Judith and I …” But he could not continue.
“John loves you both,” she assured her uncle. “I could not find more devoted care. Of that I am certain.”
Judith and Anne were making a tour of the local villages. Numerous projects—agricultural reform, schools, sanitation, medical care, classes for Scripture studies—were now well under way, and Anne was turning over their supervision to Judith during the time she was gone. “It is wonderful to know, dear Judith, I can leave these efforts in your hands,” she said to the older woman beside her in the open brougham.
“The seeds are planted,” Judith replied. “I shall see the crops remain well tended.”
Judith handled the reins with ease. Harry Day, Maisy’s youngest lad, rode a dappled gray and acted as their official escort. Two villagers also accompanied them on horseback, one riding ahead and the other behind. Even this close to the estate, even surrounded as they were by neighbors and friends, there was still risk of attack by highwaymen in these uncertain times. The villagers had worked out the system themselves, trading off once they knew who would escort the two women onward.
The afternoon was sliding into dusk. Anne looked around at the pleasant shadows and confessed, “It is difficult to leave England at such a time as this.”
“It is difficult to leave one’s home at any time,” Judith replied. “Much less saying good-bye to your own son.”
Anne swallowed down the sudden lump in her throat over the coming separation. “I meant—I was talking about spring coming and the world so beautiful. …” She fought against the fear and dread trying to steal away her peace.
Judith kept her gaze fastened upon the leather reins in her gloved hands. “I simply am wondering if you are able and ready to hear me out.”
“I am desperately sorry to be leaving John.” Anne turned to look at Judith. She tried to match the older woman’s matter-of-fact tone. “And yet I feel at peace with the decision.”
Judith grasped the reins in one hand and reached for Anne’s with her other. “I have watched you come to your decision, and I believe it is the right one, the only course of action in the situation you face.”
Judith again took the reins in both hands. “Anne, my dearest, I care for you as I would my own daughter.”
Anne only nodded. Finally she said, “But you are worried about something—”
“It is nothing, I hope. But yes, I am concerned.” She looked at Anne. “I feel that you and Thomas must give thought to your own safety.”
“Safety—in what way? Do you mean safety if our ship should be attacked?”
“No, my worry has to do with enemies of Charles. You know he has them in high places. Besides, the Dissenters are becoming an increasing irritation to those in power. It is only natural they should have spies among them. People who will buy news for gold.” Judith cast her a tense glance. “News that the parents of Charles’s official heir are taking to the high seas.”
“What are you saying?”
“It is public knowledge that Dissenters have hired this vessel and more than three hundred of their community are moving to Nova Scotia.”
“Yes.” The London broadsheets had reported how these Dissenters had become so disgusted with their rulers and the war that they were renouncing their citizenship and moving away. Starting anew in an area where common decency and faith in God still had a place. “But what does that have to do with us?”
“Imagine for a moment. French warships and privateers scour the waters off our coast, looking for prey.”
Anne’s hand moved to her throat. “You don’t think—”
“I don’t know. But what if news of your departure was intentionally passed to these brigands? Out to sea, who is to know what happened, and by whom?” Now that the worries were spoken, Judith’s obvious distress tightened her voice. “I have had the most dreadful nightmares, both asleep and awake. Charles felt I should not add to your cares, but I could not bear to not at least tell you this much in the event the Lord would want you to take precautions.”
Anne struggled to sort through the sudden torrent of tumbling thoughts. “But it took weeks to find this passage. And there is only the one vessel.”
“There is only one from Portsmouth.”
“What are you saying?”
Judith reined in the horse, then raised one hand to keep their escorts at a distance. “Only one Dissenter vessel is leaving from Portsmouth,” she repeated, her voice low. “All the firebrands who have so vocally opposed the king are traveling on this one. But there are two others departing from Plymouth.”
“Three vessels?”
“The two from Plymouth are not leaving for another week, which would delay your departure. But these other two are departing in relative secrecy. I learned of them only after I confided my torment to the vicar. He has two relatives who journey on the Plymouth boats. May I tell you what I have thought might be a cours
e of action?”
“Please!”
