*
That evening Ben and I were both in dour moods when he assisted me into the carriage before climbing to his own place on the driver’s box. Worry lines creased his face and with hair like salt and pepper, he looked all of his forty-eight years. Taking the reins, he clicked his tongue, spurring the horses to motion. The coach lurched forward, and I swayed from the momentum as the wheels crunched against the gravel.
Near the end of the driveway, I looked out the window and watched Brighmor disappear from view. Hot tears streaked my face and I pulled a linen handkerchief from my pocket, denied even the smallest hope of ever seeing my father again in this lifetime—by tomorrow evening he would be dead and his spirit released to the Otherworld, far beyond where I was allowed to go. “Go dté tú fd bhrat Bhrighde,” I whispered. May you travel safely under Brigid’s mantle.
Blood pounded in my head. Pressing a finger to each temple, I tried in vain to rub the pain away. I loved my father above all else in this world. And I needed him now more than ever.
Yet, he chooses to die, a bitter voice whispered from somewhere deep inside me, and leave you to fend for yourself.
The pounding grew anew and white patches flashed before me. I pressed even harder against my temples, as much to ease the pain as to rid myself of these treacherous thoughts. Gracious God, I’ll go mad if I think of it now. I had to be strong, to hold my emotions at bay or risk giving into them altogether. There would be time to grieve once my future was secure and I no longer felt like a pawn in another person’s game. With a deep breath, I swallowed back the remaining tears. Then, piece by piece, I steeled my heart for what lay ahead.
The sun had already slipped past the horizon, casting dark shadows on the side of the road. Other than broken wheels or fallen trees, trouble was rare on this stretch of road connecting Hopewell to Philadelphia. Even so, Ben wasn’t fond of traveling at night and had loaded a brace of pistols and two short swords into the compartment beneath his seat before we left. For my own part, the letters I had prepared were tucked safely in my trunk, ready to be presented to their proper recipients.
Fortunately there was no trouble to be had, and very late on the second night, when I felt my bones could not stand another minute of being jostled about, we reached Meredith House. While Ben saw to the horses I went inside to await Mrs. Bradford’s attention.
She found me a moment later near the empty hearth. Rather than trying to explain anything myself, I simply handed her the proper letter. Breaking the red wax seal, she read its contents. I was soon assured the rooms would be mine for as long as they were needed and, having only married children herself, she was more than happy to serve as my chaperone for the duration of my stay. The preliminaries settled, she began to inquire about the seriousness of my father’s illness. When I silently looked away, she decided otherwise, and left to have the rooms prepared.
I arrived upstairs to find a maid waiting with a supper tray. Travel worn, I declined everything except a small bowl of broth. As the maid helped me undress, I requested the Philadelphia Gazette be sent up with breakfast so I could see which ships were currently docked. Not that it mattered, since Captain Harlow wasn’t due to bring The Berkshire in for another week under fair conditions. A bad storm or time spent becalmed could push the expected arrival to a full month. I sighed, frustrated with my part in this game of hurry and wait. Aided by the light of a single candle, I climbed under the covers and nestled into the down mattress, wishing to trade my worries for sleep.
The next thing I knew daylight had replaced the small flame. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I peeked out from beneath the bedding when a knock sounded on the door, bringing me fully upright. Before I could answer either yea or nay, the door swung open and the maid walked in with a breakfast tray.
“Good morning, miss. Did ye have a good sleep?”
In the midst of a yawn, I settled for nodding my response.
She placed the tray on the table and began setting out the dishes. “Mistress Bradford feared ye might be ill with ye hardly touching a bite of supper last night. I told her not to worry, that ye was just tired out from traveling.” She poured a cup of tea and placed the newspaper next to a basket of bread. “Here ye go. Just printed this morning.”
“Thank you.” I swung my legs over the side of the bed. “Do you have time to help me dress before breakfast?”
“Aye, miss. And I can see to them curls if ye like.”