Beside Two Rivers (27 page)

The room they brought Hayward to had not been slept in, in many a year. Heavy curtains hung over the windows. Dust lay thick on the furnishings. Darcy helped her father to a chair and drew off his wet coat. A fire soon roared to a great red mound in the fireplace, and heat chased the deep chill from the room.

Mrs. Burke shoveled a few hot coals into a bed warmer and placed it beneath the bedcovers. “Thank goodness we kept some of Mr. Hayward’s clothes. I will get them.”

Madeline stood beside her son’s chair, and while they waited for Mrs. Burke to return, Darcy knelt down and drew off her father’s boots. His feet were cold and pale. She rubbed them between her hands. Then she took up his hands and chafed each until his skin blushed. These she remembered. They had changed little—still strong and manly—large enough to cover hers.

Her eyes beheld Madeline’s and understood the need for silence, to listen to the quiet murmur of Hayward’s breathing and the crackle of the fire. Within minutes, Mrs. Burke returned with an armload of clothing. Among them, Darcy found a warm nightshirt and a pair of woolen socks.

Madeline touched her son’s cheek. “His hair has grayed.” And she brushed it away from his forehead. After so long, after years of living with an aching heart, her mother’s love for Hayward remained steadfast. It touched Darcy, and a light smile crept over her lips.

With Mrs. Burke’s help, Darcy removed her father’s tattered clothes. So filthy were they, that Mrs. Burke burned them. His skin had molted beneath his shirt, and a thick scar crossed his left shoulder. “He fought in the Revolution,” she told her grandmother and Mrs. Burke when their mouths fell open at the sight.

“Oh, he was wounded.” Madeline’s fingers trembled as she touched her son. “I have seen such wounds before. It is a wonder he survived at all.”

Darcy washed away the grime that had hardened into his wrinkles. His eyes opened and found hers. A light broadened within them.

“I saw you before—at another place. Many people were there. You were dressed like an angel, Eliza.” His voice, weak and raspy, stunned her as if it were the first time she had ever heard him speak.

“I am Darcy, your daughter.”

“Darcy? Darcy, my little girl?”

“Yes, Papa.”

He grabbed her hand, pressed her fingers to his lips, and kissed them. “I left you with William. I hoped you’d understand why.”

Darcy leaned in. “You did what was best for me. For that, I should be thanking you. Uncle Will and Aunt Mari have taken good care of me, as if I were their own. And my cousins are my sisters.”

He touched her cheek. “God has led me to you. I have thought of you day and night ever since I left River Run. My heart has ached being apart from you.”

“Then why did you leave me? Why did you not stay? I needed you.”

“My heart was crushed within me. I retreated, tried to lose myself in the wilderness. Forgive me if you can.”

Darcy gave no reply. Her heart wanted to forgive and forget. But her mind could not let go—not yet. There were so many unanswered questions. Her soul called out to the One who could help her. Forgiving would be hard, and she needed strength to do it.

Hayward looked at Madeline. “Mother, I am sorry for the pain I caused you. It was
long ago. But no doubt you still remember.”

“Shh. Lie still,” she said.

“I loved Eliza. I had to leave her. She was a good wife, until …” He trailed off and looked back at Darcy. “You shall despise me for what I’ve done, Darcy.”

“Enough talk, Papa. You must rest.”

“Please, you must let me tell you.”

She paused, saw the plea in his eyes, and could not forbid him. “All right, I am listening. But no matter what you say, I cannot hate you, Papa. It isn’t in me to despise anyone.”

“You call your cousins your sisters. You had another, you know.”

Surprised by this, she stood back. “I do not remember a sister. I only remember Ilene—a little.”

“Ilene was your mother’s child. But not mine. Now do you see?”

Shock rippled through Darcy. “Ilene? I remember I loved her, Papa. But you say she was not yours?”

“I went away to war,” Hayward said. “I was captured and sentenced to a prison ship. My brother was told I had been hanged. Will wrote to your mother, and in her grief another man comforted her—led her astray. She thought I was dead.”

“How awful. Poor mother.” Darcy fought the tight feeling in her throat.

“She had a girl living at River Run. Sarah was her name. She tried to guard the child, tried to protect Eliza and you. But I found out the truth and hated her for it, her and Eliza.”

