by RITA GERLACH
“Well, you are awake at last.”
“How long have I slept?”
“Two days. You were bone weary when you came to us. It’s a miracle Mr. Brennan found you, else you would have caught your death of cold and died out there. We had a biting rain, you see, and the wind had been howling all day. Not fit for man or beast. But Mr. Brennan takes his daily walk in all kinds of weather. I can’t say how surprised I was when he rushed through the front door with you in his arms, dripping wet and looking like a vagabond.”
She went on knitting. Eliza tried to absorb all she had said. “Whose house is this?”
“Mr. Brennan’s, of course. Don’t you know Fairview?”
Eliza shook her head. “No.”
“It belonged to his cousin, George Brennan, whom I served for many years. He passed on, God rest his soul, and Mr. Brennan inherited the estate. And a good thing, too, having had no real home of his own.”
A moment, and she set the needles and wool on her lap. “He has suffered much in his life, and has had losses no one should. But I shall not tell you of them. If he wants you to know, then he’ll tell you all about it. I will say that Fairview has been a haven for him. It has been a house that draws the wayward, the lost, and the brokenhearted. Like you, miss. You were lost, and now you’re found.”
Mrs. Hart wiggled her head, as if to indicate she had seen many a stranger come and go. The door opened, and in stepped Mr. Brennan. “Leave us, Mrs. Hart, if you please.”
After Mrs. Hart had gathered her knitting basket and shut the door, Mr. Brennan took hold of the chair and drew it up to the bedside. Eliza pulled the covers up closer to her chin.
“I take it the rest you’ve had has improved you.” He cleared his throat. “If you wish to tell me your story, I will listen. I am not judge or jury. I only wish to help you, if you will let me.”
His kindness warmed her. The expression in his eyes was unlike Hayward’s. His were stern, aloof, and often stoic, whereas this man had a light within his eyes that came from his soul, an unearthly brightness that burned deep, not for her as a woman, but for her as a fellow human being. It seemed to Eliza that Brennan looked upon, or rather sought her heart— her true self.
“Someone has hurt you,” he said. “I can tell your pain is great. That is why you ran away. Am I right?”
“My pain is my own, sir. I will not burden you or anyone else with it.”
“Well, I’ll have Mrs. Hart bring you up a tray. You must be very hungry.” He stood to leave.
“Please, do not go. I take back what I said. Let me talk to you now. And when I am finished, if you wish me gone, I shall go immediately. But first call your wife, so I may speak to her first.”
Sorrow suddenly flinched over his face. “I have no wife— not now. It’s been many years ago. She died.”
“I am sorry. I should not have asked . . .”
“A fire took her, one night three years ago. We had a fierce storm. Lightning struck the roof and ignited it. I tried to save her and our little girl, but I failed. My son and I are what is left of our little family.”
“How terrible. I know how it feels to lose someone, but not in that way. Is that the reason for your . . . ?”
He nodded. “Scars? Ugly, are they not? They have been my cross to bear and a constant reminder of that awful night every time I look in the mirror or see my reflection in a window. As for Emily, I know she waits for me in Heaven. God has given me a great deal of comfort in that knowledge.”
Eliza regarded Mr. Brennan. Indeed, his life had been tragic. To lose the one you love and a child in such a way would have caused her to go out of her mind. She wondered how he had survived such excruciating pain. Barely was she able to carry the grief of losing Ilene, and then her separation from Darcy.
He sat still and looked down at his clasped hands. She noticed he still wore his wedding band.
“You speak of Heaven. I wish you had left me to die. My parents and my child are there.”
Brennan frowned and lifted her away from the pillows by her shoulders. “Do not ever wish for that, even when you miss them. Life is a gift, no matter what you have been through. And think of the others who would be hurt by your death. Wishing for it is a selfish thing.”
She gazed into his troubled eyes, saw the gentle nature of the man as well as the pain he lived with. Her eyes filled, and she gasped. “I am just so . . . alone.” She fell against his shoulder, and he allowed her to cry. When she realized a stranger held her, she pulled away and briskly wiped her face dry.
