Thorns in Eden and the Everlasting Mountains (13 page)

Hastily
clad in a winter cloak, Rebecah rushed to the boy, as the coachman mounted his
seat and dragged the reins through his hands. Brent observed her closely. She hugged
Hugh, kissed his head, and then Hugh kissed his cousin’s cheek. She held his
small hands, and Brent could tell she was speaking to him.

He
wondered what she was saying.

His
face grew rigid. How could she defy him? But then, the sudden memory of having
once loved and lost, and having married not loving, whipped through his mind
like a tempest. The reality of it for Rebecah pounded at the door of his locked
heart. For a moment, he wondered if he were wrong. Was he dooming her to an
unhappy life with Lanley? Gathering his will, he tossed the idea aside. In time
he learned to love Kathryn and she him. So, it would be the same for Rebecah
and his daughters.

He
balled his fist and knocked it against the windowsill. A vow trembled on his
lips. He would not allow her to see John Nash again. He would banish him from
stepping anywhere near Endfield.

Endeavoring
not to listen to the pounding in his head, he gripped his hands together until
the knuckles turned white.
It is not possible she cares so much for a
traitor. She must know the truth. She will learn to hate him.

The
coachman cracked his whip and the horses lunged forward. Brent frowned hard and
turned away. A moment and he heard Rebecah’s footsteps outside the door. She
paused a moment and then went on. He knew she and the others were hurt he had
sent Hugh away and wanted to tell him so. But of course they could not. He wouldn’t
hear of it. His pride steeled him and he swallowed a large glass of port wine.

“I
had to do it.” He tossed down the glass. “The boy is in need of an education. A
governess would spoil him. It’s the right thing to do.” 

Hugh,
like most boys, grew inquisitive and bright. A cast of the old philosophies and
old conventions, Brent failed to see it. After all, his father had sent him
away to school when he was a lad. Rarely had he seen his father more than twice
a year. Attention and affection softens a boy and will make him grow up to be a
weak man. Strength came from firmness, aloofness, and reserve.

As
much as he tried to justify his actions, Brent knew he had flaws in his
reasoning. His beliefs were broken and his soul empty. He stared in the mirror
hanging over the settee. His haggard face frightened him. Left alone without
his wife terrified him.

A
painful revelation flooded his mind. His family was torn without Kathryn, and
his own son a stranger. What legacy had he left his heir? His daughters would
marry as would his niece, and then he’d be abandoned to live out a lonely
existence in his large house with its aging furniture and dusty old books and
carpets.

He
sank into a chair in front of the fire, and covered his face within his hands.  

“Oh,
God, help me.”

Rain
lingered over the countryside for a week. Fog entwined both day and night.
Previous snows melted and rivers and streams swelled. Roads were muddy and full
of ruts and holes. Rooks crackled in the trees and the drenched earth smelled
of mold and trodden leaf.

Rebecah
stood out on her balcony in the early morning light. She watched clouds part to
the north, giving way to a blanket of blue. She breathed deep the crystal air.
Hope beat in her heart. Soon she would be with the one she loved and leave this
place. But why hadn’t she received his letters?

She
looked back inside her room to see her valise sitting near the door. A sudden
sense of dread seized her. Perhaps they had been intercepted.

She
tightened a loose ribbon hanging from her bodice. Then she went downstairs.
Quietly she approached the study. Her uncle sat in an armchair by the fire, as
he had done each day since his wife had passed, in the dark with the drapes
closed. He took no care in his appearance. His beard was days old and his hair
hung limp against his neck and shoulders.

She
hoped to speak to him…or simply listen. Feeling sorry for her uncle, she
wondered if it would help.

“It’s
extraordinary this letter arrived,” she heard March say. “The courier insisted
he give it to Miss Rebecah.”

“A
secret correspondence?”

 “I
snatched it out of his hand.”

“You’ve
never taking such liberties before, March. I’ll trust your intuition this
time.”  

Brent
tore the letter open. Rebecah stepped back, feeling her heart beat harder. The
letter had to be from Jack. About to burst into the room, in hopes of getting
the letter before her uncle could read it, she halted with her hand on the door
when Sir Samuel spoke.

