Surrender the Wind (10 page)

“Henry Chase is a little over two miles from Ten Width. My mother says I am close enough for her not to worry.”

For a moment, their eyes held. Something passed between them
—
a rise of passion that almost overwhelmed them both.

Seth retrieved his hat, slipped on his overcoat, and beheld Juleah in the glare of the morning light. “I’ll be back within a few hours.”

She took a faltering step toward him. The color in her cheeks heightened. He tried to understand why the sight of her should affect him so, cause his heart to ache in his breast. He could not help but lift her hand and kiss it, realizing it did not matter.

He turned out the door and down the stone step to mount the late squire's horse, Jupiter.

A
b
ove
mossy bluffs The Sea Maiden appeared ghostly amid the fog that drifted inland from the sea. Washed of color, it appeared like a damp black-and-white etching set on a plain of dew-drenched grass. Smoke from the chimney whirled over the thatched roof. Outside the door, a tarnished lantern sputtered—a lemon star against a curtain of bleakness.

Will's horse sighed and he brought it to a halt. “Be on your guard, sir. Rough men frequent this place.”

Seth drew rein and dismounted. “Come in with me, Will. You’re old enough.”

“I’m nineteen, sir.” Will's eyes shifted from Seth's back to the tavern. “If it's all the same with you, I’d rather not.”

“I’ll buy you an ale. Surely there's a roaring fire within.”

“Aye, and enough horse thieves sneaking around, too.”

Amused at Will's caution, and the way his eyes enlarged, Seth choked down a laugh. “If it gives you ease, keep to your pistols and guard our horses. But I cannot see why you want to stay out here in the chill.”

The cold caused Seth to shiver and he turned up the collar of his coat against the wind. He strode toward the tavern door,
avoided the puddles of mud and horse dung, and closed his palm over the pommel of his flintlock before he entered.

Brassy lanterns on wrought iron hooks hung from blackened rafters. Ashy logs and pinecones crackled in a stone fireplace. English sausages were heaped on the patrons’ pewter plates with potatoes and eggs fried in savory grease, with enough brown bread and smoked herring to feed a troop of redcoats. The aroma filled the air and tempted Seth. His stomach growled, but he set his mind on finding Yates instead of breakfast.

The tavern-maid approached him. With a bright smile, Pen showed him to a table. The tresses of her flaxen hair fell over her throat. But Seth would have none of her. He wanted information of the doctor's whereabouts. In answer, she turned her large sapphire eyes toward Yates.

“He's been here an hour, having not yet begun his daily rounds to his titled patients.” The chatter between her customers kept her from being overheard. “He owns that black gelding stabled in the lean-to.”

Seth glanced over at Yates. The doctor sat alone in a booth near the fire and called for a pint of cider.

“Both his stomach and mood are wanting, sir, even though it's midmorning,” Pen said.

Seth leaned back against the smooth oak bench. The doctor's clothes were immaculate and fitted snug around a gaunt frame. “The profits of his practice are apparent by his clothes.”

“Hmm, too fine for a man of his station, sir.” She whirled round to fetch Seth a mug of morning cider.

“Are there no other doctors in these parts besides him?” Seth asked.

“He's the only doctor for miles. He attends the poor when they’ve money to pay or a dressed goose to offer.”

“That is typical, don’t you think?”

“I suppose. But he's a hardhearted man. I guess he has to be or else he’d give in to the suffering of folks and quit. He's made a living.”

“So, he prefers to serve the rich?”

“He says so; but like I said, if there's money or meat he’ll do only what's required if the weather is fine and he's up to it.” She leaned down and glanced over at the surly doctor. “When he's had too much ale, he mutters, ‘Bleed them until they recover. Summon a clergyman or undertaker if they don’t.’ ”

“Thanks for the information.” Seth stood and stepped over to Yates's booth. “You drink alone, sir,” he said standing at the edge of the table. “May I join you?”

Yates squinted up at Seth from his pint and plate. “You may, if I might know who it is I’ll be conversing with. You’re a stranger by your speech.”

“I am, sir.”

“Your name?”

“Seth Braxton of Virginia … and of Ten Width.”

Yates raised his bushy eyebrows. “The old squire's grandson? Accept my condolences. Your grandfather was a good man.”

