Heirs of Acadia - 02 - The Innocent Libertine (36 page)

Lillian saw nothing of Reginald throughout much of the day. He had departed with the dawn, taken on a tour of the estate by one of the Harrow overseers, and did not return until they were seeing off the solicitor late in the afternoon. Reginald greeted the man and news of the day’s events with an air of grim fatigue. Lillian tried to speak with him and tell him she understood, but her throat closed up tight and she could not utter the first word. Reginald excused himself and went off to bathe before dinner.

When they all sat down for an early meal, there was a sense that distant relatives and new acquaintances had been transformed into friends and allies. The mood was now one of eagerness to help one another however possible. The talk soon turned to Wheeling and what they would find up ahead. Franklin Harrow proved an excellent source of useful information.

“The distance you’ve yet to cover is not that great. From Farmington to Wheeling is only forty or so miles as the crow flies. But between here and there lies the last of the Appalachians. One final spine of mountains is just beyond the western horizon. The National Road maintains its maximum five percent grade through long sweeping turns. The distance is increased by half again. Even so, the road is a marvel of modern engineering.”

Sylvia Harrow noted somewhat disdainfully, “If it was such a marvel, I don’t see why they couldn’t have erected a few decent inns along the way.”

“No one in their right mind would remain in the last hills before the plains,” her husband explained. “Especially at this time of year. What we experience here as cold autumn rain could well be snow in the higher reaches.”

Sylvia was not satisfied. “If you find yourself behind one of my husband’s coal trains or any other line of oxen carts, this last leg of your journey can well take another three days. Which means either camping in forests or sleeping in a miserable tippling inn. Both ways, you run the risk of meeting up with the dread highwaymen.”

“Now, now, there’s no need worrying our guests. The weather is their real concern,” her husband responded. “It always seems to be raining in these hills to the west of us. Either that or they’re blanketed by a fog so thick you can’t see the hand in front of your face. Many a time I’ve been unable to observe my own lead animals.”

Lillian listened to the exchange with only half an ear. Once again she was seated across from Reginald. Her position at the table afforded her a perfect station to observe Reginald’s inner turmoil.

It pained her to even glance his way. Taking another forkful of the excellent fare became a chore. Silently Lillian implored him to lift his gaze, to just look in her direction.

But he remained withdrawn, tense, and downcast.

Once again she found herself drawn by her own helplessness to prayer. She could not wait for a private moment.

Her eyes open and steadfast in their gaze across the table, she offered a new sort of prayer. It seemed to her that the communication was being shaped even before she thought through the words. The prayer changed from one where she intended to plea for herself into one directed outward.
Father, I pray for this good man. Whatever I might do to ease his burden, help me to see this clearly. Grant me the strength and the wisdom to do whatever I might to heal his woes and calm his heart. Use me however Thou wilt, Lord, to return the light to his gaze and the happiness to his features
.

“Mr. Langston, I hope you enjoyed your tour of my lands,” Franklin was saying.

Reluctantly Reginald raised his head. “It was most informative.” “My overseer was able to answer your questions?”

“I could not have asked for a better guide. He thinks the world of you, sir.”

“And I of him, I assure you. I suppose he told you that I am granting him and his partner a third of everything they gain from their work.”

“He did, and he marvels at your generosity.”

“I have always found that long-standing relationships are best built upon fairness.”

“I agree.”

“And honesty,” Sylvia added. “And a chance for all to advance together.”

Abigail spoke up, “Mr. Langston and Mr. Cutter are taking Abraham in as a partner in their Wheeling venture.”

“There, did I not say it? It is a wise course, and one that will bear great fruit for everyone involved.” Franklin Harrow smiled down the length of the table. “Will there be other reasons for celebrating in the near future?”

As Abigail blushed, Sylvia chided her husband, “I cannot imagine anything that might be more inappropriate for you to ask the young lady.”

“I mean no offense,” he said, still smiling.

“None taken, sir,” Abigail replied, gazing now at Abe, who was equally embarrassed.

Franklin Harrow turned his attention to Reginald. “Would you call your quest successful, sir?”

Reginald sat in silence for a moment, then responded quietly to the plate set before him, “I must see this through to completion.”

Franklin nodded. “Please let me know if there is anything I can do, sir.”

Lillian understood Reginald’s message. The ending was upon them. She might wish for another day, another week, or month, but to what purpose? To love him even more deeply? To face a parting that would wrench them both even worse?

Yes,
her heart mourned.
Yes, even a single heartbeat more!

But as she studied the downcast gentleman seated across from her, she knew their parting should come as soon as possible.

Lillian took a deep breath and tried to control the trembling of her hands. She would not remain in Wheeling as she had intended, drawing out their time together to the last dying gasp. As soon as they arrived, she would make plans to depart for the West.

Lillian realized the conversation had moved on without her. Franklin was addressing Abe, “I gather you see Wheeling as your very own land of opportunity.”

“I can but hope at this stage, sir,” Abe replied. “Having never been there before.”

Abigail asked, “What can you tell us of the place, sir?”

“The city lives up to its name,” he replied. “A more freewheeling town you will never hope to find. But if I were you, I would not see myself putting down permanent roots in that place.”

“Why is that, sir?”

“Because before long the world of opportunity will be moving further west. Soon as the National Road opens to St. Louis, Wheeling will become just another way station and river port.”

Horace Cutter pointed out, “There will still be the settlers bound for Indiana. From Wheeling they will keep heading west.”

