The Cottage in the Woods (46 page)

Such wise and simple words, so difficult to live by! However much I tried each day to summon the strength to set my feelings for Mr. Bentley aside and get on with my life, it remained a grievous trial to me. Instead, I found that I became quieter and more introspective, believing that my sadness was a part of me now, and would always be.

And yet life went on. Out on the grounds, and at the end of the long trail, the waterfall still cascaded down the cliffside, a reminder of that momentous night when Teddy and Goldilocks made their desperate stand—the night when a town grew up. Not all minds were changed, of course, but after that near tragedy, Mr. Babcock’s newspaper, the
Town Crier
, which had spread so much ill will, lost most of its subscribers. Mr. Babcock closed up shop and moved on to try to peddle his poison elsewhere. The Anthropological Society lived on, though many turned away from it after the incident at the waterfall. Its few remaining adherents remain as determined as ever. But now the village sees the danger, and watches them closely. History will not be allowed to repeat itself in Bremen Town.

In the wake of the events at the waterfall, I tried to set down on paper an account of my own experience and thoughts of that fateful night. The result was an article that I submitted to Mr. Weatherby, the editor of the
Plain Truth
, hoping nervously that he would print it. To my surprise, my wish was immediately gratified. Not only did he print it, but it was very well received,
with many responses in the letters to the editor. I was invited to write more articles to be considered for publication, so I wrote about local events, examined from the viewpoint of the Enchanted. I labored mightily over these essays in my leisure hours, always striving to be objective and honest. When these too met with success, I felt that my career as a writer had really begun. Though the pay was very little, the satisfaction was great, and I looked to the future with a bit more hope.

These were halcyon days for Goldilocks and Teddy. Goldilocks quickly made up for her long period of silence by becoming a veritable chatterbox, her lighthearted prattle interspersed with Teddy’s low chuckles. My pride in them threatened to make me vain, especially when Mr. Vaughn himself called me aside one day to tell me how much he respected and lauded the work I had done with the two children.

“
Sophos
, Miss Brown,
sophos
! ‘Well done,’ ” he declared, and how I wished Papa could have heard those words of praise!

Mrs. Vaughn was also generous in her approbation. I had expected that she would no longer seek out my companionship once her social life had returned to normal, but in this I had misjudged her. She was especially kind after my canceled wedding, frequently inviting me to join her for tea in the solarium. With motherly solicitude, she did her best to lighten my depression, even suggesting that when my employment as governess was no longer necessary, she should like me to be her paid companion. Perhaps she anticipated that, having failed to marry, I would now become an old maid. This, she assumed, was the cause of my despondency. In the dark hours of the night when I could not sleep, I felt that it was about time I accepted her notion and planned my life accordingly.

By way of solace, I had the Vaughns’ whole great library of
books at my disposal, an escape into so many other worlds that I could never explore them all. When I was lost on my literary travels, all else fell away and I became anyone from Queen Guinevere to the hunchback’s Esmeralda to the intrepid Gulliver. With the world of books, and my writing, and the whole great estate to traipse around in, I tried to do battle with my melancholy. Still, my last thoughts before sleep were often of the night Mr. Bentley and I spent on the ledge by the waterfall, high above the rest of the world, pointing out obscure constellations, and making up new endings to
Robinson Crusoe
to pass the fearful time. I sometimes imagined I could see Mr. Bentley coming toward me with a smiling face and open arms. This image appeared to me in odd moments of the day, and in my dreams. I occasionally asked Mrs. Vaughn, quite casually, whether there had been any news from Lord Bentley, but there never was.

I was plagued by my blackest doubts, trying to accept the near certainty that I would never see Mr. Bentley again. And so the summer passed. If our existence had become too calm, too predictable, after the excitement and upheaval of the previous spring, no one complained. Then one day a letter arrived at the house from Mr. Bentley. Mrs. Vaughn shared the news with me at tea, knowing, she said, that I would want to hear about what had become of our own Lord Bentley.

“He tells me he leads a quiet life now, since he broke his engagement. He says he has no taste for entertainments, but has taken a villa by the sea. How very dull that sounds. Do you suppose he suffers from melancholia?”

I barely heard her question, as my mind was reeling over the news that he had broken his engagement. “What?” I asked, wide-eyed, needing to hear it again.

She patiently repeated it, then looked at me strangely. “Are you quite all right, my dear? You look a little peaked.”

“When did he break his engagement?”

“Hmm. He doesn’t explain much about it. He says that he couldn’t go through with it after that night at the waterfall, and Miss Wallingsford released him. I wonder what he means, ‘after that night at the waterfall.’ What has that to do with it?”

“What else does he say?”

“Hmm. Let me see. He says that he spends a great deal of time reading, and takes a solitary walk on the beach every evening. He’s tiring of the villa and plans to move to a more distant destination soon. He bids me give his fond regards to everyone here.” At this, I put my head down and burst into tears. Mrs. Vaughn, puzzled but compassionate, put her paw on my shoulder.

