Heirs of Acadia - 02 - The Innocent Libertine (29 page)

When it became clear that her husband would no longer manage the stairs by himself again, she had wanted to turn the downstairs back parlor into a bedroom. Again she had been overruled. Her husband was a private man and had no interest in bringing his ailments into what he considered to be the public area of their home.

So they had arranged for a high-backed chair to be built of ash, the lightest of hardwoods. She had sewn cushions that could be threaded into the back and seat and tied in place, with yet more ties to hold her husband fast. The gardener and her son, Horace, had become adept at tilting the chair back and carrying her husband up and down the stairs as they would a stretcher. The sight of that first transport had left her so bereft she had sobbed her eyes dry. But her husband had professed himself satisfied and thanked them all profusely.

Her husband’s sensible attitude had aided her mightily in adjusting to this new era. She did not like the casual brutality of time’s passage, but there was nothing she could do. And Abigail Cutter had always been a practical woman. If the dear, sweet, ailing man was able to make peace with his state, then how could she do otherwise?

This practical determination aided her as she now set the candlestick down on her upstairs desk. She had brought in workmen and refashioned two of the upstairs rooms into an elongated station without doors. She called one her dayroom and the other her dressing alcove. In truth, it was merely space in which she could get on with the affairs of life while remaining as close as possible to her husband.

She trimmed a new quill with steady, deliberate motions. She knew what needed to be said. And say it she would.

My Dearest Samuel and Lavinia,

How very good of you to send me your angel of a daughter. In this difficult time, with my beloved husband growing increasingly frail, Abigail has brought into this home a new light. It is as though one of God’s own has come to remind me of life’s constant cycle. Of birth, and growth, and partings, and coming home. I realize the situation that brought Abigail to us was not an easy one for you. But her coming has, from my own perspective, been as great a gift as any I have ever received.

A noise in the next room raised her from the chair. Candle in hand, she padded across the carpeted floor and peeked into the bedroom. Her husband seemed to be resting well. He slept so much these days. She remained standing over him, for the candle bathed him in a glow so soft it eased back time’s cover and revealed a younger form. She sighed softly. They had known so many good years together. Finally she withdrew from the room and returned to the task at hand.

You know me as a direct woman, and that is precisely how I shall speak with you now. Your daughter has fallen in love with a gentleman by the name of Abraham Childes. I suppose you shall hear of all his merits soon enough, for Abigail informed me that she would also be writing to you this evening. It should be my own duty to offer a more balanced perspective, by granting you insight into his faults. But I find this a strange task. Because what might be faults in another man are in this instance not faults at all. Rather, Abe has done his utmost to compensate for his weaknesses.

Abe has no family. He was orphaned young and raised in circumstances that might have crippled another, yet in Abe they have only left him both stronger and wiser. He is parsimonious, perhaps too much so, for I would dearly love to see him spend a bit on better clothes and someplace worth calling home. He is shy, and by that I mean not awkward about people but rather hesitant in accepting responsibilities at which he might fail. A highly unlikely possibility, in my opinion, based on his strength and stature and immense intelligence. Oh, I know I should do a better job of telling you why this romance should not progress, but I cannot. With God as my guide and witness, I feel His hand is upon these two young people coming together.

Abe’s tentative nature seems to form a perfect foil for your daughter’s lively energy. She inspires him in a manner that is deeply touching to see. All who care for Abe, and that includes every member of our family here in Washington, as well as all the Langstons, feel that Abigail is coming to be a remarkable tonic for our young Mr. Childes.

Since dear Reginald lost his wife and baby, this orphaned young man has done more than anyone to keep Reginald from pining away. And now, of course, there is the burgeoning romance between Reginald and Lillian. I suppose it must seem forward of me to use her first name. But she has remained a guest in our home since her arrival and has done us all a world of good, most especially my dear husband. Who, I must add, grows more affectionate with her each day, and she with him. There are revelations here regarding Lillian as well, and soon enough I must pen a second letter and disclose these. But this particular letter is not about Lillian. It is about your precious daughter, whom I hold so very dearly.