“How
dare him,” he stormed. “That turncoat intends to meet my niece tomorrow at
dusk. Well, he shall find himself alone. I tell you now, March, if he so much
as darkens my door to see her, slam the door in his face.”

“Yes,
Sir Samuel.”

Rebecah’s
hands clenched to see him tear the pages to pieces and throw them in the fire.

“Where
is Rebecah? I want to speak to her.” 

Hearing
footsteps, Rebecah backed away. March opened the door wide. A flash of sunlight
came through the window and revealed the widow’s gaunt face, expressionless
mouth, and sad eyes. What, or who, had made the old woman so bitter, so old and
stern, so sad, was a mystery.

“Miss
Rebecah, Sir Samuel bids you come in.”

The
library was warm with a fire. Brent motioned to Rebecah to close the door and
come inside. Struck by the worn condition of his eyes, she felt compassion for
his loss, though he showed her none.

She
sat opposite him, avoiding his stare. Then, rallying her strength against him,
she raised her eyes and fixed them upon his.

“It
has occurred to me perhaps this time of grief for the family has lead you to
think your marriage to Lanley will somehow be delayed.”

“There
should be an allowance, Uncle, for the time of mourning.”

“I’m
aware of the custom. But there will be no delay. You can look forward to your
wedding at the end of the month, after the bans are read.”

She
felt the blood rush from her face. “But I’m not ready to marry. It’s too soon.”

“We’ve
discussed this before. I think you want to argue for other reasons. What are
they?”

“For
one, I do not love him.”

“A
poor excuse these days. Tell me the rest.”

“I
have no other reason other than what I’ve told you. It should be enough.”

“Strike
me deaf, Rebecah! I’m too tired to argue.” He covered his brow with one hand in
an anxious gesture. “You will marry Lanley. By law, you are constrained to be
submissive. You are not an independent being.”

“You
cannot force me to wed him.”

“Oh,
I cannot, you say? Shall I pack you off and send you to Lanley’s aunts?” Brent rubbed
salt into the wound.

“No,
Uncle. Lavinia needs me.”

“She
is recovering and has Dorene and March to look after her. You can hardly use her
as an excuse, now can you?”

“Perhaps
the suit should have been Dorene’s, not mine.”

“It
would have been if not for your father’s agreement. The truth is you’re blinded
by your love for another man.”

Rebecah
lifted her eyes away from his. “Is it wrong?” 

“You
are letting your emotions rule you.”

She
placed her hand against her chest and grew cold at his heartless words, words
that frightened her like a dagger caressing her skin. She felt the throb of her
heart increase against her palm.

“Lanley
is a gentleman of means, that is true. But money does not guarantee happiness. I
am thinking of him as well. Must he have a wife who does not love him?”

“Lanley
hasn’t a care whether you love him or not.”

“Send
me anyway but not to Lanley…”

“Have
you failed to see your duty?”

“I
have a duty to my heart and to God, sir.”

“Then
you are a fool. Would you defy what your father commanded on his deathbed?”

“I do
not love him, Uncle Samuel.”

“Love
is unimportant.”

“It
is everything.” 

“You
argue now, but soon you will see the sense of it.”

“I
would be living a lie if I did.”

 “You
will be obedient!”

 “At
least give me more time.” Rebecah looked at him with a plea. She hoped her eyes
cut him deep.

 “I
learned you visited Ashburne. Your aunt consented?”

“Yes.
She sent me to put the house in order.”

“And
did you?” She did not answer.  “Nash followed you there. Do not deny it. Dorene
said you admitted it.”

“He
did not follow me. He was on his way to Standforth and the snow prevented him
from going on. He took shelter at Ashburne. Nothing happened.”

“Too
much happened between you.”

“Do
not condemn me for something I have not done.”

“Lanley
will hear none of this, I assure you. It would bring shame to us.”

“Shame
will come if I marry a man I despise.”

She
glanced at the fireplace, at the bits of Nash’s letter turning to ash. Would
her uncle confess to her what he had done?

