Louise reached down to take the mittened hand in her own bare one. “You are right,” she said, brushing at tears with her free hand. “Henri says that it will never happen. Things will just go on, with worrisome rumblings from time to time. But nothing else. The British have been threatening for years.” Louise paused, then added, “I don’t mean you, of course.”
Catherine’s eyes clouded. “Andrew fears that this time might be different.” Her words trailed off, and she bit her lip. “We must not think of it. It has not happened. Perhaps it never will. To dwell on it would be wrong. It makes me feel angry and frustrated inside. We live where we live. We can do nothing about that. So we must accept it.”
“But we do not have to be shaped by it,” Louise quietly agreed.
“We do not have to become like them,” Catherine said. “We do not have to be enemies.”
“Never enemies,” Louise agreed. “Never at war. God would not wish it to be so.”
They fell into silence, each busy with her own thoughts.
At last Catherine spoke. “What do you know of God?” she asked softly.
Louise moved to sit down beside her once again. “I know He is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. The way. The truth. The life.”
“He is all that to you?”
“No, perhaps not if I answer truthfully from my heart. I know that Scripture declares Him to be so, but I confess I do not fully understand it. But with the rumors of war”—Louise placed a hand over her heart—“I have … stirrings. I feel I want to know more about Him.”
“I feel that way, too.”
“You do?”
Catherine nodded. “I never really cared that much before. I never wanted to seek God. My father had the Bible in his hand each time I looked his direction. In the evenings by the fire while I stitched. In the mornings before he went about his daily duties. At the noon meal he read a portion. He insisted that I read the Scriptures, too. Memorize verses. I saw it as duty. But since Andrew—”
“Marriage has made a big difference,” Louise offered solemnly.
“Oh yes. Andrew and I have been reading the Scriptures together. I have found a whole new purpose. A whole new attitude. We’ve been searching for truth. And when Andrew is away, I read almost from morning to night on some dreary days. I can’t wait to discover something more. To have it to talk about with Andrew when he comes home. It’s been exciting.”
“And you understand?”
“No, not everything. But some things gradually are becoming more clear. It’s like … like mining for gold. You find one nugget, then another and another.”
“Do you suppose,” Louise said, the yearning in her heart making her voice unsteady, “that when you find a … a nugget, you could tell me and I can take it home to Henri?”
“You mean …”
“Yes. There is so much that I do not understand. I ask Henri, but it puzzles him also. Henri is not so taken with reading and study. Or with such questions as this. ‘Live a good life,’ he says. ‘That is what counts.’ And he lives a good life. He is a good man. Always devoted to duty. To others.” Louise’s features turned wistful. “But if I myself were able to understand. To be able to show him such gems.”
Catherine’s face reflected her uncertainty. “But there is so much I still don’t know and can’t understand.”
“Then perhaps we can find some nuggets together.”
Catherine nodded slowly. “It is true. The two of us can seek what I do not understand alone. That would be wonderful.”
Louise’s thoughts raced onward. This would also mean regular meetings with Catherine. She found herself looking forward to the days ahead with new anticipation. She looked at Catherine and thought she could see the same anticipation reflected back.
Chapter 12
Andrew returned from the summer’s first sortie, and he had to stifle a groan at the sight of the seagoing vessel anchored in Cobequid Bay. He and his men were dirty and stiff and worn from seven long days in the saddle. He did not need unexpected official visitors at such a time. He yearned for home and Catherine. But the fort’s sentries stood with uncommon stiffness, weapons etched sharply against the afternoon sky, and Andrew knew that he would not get home anytime soon. Andrew accepted the sentry’s salute, spotted the official marching toward him, and felt himself tense up as well.
“Ah, Harrow, there you are.” Captain Randolf Stevenage’s drawl rang through the still air. “How gentlemanly of you to deign to join me.”
“My apologies, sir.” He found himself adopting the same manner as the guards, formal and absolutely correct. A private assigned stable duty hastened over and took the reins of his weary steed. “Had I realized you were coming, I would have been here personally to greet you.”
