by Jane Peart
chapter
7
WITH THE SOUND of enthusiastic applause still ringing in their ears, Avril, Becky, and the other upper-form students pounded up the stairs to the dormitory to get out of their pageant costumes and dress for the service at the church.
“Wasn’t it fun?” asked Becky, breathless as she tossed her gilt-paper halo on the bed and struggled out of her white, gauzy, cotton angel’s robe.
“Oh, it was beautiful!” sighed Avril, still in awed wonder of the final scene of the tableau when all had knelt in adoration at the stable crib, presided over by Mary and Joseph and attended by the lavishly costumed three kings.
Avril had become so enthralled with the unfolding drama, so new to her, that she had forgotten to sing with the angelic chorus a number of times. The fact that this story was true, that it had actually taken place many hundreds of years ago, stunned her imagination. It was far more interesting than any of the fairy stories she had read. Baby Jesus was real, and that this same infant was also the God who had created the world was staggering information.
“Come, Avril! Hurry, or we’ll be late!” urged Becky. “Here, let me help you get those wings off!”
Avril did not really want to take off her wings made of triangles of white paper, overlapped and pasted on cardboard. She had loved being an “angel,” loved being part of this incredible story.
But Becky was already tugging at the strings attaching them to Avril’s shoulders. Waiting for her was the pretty emerald green bombazine dress that Auntie May had had made for her, with its corded banding around the hem and the ecru lace edging the high collar and long sleeves. There had not yet been an occasion to wear it.
As soon as they were dressed both girls ran back downstairs, joining the lines forming at the entrance to walk over to the church.
Looking up, Avril saw that the night sky was sprinkled with thousands of stars while her boots crunched on the ice-crusted snow underfoot. She drew in a lungful of the frigid air, and her whole body tingled with anticipation. She had never been out this late in her entire life! Climbing the steps into the church, she sensed she was on the brink of some momentous event.
As she entered the darkened church she was handed a long, beeswax candle. In hushed expectancy, she took her place with the other Academy students in one of the special pews reserved for them.
Silently, ushers with lighted tapers approached the end of the pews and lit the candles of the first worshipers in each row until the whole church came alive with light. Avril felt as if her heart would stop, so breathless was the moment. When at some unseen signal, the entire congregation stood, their candles flickering like the stars she had seen in the night sky, she gave a little gasp.
Suddenly the organ struck a chord, and joyful voices rang out:
Praise the Lord, whose saving splendor
Shines into darkest night!
Born this night of Glory, to Him render
Praises, for this never-ceasing Light!
The organ continued to play softly in the background as a group of young men carrying bells entered from the side door and formed a half-circle in front. Soon the place reverberated with the glorious ringing of the bells accompanied by the organ. Then came the voice of a boy soprano, rising above the instruments in unwavering purity:
Morning Star, O cheering sight!
Ere Thou cam’st, how dark earth’s night!
Avril felt prickles along her scalp and a shivery sensation rippled down her spine. Unexpected tears stung her eyes and she had to swallow very hard over the lump that rose in her throat.
Caught up in the miracle of the moment, she was still in a daze when the minister stepped to the middle of the wooden railing in front of the pews.
“And now we will join in our traditional celebration of the ‘Lovefeast.’ As in the early days, when Christians met and broke bread together as a symbol of their fellowship and love, it is our custom in this church to partake of a simple meal on certain occasions of particular spiritual significance. The name we have given this time of communion is derived from the Greek word agape.
‘This sharing does not in any way supplant the observance of the Lord’s Supper. We simply seek to foster the spirit of unity and good will among men to remind each of us that Christ is present within you as with your neighbor who knows Him as personal Savior.
“As you share, make the commitment within your heart to live more worthily and obey more carefully all the commands that Jesus, our Savior, has given and to strive to follow Him more closely in all your daily activities.”
Avril was leaning forward in her seat, listening to every word, feeling her heart thud. With every fiber of her being, she wanted to believe what the minister was saying.
