Surrender the Wind (40 page)

He nudged his horse on with a touch of his knees, and together they rode under the tent of trees. Cicadas whirred and dragonflies danced over purple thistles.

Below the greening heights, the Potomac murmured over rock and boulder. A hawk cried and circled the sky. Juleah watched it dive toward the water, skim the surface, and come up with a fish in its talons. “Your country is wild indeed. I’ve never seen such a river as this.”

“There is more,” he said, and she followed alongside him, until they saw the house his father had built. Juleah measured the height and breadth of it with her eyes.

“It is a large house, and to think you lived here alone.”

“I preferred it, but not any longer.”

He helped her from her horse and took her hand to lead her up the stairs. Hand in hand, they walked into the foyer. From it, they entered a room of whitewashed walls and tall mullioned windows that faced west. Magenta light from the setting sun filtered through blown glass and shone against the oak floor. Within the room sat a large table with four chairs, each of which was scarred with time. A clock, a tall cupboard with brass-work handles, and a rough-hewn box for firewood made up the furnishings.

Juleah walked about the room, stopped to run her hand over the table and the back of a chair. She rested beside the window-sill where she could see the Potomac, reddened by the descending sun. Seth grabbed her hand and hurried her upstairs, took her through each room, ending with the largest.

“This was the room my father shared with my mother. It is ours now.”

“May I make cream-colored curtains for the windows?”

“Indeed, you can do whatever you wish.”

“I would like a blanket chest to hold the quilts I shall make and perhaps sometime in the near future a cradle.”

Seth picked her up and whirled her around, kissing her lips and laughing. They spent the night in that room. The moon
hung outside the window and the hoot owls called through the trees. He promised her they’d return to build a life there, have lots of children, raise chickens and horses, plant corn and wheat. He loved her that night, in the quiet wilderness. Their two souls breathed; their two hearts beat as one.

In the morning, he took her to the river. The stones she stepped over were smooth, and he held her hand as she crossed them. Slipping her into the water, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. He admired the way her eyes sparkled, the way her hair fell in wet tendrils, and the way her skin shimmered in the sunlight.

“It is paradise here,” she breathed in, and pulled close to him.

“With you.” His hand caressed the curve of her back.

“There is no one else around for miles.” An afterthought struck her and she looked at him with worried eyes. “It is true, isn’t it? Unless there are Indians nearby.”

“You needn’t worry.” He did not wish to tell her about Logan's War, how the Indians had massacred settler families from the Virginias to the Hudson. The tribes had moved deeper into the wilderness, yet the threat still existed from lone bands of warriors.

Seth put his hands around her face. “I’m glad we’re alone. No servants to interrupt us. No unexpected guests.”

“You have me all to yourself, Mr. Braxton.” She pressed her lips to his, eased down in the water.

“I am selfish when it comes to my wife. I refuse to share her with anyone.”

Juleah laid her head against his shoulder. “I do not wish to leave, but I know we must.”

“Only for a short while.”

“I shall miss Braxton Hall while we’re gone.”

“Is that what you call it?”

“A place should have a name, Seth. Do you not like it? We can think of another.”

“No, Braxton Hall does well.”

She touched his cheek with her palm and smiled. “Let us leave soon. For the sooner we do, the sooner we can come home.”

For a moment, Seth gazed into her eyes, studied her face, and his desire for her mounted higher than the bluffs shadowing them. His arms encircled her. Under a blue heaven, the water whirled about them. He brought his lips to hers, the kiss urgent, sweeping, and ecstatic.

“Seth.” She sighed, and her eyes closed as he moved his mouth away.

He lifted her out of the water, carried her up to the heights, to the cool grass under the shade trees. Later, when the sun skimmed the ridge of the mountains in the west, and bathed the river in ruby light, she lay within his arms, the golden light playing over the curve of her shoulders. When the sun sank lower, she went barefoot with him up the hillside.

That night she slept curled up against him, her hand sedate over his heart, her head nuzzled on his chest. With no curtains on the windows, the moon poured inside the room. The shadows from the tree branches outside danced over the walls.

