Chapter 5: In the Hands of an Angry God
Charlestown, South Carolina
John returned home to an empty house at the end of the working day, which wasn't shocking. His mother had a few friends that lived down near the ports, women like her, that were unmarried with children. He liked that his mother had found a close group of associates that understood her situation, but he wished she would tell him before going off on her own. Of course, she knew the town well enough at this point, and was thoroughly capable of doing things on her own, but he still feared for her safety and her state of mind.
John thought often of how she was really and truly feeling since his father's death. She hid it well enough, but he knew when she was in pain. She didn't want to talk about it, perhaps to spare him of her own sorrows, as most mothers endeavored to do, but the idea of his father being dead was weighing down on her like a boulder, and he saw it. He remembered the day his mother told him that they were coming to America like it was yesterday, and the pain in her eyes that had shot right through him.
Their family had been torn apart.
John often wondered what would have happened if he had decided to remain in the country house his father had set him and his mother up in. They had a good life there, a happy one. His father visited them at every opportunity, and provided for them handsomely. Of course, such provisions didn't stop when they came to Charlestown but, without him there, it was all as empty as his mother must have felt. Whatever anger John had felt of being born of an affair was quashed when he saw what his mother was willing to sacrifice in order for him to have a good life. Quite literally, she had sacrificed everything.
And now he was going to try and get it all back, starting with his sisters.
From what John knew, both Lucy and Lydia were in London. He had to assume that, since their father's death, that someone had to return to Lanfore to settle affairs. Or perhaps they had sent a close family member to do it. They did have two uncles after all, neither of whom John had met or had any intention of meeting.
"Robert Quincy is a horrid man," his mother told him. "Arrogant and egotistical to boot. I don't want you to ever meet him, not ever!"
She had no opinions on his other uncle, Matthew.
John mulled over how he was going to reveal to his mother that he was going off to tell Lucy and Lydia the truth in person. That would mean that he would be gone for a long time, and he wasn't sure if his mother would be ok with him being gone so long. So naturally, John took advantage of the empty home to practice for the inevitable conversation.
"Mother, I'm afraid I cannot relate this rather intimate news to those two girls over a letter, that is just not polite..." John cursed and shook his head. "Mother, I cannot relate this news in a letter, that would make me look like a coward—no, no!"
John was no good at giving anyone news in general. He froze up and wanted to melt. He hated confrontation especially, and disappointing those around him. In those respects, he supposed, he was more like his mother than his father. According to his mother, and from what he remembered, his father was a proud man, a powerful man. He didn't care what others thought. He had his duty and he did it to perfection.
Still, stubborn determination was something John had taken from his mother.
"Mother, I have to deliver this news to my sisters in person, there is just no other proper way to do it!"
"So do that, then, darling. Why are you talking to yourself?"
John yelped and jumped to his feet. He turned to see his grinning mother standing at the kitchen door, a basket in her hands and her face slightly flushed under her dark tones from, perhaps, a long day of shopping at the market with her friends.
"Did I scare you, dear?" His mother laughed and stepped forward, reaching up to pat his cheek. "Apologies. Now, you were saying something about telling your sisters something in person?"
"Y-yes," he croaked, trembling to sit down. "Are you... Would you be... Fine with that?"
"Of course! Why wouldn't I be?" His mother smiled and placed the basket down on the table. "John, since your birth I have wanted nothing more than to see to your safety. But that was when you were a child. I see the tides turning here now, the tension. And you're a grown man, why shouldn't you be allowed to seek the family you deserve to know out?"
John was honestly shocked that his mother was so open to it. He had thought she would fight a little... Was she that eager to be rid of him?
"My only worry is how you will be received," she continued when he said nothing. "By your sisters, that is. I don't want your travels to be for nothing."
"I doesn't matter how they receive me, mother," John assured her. "Only that they know who I am. It is high time I come out of hiding, and it would be in extremely poor taste if I did that over a letter."
"I agree."
"I will travel to London and present myself to them. Whether they take to me or not is their prerogative. I, myself, have never actually seen London. I will use my time there to look about the city, perhaps expand my trade."
"And then come home to your mother," she reminded him. "Do not think that just because I am willing to let my only child travel means that you have full liberty to stay away from me for long," she reached across the table and took his hand. "And do not let their reception of you change who you are. They may be your sisters in name and mostly by blood, but they are not a significant part of your life now that your father is gone. Do not let their possible rejection hurt you to the point where you lose your sense of self."
John smiled and squeezed his mother hand. "I would never do that to you, mother."
"Or to yourself?"
"Of course."
"Good," his mother removed her hand and stood back. "When do you plan to depart?"
