The Beloved Land (19 page)
The next morning a storm swept in hard and fast. The wind rose to such a pitch that lanyards hummed and snapped. The sailors raced across the decks and up the ropes, lashing the sails into the quarter-moon shapes used to weather storms.
But no one seemed to be perturbed. Other than a pair of fitful squalls, the weather had been dry, so most of the ship’s water caskets were empty. And the storm was blowing from the proper quarter, such that their sail westward continued faster still. The captain, a gruff and hard-bitten man who clearly preferred to keep God in His quarter, had even come to calling their passage a blessing. He welcomed the rain, for the closer they drew to the coastline, the greater was their risk of running afoul of the Americans.
The northern colonies, now called collectively by the name of Canada, remained firmly within English hands. But the border between the revolutionaries and Canada was both fluid and very near. Sailors and officers alike kept close watch upon the horizons, casting to the four corners of the horizon for the first sign of sail. Thankfully, the only vessels they had spied the entire voyage had flown the haughty Union Jack and greeted them with flags and cannonades signaling the all clear.
And now there were great sweeping curtains of rain about them, furious torrents that heeled over the boat and doused them all. But the morning remained warm enough for most of the passengers to stay on deck and revel in the first cleansing bath they had enjoyed in days. Dry and salt-crusted faces were turned toward the heavens. Hats and bonnets were doffed, and stiffened hair was drenched with water so fresh it tasted sweet to their mouths. When one shower had passed and a trio of sailors began dancing a hornpipe upon the rain-washed deck, most of the passengers laughed and clapped in time to the communal celebration.
During the general hubbub, Anne drew close to the young pastor’s wife to whisper, “We would have a quiet word with you and your husband, if you please.”
The young woman nodded and moved to where her husband stood smiling at the antics.
Thomas awaited them by the far railing.
He glanced at Anne, who nodded, and he said, “We have been entrusted with quite a large sum. Charles Harrow is a man generous in purse and spirit, and he wishes for us to help those who have suffered from this conflict.”
Now the pastor and his wife looked at each other, their expressions full of astonishment.
Thomas went on, “We wish to make a gift to your new community.”
“In secret,” Anne added.
Thomas reached into the folds of his coat and extracted a folded sheet of parchment. “I have prepared a banker’s draft. At the bottom of the page is the address where we shall be residing in Georgetown. Take this to the bank in Halifax. Have them contact us if there are any questions.”
The young clergyman and his wife were quite speechless. He took the document without looking at its contents, and her eyes brimmed with tears. “We cannot tell you,” the pastor finally said as he tucked the parchment into his coat, “how much your kindness and generosity means to us. I’m sure only eternity will reveal all the ways our Lord will bless our members because of your friendship and your gift.”
The two women embraced while their husbands solemnly shook hands. At that moment another downpour swept over the decks, and the four could not help but laugh as they hurried to shelter.
“I believe I have had enough of bathing for one day,” quipped Thomas as he wiped his face, and he and Anne ducked down the stairway below decks.
Nicole gripped the reins with practiced ease. The wagon was old and creaky and very heavily laden. Prior to their departure from Georgetown, Gordon had made one final pass through the market and bought additional supplies for the voyage ahead. When it came time for them to return to their vessel, Nicole had requested that she drive. Even in this old contraption, even upon this day of painful farewells, she found pleasure in taking the reins once more.
She looked over to smile at Catherine on the seat next to her. Gordon rode nearby, keeping watchful eyes on the crew and the wagons.
Nicole flicked the reins and clicked to the team as they labored up a small rise. Trees stretched out on both sides of the lane, and the air was full of new life and the cool scent of a Nova Scotian spring. She took a deep breath. “The joys of being here, Mama, far outweigh the sorrow of the good-byes,” she said to Catherine.
The departure from the small Georgetown cottage had been not as wrenching as she would have expected. Andrew and John Price had made light of their ailments, arguing goodnaturedly over which one would help the other down the lane to where the wagons and their escorts waited. Nicole had held each of them a very long time, willing her strength and youth into their fragile frames. She had accepted their thanks for the visit and joined their thanks to God for keeping her safe. The little group had linked arms and hearts to pray for the mission and the voyage ahead. All of the voyages facing all of them. When Andrew had spoken those words, Nicole had been forced to swallow around the lump in her throat.
During the trip by wagon, Catherine had shared with her daughter the tale of both diaries, the letter to Anne, and how she and her father had grown closer. But mostly the two women had spoken of Nicole’s grandmother’s writings. Catherine had marked favorite passages to read aloud as they traveled.
“I cannot think of being anywhere in the world but with John,”
that long-departed Mrs. Price wrote.
“He is such a kind, devoted husband. But, oh, how my heart yearns for my homeland. The winters here are so harsh and long. John does not favor me going out and about the small village alone, and there are so few women here. Those who are here seem much too busy with caring for their households to have time for visiting. Some days I fear that I will go mad with the loneliness. Perhaps if I had a child I would feel more content. I fear that when John comes home at the end of his long, busy day, I rattle on. I try to hold my tongue, but it seems I might wither away if I do not have some conversation. I think he would be content to sit by the fire and let the worrisomeness of his responsibilities slide from his shoulders in silence. I must try to be more patient.”
