The Beloved Land (9 page)

But Jackson merely shook his head. “I would ask a boon of you.”

“Anything, my man. But let us first see to your wellbeing.”

“This will not wait. Follow me, please.”

The tenuous hold Jackson maintained upon strength and resolve was evident in the way he moved. The slightest cough seemed ready to topple him. But Gordon knew better than to offer aid. “How did you find me?” he questioned his guide.

“I asked about and learned you were the new harbormaster.”

“Today was my last day.”

Jackson stumbled on the rough cobblestones but kept himself erect. “I was headed down to find you when I saw you entering the church.”

John Jackson now turned down a murky alley. Other than the torch marking the entrance, there was no light. Gordon hesitated a moment, peering into the gloom. “Where are we going?”

“This way,” Jackson urged.

Gordon eased his sword in his scabbard and followed. The way was so narrow he could reach out and touch both walls. Rain dripped and puddled, and wind gusts blew foul odors into his face. Jackson halted before a door and banged loudly.

“All right, all right,” shouted a voice. “I’m coming. No need to wake the dead with your racket.” The door opened and a gray-bearded face poked through. He held a candle up to inspect the visitors. “Oh, it’s you, is it? Well, you’re too late. We’re closed for the night.”

Jackson shoved his way past the old man and entered the shop.

“See here! This is no way—”

Jackson took the candle from the old man and began searching the walls. Gordon stepped through the doorway and stood alongside the old man. The entire shop was scarcely the size of a closet and was lined floor to ceiling with glass-fronted shelves. The candle’s flickering light illuminated piles of every imaginable item. Faded medals were stacked like coins along with pistols and silverware and watches and figurines. There were clocks and goblets and stuffed birds and toys. In the corners, muskets and swords were stacked like so much firewood.

“Here.” Jackson stabbed a finger at a dusty glass. “This is what I saw. Tell me this is what I think it is.”

Gordon moved quickly across the room to stand alongside Jackson. In the uppermost cabinet, directly behind the shopkeeper’s table, was a tray of jewelry. The centerpiece was an emerald pendant surrounded by diamonds. “Let me have the light,” Gordon said, keeping his tone even, though his heart had lurched a recognition.

“You’re a buyer, are you? Well, that changes things, it does.” The shopkeeper shut and locked the door. “Let me get a better light going.”

He scrambled around the back rooms, where he no doubt lived, and emerged with a whale-oil lamp. He turned the wick up high. “You’ll walk a score of miles and more to come across an item as fine as that!” he said.

There was no denying the truth of those words. Even coated with dust, the emerald shone with brilliance.

John Jackson moved up alongside. “It is Miss Nicole’s?” he whispered.

“There is no doubt,” Gordon returned. The stone had been a gift from Charles Harrow and had been his mother’s favorite. Nicole had exchanged it for Gordon’s freedom. “None whatsoever.” Jackson coughed again. “I am glad.”

“Ah, a special lady’s, was it? A friend of the officer’s?” The shopkeeper held the lamp higher still. “No question about it, good sirs, the lady has fine taste. Either that or she kept good company.”

Gordon turned to the shopkeeper and demanded, “What 68 are you saying?”

The shopkeeper cringed in the face of Gordon’s ire. “No offense intended, good sir. None at all. You’d think it was the real thing, that’s all I meant.”

Gordon realized with a start that the man thought the stone was fake. And why not? How else would the item land in such a place as this? He demanded, “How much for the necklace?”

The hand holding the lamp trembled slightly. “A great amount, good sir. A great and vast amount. I suppose you’ll be wanting the chain as well as the pendant.”

“Of course the chain. And don’t beat about the bush, man, or I’ll take my business elsewhere.”

“The gentleman was the one who roused me from my bed.” Despite his nervousness, the shopkeeper studied Gordon with a shrewd eye. “Most officers who darken my door come seeking coins for their next meal.”

“Which you are no doubt reluctant to give,” Gordon shot back.

“No need for such a tone. No, my good sir, no need at all.”

“The price!”

“Ah, well, the price.” He gave a theatrical sigh. “I could hardly set a price on such a piece as this.”

Gordon laughed shortly. “Then I bid you good night.”

He turned for the door, motioning John Jackson ahead of him.

“Wait a moment now, good sirs.” The shopkeeper hastened toward the two. “Wait a moment. I might have been too hasty—”

“You and I both know,” Gordon said in measured tones, “that in such times you could hold this item for a hundred years and not find a buyer.”

The old man attempted indignation. “I’ll have you know a fine lady was in here not two days hence—”

“Hear me out.” Gordon unbuckled his belt and laid its sword upon the counter between them. “Do you know what it is I have here?”

The gleam in the shopkeeper’s eye said it all. Before him lay a ceremonial sword, presented to Gordon by grateful shipowners when he had returned from a journey laden with spices and profits. The scabbard was chased with silver, as was the twined guard to the pommel. Gordon had imagined he might be buried with this at his side.

When the shopkeeper hesitated, Gordon laid a silversheathed dagger and a powder horn decorated in the same ornate style beside the sword.

Gordon did not speak again. He merely pointed to the locked shelf. The shopkeeper misunderstood his silence as a threat and withdrew the pendant with a trembling hand.

Gordon gathered up the goods, waited for John Jackson to unlock the door, and wordlessly stepped into the night.

Though the wind remained damp and biting, the rain had ceased. As the two men stepped to the end of the narrow lane, the moon emerged from behind a cloud.

Gordon stopped in the square and faced the newly discovered cohort. “I had entered the church where you found me seeking answers from God. And you, my friend, are the clearest evidence of a miracle I have seen in many a day. I feel in my bones that your coming here was ordained by our Lord.”