Brent
clenched his teeth. He stood and lifted her by the shoulders. She let out a
cry. “You will wish you never laid eyes on John Nash. He is responsible for
your father’s death.” He shook her violently. “Do you hear?”

“It’s
a lie!” Rebecah threw back her head. Tears filled her eyes.

“It’s
the truth and I can prove it.”

“No,
you’re trying to turn me against him.”

Squeezing
her arm, he pulled her over to the table in the corner of the room. “Read it.”

Upon
the glossy finish, beside a gilt candlestick, lay a letter with a broken red
wax seal. She picked it up and opened it. Immediately she recognized her
father’s handwriting.

My
Brother,

Though
we have been estranged these years, a separation I regret, you remain my only
brother. Who then can I send my beloved daughter to, save you? Therefore, I
bequeath the guardianship of Rebecah into your hands. I’ve left her no fortune.
I pray you forgive me. An arrangement has been made for her to wed Lanley. This
is my last request.

Shield
her from any contact with John Nash if he should dare to tread upon English
soil again and invade our family with his traitorous person. While in Maryland,
I had a confrontation with two men. John Nash was one of them. I do testify he
shot me, an act done out of a heart rebellious to a divinely appointed Empire,
and treason toward His Royal Majesty the King. The confrontation had been
heated, and in the confusion surrounding us, we met eye to eye. I ask that what
I believe is the truth, be held in secret for the sake of the family's
reputation, and the grief it could bring to Rodney Nash, a man I’ve always
admired.

For
the sake of my daughter, she must never befriend this man, for certainly in the
normal course of this life she may encounter him.

I
remain your brother,

Richard
Brent

Rebecah
gasped. A long shuddering moan escaped her lips. The room grew narrow and dark,
the air stifling. Cruel, gray horror shadowed her face as if she stretched out
her hand and touched the side of a brier.

Her
eyes were wide and tearless, her face pale. The reality of it seized and tore,
rippled through her in a surge of pain to break her. Something died within; a
thing once beautiful shattered and turned ugly. Love crumbled away, like a rose
once dewy and soft, succulent with life, pressed, then turned to dust. 

“He
robbed you of your father,” Brent said. “He courted your emotions with such
passionate vigor. How could he have been so kind, and yet hide the truth?”

Rebecah
stood in the glare of sunlight coming through the window. Her eyes remained
fixed on the letter in her hand
.
If only she could close her ears and
cause the words on the page to fade.

“How
did you come by this letter?” she asked, in a voice sad and quiet as the wind
brushing against the windowpanes.

“Margery
Holmes sent it to me. I read it the day I buried my lady. It was found among a
stack of Richard’s papers.”

“Had
Margery read it?” Rebecah asked.

“Of
course not.”

“Are
there others?”

“Should
there be?”

“I
just thought…”

“Richard
had no reason to lie.”

“No.”

“You
don’t understand what it took for me to hold back when Nash stood in my
presence at my lady’s burial. I did it for Rodney, for he has been a good
friend to me, and his wife is my lady’s cousin. Bad blood is what Rodney got
for marrying a colonist before Margaret. I could have Nash arrested and hung.” 

She
shot him a glance of desperation. “No, for their sakes!” 

She
hurried over to the fire and threw the letter into the flames. It caught and
the fire consumed it. Then she regretted what she had done.

Brent’s
eyes widened. His face stiffened. “Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve
destroyed the evidence.”

She
got to her feet. Her legs felt like lead as she went up the stairs. Once in her
room, she shut the door and turned the key in the lock. 

She
looked around the room and listened. How she hated the stark quiet.

With
tears streaming down her face and her breath coming up in short gasps, she
stretched herself across the bed, folded her arms under her face and wept. Her
heart broke. Her hopes and dreams of lasting love shattered.

Rebecah
threw on her gray riding frock and wool cloak and headed out to the stable
desperate for open spaces. It would do no good crying in her room. She would
ride out to Merry Marsh, sit in the sanctuary of the church and watch the
sunbeams come through the stained glass windows.