When the day comes, p.27
When the Day Comes, page 27
My heart leapt at the sight of him—and then it crashed, like the sea upon the cliffs at Cumberland Hall, shattering in the next second.
He stood on the stoop, wearing a fine suit of clothes and holding his tricorne under his arm. His dark hair was clubbed at the back, and his blue eyes were bright at the sight of me. Sun had kissed his cheeks, giving him a boyish charm.
“Libby,” he said. “My eyes will never tire of seeing you.”
I wanted to throw myself into his arms, but I was reminded of the task ahead of me. I had to say good-bye to him, and it would be so much harder if I allowed myself the warmth and affection of his touch. It took every shred of willpower I possessed to stay where I was standing. But I allowed myself the pleasure of smiling at him.
“Good day, Henry. Won’t you come in?”
He hesitated before stepping into the hallway. As he passed me, he paused. His eyes searched mine, and I swallowed, then took a step back to put space between us.
His smile fell as I closed the door.
“Mama is entertaining Mister Goodman, and we’ve just sat down to supper,” I said. “Would you like to join us?”
I could see his uncertainty in the way he held his shoulders and in the way he watched me. “Could we speak alone for a moment?” he asked, his voice low.
“Aye.” No doubt they could hear us within the sitting room and probably knew who had come. “Shall we go out back?”
He nodded and then followed me down the hall to the back door.
The sun was low in the sky, but it was still warm, and I did not need a shawl. Beneath my feet, the shells cracked, and ahead, the bench beckoned us with memories from Christmastide.
He took my hand, guiding me to sit next to him. “What troubles you, Libby?”
I sat, my back stiff. The last thing I wanted was to make him feel angry or frustrated with me. He didn’t deserve anything but my complete heart for as long as I could offer it to him. Yet was that wise? Would it only hurt more?
“I have a lot on my mind,” I told him. “But you didn’t come here to hear about my worries.”
He took my other hand in his and rubbed his thumbs across my skin. Just like Christmas, it sent a warm sensation up my arms and into my chest. I longed to lean into him and let everything else fade away. With him this close, the constant ache from the previous months felt heavier somehow.
“I have a lot on my mind, as well.” He let out a sigh. “I’m sorry I haven’t been back since January. I’ve wanted to be with you and hold you again.”
He tried to draw me into his arms, but I pulled away and stood, my heart pounding against my chest.
“I received your letters.” I wrapped my arms around my waist. “You’ve been in Boston?”
He watched me for a moment, a frown marring his handsome face. “Aye. I’ve only just returned. I’m expected at Edgewater Hall, but I could not go home until I saw you.” He stood and came to me. “What’s wrong, Libby? I cannot bear to see you unhappy. Is it me? Have I hurt or offended you in some way?”
I turned away, uncertain of myself and my emotions. I was making a mess of this whole thing. I was supposed to be kind yet distant. I was supposed to let him go gently and not draw more questions. I’d planned it for months. Yet, standing here with him, I realized I could never willingly let Henry Montgomery go—not until I absolutely had to.
When I looked back at him, the pain in his eyes was so intense that I could not restrain myself any longer. With a soft cry, I went into his arms. Anyone might see us, but I didn’t care. The whole world could know I loved Henry, and I wouldn’t mind.
He was warm and solid and familiar.
“I’ve missed you,” I said. “’Tis been too long, and I’ve been worried about you.”
He held me tight, kissing the top of my head. “I’m sorry. This is why I knew it was best not to tell you how I felt. I knew it would be too hard for us to bear.”
This would be hard even if I didn’t know he loved me.
“What were you doing in Boston?” I pulled back to look at him.
“Work for the cause.” He took my hands in his and sighed. “After you told me what Lieutenant Addison said, I spoke to some of the Liberty men, and they agreed I needed to cease my work in this colony. You were right. My spying had been compromised. So I was sent to Boston to aid them there. I met with several of the Sons of Liberty and shared the information I had gained, and they shared what information they had with me. I was then sent back here, communicating with several different men along the way and with an extended stay in Philadelphia. I plan to make the trip again at the end of May.”
“The end of May?” I pressed my lips together as grief stole over me. “And how long will you be gone?”
He shrugged. “It might be another three months—unless I’m needed longer.”
That meant that I didn’t have two months left to say good-bye to Henry. I only had about a month—and much of that time he might be at Edgewater Hall. Beyond that, the colonies would be fully engaged in war with Britain, and Henry would be needed.
I let go of his hands and paced away, but he did not follow me. Mama’s flower beds were just coming to life, and I walked around the one containing her tulips, which were yet to bloom. I could not stop Henry from being involved in the war. The cause was as much a part of him as I was. It was just as near and dear to his heart. To ask him to stop would be akin to asking him to quit breathing. Yet I knew the horrors to come.
I turned to face him again. “Please,” I begged, “be careful, Henry.”
There was something deep and heavy in his countenance, a weariness that I recognized and leaned into. “I will try. But, Libby—” He paused as his hand came up to caress my face. “If something should happen to me—”
“Do not speak of such things.”
“I must.” He lowered his hand. “If we are parted, please promise me you’ll find happiness and joy in my absence.”