Darcy lowered her head and tried to absorb what he told her. She could not speak, but when Madeline laid a gentle hand over her shoulder, she reached up and held the aged hand. They would pass through this storm together, and Darcy felt comforted to have the support of her grandmother.

“I never told Will and Mari about this, Darcy. So do not wonder why they never spoke of it. I deceived them, as I have deceived everyone.”

She looked at him, dread sinking into her. “What happened to my mother? Why did you not put a stone over her grave?”

Hayward moaned and wiped his eyes. “Your mother did not die, as I led you and others to believe.”

“But—later? She died later?”

“No. I sent her away.”

“Why would you do that? What could she have done to deserve such rejection?”

“I could not bear her betrayal.”

“Where did you send her?”

“Back to England. That is why I am here. I want to find her.”

“Why did she not reach out to me?”

“Her shame prevented her, my child. And you were so young …”

“Where is she?”

“The last I knew, at a place called Fairview.”

“Fairview?” The name fell from her lips bittersweet.

Hayward struggled to rise. “Please—let me tell you everything. There is more.”

“More?” Darcy clenched her hands. “How could you have lied to me?”

Her grandmother stepped up to her. “Darcy, please, try to hear your father out. It is the only way to know what has happened.”

“I was bitter, but did not want to hurt you,” Hayward said.

“How could you have left me to grow up believing Mother was dead? I have lived with that image of her lying still on the bed and you telling me she would not go to heaven. Did she deserve such condemnation from you? Did I deserve to have that planted in my mind?”

“As God is my witness, no. She was no harlot, no man’s mistress. She fell, and I should have forgiven her when she pleaded for forgiveness.” He hung his head. “I should have never said what I said to you. It was wrong—cruel.”

Darcy stared at him, wishing she could cry. But the pain cut so deep she could not. “Did I deserve to be torn from my mother?”

“I meant to hurt her, not you. I wanted to protect you.”

“But I was injured by it. To have lived all this time without her …”

“She wrote to you.”

“When?”

“You were little. I kept your letters along with the letters she wrote to me. When I arrived in Derbyshire, I had the misfortune of running into Langbourne. He threw me from Havendale, took the letters, and said he would kill me if I ever set foot here again.”

“Then he must have hidden them somewhere in the house—downstairs in his study.”

“Or burned them,” Mrs. Burke interjected. “I’ve seen him do that often enough. He has a mistress in Castleton, and whenever she sends him word to come to her, he burns her messages.”

So that is where he had been, instead of in Meadlow with Charlotte. How sad for her that her husband gave himself to another. She wondered if Charlotte felt abandoned. Did she know of Langbourne’s betrayal? She looked at her father, and realized he had been through the same thing as Charlotte, except it had not been when he was with Eliza, but away. Charlotte had no children, and only God knew if Langbourne had any. Her mother had brought a child into the world. It was a pity her father could not have forgiven her and had compassion for her.

Hayward called to her when she headed for the door. “The letters are lost to me, but her words are seared in my mind.”

She turned back. “Words that begged for forgiveness, no doubt.”

“Yes. In the wilderness, I prayed for you and for the wife I wronged. I met God there. He cast down my hard heart. I have repented, Darcy, of what I did to my mother here, to my wife, to you. You believe me, don’t you?”

Her heart swelled when she saw the sorrow within his eyes. “I do, Papa.”

“It has been my hope to return to River Run with your mother and begin our lives over again as a family.”

“How can you expect her to go back with you?”

Hard as the truth was to accept, the penance in her father’s gaze and the heartrending plea in his voice scored Darcy to the quick. Tears stung and the pain of being lied to, of secrets kept from her, crawled up her throat in a ragged sigh. She strode back to the door.

Hayward called to her, “Darcy, forgive your mother and me.” She turned and looked at him.

“I have many things to think about.” She walked out and closed the door behind her.

At the end of the corridor stood a latticed window. She hurried to it, shook and pulled at the latch until it opened. A rush of bitter air blew against her. She drew it into her lungs in deep gulps. Gripping the sill, she stared out at the land and saw veils of mist twist across the lawn, around the bases of trees. The rain had ended and a frigid line of purple clouds skimmed the horizon.

