by Leah Moyes
“Miss Katharine.”
“Good afternoon Merritt.” I watched him with growing curiosity.
“M—Miss.” He labored for words. In an instant, this boyish shyness stripped me of any anger I might have held.
To ease the awkwardness, I pointed to the birds that hung from his saddle. “Looks like a successful hunt.” Merritt grinned halfway, apparently relieved I didn't snap at him.
“Yes, yes, it was.” His smile spread to a full one. “Katharine, might you accompany me on a stroll after supper tonight?”
“A stroll?”
He leaned forward to whisper, “yes, please.”
“What about your fiancé?” I whispered back, although nobody was near enough to hear our conversation.
“She will understand.” He continued, “It’s imperative we speak.”
I smiled. Sure, she will understand. “I’d love to take a walk with you.”
Color returned to his face, and the Merritt grin I had gotten used to, beamed. “I will meet you on the veranda.” He tipped his hat once more, then turned and kicked Captain into a dead run to catch up.
Within minutes, I retreated to my special patch of grass. Despite the blades turning coarse with the weather, I felt my way to the ground and pulled my legs tight to my chest. The afternoon clouds carried a slight chill without my quilt, but the solitude was worth it. I let the wind kiss my cheeks as I soaked in the scents and sounds that surrounded me. From the splash of the water against the rocks to the honeysuckle and jasmine tickling my nose. It felt as close to paradise as one might ever get on earth.
Later that evening, after the most delicious crumpets I’d ever tasted, I waited on the steps of the veranda for Merritt. Even as I agreed to meet with him, there was a fair amount of doubt that surfaced. His awareness in terms of the females in his own family was beyond measure, but outside of relatives, he seemed to understand little of women’s emotions or designs. Especially a jealous fiancé.
Although the minutes evolved into an hour, the delay was not entirely disappointing. Being outside in the elements became a peaceful alternative for me.
I continued to wait until the moon rose to the low-lying clouds. This was when the creatures of the night made their debut, accentuated by the sound of Margaret’s singing voice from the sitting room. The answer seemed clear. Merritt wasn’t coming.
Disappointed, I headed to bed. Unable to sleep, I tried to analyze his reasons. Merritt would not have asked me to meet him then deliberately stand me up. Something, or someone, must have prevented it.
Merritt was difficult to read. Like he lived two conflicting lives. Around those he truly loved, there was a sense of relaxation, no airs or pretense . . . genuine uninhibited love. With Margaret, he appeared proper. He took her hand gently, even slipping his arm around her waist occasionally. A smile and laugh intermittently, but something was missing. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it yet, but I believed he wasn’t as starry-eyed as everyone assumed him to be.
Chapter Twenty-one
I faced the blackboard for several silent minutes. My fingers gripped the chalk with intent but froze. A language book rested in my other hand. While I’d been effective in teaching the girls for several months in literature, arts, arithmetic, and French, it didn’t feel like it was enough.
During my morning walk, I reflected on my own upbringing. Specifically, the potential that had been instilled and influenced by those around me. From as far back as I could remember, my parents inspired me. They believed in me. They were the encouraging force behind my educational success and as I contemplated this, a desire to replicate a similar belief for these girls, materialized.
I closed the book and scribbled across the surface of the chalkboard.
“Abby,” I called out as I circled around.
“Yes, Miss Katharine . . .” Abagale looked up from the paper and put her pencil down.
“Would you read the words I put on the chalkboard?”
“Dreams. Am—bit—i—on. Go—als?” She emphasized several letters. Her sister’s vocabulary was extensive, but it was apparent Abby was unfamiliar with two of these words.
“Close love, but the ‘tion’ is pronounced ‘shun’, and in the last word, the 'a' is silent. Try again.”
“Ambi-tion. Goals.” She enunciated perfectly. Then raised an eyebrow. “What does it mean?”
