Beside Two Rivers

35





Two weeks after the Reverend Reed read the banns in church, Darcy and Ethan took their vows. Darcy marveled at the stained-glass windows and thought about her grandfather, wondering how many couples he had married in the course of his ministry. Although she loved Fairview, Ethan let the estate go and sold it for a fair sum, the new owner swearing he would pull the old house down and replace it with a larger one.

Eliza and Fiona accompanied them on the voyage home aboard a pretty sailing ship called The Dove, reminiscent of that first vessel that had dropped anchor in the St. Mary’s River a century before. As in the days of Noah, the dove returned with an olive branch in its beak. They were returning to River Run with peace and joy in their hearts.

Upon arrival at Point Lookout, Ethan paid for a post chaise, and after miles and miles of bumpy, dusty roads, they reached the end of the lane that led to the Breese house. Ethan called up to the driver to stop, and once the horses were settled, he lifted Darcy out and carried her down the sunny path toward the house and the welcoming arms of her dear cousins.

Martha was the first to embrace Darcy as she lay in Ethan’s arms. “Darcy, I have missed you.” She kissed her cheek.

“I have been bored to death without you, Darcy,” said Lizzy.

“You have brought Mr. Brennan back with you.” Martha’s eyes beamed as she looked at him. “So good to see you again, sir. And carrying my cousin once more.”

“We are married,” he said.

The girls squealed at the news and chattered on like magpies. Mr. Breese stepped out the door with his wife and his dog. “My lord, it is Darcy and Mr. Brennan.” They rushed to her, kissed her. “Why are you carrying her, sir?” Mr. Brennan asked.

Once the explanation was given, Mrs. Breese collapsed back against her husband. “Please tell us it is not to be, Darcy,” and much sorrow was expressed. The girls gathered round and Martha wept against Darcy’s shoulder.

“No, no. Do not cry. I shall recover. I know it.”

“It cannot be helped,” cried Mrs. Breese. “I knew it. Darcy, why did you not take care where you trekked? It pains my heart to see you have been crippled.”

“I intend to overcome my condition. I am determined.”

“How? You see your uncle. He still walks breathless. I have watched over him every minute since you left.”

Martha wiped her eyes dry. “We have a very good doctor, Darcy. You remember Dr. Emerson? He can help, surely.”

“How is he, Martha?”

“Very well. We are engaged.” She turned to her parents. “And Darcy and Mr. Brennan are married, Mama, Papa.”

Mrs. Breese threw up her hands and joy overtook her tears. Mr. Breese looked down the lane. “And who is this you have brought home with you?”

“My mother, sir, and Fiona, her best friend in all the world.”

Dismayed, Mr. Breese shook his head. “What? How can that be? We were told Eliza was dead.”

“It was never true, sir,” Ethan said. “She had lived with me these many years. We have a lot to discuss.”

“Indeed we do. But what fantastic news this is!”

The whole crew rushed down the lane toward Eliza and Fiona. Darcy and Ethan waited, and when everyone was introduced Mari Breese threw her arms around Eliza, and embraced her with more tears.

“My daughter is strong, Mari.” Eliza took up Darcy’s hand. “And so happy to be home, as I am. I had lost all hope of ever seeing the river again. But God found a way.”

“It is good of you to say so, Eliza.” Mari Breese smiled and moved back her girls. “Please come inside. We have so much to talk about.”

Before going in, Eliza turned to William Breese. “I have sad news to tell you. But it does not come without good.”

He looped her arm through his. “Then let us go into the sitting room and sit a while, Eliza.”

Darcy, Ethan, Eliza, and Fiona stayed with the Breeses while the house at River Run was being rebuilt, Ethan partaking in the labor, Mr. Breese sitting in a chair in the shade observing all the goings-on. He had not returned to himself after his stroke and took his ease beneath the shade of an ancient tree, with his dog lounging at his feet.

Along a country path that bordered the land sat the cemetery where Addison and Ilene were buried. Darcy saw the sorrow in her mother’s face over her loss, but also because her husband could not be laid there in the ground he so loved.

Later that spring, upon Ilene’s gravestone, were etched the words It is well with my child, and on the day it was erected, Eliza wept and placed blue forget-me-nots beneath it. For the remainder of her life, she did so every spring, until she too lay next to her child, waiting for that promised day of jubilation when God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.

