Heirs of Acadia - 02 - The Innocent Libertine (33 page)

Abigail mostly delighted in the hours of travel. Much of the time Abe was utterly involved with his work, and she did not mind this at all. With each day, she was discovering new things about herself. She had always known she was independent and willful. Because she had never spent time in the company of a man she loved, she had not realized before that she did not need to be the center of attention, nor did she require to be entertained. She was indeed content with time for herself and her own thoughts and plans.

Except for the occasional sound of voices drifting back into the coach from the driver’s bench, this day might have been theirs and theirs alone. Abe had his maps spread out upon the opposite seat. One was a copy of the surveyor’s map used to construct this very road. Abe found this fascinating. There were numerous circles with tiny numbers written in here and there. Away from the road upon which they traveled, the world became shaded and ill-defined. Beside the maps were two geography texts of the region, along with reams of paper. Abe hummed as he perused the maps and the books and his notes from the previous evening.

Abruptly he looked up and caught her watching him. “Forgive me. I have been ignoring you.”

“Is that so? I’m sure I hadn’t noticed.”

“You are making sport of me now.”

“Only a little.”

“I am sorry, Abigail. There is so much for me to study.”

“This is important for you, isn’t it?”

“The study? Why, it is vital. I feed upon it as I do upon nourishment for my body. Sometimes I hunger for this more than I do normal food.”

“Not to mention how the journey itself fascinates you.”

“I have never been anywhere. Of course, I journeyed from my family’s home and eventually arrived in Washington. But I was so, well . . .”

“Afraid,” she offered.

“Terrified,” he solemnly agreed. “Suffering and alone. I did not understand how God could allow such things to happen to me. I still do not fathom this entirely. I have learned to accept it, though.”

Abigail marveled at his simple yet profound view of life.

Abe asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

She gave him as simple an answer as she had received. “Because I am learning to love you.”

He blinked slowly. “I do not deserve this.”

She reached out her hand.

“I have nothing to offer you,” he said, enclosing her hand in both of his.

“Except yourself. Which is as great a gift as anyone has ever received.”

“Last night I lay awake and tried to describe for myself what it is you brought into my life.”

“Tell me.”

“You have brought me
vision
.”

“My dearest Abe, you see more clearly than any person I have ever met.”

“That is not what I meant. Let us take this coach in which we are traveling. I saw it as a splendid contraption, one that could serve a company well. What did you do, but urge me to see this as
my
company. You found the people I needed to speak with—”

“No, Abe.” She shook her head.

“You pointed out where I should look, then. You urged me to research the concept and work the figures and talk with the coach people. . . .” His gaze was a reward all unto itself. “I would never have done this without you.”

“I don’t know that for a certainty, but it’s nice of you to say so.”

“How could you see such things as possible?”

“I didn’t. I simply saw the potential in you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You can do whatever it is you put your mind to.”

“No—”

“Listen to me, Abe. I have heard the others speak of you in this manner, and I know it to be the truth. You have astonishing potential.”

“And you,” Abe replied, “could have anyone you wish.”

“But I don’t want just anyone. I want you.”

“This is the marvel that escapes my understanding.” Just then one of the carriage wheels hit a pothole and jostled them apart. Abigail nearly lost her place on the seat. When Abe determined she was all right, he began to laugh, and she soon joined him.

When they had regained their composure, Abigail examined the frank openness in his features, a face more honest and intelligent than any she had seen before. “I had come to consider my impetuous nature a curse. Until I met you. And now I see myself in an entirely different light. I can see how God was shaping me. He even used that disastrous night in Soho to open my eyes to the truth so that I might begin to learn and change. I was broken so that I might come to recognize just how much I needed God—and you.”

He looked stunned.

“You,” she repeated, reaching again for his hand. “You are the man who possesses none of what I have in far too great abundance.”

“Beauty? Grace?” He hesitated, then added, “Family?”

“Impetuosity,” she replied. “The fire to move forward. The urge to take what is known and
apply
it. You speak of hunger. I suppose that describes what I have as well as anything. I absolutely hunger to act. But until the moment when God brought us together, I had no true
purpose
.”

“Purpose,” Abe finally repeated after a moment. “For some reason, the way you speak of that leaves me enthralled.”

“Then let me share with you one other word,” Abigail replied. “Cause. I have watched the way Erica speaks of her work against slavery, and have yearned so for something which stirs in me such passion and fervor. She and I spoke of this, and I have come to see that it is not something I can decide upon. I must seek this from God. It is His gift to bestow. I wish it, and I am afraid of it.”

“You, afraid? Why?”

“Because I fear I will be found wanting. I fear I will not be strong enough or good enough.”

Abe looked down at her hand in his and said softly, “I would like nothing more than to add my strength to yours.”

“And I,” Abigail said, striving to keep her voice steady, “would like nothing more than to share a cause with you, my beloved.”

“Do you think we might pray for guidance on this?”

They did just that, holding hands in the rocking coach, speaking both with each other and with God, using the same conversational tone with their Lord as they did with each other, as though He were sharing the day and the ride with them. This lasted until the tilled fields and softly undulating hills suddenly gave way to the bustling cacophony of a market town. Abruptly Abe broke free to peer out the coach window. “Why, this must be Farmington!”

Amen,
Abigail silently amended.
Amen and thank you for this day and this wonderful man
. She said, “Is it?”

He began rooting through his maps and notations. “I am certain of it! We have arrived in Farmington, and we are . . . Yes! A full two hours ahead of schedule.”