“You must tell me who you are. You understand, don’t you?” He stood and went to the door. “I will be downstairs in my study.”
After the latch on the door had clicked shut and his footfalls had faded away, she climbed from the bed and dressed. Yes. She would tell him. She had to tell someone.
32
The door to Mr. Brennan’s study stood open a few inches, enough for Eliza to see him at his desk working and to know she was welcomed. He wore spectacles, and when he sensed her presence, he looked up from the books before him, pulled off his glasses, and stood.
“Please. Come inside.” He stepped away from his desk. “You might find it a bit austere in here, but I haven’t had . . . there is no . . .”
“I understand,” Eliza said. “But it is pleasant room. You have a magnificent view.” She crossed the room to a large bay window. Beyond it she admired the green fields dotted with sheep, and the line of thick forest in the distance. The sunlit blue sky hung cloudless.
“Indeed.” He joined her. Then he turned to her, and she to him. “Now, tell me who you are. I must call you by some name.”
She sat down in the window seat, her hands clasped. “My name is Eliza.”
He bowed short. “A lovely name. I had an aunt named Eliza. And what brought you to the fields near my house?”
“I was sent here.” She went on to explain. Eliza hung her head. “I had no idea my husband would do such a thing.”
“So you are abandoned here. You cannot go to his mother, for no doubt she will have nothing to do with you. But if you wish it, I shall write to her.”
“I am afraid that would do no good. But I thank you.” She looked at him as he stood in the light of the window. “Part of me wants to conceal my story. But if I could tell someone, it might help.” Though he was a stranger, she felt she could trust Mr. Brennan and that he would aid her in any way he could.
He sat in the chair across from her. “Where does your mother-in-law live?”
“Havendale.”
Instantly he lifted his hand away from his chin. “Havendale? I am familiar with that estate. I ministered there, at Saint Anthony’s.”
Shocked, Eliza felt her mouth drop open, and she gasped. “Then you are the clergyman who took my father’s place. He was Matthias Bloome.”
Equally surprised, Brennan scooted to the edge of his chair. “Yes. I came there after his passing. You were gone by then. I can hardly believe it.”
“And you, your wife, and five children came to live there with you. This is quite amazing, Mr. Brennan.” Oh, his loss. Again he has been reminded. But where are the other four children?
“You were told wrong, Eliza. Emily and I arrived with two children—I left with one—my son. The vicarage was destroyed in the fire. We stayed briefly with a few kind parishioners, but then I received word that my cousin, George Brennan, had left his estate to me. I am raising my son here and God willing shall see him fully-grown. Although I have no pulpit to preach from, and have retired from the church, I am able to devote myself to my studies and to give aid to those in need— like you.”
Eliza shook her head. “I am so amazed I can hardly speak, sir.”
“It is a miracle, I would say.”
Eliza clenched her hands. He, a retired clergyman, should not have a person like her in his house. “I shall leave once you have heard my story.”
“You are free to go if you wish it. But I insist you stay until yo
u are strong enough. Now, tell me about your life, dear girl. What brought you so much sorrow, and why did your husband cast you aside?”
She bent her head and stood silent. While she rallied her courage, Brennan stared at her intently. She then poured out the course of her life, from meeting Hayward on the moor; to her journey and life at River Run; about her dear Darcy, Ilene, Fiona, and Sarah; and then Halston and her fall from grace.
Before he could prevent her, she collapsed back onto the window seat near where she had stood, and laid her head in her folded arms. Her whole frame trembled, and her tears were silent. He bade her rise, but she could not.
A few minutes went by, and then Eliza sat up and wiped her face with the back of her hand. Brennan stood at an arm’s distance, his face etched sharply with concern. “You need have no fear of being cast from this house. I shall pray the Lord gives you the peace you need.”
“I am sorry, Mr. Brennan. I did not mean to cry.”
“You miss those you love. It is understandable.”
“God has a right to punish me for what I have done.”
“And He has the right to forgive all of our sins, no matter how great or how small. Do you believe this?”
