Beside Two Rivers (11 page)

“Oh, if only she could see your watercolors, Papa,” said Martha. “Perhaps Darcy could take one to her.”

“Perhaps,” said Mr. Breese. “And I should think it would bless her soul to see at least one grandchild before she dies.”

Mrs. Breese huffed. “She treated you abominably from what you have told me. I would think that enough to object to such a request.”

“That was long ago, my dear, and has nothing to do with Darcy.”

“Well, perhaps you should go with Darcy, and take Martha anyway just to spite her for not asking for her as well. You cannot let our niece go alone.”

“I will consider it. But she did not ask me to come, now did she?”

“No, but why should that matter? You can make up your own mind.”

“Indeed I can, and I will. And Darcy can make up hers.”

Mrs. Breese bit her lower lip. “Oh, but if you go, then I shall be left here alone with the other girls, and who should protect us?”

“You, my dear, are a bundle of contradictions. You cannot keep your mind settled on one thing. Instead you rush back and forth between this idea and that,” said Mr. Breese, his face flushed. “Make up your mind.”

Darcy hoped the conversation would end before her uncle made an outburst that would push her aunt to crying.

Darcy cast her eyes down in thought, her throat tightening all the more as her aunt continued to sum up reasons why her uncle should accompany her, why he should not, why Darcy should not go and so on. Once again, the past reared up before her, causing rapids of questions to tumble into her mind.

She glanced over at her uncle. “Uncle Will, you think I should go?”

“You may not ever have another chance. Come with me.” He made a swift gesture to his wife that she stay put.

Darcy followed him to the study situated across from the sitting room, where upon his
desk were notes and drawings of seeds and plants. He flung open the doors to a bookcase. From it, he took out an old stoneware tankard where he kept a bit of money, out of his wife’s sight and without her knowledge. He opened the lid, took out a leather pouch, and placed it into Darcy’s hand.

“I have kept this for many a year, knowing someday God would lead you from home. Your father left it for you.”

Darcy could not stop her breath from catching. “He did? He cared that much?”

“He thought it would come in handy one day. If you must go to your grandmother, this will help you along the way. Life is too short, Darcy. You must pray to make the right choice. Remember, God has a plan for your life.”

“Whatever his plan is for me, this part of it came unexpected.” She looked down at the pouch in her hand. “It is exciting and at the same time frightening.”

Mr. Breese patted her shoulder. “Adventures always are. I have no doubt this one shall be grand if you decide to embark upon it.”

She kissed his cheek. “I would write often and be back home within a year.”

“Do not make any such a promise as to time, Darcy. You never know how short or how long a journey may be,” he told her, rubbing her chin. “I will look forward to your letters.”

“I suppose the idea of you going with me is out of the question. Aunt Mari and the girls need you here.”

“Perhaps we can arrange for a chaperone.”

“That would cost money. I will be fine without one.”

“Yes, they can be troublesome, shadowing your every movement.” Mr. Breese lifted her hand and closed her fingers over the pouch. “One way or another, you will need this. If I could afford for the entire family to take a long holiday, I would arrange it. But it isn’t possible. My duty is here with my wife and the girls.”

Darcy pushed back the tears welling in her eyes. “What was grandmother’s letter to you like?”

“Blunt. She did not ask me to visit her.”

“I am sorry, Uncle.”

“I daresay she has forgotten me for the most part. But I have not forsaken her, Darcy. The Bible says not to despise your mother when she is old. I have written many times and asked her to come live with us. I have even sent money. At times I have felt guilty for being so far away from her now that she is aged.”

Darcy wiped her eyes. His words saddened her.

“You’re heart has been low these past few days,” her uncle said. “What is it?”

Darcy forced a smile. “I think deeply on things, Uncle Will. That’s all. Besides all this, I admit I am troubled over Mr. Brennan.”

He placed his hands gently on her shoulders. “Hmm, obviously that slip of a girl, Miss Roth, upset you. Is there something I can do?”

“She said, or rather implied, my parents brought shame to our family. Is this true?”

“Tittle-tattle. Your father was a brave patriot, and your mother endured those war years without him. She kept River Run and the mill at Israel Creek running.”

