Thorns in Eden and the Everlasting Mountains (20 page)

Rebecah’s
heart sank. Lady Margaret took her by the hand and she left the shadow of that
dark and dismal house. Stark in black, her face bewildered and sad, March stood
in an upper story window with her hand raised in farewell. Rebecah returned the
gesture as the coachman cracked his whip above the horse’s ears.

Plymouth
brimmed with ships loaded with riches brought in from the far reaches of the
Empire. The air smelled of tea and spices from the Orient, tobacco and cotton
from the southern Colonies, exotic fruits and sugarcane from the islands. Along
the narrow streets, merchants hawked their wares, mingled busy housewives and
servants. Shopkeepers opened their shops in hopes of a brisk day of business.
Gentlemen huddled at a street corner to buy a newspaper describing America’s
latest treason.

A
sooty palm pushed through the window. “Please, milady, a coin. Please.” A woman
ran alongside the coach through mud and horse dung. Stringy black hair fell out
from beneath a dingy mobcap. Over her shoulders lay a tattered wool shawl. Her
eyes were glazed with hopelessness.

Lady
Margaret ordered the driver to stop. She feared the coach wheels might do harm.
“Have you no work?”

“No,
milady.”

Tears
flooded the woman’s sunken eyes. Behind the dirty face may have been youth and
possibly beauty. But the green eyes were lonely and desperate.

“You’re
speaking the truth and not lying in order to get money?” Lady Margaret said.

The
beggar woman’s eyes widened. “I’m not lying, milady. No one will hire a beggar.
My husband left me— went to sea and has never come back. I lost the babe I
carried and I’ve been sick ever since.”

“In
heart as well as body, I imagine. Get to a doctor, you understand? This should
take care of it.” Lady Margaret placed two coins in the tattered woman’s hand. “When
you’ve recovered, go to the Methodists meeting here, and tell them Lady
Margaret Nash sent you.”

“I
wish to help as well.” Rebecah handed the woman the last coin she had in her
reticule. “Please do as Lady Margaret has told you.”

The
woman nodded and the coach moved on.

Lady
Margaret eased back against the cushion. “I wish I could help them all. But, we
shall have the poor with us always, so said the Lord Jesus.”

Rebecah
looked out at the crowded street. Deep down, she was angry with the world,
angry with John Nash, angry with Samuel Brent, angry with her dead father. She
looked over at the woman who had taken her under her wing and wished she could
be more like her.

The
road lay dappled with sunshine. Along the wayside were houses of black beams
and plasterwork. Some were red brick with varnished doorways, thatched roofs
and high gables.

Soon
the coach halted and they were in front of Lavinia’s house—a modest dwelling
compared to Endfield. Rebecah admired the stone graced with ivy, the sun
streaked windows, and boughs of wisteria over the door. It was a warm and
inviting home.

After
the coachman alighted from his seat and stretched his legs, he helped the
ladies out. Rebecah noticed a black horse tethered to a post. It looked over at
her and blew out its nostrils.

“It
seems another guest has arrived.” Rebecah walked with Lady Margaret over the
flagstones. Her hand held down her hat against the breeze. “Will we be
intruding?”

“Intruding?
Not at all. We are expected.”

The
door swung wide and Lavinia hurried out with her hands stretched forward.
“Rebecah! Oh, Rebecah, you’ve come!”

A
whirl of laugher followed their embrace. The coach rolled away, and the ladies
entered the foyer.

Lavinia
kissed Lady Margaret’s cheek. “I’m so glad to see you both. Was your journey
tolerable?”

“As
tolerable as may be.”

“Please,
come inside and lay aside your hats. I shall have tea brought in.” She summoned
her maid, a petite girl of sixteen, with hair and eyes as brown as the wood
floor she stood on.

In
the sitting room, Rebecah untied her blue hat strings and laid the hat upon a
chair. The room was comfortably decorated and the walls were painted a soft
yellow. It had a large bay window facing the garden and a white marble
fireplace.

 Lady
Margaret stood by the door. “Do you have a room where I might lie down a while?”

“We’ve
a comfortable room upstairs.” Lavinia looked concerned. “Are you alright, my
lady?”

“The
journey was long and I’m weary. A rest will do me good.”

