The Rescue (38 page)

“No.” She stood but kept holding his hand. “I won’t be long, and you haven’t eaten.”

Weston pulled her close to kiss her.

“I love you,” she told him, still marveling at how sweet it was to say.

“Hurry back,” he told her, and Anne exited with plans to do just that.

Levens Crossing

The carriage driver helped Anne from the interior of the coach and handed her the food basket he’d taken up top with him.

“Do you wish me to take that inside for you, Mrs Weston?”

“I have it, Bert. Thank you. I won’t be long.”

Bert began to work on his lines as she walked away from him. One strap was a bit twisted, and Dodger had been living up to his name on the ride over. Bert was still adjusting the strap, working near the horse’s head, when Anne rushed up to him.

“Please,” she gasped, clutching at his arm desperately. “Please find Mr Weston, please!”

“I will, Mrs Weston!” Bert began to turn away but thought better of it. “I don’t want to leave you, Mrs Weston. Will you come?”

“No. Please, Bert, just find my husband.”

Bert read the pain in her eyes and did as he was told. He worked Dodger as he’d not worked him before in an effort to reach Brown Manor in a hurry.

Anne watched him drive away and in a daze headed for the small stone bench at the front of the house and sank onto it. It had rained earlier that morning, and while she felt the damp seep into her dress, she didn’t give it a thought.

Time ceased to move. Anne’s thoughts traveled in every direction in the next 30 minutes. Without a clue as to how long she’d been sitting there, she stared in wonder as the coach pulled up and her husband bounded from inside. He was at her side in an instant, seeing his wife cry for the first time.

“Anne, what is it?”

“My father, Weston,” she cried softly. “He’s dead.”

Weston’s eyes closed even as he pulled Anne from the seat and held her in his arms. He stroked her hair and kissed her brow before helping her to sit back down.

“Stay right here,” he commanded before going into the house on his own. He wasn’t gone long, and when he exited, he went directly to Bert with instructions.

The manse was closer than Brown Manor, so Anne was taken there. Weston saw her settled with Judith before both he and Pastor began working on the arrangements.

“I can’t stop trembling,” Anne said as Judith wrapped another quilt around her.

“It’s all right. Phoebe is making tea. You tremble and cry all you wish.”

“Judith, do you think…”

“I don’t know, Anne,” she gently told her when Anne let the sentence hang. “I only know that God wanted your father to come to Him far more than any of us did.”

The younger woman nodded, huddling into the blanket a little deeper and asking God to help her think clearly during this time, to remember all the blessings in her life and all the years she shared with her father.

Thoughts of her father caused fresh tears to flow. Judith sat with her, not talking overly much but being close and praying out loud every so often. Anne dozed after a time, waking when Weston arrived back and put his arms around her. They were alone in the room, and Anne stared at him for a moment.

“Do you think he had been gone very long?”

“No, and neither does Dr Smith. He thinks it was some time just last night.”

Anne nodded, fresh tears coming to her eyes.

“I’m glad he was safe in bed, Weston, and not fallen and helpless.”

“That is a comfort. I didn’t tell you how sorry I am. If it wasn’t for your father, I might not have gotten to know you. I’m very sorry you’ve lost him.”

Overcome, Anne let Weston hold her for a long time. She sobbed against him, but then she felt as if she would choke on her own tears and tried to stop.

“My heart feels broken in two,” she admitted, tears still on her face. “I didn’t know it would feel this way. I mourned my mother as a child. This is so different.”

“I imagine it is, and someday you’ll need to comfort me in the same way for my mother.”

“Weston!” Anne said suddenly, grasping his coat front with urgency. “What would I have done if you hadn’t been here? What if we hadn’t married?”

Weston held her close.

“You need not worry about that. You do have me, and you’re going to have me for a very long time.”

Anne realized the foolishness of her questions and knew her emotions were on the verge of spinning out of control. Another change had come into her life, not one that was comforting and lovely like being married to Weston and living at Brown Manor, but one that made her feel as vulnerable as a child.

“We need to talk with Pastor about what day you want the funeral. Shall I get him?”

“Yes, please.”

In the hour that followed plans were made. Anne held together very nicely, but by the time she arrived back at Brown Manor, she had a headache and was ready to lie down.

Not until she rose from her nap did she find out how swiftly word had traveled. Notes—with more servants arriving each hour—were delivered from the church family and townspeople all day. Anne would often cry at the sweet memories that were shared or on hearing that someone was praying for her.

That evening the Palmers came, and Anne was ready for the company. Lydia hugged her and began talking about the girls.

“They had such a good time with you last week, Anne. It was all they could talk about.”

“We did have fun,” Anne admitted. “They all love flowers, which endears them to my heart.”

“Your gardens are spectacular,” Lydia said. “I’m jealous of your kitchen garden.”