Lizzy spoke up. “Ambition, I believe, is like an objective.” She wrinkled her nose, “. . . but goals? Oh yes, it's from that kicking game. You know Abby, the one they play at Cambridge, football. When you kick a ball into a goal, you score one point. It's a brutal game, barely tolerable. Father claimed he would never let us attend a match. They always result in brawls.”
I chuckled at their definition of soccer, something entirely different from what I was trying to teach.
“Why on earth, Miss Katharine, would you teach us about such vulgar things?”
“Oh no, Lizzy.” Still chuckling, I continued, “where I come from, there is another meaning to this word. One that I intend to teach you today.” I stepped up to the chalkboard and underneath the words, I wrote.
DREAM- A cherished aspiration or ambition.
AMBITION- A strong desire to achieve something.
GOAL- A vision, an earnest desire to achieve.
“What does that all mean?” Abby cried.
“Well, first, what do you think these words have in common?”
Abby appeared lost, but Lizzy answered. “They are all striving towards something, like a special achievement. Maybe a yearning for something more desirable.”
She impressed me. “I could not have said it any better myself.” Lizzy sat up proudly to my compliment.
“Now, why would this be important?”
Abby appeared to think hard on the subject, “because . . .” she hesitated, “because it is useful to want something more. Like dolls?”
“No, silly,” Lizzy reprimanded her sister. “Bigger things, like gowns or money.”
“Well, you’re both correct, but what else . . . think deeper. Not just objects, but actions.” The blank stares forced me to elaborate. “A professor once told me I shouldn’t let anyone dictate my wants. That I had the power within myself to accomplish anything I set my mind to.”
“Anything?” Lizzy’s face lit up, intrigued.
“Yes, anything. If I wanted to be an artist, a photographer, or a writer, I only needed to discover what I was passionate about and go after it.”
The girls glanced at each other. Their expressions conveyed a mixture of surprise and delight. “What else did the professor teach you?” Abagale inched closer.
“Well, she told me—”
“Wait! Miss Katharine,” Lizzy interrupted. “You said she.”
“Yes, my American Lit professor, Mrs. Johnson.”
“Women . . . lecture at the university in America?” Lizzy’s cheeks drained of color.
“Yes, of cour—oh.” I groaned. I did it again. I have to be so bloody careful about what I say here every day. I just said bloody! Chelsa is rubbing off on me.
“I would love to attend university. There is much to learn.” Abby cooed dreamily.
“That is a wonderful goal,” I said, proud I could incorporate my vocabulary words.
“A goal or a dream is an idea of something you want to accomplish and the steps you need to take to make it happen.”
The girls giggled almost uncontrollably.
“What?” I questioned. I missed the punch line.
“Girls don't attend university! It’s improper.” Lizzy grimaced.
“They don't go?” Flabbergasted, I realized my error in mentioning a female professor was probably too forward, but no higher education for women at all?
“Don’t be a nutter!” Lizzy cried, still laughing. “How is it you know a great deal but seem quite dim!” She continued, “I can hardly wait until Papa tells me my learning is complete and sends me to Finishing School. My only goal,” she winked an
d pointed to the chalkboard, “is to marry the most handsome gentleman in Surrey County and host the most extravagant socials.”
My face went blank. Learning complete? Is there really such a thing?
“You mean to marry, Gregor . . . ohhh, Gregor.” Abby squeezed her own shoulders and stood up to twirl.
Lizzy’s cheeks tinted a bright red. “No!”
“No, Lizzy?” Abby giggled
“Well . . . maybe.” Lizzy beamed.
As I watched the sister's playful tease cultivate in front of me, it led me to think of my own sisters, my college sisters in Arizona. I missed them immensely. Our silly exploits were not quite this immature, but the bantering over guys felt vaguely familiar.
“Okay, settle down.” I motioned for the girls to take their seats. “Don't be embarrassed, Lizzy. I was in love once too.” I spoke before thinking.
Lizzy squealed. “Tell us, Miss Katharine!”
“Oh, yes,” Abby nodded, “she has a ring.”
“A ring? Oh, please let me see it!”
“It’s on her necklace.”