I have been forced to act as her guardian on this matter, but only after spending numerous hours in discussion with my husband, with Erica, and with our dear Lord. You may dislike what I have to say. But I feel that I can now stand before you and before our Maker and state that I have discharged my duties to Abigail to the very best of my abilities.

I shall put it bluntly. My son and Reginald are expanding their partnership. They have written to you in order to inform you of everything related to the business, Samuel, so I shall not go into that here. They are granting Abraham Childes a minority share in this new venture. Abe will travel to Wheeling on the National Road and reside there for two years. At the end of this time he shall be free to return to Georgetown if he so wishes. But for two years he will manage the new Langston-Cutter Emporium.

Abigail and Abe are in love. But there has not been time for them to see whether this is a temporary infatuation or the genuine article, as they say. So Abigail has asked for my blessing to travel with the young man and the others, Reginald and Lillian. If Gareth can be reached and grants his permission, Erica and her daughter, Hannah, intend to journey with them. They travel to fulfill the mission requested by William Wilberforce. Lillian Houghton is going to seek a tract of land. Reginald is traveling as well and will remain out there for one month. The plan is to leave in one to two weeks’ time, as soon as they can gather all their supplies. Together they will find a suitable property and begin work on the buildings. At the end of that time, Abigail will either return home to us here in Georgetown or she will not. If she remains, it will be as Mrs. Childes.

My dear daughter, I know how those words send an arrow through your heart. But even if you are unable to come for the wedding, I am most confident that pain would soon turn to joy if you could witness their love as I have.

Now let me try and describe for you what this means to me, your old mother. There have been nights, many of them and not so long ago, when I have sat at this very desk. I have stared at the candle and felt a darkness so great that neither the tallow’s flame nor my most fervent prayers could keep it at bay. Fear of what the future holds has become an affliction so profound I might as well be laid up alongside my dear husband, who I fear is not long for this earth. It is the first time I have uttered these words. There you are. They are laid out as real as the pain they cause to my heart. Oh, I love him so.

And then your daughter arrived. Your wonderful daughter, with her internal flame as brilliant as her beautiful hair and a love of life so great it has banished these shadows from my heart and mind. She has become my dearest companion. It would be so easy to refuse Abigail’s request. The temptation to be selfish this one time, and insist that she remain here with me, is as great as any I have ever known.

But I cannot.

Your daughter has found her lifelong match. It is love. She is happy. They are intended for one another. And I, for one, must offer them what I hope you would were you here in my stead.

They go. Together. With my blessing. And my prayers.

PART
THREE

Chapter 24

Abigail moved about the house in a cloud of tension. Which was hardly surprising, Lillian reflected. In perhaps a week they were all departing. This journey could well change Abigail’s life forever.

But Abigail was not alone in facing such difficult issues. Erica’s frantic attempts to reach her husband by post had been futile. Gareth was moving from one state capital to another, following the elections and meeting with people involved in their cause. Erica had spent several sleepless nights in prayer and conversation with her family. Finally, only two days earlier, a letter by postrider had arrived. Gareth could not return. Matters were coming to a critical juncture. But he understood the urgency both to Wilberforce’s request and the timing of this journey west. He urged Erica to take their daughter and go with the others. If he could, he would follow their path and join them. If not, they would meet upon their return to Washington. But by all means, he trusted her to aid Wilberforce and their allies in England with this vital task. Erica now sat at the dining room table along with Lillian and Mrs. Cutter, her face etched with sleepless strain.

