Potomac 02 - Beside Two Rivers

by RITA GERLACH

  The mention of Ethan, his face coming up in her mind, caused her heart to ache. “It does not matter whether I see Mr. Brennan or Miss Roth. We were not friends when they left.” She stood and walked over to the window. “I should like to see the house my father was born in, and the land of my ancestors. I should like to see my grandfather’s vicarage where my mother grew up, and the church where he preached.”

  “That is a grand attitude, Darcy. I shall write to Dr. Emerson’s friends right away. He told me of his suggestion.” She stood and went to her writing desk, rummaging through the middle drawer for paper.

  A gentle smile tugged at Darcy’s mouth. She stepped from the room, and donning her broad-rimmed hat, headed for the path beside the house that led down to the river. Over roots and stones she went, pausing to pick up pebbles that caught her eye. She placed five smooth stones in her pocket to take on her journey as reminders that she could slay any obstacle that would rise up against her.

  At last a reply had come that Darcy would have a pair of travel companions to watch out for her. Their letter emphasized how pleased they would be to have her company. On the day when the wagon was brought around to the front of the house to take Darcy down to the ferry, she put on a brave face. The driver, Mr. George, who had been her uncle’s neighbor for fifteen years, put out his hand for her to take in order to step up.

  “Good morn to ye, Miss Darcy,” he smiled. “’Tis a fine day for travelin’.”

  “It is a glorious day, Mr. George.” Darcy’s stomach churned from both fear and excitement. She gripped the handle of her traveling bag and swallowed the lump in her throat. “I will take every inch of it into my mind, so as not to forget home and my river.”

  “Ah, that will be nice, miss. I was down at the river this morn, and caught a string of fine bass.” He reached back and pulled them out of a bucket. Then he handed them to Missy. “You cook them up for the family, Missy. Fish will do them all good.” The catch was happily accepted.

  Unbidden tears were in Darcy’s eyes when she kissed her aunt and cousins goodbye and climbed into the rear of the wagon. Mr. George helped her uncle into the seat beside him. “It is good of you to drive for us, George,” he said.

  “Your good lady made it clear you can’t do much of anythin’, Mr. Breese. I am glad to be of help.” And he clicked his tongue and the horses walked on.

  Mrs. Breese stood out on the lawn, silent and forlorn with her daughters gathered around her. She lifted her handkerchief and waved, then wiped the tears falling down her cheeks and dabbed her eyes. Darcy buried her sorrow over leaving, raising her hand and smiling back at her aunt and the girls, who were more like sisters to her than cousins. She wondered what would become of them while she was away. Would Dr. Emerson and Martha wed? Would Lizzy? And would her dear Uncle Will grow strong again?

  Questions about the future swam in her mind. She looked away from the house she had known all her life. It grew smaller and smaller as they turned at a bend toward the river road. The trees stretched overhead in a canopy of green. She drew in a long breath to feel the air fill her lungs, feel the cooling shade, and smell the grass growing alongside the hedgerows.

  The flatboat waited at the river’s edge. She had thought it was difficult saying farewell to her aunt and cousins, but when she looked into the misty gray eyes of her uncle, her heart swelled into such despair that she threw her arms around his neck and held fast.

  “You shall do well, Darcy,” he said. “I know it. Now, be off with you. The ferryman waits.”

  She kissed his cheek and picked up her bag, gave him a smile that spoke of uncertainty, and stepped onto the planks of the riverboat.

  “You have the list?” her uncle called to her.

  “In my bag.” She clutched it against her stomach. “I will not lose it.”

  “Do not forget—besides the heather, corn, chamomile, mayweed, and charlock. Send them to me when you can.”

  “I will, Uncle. I won’t forget.”

  Darcy fixed her eyes upon his face. She wanted to sear his image in her mind and hold it firm, so as not to forget the kindness that sparkled in his eyes. With a little effort, he raised his hand, and she waved back.

  “Goodbye!” She stretched her arm as high as she could and shouted over the lapping water. “I shall write as soon as I can.”