“Here it is, then. Make a public pronouncement of canceling your berths. If there is anything intended against you, and I do so hope I am wrong, that may save others on the Portsmouth vessel from danger. Then secretly buy two new berths upon a vessel departing from Plymouth. There are spaces available. I have checked. This time though …” Judith hesitated, then confessed, “I fear it will sound overly cautious.”
“You think,” Anne supplied for her, “we should travel under assumed names.”
“Only until you are at sea.” The remaining words tumbled out in a rush. “I know it must sound like foolish prattle from a meddling old woman, Anne. But I could not just let you go without speaking. My conscience would not let me rest.”
“Thank you, Judith. Thank you.”
Judith’s grip on the reins slackened, and the horse took that as a signal and began trotting on. “What will you do?” she asked.
“The only thing I can, given the circumstances,” Anne replied. “Discuss it with Thomas.”
That evening, in the bedroom with Thomas, Anne outlined Judith’s conversation, then ended feebly, “I have done a poor job of conveying both her concerns and my own. But there you are.”
Thomas was facing toward the night-shrouded window. In the firelight his features held a grave air. Finally she could stand his silence no longer. “It’s all right. You may tell me that I am being foolish and unduly concerned.”
“You are many things,” he replied, not turning back. “But never that. Never.”
“Then what are you thinking?”
“I have long feared Britain’s rulers are being pressed at the wrong time. The troubles in France, the war with America, the trade woes, Parliament in foment—everything is in turmoil and striking them at once from all sides. I have worried mightily at what impact these confrontations with the Dissenters might have. They are the loudest voice and the weakest force, and thus easily attacked.”
Thomas stared grimly out at the dark, peering intently at something only he could see. “Twice I have written the London churches, beseeching them to cease with this fiery clamor. I have begged them to do so for the sake of their wives and children. For my efforts I have been called a fool, a coward, and a king’s man. Their utter failure to understand my concerns has caused me to question my own judgment.”
“Why have you not told me of this?”
“You have had other things to contend with, my dearest.”
“You are saying Judith is right?”
“Perhaps.” He nodded slowly toward the night. “And perhaps it is something I should have thought of myself. It did not even occur to me that there might be other ships leaving from more distant ports. And the idea of traveling under aliases is most wise. Yes, yes …”
Anne’s sense of relief was unexpected, as were the tears. She dabbed at her eyes. “Forgive me. It has been a very long day.”
“You are quite worn out. And it is not just the work you and Judith have been doing in the villages.” Thomas came over to her chair and laid his hand on her shoulder. “You are preparing for a long and arduous journey. You are leaving your son behind. The war stands in your way. And all you have to look forward to at the other end is an ailing father.”
Hearing Thomas give names to all her concerns only made it harder to hold back the tears. She leaned her face against his hand and wiped at her eyes.
“You are a good and strong woman who is bearing a great deal just now,” Thomas said. He stroked her shoulder for a moment, then said, “Now you must excuse me for a moment.”
“Where are you going?”
“First to see if Maisy can make a cup of tea for you.” Thomas turned to the door as he shrugged into his housecoat. “Then to find Judith and thank her for suggesting what is in truth the only reasonable and prudent course of action.”
Chapter 9
Nicole watched from her perch on the lead wagon as Gordon guided the horses onto the river ferry and secured the wheels. There was no sign of the tension in his expression that in recent days had furrowed his brow and made him distracted, even distant. She had not known how to reach him, though she had tried. In fact, if she were to put any name upon Gordon’s outlook, it was hope.
He had not appeared for dinner at the seminary their last night with Pastor Collins. The next morning she had received a message delivered by John Jackson, of all people, a most unexpected messenger. He explained that the general had suddenly instructed Gordon to travel to the southern depot for horses and wagons and what supplies and crew might be found, and he handed her a short note. She was to be ready to depart the morning of the fourth day. Nothing more, save a declaration of his care for her. Of course it had been penned in haste—the stationery bore the general’s official crest. But she had puzzled over what it could be that remained unsaid between them for some days now.
John Jackson’s surprise appearance was a distraction from further worry. The man’s health had clearly suffered, and Pastor Collins took up with the ministrations Nicole had begun. But simply regular meals were doing him the most good. Gordon’s idea to send him west to oversee work on the farm was a stroke of genius.