“What’s he like, Miss Katharine?” Abby sighed dreamily.
Their questions came so quickly it caught me off guard. My mind spun. After all this time, I had never mentioned Jeff to the girls. This suddenly alarmed me. Why haven’t I? What does it mean? Am I forgetting?
“Uh . . .” I licked my dry lips, “um . . .”
“Is he dashing?” Lizzy chuckled. “and heroic?”
Blood must have rushed to my brain because I suddenly felt very warm and claustrophobic. Unbuttoning the top of my dress, I took several large breaths. My clammy fingers brushed a growing layer of perspiration off my forehead.
“What’s his name?” Abby asked innocently.
The moisture expanded down my cheeks and settled on my neck.
“Are you well, Miss Katherine?” Lizzy stepped forward.
“I, uh, I—” Moving towards the door, I mumbled without looking back, “I need some air.” The stinging ambush of tears came as I rushed down the hall, but my escape was blocked by Mrs. Gilford conversing with a maid. Turning, I fled through the kitchen and out the back door. The tree line became my target.
Growing up in the city meant you hardly spent any decent time outside of skyscrapers and subways. On rare occasions, my parents would borrow a car—we didn't own one—and we would take a drive up through Westchester County to Connecticut and along the coast. It wasn’t until college that I discovered a world outside of manmade concrete walls, but my requisite was two-fold. My love for the outdoors increased because of Jeff, and now without him, it seemed to be my only relief.
The crunch of leaves under my feet amplified the faster I ran. Finding solitude against a large oak, I rested my head against its unforgiving bark. The ridges indented into my skin the harder I pressed. I fought to draw the pain away from my chest.
Defeated, I leaned back. My carefully constructed defenses dissolved with the familiar piercings of agony. My hands gripped the lower branches to steady my weak knees. It had been several months since I felt this shaken. With a deep breath, my eyes reluctantly opened. Through the initial blur, nothing on the trunk of this old tree seemed amiss, but as they refocused, a deep engraving materialized . . . the letters M + J.
“Miss Katharine?”
My body shuddered at the sudden sound. Startled birds above took to rapid flight from both the voice and my reaction. It was Merritt. With my back to him, I folded my arms over my chest but did not face him. Although it didn’t surprise me he came, I felt less inclined for the company. Maybe if I ignored him, he would go away.
“Miss?”
I held still.
“Miss Katharine?”
Nope, didn’t work.
I clasped my hands in a fist to keep them from shaking when I turned around. “Yes, Merritt?” My eyes remained lowered to my shoes. I was afraid he could read through me.
“Pardon my intrusion,” He spoke with caution, “but Elizabeth was quite unsettled. She insisted I seek you out at once.”
I conceded. Of course, she was. I must’ve upset them when I left so quickly. “I'm sorry.” My voice quivered, “I didn't mean to cause a problem. It’s nothing you should concern yourself with.” I glanced up. Merritt’s countenance tempered great compassion. “Please go back to what you were doing. I’ll be fine.” Then turned back towards the tree.
The whistle of birds signified their return to the perches above, but the only thing that carried my attention was the heavy exhale of my breath. The intake and outtake lasted several seconds. Twigs snapped behind me inferring Merritt’s departure, but then the sound suddenly stopped. I bit the inside of my cheek and waited.
“Miss Katharine?” The proximity of his voice told me he hadn’t gone far. “Have you ever taken the pleasure aboard a boat on the River Thames?”
Dumbfounded, I sniffled. Then twisted my head his direction. Merritt’s milky blue eyes were back and viewed me in a way that forced me to forget everything. Boats . . . oh yeah . . . I remembered the paddle boats, Jeff, and I rented at Tempe Town Lake. We had trouble leaving the dock because we were laughing too hard to pedal simultaneously. I guess they weren’t real boats, though.
I shook my head, no.
“Well, this is a bit of a chance, but I believe we might have fate on our side.”
My eyebrows rose curiously. I wasn't sure if I was more interested in seeing the river, or a prim and proper Merritt rowing a boat on the river.
