Forever Waiting (39 page)

John wore street clothes like the immigrant factory workers, making the trip every day to the shipping wharfs downtown, the mercantile exchanges on South Street, or the textile factories on the lower East Side, talking to dockworkers, visiting taverns, and casing houses of ill-repute. He asked passersby if they’d seen anyone meeting Blackford’s description, or if they knew anyone who went by that name. He’d inquire of local doctors and mention the names Black and Ford, Smith and Brown. He’d walk the residential avenues of redbrick row houses and meander through the slums south of Wall Street, hoping to get lucky and spot his uncle.

He liked this face of the city: the immigrants pouring off the merchant ships, longshoremen heading home for dinner after twelve hours of grueling labor. He watched children playing in the streets and mothers doing laundry in wooden tubs and hanging the clothes out to dry. New York was where they all wanted to be, and he enjoyed being in their midst, even though his own privileged life was so different from theirs. As hard as the labor was, they all tarried with such purpose, leaving hopeless existences in Europe for the chance at something better. John was sure the city would one day be the jewel in the crown of the nation, for the Erie Canal had made the city the gateway to the West, a merchant’s magnet.

Tonight, he sat at the desk writing a letter to Charmaine. In his rush to press on to New York, he hadn’t given her the address where he could be reached. George knew it, but John wanted to send it along, just to be sure. How ironic that tonight his father was in this house with him. He’d scrupulously kept the residence a secret in the hopes that one day he, Colette, and the children could start a new life here. If they fled to New York, nobody, especially Frederic, would ever find them. Last year, it had taken George weeks to track him down, resorting to staking out the Duvoisin shipping offices until, one day, John stopped by.

A month had already passed since he’d last written to Charmaine. Tomorrow, he’d put this letter in the mail to Richmond, and Stuart would place it on the next Duvoisin vessel bound for Charmantes. He had held off writing, hoping he’d have encouraging news. But at least he could write they were ruling out each Blackford one by one. He was anxious for news from Charmantes.

The parlor was chilly. He left the desk to stoke the fire with fresh logs, pushing them back with the iron poker. The logs hissed, throwing out angry embers that lit the hearth like tiny fireworks. Frederic and Michael reclined in the armchairs on either side of it.

Frederic considered John in the tranquil room. He had been pensive, distant all day. A year ago this week, Pierre had died. Obviously, the bleak anniversary was on his son’s mind.

He looked above the mantel. John had tacked a small drawing there.
I gave Mama and Pierre the hug and kiss you sent
Jeannette had written below a picture of five figures standing on a beach. Frederic remembered Yvette’s sketch in John’s Richmond town house, and he bowed his head regretfully.

“All these empty houses, John … in Richmond—here. All these empty, lonely houses.”

Michael looked up from his bible, as did John from the fireplace. “I’m in Richmond and New York frequently, Father. Houses are more comfortable than hotels,” he replied placidly, wondering over Frederic’s thoughts.

“You wanted to bring them here—always hoped that someday you’d bring them here, didn’t you?” Frederic mused more than asked.

Michael stood up to leave.

“You can stay, Michael,” John said, his eyes fixed on his father, astonished by his parent’s acuity. He looked away and stared into the hearth, propping an arm against the mantel. Perhaps for the first time, he really understood Frederic, the deep regrets the man harbored. If his father could turn back time to that fateful day five years ago—the day of their vicious row and Frederic’s debilitating seizure—he would let Colette go, just so she could be alive today. Suddenly, everything was very clear. Frederic hadn’t coveted Colette to smite him, or to exact revenge. His father had done so because he loved her and couldn’t bear to let her go. Now remorse plagued him, and he desperately needed to be forgiven. But there was no one to offer comfort, no one to comprehend his pain. The room had fallen silent, and the minutes gathered.

“When I came back here after Pierre died,” John murmured, “I asked myself a million times: Why didn’t I protect him? How could I have left him alone that morning? I should have realized he’d wake up, find me gone, and go looking for me. He’d told me at dinner what he was going to do. I should have seen it coming.”

