Ten
-
Henry’s Surprise
Henry
and Isabelle
decided to leave Richterton immediately after the funeral
of Lady Oslan. The question they had was when to hold the funeral. They both
needed time to tie up loose ends before leaving town. Isabelle wanted to give
her brother, James, ample opportunity to return, and Henry had to deal with
finishing outstanding orders and placing his apprentices and journeyman in the
hands of capable new masters. Ruther had not yet returned from his latest
travels abroad telling stories, and Henry could not imagine leaving without
bidding farewell to his best friend.
The
undertaker said he could preserve Lady Oslan’s body for two weeks past her
death, and not a day more. With a date in mind, Isabelle sent letters to James
and all the friends of her mother, informing them of her death and the date of
her funeral ceremony. Henry wrote to all the woodworking masters he knew or had
heard of through his own work and his father’s contacts. He also visited
several in the nearby area.
On
the merit of his reputation, Henry had no problem placing his apprentices in
training with new masters. It was Brandol who proved more difficult. As an
apprentice, Brandol had made a name for himself among the trade masters as a
hopeless cause with no self-confidence. Henry visited everyone he could think
of, but the best answer he got was from a cabinetmaker on the outskirts of
town: “I’ll think about it.”
It
was evening when Henry left the cabinetmaker’s shop, and he was still far from
the heart of Richterton. Homes and places of business were few and far between
in this area, and Henry came upon a small quiet tavern with only one horse tied
to the post. As he passed the tavern, he looked a second time at the horse.
“Ghost?”
he muttered as he rode closer to the animal. On the third inspection, Henry was
almost certain this was Ruther’s horse. He tied Quicken up next to Ghost and
went inside.
The
tavern was empty save for two people. One man sat at a table carving a small
block of wood, and his eye was on the second person across the room—a cloaked
figure with red hair sticking out from under the hood. He was slumbering deeply
with his head resting in his arms on a table.
“Are
you the owner?” Henry asked the first man.
“Aye,”
was the answer.
“You
know this man?”
“Nay.”
“How
long has he been here?”
“’Bout
three hours. Came in ‘ere like the devil was after ‘im. Asked to tie the ‘orse
up in back. Said ‘e could as long as there weren’t no problems. Drank himself
to sleep about an hour ago. Brought his ‘orse round front ‘cause it was
bothering mine. Temper-y-mental, mine is. Figured I’d throw ‘im in the cot out
back ‘til morning if ‘e don’t wake up soon. Gets busy ‘ere soon and I need all
the space I ‘ave.”
Henry
moved to the sleeping man and pulled the hood off his head. It was Ruther. He
had a large bruise around one eye and a puffy upper lip still oozing blood.
“What happened to him?”
The
owner shrugged. Henry shook his friend vigorously until Ruther’s eyes opened.
“Hello,
friend,” Ruther croaked. “What time is it?”
“Time
to go home,” Henry said, pulling on Ruther’s shoulders. As he helped Ruther up,
Henry turned to the owner again. “How much is owed?”
“One
silver and five coppers.”
“Good
grief, Ruther. You drink like a fish.” He reached into Ruther’s purse and found
it almost empty. He thought this odd considering Ruther was coming home from
telling stories for the last several days. He reached into his own money bag
and handed six coins to the owner and thanked him.
“No
. . . no . . .” Ruther protested on their way out the door. “I can pay for it.”
Henry
helped Ruther onto his horse and they slowly rode into town side by side.
Ruther came to his senses about halfway through the journey, and Henry told
Ruther about all that had transpired since Ruther left.
“I
wish I’d known this story days ago,” Ruther commented. “I could have made a
small fortune with it!”
“Thank
you. That’s very comforting.”
Ruther
swayed in the saddle a bit, then caught himself. He began whistling a low tune
that Henry vaguely recognized. Then he abruptly stopped. “Where do you and
Isabelle plan to go? South? I would, it’s warm almost all year around.”
“Probably
west, but we aren’t certain—”
“The
funeral is when?
“Just
four more days. We need someone to forge legal documents for us first. Records
of identity, certainly. Writs of passage, too, if possible.”
“I
know a man who can make excellent records of identity. He’s among the best
forgers in the business, but it’ll cost you. Most won’t forge writs of passage
these days.”
“Why
am I not surprised that you know forgers?” Henry asked. “And what happened to
your face?”
