by Mary Davis
Rachel’s stomach knotted.
Henry Olson stood. “Miss Thompson, you look especially lovely.” The few minuscule patches of skin between all the spots filled in red.
“Thank you, Mr. Olson.”
“I would consider it an honor if you would call me Henry.”
“Of course, Henry. And you may call me Rachel.” She hoped that would make Papa happy.
Henry’s skin patches darkened, and he held out his elbow to her.
She took it and went out to his buggy. He gave her a hand up and climbed in after her. He set the buggy into motion, and they rode in silence. She didn’t know what to say, so she smiled at him, and he smiled back.
Finally she said, “Do you like to read?” Maybe she could find something to talk about with him.
“I don’t have time.”
So she couldn’t talk about books with him. “If you had the time, would you like to read?”
“I don’t think so.”
That ended that topic.
She wished he would pick something to talk about, but he didn’t.
“What do you think of the English?”
“They’re fine.”
She waited for him to say more, but he didn’t.
“Fine? How so?”
He shrugged. “Just, fine.”
She couldn’t accuse him of being verbose. Was there even any point in trying to start another conversation?
Silence filled the rest of the ride.
Painful silence.
When at last he looped the buggy back around to her house, he helped her out.
“Thank you. The buggy ride was delightful.”
Papa came out. “Henry, won’t you come inside?”
Henry dipped his head. “I need to be getting back.” He turned to her. “Thank you, Rachel. I had a nice time. Good afternoon.” He climbed aboard his buggy and left.
Papa said, “Henry is a good man.”
“Papa, I couldn’t even have a conversation with him. He didn’t want to talk. I know he’s nice, but please don’t make me see him again.”
“You could do a lot worse than a man like Henry. And if I say he can court you, then you will be nice to him.”
Genevieve stood in the doorway.
Rachel gave her a pleading look. “You understand.”
“Obey your father.” Contrary to her stepmother’s words, Rachel could see compassion in her eyes.
Later that evening, when everyone had gone to bed, Rachel got up to go to the outhouse. On her way back, she could hear Papa and Genevieve talking in their room. Papa asked, “What do you think of Henry Olson?”
“As you said, he is a good man.”
“But?”
“But I cannot see Rachel married to him.”
“Why not?”
“She is spirited. Henry is too timid. She would never be happy.”
“I know. It’s not easy finding a man worthy of my daughter.”
Rachel tiptoed back into her room, elated. Papa wouldn’t make her endure poor Henry again. She did hope Henry found a nice, quiet girl to marry who would make him happy. She was sure he would not be happy with her.
Her heart belonged to Charles.
When she’d dreamed of having her own Romeo, she had been thinking only of the part where the man of her dreams loved her deeply. She hadn’t even considered the forbidden part. She’d never wanted that. But that was exactly what she had.
* * *
“You saw her again, didn’t you?”
Charles didn’t want to lie to his brother, but neither did he want to answer him.
Brantley gripped his shoulders. “You’d better be sure she is worth it, little brother.”
Oh, she was. If he’d been asked three months ago, before he met Rachel, he would have said there wasn’t a woman in all the world who could make him give up anything, let alone everything. But now he was considering just that.
“I envy you.”
He wasn’t sure what his brother meant. “How so?”
“To be in love. Something our brothers and I were not afforded.”
“What makes you think I’m in love?”
“You continue to take risks to see her. You are playing with fire. You are going to get burned one way or another. Or she will. Or both of you.”
Right now Charles felt as though he could conquer anything. Even bridge the gap between two warring countries.
Then the unbidden thought of this war erupting turned his stomach. Peace had to remain. If he faced Rachel’s father on the battlefield...what? What would he do? Desert? Never.
He would lay down his arms and beg her father to take him captive. That would be better than the man killing him. If that happened and Rachel found out, she might not forgive her father. And Charles certainly wouldn’t knowingly kill her father.
He was in quite a pickle.
Chapter 12
Charles watched Rachel’s house from partway up the large tree she had climbed before. He felt like a boy again up here. He caught a glimpse of her through one of the windows, and his pulse sped up. He strained to see her again but couldn’t unless she moved near a window.
She hadn’t come to the camp yesterday or the day before. He needed to see her. Needed to know whether she’d changed her mind about him or she truly cared for him. Before the kisses they’d shared, he had been prepared to let her go, as hard as that might be. But now the thought of a life without her caused a grief deep in his soul.
Since confessing his love for her, that feeling had unfolded and swaddled him in a protective cocoon. Loving her felt right. As though it was always meant to be. The reason the Lord had brought him to these islands. He’d thought he’d been running away from taking a wife. He didn’t know the Lord had been leading him to her. The thought of taking a wife before had nauseated him. Now the thought of not having Rachel for his wife caused his insides to knot up in pain. He took several deep breaths to uncoil them.
