Beside Two Rivers
Beside Two Rivers
What do you get when you combine authentic history, picturesque settings, dynamic characters and a feels-like-you’re-there storyline? You get a Rita Gerlach novel, and in
Beside Two Rivers
, Book 2 in her Daughters of the Potomac series, she delivers all that and more. My advice to readers: Make room for this one on your “keepers shelf.” My advice to Rita: save space on your “awards wall,” because this tale is sure to earn a bunch!
—Loree Lough, best-selling author of more than 85 awardwinning books, including
Honor Redeemed
, Book 2 in the First Responders series
Rita Gerlach has penned another engrossing historical with a spirited heroine, this one about a long-hidden secret and how it threatens lives and love.
—Julie L. Cannon, author of
Truelove & Homegrown Tomatoes
and
Twang
Other books by Rita Gerlach
Surrender the Wind
The Daughters of the Potomac Series
Before the Scarlet Dawn
, book 1
Beyond the Valley
, book 3, coming February 2013
Beside Two
Rivers
Book 2
The Daughters of the Potomac
Series
Rita Gerlach
Beside Two Rivers
Copyright © 2012 Rita Gerlach
ISBN: 978-1-4267-1415-3
Published by Abingdon Press, P.O. Box 801, Nashville, TN 37202
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form,
stored in any retrieval system, posted on any website,
or transmitted in any form or by any means—digital,
electronic, scanning, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without
written permission from the publisher, except for brief
quotations in printed reviews and articles.
The persons and events portrayed in this work of fiction
are the creations of the author, and any resemblance
to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Published in association with Hartline Literary Agency
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Gerlach, Rita.
Beside two rivers / Rita Gerlach.
p. cm. — (Daughters of the Potomac ; bk. 2)
ISBN 978-1-4267-1415-3 (book - pbk. /trade pbk. : alk. paper)
I. Title.
PS3607.E755B47 2012
813'.6—dc23
2011051567
Printed in the United States of America
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 / 17 16 15 14 13 12
To all those who seek the Truth
Acknowledgment
Thanks to Barbara Scott, my agent, whose gentle nudge forward made me realize one book should turn into a series.
Contents
Chapter 1 The Potomac Heights, Maryland 1797
Part 1
Peace I ask of thee, O River
Peace, peace, peace
When I learn to live serenely
Cares will cease.
From the hills I gather courage
Visions of days to be
Strength to lead and faith to follow
All are given unto me
Peace I ask of thee, O River
Peace, peace, peace.
—Attributed to Janet E. Tobitt
1
The Potomac Heights, Maryland
1797
She’d been warned not to venture far from the house, nor go near the river, nor climb the dark shale bluffs above it. But Darcy Morgan had inherited an adventurous spirit that could not be bridled. It had been her favorite place to retreat since the age of nine, when she had discovered it one morning while trekking with her cousins over the ridge that shadowed the Potomac River.
Bathed in sunlight, she stood at the bluff’s edge and gazed down at the water as she had done a hundred times before. She looked at the sky. Pink and pearled, speckled with white summer clouds, it looked heaven-like in the glow of a golden dusk.
Mottle-winged caddis flies danced in hordes at the brink and Darcy paused to study them. How could such delicate wings flit so high without turning to dust in the breeze? It caressed her face, blew back her dark hair, and eased through her cotton dress. She breathed deep the scent of wild honeysuckle that traveled with it. Drowsy warmth hung everywhere, while the birds sang evening vespers.
With closed eyes, Darcy listened to the water tumble over the boulders and rocks below. Stretching out her arms, she turned in a circle and soaked in the majesty of creation.
“Darcy … Darcy Morgan … Where are you, you adventuresome pixie?”
Turning, she spied her uncle, William Breese, as he lumbered along the ridge toward her. With caution, he stepped over rocks and between roots of great trees, a barrel-chested man with stocky legs. His eyes were pale green against his swarthy face, his head framed in a nimbus of white hair. Darcy’s father, Hayward Morgan, had been his half-brother, and Darcy wondered if her father’s eyes had been like her uncle’s, for she could not remember his face. Breathless, her uncle glanced up to see her, and she skipped down the path toward him.
When she reached her uncle, he put his hands upon his knees to catch his breath. “Your aunt has been fretting all afternoon, wondering where you had gone off to.”
Regretting she had caused her aunt such uneasiness, Darcy brushed back her hair and halted before him. “I am sorry, Uncle Will. I should have told her. I did not mean to cause Aunt Mari to fret.”
“Ah, the woman has had a nervous constitution from birth to forty and two. She fears that one of her girls, and you, Darcy, could be
injured or lost, fall from the bluffs
,
or be swept into the river and drowned
. She goes so far as to believe that one of you could be
carried all the way to the Chesapeake and then out to sea.”
