The Willows
The Willows
Mathew Sperle
Copyright Mathew Sperle 2016
Smashwords Edition
Table of content
Chapter 1
Catching a whiff of brine, Gwen McCloud smiled for
the first time in days. A few more steps and she’d be topside. It
had been no easy climb, hauling the heavy carpetbag up from her
mean accommodations, but after a five-year stint in Boston, and all
the weeks at sea, she meant to be on deck to see every last ripple
on the Mississippi as they approached New Orleans.
Almost home.
Weak with longing, she thought of
returning to her father’s plantation. This time, she swore, nothing
could make her leave. Is she being stubborn and defiant, or tossing
the fits Mother had so disapproved of, Gwen would make it clear
that Willows was far more than her home. It was her dream, her
Camelot, and she meant to live there always.
Alive with anticipation, she sucked in
a breath and stepped out on the deck, only to find everything
shrouded by thick, humid gray fog. Here and there, the morning
mists swirled, as if the cool breeze hoped to dissipate them, but
in merely managed to unsettle her bonnet and exposed her carefully
arranged curls to the salty air.
Dismayed, she set down the carpetbag to
cover her hair. She’d spent hours primping, wanting to look her
best when they docked. There was no telling who might be coming to
meet her ship, though she hoped-no, she prayed-her daddy might have
sent Lance.
Her heart did a flip as she thought of
her handsome neighbor. Lance and the Willows-she could not imagine
one without the other. It seemed Lance had always been part of her
life, first as the charming boy who’d fought battles on her behalf,
then as the dashing young man, declaring his undying
love.
She leaned down to lift her carpetbag,
a half smile forming on her lips. Theirs had been a special world,
those happy days when she and Lance and the neighboring children
had played King Arthur’s court. With Gwen, of course, been Queen
Guinevere. Who assumed the others roles depended largely upon whim
of the day, but Lance was always Sir Lancelot. Whenever there was a
battle to be fought, a dragon slain, or enemy vanquished, she need
only look to her gallant knight.
Could she still depend on Lance? She
wondered as she made her way to the rail. With all that had
happened, all that had changed, would he be lost to her, too? So
many doubts and unanswered questions. If only she had a wizard like
Merlin to help her see into the future, since her life seemed about
as clear as this fog.
She stood by the rail, feeling lost in
the mists. Eerily, a lone mast appeared out of the haze, but its
long, slender outline vanished so rapidly, she could well have
imagined it. All sound seemed distorted-the cry of the distant
gull, the slap of water against the ship-each scent suddenly
foreign. Fancifully, she let herself imagine that she’d been cast
adrift, and was now slowly entering into a strange new
world.
I’m in merry Old
England
she thought to herself with a grin,
remembering back to mornings played in a fog, pretending it was
wrapped around an Arthurian caste. A land enchantment, they’d
called their imaginary kingdom; a place where dreams came true.
Back then, If Gwen wanted to summon that magical world, she merely
close her eyes and make a wish.
“
Take me to Camelot,” She
whispered now.
And as if the great Merlin had waved a
wand, the breeze surged, spiraling about her, Gwen grasped her
bonnet, as the sun tried to peek through the clouds overhead. She
watched bit after bit of the shoreline mertialize, until up ahead
in the distance, a city rose up out of the mists.
Disoriented, she half-expected turrets
and the towers, and it was with a stab of disappointment that she
traded fantasy for reality. It was clearly not Camelot, yet as the
fog revealed more and more of the city, with its ornate iron grill
work and European flair, Gwen realized how much she’d missed New
Orleans. She’d attended her first cotillion on St. Charles Avenue,
gone parading down Canal Street during Mardi Gras, and received her
first proposal of marriage beneath the live oaks in City
Park.
With a stab of pain, she remembered her
breathless excitement that day. Racing home to break the wonderful
news, she’d never guessed her parents would deny her heart’s
desire. She was their baby, their princess, and all her life, she’d
invariably gotten whatever she wanted.
Yet they’d refuse her, and in a
dizzying short span of time, her life had gone from fairy tale to
nightmare. How on earth had her hopes and dreams ended in such
heartache and sorrow?
Dismayed to find how tightly she
gripped the rail, she used her hands to smooth down the lines of
her carriage gown. Never mind, she told herself firmly. The past
was the past, and she was better off forgetting it.
“
Aha! Here you are,
Gueenie.”
Gwen tensed, hearing the overloud tones
of Eleanor Tibbs, the cabin mate she’d neither expected nor wanted.
As tall as she was wide, all gray and her hair to her shoes the
woman was like an ironclad battle ship, plowing through the waves
of people towards Gwen. Looking right and left, she weighed her
chances of escape.
“
Wait!” Mrs. Tibbs barked,
reaching for her arm. “We must get the matter straighten out. I
sense you’re still miffed with us, Gueenie.”
Gwen hated that ridiculous name, which,
thanks to Mrs. Tibbs, nearly everyone on the vessel had taken to
using.
