Dare To Love (29 page)

Finally reaching the churchyard, Gwendolyn
ambled over to the cemetery. Her grandparents, Great-Aunt and Uncle
were buried there, along with a monument constructed for the family
members who perished at sea. And, over to the left of that
headstone, a special gravestone for Gwendolyn to visit when she
felt lonely as she did so now.

Gwendolyn was amazed to see a dozen
long-stemmed red roses next to her mother’s nameplate. Baron
Huxton, she realized and the thought of him loving her mother to
this day brought a smile to her face. “At least someone does not
mind traveling.”

Brushing away some fallen leaves from a
nearby oak, Gwendolyn stared down at the tombstone.

IN MEMORIAL

THOMAS ALBERT HOLLINGER, III

1782 – 1798

Gwendolyn felt a rush of sentiment enter her
throat; tears spurted through her eyes instantly, not really
departed, but still the same heartache. “…Where are you? What has
happened to you? You were once the most benevolent, unselfish boy I
knew. This man…this man that you have become, is so unlike you, I
do not understand. Help me to understand…”

Gwendolyn buried her head in her hands and
began to cry. Her unborn child kicked the side of her womb, which
made her chuckle through tears, “Even your descendant wants to hear
your excuse.”

Gwendolyn stood back up from her knees and
cleared her nose into her apron. “No more crying, Gwendolyn…no more
sadness…you have children to raise. He will come around one day…you
know so in your heart. One year, two, five years, ten, it was all
the same. You will see Thomas Hollinger again. They’ll have an
argument one day, and he will act mutinous…he will head to
Yorkshire.” Wiping the dust away from her hands, she brushed back
her hair. “There is still faith in his appearance…for now he is
mortal and occupying the living.”

When Gwendolyn got back into town, the
community was already a buzz. Every three years fairs were held in
the village: one of which was a hiring fair where men came from
Westmorland to be hired for labor in the limestone mines. However,
the weather had been horrible lately; torrential rains, high winds
and muddied roads had blocked all inward bound transportation, the
town’s people were so unnerved, every season when the leaves turned
orange the village would also celebrate the commencement of fall. A
town banquet had been preplanned for months and was now
underway.

Gwendolyn, Charles, Phyllis, Mary and a few
other villagers were laughing and discussing the beautiful weather
when along came an elegant wagon heading up the road. Everyone
stopped to gape, as its two massive labor horses pulled along its
glorious entrance. When it stopped right in front of Gwendolyn and
the others, Gwendolyn’s heart began to pound.

“Mummie, who is it?” Mary asked, holding her
mother’s hand.

“I don’t know,” Gwendolyn gulped. It was not
a human carriage, she realized, it was a wagon full of cargo.

“I am looking for Lady Hollinger,” the
coachman stated for all to hear. He got down from his high perch
and gazed around at all the onlookers. “Anyone here know where I
can find Lady Hollinger?”

Hollinger? Why would anyone address her
formally? Hoping that no one caught the slip, Gwendolyn raised her
hand finally, “I will receive it,” she voiced, pulling away from
the others.

“Lady Hollinger?”

Gwendolyn agreed by nodding her head.

“Please sign here malady,” the coachman
asked, handing her a receipt. When she handed it back to him, he
surveyed her obvious condition. “Is there anyone here that can help
me bring down a crate?”

Gwendolyn gazed around her for Charles and
waived him down. Charles came rushing over and strides towards the
coachman. The two men marched to the side of the wagon and the
coachman opened up the interior. Inside, was a wooden crate about
four feet wide in dimension. Charles grabbed hold of one end, while
the strong coachman gathered together the other. Both men walked
the crate to Gwendolyn’s side and plopped it down with a great big
thud.

The coachman then grabbed his ax and broke
open the chain that surrounded the box; he pulled the chain down
and then with the ax again pulled apart the nails that held it
together. With authority, he puffed up and shouted, “Who is
Mary?”

Mary’s eyes lit up with glee, “I’m Mary!”