Seth lay awake, thought of the future, and wished they did not have to return to England. But it was the honorable thing to do, and he settled his mind upon it. Her family must see her again, for the sake of their broken hearts.

And he had to face Darden for what he had done.

W
ith the coming of autumn, Crown Cove grew reclusive, more than in recent years. Having been a house of mystery to its neighbors, the windows went unlit in the evenings, and rarely did a passerby see smoke rise out of its chimneys. By day, when rain fell, eerie streaks of black rippled down the bricks. Withering vines clung to the mortar. Inside its walls, jealousy had fueled the fires of envy. Now regret and depression held it at siege.

By now, Darden had come to believe women were witches in lace and silky garb, eye-fluttering vampires sent to suck a man dry of his fortune and dignity. His mother had dragged him through the dregs with her headstrong ways and ambition, insisting he take, by hook or by crook, anything that would make him wealthy. He could never live up to her standards, and she was against his infatuation with Juleah from the start. Juleah was not rich, but how dare she throw him off for a Yankee usurper and take over the house that should have been her son's.

And finally, Miss Lovelace broke off their affair when she discovered how small a fortune he owned, telling him she had
tried but failed to grow accustomed to his sullen moods and fits of anger. In truth, she made it clear she could not abide a man who lacked self-control and had no prospects, nor enough money to keep her in silks and satins. Her other patrons were more accommodating than he.

Now Edward Darden lived alone in his ancient house, save for his servant, with his money drying up and his debts increasing. He wondered, with a great deal of discomposure, why Judith Dirk hadn’t written to him as he had ordered her to do. He had not heard a word from the woman since
The Raven
had sailed for America. Surely they had gotten there by now. His hunger to know how Juleah suffered in the heat of a Carolina plantation drove him to madness.

Sitting in the dark, his brows pinched, his stare stoic, he feared they had met with disaster at sea. Perhaps a storm had overtaken them. The nightmare came and he dreamed of raging waves that swallowed up the ship and Juleah crying out, her beautiful face disappearing into the murky depths. He woke in a sweat. His heart beat in his ears and his breath heaved. He admitted to God his intentions were dishonorable, evil, and he trembled at the price he would pay in the end.

He rose at noon, drank early, and shot sparrows outside his window with his pistol. Habbinger showed him some concern, but kept his eyes and head low, and spoke only when spoken to.

That chilly evening, the fog lay thick and brought a damp, morose feeling to the house. Habbinger piled a log onto the fire and shoved the coals back with a shovel. “I was in the village today and heard some interesting news, sir.”

“Why should I care?” Darden grumbled.

“I think you would be most curious to hear it.”

“Has Miss Lovelace found someone else? A rich lord perhaps?” He threw back a dram of Irish whiskey.

“I’ve heard nothing concerning Miss Lovelace, sir, but rather Juleah Braxton.”

Darden looked up with a start. He stood and felt a rush of fear. Clenching his teeth, he threw the empty glass he had held into the fire. Flames shot up as it shattered.

“Do not speak her name. I cannot bear it.” He put his hands to the sides of his head to block it out.

“But she's returning to England, and with that rebel husband of hers.”

The angry flush in Darden's face all at once vanished into a white pall that he saw reflected in the dark windowpanes. “What's that you say?”

“She's returning. The village is a hornet's nest of gossip; everyone is amazed by the news, for she was thought to have died in that fire at Ten Width. Braxton was believed to have drowned. Now she’ll show up pretty and hale with her upstart.”

The corners of Darden's mouth twisted. “It cannot be true.”

“Oh, but it is, sir.”

“How?”

“Who knows? I went to vespers this evening, and Sir Henry stood in the church and announced it to those gathered. The minister had them all bow their heads and give thanks to Almighty God for the miracle.”

“Miracle!” Darden spat. “It is a lie, and the old fool is insane.”

“Ah, but it is true, sir.”

“Stop saying that. They’re speaking lies, I tell you!”

Calm as his manner ever was, Habbinger lifted the jug and poured his master another dram. “I doubt Lady Anna and Sir Henry would make up a story about such a thing.”