No one had asked her that before. “Yes . . . I think for the first time I do.”
“Then you must forgive yourself. I believe God has led you to Fairview for a purpose. Do not answer me now, but would you be willing to be a governess to my son? I had thought of sending him away to school, but I cannot bear the idea of him gone. I will pay you, of course, not much, but a bit for you to put by. And you will have food and lodging. And then . . . if we find a way whereby you may be with your daughter, you will have all you need to accomplish that.”
Brennan leaned toward her. “Ah, I see you are contemplating the offer. Perhaps you should meet my son.” The door drifted open, and a boy with straight brown hair poked his head around the corner. “Come in, Ethan. Meet our guest.”
Eliza thought him a handsome lad. His dark brown eyes looked straight into hers as he walked inside and stood near his father. He held out his hand and shook Eliza’s.
“This is my son, Ethan.” Brennan laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“How do you do, Ethan? You have a firm grip for a boy your age.”
“Thank you, Miss Eliza,” he said. “You were lost, and father found you?”
A quick glance at Mr. Brennan, and she smiled for the first time in many days. “It is true, Ethan. I had lost my way. But I think I may have found it again.”
33
Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. But the anguish of Hayward’s rejection and her separation from Darcy stayed with Eliza with every sweep of the clock’s hands. At night, with her head upon the pillow and her eyes fixed on the ceiling above her, she prayed fervently for them both—and for Fiona and Sarah. When dawn broke and light streamed through the window, she’d wake with an aching heart. But Ethan gave her solace, and she poured herself into her new role. Mr. Brennan promised to pay her fifteen pounds annum, which was all he could afford, along with a roof above her head for the rest of her natural life if she desired it.
Winter days were short. In the evenings, she joined Mr. Brennan and Ethan at the dinner table, and read to them by the fire afterwards until it was time for Ethan to go to bed. Then she would leave Mr. Brennan alone with his thoughts and memories. A deep friendship had formed between them, and soon she would sit with him for an hour or more and they would talk of various things.
A hint of spring’s promised arrival soon lingered in the air, and the fields that surrounded Fairview were lush green and scented with scythed grass. On one such day, Eliza sat in a sunlit room penning another letter to Hayward. She knew it would take months to reach him, but she had written two other letters before and never received a word in reply. She hoped he would have read the letters she enclosed to Darcy. Darcy had to know she still loved her and missed her with all her heart, that her mother had not abandoned her.
In her first missive to him, she wrote rapidly and with emotion, asking him why he had deceived her. No matter what had happened, they were man and wife in God’s eyes, and should be together until death would part them. She wrote the second with more constraint, but begged him again to send Fiona with Darcy to her, that a girl needed her mother, and to send Sarah as well if she desired a new life. She had discussed this ardent request with Mr. Brennan first, and he had agreed.
So now, the third letter lay before her, and she held the pen above the paper, searching for words that would persuade him. What more could she say to Hayward that would soften his stony heart? A seed of bitterness had rooted deep within him.
A fox out in the field barked and caused her to look up. From the window, she watched it run toward the woods and disappear within them. Then her eyes shifted to the end of the lane. A woman, carrying a hefty carpetbag and wearing a gray cloak and wide-brimmed hat, walked with hurried steps toward the house.
Perhaps she has an appointment with Mr. Brennan and thinks she is late. But he is away. Then it must be a friend of Mrs. Hart’s. She looked down at her letter, then back up again. She reminds me of Fiona.
“Most likely she is in need of work, Roscoe. I hope Mrs. Hart has something for her to do. She is only here part of the time.” She stroked the ears of the orange cat that sat on the edge of the desk. Roscoe blinked his green eyes and licked a paw.
On the carpet, Ethan had spread out his father’s atlas and stretched out to study it. “I cannot find the Potomac, Miss Eliza. I see the Hudson, though.”
“Look further down the map, Ethan, to Maryland. You will see the Chesapeake.” She kept her eyes fixed on the cloaked woman.
Ethan chirped. “There is the bay, and here is the Po . . . to . . . mac. I think I should like to see that river someday when I am grown. Do they have horses there?”
