Thorns in Eden and the Everlasting Mountains (9 page)

A
roll of laughter and a voice drawn and high pitched, drew their attention. When
Lanley entered, heads turned. Dorene took his arm and led him inside. Ladies
fluttered and clustered around him like bees drawn to honey. Tapping his silver
snuffbox, he bobbed his head to search the crowd.

When
Lanley started toward her, Rebecah looked at Nash with entreaty. “Take me into
the other room before…”

“Lud,
my dear!” Lanley quickened his pace and stopped in front of her. He sighed, gazed
at her starry-eyed.

“Have
I passed on to Paradise? Are you an angel in disguise?”

“Your
flattery isn’t necessary,” she replied.

Nash
scowled at the way Lanley gawked. He saw beneath that smooth veneer of
politeness, how he kissed Rebecah’s hands with ashen lips, thin and drawn
beneath a long angular nose, a libertine. She withdrew and joined Lavinia.

 “Your
manner is too free,” Nash commented.

Lanley
smirked. “What is that you say?”

“Kissing
a lady’s hand once is enough. More is impolite and licentious.”

“You
challenge my manners?”

“Some
might say you are a womanizer.”

Lanley
poked his chin up at Nash. “I take liberties with the lady due to the fact she
is to be my wife…someday.”

“She
does not seem to like your
liberties
.”

“Yes
she does…”

“Ask
her.”

Lanley’s
face burned scarlet. “Our method of wooing is obviously above the crudities of frontiersmen.”

 Amused,
Nash grinned. “I’m in no need of instruction in that art.”

A
swaying beauty passed them, and Nash’s eyes shifted. Dorene smiled seductive and
moved on.

“Do
you know Dorene Brent?” Nash asked.

“I
know her well.” A lustful gaze glazed Lanley’s eyes as he watched her glide
away.

“You
play the field while you’ve an understanding with another woman?”

Lanley
laughed. “The field is exactly what a man should play before the bonds of
matrimony hold him forever. I’ve the best of both worlds, as long as I play
wisely.”

Disgusted,
Nash set his mouth and turned to leave. “Will you be returning any time soon to
that untamed country of yours?”

Dorene
reappeared. “You can never go back. I’ll not allow it.” She stood close to him.
“Life has been so dull since you left. I have missed your free spirit, your
recklessness. Will you not kiss my hand?”

Nash
leaned over. The kiss was formal, cold.

“Allow
a true English gentleman to do that, Dorene,” Lanley said. He brushed his lips
over the top of her hand, and Nash walked off. He needed fresh air.

If
I could only leave.

He
found Rebecah out on the balcony, her hands firm upon the railing, her head
down. He moved beside her, looked out at the night sky.

“Are
you alright?”

She
nodded. “I suppose.”

“Lanley
embarrasses you, doesn’t he?”

“Often.
I’d rather not be here.”

A
pause followed. Then Nash said, “I would rather be sitting on my porch watching
the sun sink behind the mountains, or hunting with Black Hawk my Indian
brother.”

“You
have an Indian brother?”

“In
Indian fashion, I do. He is the best of men, a skilled marksman and hunter.”

“It
sounds wonderful where you live.”

“Perhaps
you should consider the Colonies for yourself.”

He
turned and leaned against the rail. Torches and a bonfire out on the lawn
warmed the air. Reflections of the flames danced against the house.

“It
takes courage to leave home for a strange land and settle there,” she said.

He adored
the way the moonlight changed the color of her eyes. “Your voice is alluring.”
A cackle of laughter caused him to pause. “Unlike those.”

“My
uncle says my voice is too bold for a girl.”

“Your
uncle is wrong.”

He
walked on with her into the shadows, beneath the bough of ivy hanging over the
porch. The plucking of a violin drew people out on the lawn.

“It’s
the Carrows and the others.” Rebecah waved to them.

Henry
and Jane danced a country reel near the bonfire. Coachmen and footmen, laborers
and servants, clapped their hands and stomped their feet in time with the
music. Such a striking contrast to what went on inside.

Nash
took Rebecah down the stairs and across the lawn. Joining the country folk, he
swung her around, holding her hands and smiling with her.

