Surrender the Wind (29 page)

He squashed his hat back on his head and poked his horse with his heels. Then he moved down the lane. “A sad business this. That house stood for hundreds of years. Now look at it.”

When they reached the threshold, Latterbuck slid off his saddle. “This deviltry must be rooted out.”

George looked perplexed.

“You don’t understand, do you, George? Well, I’ll say this. What happened here was meant to harm. Now a woman is dead. I never thought I’d say it, but this was no accident.”

S
eth and Michael Bray waited outside the church door with Reverend Simon until the caretaker, Mr. Makepeace, showed up with the key. Comfortless, Seth watched him shove it into the iron lock. The door creaked on its hinges. Wind blew leaves from the churchyard over the flagstones.

Sunlight poured through the church window above the altar and caught Seth's eyes when he walked inside. Streamers floated through the colored glass, across the granite floor. Dust motes flashed in their beams against shadow. Before the altar stood a funeral table. Upon it sat a simple wooden box with bright brass hinges, and within lay a body wrapped in a linen shroud.

“I’m so sorry, sir.” Makepeace stood apart from the pair and turned his hat in his hands. “Your lady had a beautiful soul and shall be missed.”

Seth thanked him for his sentiments. “It is good of you to speak of her kindly.” He stood in front of the box, with a black crepe band tied to his arm. No more would he see her beautiful face, her hair, her elegant mouth, or her glowing eyes. He clenched his teeth as agony filled him. He bit down on his tongue to stifle a cry.

No, this is not the end, for we will be together one day. But until then, I will have to live out long and lonely years without you unless the Almighty would be merciful.

If he could bring her back, he would do so; he willed it with every fiber of his being. But it was not in his ability to do. He stepped closer and glanced over the words on the brass plate fixed to the top.

Herein lies the body of Juleah Fallowes Braxton
August 10, 1764-June 30, 1785
Beloved wife of Seth Braxton
of Ten Width, Devonshire, England

Seth's chest tightened, as if gnarled hands squeezed the life breath from him. He swallowed the pain and reached out to touch the brass plate. His hand trembled as he ran his fingertips over the words; he pressed his palm against the wood to leave his mark. When the church door opened, he lifted his eyes to the light and turned along with Bray. The village pallbearers entered the church and carried Juleah's coffin out of the church to the cemetery.

Outside, he watched the group that came toward him
—
Lady Anna in black satin, Sir Henry holding her to his side. Thomas and Jane were behind them, Claire and Will in the rear. Caroline lifted tearful eyes to her brother. Upon their faces were such looks of unspeakable grief that a heart of stone would melt beneath such stares, especially Lady Anna. Shadowy circles lay beneath her eyes.

To see Juleah's family in this way intensified Seth's sorrow.
If only it had been possible to spare them. If only I had taken her place.

Wind rustled the heavy folds of Lady Anna's mourning clothes and whirled around Sir Henry's shoes. Thomas and
Jane were too young to throw themselves into the meaning and finality. Yet, for their youth and energy, they looked older and walked with the gaits of sick children.

Reverend Simon, a man of the cloth accustomed to marrying and burying his flock, read the words from the prayer book. Yet, even he was affected and wiped away a tear from the corner of his eye with his finger. He paused while reading Psalm 23, swallowed hard, and went on.

Gut-wrenching agony seized Seth as he watched the men lower his beloved into the ground. Tears stung his eyes as he watched the pallbearers cover her with earth. Cold grief seized every inch of his being.

“Underneath this stone doth lie, as much beauty as could die,” he mournfully quoted an epitaph by Ben Jonson, “which in life did harbour give, to more virtue than doth live.”

Lady Anna buried her face against her husband's shoulder and sobbed. Sir Henry moved her away to the coach that awaited them. Jane and Thomas followed and boarded once Lady Anna was settled inside. Caroline, accompanying them, leaned out of the window and called softly to her husband.

Seth turned to Bray. “Please attend to the family at Henry Chase.”

“Where are you going, Seth?”

“Ten Width.”

Determined to conquer his pain, he waited until everyone had gone. He stood alone, staring at the mound of tilled earth, and crouched down to lay a fistful of wildflowers upon it. Beaten down with grief, he pressed his hand over his eyes. It felt as if he had been run though the heart with the sharpest of spears. His tears slipped through his fingers and dropped onto the grave.