"As soon as I can secure passage," John replied. "It may be a bit difficult, but I have contacts that trade to London. I'll pay my way on a merchant vessel and be on my way."
"And then?"
"Then..." He sighed and shrugged. "Then we leave it in the hands of God."
"An angry one at that, to leave us to such a fate," his mother sighed, and then shrugged. "Even so, one day at a time, as your father used to say. Come," she forced out a broad smile. "I'll make you supper."
John watched dismissively as his mother labored at her own pace around the kitchen, his own thoughts a thousand miles away, to a world that he knew once a lifetime ago.
To a world he was throwing himself blindly into for the sake of decorum.
XXX
Lanfore, Hertfordshire
The Magistrate's wife and daughter returned home later that day, while Lucy, James, and Beatrice were being entertained in the gazebo in the gardens. It was a lovely, crisp autumn day, and the colors of the trees stretched as far as Lucy's eyes could see. She had forgotten just how beautiful her home could be, underneath its humble façade. A part of her wanted to rediscover it, to immerse herself in the memories, both old and new, and never let go of them again. But that was a small part at best. She knew her life was taking her elsewhere, and she wanted to figure that out, not be rooted to the same, dull port for the rest of her years.
But Lanfore was far from dull, wasn't it? And there was James to consider, what were his thoughts?
I do not know why, but I feel like he is the anchor that would keep me here, if there ever was one. But I will not remain if that is not his intention, and even if it was... Would I want to?
Lucy was drawn from her thoughts when Elizabeth Donaldson and her mother, Catherine, entered the scene. Elizabeth was a pretty and young girl some years Lucy's junior, with strawberry blonde hair and striking blue eyes. Her mother was the epitome of stoic and reserved, much like the women back in London. They would have fit in well in society.
"It is a pleasure to finally meet the former Magistrate's family," Mrs. Donaldson said, a harsh smile on her face. "I often tell Sherman that we should be on good terms, but it is so hard to do that when you don't live here anymore."
"My mother took my sister and I to London when we were quite young," Lucy replied, keeping her smile there even though she wanted nothing more than to mirror the woman's stony brow. "We needed the change from the country."
"Yes..." Mrs. Donaldson eyed her critically, a manner that Lucy was accustomed to, so she stood her ground. "I can see why a young woman such as yourself would find herself above country life. Is there a man that you are currently engaged to? Perhaps, are you married? You cannot be if you still hold your father's name."
Why ask the bloody question if you mean to answer it yourself?
"Lucy is quite the picky one," Beatrice stepped in. "She has had her fair share of suitors, I assure you. Wealthy men too! Isn't that right, Lucy?" Beatrice turned to her. "Tell them of Will Bennett! God, how he fawned over you, remember?"
When Lucy saw the look on James's face, she shook her head. "No, I'd rather not brag. Suitors or otherwise, Mrs. Donaldson, I am not the one to get married on a whim. Going to London wasn't to find a husband for me, it was to grow and flourish into who I can be. When I am ready, I will marry. And if I am never ready then..." She shrugged. "So be it."
"How odd," Elizabeth Donaldson said, frowning. "You don't intend to be married?"
"Lucy has always been a spirited girl," James said, smiling at her. "Since we were young children playing together, she has always done everything by her own rules. And why shouldn't she? The world is changing, is it not? Forever moving forward, and we should as well, if we are to keep our feet."
"Here, here!" The Magistrate nodded. "It is a changing world."
"I disagree, father," Elizabeth turned to James with a light smile. "Some traditions do not have to be forgone. Marriage doesn't need to be for love or convenience, sometimes it needs to be for security of the family."
"Do you live your life for the sole purpose of being the person your family wants you to be?" Lucy asked. She felt Beatrice stiffen next to her, but she didn't care. Lucy didn't like the way Elizabeth was smiling at James. She knew it wasn't fair, seeing as she did not hold such feelings for him, but it bothered her. Perhaps because she did not want a good man like James to be tied down to a girl like Elizabeth.
In any case, Elizabeth wasn't perturbed by Lucy's probing question. Or, if she was, she didn't show it. "It is not a crime to want marriage, Ms. Quincy. Security with a wealthy husband is to be desired, not shunned like some... Heathen, dark age tradition."
"But only if you do desire it," Lucy replied simply. "Much like men, women are different. Where one desires and seeks marriage, another may decide that she may never be ready for it. And if it so happens that she is, she will find happiness for reasons other than wealth and security."
"Lucy has always said that she wanted to marry a man that knows her better than she knows herself," Beatrice noted, grinning at her friend.
"And if such a man exists in a hut in the middle of some Siberian Tundra?" Elizabeth asked, her blue eyes the picture of cool disapproval.