  The breeze strengthened, and Darcy watched her uncle flatten his hat over his head and nod to George. A snap of the reins and the horses pulled away. As a chill passed over her, she watched the wagon fade into the line of trees. No turning back now, she drew her eyes away and soaked in the hills and forests, the deer standing at the edge of the river— her river. Waterfowl splashed and skirted the riverbank, and a great heron flew overhead. Sunlight danced over the top of the water.

  A pole-man turned his head to her as he plunged his pole into the water. “You comfortable, miss?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She sat down on a barrel and soaked in the scene around her. She held down the top of her hat, the sunlight catching in her eyes. “This is my first time away from home, my first time to go all the way down the Potomac.”

  “It will please you, miss. We disembark at the Great Falls. You’ll see them in all their glory as you walk along the footpath. Past them, you’ll catch the next flatboat going all the way down to Point Lookout, and what a sight to behold. The river widens as it gets closer to the Bay.” Then he lifted his pole and moved in unison with the other men down along the edge of the flatboat to the rear, causing it to cut over the river as if it were greased.

  His description caused her heart to pound and her imagination to soar. “Oh, Lord, how I shall miss it,” she whispered with her eyes closed. “Please bring me back and let nothing change, not one leaf or flower, not a bend in the bank, not a single stone. Let it remain as it is, forever.”

  Part 2

  Beneath the rose a thorn is found,

  Beneath love’s smile, a dart,

  May Heaven grant, that neither wound

  Thy young and guileless heart.

  —Unknown, 19th century

  13

  A breath of sea, earth, heath, and field filled Darcy’s lungs. Her hair blew back from her shoulders as she stood at the ship’s rail and scanned the horizon. Plymouth Sound’s salty breeze filled the sails and cheered the weary travelers gathering around to get a view of England’s coastline.

  The voyage had been uneventful, save for a few dolphins swimming alongside the ship. Even her companions were dull—Ann Prestwich at least. Dr. Prestwich spent most of his time in the passengers’ galley playing Whist. And so Darcy gave herself over to weeks of reading and writing in her journal, in which she tried to make the entries as exciting as possible.

  At last, she’d be released from the bonds of boredom, of sea and sky. With eager eyes, she looked out at the town as it came into view with its moored ships and sloops and beautiful Tudor houses. Darcy tried to take it all in. Never had she seen so many vessels settled in one place, nor had she seen houses of this kind and age.

  A deep longing poured over her, a hunger that seemed to snatch the breath from her body. This was Ethan’s country. Time had not changed her heart. She loved him still. But she told herself that Miss Roth had hooked her claws into him by now, and he was unhappily married. She felt no sympathy for him on that account. He should not have left her the way he did. His love should have been stronger than his prejudice.

  Freed from her companions, who were on their way to London, she hurried to the coach as it filled up with passengers. She had not been afforded a moment’s pause for a meal, nor to feel the earth beneath her feet for long. Glad to be by the window, she gathered her cloak about her legs and tried to settle the rapid beating of her heart. The coachman cracked his whip, and Darcy found herself headed for the heart of England. The coach, packed with people, bounced over rough roads and tree-lined byways. To her surprise, no one engaged in conversation, only nodded a good day and dozed off to the sway of the coach.

/>   The coach stopped for the night at a carriage inn outside the limits of Bristol. The next morning they moved on, the horses refreshed and rushing over the roads toward Birmingham. Later in the day, she changed coaches at a crossroads in the heart of Derbyshire. Darcy’s body ached and she grew tired of the long journey, but at least the coach was empty and she could stretch out.

  Later in the afternoon, at a fork in the road, the coachman halted the horses and called back to her. “Here’s where you leave off, miss.”

  She wiped the slumber from her eyes and stepped out. Spears of sunlight fell over a lush green landscape. Granite ledges shadowed the heath where sheltered pairs of fleecy sheep grazed.

  Feeling afraid of the lonely surroundings, Darcy looked up at the coachman. “Are you sure this is the place? There is nothing here.”

  He tipped the edge of his tricorn hat. “You said you were headed for Havendale.”

  “That’s right. But there isn’t a house to be seen.”