He loved her. And would continue to love her until the day he died. She was the one God intended for him. The one he would do anything for. The one he would die for. The one forbidden to him. Just like Romeo.
He had always thought that men who acted like Romeo—and now like himself—were fools. Worse than fools. Vacuous. Women weren’t worth a man losing himself over. But now he understood. As weak as love made a man, it also made him stronger. He felt he could conquer anything, take on the world. Even bridge warring countries. Or tame her father’s feelings about the English.
But when Rachel hadn’t returned, he’d doubted her feelings for him, and he hadn’t slept well last night. He feared he’d frightened her off. It was still a little early in the day for her to show up at the camp. He just hoped she would come out of the house and move far enough away from it for him to approach her.
She stepped through the doorway with her coat on and trudged straight away from the house toward the trees, with purpose in her steps.
Could that purpose be him? He prayed so.
Uncertain how she would receive him, he remained in the tree. She passed and kept going without looking up. Why would she? She appeared to be heading in the direction of camp. He would follow her a bit to make sure.
When she stopped suddenly, he ducked behind a large sword fern. After a few moments, she continued. Then she stopped again. “Who’s there?”
Caught. He stepped out from hiding. “Just me.”
Her eyes widened, and she smiled.
As he walked forward, he held his arms out, and she rushed into them.
“What are you doing here? You promised not to come here. It’s too dangerous.”
“I came to see you.” He cupped her face in his hands. “I got worried when you didn’
t come the last two days.”
“Priscilla’s been ill. I haven’t been able to get away.”
“Then I didn’t scare you off with my declaration of love.”
“Of course not. I love you, too.”
His heart soared. He claimed her lips with his own.
Kissing him back, she slipped her arms around him.
He had wondered if she felt the same for him. She hadn’t said so the other day, and he’d been eaten up inside not knowing. He pulled back but still held her in his arms. “You didn’t answer my question the other day.”
“What question?”
He loosened his hold and slid his hands down her arms to take her hands as he lowered to one knee. “Will you do me the great honor and privilege of being my wife?”
“Truly, you want to marry me?”
“Most definitely. Did you think I was trifling with you?”
A conflict warred in her expression.
“Please say you want to be my wife.”
“I do. I just don’t see how it would be possible. Papa will never allow it. And I doubt your commander will either.”
He stood, keeping hold of her hands. “The captain wouldn’t mind as long as it didn’t cause this war to erupt.” On the other hand, his parents, half a world away, wouldn’t be pleased with him marrying an American. At least not one with no social standing. “We could run off and secretly marry just like Romeo and Juliet.”
“That didn’t end well for either of them.”
How true. “If you appear to have met your demise, I will sit at your side until you awaken and promise to resist the urge to plunge a knife into my gut.”
“And I promise not to take poison. More than likely, if we ran off secretly, the war our marriage would fuel would be the end of one or both of us.”
Yes, the war that wasn’t would always stand between them as long as they were on opposite sides. “I’ll quit the military if it will make your father less averse to me.”
She pushed away from him. “What? You can’t do that. Don’t you come from a long line of military people?”
“Yes, but if that’s what it will take to be with you, I will give up everything.”
“You would do that for me?”
“Most certainly.”
“I can’t let you.”
“You can’t stop me. If I’m not an English officer, your father will have fewer qualms about me.”
“But you will still be English.”
Yes, that would still be the problem. How did he stop being the nationality he was born into? He adopted an American accent. “Then I’ll be American.”
Rachel giggled.
He continued with his new accent. “What? Can’t I pass for American? Isn’t my accent good enough?”
“You sound like an Englishman trying very hard to sound like an American.”
It was his brother Prescott who could talk like other people. “Do you think you can do any better putting on an English accent?”
She conjured up what he guessed was her best imitation. “I do believe an English accent is something I can muster.”
He smiled. “Not too bad. I’d say somewhere north, perhaps Cumbria in the Carlisle area.”
She smiled at her victory.
He gazed at her. She was so beautiful when she smiled. “I have never seen a lovelier lady than thee.”
She blushed. “I’m sure that’s not true. You likely have a hundred young ladies waiting for your return.”
“Nay. But if I did, every last one of them would be disappointed. My heart belongs to thee, my lady love.”
* * *
Later in the day, after Rachel had turned her insides around with worry, she returned to English Camp and waited. But not at her usual overlook. She was about to give up when she saw Charles’s brother and tracked his movement across the grounds. He went toward the area Charles had said was the officers’ housing. She approached the path he was on. No one else seemed to be around, so she moved from her hiding place.
