When the day comes, p.23
When the Day Comes, page 23
He walked across the floor to where I was standing near the front window. Outside, the snow continued to fall and was piling up around the house. Wassailers were on the street again, and some had stopped by to sing and greet those within our home.
“Libby.” He took my hand. “I’m sorry to be so late. I tried to get away, but Father and Mother are alone, and it was hard to leave them.” He didn’t let go of my hand.
“Thank you for coming.”
“’Tis a lively party.” He finally released my hand and turned to survey the room. “Nothing like the quiet celebration I just left.” There was something melancholy in the way he spoke about his parents and home.
Abraham started to play a reel, and the others gathered in the center of the room to dance.
“Will you dance with me, Libby?” Henry asked, his mood lightening. “I promise not to insult you this time.”
I grinned and nodded.
We danced several reels and country dances. I was breathless and happier than I had been in a long time. Henry was a magnificent dancer and joined in the fun with everyone, regardless of rank or position. He was, by far, the most elevated member of society in the house, but he put everyone at ease with his laughter, teasing, and good nature.
The room grew warm and close as the night progressed. I was ready to step outside for a bit of fresh air when Henry caught my eye. He nodded toward the hallway as if he had read my mind.
We slipped out while everyone gathered for another dance. I took my cloak and bonnet off the front hook, and Henry found his overcoat and hat. Without a word, we stepped out the back door and into the snow-covered yard.
The silence was startling as the still, quiet world opened before us. The stars and moon were hidden behind heavy clouds laden with snow. It fell from the sky in soft, large flakes. Clouds of fog billowed from our mouths, but I was very warm, both from dancing and being with Henry.
Neither of us spoke as we walked along the path that led to the large elm tree in the center of the backyard. The snow crunched beneath our feet.
Henry stopped and wiped snow off the bench. When he was done, I took a seat, and he sat beside me. Anticipation filled me as I looked at him. It didn’t take long for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and the white snow all around seemed to reflect whatever light touched it.
He took my hands in his. Neither of us was wearing gloves, and our skin pressed together. His hands were warm and firm and much larger than I had realized. I felt tiny and fragile, yet safe and protected. My heart beat an erratic rhythm as he ran his thumbs over the backs of my hands. We had been alone together before, but this time it felt different.
“I’ve missed you,” he said, his voice low and soft, somehow matching the cadence of the falling snow. “I could think of little else while I was away.”
“Five months is too long.”
He lifted one hand and brushed his thumb over the ridge of my cheekbone to remove a snowflake. “Five hours is too long, Libby.”
My heart soared at his words and his touch. “Henry,” I said on a soft breath, leaning into his hand, marveling at how he made me feel. I placed my hand over his. I wanted his touch and his love, had yearned for it since I was fourteen.
“Libby,” he said my name again, almost reverently, “there is so much I wish to tell you, so many things I long to say.”
“Then say them.” I wanted him—all of him—his secrets included.
He lifted his free hand to my other cheek and looked into my eyes. There was so much restrained emotion there, as if he were warring within himself. “Do you remember the first day you came calling with your mama to our house on the Palace Green?”
I nodded. I was young, but I remembered it like it was yesterday.
“We were just children,” he continued, “but I knew then, and every day since, that you are the only woman I’ll ever love.”
I held my breath, almost unable to believe what he was saying. Tears gathered in my eyes. “I’ve loved you too.” I spoke the words, though they didn’t seem like nearly enough to convey how dear he was to me.
A smile tilted his lips. “Truly?”
“Is it not obvious? You are my heart, Henry.”
He kissed me then, lowering his lips to mine in the gentlest caress I could have imagined. Love and hope mingled together, filling me with a thousand wishes and a million dreams as snowflakes danced upon our cheeks.
Henry pulled me close, deepening the kiss. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him, wishing for it never to end. The more he kissed me, the more I wanted. I’d never known anything like it.
When he broke away, he still held me close, and I rested my cheek against his chest. All I could do was marvel at his touch. Everything else seemed to slip away. He was warmth and strength and everything good.
He whispered, “Do you know why I left Williamsburg in August?”
I shook my head.
“Because I could no longer hide my love for you. Every time I was with you, it became harder and harder. When we walked along the garden path, when we were alone in the sitting room, and even when we stood in the rain. You mean more to me than life itself, and if I had stayed, I would have done something foolish, like declare my love for you and steal a kiss. Like this.”
He kissed me again as I clung to the folds of his cloak.
“You do not have to steal something I would give to you freely,” I whispered when we parted.
He held me for a long time before he said, “I could not stay away, Libby. I tried—truly. I was going to stay at Edgewater Hall through Christmastide, but I couldn’t keep myself from you. It was agony.”
I pulled away from him. “Why would you even try?”
He swallowed and looked down at our hands. He took mine in his, and I clung to him. “I’m not free to marry you.” His words were painful to hear, and I knew they were even more painful to say.
“Because I’m not good enough?” I whispered.