  “Follow that road there, and it’ll lead you straight to it.” He jerked his head in the direction of a byway wide enough for a single horse and rider to travel over. Then he tossed her bag down, and with a thump it landed in the dirt beside her. He tipped his hat again, shook the reins, and the coach rolled on.

  Standing alone on the roadside, Darcy watched the coach pass out of view. Her nerves trembled at being left in the middle of nowhere, but she picked up her bag and walked on. The sky was as blue as a robin’s egg, the wind soft and scented. She turned her face up to greet the sun, hoping it would comfort her. But the quivering in her breast would not go away. Twilight would soon gather and she could not swallow the thought of treading alone after dark. Tears pooled in her eyes, which she shut tight to push them back. She had to gather her courage.

  A weatherworn wooden sign pointed to the east, but the words were so faded and the paint so chipped away that she could not read it. Darcy raised a brave face and went on, past birch woodlands and a monumental stone.

  For an hour she traveled without seeing a single soul. As darkness fell, she spotted a ramshackle barn nestled in a grove of trees and decided it would be better to stay there than go on through the dark. The roof, stripped in places to the evening sky, revealed a heaven painted with moonlight. Decaying timbers surrounded her on three sides; the fourth wall was made of stone.

  All night she lay in a heap of straw, tormented by hunger and loneliness, wondering if she had made the right decision in coming to a land she knew nothing of, so far from home— far from Uncle Will, Aunt Mari, and the girls—so far from Dash, the gray geese, and her river.

  She put her hands over her face. “What have I done, God? Now I am certainly lost in this desolate place. And the coachman said Havendale was but a short distance away.” A heavy sigh slid from her lips, and she drew her skirts about her legs for warmth. “I haven’t seen a single person since I alighted from the coach. But you are with me, aren’t you, Lord? I shall not be afraid, knowing that.”

  From her bag she took out a biscuit that she had saved, unwrapped the paper, and bit into the edge. It had hardened but would do. Before she closed the clasp on her bag, she ran her hand across its contents. Two day dresses, linen undergarments, one pair of stockings, brush, comb, and her Bible. A size fitted for a lady’s hand while traveling, she opened to the first leaf and saw her mother’s fine handwriting and the words, To my precious Darcy, on the day of her birth. She scooted over to a shaft of moonlight, turned the pages, and managed to read from the Psalms.

  “Here my voice, oh God, in my prayer. Preserve me from fear …”

  The night in the barn seemed endless and was enough to make her weep a little. She dashed the tears from her eyes, and then lay back and gathered the straw over her. Through an opening in the roof, stars shone and she gazed at them.

  “I wonder what Aunt Mari would think if she knew that I was in a rundown barn in the middle of nowhere, all alone in the night?” Then a smile crossed her lips. “Uncle Will would be proud of me.”

  Shivering, she outlined the star patterns with her eyes, until sleep conquered.

  When morning broke, dusty lances of sunlight flowed through the shelter; yet, they did not wake her. A blackbird landed on the roof and sang. Darcy opened her eyes and saw through the hole above her that the sun had climbed in the sky. She brushed her dress down and slipped outside. Heading north, she walked on, happy that the morning rose bright and the birds were singing. Thank God it was not raining. The rays of the sun strengthened and slanted through the trees as if they were welcoming arms.

  Her destination was much farther than the coachman had let on, and she walked for hours along the barren road again without seeing anyone. When the sun dipped toward the horizon, her stomach growled for food, and she rummaged in her bag for one last morsel of biscuit.

  Before the light retreated behind the gathering clouds, she spotted a house situated upon a grassy hilltop, surrounded by graceful trees. Thick grass covered the yard. Blonde stone darkened in the shadows of the trees. Glass in mullioned windows glistened as if sheets of onyx. She hurried to the lane leading to the house. Etched upon a bronze plaque, embedded in a stone pillar at the entrance, Darcy read the words Havendale 1682.

  “At last!” Hesitating to go forward, she clutched her bag, gazed at the house, the tall windows, and ivy. She thought of her father and Uncle Will, imagining them as boys running about, climbing these trees, tumbling about the lawn.

