Thorns in Eden and The Everlasting Mountains

by RITA GERLACH

  She tossed the dough it into a greased wooden bowl and laid a piece of cheesecloth over it. Soon it would rise and the cottage would fill with the smell of baking.

  Jane ran her hands across her apron when her oldest son Harry came into the kitchen. He was nine years of age, strong in body, with dark hair and eyes. His arms were loaded down with wood for the fire. His younger brother Christopher, age six, followed behind him with the kindling.

  “We saw a man walking up the hill toward the house,” said Harry. “Do you know him, Papa? He’s coming from the manor.”

  Henry rose from his chair. “Well let’s see who the man might be.”

  “I know him,” announced Christopher with a chipper. “It’s Mr. John from America. He has a flintlock pistol, Da. I bet he’s got a knife too, and fought plenty of Indians and low Frenchmen with it.”

  “More likely it’ll be Redcoats soon enough, my lad.”

  Jane threw her hands to her hips. “Such talk, the lot of you. If the gentleman is coming to see us, don’t pester him with such things as fighting Indians and low Frenchmen. Nor make mention of Redcoats. You mind me.”

  Off the boys scampered while their father watched John Nash walk up the hill. “I wonder why he’s coming’ here, Janie.”

  “Lord knows, my dear. Be sure to offer him some of that pie before you gobble it all down.”

  From his doorway, Henry waved. Nash lifted his hat. “The lad’s got a strong stride, my pet. I imagine living in the frontier makes a man that way.”

  Jane came alongside her husband. “Don’t be angry with me for saying so, my love, but I’ve never seen a handsomer man. It’s a wonder the girls aren’t pining away for such a face.”

  “You can count on it, Janie.”

  * * *

  The first thing John Nash noticed about the Carrow’s cottage was how the thatched roof turned golden brown in the sun—a warm comfortable dwelling, unlike Endfield.

  He pondered how Henry kept the farm, how Brent need not lift a finger. If the Carrows lived in The Thirteen they could own land and keep the profits. Yet, Nash knew first hand that was easier said than done. In the frontier there was much to worry about—famine, fever, drought, and Indian raids. Only the stoutest of souls settled there.

  He knew, too, there were prying eyes at the manor. Deciding not to fight the feelings he had for her, Nash slipped Rebecah a note by way of the chambermaid.

  Once inside, he sat by the fire in Jane’s kitchen. A few moments later, Rebecah stepped through the door. Her eyes met his. Wispy curls touched her cheeks. She pushed back the hood of her cloak and his heart pounded.

  “How many loaves have you baked today, Jane? I smelled the bread coming up the path.”

  “Five in all, miss. I’ll send some up to the house if you think they’d want some.”

  Rebecah put her hand on the oak table. “I’m sure they would, as long as you have enough.”

  “Oh, there’s plenty. I’m sending a loaf home with you too, Mr. Nash.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Carrow.” He smiled. “I leave in the morning on business in the north. We’ll have it with our supper tonight.”

  Rebecah drew in a breath. “For how long, Mr. Nash?”

  He stood. “Miss Brent. Would you walk with me?”

  She agreed and they took the bridle path. “I received your note. The chambermaid promised not to tell anyone where I’ve gone.”

  “It’s a shame we have to meet in secret.”

  “Only because my uncle would not approve.”

  Spears of sunshine streamed through the branches of the trees and dappled the path with light. It was not much different from the woods at Laurel Hill. He described them for her, the tranquil Catoctin Mountains, the teaming forests, the rivers cutting deep into the valley pouring into the Potomac.

  “It sounds like the Garden of Eden.”

  “To me it is. To others it is overrun with thistle and thorns.”

  “My father wrote to me about the Colonies. He never described things like you.”

  “Perhaps he was too busy with military affairs to have noticed.”

  “Will you be returning soon?”

  “Yes, in a few months I think.”

  “But war may come, and you are Sir Rodney’s only son.”

  “My father will support whatever I choose to do.”

  They walked on.

  “Sometimes I wish I had been born a boy.”

  He laughed. “Why?”