“Nay.” He touched my face, his voice filled with disbelief. “’Tis I who am not worthy. I do not deserve your love, nor your faith in me. You asked me last summer if I’m spying, and the answer is aye, for the Sons of Liberty. I am part of a network up and down the coast, collecting information and passing it along between the colonies as I work for my father. I know things—things I wish I didn’t know.”
His voice was hoarse with emotion, and I placed my hand on his cheek to let him know I understood. I truly did.
He finally met my gaze again. “You don’t know how many times I have prayed to God, asking Him to spare me from this mission, yet I know I was born for such a time as this. I long for freedom, to live a life of my own choosing. But I cannot deny my destiny.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t marry me,” I said, trying to convince him as I was trying to convince myself. “I would not hinder your—”
“Nay.” He shook his head. “You would never be a hindrance. But there is a war coming. This thing has taken on a life of its own. I will be asked to risk everything I hold dear, a sacrifice I am willing to make, but I cannot ask you to sacrifice along with me.” He turned his head and kissed the inside of my palm, pressing his lips there for several moments before he said, “I love you too much to risk making you a widow.”
“I would rather know one day as your wife than none at all.” I longed to tell him that the fighting would not begin until spring and we would have several months together before he was called to go. “And even if we go to war, we would pray God’s protection upon you. We would hope and trust that He would bring you back to me.”
Even as I said the words, I wondered if they were true. Would Henry survive the war? More now than ever, I wanted to look inside the book in the library at Cumberland Hall. Yet what would I gain in knowing his fate? Would it change my love for him or my desire to be his wife?
“Oh, Libby,” he said, groaning as he pulled me close again. “How I long to make you my wife.” He kissed me again, this time with more passion than before.
I met his kiss with my own aching desire, drawing him close, taking from him whatever he was able to give me.
We were breathless when we pulled apart.
He ran his thumb over my cheek again, a sad smile on his lips. “This is why I left, because I knew it would break our hearts to speak so plainly. But I could not deny it any longer, and when I saw you dancing with that officer last night”—his jaw tightened—“I have never been so jealous.”
I smiled. “I didn’t like seeing you with Lady Catherine either.”
“She is nothing to me, Libby.” He frowned. “But my convictions are strong, and I do not think it wise to marry before we know what will happen. ’Twas pure selfishness of me to declare myself when I couldn’t offer you everything.”
I closed my eyes as I bit the inside of my mouth. I did know what would happen. Would he truly make me wait a decade? “And what if there is a war?” I asked, unable to hide the frustration in my voice. “What if it takes years and years to win? Will you make me wait for you?”
He didn’t respond right away, though he removed his hand from my face. There was something he wasn’t telling me. I could see it in his eyes. “I will not make you wait for long,” he finally said. “But, please, let us wait for a bit longer, until I can be certain.”
“Certain of what?”
“That ’tis wise to marry.”
I looked deep into his eyes. “I will wait as long as it takes.”
His smile returned as he kissed me again. And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Knowing that Henry loved me was enough. For now.
20
WHITBY, NORTH YORKSHIRE, ENGLAND
JANUARY 23, 1915
It had been five weeks since the raid on Whitby, Hartlepool, and Scarborough. Remember Scarborough was now a common phrase in England. Posters featuring the motto had been hung all over the country to recruit soldiers. The raid marked the first time a British soldier had died on English soil in over two hundred years—and the first civilian casualties of the Great War, as it was called. It had impacted us deeply but was not limited to our region. All of England suffered with us.
Reggie had left Cumberland Hall on New Year’s Day, and I was not sad to see him go. I had spent Christmas week in bed, nursing an illness that was more emotional than physical. He’d only spoken to me twice before he left and had not written to me since returning to London. I suspected he regretted his actions that night in the library, and that alcohol had played a part again—but it did not excuse his behavior, nor ease my trauma.
The last of our patients had left Cumberland Hall the week before. Slowly, we had restored order to the manor, though I missed the commotion.
A bright blue sky domed over us as Edith and I rode in the automobile to Whitby. Williams drove along the coast until we came to the small town on the seashore. It was cold, but there was beauty in the starkness of the moors and the cliffs. And when I saw the jaunty red roofs climbing the hillside, it made me smile.
“We will first assist in the soup kitchen,” I told Edith, “and then I have some shopping to do.”
“As you wish, milady. Williams will take us wherever we need to go.”
Williams glanced over his shoulder to smile at Edith, and her cheeks turned bright pink. I had noticed a growing attraction between the two of them but hadn’t said anything. Some felt that servants should remain single to stay employed—after all, it was more convenient for all involved. But I would never hinder Edith or the desires of her heart. Nor would I send her away. She was a dear friend, even if we had to maintain our social differences.
Instead, I simply turned away from them and looked toward the sea, allowing myself to think about Henry. I indulged in the memory of Christmas night and the stolen kisses in the garden. He’d left soon after he’d told me he loved me and then returned the next day to tell me he was taking another trip to New York under the guise of his father’s shipping interests. He’d learned things while in Williamsburg that he had to pass on to the other spies on his route. I wanted to ask him not to go, but I didn’t have that right. He must do what he felt best, so I had wished him Godspeed and told him I’d be praying.