  Stepping up to the door, she lifted the iron knocker and let it fall. She rapped twice before a servant opened up. A woman of senior years, dressed in a modest brown dress and stark white mobcap, set her hands over ample hips. “Yes? What is it? What do you want?”

  Darcy stepped forward. “I have come …”

  “To see if you can have a meal, is it? Well, go around the back, dear, and I’ll have a plate set up for you. But you’ll have to work for it. Hope you don’t mind scrubbing a kitchen floor.” The woman went to shut the door.

  Darcy put out her hand and smiled. “I am hungry, and I will gladly help, but I have come to see my grandmother.”

  The woman’s brows arched and a smile spread across her face. “You must be Miss Darcy.”

  “Yes, I am she.” Darcy glanced past her to get a glimpse inside. It appeared dark and lonely, save for the light coming through one of the windows.

  The woman laid her hand on Darcy’s elbow. “Well, come in quick. ’Tis a wind falling, and you’ll catch a chill.”

  Darcy untied the ribbon beneath her chin and removed her hat, while the servant took her cloak from off her shoulders. She noticed the look of concern when her eyes ran over her clothing. “I walked a long way,” she said.

  “Hmm. From the fork in the road I expect. I know that’s where the coach leaves off, and it is a very long walk.”

  “Yes. I hope I do not look too untidy.”

  “Well, you’ve had a time of it, now haven’t you? It’s a lonely trek from where they left you, so I imagine you are tired. Brave girl you are to journey all the way from Maryland.”

  “I am a little weary.”

  “We’ve a warm guestroom waiting for you. It has a comfortable bed, and I’ll bring up a tray of food.”

  “You are kind. But I’d prefer to see my grandmother right away if I can.”

  “Of course, and without delay.”

  Before going on, Darcy paused to brush down her dress. At least a few wrinkles were smoothed. “By what name shall I call you?” she asked the serving woman.

  “Mrs. Burke will do. I’m the housekeeper and cook.”

  “Have you been with her long?”

  “More years than I can count. Follow me, dear. Your grandmother’s room is just up these stairs. Oh, she is going to be so pleased to see you.”

  Darcy picked up her bag and followed. Her hand trembled along the banister. She noticed the simplicity of the house. Not a single portrait hung on the walls, no paintings of any kind, except for one at the top of the
staircase of a young woman seated on a bench in a garden.

  Her eyes not leaving the painting, Darcy paused. “Such a lovely portrait. Is she an ancestor of mine?”

  “Indeed she is.” Mrs. Burke turned with a heavy sigh. “That’s your grandmother when she was a young girl. You’d never believe she was such a beauty after you meet her, for she is very old and wrinkled.”

  Downstairs the walls were paneled with dark oak, but the hallway upstairs held a warmer effect, painted pale yellow with large windows that allowed the light to flood inside. Darcy scanned the paintings on the wall and the pattern the sunlight made across it. “This floor is different from downstairs.”

  Mrs. Burke straightened a crooked landscape on its hook. “My mistress had the old panels ripped out after she married Mr. Morgan. It hasn’t changed since, not in fifty years.” She moved on with a smile. “What a surprise that you have come sooner than anyone expected, and a fortnight after the dear old soul’s eighty-first birthday.”

  “I pray she is in good health. I would think, with how fresh the air blows here, that she would be.”

  “Ah, she is a bit forgetful. But she’s blessed you know, for not many folk live as long as she, especially when they’ve had so much heartache.”

  Heartache? Could her father have caused it? Uncle Will admitted that his leaving England grieved his mother. Yet he told her, the Lord said for this cause a man shall leave his father and mother and cleave to his wife. Mari meant more to him than anything. Had her father felt the same way toward her mother, Eliza? Was she the reason he left?

  As they headed down the hallway, she made more inquiries. “Does anyone else live here besides my grandmother and you, Mrs. Burke?”

  “Mr. Langbourne and his wife, Charlotte, come to stay once in a while,” Mrs. Burke replied. “He’s your grandmother’s nephew and owns this estate. After your father left us, Mr. Morgan changed his will and left Havendale to Mr. Langbourne. Do you know of Mr. Langbourne?”