“Are we indeed. How utterly remarkable.”

Finally her tone must have gotten his attention. “You are making fun of me again.”

“Perhaps just a touch.”

“But this is extraordinary.”

“Tell me why.”

“We have traversed the better part of a state and arrived at the point where we depart from the National Road, and we have done so on schedule! Do you have any idea what this means?”

“No, but I want to learn,” she replied, seeking to match his enthusiasm. “Please do explain.”

“We are negotiating unknown territory, with untrained drivers, in unfamiliar coaches. We have not been able to take on fresh horses, which has slowed us immensely. And yet we have managed to hold to a proper schedule! This means we can make precise timetables for our coach service. Which means we can calculate reliable costs for the journey!”

She shook her head, not over the news, but rather over the man’s unbounded energy. “Tell me what you are seeing.”

“The National Road,” he said, his face back now at the side window. “It is an utter marvel of modern engineering. And you shall see just what I mean when we turn here and begin traveling north on a more primitive road to your relatives’ estate.”

“Not my relatives. Reginald and Erica’s.”

“Of course. Forgive me. It is just that your families are so intertwined I often think of them as one.” This was spoken as he looked out on the noisy market square. “Before the turnpike was completed, Farmington was just one more village in the Pennsylvania foothills. Now just look at it! A picture of the prosperity that such roads promise.” He pointed ahead. “I do believe we are approaching the turning now.”

And indeed Abe was right, both about the juncture and the sudden change in the road’s condition. The carriage bucked hard as it maneuvered over rain-washed gullies and ruts.

“My goodness,” Abigail exclaimed as she was thrown against the side.

“There, do you see? The National Road measures thirty-two feet in width, of which the center twenty feet is made of broken stones placed to a depth of eighteen inches.”

None of this was new information for Abigail, of course, as he had been extolling the virtues of the road for days now. Nevertheless, she listened patiently.

“The bottom twelve inches are of stones smaller than seven inches in diameter,” he continued, “and the top six inches are of gravel and sand pressed into a solid surface using a specially designed three-ton roller.” Abe addressed this thrilling news to both windows as he bounded from one side of the rocking carriage to the other. “It is a road to be proud of. It is a road that carries the future of our great nation!”

Abigail watched this astonishing man with a love so great she felt her whole being was smiling.

Just beyond the town’s market square, a broad circle had been formed around a pair of long watering troughs. The turning was large enough to permit several coaches to halt, water their steeds, or return in the direction from which they had come. Without such turning circles, a driver was required to unhitch their horses, lead them around, manhandle the coach about, then reattach the horses. When their coach slowed to a halt, Abigail poked her head out the door in time to see Reginald leap easily down. “Is everything all right?”

“I just want to check on something.” Reginald walked around to examine the traces of the right front horse. “Stay as you are. We won’t be stopping for long.”

Abigail started to retreat into the coach when she saw Reginald looking back to where the second coach was pulling up behind them. She watched him walk back and begin a conversation with Horace. “Please would you go and see what they’re talking about?”

Abe caught her tone. “Is something wrong?”

“I couldn’t say. But they look rather serious.”

Without further comment, Abe slipped past her, opened the coach door, and stepped down.

He was not gone long. When he returned, he wore an expression as grim as Reginald’s. Abigail demanded, “Is something wrong? Maybe a horse—”

“The horses are fine,” Abe said quietly, shutting the door. The coach rocked as Reginald climbed back on board. “They think we’re being followed.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Come over here.” Abe pushed aside some bundles and made room for her on the seat facing backward. “Don’t let him see you. The man rides a roan with a white patch on its forehead.” “I see it. There by the hitching post.”

“Reginald says he’s noticed that same horse for the past two days. Never coming close enough for inspection. But dogging our path.”

“Strange for a horseman to match the pace of a pair of heavily laden wagons,” Abigail said softly, suddenly feeling breathless and a tightness in her chest.

“Those were Reginald’s thoughts exactly.”

“But who . . .” Abigail answered her unformed question. “Lillian.”

“That is what Reginald fears.”

“It must be someone sent by that banker.”

“It could be. It could also be that they are after Erica. Or perhaps even us.”

“But why?”

“We are no doubt seen as a threat. We may take away part of the very prosperous business of carrying passengers and mail west.” Abe was as somber as Abigail had ever seen.

“What do we do?”

“Up to now the road has had so much traffic we have remained safe from anyone intending mischief.” Abe glanced over at his unfurled maps. “But between here and Wheeling we enter the forested highlands. The road is much tighter, the way ahead harder to see.”

“A minute ago you said
they
. Do you think there are others who might attack?” Her heart thudded in her chest.

“That is precisely what we must determine,” Abe replied as Reginald assisted Lillian back into the coach.

“I think it will be better for the women to travel inside the rest of the day,” he said with a meaningful glance at Abe. “Keep an eye on things.”

Chapter 26

As it turned out, the elusive scout on their tail did not approach the entourage. That evening the travelers approached the Harrow estate. The house itself commanded the crest of a flat-topped hill. The views as the carriages wound along the tree-lined lane were spectacular. A broad river flowed through a distant valley, and the surrounding vista revealed tilled fields and hardwood forests dressed in autumn glory. A cluster of stables and several dozen workers’ cottages formed a tiny hamlet in the distance. Smoke rose from the cottages’ chimneys and drifted lazily across the sinking sun.