Heirs of Acadia - 03 - The Noble Fugitive (38 page)

She responded with a small nod.

He set her mug at her feet and took hold of her hands. “Two things. Are you listening?”

She nodded a second time.

“The first thing. It will pass. With time and patience and prayer. It will pass. Do you believe me?”

“I want to.”

“The second thing.” Falconer released her hands and rose to his full height, his full strength, his full resolve. Not caring about the eyes he felt upon them. Wanting only to will this fragile lady his strength. “You are not alone.”

He felt a hand upon his shoulder but remained as he was until the color returned to Serafina’s face. Falconer then looked up at Erica Powers.

She smiled tenderly at Serafina before saying to Falconer, “Come with me.”

William Wilberforce’s private chamber stood opposite the kitchen and overlooked the rear garden, or would have if the drapes had not been drawn. Dawn cast a faint glimmer only, a trace of light framing the heavy velvet curtains. A pair of candles offered an island of soft light by the bed. With the door shut behind him, Falconer could hear nothing from the house. The room felt like a sanctuary, a haven built midway between earth and heaven.

The figure in the bed was diminutive, his face made smaller by the bandages upon his eyes. One hand rested unmoving upon the cover. Gareth sat in a high-backed chair pulled up close to the bed. Spread upon the coverlet were half a score of pages. Erica’s words were set in type now, and the headlines
shouted at Falconer as he crossed the carpeted floor. He saw his own name there in bold script. Directly beneath the headline were the two drawings of his face—one from the Wanted poster, the other from Serafina. Her drawing from the previous day illustrated another entire page.

A voice as small as the body asked, “Is that my dear Erica?”

“It is. I have brought John Falconer with me.”

“Excellent. Do please make yourselves comfortable.”

Falconer lifted a chair and drew it close to the bed for Erica. But he chose to remain standing. He could not see himself seated in such a place as this. Gareth looked up but said nothing.

“Gareth has read to me your words, Erica,” continued the man on the bed. “They are excellent, my dear. I only wish you had remained to hear them.”

“I could scarcely read them once they were written. They pained me so I broke down and wept,” she answered softly.

“They are indeed powerful. Let us pray they offer the final impetus.” Wilberforce seemed able to see Gareth through the veil of his bandage. “And the young lady’s drawings, are they as powerful as Erica has made them sound?”

“An artillery barrage would not carry more force,” Gareth replied.

“Let us hope they carry the day. Now then. What are your plans?”

“We leave for Parliament in an hour.”

“The members will have seen the pamphlet?”

“Our presses ran all night. Copies were delivered at dawn.”

Wilberforce’s breathing was the softest rasp, like winter chaff rattling in the wind. He was quiet for so long Falconer thought perhaps he had fallen back asleep. Then the little man said, “John Falconer.”

“Your servant, sir.”

“Gareth has told me something of your journey. It has been arduous.”

Falconer knew without being told that the man did not
speak of his voyage across the Atlantic. “Were it to help rid this world of one such evil, sir, I would count it as naught.”

“Well said. Gareth, a bit of water, if you please.”

The man had to be lifted slightly from the pillow in order to sip from the cup. Gareth held him with the tenderness he might offer his own child.

When William Wilberforce had resettled upon the pillow, he said, “For myself, hardship has carried both burden and opportunity. I do not seek it, I do not like it. But I have found myself learning in spite of myself. Against my will at times. Groaning and crying aloud all the while. At such times I find myself thinking of Moses. He endured a forty-year trek in the wilderness and at its end died in worldly defeat. But he vanquished all, did he not? He started the history that is now our own.”

Erica reached into the pocket of her dress and drew out a handkerchief. Falconer had not realized until then that she was crying.

Wilberforce swallowed with great difficulty. He said softly, “Who will stand in the place of law and judgment? Who will speak the truth?”

Falconer came to ramrod attention. “I will, sir. Send me.”

Serafina took her second cup of tea back to her room, entering the small chamber half fearful that she might discover lingering traces of her nightmare. Yet all she saw was sunlight and all she heard was birdsong to accompany the memory of Falconer’s strength. She set her tea upon the little desk, made her bed and straightened her few belongings, then pulled out the stool and seated herself. Every room held a Bible. She turned to the book of John and began to read. But in truth her mind returned time and again to the way Falconer had stood over her, a warrior so strong he could battle even her secret beast.

There was a knock upon her open door. “Ah, good. I hoped to find you here.”

Serafina rose to her feet as Erica entered her little room. “Good morning. I’m sorry, I don’t have a proper chair. . . .”

Erica shut the door, then turned to Serafina with a smile. “The house will be gathering soon to pray over Falconer and what lies ahead. But I wanted us first to have a private word.”

“Of course.” Serafina seated herself upon the bed so that Erica might take the little stool. “I cannot thank you and your husband enough for all you have done.”