“Juleah. Juleah,” he cried.

With a heavy heart, he finally stood, wiped his face, and strode to his horse to mount it. He rode across the fields away from the road. Lush grass waved in the wind, and the air smelled wild. He slackened the reins and spurred the horse onto the road that led to Ten Width.

Coming around a bend, he reined in and the horse reared up. Latterbuck raised his hat. “My condolences on this sad day, Mr. Braxton.” He drew his horse alongside Seth's. “Have I missed the service?”

“Yes.” He had to catch his breath. “You must excuse me, Constable.”

“Where are you headed? If it's the tavern, I’ll join you in a mug of ale.”

“I am on my way to Ten Width.”

“I’ve just come from there. Steel yourself for what you are about to see in the light of day, sir.” Latterbuck lifted his bleary eyes away from Seth and craned his neck to look down the road. “Where is your sister? I expected to see her coming from the church.”

“She is with Lady Anna.”

“Your wife was her closest friend, was she not?”

“Yes. They were like sisters.”

“Then this is a great loss to Miss Caroline as well.” Latterbuck scratched his chin. “What do you intend to do?”

“Repair the house, of course.” Seth steadied his restless horse and wished to move on. “Or pull it down,” he murmured under his breath.

Latterbuck frowned. “I hope you have not considered returning to Virginia.”

“It is a greater possibility than before.”

Latterbuck's slim eyes narrowed. “A man's duty can be far-reaching, unconfined to borders. If there has been a wrong
done, duty will find a way to settle it. Restitution must be made. Justice served.”

In an instant, Seth tightened and coiled the reins within his hands. The subtle accusation was more than evident.

“I have just buried my wife. This is neither the time nor the place to discuss anything. You’ll find me at Henry Chase if you have questions.”

“Then I shall meet you there at two this afternoon after dinner,” Latterbuck said. “I cannot do my job on an empty stomach.”

“I imagine not.” Seth urged Jupiter forward.

He went on at a gallop and felt Latterbuck's eyes boring into his back. Digging his heels into the horse, he turned at a place where the trees stretched overhead in a canopy of green. Cold despair and loneliness worsened when he saw the chimneys of Ten Width looming above the treetops.

He had been warned what he would see, a grim ruin of naked stone, surrounded by green. The damaged wing stood windowless and depressed. The untouched portion of the house brooded over the landscape. Ravens flew between the charred beams and perched at the highest points. They cackled and their throats gurgled a mysterious chant. Their feathers glistened like wax in the warm sunlight.

Seth sat in the saddle and stared hard before him. Sorrow rippled over his skin and he moved his eyes over the edges of the walls, the door, the charred bricks, broken glass, and stone facade. Then he dismounted to go inside.

At first, the door would not budge. The heat from the fire had warped the jamb. Leaning his shoulder against it, he shoved hard. It skidded open, and he stepped through into the hallway, grimy with soot.

From the west wing, Seth took the servants’ stairs, which was now the only way to the second story of the house. The door to the room he had shared with his wife sat open. He stepped in, looked with a weary sigh around the chamber. Without thinking, he pushed the latticed windows of the balcony open. He stepped out and looked at the hills. The memory of Juleah wrapped in his arms, with her back to his chest, suddenly flooded his mind. Here is where they would watch the sun set and the stars brighten, sometimes to see the northern lights dance across the night sky.

He turned back inside. The bedcovers were pulled down. His heart sank to think Juleah had been preparing to go to sleep before the inferno took her life. The scent of lavender and rose still lingered.

He took out a clean shirt and breeches and shoved them into a saddlebag. He expected he would stay at Henry Chase several days, perhaps weeks. The idea crossed his mind that he might never return. His Bible sat on the night table. He picked it up, held it in his hand, and placed it with the rest of his things.

When he finished, he went over to Juleah's wardrobe closet and opened it. Her clothes were gone—every gown, every frock. Her teak jewel box was empty. Looters had moved quickly, and it caused Seth's heart to sink lower.

