Acadia Song 04 - The Distant Beacon (12 page)

They departed with the dawn.

Gordon didn’t relax his vigil until they were again on the other side of Templeton. On the outbound journey, this stretch of road had seemed far too empty and strangely hostile. Now, after the desolation they had seen on the river’s opposite bank, this region felt like a heaven-sent haven.

The weather remained draped in cold and wind and veils of misty rain. Nicole looked so fragile to Gordon, as she slumped beneath an oversized oilskin, the hood drawn so far forward he could see her face only when directly in front of her. Even then her eyes remained shrouded and distant.

The only time she seemed to be aware of the present was in the mornings and evenings, when she pulled the worn Bible from her saddle pouch and pored over its pages. She still invited him to join her. Gordon’s affections were such that he was tuned to every nuance of her lovely voice, with its soft French accent rounding the words. He heard the quiet desperation behind her request. He didn’t understand it, but he heard and took note of how intensely she desired him to read with her.

But he could not. He could not and remain honest with himself or her. And his feelings were so deep now he couldn’t see himself ever acting in less than a forthright manner toward her—particularly concerning her faith, which was such a vital component of her life. Much as he would like to see their relationship develop to where he could press his suit, he could not do so through false means. He loved her too much.

But the truth was, he was sure her sort of faith had no place in his world. He cast these arguments back and forth in his mind over the long, wet ride back to Boston. He wanted a chance to tell her, but Nicole seemed lost within her own internal vistas, lost to all but the next stretch of road and all she had faced back there on her ruined estate. He didn’t wish to quarrel, however. He wanted to tell her that he would give up his career and the sea both and help her rebuild. He would gladly aid her in establishing a new home, and a family and a lineage. Here. In America. He would even give up England. For her. If only she would lift her gaze and search his own and say she was ready to speak with him about such matters.

But Nicole did not speak save for the briefest of exchanges and her invitations to read and pray. And pray he would. Of course he was willing to do that, but not in the manner she sought. He was tempted to lie and do so out of necessity. But he would not yield. Honor and his growing love would not permit it.

Her sort of faith was too dependent, he thought. Too needy. Too
feminine
. A man survived in this world by counting on his mind, his strong right hand, his aim, his arms, and his few tried-and-true mates. Family also, if he was truly fortunate. The world was a place of woe and danger. Strength, determination, and ambition were what counted. Together with a proper respect for the cut of one’s enemies. And there were always enemies. Always.

It was fine and good that she should practice her religion with such fervor. Noble even. But it wasn’t for the likes of him. Unless she allowed him to address the issue fully and then be inclined to accept him as he was, he remained trapped, helpless.

Gordon felt a sudden burning urge to pound his saddle and rage at her, command her as he did his own troops, and insist that she hear him out then and there. But he immediately knew there was no hope for success in such a direct assault. He had come to know this woman well enough to be certain of that. So he tugged savagely on the reins and raced back to check on the outrider. A final glance over his shoulder told him that Nicole was completely unaware he had even left.

He lifted his face to the misting rain and felt the wetness cover him like cold tears. In all his days he had never felt so aggrieved. Or so helpless.

Chapter 11

Arriving at the alley by the harbor front was both comforting and tragically familiar. Up ahead Nicole glimpsed the same battered door leading to the hostel where she had stayed during her first journey northward from Louisiana. She could only hope that Pastor Collins— the wise old man with the gently piercing eyes—was still there to greet her. It would be reassuring to speak once more with the kindly pastor who had helped lead her to faith, and to be with someone who had known Andrew and Catherine. And yet as she approached the doorway, she couldn’t help but reflect on how life had brought her full circle. In spite of the years and the miles and the struggles, she was still no closer to arriving at—at what? What was the goal?

Arriving in Boston, it had taken hours of searching to find a decent stable. Gordon had asked every British officer they passed until he’d heard several refer to the same place as trustworthy. For they wouldn’t merely be leaving their horses and wagons there but also the valuables Nicole had brought from England. Gordon had argued with the stable owner to no avail. In the end they were forced to pay a staggering sum to stable the horses—more, in fact, than for a dozen rooms and meals at a neighboring inn during normal times. Once that was over, Gordon had insisted they use the mounts to travel to the inn. Just in case, he told Nicole. The city was extremely crowded, and he intended to ride around until a place was found where the men could all bunk down together. In such conditions, there was safety in numbers.

Nicole was midway down the alley before she realized that Gordon and the men were not with her. She turned back and asked, “Are you not coming?”

“Of course, of course.” Yet Gordon continued to search the bayside waters a moment longer. “Forgive me. I cannot see my vessel.”

“There’s been such wind and storms, sir,” Carter pointed out, his face aimed seaward as well. “They must’ve pulled the boat to a leeward shore.”

“No doubt.” Gordon peered down the shadowy lane. “You say there is an inn down this way?”

“A hostel and safety both,” Nicole confirmed.

“You have been here before?”

“Some years ago.”

“So before your time in England, I take it.” Gordon chose his words carefully. “Even with the city’s crowding of Loyalists, I am certain you can still find a place more fitting for a lady of means.”

“That may well be,” said Nicole. “Still, I would prefer to stay here.”

She cut off further discussion by dismounting and proceeding to the doorway to ring the bell hanging above. Gordon waited a few moments, then quietly stood behind her.

They hadn’t been standing there long when the door opened. A wide-eyed Reverend Collins stared at Nicole and exclaimed, “Saints above!”

The relief at seeing a familiar face and the delight with which the old man greeted her were almost too much for Nicole. She had to swallow an upsurge of emotion before responding, “Greetings to you, Pastor.”