The coachman greeted her with a wink, “You
have the honors, malady,” he uttered, handing her a sizeable iron
key.

Mary ran over to the crate and several of the
other children followed her. Inside the crate was a brown weathered
trunk, with metal handles and golden knobs bordering its majestic
scarlet painted entry.

“Oh, a treasure chest!” Mary exclaimed for
all to hear.

Gwendolyn covered her mouth and barely
contained her happiness for her daughter. She watched with round
eyes as several other villagers gathered round Mary, all-clamoring
to see what could be inside the beautiful carved chest.

Mary took the key and unlocked it. Opening it
slowly, she gasped from its contents. Inside the luxurious purple
velour lined trunk were one of kind riches from all over the world.
A beautiful porcelain doll with green eyes and black hair cascading
down the sides of her shape from Italy…Several outfits to change
the doll in…along with a buggy to push her outdoors… A telescope to
see the stars up close with from China…and magnifying glasses to
view the bugs underneath from Egypt… Numerous original dresses, all
of which were made of fine expensive silks imported from the
Orient, Africa and Brazil…Slippers and hair ribbons to match…ivory
brushes and combs. A separate hatbox was hidden in a corner with
two envelopes attached under the tie; one addressed to Mary, the
other, to Gwendolyn.

Mary pushed aside the letter to her mother
and ripped open the envelope addressed to her and began to read it
out loud.

My Dearest Mary,

To a precocious, fun-loving and curious
little girl. Even though we haven’t met yet, I feel we are formerly
acquainted. Having missed so many birthdays, I hope these gifts
greet you with happiness and joy, as I felt tranquility sending
them to you. Take care of the larger present, he needs special
attention only you can provide.

Always in my heart, Father

“Father? But I don’t have a father—Mummie?”
Mary shouted off the top of her lungs for everyone to hear.

Gwendolyn rushed to her daughters’ side and
tried to change the subject. A crimson thrash surged up her neck
and she hoped to God no one noticed. “Let’s see what is in the
brown box, shall we? Open it darling, you know how mother hates
mysteries!”

Mary untied the string and ripped open the
carton. Inside was more paper followed by the finest silk she had
ever seen. Mary’s green eyes flew open wide at the sight of
burgundy velvet, boots, hat, and rider’s crop. “Oh Mummie,” she
gushed, “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful before?”

Gwendolyn leaned down in amazement. “No
darling, I haven’t,” she simply said, reaching down to feel the
silky textile.

“It is sort of a silly present though, such a
fancy dress to ride on a pony.”

Gwendolyn began to laugh, and so did others
who gathered around to take a look at the outfit.

Mary held the jacket up to her body and
admired the smoothness of the fabric. Within trying it on, she
discovered a lump in one of its pockets. Out of the pocket, she
noticed a carrot. “What is this—”

Gwendolyn eyed her daughter’s surprised look.
“What is it?” “A carrot,” Mary called out, showing everyone her
discovery. “For the larger present,” the coachman stated who waited
in the wings until the girl opened the box, per his instructions.
The man hobbled over to the enclosed wagon and opened up the two
doors in the rear. He motioned for Mary to come take a look, and
all the other children ran over with her.

Mary stood mesmerized for a moment, and then
reached in the pocket for the carrot. Gwendolyn stood immobilized
and watched in utter shock as the magnificent black steed she
remembered Katrina riding on so long ago came trotting out of the
enclosure. The villagers gasped in revelation as the horse followed
Mary who continued to hold its enticement. She petted the horses
raven mane and ravished its existence.

“Oh Mummie,” Mary cried, a loss for words for
the very first time. “ I have seen something more beautiful. He is
gorgeous Mummie, simply gorgeous!”

Gwendolyn stood crying and eyed Phyllis who
was also in shock. “What a grand present to give his daughter,”
Phyllis uttered sorrowfully, “You see, he has not forsaken his
obligations.”