  “I could do what you’ve done. For English girls, our lives are planned out for us.”

  “You speak of marriage. You have a choice.”

  “There are consequences no matter what I decide.”

  “I wouldn’t wish Lanley on you for the world.” He kicked a stone and sent it rolling down the path into the dry leaves. “Why would you agree to marry him? You don’t love Lanley, and he has nothing to offer except his estate. I refuse to believe you are the kind to want a man for his money.”

  She looked at him with those beautiful eyes of hers. His heart told him to fight, to claim her before she’d slip through his fingers into the arms of another man.

  “Love is a luxury, Mr. Nash. Better to marry for wealth, I’ve been told. Better to marry a title than a good man who has none. Now you tell me, you’re going away and…”

  They stared at each another. Her lips parted, while her eyes glistened from the sunlight, and a single tear formed in the corner and caught upon her lashes.

  Nash’s heart slammed against his chest, and desperation rose. “You could leave this place.” He stood close and the breeze blew the hem of her cloak around his boots.

  He stopped. “Don’t marry him, Rebecah.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Promise me you won’t do it.”

  He reached for her, kissed her long and soft as the ruby sun slipped above the treetops.

  CHAPTER 13

  Lady Kathryn’s sitting room fell silent when Rebecah walked through the door. Her hands trembled as she removed her gloves. Her face felt flushed and joy pulsed through her veins. Never had she felt so happy. Nash declared his love, and she could hardly concentrate. Her mind whirled wondering if he would next propose.

  Please ask me. I’ll go away with you and love you forever.

  America. Yes, she would go there to begin a new life with the man she loved, and nothing on earth could stop them.

  “Rebecah?” Lady Kathryn sat a swatch of blue silk on her lap. “Where have you been?”

  “Out walking, Aunt.”

  “I grew concerned. It is rather cold out. Are you well?”

  “I am.” A smile trembled over Rebecah’s lips.

  Her ladyship turned her attention back to the petite dolls that modeled the latest fashions. “This is a fine silk, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, It’s very nice, Aunt Kathryn.”

  “It makes for a lovely bridal gown. Do you agree?”

  “Yes, Aunt. But I hope you are not thinking of me.”

  Lady Margaret reached for Rebecah’s hand and drew her down beside her. “Mrs. Rigby. Haven’t you anything else? Say, some light wool or broadcloth?”

  An elegantly dressed woman in a wide-brimmed hat cocked her head to one side, which caused her head of heavily powdered ringlets to sweep over the white lace edging of her bodice. Upon her cheek, she wore a black patch, an odd thing, thought Rebecah, to wear this time of day. Rice powder and rouge made up the rest of her face.

  “These are the latest fashions, my lady.” Mrs. Rigby widened her eyes. “Londoners are paying top dollar.”

  Lady Kathryn sighed. “Expense is no matter.”

  Rebecah listened to the conversation and then looked over at Lady Margaret. The tone of her voice was soft yet firm, and the way she carried herself was so unlike other genteel women. She graciously voiced strong opinions on matters of politics and religion, yet with temperance. Her charity was renowned, though she herself never spoke of it. Rebecah felt the sudden impul
se to know her better. She wondered, too, what Lady Margaret would say if she knew her son had confessed his love for her.

  “Why waste money on such extravagance? One does not need a silk or brogue for every day of the week.”

  Mrs. Rigby leaned forward. “Because of your status, my lady, it is a necessity.” She chose a chocolate from a box on the table and popped it into her mouth.

  Lady Margaret looked over at Rigby and smiled. “I don’t care much for status, nor for fancy silk gowns. I’ll buy twenty yards of this gray broadcloth.”

  “For charity no doubt.” Mrs. Rigby smiled, her cheek puffed out with more chocolate. “But perhaps this blue would be a bit more cheery?”

  “Yes, perhaps.” Lady Margaret studied it. “I’ll take twenty yards of that also.”

  Rebecah stepped forward. “It’s a lovely color, my lady. Like the sky in winter.”

  Lady Kathryn looked at her niece confused. “What has come over you, Rebecah? No offense, Margaret, but the color is dull.”