Seth inclined his head. “I thank you, sir.”

Yates was a man about his father's age, with dark hair turned gray and a narrow, drawn face heavily lined. His fingers were long and bony, covered with veins and dark spots. His deep-set eyes were a bleary hazel that appeared insensitive in a grim face.

Yates made a swift gesture with his hand. “You may have a seat.”

Seth sat opposite Yates. “Forgive me for interrupting your breakfast.”

Yates dove his fork into his plate and skewered a hunk of sausage. “You should try it. ’Tis the best English breakfast in the whole of Devonshire.”

“I haven’t come to eat. I need to speak with you.”

“About?”

“My sister. Her fever broke yesterday, but she is weak, as you know since you were there several days ago.”

Yates twisted his mouth, as if he were a man of some importance. “I expected her illness to linger.” He raised his mug, put it to his lips, and swallowed a large portion of the cider. “I assume she had the child removed from the house like I told her?”

“She had, but the child has died, taken by the same fever that plagued my sister. Caroline is beyond grief. I fear it's harmed her soul and her desire to live.”

Yates settled back and leered over at the fire. “Call a preacher.”

Shocked by Yates's lack of sympathy, Seth narrowed his eyes. “I intend to. But what a preacher cannot do for the body, you can.” He grew irritated with the doctor's flippant attitude, but hid it well. By his cool manner, the man was unwilling to do anything that might inconvenience him.

Yates frowned. “I warned her. Mave Proctor is a witch, who finds the lowest of nursemaids for the upper crust. I suspect that nursemaid is her apprentice. I warned Caroline not to send the child to them. He should’ve been sent to Sir Charles Kenley, regardless of their estrangement.” Yates leaned forward. “The women of the village, even some aristocrats, insist on having Mave Proctor attend them when their time comes. I do not like it.”

“A woman knows best,” Seth told him.

“Humph. Husbands should order their wives to have a doctor attend them. Midwives are risky and nursemaids indecent. Bad business for me, you see. I tried to explain to Caroline the danger, but she would not listen.”

Seth scrutinized the captious doctor. “If these women are as careless as you say, shouldn’t you have intervened?”

“Little I could do.” Yates shrugged. “Their business is legal.”

“But when a child has died in their care …”

“It is not uncommon. Even in a skilled doctor's practice, it happens. I’m not surprised the child contracted the fever and succumbed to it. Those unskilled harpies are careless in the extreme.”

Seth leaned forward. “My sister would never give charge of her son to the kind of persons you describe.”

Yates smirked. “What do pampered women know? I don’t trust those ill-begotten nursemaids whose methods of caring for children are tainted by the devil.”

With mounting irritation, Seth pushed his pint aside. “Harsh words, sir.”

“Harshness often proclaims the truth.”

“You are wrong, sir, for I believe it is written that love does that.”

Yates huffed, shifted his mug from one hand to the other. “One must show prejudice in my practice against old crones.”

Seth threw him a stiff glance. “They burn witches in England, so be sure of what you are accusing them of.”

Yates lifted his mug, drank, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Certainly I will.”

“I want you to come back with me to Ten Width and attend my sister.”

Yates drew in his lips as if to think. “I’m weary and should go home.”

“I’ll pay you whatever you ask.” Seth was firm, and heads turned within earshot of their conversation. “What is your fee? I’ll double it.”

“It is not a question of a fee, Mr. Braxton. My time is precious, and I’m afraid I’d be wasting it by seeing her today. I’m expected at a wealthy client's at noon.”

Outraged, Seth shoved himself away from the table and stood. “Caroline is your patient, is she not?”

“There's naught I can do, I tell you.” Yates replied low, but his tone grated.

“I think there was naught you could do from the start, sir.” Seth gathered up his hat and placed it on his head. Before he turned to go out the door, he looked down at Yates with a steely stare. “I’ll hold you accountable if anything happens to her.”

“There's no negligence on my part.” Yates looked aghast. “Do not dare accuse me of it.”

Seth leaned his hands on the table. “I do dare.”

“I have no desire to travel to Ten Width today in the rancorous drizzle and the miserable mud. My other client will have a warm fire, warm brandy, and a hot meal awaiting my arrival. More than I can say for Ten Width.”