“Of course.”
“And do they have farms for breeding?”
“Yes.”
“I read that George Washington had a grand horse named Blue Stockings. I do not think King George had a warhorse like the president’s. I prefer the American quarter horses and Arabians. I would like to own an American quarter horse someday.”
Eliza continued to stare at the woman, who paused a moment, set her bag down and looked as though she had stopped to catch her breath. She lifted her bag again with a heave-ho attitude and walked a bit quicker. Then, with a start, Eliza dropped her pen. The cat leapt from the desk almost toppling the inkwell. Eliza stood. The realization of who the woman was hit her. Surprise pulsed through her, and she moved around the desk, closer to the open window.
By now the woman had reached the house, and Eliza looked down at the top of her hat. “Fiona?” she called out, giddy with joy. “Fiona, is that you?”
The woman stretched her neck back and looked up at the window. A broad smile swept across her face and her eyes brightened. She dropped her bag and cried out, “Eliza, my girl! I’ve come. He sent me. Couldn’t stand me a minute longer.”
With hurried breath, Eliza charged from the window, out the door, and down the staircase. She pulled open the front door and ran out into Fiona’s arms. They embraced, laughed, and wept tears of joy.
“Mr. Hayward said he no longer needed me, that he couldn’t stand my nagging ways,” Fiona said, speaking rapidly. “I badgered him day in and day out about you, when you were coming home, when he was going to sail to England and bring you back. He would not answer, so I hounded him until he told me it was I who had to go to England, not him.”
Eliza squeezed Fiona’s hand. “I begged him to send you. I have missed you so much. But how did you know where to find me?”
“Your letters said you were at Fairview. Mr. Hayward knows of it and shoved the directions in my hand as I was going out the door.”
Fiona paused and looked into Eliza’s eyes. Then she gently placed her hands on Eliza’s face. “I know what he did, my girl. He told me. I cannot tell you how long I stayed o
n my knees praying for you. But all shall be well, won’t it?”
Eliza looked past Fiona to the lane as if she thought Darcy would suddenly appear. “Darcy? He would not let you bring her?”
Fiona’s smile faded. “He would not. He has sent her to live with William and Mari Breese. He said it is best, for Darcy has five cousins, all girls.”
“Is she healthy and happy?” asked Eliza.
“Healthy as can be. Happy too. But she asks for you all the time.”
“She is young. You know, Fiona, in time she will forget me. Come inside.”
“Whose house is this?”
“My employer’s.”
Fiona gasped. “You are a maid?”
“No, a governess.”
Saddened over Darcy but happy to have Fiona, Eliza put her arm across the woman’s shoulder and drew her inside the house. Ethan stood in the foyer staring, and when Eliza introduced Fiona and explained who she was, the boy welcomed her to Fairview.
“He’s quite the little gentleman,” Fiona said.
“Indeed he is. His papa, Mr. Brennan, is out taking his daily walk and will not be back for an hour. I’ll see you settled in the room next to mine, and when he returns we shall speak with him.”
“He may not let me stay, Eliza. You must be prepared for that. I can find work nearby. As long as I can see you, that is all that matters.”
Ethan turned to Eliza. “May I go down to the creek, Miss Eliza?” He held up a jar. “I want to catch minnows for Roscoe.”
“Yes, but be back within the hour.”
Despite Fiona’s concerns, Eliza lifted the hem of her gown and led her upstairs. Her quarters were at the far end of a long corridor, and there were several empty rooms in the great old house. They talked for the next hour about all that had happened.
Fiona sat on the edge of the bed and folded her hands in her lap. “Mr. Hayward is so changed. He is not the man you wedded but has grown coarse and sullen. And he has given in to drink. I have to say, I am glad to be far away from him. He became cruel toward Sarah, working her to the bone. I would have brought her with me, but she left River Run. She did not say where she was going, only that she was called away. I wished Mr. Hayward had allowed me to bring Darcy. But he would have none of it, and insisted she was better off where she was.”