“Okay,” I mumbled.
“One prerequisite . . .” he added, holding his pointy finger up.
Silent, but curious, I wiped my nose on my sleeve. Merritt didn’t seem surprised by this. He continued, “no matter how absurd this may appear, you cannot laugh.”
“Absurd?” I surveyed him. “You haven't ever rowed your own boat, have you?”
“Yes . . .” he hastily shot back. “I have, it's simply been a spell.”
“Like how long?”
“Um, a stretch.” He smiled his usual, melt your heart smile. “Do you decline?”
I chuckled as I contemplated my choices. I can wallow in despair or be alone with Merritt. Really?
“Alright, I’m game!”
“Pardon me?”
“Yes, Merritt, I’ll go.”
He extended his elbow and gestured for me to take it as we wandered down towards a simple dock. There we found two rowboats side by side. I grinned. This will be interesting.
Merritt helped me step into the closest boat. My dress snagged along the way. I didn’t understand how women survived these times, only wearing dresses. No wonder women were considered the weaker sex. Give them a pair of jeans, and life would change dramatically.
My grip held the sides steady as he stepped in across from me. Trepidation blanketed his movements. Once he was settled, a vacant stare emerged. I tried not to laugh.
“We don't really have to do this, Merritt.” I patted his arm softly. “You've already done what your sisters sent you out to do.”
“What might that be, Miss Katharine?” Merritt feigned innocence as he grabbed the oars off the floor and put them into position.
Impressed with his wit, I teased. “Well, if you don't know then, you must keep trying.” This little charade was more enjoyable than expected.
The noonday sun reached its peak as we flowed downstream. A gentle breeze kept us at a slow and steady pace. Not because Merritt was incapable of rowing faster, but like me, maybe he seemed to treasure these moments of peace.
In most social circles, or in this case, here in England, aristocracy is key. My ignorance and impropriety would likely have put me at the bottom of the “food chain” with anyone . . . except for Merritt. Despite my many faults and endless moments of awkwardness, he never judged. Instead, he accepted our differences and moved past it.
One thing I learned about the Gilford men, even before my fall, was the enormous pressure they were under to uphold a specific image. The obli
gations owned by their actions were directed solely towards the legacy of the family name. And although one as accomplished as Merritt was, he guarded himself because of those expectations. It was in these rare circumstances that when we’re alone, we could be normal and not have to pretend to be something else. So here, on a small rowboat on the river, with no demands and no watchful eyes, a calm and collected Merritt seemed to relish in his freedom.
“So, Merritt,” I sat forward with a scheming expression. “Back home where I’m from, we have this game called Truth or Dare. You pick to tell the truth if I ask you something or a dare, I task you with and then vice versa.”
“Vice versa?” He smiled. Intrigue developed on his face, but he continued rowing.
“We take turns.” I grinned. “Me, first. Mr. Gilford, do you choose truth or dare?”
“Hmmm,” He hesitated in thought. “Both seem potentially dangerous,” he laughed. “I pick truth.”
Yes, safe. I could see that coming. I thought about all the questions I could force him to answer—even why he sneaks out at night, but after today, I had too much respect for him to cause discomfort. “Merritt, tell me a time when you behaved as you would put it . . . less than honorable.”
“Like a pure breed, Miss Katharine . . . right out of the gate.” He joked.
“If you have several to choose from, divulge the most, let’s say . . . disagreeable.” My British vocabulary was developing, much to my surprise and enjoyment.
Merritt shook his head. “You seem to have no fear for propriety, your conviction is unmatched, and quite honestly, I need to consult the Dictionary when we converse!” He chuckled.
“You’re stalling . . .” I laughed in return.
“Very well, let's see.” As he mulled over the question, he set the oars aside. “Do you mind?” He removed his jacket and untied his scarf.
Seriously? I blinked sarcastically. I could barely concentrate on anything now, but the motion of his chest. His slightly unbuttoned shirt flipped open as he maneuvered out of his less than practical clothing.