Thorns in Eden and The Everlasting Mountains

by RITA GERLACH

  “Aren’t you going to have any? It’s good.”

  “I’ve had mine.” She leaned against the chair behind her. He continued gazing at her, the corners of his mouth turning into a smile. After one more mouthful, he put the spoon down and drank his ale.

  “She’s wrong. American ale is better.” He dug back into the stew. “So, does Brent still plan to marry you off to Lanley?”

  “Yes.”

  “You will stay in England and I’ll go home to Laurel Hill, unless you’ve decided differently.”

  “I’ve decided long ago not to marry him, if that is what you mean.”

  Taking her hands in hers, he knelt. “Rebecah, marry me.”

  “Marry you?”

  “Yes,” he said, his eyes shining.

  “I am not an easy person to live with.”

  “Nor am I.”

  “I am sullen and quiet. I read constantly, and I’m not always a lady. Some say I speak my mind too boldly, and I should be more reserved.”

  “What you mean to say is you think deeply about things and settle your mind by being alone. And your hands are the loveliest I’ve seen. Your hair is beautiful, and you should wear it like that all the time. You’re self-educated and like to ride bareback. You have opinions worth hearing, and have a lively spirit.”

  She lowered her eyes.

  “You are everything I admire—all I want.”

  They were silent a moment, the fire the only sound in the room. He kept her hands within his.

  She laid her head against his chest. “Last night, I dreamed you left. I woke with the most awful feeling I would never see you again.”

  Nash took her in his arms and his lips touched hers. She closed her eyes. “Oh, I feel as if I’m floating,” she said with quickened breath. “And my heart, it pounds so.”

  “Then come away with me. We can leave tomorrow. I’ll take you to Standforth first, to tell my father and Lady Margaret. They’ll keep our secret until we have gone.”

  She leaned against him, rested her head on his shoulder. The fire crackled and seethed. Wind whispered. They talked long into the night, of their plans, their dreams, until the hall clock struck out midnight and they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  * * *

  Morn approached. The house felt cold, but the coziness of it remained. Together they breakfasted on warm scones and tea. Before they were through, Margery burst into the room.

  “There’s a rider making his way to the house. It looks like Henry Carrow.”

  Rebecah hurried to the window and looked outside. The sky was heavy with clouds, the land heavy in snow. After a moment, she recognized Henry and the horse he rode.

  Cold air rushed inside the house when Margery opened the door. Henry climbed off his horse. He looked exhausted, frozen from the journey. Hastily dressed, his shirt poked through the top of his coat. His woolen scarf was tied in a knot at his throat and his hat sat awry on his head. His boots were his field boots.

  Rebecah drew him inside. “Henry. What is it? Is something the matter?”

  “I came as fast as I could.” Henry breathed hard. “You’re needed back at Endfield.” He glanced over at Nash standing in the doorway of the sitting room. “Hello, Mr. John. Didn’t know you’d be here.”

  “Margery, get Henry something warm to drink,” Rebecah said. “Henry, Mr. Nash was caught in the snow.”

  Henry shook his head. “The wind were fierce, weren’t it? I’m glad the snow didn’t come too deep, else I don’t think I would have made it here.”

  “Come sit by the fire,” she urged. “What has happened at Endfield? Tell me.”

  In front of the fire, Henry put out his hands and rubbed them vigorously. “Her ladyship and Miss Lavinia are sick. The fever, that’s what’s got them and some folks in the village. The doctor says he’s quarantining the whole place and the bordering farms.”

  Dread stole inside Rebecah. “And my uncle? Has he remained in London?”

  “Aye,” Henry frowned, drinking Margery’s hot broth. “I suppose he’ll be coming home. Lady Kathryn called for me and told me to find you. She wants you with her.”

  “Then we must go,” Rebecah said urgently.

  “I’ll saddle your horse for you.” Henry set his mug down and left. He looked over at Nash worried. “Mr. John, word is this thing has spread as far as Standforth. Your parents are at risk.”

