“Aaron?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Where’s Aubrey?”
The servant’s eyes softened. “Why, we done lost him, Master Ethan. He drowned under the falls, four years back,” he explained.
“Drowned? How could he drown? Aubrey taught me to swim.”
“That he did, sir. Our Aubrey, he hit his head. Diving from the rocks, we expect, like the two of you used to do together. Hit hisself here.”
He felt the bondsman’s touch, just above his own wound. It caught him in a wave of grief. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, turning his head to the wall. He felt the tear streak across his face and down his neck.
“Miss Betsy,”—he heard Aaron summon the little girl who’d gone back to her ships—“you call your mama and grandma in here, if you please, child. Tell them Master Ethan is shedding off his disrememberin’.”
Her eyes widened with interest. “Shedding? Like a snake?”
“Yes, miss.” The servant followed the track of Ethan’s tear with the back of his huge hand. “Good Lord. Call the doctor, and Miss Judith, too. This boy’s gone powerful warm.”
H
ands, arms, black and white, holding him still. Don’t cry out. Children in the house. Don’t frighten the children. Where was Judith? She wouldn’t let them take his leg without asking. There, her scent: worried, more roses than lemons.
“What’s wrong with me now?” he demanded of the doctor.
“Fever. You’re having some fever convulsions.”
“It’s not my leg?”
“No, not your blasted leg!” Jordan Foster shouted.
The head wound
was
killing him, then? Ethan’s laugh caught in his throat. Was that why they all gathered around the bed, staring at him? Women whose eyes he couldn’t bear to meet. Even his elderly father was there, bundled in his dressing gown, and uncharacteristically silent. And those other men, the ones who’d never wanted him here. The sharp-faced one even looked sad.
Was he dying? Is that what they were all waiting for? No one would tell him the truth, no one except—“Judith?” he called.
“I’m here, love.”
“What is this place?”
“Your home. Windover.”
“No. You made a mistake. Windover. The place on the river. This was the dream. I’m sure of it now. I don’t belong here. I have to go back to the ship.”
“What?”
“The sails. The sails are ripping, Judith. Cannon fire. They need me.”
“What sails?”
“My ship’s.”
“What ship?”
“The
Standard.”
“No, not Washington’s ship. Not the
Standard
. It’s the
Ida Lee,
Ethan Randolph’s ship. Let the sails rip, Ethan. Go back. Go back to the
Ida Lee.”
“Why do you and Fayette bother me about this woman? I don’t know her, I told you!”
“Not a woman. A ship of the American merchant marine.”
He closed his eyes. Yes. She was right. It was all there now, back behind his eyes. They shot open. “Judith, it’s too fast, it’s coming too fast. I don’t have room for it all. I’ll lose you. I’ll lose you and Fayette.”
Sally took Judith’s arm. “For the love of God,” she pleaded. “Another’s starting. Don’t.”
“This is the only way,” Judith whispered, holding his shoulder as the twitching he couldn’t control took over his face.
Anne Randolph moved to the doctor’s side. “She’s right,” she whispered. “God help us all, she’s right.”
Judith looked to Jordan Foster.
He will stop me
, she thought. But her Inner Light directed her now.
“Aaron, you must keep him still,” the doctor commanded.
“I will, sir,” Aaron promised from Ethan’s legs, still untouched by the spasms that were riding through his upper body with frightening regularity. The fit left him, as the others had, dazed and exhausted. But he hadn’t uttered a cry of pain.
Judith held up their clasped hands. “Beloved, I will not let thee forget the
Standard
, or me, or Fayette. Hold on to me. Good. Tighter. Now add to us. There is room.”
“No.”
“Yes. Add. What happened? What happened aboard the
Ida Lee
?”
His voice was the haunted whisper of a child. “I killed him.”
“Who?” she asked through her shock. “Ethan, who did thee kill?”
“The other boy, the one with my face. No, not my face, no face.”
“You hear him, woman?” Winthrop lashed out suddenly at Sally. “You hear who your children dote on? Not our brother. Our brother’s murderer!”
Judith kept her voice steady, though tears streaked down her face. “Who was the boy? What happened to him?”
“Fayette said I could forget. He said I was newborn. I am Washington!”
“But someone else, too. Someone aboard the
Ida Lee
. A boy of twelve years. Which boy?”
“I don’t know.”
“What were your duties?”
“Leave me alone!”
“I cannot. Forgive me, but I cannot.”
Another convulsion started. He thrashed about the bed, leaving sweat and bloodstains on the fine linen pillow. But he did not release his hold on her hand, even when the spasm spent itself and he lay still, whispering through clenched teeth.