After
the guests departed, the family gathered in the drawing room. The door flung
open and Samuel Brent entered. His neckcloth hung loose about his throat. His
hair lay loose from its binding. The cuffs of his shirt were stained with wine.

“Over
the last few months something has troubled my father.” Lavinia spoke quietly,
leaning in her chair toward Nash. “He refuses to speak of it, even to my mother.
I’ve stood by and watched his shifting moods of depression and anger, his
thirst for wine, his brooding.”

“Perhaps
he is ill and should see a physician.”

“I
believe his heart is troubled. Rebecah thinks she is the cause.”

Nash
frowned. “What could she have done?” He glanced over at her. “She is an angel.
It’s all in your father’s mind.”

Brent
slammed the door. “The food is half-eaten and wine spilled on the new carpet.”

Lady
Kathryn looked at her hand of cards. “What is left the servants will eat. And
they will clean the carpet.”

“A
waste of money,” Brent shouted. Everyone froze and stared at him.

Lady
Kathryn stood with genteel grace and touched his hand. “Do not speak so, my
love.”

“There
will be no more parties at Endfield.” He stumbled away from her.

“You
are jesting, Papa,” Dorene said.

“I’m
the master of this house and what I say is law.” He tossed himself into a chair
and covered his eyes with his hand. “Hugh has been screaming for you, Kate, and
given me a headache.”

 
“March said he was sleeping soundly a moment ago,” Kathryn said.

“You
rely too much on March to do what you should as a mother. Go silence him before
I take a rod to the boy.”

Lavinia
rose from her chair. “Let me go, Mother.”

Lady
Kathryn agreed. “He will mind you, Lavinia.”

Lavinia
walked out, avoiding her father’s path.

Brent
put his hand on Sir Rodney’s shoulder. “Rodney, come with me to the study. Let
us drink like we did in the old days and remember real living before we took
wives.”

“Thank
you for the offer, Samuel. But I had enough wine tonight. I would be happy to
have some strong black tea though, and talk over old times.”

Brent
laughed. “Your Methodist wife must think it a sin? And I can see you do not
approve of my behavior. You find it brash. By heavens, have you been converted
too?”

“I’ll not
judge you, my friend.”  

“Ah,
but you should. I am a poor example to my son. Though I admit my wife makes up
for the shame my daughters and niece bring me.”

Nash
saw Rebecah’s eyes lift.

“Surely
that is not true, that you are ashamed of them.”

“You
of all men should understand, Rodney. When the war starts, your son will take
up arms against us. It’s enough to make any English father cower in shame.”

Brent’s
words caused Nash to stiffen. He saw the sad expression in his father’s face
and tightened his fists at his sides. He drew in his boots and stood. “My
father isn’t swift to judge a man, even his son.”

Brent
looked Nash in the eye. “It is his love for you that covers a multitude of
sins, I suppose.”

“His
love, in spite of my failings, is more than I deserve.”

Brent’s
eyes narrowed. “I agree. At your age, I knew my place and my duty.”

“I
can assure you, I know mine.”

Brent
clenched his jaw. He turned away and drew Rebecah from her seat.

“Do
you disapprove of me, Rebecah?”

She
stepped back.

 “Say
something!” Brent stumbled toward Rebecah.

 “You
condemn us without reason, Uncle. Yes, I disapprove.”

“I
did not have to take you in, and I don’t have to keep you.”

 Nash
hurried forward to move her away from Brent’s abuse. Brent raised his hand. Too
late to dodge the blow, Rebecah tumbled to the floor. Lady Kathryn let out a
cry. Nash grabbed Brent by the breast of his coat and dared to hit him, but Sir
Rodney caught him by the arm.

“No,
Jack,” he implored. “It will make no difference.”

He
shook the drunken Brent. “He is a coward to have struck her.” He flung Brent
into a chair.

Brent’s
face looked wretched, the whites of his eyes heavy and bloodshot. He spoke not
a word, only stared forward. Then he covered his face in his hands.

“Forgive
me, Rebecah. I did not mean to hurt you.”

He held
out his hand to her. Tears drifted down her face and a red mark stood out on
her cheek.

Nash
pressed his mouth together and tried to restrain his anger. He watched her go
from her aunt’s arms to standing in front of Brent. He could not believe what
he saw.