“What is the matter, child?” she asked. “You have not seemed yourself for some time. You appear to be carrying a very heavy burden. Whatever it is, you have been like a daughter to me. Surely you can confide in me?”

At her words, I looked into her kind face. Though I had kept my silence for so long, I had come to know and trust her, and her invitation to talk freed up something within me. Before I knew it, I was pouring out my heart to her, and she gently put one arm around me and listened.

Mrs. Vaughn leaned her head to one side thoughtfully and said, “I never guessed. You and Lord Bentley?”

“I know it must seem absurd of me, a governess, to imagine a connection so far above my station,” I said, “but it was the plain Mr. Bentley I fell in love with, not the viscount.”

“And you believe he loves you too?”

“He told me as much once. He said that I would always have his heart, but now he is a viscount, and I am just a commoner. I believe his feelings may have changed.”

“Why is that?”

“He’s gone so far away, and now wants to go even farther, and makes no attempt to contact me. What else can I conclude?”

“I don’t know, child. Let me think,” she said, giving my shoulder a squeeze and getting up to walk the floor. Stroking her chin with her paw, Mrs. Vaughn paced back and forth for some minutes, then stopped suddenly and turned to me.

“Has it occurred to you, my dear, that he still believes you to be married?”

“But …? How could he think …? Didn’t you— Didn’t anybody …?”

“Mr. Vaughn and I spoke of it to no one. We thought you’d prefer it that way. And who else might he be in contact with here in Bremen Town, unless it would be Reverend Snover? He is a man of the church, and would surely not repeat the story to anyone.”

“Oh, this is agonizing!” I said, shaking my head. “How will I ever know whether he realizes that I’m free?”

She smiled warmly at me. “I’m sure you can find a way, my dear. Love does.”

“Do you think I could write to him? I’m afraid he’d think me terribly brazen! He’d think I was no lady.”

“Aren’t you willing to take a risk for your love? Pluck up your courage, dear girl!”

And so I did. I wrote a letter, that very night.

I posted the letter myself, and began the long, agonized wait. All through the days and often into the nights, I tried to calculate the time it would take the letter to reach him, and whether he would send any reply, and how long that might take to reach me. After two weeks of little sleep, I was ready to tear my fur out. Still, there was nothing for it except to go about my daily duties, but even Teddy and Goldilocks were unable to claim my attention, and I found myself spending much of my time staring out the window while they did as they pleased.

One day after school was at last over, I went straight to Mrs. Vaughn to see whether there had been any mail for me, and was disappointed yet again. Possessed of an excess of energy, I had formed the habit of tramping about the pathways of the estate every day after tea, drinking in the sweet fall air. On these excursions, I often returned to the waterfall. Despite all that had happened there, I found great tranquillity in the endless cascade
of white water, and the rippling lagoon. This was, after all, the place where I had first met Jonathan, and the place where we had faced that long, dark night together. It seemed easier here to call up his memory, and I did so often. It was as I stood by the waterfall that day, listening to its melodic thunder, that I sensed someone approaching, and turned. There, only a few yards away from me, was my dear Mr. Bentley, not imaginary, but as real and solid as the earth I stood on.

“Mrs. Vaughn told me you would be here,” he said.

“Yes,” I replied simply, words failing me. How can I express my feelings upon seeing him? I smiled with tears in my eyes, clasped my paws before me, and trembled, all at the same time, while the tender hopes I had tried so hard to throttle tingled with the agonizingly sweet sensation of life returning to a sleeping limb.

“And what is the new ending of
Robinson Crusoe
?” he asked, walking toward me. “I have come all this way to find out.”

“Well,” I said, gathering my courage, “he is very lonely on his island, but he is found, and makes the long trip home, and there he finds a woman who loves him waiting for him with open arms.” I matched my gesture to the words.

“Wait, don’t tell me! I know this part,” he said, coming to me and enfolding me in a passionate embrace. “He marries her and they live happily ever after!”

“Exactly so,” I answered, and that was the last we spoke for some time, lost in a flood of feelings too deep to be expressed with words.

When finally we separated, Mr. Bentley went down on one knee and said, “Miss Brown, Ursula dear, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

“Oh yes, dear Jonathan, with all my heart.”

Today, as I said, is a perfect autumn day. The sweet fragrance of fallen leaves permeates the light breeze. The mums are in full bloom, and in the garden in front of my open window I can see my Jonathan waving and waiting for me. In such small, ordinary moments lies my greatest happiness, and it is more than enough.

I only wish Papa were here to see us together. I think of Papa often, and how he would have loved Jonathan. “Love is not for the fainthearted,” he told me. Later, not long before he died, he asked me to come close, and whispered, “When you know it’s the right one, remember, my dear, that you have my blessing.”

Thank you, Papa.

I remember.

With a full heart, I would like to thank my faithful adviser, my computer tutor and technician, my grammar and punctuation consultant, my counselor through dark days of writer’s block, my first reader and indispensable critic, my personal cheering section, and my one-man encyclopedia, Bruce Coville.
Aeternae gratitudinis
.