Now Nicole sat and observed the man she was soon to wed. No doubt he was thoroughly engaged with this return to his world of ships and sails and sea. Yet this alone did not explain the light in his eyes, the confidence seen in his movements.
Finally the third wagon was loaded and the wheels secured. Gordon waved to the ferrymaster and shouted, “Let’s be off!”
The master and his two mates strained to push the ferry across the river’s current. All three plied great wooden paddles, like long spoons, hooked to three of the ferry’s corners. Like most river people, they were men of very few words, calling tight little instructions to one another. They held the ferry’s nose pointed straight at the opposite shoreline with a skill that under other circumstances Nicole would have found fascinating. But today her concentration was on what was happening in Gordon’s mind and heart.
Gordon climbed easily onto the seat beside her. “What do you think, my dear, should we head farther up the coast or find berths for the night in Cambridge?”
She studied her man. “I don’t know what to think.”
He glanced at her, then at the sun, pulled out his watch and flicked open the cover. “My inclination is to strike north. The coastal roads are all firm in American hands, by what I hear. We should cover a good number of miles before dark and still find an inn without too much difficulty.”
There were any number of questions she wished to put to him, but not while a dozen pairs of ears were within listening range. Gordon’s vessel awaited them up the coast in Marble Harbor, a smaller port not so well patrolled by the British blockade as Boston. She answered quietly, “As you wish.”
He cast her another glance, then sprang down and walked over to Carter’s wagon. The bosun’s horses were scrawny nags, but Nicole knew they were the best that could be had. The only reason Gordon was not more worried about these tired and hungry horses making the journey, he had told her, was that they had so little to carry.
Gordon had selected ten of the best men he could find, all of them well salted—the term used to describe men with experience before the mast, he explained. He had no idea what sort of crew he would find or how many men might be available in Marblehead. But the war had made seasoned men of good health very scarce, and he was worried about taking to sea without a full bevy. But Nicole noted not even that seemed to affect him this morning. He said something in his dry captain’s tone that set all the men to laughing, then turned to Nicole with his smile. “All right, lads,” he called. “Let’s unleash the wagons and be ready to move out soon as the ferry touches ground.”
The off-loading was far swifter, as the horses were nervously eager to leave their watercraft behind. Gordon placed their own wagon first in line. He flicked the reins, turned to ensure that the others followed, then pointed the horses nort
h. When they arrived at the first fork, where the road stone indicated the turning for Cambridge, he said, “Unless you object, my dear, I should prefer to journey onward.”
Nicole smiled and nodded her agreement.
He flicked the reins and headed along the coastal road. “It was truly miraculous, coming upon Jackson after all this time.”
“He improved noticeably while you were gone.” She waited, hoping he might say something more. “Your enlisting him to begin work for us was quite extraordinary.”
Gordon took a moment before responding. “I would call it one of the most remarkable events that has come my way.”
“I was—I was concerned about you, Gordon. I was worried.”
“I apologize once more for missing our dinner.”
“It’s not that.” She gathered the folds of her cloak about her. “I thought I knew you, Gordon. But lately I’ve wondered if you might be reconsidering our marriage.” Her voice dropped nearly to a whisper, then she quickly added, “But this … this new outlook I see in you has me further baffled.”
He cast her a swift look, then turned his face toward the westering sun. “Yes, Nicole, I can imagine that you have had questions. First, though, let me assure you of my love for you.” One hand dropped its hold on the reins to grasp hers.
Nicole glanced behind her, ensuring that the next wagon in line was sufficiently far away, then gave a tremulous smile to Gordon, who was watching her intently. “I am both relieved and reassured to hear you say that,” she said, “but I still don’t understand …” She could not finish the thought.
“Because,” Gordon said, then stopped himself. She feared the one word would be all the answer he was prepared to give. Finally he said, “I had myself the most remarkable conversation with God.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I talked with Him, and He with me. The essence of prayer, I suppose. The reality of the experience is rather foreign to me. I know not how else to describe it. But I went to God with a dilemma. And He in His eternal wisdom gave me an answer, the only answer there is.” He squeezed her hand, then turned his attention forward. “The simple but profound truth is that I must place my trust in Him,” he said as he flipped the reins.
The Beloved Land Page 7