If we were parted. We would be, though it was my death he would mourn, not the other way around. But could I promise that I would find happiness and joy in the life I was left to live? I swallowed, choking back the pain. “I promise,” I whispered. I would try for his sake, if not for my own.
We stood there for a long moment before he nodded. “I do not want to rush, but I’ve heard rumors that Governor Dunmore has plans to move the ammunition from the magazine in Williamsburg tonight, under the cover of darkness. I need to do more investigating and then spread the word.”
I frowned. “Why would he do such a thing?”
“War is imminent. He doesn’t want the ammunition to land in the hands of the local militia, so he plans to move it to a Royal Navy ship called the Magdalen. It’s docked in the James River, not far from Edgewater Hall.”
“But how will he move it? None of the soldiers have returned from Massachusetts.”
“I should not be telling you these things, Libby. I do not want you to get hurt or to be questioned, should something happen to me.” He touched my cheek again. “I promise I will come again before I leave for Massachusetts.” He lifted his other hand to my face and lowered his lips to mine in a sweet and tender kiss.
I grasped his hands, holding onto him as if he were an anchor in a storm-tossed sea. He was the only thing that made sense to me, the only person outside my family who truly mattered anymore.
When he finally pulled back, I felt adrift.
“I must go. But I love you, Libby, with all my heart.”
“I love you, too, Henry.”
He placed his tricorne on his head and took the path to our back gate, no doubt starting his alarm at Peyton Randolph’s house. I watched him walk down the path, his steps long and confident, his movements sure, and his destination certain. I wished with all my heart that I could walk into my future with such conviction and passion, even knowing the dangers and the uncertainties.
Before he went through our gate, he turned back and waved.
I returned the wave, watching as my heart left me once again.
24
WHITBY, NORTH YORKSHIRE, ENGLAND
MAY 28, 1915
Five long weeks had passed since I stood with Henry in Mama’s garden. After the Gunpowder Incident in Williamsburg, he had made himself scarce, and I was certain he didn’t want his name connected to the alarm that had been raised the night of the event. After Governor Dunmore’s soldiers had removed all the ammunition from the magazine and transported it to his ship, the local militia had been mustered, and Patrick Henry had marched into Williamsburg to retaliate. The threat to the governor and his family had been so great, the governor had taken his family to their country home on the James River but had recently returned to the palace in a show of reconciliation.
Tensions had continued to escalate as men left the colony for the Second Continental Congress, putting everyone on edge. The governor said that he had fought for Virginia, but he was also ready to fight against her. He wasn’t afraid to turn Williamsburg to ashes.
I sat in the little study I used at Cumberland Hall and looked out the window, thinking about the events transpiring in Williamsburg. The closer I came to leaving, the more I worried about Mama and the girls and all that faced them during the revolution. I felt so helpless, but what could I do? Knowing Mister Goodman would be there to protect them alleviated some of my concern.
The study was on the first floor with a view of the moors. Everything was lush and green, with craggy rocks protruding from the carpet of cotton grass and heather. Sheep grazed lazily on the hills behind the manor. Overhead, the bright blue sky had nary a cloud in sight. It was the most beautiful time I’d yet experienced in North Yorkshire.
I stood to stretch my back, knowing that Reggie’s latest letter begged for a response. He was still in the Champagne region of France working as an aide to Lieutenant-General Sir Douglas Haig. He could not tell me much about where he was or what occupied his time, so he shared instead memories of his childhood at Cumberland Hall and his hopes for the future. After that initial letter in January, he had not spoken again of his feelings for me or of his actions in the library. He had returned to less vulnerable topics, for which I was grateful. I did not want to address those issues, not when my heart was so tender and raw. We would have years to deal with such things once he returned home after the war.
“Lady Cumberland.” Wentworth appeared at the open door. “Would you like your tea in here today?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He nodded and then gestured for a maid to enter the room with a cart laden with tea and biscuits. My daily newspapers were also there. Early in my time at Cumberland Hall, I had asked Mr. Wentworth to subscribe to several newspapers, both in London and in Whitby. He’d been surprised but had not questioned me. My work on the Virginia Gazette had taught me to seek information from more than one news source, and I continued that here in 1915.
After Wentworth and the maid had left, I reached for the pile of newspapers. Today I was especially interested in the London Evening News. They had been willing to publish an article I wrote about my experiences during the raid. Though it had been several months since it happened, the public was still hungry for news about the civilian losses, the military presence, and the work done at Cumberland Hall. My words were being used to help recruit more soldiers, men who took offense at civilian casualties.
A movement within my womb brought my hand down to my growing midsection, and I felt the baby roll beneath my fingers. It brought a smile to my face as a wave of affection filled me with warmth. Pregnancy was like nothing I’d ever experienced. I finally understood the glow that some women exhibited, as I’d never felt so feminine nor had such purpose in my life. To know that this child was dependent on me and solely me for nourishment, love, and protection was both an honor and a privilege. I loved knowing I was responsible for protecting her precious life.
