The Beloved Land (23 page)
The morning after their arrival in New Orleans, Nicole woke up aching from head to foot. Her eyes would not focus, her body poured sweat, the slightest sound threatened to pierce through her head like a lance.
Gordon went ashore to find a practicing physician. The doctor, so rotund he had to be hauled up in the bosun’s chair and then lifted bodily over the side, had the merry countenance of one who lived well.
“A flux,” he declared in French after the most cursory of examinations. “Madame has come under attack from a summer flux.”
Gordon hovered about her bedside. When the news was translated, he asked the doctor, “Will she be all right?”
“Oh, most certainly,” he answered after Nicole’s whispered interpretation. “Madame is young and evidently most strong.”
“What should I do?”
“Madame must remain on board this vessel. The city air is foul this time of year.”
Gordon asked her, “Would you prefer that, my dear?”
Though her head rocked painfully every time the ship shifted at its anchors, this was a more comfortable prospect than lying in a strange bed in an airless hotel. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” she murmured.
The doctor returned twice to check her progress, but Nicole did not learn of this for five very long days, as the fever kept her in a semiconscious state. Even when her fever abated and her strength began returning, the heat lay upon her like an oppressive coverlet.
“I have never been bothered by bayou weather before,” she complained fretfully to Gordon the sixth evening after their arrival.
“This is not the bayou,” he replied from his chair pulled close as possible to the cabin’s open window. A constant clamor drifted in with the humid breeze. “It is the dirty, crowded harbor of a city, one that seems bent upon annoying me at every turn.”
“What is the matter?”
Gordon had discarded his coat and sat with his shirtfront opened against the heat. “Nothing that cannot wait until you are better.” He rose and moved to her bed to once more wet the cloth in a basin, wring it dry, and lay it on her forehead.
“I am truly feeling better already.” She struggled to a sitting position, but he gently pushed her back against the pillows.
“I will tell you this much,” he said, sitting down on the bed beside her. “Never did I expect to find a group of merchants more frustrating than those in Marblehead. But these Orleans gentlemen have gone those brigands one better.”
“They are greedy?”
“They are the worst of pirates masquerading as gentlemen. They sit in fine parlors and serve coffee scented with roasted chicory from delicate china cups. They claim to be friends and allies both. Yet they refuse to strike a deal.”
“Unless you pay,” Nicole finished.
“Pay in gold,” he confirmed. “At prices beyond belief. We might as well buy what we need from smugglers and privateers. At least then the money will remain within our own borders.”
Nicole could not help but smile.
“You find humor in my news?”
Nicole repeated. “ ‘Do
us
good.
Our
borders.’ That is what you said.”
“Yes, I suppose I did.” He sat up straighter. “I beg your pardon, my dear. I know your own loyalties cannot be as clear.”
“My loyalties are to God first and then to my husband,” she replied simply. She reached for his hand. “You are a man of great allegiances. It is one of your most endearing traits. When you give yourself to something, you do so totally.”
Gordon gazed out the cabin window, then turned to her. “It’s true, I admit. I have given myself to God, to you, and now to the American cause.”
“My husband,” Nicole said, her voice trembling with emotion, “I am indeed blessed.”
Anne carefully observed her father for another ten days before she was sure that Andrew was indeed better.
She was in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle’s whistle. She poured water over the herbs knotted with string and resting in the clay mug. She used a spoon to swirl the water about, then pressed the herbs flat and set them aside. Andrew sat at the table, watching her motions with a mild frown. “Is it already time?” he complained.
Anne laughed. “I have added a touch of cinnamon and honey. Perhaps it will go down more easily.” She had three different remedies she was using. The midday herbs were the ones Andrew found most objectionable. “Try this,” she said, lifting the mug to his lips.
He sipped and grimaced but protested no further. Instead he patted the chair beside him. “Sit yourself down a moment. Where is Thomas?”
“I believe he is in the garden with Grandfather.”
“Good.” Andrew waited until Anne had moved to the chair. “I want to thank you again, daughter.”
“There is no need, Father.”
“There is every need.” He lifted his mug. “I have no doubt these remedies of yours are doing me a world of good. But what truly saved me was your love. Seeing you again stirred my spirit so that I could not let go of life yet.”
Anne reached across the table for his free hand. “I am glad,” was all she could bring herself to say.
“Between the war and the distance and leaving your dear boy, I can scarcely imagine the sacrifices you and Thomas endured to come to me. How is our little John?”
“John is fine. Charles is like a second father to him. I’m sure he is fine.”
“Charles. Yes, and his new wife, Judith. So many things to hear about. But not now. That is not what I wanted to speak with you about.”
Andrew’s hand in hers seemed so frail she was afraid to press his fingers too firmly. Only his eyes held the same fervor, the same strength of spirit.
“Anne,” he said, “I wish to share something with you. Coming this close to death has permitted me a few moments of what I can only describe as a divine illumination.”
Anne looked into his face and waited expectantly.
“While Thomas was seated beside me during those long hours,” her father said softly, “talking about the work he shares with you and his fervor for our Lord, I am sure I heard God speak to me. It was not something I would ever have thought to say before now. But that is what happened, I am quite certain of it.”
“What did He tell you?”
Andrew drew himself around. “Let me ask you this, daughter. What would be your response to Thomas studying for the ministry?”
“I would not object. How could I if …” Then, struck by the realization of what Andrew was saying, she whispered, “Oh, Father.”
“I could not raise such a thing with him, not without first talking with you. I do not believe God gave to me an edict. He
offered
this. Do you understand?”