Did Ethan know that the woman living in his father’s house was her mother? Did her mother know she had come to England? Had Ethan told her? Darcy balled her fists. She stared forward, her breath heaving. On the moor, near the charred ruins, he said he had something important to tell her. Then he was called away—back to Fairview.

Darcy’s emotions overwhelmed her, and she grasped the latch to close the window. But the wind fought against her. Finally able to shove the latch in place, she stepped away and turned. Her grandmother stood in the doorway beside Mrs. Burke. Both women looked concerned, shaken by the event. They stepped aside and Darcy passed back into the room. Hayward looked over at her, forlorn.

She stood at the edge of the bed, her mind drifting toward the vague images of the past. “If there is anything else you need to tell me, speak now. You may not have another chance, Papa. Do your best to gain my forgiveness, for it is a hard thing for me to do at the moment.”

She remained silent, and listened to every stutter, every bumbling word, and every explanation he made. Strange as it seemed, despite her heartache, a burden lifted within her as the minutes went by, one that had been there all her life.

25

Sunrise came without rain, and like most mornings with birds singing and fog drifting across the land in sheer ribbons. But for Darcy, when she looked over at her father as he slept, the new day had become a new start. She did not think he would make it through the night. But color had returned to his face and his chest moved up and down evenly. She stood from the chair, and with one hand rubbed the back of her neck. Soundless, she stepped from the room, and went down the hall. Mrs. Burke was coming up the staircase.

“A package arrived a moment ago for you, miss. ’Tis here on the corner of my tray.”

Darcy lifted the small package wrapped in brown paper and twine and looked at the handwriting. Ethan. Recent events had not distracted her longing for him. A gift from him caused her to smile and she wondered what it could be.

“Do you think your father can manage a dish of soft eggs and a cup of savory broth?” Mrs. Burke asked.

“I hope so. Whatever you can do to build his strength will help, Mrs. Burke.”

“Well, I’ll sit with him a while. You take a pause.” Down the corridor to his room she trudged, with her tray of eggs and beef broth.

Darcy sat on a step and pulled loose the twine and paper. “A book.
Wildflowers of England
. He remembered. How lovely.” Her mind drifted back to that day in the field along the Potomac, where she gathered specimens for her uncle. He had gone with her, and it was there, beneath the shadows of the trees, he kissed her for the first time.

She poised the book, bound in royal blue leather, the pages edged in gold leaf, in her palm. A note attached read, “
I cannot endure the hours without you. My heart is, and forever will be, yours. Ethan
.”

She pressed the book and note to her breast and felt the beat of her heart. “So much to think about, Lord,” she whispered. “But oh, I am thankful he loves me.”

Patter grew louder behind her. She turned on the step. Maxwell panted at the landing, looked down at her with his glossy black eyes, and wagged his tale. When she stood, he whined and scampered away. She followed him to her grandmother’s room, where he scratched on the door.

Madeline sat in an armchair in front of the window. Sunlight bathed her face and sparkled through the scent bottles on her dressing table. A wool blanket covered her lap and legs. With a slight smile, she looked over at Darcy and motioned for her to come near. Darcy saw a change in Madeline—her gaze brighter, happier. Not the usual forlorn stare.

“Come draw up a chair and sit with me, Darcy.”

“Are you well today, Grandmother?”

“I am. Yet my body is tired—so tired.” Wincing, Madeline shifted in her seat. The blanket slipped, and Darcy adjusted it for her.

From a corner, she drew forward a chair covered in olive green fabric. “Did you not sleep well?”

“I dreamed much.” Madeline sighed. “I saw my husband.”

“Mr. Morgan?”

Madeline smiled, eyes shut. “No. My first love … William’s father. He told me he has waited for me a long time. Then I saw Mr. Morgan. He was young and looked happy. Perhaps he is content that Hayward has come home. How is my son?”

“He is doing the best we can hope for. Mrs. Burke is with him.”

“Ah, Mrs. Burke is the best of servants. I do not know what I would have done without her all these years.”

“I have appreciated her warm regard toward me,” Darcy said.

“Yes, she has told me how much she likes you. I suppose Hayward has managed to tell you as much about himself and Eliza as he is able.”