Gwendolyn wiped away her tears, “He should
have delivered them himself.” She stated, pulling up her skirts and
running towards her cottage to have a good cry.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT

After Captain Hummel secretly undermined the
original plan to meet Thomas and Devin at Le Havre, he took Anne
and the Junia and headed off to Gibraltar instead. The two lords
were forced to stay in France another week to wait for the
Endeavor, a merchant ship under the employ of the Hollinger
Commerce Company.

The Endeavor was on its way back in from the
West Indies. While fearful Cape Horn consumed many ships and crew
without a trace in violent southern seas, the ultimate graveyard of
ships was 8,000 miles northeast in Britain’s granite-fanged Scilly
Isles and the headlands of Cornwall. Lying 25 miles off Land’s End,
the 50 islets of the Scillies covered only 50 square miles, the
Scillies divided the Bristol Channel from the English Channel,
endangering all ships trying to find their way home. The Endeavor
nearly met her doom; the menacing tides, gloomy fogs, diabolical
gales and monstrous seas mislead her compass, nearly losing her
existence upon the reefs.

It would be another week until the Endeavor
would reach English refuge and Thomas could not wait that long.
After nearly drinking himself into oblivion with French red wine,
Thomas was never happier to see a Yank.

Inebriated, and on the verge of lunacy from
further inconsiderateness, Thomas thumped towards Captain Whitlock.
“Captain—Captain— Captain!”

Captain Whitlock turned to look at Thomas
staggering towards him. “Well, hey, if it isn’t the look-alike…what
is your name again? Lord something?”

“Thomas…call me Thomas, ole friend, ole buddy
of mine,” Thomas joked around, patting the man on his chest,
whipping his other arm around his neck.

“Thomas, right,” Tim replied, rolling his
eyes away from his forwardness. “What can I do for you?”

Thomas gulped, and then his hands found Tim’s
shoulders. “Please tell me you are on your way to London.”

Tim’s eyes lit up. “How did’ ya know? On my
way there in two days, in fact. Just have to finish up some
business here. Need to reload my cargo, then I’m off to
Bristol.”

“Outstanding!” Thomas shouted, walloping
Devin out of a lip lock with a barmaid.

All during the voyage towards Bristol, Thomas
anticipated every angle. Katrina was abandoned at the altar. He
never held the chance of speaking with her beforehand, and he was
sure that she was furious. Then Gwendolyn and her puzzling note.
She wrote she was having second thoughts? It did not make any
sense. Her physical feelings were hard to ignore…showing him her
mindset…did that mean she was in love with him? Each time she clung
to him, touched his chest and wrapped her arms around his shoulders
in affection his heart expanded with joy. Fulfilling his fantasy of
her yielding to his every suggestion, she responded to him unlike
no other, and he relished in the fact that she admitted being his.
Was it all a mirage? Or a final farewell? He should have told her
that evening that he loved her, that was stupid, stupid, stupid of
him not to say anything, but he was so hungry to hear her say it
first. He finally snared what he longed for, Gwendolyn’s absolute
focus, only to have it yanked away by her reconsideration? Was she
really going back to that overgrown simpleton? How could Gwendolyn
so easily accept his body and then receive intimacy of that
buffoon?

“Cannot thank you enough, Tim,” Thomas
expressed, shaking hands with Captain Whitlock. “Anything you need,
do not hesitate to ask.” Thomas added, gazing towards the pier,
expecting to see her face. Where was she? Where was Gwendolyn?

Devin then extended his hand out to the
Captain himself, “Thanks for the use of the sword,” he laughed,
combing his hair with his other hand. “Monsieur Bruneau looks nice
with his new scarred face, wouldn’t you agree?”

The three men all expressed amusement when
Thomas gazed over at his ships in the harbor. “You need help with
your cargo Tim?” “Help? Why yes, I am oftentimes overloaded. But
with one ship—” “Surely you could use an extra hand.”

“Sure can, but I can’t afford to purchase
another boat.”

“Then take your pick,” Thomas waived,
extending his hand over his brigade of vessels.

Tim stood agape and eyed all the many crafts
with the “HCC” flag raised up her masts.