Could Christ really be within her?
From both sides of the aisle women were passing huge, round trays containing mugs of steaming coffee and baskets of warm sweet rolls. Avril took hers with hands that trembled slightly, feeling the warmth spread through her as she sipped the delicious creamy coffee and nibbled on the bun. Never had anything tasted so good. Eyes shining, she smiled at the girl beside her and at Becky. A lovefeast, indeed! Becky was her dearest friend, and if Avril couldn’t be at Montclair with Graham this Christmas, she was glad to be here with Becky.
As the girls trooped wearily back to their dormitories at the close of the service, Avril felt lightheaded. Something strange and wonderful and completely new had touched her. She was not sure exactly what, but it warmed and comforted her in an indefinable way.
On Christmas morning the girls awoke later than usual and, shivering with cold, scurried downstairs to the dining hall, toasty from the heat of the big porcelain tile stove, a product of the church-owned pottery plant. At each place they found small gifts, sweets, nuts, and individual fruitcakes. The teachers, it seemed, had risen long before daylight to decorate the room with candles and evergreens and to arrange festive centerpieces of pinecones, berries, and fruit on the tables, hoping to make this holiday a special time for the snowbound students.
Ordinarily mail was brought to New Hope every two weeks. But with the inclement weather and the condition of the roads throughout the South, it was not until late in January that the girls at the Academy received their Christmas packages and letters from home. For Avril, there were letters from both Graham and Auntie May as well as from Great-Aunt Laura Barnwell. She tore open Graham’s first, her eyes racing down the pages of bold, slanted handwriting as she devoured his news.
My dear Avril,
When I learned you would be unable to come home to Montclair for the holidays, my heart was heavy. The prospect of staying here alone was very dreary indeed. In fact, it was “out of the question “ in the minds of my relatives and friends.
First, May Cameron braved the snowstorm to insist that I ride with them by sleigh to Williamsburg and enjoy the holiday festivities there from the sixteenth of December through the sixth of January. Williamsburg is always the scene of much merriment during that time.
I did not hesitate to give my answer. I knew that Aunt Laura’s younger sister, Sally, would also be spending the holidays in her old homeplace and would be bringing her grandchildren. It seemed a good idea all around. I’m only sorry you could not be with us. Of course, there will be other Christmases, but since you have never experienced a Williamsburg Christmas, I shall do my best to acquaint you with some of the special events marking the season.
One of the highlights is the parade of the militia. Bonfires on every street corner glow brightly in the chilly dark as the men assemble, dipping their torches to set them aflame. From afar comes the sound of the rousing music of the Fife and Drum Corps. The streets are lined with people shivering as much from anticipation as from cold, I suspect. In the windows of every house, candles are burning and the street lanterns also lend their light. The music becomes louder as the marchers progress down the street, the crowd picks up the melody, and the very air vibrates with the happy voices of carolers singing
“Joy to the World”—an auspicious beginning to the week commemorating our Savior’s birth.
Reading these words expressing Graham’s enthusiasm for celebrating the birthday of the Christ she was just learning about sent a thrill of hope through Avril, bonding her closer than ever to Graham.
Aunt Laura’s letter was a newsy account of the family celebration:
The children were too excited by Christmas Eve to attend the candlelight service at Bruton Church, but we all went on Christmas morning. It was a lovely, quiet service. The church looked beautiful and I was so pleased to see that the nandina, pyracantha, and holly I had sent over earlier had been used effectively in the decorations. I am so grateful our ancestors chose to come to Virgina to settle rather than to the stricter Puritan Massachusetts colony, where they are forbidden to celebrate Christmas. Decorating the churches is a long-held English tradition as the old rhyme admonishes:
Holly and ivy, box and bay,
Put in the church on Christmas Day.
What better way to give thanks for the miracle of the Holy Child’s birth than to celebrate it at least as festively as we do family birthdays?