“I’m … I am not certain. Yes, yes, perhaps.” Her mind was a jumble of disconnected thoughts and feelings. “I would love to return here. You know that.”
“I know.”
“But there is little John. And Charles now. All the responsibilities—”
“No one is asking you to decide just now. Of course there would be many considerations.” He seemed to be simply musing aloud. “I wonder how Charles feels about England at this time.”
“He loves his home, of course. But England?” The answer seemed to be waiting for her. “He despairs of his homeland,” she went on. “It wrenches him, the course his government and his nation is to be taking.”
“So his ties to England are not as strong as they once were.”
“If pressed, I doubt he would feel much of any tie at all just now.”
“Perhaps you might wish to discuss this with him as well.” Andrew turned back to the fire. “The province of Nova Scotia is growing at an unbelievable pace. Georgetown has doubled in size just since this war began. There are problems everywhere. Having a pastor who is also trained in the law could ease the burden many of our poorer brethren carry. Not to mention the fact that here Charles would find numerous avenues for his largess, many people in need of aid, many worthy projects he could bring to fruition.”
Andrew pushed himself up from the table. “I fear I can keep my eyes open no longer. Perhaps you should have a word with your husband. And with the Lord, of course. See if perhaps He will speak with you as well.”
Anne watched her father move slowly toward the door, then folded her hands in front of her on the table.
Andrew slept away much of the afternoon. Anne scrubbed the kitchen, prepared the vegetables and beef stock for the evening meal, rolled out a tray of fresh biscuits, then went to seat herself on the sunlit front bench, intending to give herself over to further reflection and prayer.
In the space of several breaths, she was fast asleep.
The next thing she knew, Catherine was settling herself down beside her. Her market basket was perched on the end of the bench, full of recent purchases.
Anne straightened and pushed her dark curls away from her face. “I must have drifted off.”
Catherine laughed and patted her arm. “I cannot tell you what a tonic it has been having you and Thomas here with us again.”
“Of all the homecomings I have dreamed of since going to England,” Anne replied, “this particular one never occurred to me.”
“Who could ever have imagined such a moment?” Catherine quietly agreed. “But here we are. And at a time when I thought I should never laugh again, my darling daughters arrive. Struggling against the tides of war and man. Facing hardships I cannot imagine. Yet still they have come. And I am able to smile again. I have my husband back.”
Catherine reached into the folds of her dress. “I have been carrying this around since your arrival. But you have been so busy, and the times so trying, I thought it best to wait a bit.”
Anne’s heart leaped at the familiar handwriting. “A letter from Nicole,” she said eagerly.
Catherine was long in replying. “When was the last time you heard from your sister?”
“Ages and ages. Why?”
She handed over the letter. “She married her young officer, Gordon Goodwind, while they were here.”
“Oh, Mother, I am so glad for her. And, oh, I wish I could have been here for the wedding.” Anne’s bittersweet emotions tugged at her heart.
“Nicole has grown into a beautiful lady,” Catherine answered. “She is Gordon’s wife. And her path is not yours.”
“I don’t understand. She has not lost her faith, I pray?”
“On the contrary. Her devotion, her love for God, is stronger than ever.”
“What is it, Mother?”
Catherine pointed to the letter Anne held. “Read this, then we shall speak.”
Anne hesitated, then said, “First I want to ask you something.”
Catherine turned her face to the sun and closed her eyes. “Yes, please do so.”
“There is no way I can put into words the anguish I have known over leaving my John behind. During the days and nights of this voyage, I have come to glimpse for the very first time what you must have suffered.” Anne leaned closer and whispered, “Mama, how did you live with the loss, the wrenching uncertainty? How did you
survive
?”
Catherine was long in replying. “I survived because of my God and because of Andrew and because of you. As for enduring the unthinkable, there was no
intention
to my deeds at all.” She opened her eyes and turned toward her daughter. “You, on the other hand, had the power of choice. I would imagine that was both a blessing and a curse.”
The memory of days of heartache and confusion flooded back. “Yes. It was good that I had time to grow as accustomed to it as I could. But there was no way I could ever truly anticipate how it would be.”
“Two loves divided by your loyalties,” Catherine mused. “In some respects, yours is the harder course.”
“For a season. Only for a season.”
Catherine studied her daughter with wise and loving eyes. “Over the years, I have felt such a closeness to Louise through our shared distress and longing for the children we bore. Yet we both were sustained by the love we felt for the child we raised.”
Anne rose to her feet and held out her hand to her mother. “Yes, love sustains us all. But we also need some dinner. It’s almost ready.”
The two women shared a chuckle as they moved to the kitchen.
As soon as Anne had finished with the dishes, she wiped her hands on the coarse towel hanging by the corner basin, then let her fingers trail down to her apron pocket, where the letter, potent with mystery, was tucked away. The doors were open to a warm and welcoming breeze. The sunlight was strong one moment, then gone the next, as clouds chased one another off the sea and across the land. Anne stared out, debating whether she should go off by herself and break the letter’s seal.
Making up her mind, she walked into the front room to tell the family she was going out for a bit of air.
They were in conversation as she entered, and her presence seemed unnoticed.
“If only Nicole could have stayed longer,” Anne heard her grandfather murmur, his gaze directed to the fire.
“She remained as long as she could,” Andrew replied, his own eyes averted as well.
“True, true.”
The words were puzzling.
Anne changed her mind about leaving immediately and seated herself beside her husband, a frown furrowing her brow. She did not speak but waited for the next bit of conversation.