“Yes, I have not forgotten what you have told me,” said Darcy. “I’ve always felt proud of them.”

“You have every reason to. It was not easy keeping River Run going while he was away. I have always felt sorry for the letter I sent your mother, when I was told the British had hanged your father. She had to live with grief all that time.”

“But what joy there must have been when she learned the truth,” Darcy said. “I vaguely remember my father’s homecoming. Strange, I mostly recall the buttons on his uniform and him carrying me through the hall. He loved my mother, didn’t he?”

“As much as any man can love a woman.” He crossed the room to his desk, took out a key, and opened a drawer. He showed Darcy a thick, folded parchment. “Your father showed up on my doorstep with you in tow to tell me your mother was dead and handed me the deed to River Run, saying it should be given to you upon your marriage. He said he could not care for you, that you needed a mother, and so left you with us. He never told me more, but I could see his mind was affected.”

For a moment, Darcy held the deed in her hands. River Run would be hers one day, but only upon the day she wed. “Such love. Such honor.” She looked back at her uncle and handed him the document. “Why would people speak unkind things about them?”

“Do not listen to idle gossip. There is no shame.” He tucked the deed back into the drawer and closed it.

“Mr. Brennan stopped calling because he believed their lies. He refused to attach himself to someone like me, according to his letter.”

“I shall ride over to Twin Oaks and have a word with Captain Rhendon. I will not stand for it. I’ll not have my family spoken ill of. Dear Lord, Eliza is in her grave these many years and they still speak harshly of her. Surely God frowns on such disrespect.”

Darcy took a step closer to him. “Uncle, why is there no gravestone for my mother at River Run?”

“I do not know, Darcy.”

“It is not right that she should not be remembered in that way. When I return, I will see it is done. And one for Ilene as well.”

She kissed his cheek and left for her room. Night swallowed up the twilight, and she sat on her bedside, gazing out the window at the misty land before her, a tumult of emotions flooding her heart.

11

Unable to sleep most of the night, Darcy tried to picture her grandmother in her mind. Perhaps she might be an elegant woman, stiff in posture, shoulders back, head high, eyes that spoke of highborn blood. Then again, she could be wrinkled and bent with age, one who regretted the fading bloom of youth.

Tucking her arms beneath her head on the pillow, she watched the shadows cross the ceiling in time with the even rhythm of her breathing. She closed her eyes and thought of Ethan. England—he’d be there. Ah, but would she want to meet him again, endure seeing him with a new wife, one who would flaunt her new name in her face?

She drew the pillow against her and wondered if he had decided not to marry Miss Roth. Did he not say he had no real affection for her? If they were to meet again, how would he react? Would he repent for leaving her high and dry?

In the morning, she went downstairs for breakfast. Fortunately, her aunt was reserved on the subject of her leaving, yet dropped hints as to how fine the riverside was, how lovely the Maryland countryside would be in autumn, how blessed they all were to live in a land of liberty without the burden of monarchy.

“If you choose to leave us, I would be pleased if you would send your uncle a sample of heather pressed in rice paper inside a book of your choosing, Darcy,” her aunt said.

Darcy could not bring herself to smile. “I will be happy to, if I can find any. I will see if Uncle Will has a picture of it, to make it easy for me.”

She went to his study and found him working. “Aunt Mari wishes for me to send home a sample of heather. Do you have a drawing I may see?”

“No, but I can make one.”

“That would be splendid.”

He drew out paper and began the sketch. “It is a shrub-like plant, you see.” Darcy leaned in. “It blooms bell-shaped purple flowers in summer. By the time you reach England, you will have missed them in all their glory.”

“But the leaves are lovely, and perhaps I will find some dried blooms.”

“Yes, perhaps.” He handed her the sketch and she thanked him. It worried her how weary he seemed.

“What is the matter? I have noticed you seem tired lately.”

“Yes, I am more tired than usual, and I have a shortness of breath at times. I suppose it is old age creeping up on me.” He placed his hand on her cheek. “Say nothing of this to your aunt. You know how she worries.”