And on warm days, Ethan took Darcy down to the river and waded with her into the water, holding her in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. There in the deeper currents the river caressed her legs and brought healing and strength to her body.

Finally, on the day when all was complete at River Run, Ethan gathered the family together. Mr. and Mrs. Breese and their unwed daughters sat in the wagon with the painted red rims, the girls dressed in their Sunday best. Martha and her new husband, Dr. Emerson, rode on horseback alongside them. Eliza, Fiona, and Darcy rode in the carriage with the hood down, and Ethan drove the horses down the river path beneath the shade of the ancient elms.

He looked over his shoulder at Darcy and smiled. Dressed in white, a broad-brimmed hat decorated with white silk flowers shading her face, a broad blue ribbon tied under her chin, she looked more beautiful to him than ever and he made a point of telling her so. She laid her hand softly over her stomach and smiled, roses in her cheeks. A son would be born to them by Christmas, who would pass on River Run’s legacy to his son, his grandson, and each generation for the next two hundred years.

Now, when they came upon the house, everyone cheered. Its windows sparkled in the sunshine, and its green lawn swept alongside the sandy lane. Potted plants sat on the porch, and the old tree—that sentinel through time—guarded a swing. Eliza wiped her eyes and Fiona put her arms around her. Mrs. Breese declared it was the finest house beside the two rivers. Darcy stared at it, absorbing every inch.

“Do you like it?” Ethan asked, lifting her down from the carriage, cradling her in his arms. “Is it as you remember?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Darcy kissed his cheek. “It is more beautiful than I could ever have imagined.”

With Eliza and the family walking behind them, Ethan carried Darcy over the threshold, set her feet down on the smooth oak floor, and helped her walk inside. Darcy’s gait was unsteady, but her heart was finally home.





This is my rest forever: here will I dwell;

for I have desired it.

—Psalm 132:14 KJV





Discussion Questions


1. Who do you feel Darcy turned out to be most like, her father, Hayward, or her mother, Eliza, and why?

2. What was Darcy searching for?

3. What were Darcy’s strong points?

4. What were her weaknesses?

5. What kind of impact did it have on Darcy when she was told her mother was dead and that her father had abandoned her?

6. Name three things about Ethan Brennan you admired the most.

7. Do you feel Darcy was able to accept the past and forgive others?

8. Which character did you most closely identify with?

9. Who was your favorite character in the book, and why?

10. What was your favorite scene in the story, and why?

11. Why is it admirable that Hayward made the journey to England in order to find Eliza and ask for her forgiveness?

12. Why is it important that we forgive each other?





Apple Tansey


Take three pippins, slice them round in thin slices,

and fry them with butter; then beat four eggs,

with six spoonfuls of cream, a little rosewater,

nutmeg, and sugar; stir them together, and pour over

the apples; let it fry a little, and turn it with a pye-plate.

Garnish with lemon and sugar strew’d over it.

from The Compleat Housewife by Eliza Smith, 1727





Bonus Chapter from Book 3 of The Daughters of

the Potomac Series


Beyond the Valley


Cornwall, England

Autumn 1778

Sarah Carr would never look at the sea the same way again, or listen the same way to the waves sweeping across the shore. And never would she embrace her first love again. Drawing in the briny air, feeling the wind rush through her unbound hair, now spoke of danger and loss. Basking in blue moonlight under the stars and having Jamie point out the constellations had now become a thing of the past that could never, in her mind, be repeated.

Tonight a hunter’s moon stood behind bands of dark purple clouds as if it were the milky eye of evil. Along the bronze sand, deep green seaweed entwined with rotted gray driftwood. The scent of salt blew heavy in the air, deepening the sting of tears in her eyes, and tasting bitter on her tongue.

She had pleaded with Jamie not to go down to the shore with the others when they beat on the door and called out that a ship had wrecked in the harbor. But an empty pocket and a growling stomach influenced him to go. For over an hour, she waited for him to return and then she could bear the anxiety no longer. Sarah slipped on her worn leather boots and hurried down to the beach, working through the tangle of frenzied scavengers in hopes she would find him.