  Nash looked startled. “Then I must leave immediately.” He picked up his hat and cloak, reached for Rebecah’s hand and held it. “I’ll ride with you to the border of Endfield to be sure you and Henry arrive safe. Send me word as soon as you can. And when this is over…”

  She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I know, Jack.”

  They left Ashburne and headed across the stark land beneath the misty sky. At Endfield’s gate, behind the hedge of trees, Nash leaned over in the saddle, put his arm around Rebecah and kissed her goodbye. Then he pulled down his hat against the wind, turned his horse and galloped off.

  What he could not know was the feeling of dread that stabbed her while she watched him race up the hillside and disappear over it.

  CHAPTER 15

  The moment Rebecah entered through the front door, March came down the stairs with a washbowl and a towel. Dark circles were under the woman’s eyes.

  “Thank God you’re back.”

  “How are they?”

  “Lady Kathryn is sleeping, but will want to see you. The doctor said if they make it through the night, they would recover. But thus far it has been a terrible struggle.”

  Rebecah hurried to take off her cloak and gloves. “I shall sit with Lady Kathryn.”

  Dorene stood motionless six steps up, her hand on the banister. Her dark eyes bore down on Rebecah.

  “Hugh is safe, Dorene, and you?”

  “What do you care? I know what you’ve been up to. And you’ll never know how much I hate you for it.”

  Rebecah, troubled by her cousin’s words, went to pass her. “Why must you be so jealous of me?”

  “You give me good cause to be.”

  “Perhaps when this is over we should talk. This is hardly the time to discuss our differences. Go and rest.”

  “How dare you tell me what to do? You give me cause, I say.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Dorene grabbed Rebecah by the arm. “You do!”

  Rebecah jerked herself free. “I do not. Now, let me pass.”

  “So you can run to my mother? You’ve always been so crafty with her. She has taken your side too many times. But now she’s too sick to protect you.”

  “I’ll not stand here and argue,” Rebecah told her with force. Pulling her arm away, she moved on. Dorene followed.

  “Father will be back soon, if he thinks it’s urgent enough to pull away from business.” Dorene shoved her hair away from her face and gripped the stair rail. “I expect he will be interested to know you went to Ashburne.”

  “Why should he care? Ashburne is my home.”

  Dorene laughed under her breath. “I looked out the upstairs window and saw a man with you at the gate. I saw him embrace you and then ride off. It was Jack.”

  “He was on his way to Standforth.”

  “Was he escorting you from Ashburne?”

  “He helped me here.”

  “From Ashburne?”

  “That is all I shall tell you.”

  “You had Henry.”

  “The roads were treacherous.”

  “I’m going to tell my father you were with Jack. You’ve stood in my way for too long.”

  “Your imagination is too strong and misdirected, Dorene. Do not let it lead you too far astray.”

  “It shall lead me to ruining you.”

  Lady Kathryn called from down the corridor. Upon entering, Rebecah rushed to her aunt’s bedside. Dorene remained in the doorway. Rebecah knew Dorene was afraid she would catch the sickness if she entered. She covered her mouth with a handkerchief, waited a mome
nt to see if her mother wanted her, and then left.

  Lady Kathryn’s hand felt hot. Fever ravished her body. Red blotches covered her skin. Her breathing labored and her lungs were congested. She looked thin, pale as her bed sheets. The quick smile she once gave, looked lined and forlorn, her lips white and cracked. Rebecah held a glass of water to her ladyship’s lips and tried to get her to drink. She only had enough strength to wet them.

  Rebecah had listened to a horse galloping down the drive toward the house. She hoped it were her uncle. March walked inside Lady Kathryn’s room with a letter.

  “Word has come from Sir Samuel. He wishes you, Dorene, and Master Hugh to leave Endfield immediately. The three of you will be safer in London, away from the sickness.”

  Rebecah looked over at March. “I cannot leave.”

  “Sir Samuel does not want his grief compounded.”

  “Since Dorene and Hugh have stayed out of the sickrooms they should go. I’ll stay.”

  “You’ll have to answer to your uncle why you disobeyed his orders.”

  Lady Kathryn coughed violently, and Rebecah turned to her.

