Authors: Elizabeth Johns
The rain continued to fall, and Gwen pondered walking back. She could return for the painting later. It would be ruined if she were to attempt to carry it. She had only accomplished the sky thus far. She decided to have a bite to eat, and then she would set out on foot if they had not come for her by the time she’d finished painting.
***
Andrew was aching from head to toe. He and all the men had worked the entire night in the fields to prepare for the likelihood of flooding. He was not sure how any of their efforts would make a difference if enough water fell from the sky and the river rose over its banks. He had nevertheless decided to heed Abe's warnings and ordered all of the servants to higher ground at the manor house. He was responsible for many lives and he would take every precaution. The Army had taught him: things can be replaced, people cannot.
He decided to take a quick rest before the storm hit. He woke to the sound of rain beating a harsh drumming on the window. He recalled the circumstances and shot up from the bed to look out. There was little visibility, but the trees were being blown about and the rain appeared to be coming down sideways.
He splashed water on his face and straightened his clothing, before rushing out to check on the status of things. The house was crowded, for he had ordered everyone to wait out the storm here. Fortunately the wing under construction was advanced enough at this point that the rooms were habitable. Still, it was crowded with over two hundred people inside. He went in search of Buffy and Nathaniel to see if there were any last-minute necessities. They had also worked the entire night and had to be as exhausted as he. Even though he was responsible for River’s Bend, they shared the burden equally as they would have on the battlefield. He had never known he would be so grateful for his Army training—or find it useful—in retirement.
He passed through the great hall which had been turned into a makeshift nursery for all of the children. The older children had lively game of rounders going on, and he chuckled as Amelia was organising the lot of them. They were using a candlestick as a bat, and he had to duck to miss a ball flying at his head. She was so much like Elly he hoped Nathaniel was prepared when she entered Society!
He passed through into the library where he was certain to find the men, but it was abandoned at present, save for a map of the properties spread out on the table. He took a glance at it himself, which was pointless, since he had learned every inch of the land over the past months. He heard the wind howling and the rain pouring, and was grateful he had heeded Abe's advice. The servants’ cottages were too close to the river should it rise and flood.
He said a quick prayer that the storm would pass quickly. Abe told him that several years past one storm had stalled and remained for a week. The fields certainly would not stand a chance, and how far would the river rise if that happened? The manor house was on a hill of sorts, but it was not impervious to a high rushing tide.
He needed to find the men. He wanted to account for every person. He walked on through the house and ended up at the kitchen. Cook was busy preparing food for the unexpected mouths she would be feeding.
”Good afternoon, Mr. Abbott.”
“Hello, Cook. Can you tell me where everyone has gone? I cannot find any of the men.”
A look of guilt passed over Cook’s face. She was clearly hiding something from him.
“What is it? It would be better to tell me now,” he said in his Army commander voice.
“I'm not sure of that now.”
He kept staring at her. He knew from years of experience people would eventually talk.
“They’s gone after Miss Lambert,” she muttered quietly.
“And where has Miss Lambert gone that they have felt the need to go after her?” he said with every ounce of composure he could muster when his insides were churning.
“She left before dawn to paint at the summer house. She was muttering about glorious clouds and capturing them.”
Blast! Forget composure.
“She promised to return before the rain started, or I would never have let her go,” she said defensively.
“How long ago did they set out?”
“’Bout an hour ago when the rain got fierce. Abe was wanting to check on the river, and Lord Fairmont suggested accounting for everybody. Jim asked where she be and if someone'd fetched ‘er. I got so busy cooking in here that I forgot to send someone after her like I promised. I am very sorry, sir.” Cook’s eyes welled up with tears and shame. “Six of ‘em went after ‘er.”
“Let us pray that they get her returned before the bridge washes out.”
“Oh, lawks! Lord have mercy! I'd not thought of the bridge!”
“I'm off to help. Keep everyone inside. Do whatever you have to do to keep them there.”
“Yessir. I'll do me best.”
***
Andrew felt the agony of anticipation as he rushed outside into the storm. Like when he knew his first pony would have to be put down, when he knew his mother was going to die, or when he thought Nathaniel gone. But this was different. He had only unrequited love for Gwendolyn. And he could not bear the thought of never knowing, sharing, holding...one taste had not been enough. He ran faster, struggling against the fierce winds, praying he was not too late, that he would run into the men, all of them rain and weather-beaten but unharmed.
But where were they? He should have found them by now. He could barely make out his nose on his face, but he was certain he'd gone the proper direction. A bolt of lightning flashed, and an old beech tree cracked and began its decent downward. He stopped to catch his breath and check his surroundings, thankful for the small favour of missing the tree by seconds. He heard rushing water between the thunder and gusts of wind. Another flash of lightning showed him to be amongst the servants’ cottages. The bridge had to be to his left. He walked along the creek, now overflowing its banks, looking for the crossing. There could not be much time left for the small bridge, if it was still standing.
At last he came upon the men standing at the bridge, which was being stripped of its pieces as they watched.
“Where is she?” Andrew shouted.
“She's still over there.” Nathaniel pointed towards the cottage. “We were afraid to chance the bridge. She is safer inside,” he yelled over the wind and water.
“We cannot leave her alone!” Andrew exclaimed. “The water could overtake the cottage if it continues at this rate!”
“That bridge is not safe to cross. I could not ask it of her, or the men,” Nathaniel reasoned loudly. “We must get to safety ourselves. She'll be all right, Andrew!”