Lady
Margaret left with Lavinia’s serving girl, and the two cousins sat alone in the
yellow room. They drank cold tea and Lavinia indulged in the scones and cream.

 “Did
you know I shall have a Christmas baby? I hardly know where to begin. We’ve so
much to talk about.”

Rebecah
smiled. “How wonderful, Lavinia. I’m so happy for you and David.”

“I
was saddened to hear how father treated you. I don’t understand him.”

“Do
you remember the last time we spoke to each other?”

“How
can I forget? If it were not for you, I may have lost my courage.”

“Your
courage has never been lacking, cousin.”

“Thank
you for saying so. I did the right thing. But it has broken my heart my father
has disowned me.”

“He
will come around in time. Perhaps when the baby is born and he learns he has a
grandchild his heart will change.”

“I
pray for him every night,” Lavinia said.

“I
try. Sometimes it is hard.”

Lavinia
set her teacup aside. “I’m glad you did not go through with it with Lanley. I
hoped you would not marry him out of a broken heart. He would have made you very
unhappy.”

“Yes,
I believe he would have, and I him. Lanley has forgiven me, I think. For him
there are other choices.”

“Lanley
is a good man at heart.”

“Indeed
that is so.”

 “But
Jack is a better man.”

Rebecah
stared at the floor, stung at the mention of his name. “It would not be a good
idea for us to discuss John Nash.”

“Still,
I’m troubled by the change in you, cousin. Would it bother you if I told you what
I plan to name my baby?”

The
sparkle returned to Rebecah’s eyes. Speaking of the baby would be a better
topic.

“Not
in the least. I want to hear.”

“Tell
me it will not anger you.”

“Why
would it?”

“You
may not like it. So you must understand my reasons. If it’s a boy, he will be
called David John. The first name is after his father of course and the middle
name John after John Nash. You know I was close to him growing up. He was like
a brother to me—still is.” 

“And
what if you have a girl?”

“Kathryn
for my mother. Grace for David’s grandmother. Do you know she is still living?
She is ninety and two. We visit her once a month.”

“It
is kind of you.”

“I
adore her. We want our baby to bring her joy in the time she has left. It’s so
important people have joy in their old age.”

“That
is true.”

“I
wish you joy, cousin.”

“I
have all the joy I need seeing you again.”

“What
are your plans, now that you’re not married and have left Endfield?”

Rebecah
put the rest of her cake on the china plate. “I plan to find a position as a
governess.”

Lavinia’s
eyes enlarged. “Well, at least you don’t desire to be a teacher sequestered away
into spinsterhood. A wealthy family with a fine house is much better. But now
that you are with me for a time, perhaps your ambition will change.”

“I
know what you’re leading to, Lavinia.”

“I
cannot help it, cousin. I can see you’re still in love with Jack.”

 “Perhaps
you are seeing what you only wish to see. Perhaps you are wrong.”

“Can
you deny your feelings?”

Rebecah
sighed. “I don’t love him enough to ruin my life and betray the memory of my
father.”

“He
was good to you and loved you.”

“He
loved me enough to lie?”

“Lie?
I see no lie. He told you the truth as he knows it to be. Do you think from the
time of their meeting, to the time of your father’s departure for England, then
the voyage home, he would have survived as long as he did?”

Rebecah
clasped her hands. “Why would my father warn his brother to keep Jack away from
me if there wasn’t a good reason?”

Lavinia
took Rebecah by the shoulders. “I know I said it before and it bears repeating.
Write to Sir Richard’s physician.”

Sweeping
her skirts forward, Rebecah stood. “I don’t know what to believe or what to
do.” 

“Then
talk to me, Rebecah. I’ll listen, and perhaps together we can find answers.”

Her
eyes resigned to the tears she fought. They pooled, slid down her cheeks. She
brushed them away and hardened herself against them.

“You’re
right. We loved each other, but I couldn’t have gone through with marrying
him.”

“Why
not?”

“Don’t
you see? It would’ve been the worst way to begin. I pushed the matter of love
to the back of my mind and have hurt myself by doing so. What happened showed
me what kind of woman I am.” She turned back with her fists at her sides. “I’m
suspicious, bitter, and unforgiving.”

“You’re
none of those things,” Lavinia said.