“I’m so glad you said something, Liddy. We have a wealth of herbs just now. May I send some with you?”

“Yes, please. We would enjoy that.”

“I’ll tell Mansfield right now so I don’t forget.”

While Anne went to ring the bell, Weston caught Lydia’s eye and spoke softly.

“Thank you for not talking about her father.”

“Did she get our note earlier today?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“What day is the funeral?” Palmer asked before Anne could come back.

“Wednesday.”

As Anne returned to the group, Weston asked how schooling was going for the Hurst, Palmer, and Jennings children. The report was all good, with the occasional mix of humor, which was always to be expected with children.

The friends didn’t stay much longer, but their visit was the tonic Anne and Weston needed. They were tired and emotionally worn. Having Palmer and Lydia come in an undemanding way and visit for a time without mentioning the Colonel made it easier for Anne to retire. Her father was on her mind, but not in an all-consuming way.

Jenny settled her in for the night, but she was still awake when Weston entered from the adjoining door. When he climbed into Anne’s bed and put his arms around her, Anne held him right back and fell sound asleep.

“Thank you for coming. Thank you.”

Weston and Anne uttered the words over and over again on Wednesday morning in the churchyard to the folks who had gathered for Colonel Gardiner’s funeral and burial. He had been dressed as he ever was: full regimentals, his hat in the crook of his elbow, his sword at his side.

As planned, Pastor Hurst handled the sermon. He did so with honesty, tact, and compassion. Anne thought she would never forget his closing words.

I don’t know about you, my friend, but I find it such a comfort to know that God alone holds the keys to life and death. But that’s not all. He loves and yearns for me, for all of us. And if I will only follow His plan, the one He fulfilled when His Son died to take away my sins, then I can enjoy Him for all of eternity.

“How are you holding up?” Lydia was suddenly at Anne’s side, taking her hand, her eyes full of compassion.

“I’m all right, Liddy. Thank you.”

“I so appreciated some of the things Pastor Hurst said.”

“I was just thinking of that. You knew that he’d had some conversations with my father?”

“Yes. I was so excited to hear it and feel confident that God’s will has been done, Anne. He loves us so greatly that we need never doubt His plan.”

“I’m certain I will need to remember that in the days and weeks to come.”

“Don’t ask yourself to mend too swiftly, Anne. It takes time to feel less of the hurt, and it’s all right if a little bit of it always stays with us.”

“Thank you, Lydia.”

Others were waiting to talk to Anne, so Lydia moved on. Weston stayed within arm’s reach, keeping a careful eye on his wife.

The Hursts served lunch for the grieving couple when everyone left the church, but Anne was rather drained by then. It helped to have the children join them, especially with eight-year-old Margaret in a talkative mood.

“You have prettier flowers than we have.”

“Do you think so, Margaret?”

She nodded. “But I’m supposed to be thankful.”

“And how are you doing with that?”

Margaret shot a glance at her mother, who kept silent. Only just that morning there had been some grumbling over the shoes she had to wear.

“I’m working on it,” the little girl volunteered.

“I’m glad, Margaret. That’s what I do when I struggle with sin too.”

“Maybe I could come and pick flowers again some time.”

Before her parents could protest her boldness, 11-year-old Jane spoke up.

“Margaret, the Colonel just died and Anne is sad!”

“But flowers could make her cheery again. I’m sure of it. I would do all the work, and she would need only to hold the basket.”

Pastor cleared his throat and both girls turned to him.

“Thank you, Jane, for being sensitive to Anne’s feelings right now. Thank you, Margaret, for wanting to cheer her with flowers, but we will not be making plans today. Mr Weston is going to want to take Anne home soon so she can rest, so let us not dawdle over our meal.

“Jeff,” he said, turning to his oldest. “Will you tell us how school is going—some of the things you’re working on with Palmer and Jennings?”

It was the perfect diversion. The meal passed without Anne having to contribute, something she was too tired to do. There was much on her mind, but not even when she and Weston were alone in the carriage could she muster the thoughts into words. Her father was gone, dead and buried.

Weston was equally tired but kept himself going until Anne was resting on her bed. It was only just now occurring to him that when you married a woman, you also married her family; all the joys and heartaches became yours as well.

I feel as though I’ve taken this marriage seriously,
Weston prayed as he sought some solitude in his own room.
But there’s still so much for me to learn. Help me, Father, to be the man Anne needs right now. Help me to lead in kindness and strength. Help us to accept this death, be thankful, and to keep growing in You.

Weston’s thoughts turned to his mother just then. He would lose her some day as well. There was no use worrying about it—that was a waste of time—but someday she would be gone. Just as Anne had recalled, Weston was thankful for Pastor’s reminder that God alone held those keys.

The letter started,
My dearest Anne
. Lenore wrote to her new daughter the moment she received word of the Colonel’s passing. Anne found a quiet spot in a comfortable chair and settled in to read.