“Not if trekking to St. Louis means bridges across the great rivers and a closer point from which to begin the overland adventure,” Franklin replied. “You have not seen what it is like west of here, sir. Other than the National Road, there is nothing in the way of decent transportation. Nothing! Crossing a flood-swollen river can mean losing half your herd—either that or paying a ferryman whatever he chooses to charge. There is pestilence and bad water and Indians to tend with. No, you mark my words. The immigrants will take whatever course is safest, and take it as far as they can.”

“St. Louis,” Abe said thoughtfully.

“Aye, that’s your world of opportunity. Why, if I was your age, I’d be making for there this very instant! You mark my words. There are lands out beyond our reach that will soon be opening up. Lands the likes of which you’ve never dreamed of.”

“I’ve read accounts,” Abe said.

“As have I,” Horace agreed. “And always dismissed them as fables drawn from the blandishments of frontiersmen and fur traders.” This was greeted with chuckles.

“Fables they might be, but there’s truth enough as well.” Their host thumped the table for emphasis. “Mark my words. St. Louis is the gateway to new worlds. That’s where the future lies!”

The entire table became caught up in excited discussion. All, that is, save Lillian and Reginald. The two of them remained locked in silence. Lillian continued to study his face, reading there the truth hidden from her before.

As they rose from the table, she gave Reginald’s downcast features one more moment of scrutiny, seeking to brand his face upon her memory. Three days. She would give herself just three days more, then move on to the void of a future without him.

Chapter 28

Lillian was emotionally and physically exhausted. Yet a shared excitement seemed to run like a current through the dark house. Beside her in the large four-poster bed, Abigail had tried to be silent, but the young woman had been restless and stirring constantly through the long hours. Lillian could well understand her anticipation. A day’s journey, two or three at most, and her future would stand there before her. Who would not be both thrilled and terrified at such a prospect. From somewhere down below their bedroom came the quiet rumble of male voices.

Finally Abigail whispered, “Are you awake?”

“I am.”

“I have disturbed your sleep. I am so sorry.”

“It is not you.”

“You are excited about tomorrow’s journey?”

The determination neither to lie to her dear young friend nor dampen her enthusiasm left Lillian in a quandary. Finally she replied, “Everything is mingled together into a great knot that extends from my mind to my stomach.”

“I know precisely what you mean.”

No,
Lillian silently replied.
No, you do not. And may you never be faced with such a dilemma, or such a night
. “Whatever do you suppose the men are still talking over downstairs?”

Abigail said, “No doubt they are planning the route ahead.”

“No doubt.”

Abigail rolled over on her back. “Might I ask what you are thinking about?”

What to tell her? “I wish God were closer just now. Such a desire would never have occurred to me before. But now I yearn for it desperately.”

“Closer than any brother, that is what the Scriptures promise.”

“Never did I imagine that such a desire could be possible. Especially for me.” Her throat constricted. Or that she should ever need a friend so desperately.

“Sometimes the only way I can fathom the Savior’s grace,” Abigail said, “is by light of who I am without Him.”

Lillian mulled that over for a time, then turned to Abigail’s profile in the moonlight. “Now it is my turn. What are you thinking?”

“Two things,” she replied slowly. “What my calling might be, beyond that of being Abe’s helpmate and support. And I was also thinking about St. Louis.”

“You think Abe will want to go there?”

“I know it. Did you not see his face when Mr. Harrow was speaking?”

“I am unable to read him as well as you.”

“I will go where he wishes to lead,” Abigail said, speaking as much to herself as to Lillian. “I will not hold him back.”

“You will make him a good wife.”

“Oh, I do hope so.”

“I am certain of it.”

Abigail scrunched the covers up close to her chin. Lillian dreaded that she might inquire about her relationship with Reginald. But the young woman merely said, “Might we pray together about tomorrow?”

“For our futures,” Lillian whispered.

“Yes,” Abigail agreed. “For God’s help with all that lies ahead.”

They arose long before dawn. Breakfast was as vast a meal as dinner, and eating enough to satisfy Sylvia Harrow was a terrible chore for Lillian. Reginald’s place at the table was empty. When he finally arrived, he displayed dark circles beneath his eyes and carried the same tensely preoccupied air as the previous night. Lillian could scarcely look his way.

As they climbed into the carriages, the early-morning sky was star-studded and brilliantly clear, with a moon just three days from full. The lane stretched away from the manor like a silver river, waiting to ferry them into a future Lillian dreaded with all her might.

Abe and Reginald shared the coach’s top seat. The air held an uncommon chill for September, a bite just a fraction off a hard freeze. Abigail and Lillian bundled into blankets tucked up around their knees. Remnants of both breakfast and the previous dinner were wrapped and stowed in the coach with them. Farewells were said, and said again. With the aid of the moon and lanterns hung from the top posts of each coach, they were away.

Abigail bobbed from window to window as they passed through Farmington, but the village was dark and silent. They knew when they rejoined the National Road because the coaches’ heavy jolting softened to a constant rocking, and the horses’ cadence picked up to a swift-moving canter. Abigail and Lillian were both exhausted. Soon enough the coach’s steady sway granted them what the four-poster with its down mattress could not, and they fell fast asleep.

Lillian woke to the brilliant sunshine of a full-fledged day. Abigail slumbered on, her head in Lillian’s lap. They were rising through a heavily forested stretch, with nothing to be seen through either window save rocky promontories and ancient woodlands.

The road traversed a steep hillside in a series of cutbacks. She could see the roof of the second coach as it negotiated the passage directly below them. Horace was handling the reins, and as he passed below them he whistled and called to the lead horses. But that was not what captured Lillian’s attention. To her astonishment, she realized that the nanny’s husband, seated beside Horace, held a rifle to his chest. She had not even been aware that they carried weapons on the coaches at all. Both men wore taut expressions as they scanned the forests to either side. Lillian glanced back and forth, but as far as she could see the road was empty.