John sighed against the crushing pain in his chest. “I wasn’t in the room the night he died, either. Charmaine found me and told me. She was as devastated as I was. She could have blamed me, but she didn’t. Instead, she was compassionate. I held on to her words for months afterward, remembered them when I didn’t want to go on anymore … ”

John stopped to collect his rampant emotions. “No, Pierre didn’t go looking for me,” he rasped, “but if I’d taken him seriously, I would never have left that room, and Blackford wouldn’t have been able to snatch him away. Sometimes it can be right under your nose—so damn obvious—and still, you don’t see it.” John looked back at Frederic, struggling for words. “Colette’s death wasn’t your fault, Father. I was furious when I found out what happened, but I shouldn’t have blamed you. Agatha and Blackford are to blame— not you.”

John went back to the desk, sat down, and picked up the pen.

Michael was astounded. He looked at Frederic. The man’s face was awash with relief and hopefulness, and Michael’s heart swelled with pride for Charmaine. Her influence was at work here with these wounded, but healing souls. His own soul rejoiced with a gladness he hadn’t experienced in three long years. Marie was gone, but her kindness and empathy lived on.
This
was why he’d become a priest, remained a priest even through his apathy and self-doubt. Michael closed his eyes and offered a prayer of thanks.

Tuesday, October 2, 1838

When Jeannette heard a carriage approaching, she scampered to the balcony, and her sister quickly followed. Charmaine’s heart caught in her throat and the baby gave a violent kick. She, too, rushed out the French doors.
John! He’s injured and they’re bringing him home in the carriage because he can’t
 … She refused to entertain the horrific conclusion.

An unfamiliar coach had passed through the front gates. She watched a moment longer, then composed herself and followed the girls downstairs. They stepped onto the front portico as the carriage door swung open and Joshua Harrington stepped down, turning to assist his wife.

“Mrs. Harrington!” Charmaine gasped, consumed with relief, disappointment, surprise, and joy. “Mr. Harrington! What are you doing here?” She rushed down the portico steps and fell into Loretta’s embrace.

“My dear!” Loretta exclaimed, tears brimming in her eyes as she held Charmaine at arm’s length and assessed her from head to toe. “So it
is
true?” she said, her gaze resting momentarily on Charmaine’s middle.

Charmaine blushed. “Yes, it’s true. Didn’t you receive my letter?”

Loretta shook her head, but seeing the happiness in Charmaine’s eyes, felt reassured things were not as bad as she and her husband had feared.

Yvette and Jeannette stepped forward and were reintroduced.

Charmaine clicked her tongue. “Where are my manners, having you stand out here in the blazing sun? Let’s go inside where it’s cool.”

Joshua turned to retrieve their luggage, but Charmaine scolded him. “Leave that, Mr. Harrington. I’ll have Travis get your bags.” She led the company up the porch steps, instructing the butler to see to the Harrington’s belongings. “Take them up to John’s old room. Our company should be comfortable there.”

“Very good, Miss Charmaine,” the manservant nodded with a smile.

Loretta and Joshua exchanged astonished glances. Charmaine had regally assumed the title of Mrs. John Duvoisin. But was Frederic’s wife, Agatha, happy with the young woman’s air of authority?

They settled in the drawing room, and Charmaine rang for lemonade. She joined Loretta on the settee, her eyes sparkling, still astounded Loretta was truly there. “What has brought you to Charmantes?”

“We were concerned for you,” Loretta began, glancing at the twins.

Charmaine understood and addressed the girls. “Since we have visitors, why don’t we postpone your lessons for the day?”

They eagerly agreed. “May we visit the stables and curry our ponies?” Jeannette asked. With Charmaine’s assent, they said goodbye and hastened happily from the room.

“They love you very much,” Loretta commented when they were gone.

“And I love them,” Charmaine whispered, and then, “Oh my, I still can’t believe this! I’m so glad you’re here! Where is Gwendolyn? Did she accompany you? Is she visiting with her mother and father?”

“No, she remained in Richmond with Cal, insisting that our housekeeper would grow lonely with no one in the house. In truth, Mr. Elliot is the reason for her disinterest in Charmantes. He has been paying her court.”

Charmaine giggled, envisioning the budding romance.

“Are you well?” Loretta pressed, brushing the topic of Gwendolyn and Geoffrey Elliot aside and leaning forward to clasp Charmaine’s hand.

Charmaine noted the worry in Loretta’s voice and replied, “When I first found I was expecting, I was ill most mornings. But that passed, and I’ve been feeling much better.”