As I nibbled on a tea biscuit, thankful my sickness had finally passed, I noticed a section of the paper that made me pause. It was a list of men killed in action during the Battle of Gorlice-Tarnow, which had happened earlier that month. As I read the list, not recognizing any of the names, I thought about all of the family and friends mourning their losses. It caused my thoughts to turn back to the troubles plaguing the American colonies in 1775.
A siege had been laid in Boston after the Battles of Lexington and Concord. Militiamen were not allowing British soldiers to leave the city by land or by sea. Henry had sent a note saying he planned to see me tomorrow, because he was needed in Boston and would be leaving soon. Since the Second Continental Congress was meeting in Philadelphia, I was certain he would stop there to pass along any information he had gathered.
Dread filled me at the thought of him returning to the middle of the fight. But even worse was the knowledge that tomorrow I would say good-bye to him for the last time.
I’d been trying to push our farewell from my mind, busying myself with my work on Cumberland Hall, but it refused to be silenced. What little appetite I had for tea fled, and I set my biscuit on the tray.
I would never see Henry again after tomorrow. I would never be held in his arms, never know the sweet kiss of his lips, and never hear the cadence of his voice.
The baby moved again, causing my stomach to lift at the force of her somersault.
Suddenly, I could not be still any longer. I needed to find something to occupy my mind.
Leaving the study, I walked down the corridor to the great hall, where stone masons were repairing the cracks in the wall high above. Sunshine poured in through the tall windows, illuminating their work.
I observed them for a moment, but my loneliness overwhelmed me. My pregnancy caused me to stay home more and more. No longer could I serve at the soup kitchen or visit the people who had become friends during their recovery at Cumberland Hall. Dr. Aiken visited regularly and suggested I keep to light, easy activities. He had some concerns about my pregnancy, though he said I didn’t need complete rest. The last thing I wanted was to hurt my baby, so I had heeded his advice and stayed close to Cumberland Hall this past month.
But it had caused a deep, gnawing isolation, especially with the impending loss in 1775. Once I left Mama, I would have no one to talk to about my time-crossing. That in itself made me feel like a castaway on a deserted island.
Not for the first time, I thought of Congressman Hollingsworth, and a bit of the loneliness lifted. There was one other person on this planet who understood, and even though I could not contact him now, perhaps I could after my twenty-first birthday. There would be no history to change then.
The door to the library was open, and I caught a glimpse of the maids cleaning inside. I had not entered that room since Reggie had visited and had no desire to do so now. Yet the Virginia book called to me. More than ever, I wanted to look through the pages to see the familiar names and places I would soon be leaving forever.
I stopped outside the door, wondering if the memories of Reggie’s visit would overshadow the comfort I might take in seeing the book again. Perhaps I could slip in, grab the book, and then go to the conservatory. I didn’t need to actually read the book; just having it with me felt like enough.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the library. The two-story room immediately brought back the memories of that night five months ago when Reggie had forced me to stay with him. An uneasy, panicked feeling settled in my chest. I laid my hand on my stomach and felt the baby press against my palm, reminding me that there was beauty among the ashes. I quickly located the Virginia book and then rushed out of the library.
Pressing the book to my chest, I felt as if I had found a friend once again. I ran my hands over the leather cover as I entered the conservatory. It was bright and welcoming, a refuge among the rubble of my sorrow.
I sat in my favorite chair, with a view of the moors and the sea. The conservatory was warm and humid, but I didn’t mind. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t alone. Part of me wanted to open the book to find the names of people I knew. Yet part of me was frightened. Would I have the willpower to stop myself from looking up Henry’s name? But what if the news was good? Might the book tell me where he would live, if he married, and how many children he’d have?
Did I want to know?
Somehow, the thought of him moving on with his life after I died felt like too much. Maybe one day I would have the strength and desire to learn the truth, but was that today?
“I wish you could know him,” I said to the unborn child in my womb. “But I’m afraid all he’ll be to you one day is a name from a distant time and place that bears no significance. Just like the name Travis from Mama’s path is to me.”
The book was large and heavy, so I set it on the table beside me—but I missed the edge, and it fell to the stone floor, landing facedown with the pages splayed open. I bent to pick it up and turned it over, afraid I’d hurt the spine or damaged some of the old paper. A smudge of dirt marred one of the pages, and I wiped it away, but then my eyes fell on the words.
The book had opened to the r’s, and Peyton Randolph’s name jumped out at me. He’d served as the speaker of the House of Burgesses in Williamsburg and the President of the Virginia Convention and the First Continental Congress. But I paused when I read the date and circumstances surrounding his death. He would die of apoplexy on October 22, 1775, while dining with Thomas Jefferson during the Second Continental Congress in Philadelphia.
My heart lagged as I thought of his wife and children, who would soon be bereft. He’d already left for Philadelphia, which meant they’d probably never see him again.
I was so far away from the m’s that I decided to look at the other names near the r’s. Some of the biographies surprised me, others made me sad, and still others made me smile. I was honored to know some of these men and proud to be a Virginian.
I spent the afternoon reading the book, purposely avoiding the m’s, and that was where Mr. Wentworth found me when it was time for supper.
“Would you like your meal brought to you here?” he asked.
