Acadia Song 04 - The Distant Beacon (9 page)

The men standing on the riverbank were no longer dressed as Gordon’s seamen. Gone were the navy greatcoats and wooden clogs and buttoned trousers. They now wore high boots, slouch hats, and gray oilskin cloaks. Greeting the hard-faced travelers, Nicole said, “I shall not know any of you without your tarred pigtails.”

The men grinned, and one seaman replied, “Wouldn’t have cut it off for nobody but the captain.”

“Been growing it for nigh on twelve years,” another agreed.

Gordon directed the seamen bearing her trunk toward the nearest cart. “We can’t risk word going out of a bunch of seamen escorting a titled lady inland.” He raised his voice and said, “From this point on, it’s
Miss Nicole
traveling with us, along to see her family. Nothing more.”

Nicole nodded agreement.

“Aye, that’s why the men vied hard for the chance to come along.” Gordon led her to a chestnut mare tethered to the back of the cart. “This filly here has the gentlest mouth of them all, or so it seemed upon first impression. I assumed you would want to ride.”

“Yes, and she’s lovely.” Nicole stroked the mare’s neck. “I’m sure we are going to be best friends.”

She held her other comments until the company had mounted and traced their way through the boggy forest to join the road, for Gordon showed a marked impatience to leave Boston behind them. The route was well traveled, with mounted British troops rattling past twice in their first few minutes. They also passed loaded wagons and carts of farm produce and several strings of high-spirited horses. Nearly all the traffic headed into town. Nicole watched the way Gordon studied the passersby and so asked, “Tell me what it is you see.”

“A country on the move,” Gordon said tersely. “Outlying communities moving to the safety of a garrison-held city. There will be fighting in the coming dry season, and these people are taking no chances.”

“Which means the colonel failed to tell us the truth.”

“Aye, my impression as well.”

“But why would he lie?”

“I cannot say for certain.”

“Then tell me what you think.” When Gordon didn’t respond, she pressed him. “Please. It cannot possibly be worse than my fears.”

“Perhaps,” Gordon said slowly, “the colonel heard of my brothers.”

Nicole recalled from their seaborne conversations that Gordon’s two older brothers were both now serving as officers in the army of Virginia. “Is that likely?”

“I cannot say. But it is a more appealing notion than the other.”

“Which is?”

“That the colonel wished for us to hurry along so he might have us intercepted and the gold stolen from us.” Gordon’s tone had turned bleak. “Gold is quite scarce, so I never expected to be paid in full with sovereigns. Half would have been acceptable. Three-fourths more than adequate as far as our shipowners are concerned.”

“You’re saying, then, that Colonel Grudge wished you away for some reason.”

“Aye, that is my thinking.”

“Where is the gold now?”

“On its way to London. The shipowners’ bank has a Boston office. They were only too delighted to accept a sack of good English sovereigns. They confirmed my suspicions. It’s rare for His Majesty’s procurers to be handing out gold to inbound traders.”

“Perhaps the colonel needed your supplies so desperately he was in no position to bargain.”

“Perhaps. But until we know better I shall sleep with one eye open, and we will post a double bevy of guards.”

But their way remained clear, their progress steady. Even the weather turned in their favor. They slept the first night in the lee of a farmer’s barn and awoke to find the bitter wind and scuttling gray clouds to have dispersed with the dawn. A gentle breath rose from the south. The sky was a light blue, and all the world seemed impatient to embrace a newborn spring. From the farmer’s wife they bought a morning’s feast of freshly churned butter, baked bread, and still-warm eggs. Not even Gordon looked to be adhering to his own warning to keep a sharp eye out for trouble.

The only sign that the region might not be facing another normal planting season was how sparse the traffic had become. By midday they had the road to themselves, and traffic didn’t begin picking up again until they had reached the outskirts of Bedford. They made their way Janette Oke / T. Davis Bunn around the town, and just a half hour later were again traveling alone. Twice they spotted farmers off in the distance, plowing behind teams of oxen. But other than this, the world seemed trapped in seclusion.

There was no clear transition point, either. The farther they ventured from Boston the clearer the fact became that this land was firmly in the American colonials’ hands. The smallest hamlet flew a rebel flag, either that of the Constitutional Congress or the newer one of white stars over a blue field, partly framed by red and white stripes. Nicole thought this flag to be very jaunty, far nicer than those with guns or snakes or symbols of war.

At lunchtime Gordon buried the British safe-pass deep inside one of the chests. In its place he pocketed the official document given to Charles by the Constitutional Congress, confirming Nicole’s ownership of the lands in western Massachusetts. Still they saw no soldiers and very little sign of conflict, just the empty road ahead and behind.

Toward evening of the third day, as they were closing in on Leominster, the wind shifted back to the north and the skies grew steadily darker. Gordon announced that the town appeared safe enough for them to risk lodging in an inn, and Nicole did not complain.

By the time they arrived at the village square, the temperature had dropped by half and a misting rain was pelting them hard. Even the horses seemed dejected, with their ears lying flat and their flanks shivering. The innkeeper’s wife led Nicole upstairs to a comfortable front room, while the men saw to the horses and guards to the carts. Nicole hadn’t realized how weary she was until a little while later when she rejoined the men for dinner and almost fell asleep over the hearty beef stew. But hunger kept her eyes open and her hand in motion, though she saw little else besides the bowl in front of her.

From his station on her right, Gordon leaned in close and said, “Are you attempting to ignore me?”

Nicole started from her half sleeping. “Forgive me. I am exhausted.”

“I have spoken to you three times.”

“I did not hear a word. I apologize. The road—”

“Will there never be a moment when we might speak together more intimately?” Gordon had pitched his voice low enough so that the words reached only her ears.