Darcy giggled. “It would be an adventure to survive such an ordeal, to perhaps be rescued by our Navy.”
He shrugged. “Only you would think so. Your aunt wrings her hands and paces the floor every time one of you ventures out-of-doors. Think of me, dear girl, what I’ve had to endure.”
Darcy smiled and put her arm around him. “Are you angry with me?”
He smiled and wiggled his head. “I could never be angry with you, Darcy. I like your drive for exploration. Just look at that patch of sky. Only God can paint a picture like that.”
She raised her face to meet the sunlight. “I’ve been watching it for hours, how the light mellows the clouds.”
“I wish your aunt were more attentive to the things of nature.”
“To console you, Uncle, I have seen her pause to admire the flowers she brings into the house.”
“Indeed, and now she has news and is eager for you to come home.” Mr. Breese looped Darcy’s arm through his and proceeded to walk with her down the hill. “She has the girls gathered in the sitting room and refuses to read a letter until I bring you back and we are both present.”
“I imagine she is cross,” Darcy said.
“She would have forbidden you at this late hour. Next time tell me.” He threw his free arm out wide. “I don’t mind, and most likely will join you.”
The house belonging to Mr. Breese was modest by well-to-do standards, but affluent for a Marylander living miles away from the cities of Annapolis and Baltimore. Darcy loved it, with its broad porch and dark green shutters. Its meadows filled with Queen Anne’s lace. Its forests thick with ancient trees and wild lady slippers. Above all, she loved the river and the creeks that flowed into it.
She stepped down the path between rows of locust trees, aiding her uncle along, for he was not strong in the legs at his time of life. The windows glowed with evening sunlight. The front door sat open, allowing the breeze to flow free. A shaggy brown dog slumbered on the threshold with his head between muddy paws, and when he heard her whistle, he lifted his head and bounded up to her and her uncle.
When Darcy entered the cool narrow hallway of the house, she pulled off her broad-brimmed hat and shook back her hair. Even with a bright sun that day, she had not worn it on her head, but let it hang behind her shoulders. She set it on a hook beside the door and paused when she heard her aunt’s voice in the sitting room.
“Darcy,” Mari Breese called.
She stepped inside with a smile. “I am here, Aunt Mari.”
“Where on earth have you been? I have worried.” Mrs. Breese fanned her face with the letter, set it on her lap, and fell back against her chair. Accustomed to her aunt’s melodrama, Darcy dismissed her troubled tone of voice.
“I was out walking.” She kissed her aunt’s cheek.
“Walking, walking. What is so grand about walking? On my word, I do believe there are still Indians roaming about who would be pleased to snatch away a beauty like you. They might lust for that lovely hair of yours, I dread to think.”
Proud of her locks, Mari Breese tucked her mouse-brown hair, peppered with gray, further into her mobcap. Her eyes were dark blue, close to the shade of ink that stained the letter she held. The rose in her cheeks heightened, not from the heat in the room, but from the excitement. Darcy wished she could calm her. Everyone would be better off.
“Uncle Will said you have news, Aunt. May we hear it?” Darcy sat next to her cousins, who were seated with perfect posture in a row upon a faded settee.
“Yes, Mama. You said you would read it once everyone was here,” said Darcy’s cousin Martha.
Her eldest cousin possessed a flawless row of pearl-white teeth and eyes like her papa’s. She and Darcy were the same age, and their resemblance to each other caused people to think they were sisters. She wore her hair in a loose chignon today, silky and dark brown, accenting her fair skin. Darcy could not tolerate the style, and each time Martha urged her to try it she exclaimed it gave her a headache.
“We have been patient,” Martha reminded her mother. The other girls—Lizzy, Abigail, Rachel, and Dolley—chimed in.
“If your father would be so good as to sit down, I will begin. It involves all of us.”
Mr. Breese drew his pipe out from between his teeth. He sat in a chair beneath the window, picked up the newspaper, and proceeded to look it over.
“Will, your attention please.” Mrs. Breese slapped her hands together.
“Here’s an interesting article, girls,” he said. “In March, a gentleman by the name of Whitney invented a machine that removes the seeds from cotton. Calls it the cotton gin. Fancy that!”
“More than likely it will add to the South’s sinful institution of slavery,” Darcy said.
“I hope not, Darcy. But with an invention of this kind …”
Mrs. Breese stamped her foot. “Husband, do you wish to hear this or not?”
He set the paper down on his lap. “What is so important, my dear?”
“We’ve received an invitation. I must say, I have been anticipating this, and now we have something to break the boredom we endure in this wilderness.”