Ruther
grinned, making his puffy, split lip more pronounced. “Some buffoon didn’t like
my story’s ending, so he hit me in the face. He was drunk and chased me out of
there.”
“Rough
crowd.”
“You’re
telling me. I’ll never go back there again.” Something in Ruther’s voice
sounded off to Henry, but he couldn’t tell what it was, and let it go. It
brightened his spirits to have Ruther back in town. Hopefully Ruther could help
him and Isabelle prepare for their departure and figure out exactly where they
would make their new home.
The
last few days before the funeral ticked away like seconds on a clock. Ruther
was at Henry’s home every day examining maps and giving Henry and Isabelle
advice on the best places to consider relocating. Maggie made up her mind to
stay behind and try to sell the property. She would use the money to buy
herself something smaller that suited her needs until she married. Isabelle
anxiously awaited word from James, but none came. And perhaps most importantly,
there was no sign or rumor of Lord Oslan and his whereabouts.
The Funeral
A
small crowd
of guests arrived at the cemetery to pay their respects to
the late Lady Oslan, so also did large gray clouds which hung low over the
hillside of Lady Oslan’s family plot. As the proceedings began, the rain fell
in a constant drizzle. On the faces of the guests, Isabelle saw the same
question: where was Lord Oslan? Isabelle still did not know the answer, and she
still did not care. The priest’s voice and words cast a somber mood over the
crowd. Isabelle tried to listen, but her thoughts delved into her own memories.
“The
hardest aspect of death” the priest said in his deep voice, “is the hollowness
we feel as we try to put pieces of our life into the spaces vacated by those we
love. We who have seen the best and the worst of our loved ones, we who have
forgiven and loved them unconditionally—we must trust in the Lord.”
Isabelle’s
earliest recollections of her mother starkly contrasted her later ones. Lady
Oslan had been a forbidding woman before her illness. As a child, Isabelle had
believed her purpose was to be put on display for her mother’s friends.
Now
Isabelle, show off your new dress to them. Recite your poems. Sing for her the
song I taught you. Go get your flute so you can play Father’s friends a tune.
Affection only came when Isabelle had amused or astounded those in the Oslan
social circle.
When
Lady Oslan became ill, her priorities abruptly changed. Her relationship with
her children changed, too. The loving, nurturing relationship had grown and
blossomed over the nine years since the start of the illness. Isabelle never
faulted her mother for treating her in such a way. It reflected the way
Isabelle’s grandmother had treated Lady Oslan, and the way her great-grandmother
had treated her grandmother, and so on through the generations. Isabelle saw
the same thing among many of the daughters of nobility; Lady Oslan would have
transformed her daughter into the same mold had she not seen the error of her
ways.
“We
struggle with answering the questions we have,” the priest continued, “such as
why loved ones are taken from us when we still need them here. God is our
greatest teacher. He teaches us that the answers will be made known through our
faith . . . although the answers may come in this life or the next.”
Lady
Oslan had intended to send her children to Mrs. Vestin only temporarily while
she raised enough money to send Isabelle and James to a reputable school. In
fact, for years Lady Oslan claimed to her friends that she taught the children
herself. Then, the same day that James enlisted in the Guard and left home,
Lady Oslan invited Mrs. Vestin into her chamber and tearfully thanked her for
all the good she had done for her son and daughter. James had received higher
scores on his entrance examination than any of the school-reared nobles. Both
proud of her son and ashamed of her behavior, Lady Oslan offered to write
letters of recommendation for Mrs. Vestin so she could tutor more children from
noble families.
“After
putting our trust in God, we must lean on those around us and let them be God’s
hands to support us in our weakness. God does His greatest work through
charitable men and women who are engaged in His service.”
Lady
Oslan initially disliked Henry and Maggie because of the influences they had on
her daughter. If Isabelle meant to ready herself for Richterton’s high society,
she would have to give up her friendships with the Vestin children. As a
budding adolescent, Isabelle believed she could live without Maggie and her
habit of nagging and bossing, but Henry . . . that was another matter. Even a
young woman of nobility such as herself could see that the other girls in the
markets had grand ambitions of marrying Henry Vestin.