People rushed about her, some with torches, others carrying glowing tin lanterns. There were calls and shouts over the howl of the wind and the noise of the sea. They carried sacks, barrels, and crates, tossed in the surf and washed ashore, others taken perilously from the sinking vessel. The groan of its timbers caused Sarah to shiver, as she thought of the poor souls trapped aboard. She could make out its black hulk in the moonlight, its main mast shooting up through the boil of waves like a spear.

“Have mercy on those left behind, O Lord.” She shoved back her tangle of hair and watched the hapless ship go down into the dark depths of an angry sea.

A bonfire threw sparks over the sand. The foamy edge along the surf seemed a ribbon of gold near her feet. The few sailors who had survived looked on wide-eyed and drenched to the bone. They shivered in the cold, with no weapons to fend off the looting.

A firm hand moved Sarah back, and she gasped. “Come on, girl. This is no place for ye to be.” She turned to a man in untidy clothes. His wet hair corkscrewed around his ears and hung over his forehead. He turned up his collar against the drizzle and wind. She recognized him as one of the villagers, a fisherman by trade, but did not know his name.

“You must leave this place before it gets too rough, Sarah. We’ll take Jamie to the chapel with the others. Come with me.”

She shook her head at his meaning. “Jamie? Where is he?” she shouted over the blast of wind as she glanced at the chaos around her. “Why must we go to the chapel?”

The man did not answer. Instead he shifted on his feet, frowned, and glanced away. Then, with no answer, he took her by the arm again and led her across the sand. Her hair, the color of burnt umber, floated about her eyes, where the mist blurred her vision.

“Are we gathering there to pray?” she asked. “We need to pray for those poor souls caught in the sea.” She lifted her skirts and stepped unsteadily. Her limp made it difficult to navigate the beach.

“Ah, let me help you.” The man threw his arm across her back. “Over this way. Watch your step. Steady now.”

He took her to a place where the rocks made a barrier between the village and the sea. In the orange firelight, Sarah saw bodies stretched out on the sand in a row, their clothes soaked and splattered with sand. Faces were ashen in the torchlight. Their arms were crossed over their chests. The worst of her fears exploded into reality. She trembled and felt her knees weaken.

Upon a blanket lay the body of her husband, Jamie, his youthful face whiter than the wet shirt that clung to his lifeless body. His eyes were closed. His dark hair was soaked and clinging to his throat. Sarah gasped. “Jamie!”

She shivered from the cold wind that shoved against her, that pounded the waves upon the beach, from the grief that pounded a merciless fist against a breast once content with love, thinking it would last forever.

“No!” She fell beside him, threw her arms across his chest, wherein lay a silent heart. “Lord God, do not take him from me. Bring him back!” She shook with weeping, and someone pulled her away.

Four men wrapped her lad in the blanket and lifted him. She followed. Her skirts twisted around her limbs as the wind gusts grew stronger. A storm had battered the Cornish coast, and another whisked across sea and land behind it. Within moments, clouds smothered the moon and stars—the bonfire and a few lanterns the only lights to guide their steps up to the centuries-old stone church.

To rally her strength, she took in a deep lungful of air. Instead of relieving her, its mix of smoke from the bonfire and the brackish wind choked her. Behind her, she heard the waves break over the rocks, rush over the sand and pebbles, and suck at the shipwreck. A few lights in the cottages afar off glimmered in the darkness. She stumbled, regained her footing, and brushed away the tears that stung her eyes.




Fifteen sailors from the shipwreck and five villagers were laid to rest in the parish churchyard the next morning. Four somber widows walked away in silence along with their fatherless children, made poorer by their loss.

Sarah drew her shoulders back, determined to rise above her grief and face what life had just thrown at her. But her heart ached, and she knew no amount of fortitude could hide it. She tipped the brim of her hat downward to hide her tears.

“What is done cannot be undone,” she said to the woman who walked beside her. “God asks of me to go on. And I shall for my child’s sake.”

Her neighbor, Mercy Banks, placed her hand over Sarah’s shoulder. She was as tall as Sarah, lean with a pleasant countenance and large brown eyes. Known for her kindness to those in need, Mercy comforted Sarah with her touch.