  “I’ll keep it in mind, Mrs. March. Now, please bring the water inside. I shall need clean bed sheets. Burn the others. Lady Kathryn will need bathing and a clean shift to wear. We must do the same for Lavinia.”

  “If you think it will ease their suffering I will do as you say.”

  The lady, Rebecah believed to be the most beautiful among her family, had grown frail as a plucked rose, her bright eyes dull, her hair disheveled about her drenched body. Kathryn Brent uttered incoherently as she fell deeper into the grip of fever. Breathing grew more difficult as the minutes went by.

  Rebecah heard the commotion outside the room. Hugh called for his mother, pleaded he not be sent away. It cut deep within her he could not see her. Jess howled. She heard Dorene scold her brother.

  Wondering if she had made the right choice, she went to the window and saw the footman strap a trunk to the back of the coach, while the coachman held the door open for Dorene. As soon as the door shut, the coachman climbed back to his perch, cracked his whip, and the coach rumbled away. Jess ran after it and stopped at the gates.

  “Samuel?” Kathryn searched a void. “Are you here?”

  Rebecah turned. “He is on his way.” She stroked Lady Kathryn’s hair, and hoped it were true. “Rest easy. March has sent him word you are ill, and I’ve no doubt he is close by.”

  Lady Kathryn grabbed Rebecah’s hand. “Pray for me. I’m afraid.”

  “It will be alright.”

  “Lavinia?”

  “March is with her.”

  Kathryn Brent drifted off. March entered the room. She would sit with her awhile if Rebecah would go to Lavinia. She ran her hands over her eyes, and left her aunt in March’s care.

  For over an hour, Rebecah soothed Lavinia’s head with a cool cloth, brushed out her hair, and assured her she would recover quicker if she tried to drink the broth March left on the table beside the bed. But in the other room, Kathryn Brent grew worse, and March called for her.

  The light coming through the windows of the house grew dim. Twilight came and the house grew colder. Stressful hours dragged with the howling wind, and a slow wet snowfall brushed the windowpanes. Rebecah’s eyes grew heavy and she fell to sleep with her head nestled in her arm. Her hand held tight to Lady Kathryn’s, just as she had held her father’s hand the night he died.

  When dawn broke, Rebecah opened her eyes. Ruby clouds stretched across the sky beyond the enormous window in the bedchamber. She looked over into her aunt’s quiet face. Kathryn breathed out slowly. Her hand slipped down along the bedclothes. The long night of the soul had ended. Like a candle flame it vanished and left a trace of its vapor to linger a moment. Rebecah stared at her aunt’s face and trembled.

  “I’m glad I was with you,” she whispered. She wept, desperate with grief and hating death.

  Samuel Brent arrived too late to console his wife in her final hour. He would not go into Lavinia’s room, for like Dorene, he fear he would catch the fever. With a heavy gait, he stepped inside the bedchamber. Rebecah stood behind him with March. He stopped at the edge of the bed, gazed at his dead wife, the glow of a candle alighting upon her face. He fell forward with a cry and gathered up his lady’s lifeless body in his arms.

  “Kate, my dear Kate,” he wept.

  Rebecah could not fight the tears, and she knew to leave him alone. She turned and walked down the corridor, numb with sorrow.

  * * *

  Brent sent a courier to London ordering the return of his daughter and son. A private service was held at Endfield on Tuesday. The body of Kathryn Brent was borne from the house to the Brent mausoleum overlooking green fields. Old trees shadowed one side, and a pond mirrored the sky of swift moving clouds.

  A funeral drum marked the procession. With each repetitious beat, Rebecah felt her heart break a little more. Lady Margaret walked beside her, while John Nash walked in the rear with his father. She turned her head and looked at him. She could not smile today.

  The minister opened his prayer book. “We are but dust,” he read.

  Rebecah felt her heart lurch.

  “And to dust we shall return.”

  Her eyes filled. The finality struck her. Where could she find the comfort in such words?

  Lady Margaret grabbed her hand and held it. “All is not lost. All is not forgotten. The day shall come when God shall wipe away all our tears. There shall be no more death, or mourning, or crying, or pain. For the old order of things shall pass.”