 “It’s
true. I’ve grown to hate myself for what I feel. And the words in that letter? I’ve
mulled over them time and time again. I thought about what you and Lady
Margaret said. How could my father have survived such an infection for weeks
and weeks? I need to find Dr. Harvey. ”

Lavinia
went to her cousin with an embrace. “It’s alright. You must have a cry. You’re
safe here.”

“I
shall die loving him. He thinks I hate him and now his love for me is dead and
he is gone. Oh, how he must despise me.”

“Somehow
it must be mended.”

Rebecah
pushed back her hair and wiped her eyes dry. “I’m glad I came to you. I shall
find a great deal of healing in your house.”

 “A
heavy burden was given you. You carried it as best you can. Now you must let God
carry it for you.”

Shortly
after daybreak, Nash woke to a growl beneath his window. He rose, looked into
the violet haze of dawn, and saw Black Hawk standing there with his arms folded
across his chest, his face lifted proudly. Nash raised his hand, and went to
dress.

When
he opened the door, the cub rolled in the grass. “Your cub is your shadow, my
brother. He too is hungry.”

Black
Hawk frowned. “I have not come to beg. I never hunger for I am a great hunter. I
have given a turkey to the dark-faced man.” 

“Not
an easy catch in these woods. Joab and I are grateful. You must feast with us.”

Black
Hawk glanced up at the window. For a moment his eyes looked as though they admired
the glass panes, then his brow rumpled.

“I
do not understand why the white man sleeps in a high place with walls all
around and a roof above him. The ground is softer and surer.”

Nash
too looked up. “I see what you mean. Well, I shall be sleeping under the stars
tonight and the forest will wall me in.”

He
went to the troth on the side of the house and doused himself with rainwater.
Black Hawk watched the white man’s ways, and Nash saw him turn his eyes toward
the towering hills. He pointed to a steep smooth mountain.

“Upon
that ridge I met Logan’s messenger. Logan asks for you. He sits within his
lodge where he has had a dream. He fears it and does not eat meat for a long
season. Logan has laid aside the peace pipe.”

Nash
wiped his face with his hands. Massacre disrupted his quiet and peaceful soul.

“I
know why he has done this, Black Hawk. I have heard about his father, wife, and
sister. Even the most peaceful of men would desire revenge.”

Black
Hawk crouched to hold his cub. “It is true, Logan is restless and angry. You
must come and speak to him, before the war drums beat louder.”

It
was hard to leave Laurel Hill, but he had to. His horse pawed the grass, shook
its head, and tossed its great black mane into the wind as he pulled up onto
his back.

Black
Hawk ran his hand down Meteor’s neck. “He is wild and his eyes blaze with
fire.”

“That’s
why I chose him. I’ll let you ride him during our journey, Black Hawk. I can
tell you like him.”

“I
need no horse, my brother.” It was true, for his feet were fleet as a buck’s.

Turning
in the saddle, Nash called back to the old man who stood near the doorpost of
the house. “Only the Lord knows how long I’ll be gone, Joab. If you need help
of any kind, Mr. Boyd is the man to see.”

Joab
nodded and wiped his sweaty brow. “I ain’t goin’ to Mrs. Cottonwood’s no matter
how much she begs. I’m stayin’ right here. Godspeed, Mr. John.”

Nash
smiled at his friend and slipped his musket into the leather holster on his
saddle. Then he rode off toward the forest. The Indian walked alongside him.

With
the sun burning above the horizon, Nash and Black Hawk traveled along the banks
of a stream, down to the Potomac. A great swell of mountains loomed above, the
tops round and smooth as river stone.

Upon
the slopes grew oaks and locust trees, sycamores and maples. Hanging from limbs
were stocky vines. Airy ferns covered the forest floor competing with moss and
lichen. Poised at the water’s edge leaned willows. They swayed above the mirror
of the current, while in the distance deer came to drink in shallow pools.

Nash
followed Black Hawk into the water and they crossed a shoal where it flowed
knee-deep. Small islands, formed from ancient rock, dotted the river. Cranes and
blue herons stood upon them.

From
there they traveled through rough forests. A sense of awe overwhelmed Nash as
he passed under the leafy canopy above him. Deer dashed and leaped. Bird calls
echoed.