He rummaged through drawers and searched for what he did not know. Her undergarments were there, her stockings and garters, the pair of pink silk slippers he had bought her. But what was this on the floor behind the chair? He reached over and picked up the gown she had worn the day they were married. The right shoulder was torn and the front of the bodice shredded. He clutched it within his hands, and his heart
slammed in his chest as a startling revelation filled him. He pressed the folds of the gown against his face and wept.

A lock of Juleah's hair, held together by a silk crimson ribbon, lay on her dressing table. Seth picked it up and gazed at it as it lay in his palm, the chestnut color, the silkiness and beauty. He closed his hand over it and put it in his pocket beside his heart in the same place he kept her ring.

Out in the hall, he walked along the Persian runner back to the servants’ stairs leading to the kitchen. From there, he went back to the hall and toward the east side of the house. He brushed his hand along the wall, where the paper had peeled back from the heat. At the far end, near a window that had reached the ceiling, a brass candlestick lay upon the blackened floor. Leading from it, an even blacker thread spread like distorted fingers up the wall.

Seth bent down to study the pattern. Questions raced through his mind. Why had the fire started here? Someone had a candle in hand, passed down the hall in the night, and dropped it. He supposed it could have been Juleah. She might have grown restless and gotten up to go downstairs. But then, perhaps someone or something had woken her. Perhaps she was going down to answer the door.

Seth stood and turned toward the place where the staircase had been. He dare not go any farther, for the house was unstable at this point. The Delft vase lay broken on the floor, the table it had sat on overturned. Had Juleah struggled to get out, or had she fought to get away from someone?

He tried to visualize the candle falling, flame catching the curtains afire. He shook his head and thought that Juleah would have had time to get out by way of the west wing. Then, a reality both frightening and freeing, gripped him.

Who have I buried-my wife or an intruder?

He pressed his palm against the wall and slipped down to his knees.

Show me the truth, Lord. Show me the way. Have I gone mad with what I’m thinking? Has grief blinded my reason?

Struggling to his feet, he hurried out the front door, grabbed the edge of his saddle, and hauled himself up. Off he raced toward Henry Chase to find an answer, a confirmation, a hope.

J
upiter was lathered from the hard ride and blew out his nostrils as Seth dismounted. Before he reached the front door, Sarah drew it open and stepped aside for him to enter. He was told Lady Anna had taken to her bed, stricken by grief, and was unable to bear company. The children were out hiking with their father over the hills with his hounds, the Brays and little Nathaniel for company.

Sarah motioned to Seth to follow her to the kitchen. “And the constable is here, sir,” she whispered. “He’ll eat us out of house and home if he don’t leave soon.”

Latterbuck sat at the table feasting on cold chicken. When he looked up at Seth standing in the doorway, he tossed down the picked-over bone and leaned back against the chair, which creaked against his weight.

“You look flushed, Mr. Braxton. Had you a hard ride coming over from Ten Width?”

Seth moved to the table. “We need to talk.”

“Indeed we do.” Latterbuck wiped his grimy hands across the front of his waistcoat, and glanced over at Sarah. “You, girl. Bring the gentleman ale, and refill my flagon.”

Sarah curled her lip and did as he bid her. Seth was even more annoyed by Latterbuck's rude behavior. “This is not a tavern, sir. Be mindful of where you are.”

“I beg your pardon?” Latterbuck bent forward and shoved the plate aside.

“You heard me. The girl is not required to wait on us hand and foot. Lady Anna is upstairs with a broken heart and needs this girl more than you or I.” He turned to the wide-eyed young woman. “Go on, Sarah. Attend your mistress.”

With a bob, she left.

Latterbuck settled back in his chair. “Hmm. I had forgotten you colonials are more tolerant. Obviously, our way of treating servants is different from yours.”

“I’ll not have you ordering that girl about as if she belonged to you.” Seth slapped his palm on the table.

Latterbuck guffawed. “You own slaves and indentures where you’re from. At least we promised to free them if they fought on our side. Your constitution would not.”

Barely did Seth hear Latterbuck
—
his heart, mind, and soul twisted with pain. “I’m not here to debate with you.”

Latterbuck wiggled his head. “Not about politics, anyway. I’ve spoken with Sir Henry and Captain Bray. Both think highly of you. Bray vouched for your whereabouts the night of the fire. You are fortunate to have a witness in that regard.”