Charles’s brother saw her, stopped and looked around. Then he came over to her. “You shouldn’t be here.” He guided her around a cabin and into the trees. He faced her. “Do you want Charles to get stripped of his rank?”
“No. That’s why I’m here.”
“What?”
“Charles said that he is going to leave the military so we can be together. I can’t let him do that. You have to talk to him.” She couldn’t let him give up everything when he would likely get nothing for his efforts. Papa would never accept him.
“My brother has a will of his own.”
“I won’t see him anymore. I won’t come back. Tell him that. Tell him to leave me alone.”
Charles’s brother smiled. “I can see why my baby brother is so enthralled with you.”
“What? Why?”
“Besides being quite pleasant on the eyes, witty and charming, you are selfless.”
She was not selfless. She often thought of herself. She read whenever she got the chance. When she wanted to see the fancy garden at English Camp, she snuck off. When she wanted to see Charles, she snuck off. “I can attest to the fact that I’m quite selfish.”
“If you were selfish, you would grab hold of my brother and take advantage of his social standing and money.”
That didn’t make any sense. “But he’s just a soldier.”
Charles’s brother laughed. “He is not just a soldier. He is an officer in Her Majesty’s British Royal Navy. Do you know what that means?”
Since she thought he was just a soldier—well, an officer—she obviously didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded impressive when his brother added Her Majesty’s British Royal Navy. She shook her head.
“It means he comes from a family of privilege. We may not be nobility with titles, but we are gentry.”
Gentry? That sounded fancy.
“They don’t let just any bloke be an officer, unlike you Americans.”
“Honestly, I don’t know how either military works.”
“And now that you know Charles has money, rank and a high social standing, would you like to reconsider walking out of his life? Of course, he could lose it all if he takes up with you. As well as ignite this war into an uncontrollable inferno.”
She couldn’t let any of that happen, and she certainly wouldn’t fit in with the kind of people Charles was used to. “You have to convince him to stay away from me. Do whatever you have to do to make him understand that it will never work. That we will both be unhappy.”
“I’ll do my best, but I won’t make any promises.”
“You have to convince him. You have to.”
* * *
Charles picked at the bark of a fir tree. His brother had made a strange request. Meet him on the far side of camp, away from the water that could carry their voices far and wide. He’d made his way to the meeting place and waited. Brantley eventually arrived.
Charles remained leaning against the large tree. He loved the massive size of the trees here. They reminded him of England. “What’s this all about? Why the secrecy?”
“Your lady love came to see me.”
His insides tumbled at the thought of Rachel. He couldn’t admit there was anything between them, so he acted nonchalant. “What lady?”
Brantley gripped his shoulder. “Brother, I know your secret. Rachel came to me about you. She doesn’t want to see you again. She doesn’t want you to lose or give up everything because of her. She said she wasn’t coming back. She wants you to forget about her.”
“I could never forget about her. I’ve tried.”
Brantley released him and shrugged. “And I tried to dissuade you, too. You’ll tell her so, won’t you?”
Hi
s brother was confusing. “You didn’t try very hard.”
“I like her. She’s cheeky. A spirited young lady. When I told her you had money and social standing, she was more determined to cut you free.”
“My death is the only thing that can free me, she has so completely settled herself in my heart.”
Brantley clapped a hand on Charles’s shoulder. “You won’t find another lady like her even if you grow to be a very old man. You should hold on to her.”
“Even if it sets fire to this war?”
“Well, the way you are going about it, you just might.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Honor.”
There was that word again. He stared at his brother. “I have not behaved dishonorably with Rachel.”
“Haven’t you?”
“No!” How dare his brother even suggest such a thing?
“Sneaking around behind everyone’s backs? That is hardly honorable, little brother.”
Brantley was right. If Charles wanted Rachel, he had to win over her father first, and to do that, he needed to start behaving honorably on all fronts. “How do I ingratiate myself to a man who hates me for the country I was born into?”
“How indeed?”
His brother was going to be of little help.
Chapter 13
After the children had left for school, Rachel sat by the window, looking out. Gray clouds hung heavy in the sky, like her guilt hung heavy in her heart. She hadn’t gone to English Camp in a week. Each day she feared Charles might show up at their farm. But so far she hadn’t seen him. That didn’t mean he hadn’t been there without revealing himself. His brother must have made him see reason. But her desire to finish the book of poems was calling to her today.
Genevieve sat with Priscilla at the table, feeding the nine-month-old mashed potatoes. “What’s wrong, Rachel?”
“Nothing.”
“Well, you have something weighing on your mind.” Suddenly, her stepmother stood next to her with Priscilla on her hip.
Rachel obviously hadn’t been paying attention to what Genevieve was doing. “I’m fine. Do you need me to do something for you? Take Prissy?”