I praised the Lord for another year of worship as the family went up and took the sacrament together, sipping from the silver communion cup that was passed among us.
Again Avril was touched, visualizing Graham’s dark head bowed as he knelt at the altar. Avril was firmly convinced that he would not have participated unless he was a true believer—not even to please Aunt Laura. She felt warmed by the thought of yet another thing they shared.
Auntie May’s letter was more frivolous, full of descriptions of the parties and other festivities. She wrote in her fun-loving way:
I just wish you could have been with us, dear Avril, as we went from house to house on Christmas Day. Such abundance everywhere, so much laughter and merriment. We dined at your dear little aunt’s at midday. As usual, she outdid herself—roast wild turkey, scalloped oysters, cranberry relish, and petit pois in rings of acorn squash, as well as three kinds of pies—mince, pecan, and sweet potato!
There have been many parties and balls all the week, and none more elegant than the New Year’s Eve fete given by Clarice Fontayne in her newly acquired townhouse. She has brought so many interesting customs from her years abroad and every room was gaily decorated, with hundreds of candles complementing the ladies’ complexions.
All during the evening music was played, fiddlers and minstrels strolling among the guests, singing ballads and Christmas songs.
Her menu matched the beauty of the decor. A buffet supper to please a king’s taste, I would say, if we had not already declared our Independence—pheasant, fresh mushrooms in a wine sauce, baked ham, fruit aspic, rum cream pie, served along with a punch of mulled cider, potent enough to curl a wig! I might add that, in some cases, indeed it did!
Afterward there was much dancing: reels, square dances, and a new French rondelés Clarice tried to teach us all, resulting in much hilarity as we attempted to master the intricate steps.
When midnight approached, Clarice bade us each to follow the old tradition of tossing a sprig of holly on the blazing yule log to burn all our troubles of the past year.
Mrs. Fontayne asked about you and if you were enjoying your days at school. Graham and I both assured her that although you were probably unhappy about the unfortunate weather that has prevented your coming home for the holidays, you were most happy otherwise. I am right, am I not, dear?
At the mention of Clarice Fontayne, Avril’s nose wrinkled unconsciously. She could not bring herself to like the woman even though she felt guilty for her unkind thoughts.
Avril picked up Graham’s letter again and read it through for the second time, cherishing each word.
Yes! There would be “other Christmases” to spend together. And before that, the summer ahead—a long, lovely summer at Montclair. Maybe Graham would then realize they had both been too lonely apart and she could convince him not to send her back to the Academy in the fall.
A tap at her door broke into her daydream, and one of the younger girls poked in her head. “Avril, you have company in the parlor. Dame Fenton says you are to come down at once.”
Company! Avril jumped to her feet. Students at the Academy were allowed visitors only if they were relatives or were specified on an approved list forwarded to the headmistress by the girls’ families. Who could possibly be coming here to see her?
chapter
8
DAME FENTON was waiting at the bottom of the staircase as Avril ran down the steps.
“Your cousin is in the front parlor, Avril.” She frowned as she began to smooth back Avril’s flyaway curls, straighten her bonnet, and retie its strings. “Do conduct yourself properly and credit the Academy with your decorum,” she admonished.
The headmistress was so busy attending to Avril’s appearance that she failed to hear or to respond to Avril’s surprised exclamation, “Cousin?!”
“Now run along, dear.” With a final brush of Avril’s collar, Dame Fenton gave her a gentle push toward the parlor door.
Avril entered the room cautiously. A dark-haired man in a swallow-tailed black waistcoat was warming his hands in front of the tall porcelain stove in the corner.
At her entrance he turned and she could see that his features were sharp, his nose aquiline, his skin olive, his eyes black as coal. A smile only briefly touched his thin lips.