She agreed to be quiet, but she wondered if it were the right thing to do. “You must see a doctor, Uncle Will. Promise me.”

“I have met with him already. I am to drink plenty of barley water, eat my food warm, and stay out of drafts.”

She put her arms around him. “I should not leave, not when you are ill.”

“You fear too much for me, Darcy. I am otherwise in good health. I want my heather, and the way I am to have it is if you get it for me.”

Stepping outside his study, Will Breese put on his hat. “Wild blackberry leaves are turning and I need samples.”

“Would you like me to come along?”

“I would like to have time alone to pray, Darcy. You know how precious quiet is to me, and that it is hard to pray when there is so much activity inside the house. I’ll take my dog with me and return for dinner at noon.”

By one o’clock he had not returned, and so Darcy and Martha were sent to find him. They walked past the front garden to the road together, to a field opposite the house, lush with knee-high grass that waved in the breeze.

Martha looped her arm through Darcy’s. “I think we shall have a gray winter this year, Darcy.”

Darcy smiled and lifted her face to feel the sun. “I like winter as much as any season. But when it is cold and dreary, I remember that the wildflowers will return as they always do.”

Martha paused and shook out the dust that had gathered on her hem from the road. “I wonder if you shall be here to see them. Your grandmother’s invitation to visit her …”

“Do not look so sad, Martha. This is my home and I will come back.”

With a firm hand, Martha yanked at a head of a clover. “Hmm. You are like the wildflowers, cousin. Gone for a while, but promised to return.”

Darcy laughed and shook back her hair.

“Are you worried you might see Mr. Brennan there?”

“Indeed not. I doubt I shall ever see Mr. Brennan again. And even if I do, it shall not be of any consequence to me.”

“And if he is wed to that prissy girl, tell him I think him well-deserving of such a thorn in his flesh.”

“It is because of me that you would say such a thing, Martha.”

“You are right. I would say it of any man who treated my dearest cousin and friend ill.”

They walked on, closer to the line of trees that shaded the field.

“You never did say all that was in the letter, Darcy. Were there other reasons for Grandmother asking you to come, other than wishing to see you?”

“That is the sum of it. She said that for many years she has grieved and explained it no further. I imagine not seeing our fathers for all these years caused her much pain, and to know we exist and to never to meet us has been difficult. I do not understand why she only asked for me, and not you or your sisters.”

“Perhaps she plans to send for us one at a time, and I shall be next on the list. But I do not ever want to go. I am afraid of strangers and strange places.”

“I have thought perhaps there are things I should know, and people I should meet,” said Darcy. “I am not afraid.”

Martha nodded. “You never are. I admire that about you.”

The breeze whispered through the weeping willow they walked under. Darcy drew in the air. “We are young, Martha. Neither of us should spend our days sitting at home. I must find answers, and you must find a husband.”

Her cousin laughed. “Have you no such hope in finding a good man, Darcy?”

“I shall desire marriage, if it is for love. If I never find it, than I shall remain as I am.”

“I have received two letters from Dr. Emerson,” Martha said. “I believe he is sincerely fond of me.”

Darcy turned to her cousin. “What is there not to be fond of? You have all the qualities a good man should desire. Beauty. Wit. Intelligence. And you have excellent taste in books, especially poetry. I hear Dr. Emerson is a deeply spiritual man, in the way Christ would have him be, kind and compassionate. I believe you are fond of him, as well.”

Martha blushed and nodded. “I am, indeed. He might stay here in the countryside, or he might carry me away to Baltimore, or even Annapolis.”

Darcy blinked in astonishment. “You would prefer the city to the river?”

“I would prefer to be wherever Dr. Emerson chooses to live. But I will admit the river would be my first choice, if I have any say in the matter.”

“I am sure he would want your opinion on such an important issue.”

“We have not spoken much, or ever been alone. But when I have seen him my heart pounds so hard, I think I should faint.”

Darcy felt her smile sweep from her face and a yearning fill her. “I understand. Now, when I think of Ethan, my heart aches. Love is a two-edged sword.”

“Yes, Darcy. Oh, we should not be speaking as if I am engaged to Dr. Emerson. I am not.”