  Lady Margaret leaned toward Rebecah, while Lady Kathryn finalized her transaction with Mrs. Rigby. “Has my son gone home?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “It’s alright, Rebecah. I know how he feels about you.”

  “He told you?”

  “Yes, last night. I assure you his feelings are true and honorable.”

  Lady Kathryn handed Rigby back a doll and bid her good day. Once she was out of the room, Lady Kathryn spoke.

  “A letter came to me a little while ago from Sir Cecil. He requests you go to Ashburne and get the house in order. You are to make a list of all repairs and changes that must be done, and a list of all the furnishings. You may leave tomorrow.”

  So Lanley thought this would cinch an engagement? She would go, yes. Escape, yes. Change anything, make lists, never. And above all, she would refuse Lanley.

  Lavinia entered the room.

  “This is as good a time as any,” said Lady Kathryn. “I would not dream of having Dorene go with you. She’d get up to no good, I’m sure. Lavinia can go with you.”

  Lavinia shook her head. “No, Mother. I’m not feeling well. I came to tell you, I think I am coming down with something.”

  “Well, then go to bed.”

  “May I have some broth in my room?”

  “Yes, of course, my dear.” Lavinia leaned down to kiss her mother’s cheek, but Lady Kathryn held up her hand. “It would not be wise, Lavinia.”

  Hugh’s hound scampered into the room. A rope dangled from her middle. “Mama!” A curl fell over Hugh’s eyes and he brushed it away. “I had Jess pull my wagon. It’s my chariot of fire, and she’s my steed. But I’m tired of it now.”

  “I imagine you are worn out, my darling.” Lady Kathryn ran her fingers through his hair.

  “Come upstairs and play soldiers, Becah.” He turned to her. “I’ll be the Yankee, like John Nash, and you can be the Redcoat. Lavinia can be an Indian.”

  Lavinia moaned. “We did that yesterday.”

  Rebecah looked into his sweet face and a pain seized her. She gathered the child into her arms and hugged him. A shadow then fell across the floor.

  March stood erect by the sitting room door. “It is bedtime for Master Hugh.”

  Lady Kathryn kissed Hugh’s cheek. “Be good, my darling. Do as you are told, and do not forget to say your prayers.”

  Hugh sauntered off, his dog trailing behind him. And while Lady Kathryn’s eyes were upon her young son as he left the room, Lady Margaret reached over and touched Rebecah’s hand.

  “I’ll be sure he knows where you have gone.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Snow drifted across the land, frosting the hedges and fieldstone walls, settling in the niches of Ashburne. A rider set on a fine chestnut gelding marked his destination by the light burning in the distance. The flame swayed and sparkled inside a brass lantern hanging from a pole beyond the door. His coming there was unknown to Rebecah as she sat near the fire, upon the looped rug that had been there before she was born.

  The wood seethed and crackled. She stretched her hands out to warm them. Nothing had changed in the years she had lived there—the same furnishings, the same books, the same painting over the mantle of a foxhunt.

  Margery stepped inside and handed down a mug of hot beef broth. “Here’s something to take away the chill.”

  “Thank you, Margery. I’ve missed your broths—and Ashburne.” Rebecah took it in both hands. The clay mug felt warm.

  “It’s been lonely since you went to live at Endfield.”

  “I’m sorry you’re here alone.”

  “You do understand why I’ve taken another position, don’t you?”

  Rebecah sipped the broth. “I would do the same if I were you.”

  “It’s a good house and Hampshire is a lovely part of England. The gentleman is one of those Parliament men, and his wife is a godly woman to be sure, firm with her children. I think I shall be happy there.”

  Rebecah thought about this new turn in Margery’s life. “You’re happiest with people to care for. As for Ashburne, I shall not see it again.”

  Margery brows shot up. “Why not?”

  “Life is leading me somewhere else, somewhere far away.”

  “God will have to get Samuel Brent out of the way for you to have any freedom at all.” Margery frowned and dusted off the table next to her with her apron.

  “I’m not frightened of him.” Rebecah reached for the servant’s wrinkled hands. “Do you know Sir Rodney Nash’s son?”