“You are most welcome. But that is not why I have come. My husband and I have spoken, and he agrees that I should share something with you. A secret of my own.” She gathered her hands into her lap. “The day I met my husband, one of his men murdered my father.”

“Oh no.” Serafina clutched one hand to her chest.

“I loved my father very much, and to see him slain, lying in the Georgetown street while British soldiers marched by . . .” Erica shook away the memory. “I spent years loathing Gareth Powers. I hated him even though I did not yet know his name. He was my enemy.”

“I-I do not understand.”

“No. Of course not.” She reached over and took one of Serafina’s hands. “What I mean to say, my dear, is that sometimes what humanly seems impossible is merely unfinished business in God’s eyes.”

“You speak of . . .” For once, the name came with difficulty to her lips. “Falconer?”

“I speak of your future. You think your capacity to love has been extinguished. But you must never underestimate the power of prayer. Or the strength of God’s healing grace.” Erica’s fondness showed itself in a smile of promise. “When I was in the midst of my own fury and pain and distress, I thought the future held nothing but more of the same. How wrong I was. Eventually I came to discover my own emotions were holding back God’s work in my life.”

Serafina could not speak, nor could she turn from the compassion in Erica’s gaze. When she remained silent, Erica gave her hand a gentle squeeze and rose to her feet. “I simply wanted to suggest that you pray upon this thought. That you become open to whatever God has in store. No matter how impossible such a future might seem.”

She waited at the door for Serafina to rise and join her. “Let God guide your steps in all things. Even love.” She took Serafina’s hand. “Now, let us go and pray for Falconer.”

Chapter 29

After they completed their preparations for Westminster, the house gathered and prayed together. Afterwards, Erica Powers embraced her husband upon the doorstep. She then turned to Falconer and took both of his hands in hers. Eyes filled with a luminosity not of this earth drew him from his panic. Falconer took great heart in knowing she intended to pray through the hours until their return.

She said simply, “Go with God.”

Serafina stood beside Erica. She made as if to touch his hand, then withdrew and said, “I shall be with Mrs. Powers. Offering what I can.”

Falconer’s voice failed him. He nodded thanks to both women, then climbed into the carriage.

Gareth Powers accompanied him. Daniel went as well, as did two more of the former soldiers now employed in the printing house. Falconer felt completely secure. No matter what might happen this day, he felt protected within the power of his allies, both seen and unseen.

As they approached the gleaming bastion, Gareth said, “Do you recall the old lord Drescott speaking of John Newton?”

“The slaver turned vicar. Indeed so.” “He was a particular friend of Wilberforce. I remember William once recounting something Newton had said in describing himself. Let me see if I can recall it. ‘John Newton. Liar, thief, cheat, murderer, enemy of Christ and His kingdom, sailing round and round the endless liquid void.’ ” Gareth turned to Falconer and offered the final word. “ ‘Saved.’”

Falconer breathed long and hard, wishing for all he lacked. Proper words, wisdom, a better way with people.

Their carriage pulled up in front of Parliament and halted before a pair of vaulted gates. Guards in august uniforms and bearskin hats flanked the entrance. A tide of dark-suited men
came and went. Falconer asked both man and God, “What would you have me do?”

“Speak whatever our Lord puts on your heart,” Gareth replied. “We can ask no more of anyone.”

Lord Sedgwick and Henry Carlyle were both there to greet them, bedecked in robes of power and importance. Sedgwick inquired over Gareth’s health and offered Falconer his hand. Falconer tried to respond, but he was too overwhelmed by the place and his role.

The gentlemen led them across an interior courtyard. The great of this land were gathered in tight clusters, talking of weighty matters and flinging their berobed arms about. But most paused in their discussions to watch Falconer’s passage. Many, he saw, held copies of Gareth and Erica’s pamphlet. He tried to keep his gaze steady upon the way ahead, to remain steadfast upon his objective.

They entered a chamber of colored stone, one that rose up in the manner of a chapel to a peaked roof very far overhead. Three great chandeliers, shaped like wheels of gleaming copper, burned with countless candles. Narrow windows of stained glass cast colorful glows upon the floor stones. The noisy hall was full of people.

A man approached, stunted and twisted such that his ermine-draped robes brushed along the floor. “What’s this? You dare bring such filth into these chambers?”

Gareth replied quietly, “Despite your best efforts to the contrary, we are here and safe and ready to confront the enemy.”

“Lies!” the man barked with a high-pitched fury. “Lies and accusations! Where is your proof? Where is your evidence? I’ll tell you the answer to that. You have none!”

The chamber gradually had grown still. Falconer saw all eyes upon them now. Some were sympathetic, others defiant, many simply guarded.

“If that is so,” Gareth replied, “why are you so terrified to have him speak?”

“Aye,” a voice called out. “Let them have their say!”

“Why should I, eh? Tell me that!” The dark little man shot his words out to the chamber at large. “Why should I, a member of the lords’ chamber, permit this vermin to attack my good name?”