“Yes, of course.” Stevenage turned away on polished thigh boots, slapping his riding gloves upon his leg. “Well, I must take that to mean the Indians have intercepted my messenger. Or the Frenchies.”
“That would be uncommonly strange, sir, begging your pardon.” With any other officer, Andrew’s normal demeanor would have been respectfully direct. But Stevenage was a full-fledged captain, while Andrew’s own promotion was still as an acting commandant, and Stevenage was assigned to headquarters, while Andrew was relegated to a small backwater fort. And there was something about this man’s manner which shouted peril. “But we have not had a single attack on the trails we guard in over a year,” he explained, his tone matterof-fact.
Stevenage wheeled around and stared up at him. “Are you questioning my judgment here, Harrow?”
“Far from it, Captain. I only meant that a lone man traveling fast would hardly be the likely target of an attack. Particularly when we have known such a long stretch of peace and—”
“Because I do not take kindly to having subordinate officers show such liberties. Not kindly at all.”
Overcoming his fatigue and inner frustration, Andrew drew himself to parade-ground attention. “I humbly apologize for any slight, sir, however unintended.”
“That’s all well and good. Even so, we can’t permit such a breach in discipline.” Either Stevenage did not see the hostile glances being shot his way from the men currying Andrew’s horse or he chose to pay them no mind. “How am I to know you did not choose to ignore my messenger and send him on ahead to his next rendezvous?”
“I must respectfully assure you, sir, that I did no such thing. You may check with the men who accompanied—”
“I may well do that, Harrow,” Stevenage interrupted. “But of course you could have already bought their silence.” His expression reminded Andrew of a cat playing with a mouse. “So this really comes down to your word against mine, doesn’t it?” the man finished, with another slap of his glove against his leg.
Before Andrew could think of a reply, the stable hand closest to the fortress doors craned and shouted, “Rider coming fast, sir!”
“Thank you, soldier.” Andrew gave a stiff bow and said as he walked past Stevenage, “Permit me to see what this is about.”
A stranger came pounding through the outer gates, his horse blowing hard and steaming in the late June sun. He pulled to a dusty halt and saluted toward Stevenage as he stood glowering. “Begging your pardon, sir! My horse threw a shoe this side of Annapolis Royal. Had to proceed on foot a full day and a half before I found a village with a smithy and a forge.”
“You—” Captain Stevenage obviously was biting down hard on his ire, for all the fort’s eyes were upon him. He turned to where Andrew was standing and shouted, “Draw your men up for inspection!”
“Certainly, sir.” Andrew was most gratified to find his aide-decamp waiting nearby. “Carry on, Sergeant Major.”
“Sir!” He stomped a polished boot as he wheeled about and roared, “Fall in for inspection!”
Clearly his sergeant major had spent the time since Stevenage’s arrival preparing the troops, for Andrew could scarcely recall ever having seen the fort’s soldiers looking so well fitted. Brass a
nd boots and belts all were polished until they shone, muskets gleamed, hats and coats mended, and all the men properly attired. “Troop, attenshun!”
Andrew stood front and center to the group, amazed to find that even the ones who had traveled with him had been quickly brushed up and brought to a fairly reputable state by the sergeant major. They stood alongside the others of his meager regiment, appearing more appropriate for the Halifax parade ground than the dusty courtyard of a frontier fort.
Captain Stevenage seemed taken aback both by their dress and how swiftly the troops were brought to order. He passed down their ranks with a glassy eye, leaving Andrew to wonder if the man had traveled all this distance just to find something to criticize. Andrew walked alongside him, as proud of his men and his fort as he had ever been. No matter that his command and his rank were both temporary. For this moment, for this point in his life, the fort belonged to Andrew Harrow. And his men had done him proud.
Stevenage reached the end of the rows obviously disgruntled. He wheeled about and marched to stand beneath the flagpole. Unbuttoning his pocket, he drew out a document with its watermark and ribbon of royal rank.