Slowly Jackson lifted his gaze to meet Gordon’s. “You are speaking as your lady does, about—” he struggled for words— “about matters of faith.”

“Yes, I am learning to listen to the voice of God.” Gordon clapped the man’s shoulder. “And I believe you are the answer to our prayer. Nicole has a piece of land west of here, granted to her by her uncle. Armies from both sides have swept through, razed the house, burned the fields, driven off everyone who once called the place home. I am wondering if you would be willing to go there and make a start of refashioning a homestead.” When Jackson did not respond, Gordon added, “This is not charity, my man! Who else might Nicole and I entrust with the responsibility? You can go and work at your own pace until your strength returns. The place should not be left alone through another planting season.”

John Jackson studied the cobblestones at his feet, then raised his head and nodded slowly. “I am your man.”

Chapter 8

Anne was seated in the small corner garden below the library window when Thomas and Charles came around the house together. She smiled at them and said, “England never ceases to amaze me. One day, all is midwinter bleak, and the sky so gray I feel certain the sun will never dare show its face again.” She waved her hand about her. “The next, and all the world is alive and green with the joy of new awakenings.”

Neither Thomas nor Charles seemed to know how to respond. The older gentleman tugged on his embroidered waistcoat. Her husband finally asked, “What are you reading?”

“The Psalter. King David reminds us to take shelter under the shadow of God’s wings. What a descriptive thought that is!” Anne moved to one end of the bench and motioned to them. “Why do you not join me? We can read aloud together.”

But neither man made any move to accept her invitation. Anne looked into her husband’s face, and she knew then why they had sought her out, and why they had come together.

But she held to her inner calm, the peace that had been a gift from God. “This was the last book I studied with Nicole,” she continued, “and this bench was where we had many wonderful discussions. It was here in this garden that I truly came to know my sister.” She smiled up at Charles. “I have never properly thanked you, Uncle. How wonderful it was to have this time and this place to know Nicole as both sister and dearest friend.”

Charles lowered himself into the bench. “I used to look out upon the two of you from my library.” He indicated the window directly overhead. “I often have marveled at how different you two were, and yet how alike.”

Anne moved closer to Charles, making space on her other side. She patted the bench. “Come, my husband, sit yourself down and tell me the news of our departure—information that requires two strong men to deliver.”

The gentlemen exchanged looks of astonishment.

“Here, I will make it easier for you.” When Thomas still did not move, Anne held his hand and pulled him down. “You have found berths for us, and you have the date of our departure for Nova Scotia.”

Thomas inspected her face. “You … you are accepting this with great calm.”

Anne did not answer immediately, gazing out over the garden.

“I should have thought, well, with John—”

“John is staying,” she confirmed. She took a long breath and Thomas squeezed her hand. She needed to know if she could state the facts and retain her composure. To her great relief, the peace remained. “John is staying here at Harrow Hall. I know the Lord who is making it possible for me to go to my father will also be with John. …” She slowed to a stop, but her voice did not break.

Charles took her other hand. “I can only assure you that we shall care for him as though he were our own son.”

Anne turned to look into Charles’s face. “I was blessed with two fathers,” she said. “Why should John not have the same gift?”

“My dear …” Charles stopped to clear his throat. “Forgive me,” he said, his voice still husky. “Thank you, Anne, for the gift of your trust. Judith and I …” But he could not continue.

“John loves you both,” she assured her uncle. “I could not find more devoted care. Of that I am certain.”

Judith and Anne were making a tour of the local villages. Numerous projects—agricultural reform, schools, sanitation, medical care, classes for Scripture studies—were now well under way, and Anne was turning over their supervision to Judith during the time she was gone. “It is wonderful to know, dear Judith, I can leave these efforts in your hands,” she said to the older woman beside her in the open brougham.

“The seeds are planted,” Judith replied. “I shall see the crops remain well tended.”

Judith handled the reins with ease. Harry Day, Maisy’s youngest lad, rode a dappled gray and acted as their official escort. Two villagers also accompanied them on horseback, one riding ahead and the other behind. Even this close to the estate, even surrounded as they were by neighbors and friends, there was still risk of attack by highwaymen in these uncertain times. The villagers had worked out the system themselves, trading off once they knew who would escort the two women onward.

The afternoon was sliding into dusk. Anne looked around at the pleasant shadows and confessed, “It is difficult to leave England at such a time as this.”

“It is difficult to leave one’s home at any time,” Judith replied. “Much less saying good-bye to your own son.”

Anne swallowed down the sudden lump in her throat over the coming separation. “I meant—I was talking about spring coming and the world so beautiful. …” She fought against the fear and dread trying to steal away her peace.

Judith kept her gaze fastened upon the leather reins in her gloved hands. “I simply am wondering if you are able and ready to hear me out.”

“I am desperately sorry to be leaving John.” Anne turned to look at Judith. She tried to match the older woman’s matter-of-fact tone. “And yet I feel at peace with the decision.”

Judith grasped the reins in one hand and reached for Anne’s with her other. “I have watched you come to your decision, and I believe it is the right one, the only course of action in the situation you face.”

Judith again took the reins in both hands. “Anne, my dearest, I care for you as I would my own daughter.”

Anne only nodded. Finally she said, “But you are worried about something—”

“It is nothing, I hope. But yes, I am concerned.” She looked at Anne. “I feel that you and Thomas must give thought to your own safety.”

“Safety—in what way? Do you mean safety if our ship should be attacked?”

“No, my worry has to do with enemies of Charles. You know he has them in high places. Besides, the Dissenters are becoming an increasing irritation to those in power. It is only natural they should have spies among them. People who will buy news for gold.” Judith cast her a tense glance. “News that the parents of Charles’s official heir are taking to the high seas.”