Beside Two Rivers

11





Unable to sleep most of the night, Darcy tried to picture her grandmother in her mind. Perhaps she might be an elegant woman, stiff in posture, shoulders back, head high, eyes that spoke of highborn blood. Then again, she could be wrinkled and bent with age, one who regretted the fading bloom of youth.

Tucking her arms beneath her head on the pillow, she watched the shadows cross the ceiling in time with the even rhythm of her breathing. She closed her eyes and thought of Ethan. England—he’d be there. Ah, but would she want to meet him again, endure seeing him with a new wife, one who would flaunt her new name in her face?

She drew the pillow against her and wondered if he had decided not to marry Miss Roth. Did he not say he had no real affection for her? If they were to meet again, how would he react? Would he repent for leaving her high and dry?

In the morning, she went downstairs for breakfast. Fortunately, her aunt was reserved on the subject of her leaving, yet dropped hints as to how fine the riverside was, how lovely the Maryland countryside would be in autumn, how blessed they all were to live in a land of liberty without the burden of monarchy.

“If you choose to leave us, I would be pleased if you would send your uncle a sample of heather pressed in rice paper inside a book of your choosing, Darcy,” her aunt said.

Darcy could not bring herself to smile. “I will be happy to, if I can find any. I will see if Uncle Will has a picture of it, to make it easy for me.”

She went to his study and found him working. “Aunt Mari wishes for me to send home a sample of heather. Do you have a drawing I may see?”

“No, but I can make one.”

“That would be splendid.”

He drew out paper and began the sketch. “It is a shrub-like plant, you see.” Darcy leaned in. “It blooms bell-shaped purple flowers in summer. By the time you reach England, you will have missed them in all their glory.”

“But the leaves are lovely, and perhaps I will find some dried blooms.”

“Yes, perhaps.” He handed her the sketch and she thanked him. It worried her how weary he seemed.

“What is the matter? I have noticed you seem tired lately.”

“Yes, I am more tired than usual, and I have a shortness of breath at times. I suppose it is old age creeping up on me.” He placed his hand on her cheek. “Say nothing of this to your aunt. You know how she worries.”

She agreed to be quiet, but she wondered if it were the right thing to do. “You must see a doctor, Uncle Will. Promise me.”

“I have met with him already. I am to drink plenty of barley water, eat my food warm, and stay out of drafts.”

She put her arms around him. “I should not leave, not when you are ill.”

“You fear too much for me, Darcy. I am otherwise in good health. I want my heather, and the way I am to have it is if you get it for me.”

Stepping outside his study, Will Breese put on his hat. “Wild blackberry leaves are turning and I need samples.”

“Would you like me to come along?”

“I would like to have time alone to pray, Darcy. You know how precious quiet is to me, and that it is hard to pray when there is so much activity inside the house. I’ll take my dog with me and return for dinner at noon.”

By one o’clock he had not returned, and so Darcy and Martha were sent to find him. They walked past the front garden to the road together, to a field opposite the house, lush with knee-high grass that waved in the breeze.

Martha looped her arm through Darcy’s. “I think we shall have a gray winter this year, Darcy.”

Darcy smiled and lifted her face to feel the sun. “I like winter as much as any season. But when it is cold and dreary, I remember that the wildflowers will return as they always do.”

Martha paused and shook out the dust that had gathered on her hem from the road. “I wonder if you shall be here to see them. Your grandmother’s invitation to visit her …”

“Do not look so sad, Martha. This is my home and I will come back.”

With a firm hand, Martha yanked at a head of a clover. “Hmm. You are like the wildflowers, cousin. Gone for a while, but promised to return.”

Darcy laughed and shook back her hair.

“Are you worried you might see Mr. Brennan there?”

“Indeed not. I doubt I shall ever see Mr. Brennan again. And even if I do, it shall not be of any consequence to me.”

“And if he is wed to that prissy girl, tell him I think him well-deserving of such a thorn in his flesh.”

“It is because of me that you would say such a thing, Martha.”