Catherine read entry after entry, until it seemed the unseen lady whom neither of them had known was there with them.
“John brought me a rose today. It was the first one of the spring. I cannot say how it touched my heart. He has always been a kind husband, but this little act of love quite overtook me. I do love him so. It pains me sorely to see him struggle with bitterness. He will not acknowledge it, but I know it is there. If only I had some way to undo what has been done. His war wound gives him sleepless nights and pain-filled days. I ache along with him. But I feel the deepest and most sorrowful injury was done to his soul. He cannot forgive those who inflicted his wounds. Daily I pray that God will aid him. His anger is much too heavy a burden to bear.”
Nicole, in turn, told the story of her overland journey to Charles’s estate in western Massachusetts, the drama of Gordon’s arrest, his coming to faith, their growing love. So much to share that the hours drummed away as swiftly as the horses’ clopping hooves. Even when they stopped at midday and took a quick lunch within the forested shade, they still talked.
They rounded the final corner far too soon for either of them. The ship appeared through a break in the trees. Too soon Carter tethered the horses and pointed the waiting sailors toward the wagon’s load. Nicole found herself reluctantly releasing the reins and turning to her mother. Too soon.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am.” Carter approached, holding his cap. “We’re all right happy for you and the skipper. And we wish you great joy, ma’am. Great joy indeed.”
“Thank you, Carter. May I introduce my mother, Madam Harrow. Mama, this is Carter, the bosun.”
The two acknowledged the introduction, then Carter said, “The captain is asking that we all board this vessel. He is hoping to make the Cobequid passage and be well down Fundy before daybreak.”
“Very well, Carter. Thank you.” She turned toward her mother. “I must honor the captain’s wishes, Mama.” Her smile was tremulous.
“Of course.” Catherine was already climbing down from the wagon. “Come with me for a moment, please.”
She led Nicole up a gentle rise to where a point of land rose above the tree line.
“It occurred to me that I might be able to …” She panted as she climbed swiftly up to the ridge that pointed like a finger out into the Cobequid waters.
“Mama, what?”
“Yes! There it is! I am certain of it!”
“Certain of what?”
“Come, stand beside me.” Catherine pointed out over the waters to their right, away from the ship, farther along the narrowing bay. “Do you see where the waters curve out to the next point, just like this one?”
“Yes, but—”
“See where the earth lies bare? Where the forest has been cut back and the new fields readied for planting? Look at the big rock there at the forest’s lowest edge.”
“The forest rises in a series of steps.”
“Exactly!” She pointed a trembling finger. “Now look at where the third step extends out.”
A thrill ran through Nicole’s frame.
“I do not travel this far from Georgetown very often. But my connection to the returning Acadians has brought me down this way a time or two. And I still remember the lay of the land from my early days.” Catherine nodded firmly. “That is the meeting place; I am sure of it.”
“Where you and Louise—?”
“You may call her Mother, my dear. I do not mind.”
“Two mothers, bound by the tragedy. …” Nicole murmured, staring across the sweep of forest and field.
“Two friends, two daughters, four lives,” Catherine added softly.
“A thousand tomorrows, and still it is not enough,” Catherine said as their arms enfolded each other in a last embrace. “That is both the joy and the woe of love.” She drew back and looked into Nicole’s face. “The years you grew up away from me, the nights I lay a different child into your cradle, still I felt my heart connected to yours. Wherever you go, my daughter, my heart is with you.”
“The new governess will be arriving Thursday midday,” Charles announced as he peered through his spectacles at the letter he held.
Judith already had thanked God for this answer to prayer in the days since the news of Miss Paige had come from London.
“I do not know who is anticipating this the most,” she confessed, “John or me.” She paused for a moment, then said, “Do you know what John asked me this morning?”
“I could never guess.”
“He said, ‘Nana, are you changing color for winter?’
” Charles frowned in puzzlement, then threw back his head and laughed. “When we were out riding the other morning we saw a hare.”
“Yes, he told me. He said, ‘Uncle Charles said that God helps the hare to change color in winter so it can hide from its ‘emmamies.’ ”
“ ‘Emmamies,’ ” repeated Charles with another chuckle. “That is more difficult to pronounce than the correct one.”
“When I told him that I was not getting ready for winter, nor am I plotting a way to hide from my ‘emmamies,’ he said, ‘Then why is your hair two colors?’ I told him that it used to all be one color—just like his. We had to place our heads side by side and peek into the looking glass together. He smiled at first, but then he reached up and touched my hair. And he said, ‘Why did you ask God to change it?’ ”
They laughed together.
“How did you answer him?”
“I am not sure. It caught me off guard. I’m afraid I did not give him a very satisfactory explanation. I said that hair changes color as one grows older, or some such thing.”
“I see nothing wrong with that answer.”
“Perhaps not. But I’m hopeful this new nanny will be able to help with all those ideas and thoughts and questions he has. I … I rather cherish his innocence. To him everything that happens, large or small, is all God’s doing. I rather like him to see things that way. I trust Miss Paige can protect that innocence. It is a treasure, do you not think?”
Charles nodded, “A treasure indeed,” he said with feeling.