It had been four weeks since I’d seen him last, and though I missed him terribly, the memory of his kisses and his love kept me warm when I missed him most.
Williams pulled the automobile to a stop at the base of the hill where the Church of St. Mary stood proud on the east cliff, overlooking the River Esk and the town of Whitby. A daily soup kitchen had been set up in the church since the raid.
“You don’t mind the steps, milady?” Williams asked as he put the automobile in park and then came around to open the door for me.
“I am glad for some exercise,” I told him. “Please return at three for us.”
“As you wish.” He tipped his black driving hat.
Edith and I gripped the picnic baskets we’d brought full of cakes and pastries from Cumberland Hall and started the ascent up the stone church steps. There were one hundred and ninety-nine of them, and they wound around buildings all the way up the hillside.
Halfway, a sudden bout of dizziness took me unaware. I became winded and had to stop for a rest.
“Are you unwell?” Edith asked as she put her hand on my back while I caught my breath.
“I’m fine.” I tried to smile. “I should take more walks in the fresh air, and perhaps I won’t tire so easily.”
“You’re pale.” Concern tightened her voice. “Perhaps we should turn back.”
“I confess, I feel a little queasy.” I looked out over the red-roofed town and toward the sea beyond and had to close my eyes because of the dizziness. Nausea soon followed, and I gripped the handrail. “Perhaps it’s the height. I’ve never done well with heights.”
“But we were just here two days ago, and it didn’t bother you.” She wrung the picnic basket handles as she looked up the remaining steps and then back down.
“I will be fine in a moment.” I pressed my hand against my head until the dizziness passed. “See, I’m feeling better already.”
Edith didn’t look convinced.
I straightened and stared up the daunting stairway. People were coming and going, no doubt to the soup kitchen. To one side of the stairway was a steep, stone-covered road, where a lady with a white handkerchief leaned against a building to watch the people going up and down the stairs. She had her eye on me but made no move to help.
The smell of the sea floated past me as I gripped the cold handrail, making the nausea feel worse. I would not be sick on these steps.
I pushed myself until we reached the top and was rewarded with a magnificent view of the North Sea and the old ruins of Whitby Abbey behind the Church of St. Mary. For as far as I could see, the sea and the cliffs and the rolling moors filled my senses. I regained a sense of normalcy and felt the nausea pass.
Several people from Whitby that I had come to know in the past few weeks were present. Kind, thoughtful people who had endured unspeakable hardships since the raid. But as I entered the church, with its white-painted wood and dark-stained pews, I recognized another familiar face.
“Dr. Aiken! How nice to see you again.”
“And you, Lady Cumberland.” He motioned toward the basket I was carrying. “I see you are not taking a rest, even though your home is now empty.”
“I will not rest until everyone is healthy and properly housed.”
Edith offered to take my basket, and I handed it to her so she could take it to the tables where they were serving the meal. Several dozen people waited in line for their lunch.
“What brings you here?” I asked the doctor.
“I came to check on some of the patients I cared for at your home. I was invited to stop by the soup kitchen to enjoy the meal.”
I smiled. “Are you not tired and in need of a rest?”
“A doctor? During a war?” He smiled, and his eyes wrinkled at the edges. “Not likely.”
Another wave of dizziness passed over me, and I had to latch on to the pew at my side. The nausea followed, and I pressed my lips together as sweat broke out on my brow.
“Are you unwell, Lady Cumberland?” Dr. Aiken set down his plate while his gaze narrowed on me.
“I—” I paused, unsure. My hand went to my stomach, where the nausea was threatening to upend me. “Will you excuse me?” I looked desperately for an escape from the church and rushed toward the door we had entered. People watched me with concern and curiosity as I passed, but no one said a word.
I almost didn’t make it to the churchyard before I lost the contents of my stomach. A gravestone nearby seemed to taunt me as I retched in the tall grass. My eyes watered, and I had to force myself to take a deep, shuddering breath.
“Lady Cumberland?” Dr. Aiken had followed me and extended a handkerchief for my use.
With shaking hands, I took it from him and pressed it against my mouth, mortified at what had happened—afraid it might happen again.
Edith had also followed us, her eyes wide with alarm.
“Please get Lady Cumberland a glass of water,” Dr. Aiken said to her.
She nodded and disappeared inside the church.
“Why don’t you sit down?” Dr. Aiken put his hand under my elbow and led me to a stone bench overlooking the cliff and the town below. The cold air felt good against my warm cheeks.
I took the seat, thankful to ease the strain on my weak legs. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“There’s no need to apologize. How long have you been feeling this way?”
I shook my head. “Not long—just today, really. It came on so suddenly.”
Edith returned, out of breath from rushing. She handed me a glass of water, which I took thankfully.
“Perhaps you should return to Cumberland Hall,” Dr. Aiken said.
“I think you’re right.” If I was getting sick, the last place I wanted to be was in the soup kitchen.