For herself, Lillian served where she was needed. Half fearfully, half in calm expectation, she waited for someone to speak to her about the confession. But no one did. Not even Reginald. She intended to bring it up with him, but the man had the look of one who scarcely stopped to eat, much less sleep. Time and again they had refashioned their departure dates. Or rather the others made such plans while Lillian sat and listened. She could not bring herself to take part. Instead, she made herself busy around the households and the emporium. Langston’s was a sizeable establishment, drawing customers from as far afield as Baltimore and even Philadelphia. Along the upstairs hall where the family had their offices, hung paintings of the clippers in which the company owned part interests.

Erica Langston wrote to her mother’s relatives, the Harrows, who owned a vast estate in western Pennsylvania. She asked if they might reside with them and rest for a day or so toward the end of their journey. The hope was that they might perhaps make friends with folks who lived close to their final destination.

Several days back, Reginald had asked the women to take no finery on this journey. He had heard enough about Wheeling to know it was a borderland town run by frontiersmen. Silks and the like would only stand out. He apologized profusely for such a suggestion, but Lillian assured him she would rather hear it now than discover it herself in the town. She and Abigail and Erica acquired bolts of cotton prints from Lang-ston’s Emporium and had Mrs. Cutter’s favorite seamstress fashion clothes of simple cut.

The banker had not shown his face again. Lillian worried, but not overmuch. The die was now cast. She must establish a new estate for her son and be done with the old life.

This morning the men had deposited yet another task into their laps. Reginald had rushed in and told them to go through the inventory list line by line. What were they neglecting to bring for the new emporium? What further supplies might a woman client wish to find? They must remember these customers would be setting out upon the journey of a lifetime, and Wheeling might be the last provisioning stage for a year and more.

They had entered into the duty reluctantly. But now they were deep into the work, filling pages with more items the men had overlooked. But several times Abigail had leaped up to look through the front windows.

“What in the world could be keeping them so long?” she demanded as she checked outside once more.

The women exchanged glances across the paper-strewn table. Mrs. Cutter asked, “Who, dear?”

“The men!”

“Why, they are not due back for another hour,” Beatrice Cutter explained.

Abigail crossed the parlor to glare at the mantel clock. “I’m sure this wretched timepiece has stopped!”

“It has done no such thing,” Mrs. Cutter clucked. “I wound it myself this very morning, and I can hear it ticking cheerfully from where I sit.”

“But . . .” Abigail spun about and returned to her place at the table, although her attention obviously was elsewhere.

The women resumed their work. Mrs. Cutter finally declared, “I do believe we have made as complete a list as is possible for the time allotted.”

“How they could have included thread and scissors and then forgotten sewing needles is utterly beyond me,” Erica noted with a chuckle.

“They are three men and a great swath of male clerks, all of whom assume they know everything there is worth knowing,” Mrs. Cutter replied crisply.

Abigail sighed and looked once more at the clock. “Oh, why does time choose this day of all days to slow to a crawl?”

Beatrice rose from her seat and crossed to the front window to peer out herself. “Won’t you tell me what is troubling you?”

“I can’t!”

Mrs. Cutter approached as well. “Well, why not, my dear?”

“Because . . .” The young woman’s expression held frustration. “It is not my place,” she finished lamely.

The women exchanged astonished glances. These were not words they expected from Abigail.

When Abigail spoke once more, it was to her own reflection in the windowpanes. “He has to do this himself.”

“Whom are you speaking of, my dear? Young Abe?”

Abigail might have nodded, or it could have been a shiver. “We talked and talked. If I am going to always say what he is too shy to tell, how ever can he learn confidence in his own abilities?”

Lillian reached for Abigail’s arm. “Come sit with me by the fire.”

Abigail permitted herself to be led over to the settee. “It’s his plan. Not mine. All I did was, well . . .”

“You have urged Abe to speak with the others about some idea of his?”

“He didn’t want to at first. But I insisted. Abe has agreed to talk this through, but only if I am present.” She looked back at the clock. “The hands have not moved at all!”

“They will be here soon enough,” Lillian assured her. “You have done all you can. Now the task is to put your mind upon something else.”