Lucy wasn't going to let this strange girl faze her. "Then I'll put my French coat to good use, won't I?"
She saw James smiling at her from the corner of her eye and she turned to him and smiled back. They knew each other quite well, didn't they?
"Is London so full of such... Progressive-thinking women?" Mrs. Donaldson asked.
"Lucy is the first that I have met," Beatrice said. "It is why we are such good friends."
"Why are you not married yet, Ms. Thornton?" Elizabeth asked Beatrice.
Lucy's friend paused, then shrugged and winked. "Haven't found a wealthy enough match yet."
The two friends shared the same cheeky grin at that.
XXX
After the party had moved back inside the house, Lucy remained on the gazebo for a while longer, staring up at the sky, which was now fading into different shades of evening time. Lucy watched it slowly happen before her, the sky morphing from one color in time to the next. It was all rather surreal, but her mind was elsewhere.
Lucy's mother would have never stood for the way she had spoken to Elizabeth Donaldson. The girl was a crude representation of what a proper woman should be, which was probably why it bothered her so much. There were many things Lucy wanted to change about her world, and women like Elizabeth entering into it made it harder to do.
Which was why, she supposed, speaking to her in such a way didn't seem that scandalous.
"Will you not come inside?"
Lucy turned and saw James climbing the steps to the gazebo, his tall and lean form standing high even though he didn't make an effort.
"Not yet," Lucy replied. "I wanted time to think."
"About what?" James asked.
"Everything, I suppose," she sighed. "I thought often of home, but now that I'm back, it's scary but I realize that it's no different than London. No matter how you live or where, there is the base mentality that will never change," she turned and looked up at him. "Elizabeth Donaldson seems friendly with you."
James chuckled and shook his head. "We met at a ball a few years ago, and since then she's been rather... Forward with me. She's a lovely girl if you get to know her. She would do well in London, that's for sure, but she's never had the chance to go. Perhaps that's why she doesn't like you."
"Really? I thought we were to be marvelous friends," Lucy grinned. "And if it's my life in London she wants, she can have it. I have my eyes set elsewhere. Perhaps I'll travel to Africa," she looked back to the sky. "Or South America... Or Russia, though I don't quite favor the cold."
James didn't say anything for a few minutes. Then, when he finally did, his voice was strained. "Did you really have many suitors back in London?"
"No more than the usual young debutante," she replied. "Will Bennett was the one everyone thought I would marry and, for a while, I thought so too. We got fairly close, but then his father's money scandal came to light, the details of which I neither understood nor cared to. Besides him, I've had my fair share of suitors, but nothing further than the name on the dance card at local balls."
"So you don't, then?"
"Don't what?"
"Plan on marrying?"
Lucy frowned up at him. "I would like to, despite what I told the Donaldsons. Every woman at least thinks about it. But it's not my priority right now."
James lowered his eyes and sighed. "I see..."
"I do want it, marriage," Lucy said, unsure of why she was trying so hard to convince him of it. "One day, I will embrace it. But I cannot think of it at the moment, James. You know me, right? You know that it was never my desire to marry and live the rest of my years rooted to one spot. I cannot imagine that future for myself. The world is too large, it's too vast."
James nodded, though he avoided her eyes. "I do know you, Lucy," he whispered. "Dare I say... That I do know you better than you know yourself."
With that, he pushed away from the gazebo railings and strode back into the house. Lucy watched him go with a frown on her face. Did she anger him? Was he saddened by her words?
If he knows me so well, then why are my words hurting him so much?
Did he... Want to marry her?
"Men..." She scoffed, turning back around. "I am not a bloody mind reader, James Boatwright!"
Boatwright... Lucy Boatwright...
That thought made her feel cold to the bone. God, she wasn't sure if that was the future she wanted. She loved James, and he was a lovely man and good friend, but she wasn't sure if she loved him enough to stay in the same place for him forever.
She wasn't sure if she would ever love anyone that much. He would have to be some sort of ship captain, a man that was never rooted, a man she could venture with.
She wondered if James would be willing to change his trade for her.
"Quincy."
Lucy winced and found herself turning once again, this time to a completely strange face. "Yes? Who are you?"
The woman stepped forward, into the light. Even so, Lucy still didn't recognize her.
"I should think that you would remember me," the woman whispered, nothing but pure hate in her eyes. "If was your family, after all, that destroyed mine."
Lucy was confused. "I don't understand. Who are you? What is your name?"
"Bertha Denning," the woman whispered, her hands held in tight fists. "You should know me. Your mother is the reason my brother is dead."
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Author's note: Well shit's about to go down, as we say these days!
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