  The wrought iron gate was shut and the mourners moved away. Rebecah looked back to see her uncle standing alone in front of the tomb. She went in a different direction from the others, down the grassy hill toward Merry Marsh Church.

  Dim daylight made its way through the windows. She collapsed in the last pew, buried her face in her arms. Then other hands touched hers, warm and firm, manly and comforting. He moved them away from her face and she looked up. Nash pulled Rebecah into his arms.

  “I’m sorry. I liked Lady Kathryn.”

  “I do not know how the others will do without her. I cannot believe she is gone.”

  “She remains in your heart and in your memories. You must hold on to what she gave you.”

  “I will.”

  “Let us wait a few days before I come for you. You are needed here.”

  She moved from his shoulder and gazed at him. His face and eyes expressed with such varied emotions, of sadness and grief, of tenderness and love.

  Footsteps came behind them. Sir Rodney, hat in hand, looked embarrassed to have interrupted. “I apologize, but Samuel wishes us gone. He wants no one at the house.”

  Nash stood and placed his hat on his head. “I understand, Father.”

  Then he took Rebecah’s hand to lead her home.

  * * *

  David Harcourt lingered outside on the lawn. They said a few words, and then Nash mounted his horse and rode off.

  “It must be hard for you, Rebecah. Sir Samuel should have allowed the Nashs to stay,” David said.

  “He seldom thinks of comforting others. He’s in his own grief.”

  David took a step forward. “How is Lavinia? Is she going to recover?”

  “Her fever broke last night. Come inside.”

  Not a sound could be heard in the house. March took David’s hat and cloak, and he waited in the foyer. Rebecah felt the loss of control, and rather than be embarrassed by a burst of tears, she hurried up the stairs.

  In her room, she rummaged through her clothes, tossing onto her bed what she would take. She felt panicked to leave, wanting Nash more than ever.

  Someone cleared their throat and she looked up. David stood in the doorway turning his hat between his hands.

  “I’m worried about you.”

  She turned back to her clothes. “I’ll be fine. But I appreciate your concern.”

  “You are leaving Endfield?”
<
br />   “I cannot stay any longer.”

  “You are going away with John Nash?”

  She wondered how he knew. “You will not say anything, will you, David? It’s so important you do not.”

  “Of course I won’t. In fact, I’ll do whatever I can to help. I want Lavinia to come away with me as well. So you see we both know what you’re feeling.”

  Rebecah laid a dress in her valise. “She loves you, you know.”

  He glanced down the hallway. “Can I see her?”

  She went to him. “I’ll find a way.”

  He followed her by way of one of the servants’ stairs. Lavinia had been moved to another room on the upper floor, away from the rest of the family. Dark paneled walls and old Turkish runners heightened its venerable atmosphere. After a quiet knock, Rebecah opened Lavinia’s door and went inside.

  “How are you feeling?’

  “Better. But I missed mother’s funeral.”

  “You’ve been too ill. She would understand.”

  “I cannot believe she’s gone. My heart breaks, Rebecah.”

  Moved with compassion for her cousin, Rebecah drew Lavinia into her arms to comfort her. “Someone is here to cheer you up.”

  Dashing tears away, Lavinia moved back. “Who? I look frightful.”

  “David. He’s waiting outside the door.”

  Lavinia sighed. “David?”

  “To think he cares so much to ride all the way from Plymouth in the cold, risking life and limb sneaking in here, just to inquire after your health. How many men do you know would go so far?”

  “John Nash is the only other one I can think of.” Lavinia smiled. “David loves me, doesn’t he?”

  “I am convinced he does. You should see him. Surely you cannot turn him away now.”

  Rebecah opened the door and allowed David in. She waited on the threshold, watched him bend over and kiss Lavinia’s hand. In whispers he spoke tenderly, stroked her cheek.

  David looked over at Rebecah. “She is getting better, don’t you think?”

  “Lavinia is strong, and your visit has made her happy.”

  “We want to marry with or without Sir Samuel’s approval. As soon as she is strong enough, we are going to Greta Green. My practice is prosperous now and I can provide well for her. Can I count on you to keep our secret?”