The Birthright (18 page)
Catherine had found it a trial to be away from her family, yet also felt blessed. It was the first time in her life she’d ever spent a night alone. The sounds seemed stranger, and the silences rang with remarkable power. The nights alone had given her time to reflect. Praying and reading the Scriptures took on new meaning, and it felt to her that God spoke in a different way during these times by herself.
Catherine pushed open the gate and sensed the familiar joy of homecoming as she hurried toward the front door. Grandfather Price must have been busy in the front garden again, for the last of the root vegetables were pulled free. The kitchen windowsill was piled high with carrots and turnips. A large basket of dirty potatoes sat by the front door.
She swung open the door, and before she could speak, Anne came rushing forward to announce, “I am not going and that’s that.”
“Very well, dear. Let me get off my cloak and bonnet.” Catherine took her time with the actions, as she wanted to consider this change in Anne. Her daughter was filled with renewed vitality, pacing the floor, wringing her hands. The difference was shocking. Anne had shown little energy since Cyril’s death. Yet now she walked back and forth like a caged animal, her black skirt rustling angrily about her ankles.
“How is little John?” Catherine asked.
“The baby’s fine.” Anne obviously did not wish to speak about the baby. “A letter has come from England.”
“Oh, I am so glad. How is Nicole?”
“She’s fine. At least, I think…” Anne said with a dismissive shrug. “She does not really say.”
“Why not?”
But Anne remained quiet.
So Catherine walked over and seated herself by the cold fireplace. “Come sit down, my dear.”
“I could not possibly.”
“Sit.” Catherine disliked having to use a hard tone with her adult daughter, but Anne’s moods had been coming with such force that sometimes it was the only way to break through so that Anne heard her at all. “I cannot concentrate on what you have to say with you pacing like that. Please, sit.”
“Oh…” Anne dropped onto the bench opposite her mother. “I cannot understand what came over them, making such a ridiculous suggestion.”
In a flash, Catherine knew what the letter said. Still, she needed to hear it for herself. “Please, tell me what they suggested.”
“Nicole and Charles want me to bring baby John over for a visit. To England. Whyever would I want to go to England?”
Catherine studied her daughter. Anne had always been slight in build, both as a child and now. But since Cyril’s death, Anne had become even more fragile looking. How she managed to feed the child was a wonder to everyone. Sadness clung to her. As a result, her complexion had turned sallow, and her skin stretched over the bones, making her look as fragile as a tiny bird. Her dark eyes were huge in her head, her expression pinched—now devoid of the happiness that had once reigned there.
“Who in their right mind would propose such a thing to me?” Anne continued. “Especially now, at this time in my life.”
Catherine’s attention turned inward. This was another manifestation of her time spent alone, the newfound ability to withdraw from outside tumult. It was a godsend, this disconnected space, because it meant being spared from the worst of Anne’s suffering. Otherwise it might have been too easy to drown in her daughter’s grief.
“I have a baby to raise. I have a husband to mourn. I have…I have things to do here. To think I would simply pick up and travel thousands of miles across the sea…. Why, it’s all madness!”
Catherine turned and looked out the open window. The windswept clouds of dust and leaves flew past their little cottage, portents of the many changes striking the world beyond their village. She wondered at how she could feel so calm. Perhaps she was just numb to it all, but she did not think so.
“I cannot imagine what came over them, to even suggest such a thing!”
Catherine looked at her daughter and asked, “Where’s Grandfather?”
“I don’t…” Anne seemed to run headlong into Catherine’s simple question. “He took the baby on a walk. Is that all you have to say?”
“I think I had better start dinner.” She rose from her seat and moved toward the kitchen. Suddenly she felt very tired, and the simple motions of a lifetime became a burden.
Anne stepped over next to her mother, staring at her in disbelief. “But don’t you have anything to say about the letter…about their request?”
“I haven’t yet heard everything they said.” She started scrubbing the carrots and cutting them into thin slices. A stew would be nice. Andrew likes a piping hot stew. “And it seems you have enough words for the both of us.”
“I have…?” Anne steadied herself by placing a hand on the counter. In a calm voice, she asked, “Do you
want
me to go?”
“Want? No. Of course not.” Catherine resumed paring the vegetables with a slow, deliberate motion. “I want you to stay here with us always. I want to watch little John grow up and become a man. I want…I want many things.”
“Good,” Anne said, only slightly less confused. “Because I am
not
going, you know. I am not going anywhere.”
Catherine had to set down the knife. Her vision had suddenly blurred, and she was afraid she might cut herself. She turned toward the window and watched the wind whip the trees opposite their little house. With a mother’s wisdom, she knew. Yes, there was no question. She knew.
Another letter came, this one from Nicole. Anne had been laboring over how to word her answer, but thus far had only succeeded in supplying sheets of writing paper to the fire. Now as she broke the seal on the new envelope, her fingers trembled. She hoped Nicole had changed her mind about the outlandish proposal. Anne had planned to respond firmly, which should settle the issue once and for all. Go to sea with a young child? Quite out of the question.
But Nicole’s second letter was not a bold petition at all. On the contrary, and it shocked her with its strangeness. The letter spoke of longing and loneliness. Nicole said she wished she were home to help console her sister in her time of sorrow, adding that she’d board a ship and return home right away were it not for her promise to their uncle.