“Bonjour, Avril. I am happy to see you at last. I have been trying to accomplish that feat for a long time now, since shortly after your parents’ deaths, as a matter of fact. But your guardian, Mr. Montrose, has—” Here he hesitated, as if searching for words—“made it most difficult, to say the least. I am your dear mother’s cousin, Claude Duchampes.” He made a slight bow.
“Please sit down, so we can talk.” He motioned to one of the few chairs. Avril crossed the room and sat stiffly, her back rigid, as he took a chair opposite her. “You are puzzled, n’est ce pas? So, I explain.” He proceeded.
“I practically grew up in your mother’s home. You see, I was orphaned when I was very young and Tante Evangeline, your grandmére and your mother’s mama, took me in. I was a few years younger than Eva. She was already quite a beautiful young lady, and I loved her dearly.”
Avril stared at this stranger. How was it she had never heard of him? Never seen him before?
“You look mystified. I understand. You have not seen me since you were a tiny little girl. You could not remember. I was sent to France to school and, sadly, when I returned—your pauvre mére— très triste.”
He gave a sympathetic shrug before continuing. “When I came again to Natchez and discovered my cousins both dead and the place deserted … well, it was only then that I learned that a friend of Paul’s had come and taken their only child to Virginia. Naturally I was concerned. Not only for my little cousin’s welfare, but also because I knew nothing of this person who had declared himself her guardian.”
“He and Papa were in school together …,” Avril ventured, sensing some implied criticism of Graham.
There was a slight pause, a lift of a jet black brow. Monsieur Duchampes went on. “So he says.” Another little shrug. “But, wishing to make sure of the conditions of my—of you—I traveled to Virginia to see for myself.” At this point his expression altered; something hardened in the soft dark eyes. “Unfortunately, Mr. Montrose took affront, misconstruing my concern for criticism. When I tried to assure him of my motives, he became angry. When I asked to see you, he refused, ordering me off his property.” Again the shrug, the shake of the head.
Avril’s brow puckered. None of what this man was saying seemed at all like Graham. Yet a shadowy scene from the past drifted into her mind, though she could not quite recapture the details.
Then Monsieur Duchampes was speaking again. “I chanced to be in this part of the country on business, so near to the place where you had been sent to boarding school, and could not resist making anot
her attempt to see my cousin’s beloved child … especially when I have something very precious to give her.”
He drew a slim, leather box from his waistcoat pocket and presented it to Avril.
‘This belonged to your mother.”
Avril took the box, opened it, and found a narrow gold bracelet with three tiny moonstones embedded in its circlet. It was fragile and dainty and slipped easily over her wrist.
“Oh, thank you,” she breathed. “But you shouldn’t … I shouldn’t—”
“Mais non, it is nothing.” He waved aside her protests. “Your dear mama would have wanted it so. But I am happiest of all to see you again. Soon you will be a young lady yourself and able to make your own decisions. No one can then prevent you from seeing whom you wish or going where you will.”
The sound of a bell pealing through the hallway alerted Avril. She stood. “I’m sorry, but I must go now. That was our study bell.”
Monsieur Duchampes rose also. “Of course, Avril. I must leave, too. But before I do, I must warn you—. “ He paused dramatically. “I do not wish to malign anyone, you understand. Still, it is important for you to know that you are not totally dependent on the kindness of strangers. You do have relatives of your own—your own blood. As they say, ‘Blood is thicker than water’, and in the end, family, one’s own family, no matter how distantly related, is what really matters.”
Avril felt increasingly uneasy. What was this man trying to say? He was holding her hands too tightly. She wanted only to get away, but dared not appear rude.
“Mr. Montrose has made it clear that I am not welcome at Montclair. So I cannot come there to see you as much as I regret that, as I’m sure your dear mama would, too. But when you are twenty-one, Avril, all will be different, all will change. You will be free. You understand?”
She nodded uncertainly.
“You will be in charge of your property, able to say what happens to the beautiful house, the jewels, the productive rice lands. All that should stay in the family—our family—the Duchampes. You would not wish these things to go to strangers, would you?”