Loretta and Joshua exchanged looks of relief.

“Joshua met John in Richmond,” Loretta offered.

“Yes, I know. John wrote that you’d spoken at the Richmond bank.” She looked up at the older man with a smile, then back to his wife, reading her misgivings. “Mrs. Harrington, I’m fine. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but truly, I’m fine.”

“But are you happy?” Joshua asked.

Charmaine tilted her head, trying to read him. “Yes, I’m happy … ”

“But?” Loretta probed.

“But,” Charmaine breathed, “I miss my husband.”

“And the only reason you’re not with him in Richmond is because of your morning sickness?”

“That is not the reason,” Charmaine admitted. “And John is no longer in Richmond. He’s traveled to New York.”

“Charmaine,” Loretta began slowly, not wishing to alarm the young woman, but determined to make sense out of all she had heard. “There is idle talk in Richmond, and it concerns your hasty and most surprising marriage to Mr. Duvoisin.”

Charmaine grew dismayed. “What are they saying?”

“It is not what they are saying, it is what they are insinuating. And as much as I hate to admit it, some lies often stem from truths.” When Charmaine didn’t respond, Loretta pressed on. “Were you forced to marry this man?”

“No!” Charmaine denied, aghast with the canards that had obviously prompted the Harringtons’ trip. “John was my choice. I love him.”

Loretta was happy with the vehement answer, but Joshua wasn’t convinced. “Then why has he left you alone at a time like this?”

Charmaine studied the hands in her lap. “Something terrible happened here a month ago.” Slowly, painfully, she told them about the murders.

“But why is your husband tracking down this doctor?” Joshua asked. “I thought he and his father didn’t get along.”

Charmaine grappled with an excuse, for the truth could never be revealed, and Loretta realized there was a great deal more to the story.

“There, there, Charmaine,” she soothed, “we don’t mean to upset you.” She eyed her husband and added, “After all, it’s not good for the baby. I would like to freshen up and rest a bit. The voyage was extremely unsettling. Could you show us to our room?”

“Certainly,” Charmaine said, grateful Loretta understood. “How long will you be staying?”

“For as long as you would like,” Loretta offered with abundant love.

“At least until the baby is born,” Charmaine hoped aloud.

“I’m certain we could manage that, now couldn’t we, Joshua?”

Monday, October 15, 1838

John’s second letter to Charmaine was delivered to the Duvoisin warehouse in Richmond. One of the employees paid the mail dispatcher the postage fee. Seeing the post was sent care of stuart simons, he tossed the envelope atop a pile of mail for the man. Stuart wasn’t due in Richmond for another fortnight.

Friday, October 26, 1838

The jeweler handed John the ring for his inspection. He’d fashioned it precisely to his customer’s specifications. It had taken weeks to locate the diamond, a difficult task, since Mr. Duvoisin wanted a flawless stone weighing at least three carats. The jeweler watched John as he examined it. Even in this dim room, the stone flashed with fire and light. It was set on a thick, unadorned band, engraved inside with the simple sentiment, for my charm, with my love, j.d.

The jeweler could see his client was satisfied, so he placed the ring back in its box. John paid for it in cash, tucked the box into the pocket of his overcoat, and stepped out of the shop into the overcast day.

Nearly two months had passed since they’d arrived in New York and their efforts had proven fruitless, all their leads dead ends. His father had begun suggesting they take their search to London or Liverpool. After all, Blackford’s roots were in England. But John was adamant they stay in New York, certain Blackford had not gone any farther than the anonymity and the work the large city had to offer, especially with the burgeoning immigrant population. He had only his intuition to support this hunch, but he could not shake the certainty of it, nor ignore the recurrent dreams of Colette and Pierre that reinforced those assumptions every night.

He walked to the post office. He’d received a letter from Charmaine earlier that week and had been relieved to hear news from home, the most important: Agatha was dead. It was one less thing to plague him, to have to face. He was happy to know the twins were well, Mercedes expecting, and Charmaine had forgiven him his hasty departure. She’d written she could feel the baby moving. He longed to put this crusade behind him so he could return home; he was missing so much. The letter he’d send off today admitted they hadn’t uncovered anything new concerning his uncle’s whereabouts, but reassured her it was only a matter of time until he was holding her again.