As Anne read on, she kept waiting for the expected request to be reiterated. Instead, Nicole told of the busy social season she had been thrust into. Yes, thrust. For although Nicole’s time was taken up with lavish parties and dinners, she seemed to take no pleasure in them. This brought a frown to Anne’s forehead. Was Nicole really as lonely, as empty, as her letter sounded?
I miss you all so,
the letter concluded.
I would give anything to see you again. Even for a day. An hour.
How many times over the past months had Anne’s heart expressed a similar cry? Oh, if only she could see him again, hold him for a single moment. Anne suddenly felt a new understanding for Nicole in her loneliness.
Another guilt niggled at the back of Anne’s mind. Twice Cyril’s mother had written from Wales, expressing her sorrow and deep desire to hold her grandson in her arms. With the background that Anne herself had suffered, she understood all too well the importance of family. Her dear husband’s mother deserved to meet Cyril’s son. And baby John deserved to have more than just knowledge of his kin. He needed relationships. Especially since there was little chance he’d ever meet his grandparents on his mother’s side. The arduous trip from Louisiana to Nova Scotia would likely never be repeated. It would soon be impossible for Uncle Charles to hire a ship, and Anne had no intention of traveling alone to Louisiana—especially now with war about to break out.
She felt torn between her paralyzing grief and the needs of others whom she loved. Bedraggled and confused and without the capacity to make a sound decision, she took it all to prayer. Anne laid aside her indecision and left the matter with her Lord. But later she struggled with taking back the load on her own frail shoulders and reasoning her way through the dilemma. What should I do? What would Cyril want me to do? What was right for John? “Lord, I need some kind of sign,” she whispered in her anguish. “Show me what you would have me do. If I am to go, I must go soon. I fear that before long there will be no more ships sailing because of the war.”
Furthermore, it did not seem the right time of the year to be setting sail for England. Already fall was flowing into winter. By the time arrangements were made and passage booked, they would be past Christmas and into the coldest months. The thought of a storm at sea in the dead of winter made her afraid. It was hard enough to face an ocean crossing during the mild months, but in wintertime? That seemed like a foolhardy venture indeed.
But if God wished her to go, would He not then take care of the dangers?
It had been some months since Anne had been to her home in Halifax, but she felt it was now time to return, if only to take care of things and settle her finances. She could not bear the thought of living on in the beloved little house without Cyril. His memory would be everywhere, calling to her with the chime of the clock he used to set faithfully every Sunday morning…creeping up behind her and looking into the supper pots when she was preparing a meal…tugging at her sleeve when she stepped toward the cold outside, to remind her to put on her shawl. No, Anne did not think she could live in the house ever again.
But she needed to go back. She hated the idea of asking her folks to accompany her, yet knew she could not make the trip alone.
Andrew and Catherine did not appear surprised when she voiced her request. “Of course,” her father had said for the both of them. “I shall make the arrangements straightaway.” Then things happened far more quickly than Anne had wished. She needed time to prepare herself, to pray. To steel herself against pleasant yet haunting memories that were sure to greet her the minute she stepped in the door. But this had to be done while they rattled over the rutted frozen road, winding their way along the familiar trail.
Thankfully the baby slept well. And when he was awake, he seemed preoccupied with the adventure, noticing every branch that hung close to the road, every bird that winged over their heads.
Andrew smiled. “That boy does not miss a thing,” he said with a grandfather’s pride.
Anne passed the child to Catherine. Her arms ached from holding him, but even so she hated to give him up. The closer they got to Halifax, the more pronounced her grief. This would not be an easy time. Not for any of them. Anne bowed her head in prayer once again. She would need all the help heaven could give to make it through the next few days.
The following morning she called on Cyril’s banker. Andrew drove the rig, while Catherine stayed home with baby John. Surprisingly, Anne, who had felt in a daze, was able to take charge of her own business matters. Cyril’s medical practice was to be sold to another doctor. The new doctor was also a Loyalist, one of the many who had migrated to Halifax to escape the impending war.
Anne tried to ignore all the talk of trouble that surrounded her. Talk of fear and of fleeing. Anger and hate and rebellion. Talk she was afraid would eventually lead to a large-scale conflict, where homes would be lost, families displaced, and men killed. She shivered at the thought and longed for a lasting peace, for a world where the life of her boy would not be threatened. For although the grievance was between the new colonies and England, the Loyalists were now crowding Canada’s shores with ships used to escape the war. So might not the war then follow them and Nova Scotia become haplessly embroiled again?
“Please, I beg your indulgence,” Anne said to hush the words of terror, “but I must get back to my infant son. You do understand?”
The men nodded, and the torrent of words ceased to flow. The papers were pushed forward and dealt with in quick fashion, then the new doctor left. After the banker resolved a few more minor issues, Anne was free to hurry home. She breathed a deep sigh as though washing her soul of confusion and fear.
Anne knew now she would not be staying in Halifax. She’d allow her home to be sold. With all the Loyalists milling about, whom the city now harbored, it would no longer be safe for her and little John. Surely it would be the first place the armies would strike should the war spread beyond the shores of the American colonies. Therefore, she’d move inland, to one of the villages hidden among the forests. There her family should be safe. With this thought, Anne felt the constriction gradually ease around her heart.
