Heirs of Acadia - 02 - The Innocent Libertine (28 page)

“Sir?”

“My wife speaks for the both of us.” He was not in particularly good form this day, for shaping the words seemed almost too much for him. “It is important that you understand this.”

“I do indeed, sir.” With all the grace she could muster, Lillian offered the old gentleman a full curtsy, the same she had learned before her first presentation at Buckingham Palace. The gentleman deserved nothing less. “And I in turn can offer you only my sincerest gratitude. And my heartfelt apologies as well.”

“There is nothing for which you need apologize.” His voice quivered, but his gaze was direct and clear.

Lillian decided not to respond. She would depart from this place as much of a lady as she could muster. “Good day, sir.”

Mrs. Cutter followed them into the front hall. The older woman seemed unable to decide what to do with her hands. They flitted about, touching everything, remaining nowhere for very long. The normally unflappable woman seemed distraught, agitated.

As Reginald settled the cloak about her shoulders, Lillian said to her hostess, “Please don’t concern yourself further, ma’am.”

“Nothing about this entire affair is all right.”

“No,” Lillian conceded. “I quite agree.”

But Mrs. Cutter did not seem to hear her. “I want you to know one thing. You are not being pressured into making any decision.”

Reginald protested, “Mrs. Cutter—”

“You will permit me to say what my husband and I have decided,” she insisted. Mrs. Cutter continued to Lillian, “They say there is suddenly a great need for haste. That is all well and good in the world of business. But you are my guest and I shall not have you feeling pressured to do anything except what you feel is correct.”

Lillian felt as though she had missed an important part of the conversation. “Ma’am?”

“It is vital that you understand this one thing.” Mrs. Cutter shot Reginald a rather stern glance. “You are welcome to remain here for as long as you like.”

“No one is intent upon pressuring Lillian,” Reginald quietly insisted.

Mrs. Cutter paid him no mind. “As far as I am concerned, you are welcome to consider that upstairs room your new home.” Finally her hands managed to fasten themselves together before her waist. “There. I’ve had my say. Now you two may go about your business.”

Reginald sighed as he opened the front door. Lillian forced her legs to carry her outside and down the front steps. Once upon the brick pathway, however, she found she could go no further.

Reginald showed no interest in walking on either. He led her over to a garden bench. When they were seated, he turned to her. “I fear what I must address cannot wait.”

“Please speak, then.” Lillian dropped her head to stare at her folded hands.

“There are two principal roads heading west from this central portion of our nation,” he began. “One was fashioned by Daniel Boone himself and is known as the Wilderness Trail,” he continued. “Though the region it traverses is no longer wilderness, it remains little more than a trail. In many places it is a marshy, narrow, convoluted track that is good only for men on foot and pack animals. But it has remained the principal route for settlers headed through the Cumberland Gap to the bottomlands of Kentucky. Only these lands are now almost all taken, at least those worth farming. And still the immigrants keep arriving on our shores. Now, as you may have heard, other lands are opening. Missouri might be a state, but only half of the land within its borders has been claimed, much less farmed.”

Lillian knew he was talking of something vital. But precisely what he was addressing, she could not be sure. Over and over her mind returned to the same astonishing fact. These people did not seek to discard her. She was not to be punished for her ways. They
accepted
her. Lillian raised her face to Reginald’s. His hair was tossed by the rising wind, and she now realized he must have spent considerable time preparing what he wanted to say to her. How was this possible? Was it not just the previous day that she had confessed her terrible truths? And of course poor Lavinia and Samuel did not know her evil deception yet.

“The name on everyone’s lips these days is the state of Indiana,” Reginald continued. “It has recently been opened to cultivation, and the stories that come back from new settlers are of a land that is bursting with promise. Dreadful winters, by all account, but the hardy Scots and Swedes and Germans who are settling there have no doubt survived worse. What is remarkable is that these lands, Missouri and Indiana and Illinois between them, are being made accessible through something called the National Road. Even now they are surveying as far west as St. Louis, and already they are laying the rock well beyond Wheeling. Broad as the largest Conestoga wagon and well structured for easy travel, it is financed by these very same land purchases. What’s more, there’s never a grade more than five percent. I don’t suppose that means anything to you. But for a drover carting a full load of produce, a level road means the world, I assure you. It means the very world itself.”

She nodded, but mostly to keep him talking. She turned slightly so as to be able to see the house. It was a fine place of dressed brick with tall white windows framed with green shutters. A chimney rose at each end of the slate roof, standing with the grace of Corinthian columns, or so it seemed to her. The six trees in the front lawn stood like sentinels against the world’s troubles. She glanced at the front door, now shut. Mrs. Cutter’s words still rang clear and strong, causing her heart to shimmer with surprised delight. She was invited to call this place
home
.

“This National Road is now open all the way from here to Wheeling,” she heard Reginald say. “This town on the Virginia-Ohio border has become a jumping-off place for settlers headed west and north. It is a remarkable place, by all accounts, with many an opportunity to be had. But this you already know.”

Do I?
she wanted to say. But Reginald was talking so spiritedly he did not seem to need further encouragement. So she did her best to listen, while still examining the lovely day about her. Had she even really noticed this place before? Had she seen this village? She could not for the life of her recall.

“What has us all in such a dither is the timing, don’t you see. Here we’ve spent the entire summer talking about sending Abraham out to establish an emporium. We’ve dawdled for almost four months now. Horace and I needed to frame the new partnership. Then we’ve had the hardest time convincing Abe he could manage well enough. To tell the truth, we had almost given up hope of having the man agree to take it on. Then you arrived on our doorstep.”

Lillian returned her full attention to Reginald.