“Your words are insulting, sir.”

Yates turned away. “Perhaps tomorrow I’ll feel differently.”

“Tomorrow, sir? Do not bother. You’ll never again attend my sister or any member of my family if I can help it.”

He tossed a coin down for the serving girl. Many pairs of eyes watched him pass through the door. An oath slipped from his lips, and he repented of the harsh word he spoke under his
breath once the biting wind hit his face. Yet anger stirred his blood and he clenched his fists with its force.

Yanking the brim of his hat down closer to his face, he went to get his horse. He plunged his booted foot into the stirrup and mounted Jupiter. With Will, he traveled afar off from that dismal place. His pulse pounded and his mind raced.

I
n the weeks that followed, Seth worked on the estate, met with Banes and bankers, and settled legal papers until he was too weary to do more. Juleah stayed on and spent her time with Caroline. But in the evenings, after they dined, she sat with Seth in the sitting room talking.

Early one morning, he rode off with Will toward the small stone church outside the estate. The air nipped at Seth's face and smelled of rotting leaves. The scent of scythed hay overtook him as they galloped past harvested fields within reach of the old medieval chapel. Staggered gray headstones jutted up from the soaked earth.

Seth had no fear of such a place. He had seen death before, along with the graves of brave soldiers topped with the red Virginia earth and the green sod of her fields. Here was a lonely place, a quiet eternity, and he wondered at the stillness. It would not always be so, his heart told him.

While his mind mused over the ancient echoes, he lifted his eyes to a gray-haired man walking toward him. He turned and, with a gesture of his hand, asked Will to stay behind.

The knees of the man's breeches were smeared with dirt, the rest of his attire careworn. Light touched upon the baldness of his head. Wisps of hair floated alongside his broad ears and wrinkled face. He was a short man, thin and lanky, round in the middle. His hands, grimy with dirt, dangled at his side. In one of them he held a spade.

“Good day to you, young sir.” He hailed Seth with a wave and a smile.

“And to you.” Seth removed his hat. “You are the caretaker of this place?”

With hazy blue eyes, the man glanced over at the rows of somber chiseled tablets. “Aye, I am.”

The gardener swept his arm outward at his churchyard. “One day all these shall be raised, some to eternity, others to … well, you know.”

“You believe that's true?” Seth inquired respectfully.

“Don’t you, young sir? If you don’t, then you are a man most miserable.”

“I do believe it. But I have times when I wonder; then I think of my father.”

“Ah, he was a man of faith, was he?”

“He loved God, yes.”

“All men are doubters some time or another. I’ve my moments; then I look at the Lord's handiwork and find I cannot deny what my eyes see and my heart feels. Flowers of the fields bloom in spite of the sadness in the world.”

Seth nodded and smiled at the man's simple outlook on life. A pebble poked under his boot. Pausing, he bent and picked it up, turned it over in his hand, and threw it into the nearby grove of trees.

The old man leaned closer. “If you haven’t figured it out, I’m a horticulturalist of sorts. I study these plants and trees
the entire year. I observe their cycle, their birth and dying. I’ve taken notes over the years. Tending a garden is similar to tending men's souls.”

Seth understood what the old fellow meant when he compared gardens to souls. His father had taught him the same: the seeds, the earth, rain, and sun. The tender care, the harvest, the dying and rising.

“But this is a graveyard. Don’t you find it a depressing place?”

“At times.” The elder brushed off the dirt left on his spade. “What's your name, young sir?”

“Seth Braxton. Benjamin Braxton's grandson from America.”

The man's woolly eyebrows shot up and he threw open his arms. “Well, here you are, young Braxton. I hoped to meet you.”

“Had you, sir? Why is that?”

“I knew your grandfather. Studied horticulture at his place once. He wasn’t reserved in talking of you. He spoke with affection for your father as well. I knew him when he was a wee boy. You have his looks. Now I meet you at last. I can say you are as Benjamin described you.”

“I’m surprised my grandfather would share his opinion of me with anyone.”

“Are you pleased with Ten Width?”

“I haven’t had time to decide. I’ve come at a desperate time.”

“Aye, I know. How's your sister?”

“She's at home.”

“I think I know why you’ve come.”