“You must come home with me, Sarah. The least we can do is give you a warm meal and a bed for the night. It would be too lonely in your little cottage without Jamie.”

Sarah glanced down at the three children as they walked alongside their mother. Their heads were as blond as sand, their eyes like Mercy’s. Two clung to Mercy’s skirts. The oldest boy walked ahead and swung a stick at the geese in the road.

“Thank you, Mercy. But I am leaving Bassets Cove.” She could not impose on her neighbors who had young mouths to feed. “My landlord is not a rich man. I can expect sympathy, but not charity. He and his wife need a paying tenant. So I’ve told them I am leaving.”

Mercy’s face crinkled with worry. “You are leaving this minute? Let me speak to my husband.”

Sarah touched her friend’s shoulder. “Do not worry. I will be all right.”

“But where will you go, Sarah? You have no family, no parents, no brothers or sisters. Have you a distant relative who would take you in all of a sudden?”

“I am going to Jamie’s sister Mary and her husband. November is around the corner and the cold weather will be here. I must go while I have the chance.”

Mercy pressed her mouth, then let out a long breath. “To the Lockes? It is said Lem Locke is a smuggler, that he will stop anyone by any means if they get in his way. It isn’t as if he is helping any of the poor in Cornwall, for it is also said that he hoards his goods in the caves along the coast, and sells rum and brandy at a high price to the gentry. You should reconsider.”

“I have nothing to fear, and nowhere else to go. I am sure it is only a rumor you have heard about Lem. Jamie told me if I should ever need help to go to them. Why would he say that if they were bad people?”

“Perhaps Jamie did not know Lem Locke as well as he should have. Not only that, they must have heard the unfortunate news by now, and they should have come for you, if they have any Christian charity in them at all. Why are they not here?”

“I had no way of sending word. Paper is so precious, and I had none. But I imagine they may hear from others before I reach them, but only of the wreck.”

Mercy cocked her head. “Have you met them before?”

“Only Mary. It was a few days before Jamie and I were wed. She was quiet but not completely cold. Yet, I do not think she approved of our marriage, and would rather have seen her brother marry a fit woman. She never said where Lem was.”

“Away smuggling, no doubt. I pray he is kind to you, Sarah. It is what you need right now.”

Once they reached her cottage door, Mercy kissed Sarah’s cheek. “I wish you well, and will keep you and your child in my prayers. If you should need to return, come to my door before anyone else’s. Understand?’

“Yes, thank you.” Sarah hugged Mercy, then watched her go, with the children in tow, down the sandy lane that led into the heart of the village.

Before stepping inside, Sarah glanced up at the gray sky that swirled above. “If only you would clear the clouds away, Lord. I might feel better if I were to see the sun. But if not today, then tomorrow.”

Pushing the door in, she stepped over the threshold and paused. The sparse little room seemed neglected, as if no living soul lived there anymore. They owned little, and few things were left of Jamie’s—his pipe, and Bible, and one change of clothes. She packed them in a sack with her own scant possessions—brush, comb, and one pair of stockings. The rest she owned was on her back.

Determined to be strong, she wiped away a tear and heaved the bag into her arms. After she shut the door behind her, she took the path to the rear of the cottage and slowly climbed the grassy slopes. It would take her longer than the average person to reach the moorland above, for having been born with one leg slightly shorter than the other hindered her gait, enough to cause her stride to be uneven. It had been the source of ridicule when she was growing up, orphaned and living in a workhouse for children. Told her mother was dead, her father unknown, she wondered if she were an abandoned child, an embarrassment to some gentry family for being flawed and possibly illegitimate.

Abused and starved, she kept to herself, and barely spoke to anyone, until a good-looking young man came down the lane that bordered the field she worked in. The wheat had been scythed and she, along with other able bodies, stood in a line to gather the sheaves into bundles. He leaned on the fence rail and watched her. The next day, he offered her water from his canteen. On the third day, he approached her during her ten-minute rest time, sat beside her and told her his likes and dislikes.

“I hate the smell of wheat,” he told her. “It makes me sneeze.” She remembered how his comment had made her giggle. “I’m a net maker, but I hate eating fish. Don’t like the bones.”

“What do you like?” she asked in a quiet voice.