At her unspoken question, he said, “Well, you and Abigail. And you brought word from that Wilberforce fellow, asking Gareth and Erica to determine the truth to the land tales. Then there is your desire to seek out land for a new estate for yourself. And now Abigail turns Abe’s head straight around. Why, it’s divine Providence is what it is. A whole string of events directed by the Almighty, I’m convinced. Never have I seen such a change in a young person.”

Reginald stood up and started pacing in front of her. “It’s the snows, you see. That’s the hurry.”

“Snows?”

“Not here. On the road. There’s perilous risk of being stranded. We’d need to remain out there for a time, of course, to make sure things are settled right in the beginning. But I can’t remain for the entire winter. Not with the business to run here. And William Wilberforce has placed such urgency to his request that Erica has written her husband and asked if perhaps she should go in his stead. Not only that, but Abigail says she’s ready to go immediately, if you are.”

“Abigail?”

“No, you didn’t hear of that, I expect. The young ones, they sat in the front parlor and talked well into the night, by Mrs. Cutter’s account. Abigail won’t say where it’s headed beyond tomorrow. Abe, well, the young man’s so overwhelmed it’s all he can do to focus on his next step.”

She felt she could do no more than repeat the last person’s name she had heard. “Abe?”

“Him and the rest of us, if truth be known. We have to hurry now, don’t you see.” He stopped and fastened an inscrutable gaze upon her. “That is, if you’ll be agreeing to accompany us.”

“Accompany?”

“Well, that is . . .” He leaned toward Lillian and asked, “Why are you crying?”

“Am I?” She touched her face and was astonished to find her hand was wet.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“Wrong?” She looked at him and found his head seemed to be rimmed with rainbow light. “Since last evening I’ve been waiting to find myself turned out.”

It was his turn to repeat. “Turned out? Of here?”

“How can you look so surprised? Did no one hear what I had to say yesterday?”

“Of course we understood.”

“Well, then.”

“Well, what?”

“Reginald, I confessed to treachery and deceit.”

“You also spoke of how you have done your best to resist their manipulations and blackmail, even when it put everything you have at risk.”

“I have nothing.”

“Which makes your bravery even more astonishing.”

“You speak of bravery?” Her laughter held a sharp edge. “I have been nothing but a coward and a liar.”

“No, my dear, you are neither.”

She started to argue, but something in his expression stopped the words before she could form them.

“Say you’ll come,” he said, a smile curving his lips.

“Where?”

“Now it’s you who haven’t been listening. To Wheeling.”

“You wish for me to accompany you? After everything—” “My dear Lillian, I will only go at all if you will come with me.”

“But why? Why is it you want me to accompany you?”

He struggled to frame a response. “Because I love you, Lillian.”

“But that was . . . before.”

“And you think my love would be such a frivolous matter that it could be swayed by your confession?”

“Well . . . yes.”

“Then I fear you do not know me very well at all.”

She worked hard to form the words. “Reginald, never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would hear words of love from a man such as you. I can scarcely believe . . .”

“Yes?” he encouraged.

“I do not deserve your love, Reginald.”

He reached over and took her hand. “Lillian, outside of my own blood-kin, I have loved three people in my entire life. A wife snatched from me by death, a child I knew but for a few heartbeats of time, and now you. Yes, I will admit my tolerance for your past errors is no doubt strengthened by this love. But the truth is, you are a remarkable woman who has survived what would have crushed a weaker spirit. I know what I know. You are here with me now. And nothing, not even the fiercest whirlwind of time and fate, will keep us apart. Come westward with me, and you will learn this is true.”

Chapter 23

Dearest Mama, dearest Father,

Hello and greetings from Washington. It is fast approaching midnight. Never did I think I would arrive at a point where my only chance to sit and write you would be when the rest of the family is abed, but the days have become immensely full. Not in a displeasing way, mind. In fact, I have never been happier. I hope you will not think ill of me, being able to say such a thing when you, my beloved family, are so far away. I miss you all terribly, especially now as I set pen to paper.

Abigail used a taper from the fire to light another candle. The brass holders glowed with a ruddy cheer, as though glad to be used for such a purpose. Abigail sat at the writing table stationed in the home’s second parlor, the one where family gathered when not entertaining guests. The room faced onto the back garden and was filled with furniture that was no longer considered suitable for the more formal front room. In the far corner was an old pianoforte, one that did not appear to have been used in years. The room smelled rather musty, overlaid with the scent of her grandfather’s liniments.

Grandmother Abigail could not be kinder. She does her best each day to fill the void caused by my being separated from you. She is kind and loving and so very wise. Also, I see a great deal of Erica Powers. Gareth is away writing pamphlets on the upcoming national elections, and Erica is working hard in his absence and delighting in little Hannah, as am I. And I have had several lovely visits with Erica’s brother, Reginald Langston. Grandmother remains a great pillar of the church community here and asks that I send you her deepest affection. Which of course is accompanied by my own as well.

She rose and went to the back window. Moonlight illuminated the row of staves in the kitchen garden, there to support the squash plants and runner beans and blackberries. She found a sense of calm staring out at the orderly rows of plants. She sighed heavily enough to cloud the glass by her face. She turned and looked back at the writing desk with its trio of flickering candles. There was no putting it off. She must tell them. She crossed the room, seated herself, dipped the quill into the inkstand, and wrote.

I am in love.

When her husband had started growing ill, Abigail Cutter had debated selling the large old home and moving into something more manageable. But, thankfully, her husband’s mind was not deteriorating along with his body, and he informed her in no uncertain terms that he wished to die where he had lived. When she had protested about the upkeep and responsibility, he had assured her that she would never need to stand alone. And so it had proven. The more frail her husband became, the closer her friends had drawn. They had so many friends. Even the staff had become very close, with their daily lives now so inextricably bound to her own that she fretted over their children and relatives as she would her own kin. Which, in many respects, they now were.