Now, too late, Gwen could see her
mistake in asking for fresh linens the first day out of port, but
at the time, she’d been too Shocked by her cramped living quarters
to think straight. Having spent her childhood on Daddy’s
plantation, and the past five years at Aunt Agatha’s mansion, she’d
come to expect the best life had to offer. How was she to have
known they’re would be no linen’s that freshness of any sort would
be a rare luxury?
Perhaps she’d overacted somewhat and
raised too much of a fuss, but given the circumstances, wasn’t it
understandable? A lady had certain exceptions, none of which were
close to being met. The certainly was no need for the captain or
his crew to show such derision, and absolution, and absolutely no
call for everyone to start calling her Queenie.
“
My name is Gwen Elizabeth,”
she told Mrs. Tibbs for what must be the hundredth time. “And now,
if you’ll excuse me, I would like to view New Orleans as we
approach it.”
“
You won’t see much in this
fog. Besides, this will be but a minute of your time. We really
must talk about Sampson.”
Gwen bristled. Back in Boston, her Aunt
Agatha had hired the timid Lilah Sampson to serve as Gwen’s
travelling companion, but Mrs. Tibbs had promptly commandeered the
woman’s services for herself. Throughout the voyage, Gwen was
forced to supply continuous reminders as to who was Lilah’s true
mistress, yet only this morning, Mrs. Tibbs had announced that
Gwen’s servant would be accompanying her to Tibbs town home when
they landed.
“
There is nothing to talk
about,” Gwen said stiffly, hoping to keep the hurt from her tone.
Perhaps by now she should expect such lack of consideration from
Mrs. Tibbs, but Lilah’s defection cut to the quick. Nowadays, must
everyone abandon her?
“
I can’t see why another
servant will not do” Mrs. Tibbs went on as if Gwen hadn’t spoke,
“and I’m more than happy to help you find one. I’d never dream of
leaving you to fend for yourself, with the hardship you’d face
ahead.”
“
Honestly Mrs. Tibbs, I
don’t know why you persist in this. If I’ve told you once, I’ve
said it a hundred times. I’m not about to face any
hardship.”
Her thick gray brows met over her
piercing gray eyes. “It is a bad habit you have, Gueenie, seeing
only what you wish to see. You cannot avoid the truth by
overlooking it.”
“
Truth?” Gwen adopted her
haughtiest tone. “And just what would you know about my
life?”
“
I know what my eyes tell
me. You would not be sailing on this old crate, or sharing a
third-class cabin with an old woman like me, if you did not have
to.”
“
It was hardly a matter of
need.” Gwen sniffed delicately. “Planting season keeps daddy too
busy with his sugar cane to quibble over travel arrangements. To
him, a boat is a boat, and the rest is just unimportant detail.
Booking such mean commendations…” She glanced about the crowded
deck with dismay, “… Was mere oversight on his part.”
Mrs. Tibbs stared at her with obvious
pity. “And why is he ordering you home to get married?”
Gwen tensed, not wanting to explore
that question, wondering what madness had possessed her even
mention it to this woman. “If you’re only child was 22,” she
snapped’ “you two would be inpatient to see grandchildren running
through the house.” That was Aunt Agatha’s kindly interpretation.
Considering how they’d parted five years ago, Gwen feared that any
child of hers was the last thing her daddy would want to
see.
“
If you say so.” Mrs. Tibbs
flashed her all-knowing smile.
“
Still, I can’t help but
worry about you. Please, let me help find you a new
servant.”
“
I had a perfectly good
servant, Mrs. Tibbs, before you stole her away.”
Mrs. Tibbs looked genuinely surprised.
“I did not steal Samson. She asked to come with me.”
“
Did she? And with what did
you bribe her?”
“
There was no need to bribe
anyone. IF you’d stop judging folks by their outer trappings, you’d
know Sampson and I were bound to become friends. There is more to a
person than how they talk or what they wear, Gueenie. You must try
to remember that.”
Gwen could feel the heat rise up her
back of her neck. How dare this… this servant snatcher tell her
what she must or must not recall. “Obviously, you two have settled
things without me, so do you think we might avoid a public
spectacle? I have no wish to involve myself in a fight over
this”
“
Ah, and there is the
difference between us. Don’t you know that anything worth having is
worth fighting for, child?”
There was a time Gwen might have
agreed, but that was when she was young and unprincipled, before
Mama…
“
Ladies don’t make scenes,”
She told the woman primly.
Mrs. Tibbs shook her head. “Your kind
of lady doesn’t have to. When trouble hits, she runs away and lets
someone else do her fighting for her. But you be careful how much
of your life you give into the care of others, Gueenie. You can
lose too much of yourself when running away.”
I don’t run-“Gwen clamped shut her
mouth, refusing to give Mrs. Tibbs the pleasure of her denial. If
you don’t mind,”
She said, turning her gaze determinably
away, “I’d like to be alone for my first sight of home.”
She could hear the woman’s sigh, heavy
with regret. “Fantasy is wonderful thing, child, but not if it
keeps you from seeing what’s truly there. Don’t get so swept up in
dreams you make the same mistake as your namesake. Remember, the
first Guinevere chose the wrong man and brought Camelot tumbling
down about her feet.”