“He loved the brass buttons on my coat. He wanted to wear my boots, the ones Aaron made. I wanted to climb masts, like him. To bring the powder to the cannons during drills. We could do it, he said. We could switch, just for the day, an ordinary day, when the officers wouldn’t look twice at either of us. We were the same height, coloring. But my boots were too big for his feet. And it wasn’t an ordinary day. No warning. From the frigate. Fired on us. Again.” He closed his eyes tightly against the sound. “Again.”
“The
Standard
was firing?”
“Yes. I should have been standing there, where he was, at my post. The blast blew my boots off his feet. His face—faceless, without features, blown away, red and writhing, Judith! It should have been mine.”
Judith leaned in closer. “Thee did not kill him,” her voice soothed. “The guns did. There was nothing thee could do.”
“Nothing?”
“You were children. You were both children, caught in the crossfire of nations.”
His eyes opened. “We were?”
“Yes, love.”
“You never lie, Judith. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Ethan, remember Willis?”
“The captain with the empty eyes.”
“And the battle off Trafalgar?”
“Yes. Everything was on fire. As it is now. So hot, it is so hot, Judith.”
“I know, my darling.” She bathed his face.
“I would not kill that man,” he murmured, “the man who took me up to see the stars.”
“Fayette.”
“Yes, Fayette, when he wore the blue uniform. I was American. My country was not at war with his. The captain was so angry that I would not kill him. After the battle, they bound my hands, strapped me to the gratings. I didn’t understand why. No one on the
Ida Lee
was ever even struck, you see? Then came the lashes. Why did they do that? I was only
a boy, a boy who did not remember anything except dancing atop Sally and Mama’s slippers.”
His sister stifled a sob with the back of her hand.
“I regret nothing,” he said fiercely. “What if I had killed Fayette, who made me the hero of my own life, when I was just a spoiled midshipman, an ignorant, slogan-spouting boy?”
“Fayette had another name,” Judith whispered.
“Yes. He told me. Maupin. Henri Maupin.”
“So dost thee, Washington. Tell Henri Maupin thy name.”
“Ethan,” he said slowly. “The only one of us given Mother’s family name. Her brother’s name. The one who fought in the Revolution, under Lafayette. Ethan Blair. I am Ethan Blair Randolph.”
“Yes. Come home now,” Judith whispered, though she knew it would be the beginning of their good-bye. Her mission was ending. “Come home to thy family, Ethan. They’ve been waiting such a long time for thee.”
Judith Mercer’s eyes were closed, her hand held Ethan’s shoulder,
trembling, in need—the way it never would have been had she thought him awake. Her lips formed silent words—of what, supplication? Her fierce beauty intensified when she spoke with her God. Ethan remained still, waiting until she was in his world again.
She looked down at him, startled. “Ethan! I didn’t realize—”
“I love to watch you pray.”
She looked away, her touch lightening.
“I was rude to you, wasn’t I, when you came down to the river for me? Something about your petticoat? I apologize.”
She smiled. “There is no need. I was rude right back.”
“So, that’s not why you pray so much now? For tolerance toward your ill-bred patient?”
She laughed. “What a notion!” Did she know she was imitating his sister’s favorite expression of amused astonishment? She touched his face. “Ethan, I pray, asking for strength to face my future.”
“Future?”
“I have received a letter. From a member of my Meeting. My father is ill.”
His hands took hers, pulled her slowly against his chest, against the scent of his fresh linen shirt. Judith fit there, ignoring the cold iron brace that anchored him to the bed. She acted as if the contraption was inconsequential, as his lameness had been aboard the
Standard
, as his position in a slaveholding family was here. Would he ever deserve this woman’s love? He tucked her head under his chin.
“Tell me of this,” he whispered.
“A cold; Papa wrote himself. Nothing of consequence, he said. But it went into his lungs. His letters don’t complain at all. But a member of another Meeting, Prescott Lyman, now writes that he has taken charge of my father’s health and brought him out of the city, to his farm. He is most uncomfortable, this man claims. He urges me to come.”
Ethan breathed in her dried roses. “At first light. Take the fastest coach, the swiftest horses. Take Dr. Foster. He’ll—”
Judith broke from the haven of his arms. “Thou must stop this ordering about of Dr. Foster. He is not thy servant!”
Ethan raised his hands. “I will ask him,” he amended quickly.
“And thy mother—”
“Will agree that this is a providential opportunity to demonstrate this family’s debt to yours. Go pack.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Hush, hush. I have too many doting females. I will be glad to be rid of their taskmaster!”