“You go! I’ll not leave her!”
Andrew ran towards the bridge and began to cross before anyone could stop him, holding on to the remaining pieces of the frame.
“Andrew! No!” Nathaniel called after him.
Andrew yelled without looking back, “You would do the same!”
All of the men held their breath as he lost his footing and fell into the water. When his head reappeared, he gasped for breath, but he was holding on to the rail with rushing water beneath his chin.
Both Buffy and Nathaniel had begun to strip off their jackets and boots to go after him, when Andrew managed to begin moving along the rail by swinging one arm forward at a time.
Gwen had been watching from the porch and ran towards him screaming, “No!”
He moved with more purpose at the sight of her, though it was a struggle to grasp the rail with the force of the river pushing against him. He still had a few feet left and he was growing tired.
“You can make it!” he heard a voice shout.
“Just a little further, Andrew!” he heard Nathaniel yell.
“Don't you dare leave me, you insufferable impossible oaf!”
That was music to his ears. He smiled through the pain and pressed forward another arm’s length. She was bent over holding out her hand to him. As much as he longed to grasp it, he knew it would only serve to pull her in. He needed to find a way to thrust himself upwards without harming her. He felt the force of the water pulling the bridge from behind him. He did not have long until the rest of the structure was swept away.
Gwen seemed to understand the predicament, and she ran over to the porch. She came back struggling with the weight of her easel and placed it on the ground within reach and sat on the opposite end while holding on to a tree. It was doubtful it would work, but he had little choice but to try.
He swept one arm out and made contact. The hold was a difficult one that he would not be able to maintain for long. He could already feel it sliding in the muddy bank.
“Come on, I can't hold this for long,” she shouted. He took a deep breath and let go of the bridge. She had turned over on to her stomach and had her legs wrapped around the tree. He could see her pain as she exerted all of her strength to pull him out. He moved slowly forward and tried to find his footing on the bank. He managed a small toe-hold and pushed his body with every ounce of strength he had.
He felt the wind knocked out of him as his chest hit the easel. He was already beginning to slide backwards and quickly recovered so as to not lose the ground he had gained.
“Don't let go! I'm almost there,” he shouted.
“Hurry, please! I cannot feel my legs! I'm not certain if I am still holding onto the tree.”
By the grace of God he was able to thrust his legs up onto the remaining ground.
He heard shouts from across the river and he gave a slight wave from his prone position.
“Get inside!”
He wobbled as he found his feet, then grabbed Gwen's hand and began running towards the cottage.
On the porch he began stripping off his wet clothes and boots. It would have been much easier without those, he thought in retrospect.
Gwen had turned her back. He laughed to himself. She was stuck with him forever, so he hoped she’d enjoyed her preview.
“I'll go and fetch blankets, then you must get out of your wet clothes, too.”
“I think not.”
“You mean I risked my life, only to let you die of lung fever?
I
think not. A soldier learns quickly to lose his modesty or his life.”
He stormed into the cottage and returned wrapped in a toga-like concoction.
He dramatically slid towards her backwards holding out a blanket to her.
She grabbed it forcefully out of his hands.
“Now hurry.”
“Yes, sir!” She mimicked a soldier obeying orders, and he could just see her mock saluting him behind his back.
Chapter Seventeen
Gwen walked into the cottage and found Mr. Abbott wringing his wet clothes and laying them out to dry. He then began building a fire in the hearth with the few dry pieces of wood they had.
She’d covered herself up to her chin with the blanket he’d provided to her, and sat in a chair remaining silent and completely unnerved. She did not know how she felt, nor what to say. She was still shaking with fright from fear of watching him almost swept away by the raging current.
He built the fire with purpose, acting relaxed—as if he hadn’t almost died.
“Where are your clothes?” he asked as he positioned the wood. “We need to dry them, for we might need them again soon. I’m afraid it won’t be a restful night. We have to keep an eye on the river rising,” he said as he bent down to light the tinder.
She could not help but notice how handsome he was as she watched him work.
“I spread them out on the porch. They were covered in mud.”
He went out on to the porch and was gone a few minutes. She began to worry when he came back in wringing out her wet clothes and shaking his wet head. His blanket was dry…
She must have looked confused.
“I had to wash the mud out. Unfortunately, the creek is overrunning the banks by a few feet already. If the rain doesn’t let up, we will be on the roof soon.”
“The roof? In this storm?”
“If it comes to it. I won’t stay in here and drown when I can take my chances up there.”
She watched him in astonishment, wondering how he could remain so calm.
“If only I’d eaten dinner before, this would not be such an unpleasant arrangement.”
How could he think of food right now? She had a hard time looking at him dressed in the blanket and not staring, so she kept her eyes averted to the fire. She looked up momentarily and told him about the remains of the hamper of food that Cook had sent.
He happily trudged towards the hamper, exclaiming at the amount of food still left. “There is enough food here for a week! This isn’t so bad, then.” He began fortifying himself with a chicken leg. “Would you care for anything?”
She didn’t want to think about food, or anything but how to maintain sanity while in a small cottage with the man she loved, who thought nothing of kissing and flirting with other women.
“You cannot stay angry with me forever.” He held out a plum as a peace-offering. When had he come so close?
She stared at the plum, but didn’t move. “I can if I like.” She turned her head away. He would not be let off the hook so easily. She tried very hard to stay angry, but he refused to be put off.