  “The one who left England to live in Maryland?”

  “Yes. Promise you will be silent. Promise, Margery.”

  “I haven’t any right to speak a word of what you’ve said. But a Colonist is not the man for you. It means you going to that heathen country and living a poor life and…”

  “I’ll go away with him, rich or poor.”

  “It’s just a fancy…”

  “I assure you it is not. And he is not a poor man. He owns land and is prosperous and respected.”

  “But the Colonies? Such dangers are there. Why just the other day in the market a soldier told the crowd how Indians kill white women by the dozens or capture them for wives. They take the slave women too.”

  Rebecah sighed. “I would not believe everything you hear.”

  Appearing dismayed, Margery shook her head. “Are you that much in love?”

  “I believe I am.”

  “Are those his letters that have been arriving for the last three weeks?”

  “They are.”

  “Well, for a man to write so often to a lady either means he is in love with her, or after her money.”

  “I have little in the way of money.”

  “Yes but whoever marries you inherits Ashburne.”

  Rebecah knew Nash did not care about some crumbling estate house in England or any money it might bring. The way he talked about his Eden made her love him more.

  Someone lifted the heavy iron knocker and let it fall.

  “Who could it be at this hour?” Margery complained. “A beggar, no doubt. I shall not answer.”

  Rebecah dashed from the room. She pulled back the bolt and opened the door. A gust of wind forced itself inside, and Margery moved Rebecah back with her hand and held the candle high. Quivering light fell upon a man in a black cloak and hat. Flecks of snow lay on his shoulders and in his hair. He took a step forward and pulled off his hat, revealing a handsome face.

  “Would you be so kind as to give shelter to a traveler?” He addressed Margery, but his eyes turned to Rebecah. She wanted to run to him, throw her arms around his neck.

  Margery protested. “I will not! We are but two women here alone. I’ll not have a strange man under this roof. Go to the barn. There’s hay a plenty to keep you warm and oats for your horse.”

  “Let the gentleman in, Margery. He is a friend.”

  Margery did as her mistress ordered, and he stepped over the threshold. She closed and bolt
ed the door. Nash took off his cloak, shook the snow from it, and handed it over.

  “I shall not sleep sound in my bed tonight,” Margery tossed it over her arm. “Unless you’re loyal to His Majesty King George and swear to do right by two women.”

  Nash inclined his head and smiled. “The King will not lose sleep over my politics tonight, and neither should you, madam. As far as doing right by you and the lady, you’ve nothing to fear from me.”

  Margery huffed her way over to the fire and put his cloak across the back of a chair to dry. “Well then, you’ll not mind knowing I keep a pistol under my pillow and that the floors of this old house creak.”

  “Margery, this is John Nash—Sir Rodney’s son.”

  “Is he? Well, it ain’t proper you should come here at this hour, sir. Tongues will wag.”

  “Only if you do the wagging.” Rebecah turned her toward the door. “Now, go to the kitchen and bring back a plate of food for Mr. Nash. He looks hungry.”

  Margery toddled off, mumbling under her breath.

  “I did not give you fair warning. Forgive me.” Nash sat in a chair near the fire. “It was growing dark and the snow deepens.”

  “It’s alright. Standforth is still a distance, and you needed shelter.”

  “Truly that is the reason I stopped.”

  Rebecah lowered to the carpet. He noticed her feet were bare and was quick to point out how lovely they were in the glow of the fire, how her hair fell in thick waves over one shoulder, and how her skin glowed in the firelight.

  “Were you able to finish your business in the north?”

  “Yes, I’m free of it. I stayed three days with a man of my father’s acquaintance. I’m more than convinced I’ve done the right thing after talking with him, plus I had plenty of time to think. And you, I could not get out of my mind, day or night.”

  Margery brought in a tray. “Here’s a meal for you, sir, with good English ale. I daresay it will taste better than any Mr. Adams could offer.”

  “Thank you,” Nash said. “If I see Mr. Adams, I’ll tell him you said so.”

  Rebecah smiled and watched him while he ate the stew. He paused and gazed back at her.