After
all, Henry’s father had wealth, respect, and a successful business, and Henry
stood to inherit all of it. His strikingly handsome face, promising carpentry
skill, and generous nature guaranteed that the girl who married him would be a
lucky one. But not a girl of noble birth, Isabelle had to remind herself. And
no matter how often she did, her spirit soared every time he smiled at her or
stared at her with his calm, blue-eyed gaze. Her mother had plans for her to
marry not a carpenter, but a guardsman rising quickly through the ranks—someone
with a bright future in the King’s army. A man like that would be chivalrous,
provide protection, and let his wife want for nothing. She constantly reminded
Isabelle that Mr. Vestin hadn’t taught his son to wield the sword, and
swordplay, in Blithmore, remained very fashionable. This point stuck with
Isabelle until life taught her that Henry could protect her without using a
sword.
When
Isabelle was fourteen, she and her girlfriends were strolling through the
market on an early Saturday morning. Some boys no older than ten were chasing a
large stray dog away from the meat stands. One of the boys got a little
reckless and pelted the animal with a stick or rock. Somewhere in the dog’s
mind, madness set in. With a feral snarl, the dog turned on the boy, who
shrieked and ran for safety. The closest safety the boy found was behind
Isabelle’s dress. The dog’s attention went to Isabelle, and he lunged for her
with his fangs bared. From out of nowhere, a large melon connected with the
side of the dog’s face, knocking the beast to the ground and sending it
scurrying down the lane in a disoriented panic. Henry tried to convince
Isabelle that Ruther had thrown the melon, but his blue eyes gave him away. At
age fourteen, it was the first time she’d wanted to kiss him.
In
Isabelle’s mind, the incident with the dog was the catalyst that changed Lady
Oslan’s mind about Henry. She cautioned Isabelle less often about seeing Henry
outside of their morning schooling sessions. She spoke kindly of him more
frequently, even occasionally asking Isabelle about his health and work. Then,
late one night, after a particularly nasty altercation between Lady and Lord
Oslan, Isabelle heard her mother sneak into her bedroom and kneel at Isabelle’s
bedside.
“Are
you awake, darling?” Lady Oslan asked her daughter.
Isabelle
looked up. She hadn’t been able to sleep through the shouting. Silence in the
room followed as Lady Oslan stroked her daughter’s hair and cheek as she did
when Isabelle was young or ill. In the darkness, Isabelle heard her mother’s
heavy, wet breathing and understood she had been crying.
“Marry
for love, Isabelle,” Lady Oslan urged with a strange passion in her voice. “No
matter who it is, marry him for love and nothing else. If it is strong enough,
your love will see you through to the end of time.”
Then
her mother kissed her forehead and cheeks, and left.
Murmurings
in the crowd tore Isabelle from her memories. The priest faltered and stammered
in his eulogy. Someone was moving among them, pushing through the crowd.
Isabelle pulled back her cloak to let her see better. The rain masked her tears
and washed them away. That was fine by her. She was weary of crying.
Her
father emerged from the crowd and stood at the graveside. The priest glanced at
Isabelle and then continued his words. Isabelle glared at her father. How dare
he interrupt her mother’s ceremony in such a fashion? He met her gaze, but she
saw no malice in his eyes. He simply looked at her, nodded, and then turned his
attention to the priest. Henry took her hand and held it tightly.
The
priest finished his last words and offered a prayer. When it was finished,
Henry and Norbin stepped forward to bury Lady Oslan. Lord Oslan tapped Norbin’s
shoulder and asked if he might do the honors. Norbin gave him the shovel.
Isabelle wanted to stop him. Her father didn’t deserve the honor. However, the
idea of creating an ugly scene during her mother’s funeral was even more
repulsive.
As
the dirt fell into the grave, she placed her fingertips against her lips and
gave a kiss to her mother, imagining that one last time she could press her
lips to her mother’s forehead and cheeks. Her mother had spent her last breath,
energy, even her last moment doing everything in her power to give Isabelle a
chance at lasting happiness with Henry. Her mother had not rested until she had
bestowed on her daughter real hope. Gratitude flooded her being, and she
thanked God for blessing her with such a mother.
After
the last shovelfuls were placed on the gravesite, Lord Oslan stood next to Isabelle
and thanked each person for their support and attendance. When the last person
left the cemetery, Lord Oslan turned to Isabelle and Henry.
“My
apologies for being late,” he said. “I returned to town less than an hour ago,
and heard the news. I came with all haste.”
“What
do you want, Father?” Isabelle asked.
“I
wish to speak to you—to both of you—this evening after sunset. Now that I’ve
had time away and calmed myself, I think we can easily reach an agreement that
will be mutually beneficial.”