“You are right. I would say it of any man who treated my dearest cousin and friend ill.”

They walked on, closer to the line of trees that shaded the field.

“You never did say all that was in the letter, Darcy. Were there other reasons for Grandmother asking you to come, other than wishing to see you?”

“That is the sum of it. She said that for many years she has grieved and explained it no further. I imagine not seeing our fathers for all these years caused her much pain, and to know we exist and to never to meet us has been difficult. I do not understand why she only asked for me, and not you or your sisters.”

“Perhaps she plans to send for us one at a time, and I shall be next on the list. But I do not ever want to go. I am afraid of strangers and strange places.”

“I have thought perhaps there are things I should know, and people I should meet,” said Darcy. “I am not afraid.”

Martha nodded. “You never are. I admire that about you.”

The breeze whispered through the weeping willow they walked under. Darcy drew in the air. “We are young, Martha. Neither of us should spend our days sitting at home. I must find answers, and you must find a husband.”

Her cousin laughed. “Have you no such hope in finding a good man, Darcy?”

“I shall desire marriage, if it is for love. If I never find it, than I shall remain as I am.”

“I have received two letters from Dr. Emerson,” Martha said. “I believe he is sincerely fond of me.”

Darcy turned to her cousin. “What is there not to be fond of? You have all the qualities a good man should desire. Beauty. Wit. Intelligence. And you have excellent taste in books, especially poetry. I hear Dr. Emerson is a deeply spiritual man, in the way Christ would have him be, kind and compassionate. I believe you are fond of him, as well.”

Martha blushed and nodded. “I am, indeed. He might stay here in the countryside, or he might carry me away to Baltimore, or even Annapolis.”

Darcy blinked in astonishment. “You would prefer the city to the river?”

“I would prefer to be wherever Dr. Emerson chooses to live. But I will admit the river would be my first choice, if I have any say in the matter.”

“I am sure he would want your opinion on such an important issue.”

“We have not spoken much, or ever been alone. But when I have seen him my heart pounds so hard, I think I should faint.”

Darcy felt her smile sweep from her face and a yearning fill her. “I understand. Now, when I think of Ethan, my heart aches. Love is a two-edged sword.”

“Yes, Darcy. Oh, we should not be speaking as if I am engaged to Dr. Emerson. I am not.”

“It does not hurt to dream.”

“What do you dream of?”

Darcy plucked a long blade of grass and then tossed it away. “Me? Well, I dream of growing old beside the two rivers. As you see, my expectations are not too lofty. I will not be disappointed, unless I die young.”

Off in the distance, she spied her uncle strolling home and pointed him out to her cousin. A canvas bag hung from his belt, and his dog, Dash, strutted alongside him. He lifted his hand and waved. Darcy pulled Martha’s arm, and together they proceeded through the field at a quick pace to meet him.

Dash leapt in front of Mr. Breese, barked, then stood still with a whine. His master staggered forward, gripped his shoulder, and grimaced in pain. When he dropped to his knees, Darcy drew her arm out from Martha’s and ran. Martha cried out and followed.

“Uncle Will!”

“Papa!” Martha sprinted past Darcy.

He lifted his face. Fear flushed his skin and shown in his eyes. Then he moaned and fell onto his side. Martha shrieked and threw herself across his chest. “Uncle Will!” Darcy said, dropping beside him. She placed her hand on his cheek, tapping it with her fingers. She pressed her ear against his heart. “Wake, Uncle Will, open your eyes. Martha and I will take you home.” But he did not wake.

“It is no good.” Heavy with grief, Martha leaned her head against Darcy’s shoulder, weeping.

She pulled Martha forward by the shoulders. “He’s breathing and his heart is still beating.”

Martha’s eyes widened and she gripped Darcy. “Hurry home, Darcy. Tell Mama. Tell her to send help.”

Jumping to her feet, Darcy lifted her skirts and ran as swiftly as she could toward the house. Her heart pounded and her breath caught in her throat. How was she going to tell her aunt that Uncle Will lay dying in the meadow?