All was brought into crystal clarity as soon as Stevenage began to read. “It is recognized that Lieutenant Andrew Harrow has performed duties related to the running of Fort Edward in an exemplary fashion, accepting command for an entire winter while his commandant remained ill.” Stevenage’s voice sounded slightly strangled as he continued. “Andrew Harrow, you are hereby confirmed as captain in the King’s Own Regiment of His Majesty’s Service.” The hand holding the document fell in defeat to Stevenage’s side. “Congratulations.” He would not look at Andrew as the mumbled word left his lips.
The sergeant major filled the sudden silence with a roared, “Three cheers for Captain Harrow!”
As the troops began their lusty cheer, Randolf Stevenage turned and started for the fort’s main gates. “Walk with me, Harrow,” he barked.
“Certainly.” Andrew allowed the visitor to travel a few paces ahead so that he could murmur as he passed, “Well done, Sergeant Major.”
“Knew he was up to no good, the way he came in here and started sniffing about,” the older man muttered. “Congratulations, sir.”
Andrew passed through the gates and stood alongside Stevenage. The officer pointed westward, across the sparkling ribbon of the Minas River. “Any trouble from your crop of Frenchies?” he sneered.
“None.” Now that they were again of equal rank he could permit himself a clipped tone. “Not from them, not from anyone in our district. We have found the best policy to take is one of peaceful—”
“Governor Lawrence is hereby ordering you to draw up a plan of defense.”
Andrew stared at Stevenage. “Against whom?” “The Frenchies, of course. That is the purpose of my visit. I am assigned to carry the new orders to all the forts around the Bay of Fundy. You are aware they have once again refused to sign the king’s order.”
Only because the officials in Halifax insist on including in the document that the French must bear arms. But Andrew kept his retort to himself. “No doubt Governor Lawrence is aware that we are at peace.”
“Governor Lawrence is most certainly aware of the larger picture, something which has obviously escaped you here in your little colonial outpost!” Stevenage’s shout was loud enough to silence the quiet chatter back in the fort. “War has come to our homeland. Which of course is where our first allegiance lies, doesn’t it, Captain Harrow?”
“Of course,” Andrew quietly agreed.
“The officials in Halifax, those who are aware of the true course of events, have a new name for your Frenchie neighbors. They have been dubbed the ‘Unreliables,’ for there is great doubt as to which way they will go when conflict arises. And believe me, Harrow. Conflict will arise.”
Stevenage flipped his right hand and the gloves they held in a barely perceptible salute. “I must be off, Harrow. The lieutenant has informed me that the boat sails with the tide.”
“Very well.” Andrew did not offer to see him to the ship. As he watched the stiff, retreating back, his relief at the man’s departure was overcome by deep sorrow. Not even his new promotion could wipe away the sense of being caught up in the sweep of a powerful and invisible tide.
Andrew could tell that Catherine was making a valiant effort to give him the sort of welcome he had come to expect. After seven days scouting the hinterland, the warmth of her love eased even the greatest burden of fatigue. Yet he could sense a shadow over her welcome, despite the smile and the hug as soon as he crossed the threshold. He pulled her to arm’s length and asked, “How are you, my love? Is everything all right?”
“Why shouldn’t all be well with me this day? You are home!” But the coquettishness looked as forced as her smile. “My husband is back home safe and sound, and the summer is as splendid as the winter was hard.”
Andrew drew her to the little table where they dined and pulled her gently into a chair. He seated himself beside her and said, more quietly still, “Tell me.”
She tried to hold to her smile. “You still have the dust of the trail upon you. Let me heat water for a bath. Everything else can wait.”
“How can I relax when I know something is distressing you?”
Her smile faded. “It is nothing. I am being a silly woman, and I … I so wanted to make you welcome.”
“You cannot help but make me feel at home.” He squeezed her hands, feeling that somehow he already knew what it was, sensing the news before he even heard the words. “Tell me. Please.”
“Priscilla Stevenage was here. She accompanied her husband on the boat.” Her face crumpled. “Why does she hate me, Andrew?”