When she bit her lip, he pulled her into his arms again. They held on to each other in silence. Then he whispered into the errant strands of silver at her temples, “There can be no joyous reunion without parting, yes?”
She nodded.
“The women can secure my chains while Martha force-feeds me. When I am better, I will visit with you and Eli.”
“Beloved, if that were possible—”
“Possible? It will be necessary, essential!” He took her hands between his, kissed them. “Before you both go off on another mission and forget all about me.”
“Thou, Ethan Randolph, art the expert at forgetting!” she accused.
He looked stricken. “You are cutting out my heart now, haughty Quaker.”
Her eyes went wide. “I banter only. I didn’t mean—”
“Cutting out an invalid’s heart. Surely that is an offense, even in your godless religion, Miss Mercer.”
His cadence, his drawl, his dancing eyes gave him away. “Invalid,” she scoffed. “Thee is well enough to tease me without mercy, Ethan Ran—!”
He stole his last kiss then, extinguishing any anger left in her with the sweet explorations of his tongue.
Remember, Judith
, he needed the kiss to tell her.
Remember this, and the promise of it
. Her face was growing warm, there, between his hands.
Pull away first
, Clarisse had told him of courting kisses.
Leave her breathless, wanting
. He barely managed to remain his first lover’s student. “Peace, then,” he whispered gruffly. “Until spring.”
“Spring.”
She pulled herself out of his arms and ran to the door.
“Do you feel my hot grief at your back, Judith Mercer?” he called after her.
He watched her stand stock-still. Then she turned. She was trying to keep her eyes off his ruined leg, and her mind from his mother’s will never again to allow him out of her sight. And she was a little afraid of him now, because the half of his life he remembered made him a new man, one she did not know and perhaps would not like if she did.
Ethan shook his head slowly. How did he know these things? How did he sense the patterns of her thoughts?
“Judith?” he whispered. “Your mind—”
“My mind, Ethan?”
How could he tell her? That he’d been listening to her thoughts? Perhaps he should not. “The diverse turnings of your mind,” he whispered. “Write them to me. Write everything.”
After she’d softly closed the door, he fisted his covers and pounded at the soft featherbed. He should have requested, not demanded. Demands belonged to the spoiled boy springing up inside him, one he was not sure he liked so much, either.
T
he elder Randolph brothers and their wives stood before Judith in the faded opulence of the entry hall. Winthrop’s smile was grim as he dismissed his wife and sister-in-law. Then he turned the same countenance on Judith. “Well. You’ve got your Truth, but lost your convert. A bittersweet victory at best, Miss Mercer.”
“I am not interested in victories.”
“No? Fortunate. For you will never have him now. He’s ours.”
She was so startled by the ferocity in his voice that she took the arm his brother offered. But Clayton, the mediator, the one who’d never raised his voice, shocked her further. His lips almost touched her ear as they passed the last pineapple carved over an archway. “This family eats its young, its infirm, Miss Mercer. As I’m sure you’ve observed while serving your Truth.”
He spun her outside to the house servants then, who kissed her hands, urging her return. Aaron and Martha, they would protect him. They were slaves themselves, but they would do their best. Would it be enough?
O
nce the brick dovecote faded from view, Judith finally leaned back in the horsehair-padded seat. She tasted Ethan’s kiss. She listened again to his parting words, and those of his parents and his sister for comfort. Sally had hugged her, whispering, “God sent you, Judith.”
What Ethan’s sister didn’t acknowledge was what Judith saw clearly: God was now propelling her away. The gates of Windover had closed with such finality.
What a pair she and the brooding physician were going to be all the way to Pennsylvania. Judith felt sorry for the coachman.
“Has your father had pneumonia before, Miss Mercer?” Jordan Foster asked, startling her.
“No.”
“Frequent colds? Influenza?”
“Not frequent, no.”
“His age?”
“Threescore years come Ninth Month—September,” she amended.
“Has he ever endured surgery? Or broken any bones?”
“No.”
“You would describe his health as good?”
“Excellent. Oh, but he can’t abide radishes,” she thought fondly. “And is more prone to the travel sickness than I.” The doctor was watching her intently. “But, excellent,” she finished.
“He loves you,” Jordan Foster said.
“Friend Jordan?”
“Ethan loves you.”
She was caught by the small space, by his candor.
“I don’t think—”
“You don’t have to think. It’s not a thinking matter. What will it mean? You are an acknowledged leader in your religion—”
“We have no leaders.”