“You
must sleep, Uncle.” Rebecah spoke softly. “In the morning you’ll feel
better.”    

Nash
shook his head. Baffled she had not lashed back at this madman, he wondered how
she could forgive him. It caused him to pause at the secret he hid from her,
hoping someday, when he could explain, she would be as forgiving toward him.

Brent
stood. His face looked drained and gaunt. He turned and stepped from the room
with Lady Kathryn’s arms around him. Rebecah held out her hands to Nash and he
took them. His were strong and rough, and the tender grip with which he held
her made him hope she felt safer. 

Before letting her go,
he touched her fingers to his lips. She then left with Lady Margaret. Dorene
followed for there was nothing else to do. That night clouds passed over
Endfield and left behind a cold mist in the empty darkness.

Upstairs
in one of the guestrooms, Nash tried to sleep. He had a troubled mind. He
missed home, his own bed in his own room, the chirp of crickets in the tall
grass and the tree frogs in the forest.

He
stood by the window and watched the moon and stars until the clock on the
mantle chimed the half-hour. Night deepened into dark purple, and the logs in
the fire turned to ash. Outside, the air was still and cold and he heard an owl
hoot in the distance.

Pulling
off his boots, he lay down with his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling.
His thoughts were cluttered, restless. He closed his eyes and whispered a
prayer in the dark as the candle at his bedside gutted.

He
heard his door open, close, saw a womanly figure etched in moonlight come
toward him in the dark. Her hair fell forward. She touched his face.

He
looked into her eyes. Greedy, unrestrained passion showed deep within them,
unlike Rebecah’s, whose eyes were tender and beautiful.

“Everyone
is asleep. You want me, Jack?”

Dorene!

He
shoved her away, got up. “Get out!”

She
twisted a strand of hair between her fingers. “When was the last time you were
with a woman?”

He
reached to pull her up, but she moved back. “Go to your room, or I’ll throw you
out.” 

Arrogant
disbelief covered Dorene’s face. She pressed her lips together and lay back
against the pillows. “I shall not leave.”

“You
will, I say.” He took her by the arm and hauled her up. “It may come as a blow
to your enormous conceit, Dorene, but I don’t want you. I never will. What you
have to give, I do not want. Understand?”

Pulling
away from him, she shook her head. “No, I don’t understand. Would you rather
have Rebecah than me?” She grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. “Christian!
Rogue! Yankee traitor!”

He
laughed. “Call me what you will. Nothing will change my mind.”  

Throwing
her arms around his neck, she pulled herself against him. “Why must God have
his way, Jack? Why can we not do what we want? Forget your morals for one
night.”

 He
pried her arms free. “How clear must I be? If you wish my bed, you are welcomed
to it. I’ll find somewhere else to sleep.”

“I
hate you! You’ll regret your insistence on following some ancient moral
code.”  

With
nothing else close by to throw, Dorene tore the bedclothes apart, scattering
the pillows, beating the bed with her fists. Nash ignored her and went out into
the dark corridor.

Shadows
swept to and fro through the gallery of windows. He turned and without warning
bumped into Rebecah. She looked up at him with a start.

“I’m
sorry if I frightened you.”

“No
harm done. I should go back to my room.”

“You’ve
been crying.”

“It’s
nothing.”

Footsteps
passed down the corridor and he moved her back. He saw Dorene slip out of his
room. Thankfully, she went the other way.

“It
looks like someone else cannot sleep.” Rebecah turned to go. She had seen
Dorene.

Nash
stopped her. “Dorene is the reason I left my room.”

“I
want to believe you…I know what she is like…”

“I
had nothing to do with her.”

He
placed his hands on her shoulder. “Rebecah, you’re unhappy. Is it possible, I
could change that?”

Her
lips parted. She hesitated, looked into his eyes. “Yes.”

He
would have brushed his lips over hers, but she stepped back and hurried away.

* * *

Sir Rodney and his lady woke early to the song of a mockingbird singing
in a willow tree. The day begun cloudy, with streams of sunlight piercing
through misty veils. After he dressed, Sir Rodney jerked the bell-pull three
times. He wanted to be done with breakfast and head home. The night before had left
a bad taste in his mouth.