“Bread and butter … and pretty girls like you.”

She had hidden her face in the sleeve of her dress, for she felt the burn of a blush rush over her.

By the fourth day, he suggested she leave with him. “I live in Bassets Cove, not far from here,” he told her. “It’s a beautiful place. The sea air is good for one’s health, you know. I am alone. You are alone. I could use a wife.”

Sarah stood and brushed the bits of chaff off her dress. “You could not possibly want me.”

“Why not? You’re very pretty, Sarah. And I like the way you think.”

“Hmm, haven’t you noticed my way of walking?”

“Yes, what of it?”

“I am crippled.” She leaned down, emphasizing the words.

He jumped up and put his hands on her shoulders. “I do not care. Marry me.”

He had been the first man to ask, the first not to care about her imperfection. He was a means of escape and the start of a new life, a net maker by trade. She reasoned he would protect her, take care of her, and she understood they would never rise above a humble existence. If not Jamie, who on God’s green earth would have her?

“Well,” she had told him while looking into his blue eyes, “I suppose the Lord has brought us together. You need a wife, and I need a protector. I accept you as you are, not a rich man, if you will accept me as I am—a cripple.”

She never forgot the expression on Jamie’s face, how his eyes lit up as he gazed into hers. “You may limp, Sarah, but you are healthy. You and I shall not be alone. Not for the rest of our lives. We will have lots of children and grow very old together. And I shall become a wealthy man one day. You will see.” And he leaned down and kissed her cheek.

Inside the little cottage, life seemed abundant. Jamie wove the finest nets and mended others for the local fishermen. There was food on the table and rent paid most of the time. But after only a few months wed, his lack of affection, his never saying he loved her, began to disappoint Sarah. She never mentioned it to him, deciding she would sacrifice romance for a roof over her head, food in her belly, and companionship.

And so, at age seventeen, she had left the wheat fields, with him strolling alongside her as the sun went down. Married nearly six months, she now found herself alone in the world again.

She came to the little church that overlooked the sea. Sunlight glimmered in the windows. But the gray stone gave it a cold appearance. She stepped over the thick grass, and drew near Jamie’s marker, a small, narrow stone with his name and date. She stood in front of it and sighed, while her cloak fanned behind her in the wind.

“You did not kiss me good-bye, Jamie. You spoke not a word to me, but rushed out the door without a second thought. How I wish you had listened when I warned you not to go. But it was not your way. You showed little attention to my pleas. You made it clear your business was your own and I need not be concerned, only be happy when you would return home with a sack full of goods. I shall miss you.”

She closed her eyes, spoke a prayer for his soul, and moved on. Once she reached the crossroads, she headed south along the coastal road, and tried not to think of how hungry she was. Her last full meal was the night Jamie left to plunder the shipwreck. She thought about how he had gulped down the humble potato stew, grabbed his hat, and rushed out the door at the urging of his mates.

The bag slipped in Sarah’s arms. She pulled it up, held it tighter, and glanced back. Leaving the village and the blue cove caused a wave of sadness to ripple through her. She wished some of her long-time neighbors, besides Mercy, had followed, begged her to stay, urged her not to go, and gave her all the reasons why, offered her work, some kind of position to keep her from starving. Then she hoped to see a wagon or coach heading in her direction. But the road remained lonely and windswept.

She was dressed in a homespun dress open at the front, and her beige striped petticoat fluttered about her slim legs. The hem was a bit tattered and soiled from wear. Her straw hat lay between her shoulder blades. The blue ribbon, faded gray, looped around her throat. No point wearing it upon her head, for the wind would blow it off or worsen the wear on the brim.

Six miles later, she set the sack down on the roadside, then gathered her hair in her hands and twisted it into a braid. Her dress felt tight against her waist. She loosened the stays before going on.

A half-mile further, misty sunbeams shot through the clouds and plunged toward earth and sea. Sarah gazed with awe at the heaven-like spears and the distant patches of blue. For a moment, it raised her soul and soothed the pain that lingered in her heart.

She watched sparrows dart across the sky and land afar off. Then she moved on down the sandy road. This time she strove to walk with ladylike grace. But this proved, as it had many times before, a task too difficult and wearisome to do.