“My dear, I heard your voice through my open window.” He pointed down the alley without taking his eyes off her. “Had I not just received a letter addressed to you, I would have thought I was hearing an angel. As it was, I could scarcely believe my good fortune.”

“A letter? Here?”

“Two, in fact. One from Halifax, addressed in your father’s hand. Accompanying that was one from a lady in England.”

“Anne!” cried Nicole. “She has written! And it has arrived!”

“It has.” The pastor gave the smile she remembered so well, shining with compassion and welcome. “Might I hazard a guess that you are in need of some good news?”

“Oh, sir, if only you knew. We have endured endless days of rain and mud and distant gunfire. This after a week of traveling west, only to discover that my home has been destroyed and is now occupied by deserters!”

“How tragic for you.” If the old man failed to understand her trembling words, he showed no sign. Instead he reached for her hand. “Come inside and rest yourselves. All of you.”

Only then did she realize she had forgotten to introduce Gordon. “Oh, please forgive me. It is all just too much. And with the letters . . .” She gestured to Gordon. “Might I introduce my escort and friend, Captain Gordon Goodwind.”

“You are most welcome in my humble abode, Captain.”

“An honor, sir.” Gordon gave his stiff bow and asked, “Might you also have room for my men?”

“Of course, of course. Nothing fancy, mind you. But clean and dry—that much I can offer you all.”

“If there’s enough space for them to hang their hammocks and rest in safety, we will all be more than content.” The captain took a step back. “Now if you’ll excuse me, first I will help see to the horses.”

Pastor Collins ushered Nicole inside. “Come in, my dear. Come in,” he welcomed her.

Everything was as she remembered. The same stonefloored entrance gave way to the dining room with its long table and simple chairs. Beyond this was the hallway and then the pastor’s small office. The same wooden cross hung on the wall, the same lead-paned window, the same clutter of books and papers. Nicole took a deep breath and could smell the familiar mixture of dust and candle wax. She said softly, “I am back.”

“Yes, and what a joy this is for me, I cannot begin to say. Will you have tea? Are you hungry?”

“Tea would be wonderful, if it’s not too much—”

“Nothing is a bother, my dear. Nothing. Sit yourself down. Here, read these while I see to the tea.” Pastor Collins led her to the room’s only padded chair, handed her the letters, then hurried out.

The two missives were bound together with blue ribbon and sealed with wax. She released the bond and first inspected the letter from her father. She felt his closeness through her fingertips, the warmth of his smile, the force of her mother’s love. She slipped the letter into her pocket to be read a bit later and focused her attention on Anne’s letter. Now her hands began to tremble, so much so she feared tearing the delicate paper as she broke the seal. Nicole laid the letter in her lap. The writing was so familiar she could almost hear her sister’s voice. “Oh, Anne,” she murmured.

Only after she’d composed herself did she pick up the letter and break the seal. Weeks of damp and briny air had turned the paper fragile as tissue. She held it close to the candle, her eyes capturing every word.

“Your sister wrote me such a lovely letter,” Pastor Collins told her, returning with the tea. “She wrote to me as though we had been friends for years.”

“Forgive me, sir, but this is the first letter I have received from her since leaving England. The conflict—”

“Yes, yes, of course. I understand completely.” He set the cup down on the small table at her side. “You rest yourself here as long as you like, my dear. We can talk later.”

In places the words had streaked and run, as if even the script itself had suffered from the turmoil. But Nicole knew her sister’s words even before she read them. The solace they brought was tinged with regrets, though. The span of time, the vast distance, the fact that their countries were at war all added to the bittersweet feelings swirling within.

Having scanned the contents, Nicole set the letter aside and gathered herself. She needed to take a long breath before reading the words more carefully. Anne’s letter forced her to contemplate questions for which she had no answers. Nicole felt the inner conflict—happiness for Anne and Thomas, for Charles and Judith and their coming marriages. But when was the wedding? Nicole quickly reread the letter. In truth, the double ceremony had already taken place. This in itself came as yet another shock. To learn of their shared joy after the events had taken place only intensified the emotional blow. Anne would be staying in the safe world of Charles’s home and wealth with Thomas to love her and baby John. For a brief moment Nicole longed to be back there herself. But, no, she sighed, and to her own ears it sounded resigned. No. She couldn’t go back. She’d left because it was not her place, not her home, not where she belonged.

But where was her place? Where was her intended home? What was to be her life’s course? What was she to do here in America? Should she declare her loyalty to this land? And what about Gordon—where did she stand with him? Was she right in requiring him to share her faith? He was clearly a good man for whom she had deep feelings. Was this not enough?

Nicole stared down at the letter in her hands. These pages she held formed a mirror. It was as if she were looking down at all her doubts and worries, all reflecting back at her with a clarity and intensity she could hardly bear. She needed to resolve these issues in her life. But how? She had prayed and studied the Scriptures, and what had she discovered?

She put the letter down beside the teacup she hadn’t yet touched. Rising from the chair, she stepped over to the door, turning once to look back at the table and the letter. No, she couldn’t think about it just then. It was too much. She needed . . .

She swung the door open and walked down the hall. Gordon was seated alone in the dining room. He stood slowly, looking tall and stalwart and alone. The light filtering in through the side windows was gray and cold, and rain beat steady against the glass. She could hear the wind rush across the roof and echo throughout the stone-walled chamber, a blustering sound that only added to her loneliness and bewilderment.

Gordon must have sensed her dilemma. “Is something wrong?” he asked.