Fearful he could be wrong, Darden crimped his brow hard and put his fist up against his lips. He had no idea how his plans could have gone wrong. He had paid well for their execution.

“Folks are wondering who's buried in the churchyard in her place,” said Habbinger, “and why this is a case of mistaken identity.”

“They’ll never know.”

“That is certain, sir.”

“The body cannot be identified.”

“True enough, sir.”

“It would be a sacrilege to dig up the dead.”

“Indeed, it would. I took the liberty to wish Sir Henry and his lady well, thinking it would shed good light upon you, sir.”

“Good light?”

Habbinger nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Darden sneered. “I doubt it. They hate me.”

“What will you do, sir?”

“If she accuses me of anything, I’ll deny it. I’ve your oath, as well, that you’ll swear by every word I say?”

Habbinger inclined his head. “I’ve been faithful to you and the members of your household, sir. I’ll not say a word of what goes on behind these walls. I believe you did what you thought was right.”

It grew, as if a black tumor dug its roots into his mind. The idea he’d kill Seth Braxton was most appealing. How and when was another matter altogether. He cared not that Habbinger noticed his worried gestures, the wringing of his hands, the twisting of his mouth.

“Not to worry, sir.” Habbinger stood with his head held high. “No matter what anyone says, they can prove nothing. Your mother is away for her health. I’ve been with you the entire time and have seen no one here but you, and Miss Lovelace from time to time.”

Darden stared at his servant and dropped his hand. “How shall I repay you for a sealed tongue?”

“Faithfulness need not always be rewarded, sir.”

“I disagree.” From his pocket Darden drew out the gold watch that had belonged to his father. “Here, take this. You’ll get some money by it.”

Habbinger did not argue. He took it in hand, tucked it away in his waistcoat, and stepped from the room.

W
hen the trees in England changed color, the sea turned from murky green to dark blue along the coast of Devonshire. Swells of clouds, swirls of gray and white, chilled the air in early morning. Evening fell. Frost hung in the air. Gusty northeast winds swept southward with the scent of the coming winter hoarfrost.

Great purple cloudbanks loomed over earth and sea, bidding a gentleman to draw his lady close in his arm while traveling. Their coach lumbered over the high road and turned into a narrow drive that led to a house that, for some time, had been a forlorn place, where miserable sorrow had gripped parents and stifled children. From the front door, Sarah emerged and called back inside. In a flurry of skirts and stomping boots, the others appeared, Lady Anna dressed no longer in dreary black, Sir Henry smart in his hunting attire. Thomas jumped up and down, waved his hands and kicked the stones with his boot. Jane, in her ankle-high boots, woolen dress and apron, lifted her face and waved.

“They’ve come out to meet us.” Holding her hat down with her gloved hand, Juleah leaned out the window. Seth looked
out as well while he held his wife's hand. The coachman turned the horses, drew in the reins, and the footman opened the door for the lady and gentleman within.

Juleah stretched her hands out to her parents and hurried to them. Tearful at their reunion, they trembled with the overwhelming reality that their daughter had been restored to them. Jane and Thomas, too, threw their arms around Juleah. Her mother mopped her eyes with her handkerchief, and Sir Henry kissed her cheeks. His hounds bounded and bayed around their legs.

“Down you beasts,” he scolded. “Can you not see you may spoil my dear daughter's skirts? Away with you.” Yet, they did not obey.

As Seth stepped out, dressed smartly in a new suit of buff and blue with matching tricorn hat, he watched as the family, save for Sir Henry, who lingered behind, went inside the house. Turning upon him with a grateful smile, Sir Henry put his hand out. “Thank you for bringing my daughter back to us. I am in your debt.”

“No, there is no debt owed, Sir Henry.”

“Well then, you shall rejoice to know that I received a note this very morning from your dear sister. She and Michael and young Nathaniel have stopped at Ten Width and await word of Juleah and your homecoming.”

Without a moment's hesitation, Seth paid the coachman an extra pound to ride over to Ten Width to fetch the family residing there. The coach rolled off, and before the clock in the hall chimed out the noon hour, it returned with Caroline, her son, and Michael Bray.