It was strange how, in the space of two heartbeats, she could go from a state of near slumber to as awake as she had been in weeks. “Most certainly.”

“I would like to know when. The end of our journey is just ahead of us.” Idly Gordon rolled his spoon back and forth between his fingers. “I will deliver you to your estate, then return alone to my ship. That is, unless . . .”

She knew he waited for her to ask,
Unless what?
But she could well imagine the response, and it was something she would rather not hear. “I find it most difficult to speak of the future, as it lies both tender and heavy upon my heart.”

Gordon turned in his seat so as to face her squarely. “It is precisely this tenderness which I deeply desire to know better.”

Nicole had no choice but to get up from the table. “I thank you for your company,” she said, then raised her eyes and voice both. “I bid you good evening, gentlemen. Captain. I must get some rest now.”

Gordon neither stood nor offered a polite farewell. Her last impression before leaving the room was of Gordon morosely spooning the remnants of his meal.

Nicole returned the innkeeper’s good-night and climbed the stairs with a heart in turmoil. How she would so like to do as Gordon wished and reveal to him her feelings. How desperately she wanted him to stay. To remain on the estate and help her face all the unknowns of this volatile time. To become the man she could give herself to fully.

Yet her fears clamored more loudly than her longings. Nicole prepared for bed, her mind a litany of doubt and dismay. She was afraid of opening her heart further. In fact, she was terrified she had already gone too far. Feeling beset by her earlier mistaken love with another who had in similar fashion moved resolutely against the tides of faith, she wondered again whether some flaw in her nature drew her to one who knew not her Lord.

It seemed as though she had scarcely laid her head on the pillow before dreams swept her up and away. But there was little rest in this slumber, and no peace. For there in the dark her room was invaded by the presence of Jean Dupree, the Acadian she had loved so deeply, yet who was so wrong for her. The man reached across distance and years both and leered at her. In her half slumber Nicole cried out and heard herself do so, for the man of her past had found a way to break through her shield of faith. She awoke to find herself weeping, realizing then it wasn’t Jean who had assaulted her but her own weakness.

The bitterness of her past mistakes, the pain of many trials, the fear of revisiting the hardships of her youth—all this remained with her and formed the doorway through which Jean had entered. Nicole lay in the dark and tried to stifle her sobs. She rose from her bed to kneel and pray for the strength to carve a new beginning for herself.

She clenched her hands together with the fervor of one who realized she had no answers of her own. No answers, and not nearly enough strength. “O dear God,” she wept, “bring Gordon to his knees so he forms a new and true commitment to faith, whatever might come of my feelings for him. Show me if he is the one for me. Please, I beg you. Let this love be real and good in your eyes. But if it is not to be, please make that clear to me. And hurry, Father. There is so little time left. Please, I beg you.”

Chapter 8

The weather remained unpredictable, with one day’s wind blowing down winter from the north, and the next a warmth that bound them to a fairer season farther south. The land itself proved most agreeable, gentle rolling hills and large fields surrounding orderly farms. Nicole and her companions forded streams and creeks constantly, often catching glimpses of fish jumping out of the clear-running water. On the fourth day the south wind blew so kindly they traveled with oilskin cloaks rolled up and tied behind their saddles.

That afternoon, as they were passing around Templeton, a cadre of mounted men rushed over the edge of the road and crowded in tightly around the group.

They were unlike any soldiers Nicole had ever seen before. They held themselves in military fashion, with well-oiled arms at the ready as they circled and hemmed them in. But they were also a ragtag bunch, wearing homespun and stiff tricornered hats and patched trousers. Their officer was no different. Nicole recognized him only from the way he arranged his men with hand signals, then ordered their group sharply, “Hands where I can see them, gentlemen! And make no sudden moves if you care to observe another sunrise.”

“We travel in peace,” Gordon told him, showing his empty gloved palms.

“I’ll be the one deciding that.” The officer set his long-bore rifle across his saddle and demanded, “Now just who might you be, and what is your business here?”

“I have papers in my pouch that will explain.”

“Mind you draw them out slow and easy.”

Gordon untied his pouch and took out the folded document. He announced loud enough for all the surrounding men to hear, “It bears the seal of your own Constitutional Congress.”

A murmur ran through the American soldiers as their officer inspected the document. “Why, so it does,” he agreed. He read further on, then aimed his gaze at Nicole.

“You are Miss Harrow?” “You are addressing the Viscountess Lady Harrow,” Gordon corrected.

The officer appeared unimpressed. “We don’t hold much to royal titles in these parts.”

“That is good to know,” remarked Nicole. “For neither do I.”

The officer’s eyes glimmered. “We’ve had our fair share and more of high muckety-mucks come parading through here, putting on airs and waiting for us to offer the bended knee.”

“I have met many such,” Nicole said. “And don’t cotton to such myself.” She felt Gordon’s quick look at her choice of terms.

“One man, one vote, that’s our motto,” their captor continued. “And none stand higher than the rest.”

“I am liking this fair land all the more for knowing this,” Nicole said.

The officer tipped his hat. “My name is Ida Sessions, ma’am. We’re neighbors, in a manner of speaking. I own a parcel out Concord way.”

“An honor and a pleasure, sir.”

“Your father is this Charles Harrow fellow?”

Nicole could see Gordon bristle at the familiarity, but he held his tongue.

“My uncle,” Nicole replied.

“We’ve word all the way out here of how he’s been helping widows and orphans.”

One of his men spoke up. “Know a good lady who’s kept her land on account of his generous ways. Lost her husband and both her sons.”

“I’m so sorry,” Nicole said quietly, touched by the story of a woman whom she had never met. “The tragedy of war is simply too great to bear.”