“Do not play humility games with me, young woman. You are admired at home and abroad for your work, your clear sight into the human heart. Now look to your own.”
Not more attack, not from him whom she thought safe, whom she needed. “I cannot. Not now, with my father ill.”
He sighed, patted her hand awkwardly. “I will do all I can for your father, do you understand?”
“Wilt thou?” she challenged. “Even though traveling to Pennsylvania is the last thing thou wishes to be doing?”
The doctor looked caught now, like an animal in a trap. “I’m angry, yes. But how could I refuse, when Ethan’s got those formidable Randolph women behind him? What the fall and I did to his knee, his ankle—it will require a long period of immobility. Without my attendance …” Judith could taste his bitterness. “He’s a young, restless man,” Jordan Foster finished. “He could spoil even his slim chance of recovery.”
“Thee does not trust him?”
“It’s not a matter of—”
“But it is, Friend. He gave thee his word. And Fayette schooled him on the sacredness of his word.”
“This man Fayette. I wish I’d known him.”
“Thee does,” she assured him.
“What are you saying?”
Judith wondered as much herself. “After Fayette was killed,” she began hesitantly, “it was as if Ethan absorbed parts of him. At first I thought they were parts that he needed, to survive. Now I feel other gifts of Fayette returning.”
“Gifts? Like Deism?”
Judith almost smiled. “Belief, philosophy, was one of our sparring points onboard the
Standard
, of course. Oh,” she realized. “My own views of the two men merging are hardly in line with any standard Christian doctrine, I suspect. Do I shock thee, then, Friend?”
Jordan Foster shook his head before resting it on the seatback. Judith saw the trial the past week had been on him. Dark circles spoke of worried nights beside Ethan’s bed.
“So many years in captivity. How did they survive, Miss Mercer? Why is there no hardness about the boy?”
“There is his stillness. A stillness that I have only seen in the most devout at Meeting.” She laughed. “When I am being quite recalcitrant in not concentrating on my own Inner Light enough!”
The doctor smiled. He was a handsome man, Judith realized. His
beard, his habitual, taciturn sadness could not mask eyes alive with intelligence and curiosity. Judith began to think the way home might not be so fraught with their separate miseries, after all.
Jordan Foster’s chin made the same lift as Ethan’s did before he spoke. “I have known no Quakers. Are you typical in your humor?”
“Humor?”
“Yes. Full, rich humor, without a hint of primness. It surprises me. It delights Ethan. Can you feel his delight in you?”
“I’m not insensible, Friend Jordan.” He was going to apologize again. Judith sought to head it off with a laugh. “Though it is my serious nature he himself delights in teasing,” she finished.
He frowned. At himself this time, Judith sensed. “I should not have badgered you. I have never been the most charming man among women. Please forgive my intrusion into your heart.”
Judith smiled. “Fayette was the most charming man I’ve ever known. Yet he was more blunt than thee is when the subject was Ethan’s happiness. I take no offense.”
The doctor gave her a weary smile. “You are a very generous woman. To endure everything you have. And now the grief of parting.”
“Friends don’t grieve, or mourn, or wear bl—”
Black.
She could not form the simple word.
Instruct, Judith. Instruct this man, he is open for instruction
… . The gentle physician pulled her into his arms. “This is not grief for that scoundrel of a Frenchman!” she insisted, even as she buried her head against his chest.
“No,” he agreed.
“Nor at parting. His mother told me Ethan is a most d-diligent correspondent!” Her tears released the scent from the physician’s shirt. Salt, sweat, lavender. He smelled like Ethan. No, the two men had the same laundress at Windover, that was all. Still, Judith took comfort in the shared scent, even in the midst of her humiliation. “This is—” She tried again.
His long fingers grazed her cheek. “Not grief, of course, Judith Mercer,” he conspired with her lie.
S
ally climbed onto Ethan’s bed, placing Charlotte between them. It was a beautiful day for his sister’s journey, he saw it from the temperature gauge outside his window, and the barometer he’d consulted earlier that morning. Richmond. Sally lived in Richmond now, with her handsome, bespectacled husband, her family. She was going home. Not leaving him. Going home. Ethan touched Charlotte’s palm. She fisted his finger in her tiny hand.
“Like a rose petal. Do all babies’ skins feel this way, Sally?”
“The well ones, yes.”
Charlotte was in her third month of life. Both mother and child were rosy with the glow of health. Sally’s full breasts were laced inside her chemise, so that she could free them easily to feed her baby on the schooner. His sister was leaving him so far behind.