“It’s not you. It’s me. Randolf sees me as a threat.”
“But why?” At the pain in her voice, Andrew squeezed her hands more tightly and sighed. There were times like now when he regretted Catherine’s desire to know about his work and all the related affairs.
But he had decided in their marriage’s early days that if she truly wanted to know, he should tell her. As with so much else, he could not rely on tradition. It was tradition that had estranged him from his beloved father and barred him from being there at the old man’s deathbed. No. If Catherine wanted to know, then he would tell her. “You know that I paid brief court to Priscilla,” he began slowly.
“I know.”
He sighed again, hating to say these things, but wanting to have it out and done with. “I fear she did not take well to my declining interest. But it is not just this. Randolf Stevenage is a man of mediocre talents. The two times he has been in the field were potential disasters, averted only at the last moment, and by the actions of underlings and not himself.”
“How do you know these things?”
“My last visit to Annapolis Royal brought me into contact with a man who had been posted to Halifax. He begged me to find a place for him here. When I asked why, he confided that he had served under Stevenage once and never would again.” He wondered at the ease with which he spoke of such things to her. But there was such intelligence in Catherine’s gaze, such a hunger to understand and share his world, he did not even feel a need to remind her how private these discussions had to remain. “Randolf Stevenage used his father’s connections to secure the posting in Halifax. He loves power and craves a higher rank. He knows the senior officers have their eye upon me. As a matter of fact, he arrived today to inform me that my promotion has been formalized.”
“Oh, Andrew, that’s wonderful!”
He accepted her hug and waited until she had resumed her seat before continuing. “Randolf came hoping to find something to criticize, something to take back with him from the field that might undermine the way his own superiors view me.”
Catherine nodded, her composure as somber as he had ever known it. “Priscilla demanded to know where I kept disappearing to for such long afternoons away from the village.”
Despite the day’s warmth
, Andrew felt a sudden chill. “You didn’t tell her.”
“Of course not. But I was so frightened. How did she know?”
“There is someone in the village who is spying for her—for them. It can be nothing else.”
Catherine’s distress mounted. “Why would anyone hate me like that?”
“They don’t hate you, my darling. They are simply trying to curry favor with the powers in Halifax. Almost anyone here in Edward could be tempted. Someone seeking a permit for selling at market, or rights to transport goods for the army …” A dozen different possibilities sprang to mind, but he pushed them away. “It would do us no good to wonder. All it would make us do is question our neighbors.”
She could not keep the tremor from her voice. “Do you want me to stop seeing Louise?”
He was sorely tempted to say yes. As spring had grown into summer the frequency of Catherine’s visits up the hillside had increased, as had the length of her stays. But she was finding such joy up in the meadow, such purpose and peace.
And there was something else. Something Andrew could not precisely put his finger on. As though a still, quiet voice at the very center of his heart was whispering to him, urging him not to do what his more logical mind was suggesting.
And this quiet inner voice could not be denied. “No.” The word was murmured, quiet as the birdsong beyond their open window. “I cannot ask that of you.”
Any reservations he might have had over his decision were erased at the light which sprang to her eyes. “Oh, thank you. I wouldn’t defy your decision if you had said I should stop. But it is so wonderful being up there with her, I wish I could explain. …” She turned, and her shining eyes fell upon the Bible lying open upon their dining table. “We have such a wonderful time reading the Bible together. She does not have a Bible of her own. There have been no French ships since the blockade, and books in the French villages are ten times what they cost us. She brings a church prayer book, and once she brought her parents’ family Bible. But that was too precious, too large and difficult to bring again. It has five generations listed in the family tree at the beginning.” Her words tumbled upon one another. “It has been so wonderful, the two of us sitting in the sunshine, the Book open on our laps. I read passages from our English Bible and translate, and then we discuss them together. The last time, Louise brought a French Bible that the vicar had loaned to her. Oh, I wish I could describe to you how it feels.”
The Meeting Place Page 11