<< Go Back

Beside Two Rivers

By Rita Gerlach

Order Now!

1

The Potomac Heights, Maryland
1797

She’d been warned not to venture far from the house, nor go near the river, nor climb the dark shale bluffs above it. But Darcy Morgan had inherited an adventurous spirit that could not be bridled. It had been her favorite place to retreat since the age of nine, when she had discovered it one morning while trekking with her cousins over the ridge that shadowed the Potomac River.
Bathed in sunlight, she stood at the bluff’s edge and gazed down at the water like she had one hundred times before. She looked at the sky. Pink and pearled, speckled with white summer clouds, it looked heaven-like in the glow of a golden dusk.
Mottle-winged caddis flies danced in hordes at the brink and Darcy paused to study them. How could such delicate wings flit so high without turning to dust in the breeze? It caressed her face, blew back her dark hair and eased through her cotton dress. She breathed deep the scent of wild honeysuckle that traveled with it. Drowsy warmth hung everywhere, while the birds sang evening vespers.
With closed eyes, Darcy listened to the water tumble over the boulders and rocks below. Stretching out her arms, she turned in a circle and soaked in the majesty of creation.
“Darcy . . . Darcy Morgan . . . Where are you, you adventuresome pixie?”
Turning she spied her uncle, William Breese, as he lumbered along the ridge toward her. With caution, he stepped over rocks, between roots of great trees, a barrel-chested man with stocky legs. His eyes were pale green against his swarthy face, his head framed in a nimbus of white hair. Darcy’s father, Hayward Morgan, had been his half-brother, and Darcy wondered if her father’s eyes had been like her uncle’s, for she could not remember his face. Breathless, her uncle glanced up to see her, and she skipped down the path toward him.
When she reached her uncle, he put his hands upon his knees to catch his breath. “Your aunt has been fretting all afternoon, wondering where you had gone off to.”
Regretting she had caused her aunt such uneasiness, Darcy brushed back her hair and halted before him. “I am sorry, Uncle Will. I should have told her. I did not mean to cause Aunt Mari to fret.”
“Ah, the woman has had a nervous constitution from birth to forty and two. She fears one of her girls, and you Darcy, could be injured, lost, fall from the bluffs, or swept into the river and drown. She goes so far to believe one of you could be carried all the way to the Chesapeake and then out to sea.”
Darcy giggled. “It would be an adventure to survive such an ordeal, to perhaps be rescued by our Navy.”
He shrugged. “Only you would think so. Your aunt wrings her hands and paces the floor every time one of you ventures out of doors. Think of me, dear girl, what I’ve had to endure.”
Darcy smiled and put her arm around him. “Are you angry with me?”
He smiled and wiggled his head. “I could never be angry with you, Darcy. I like your drive for exploration. Just look at that patch of sky. Only God can paint a picture like that.”
She raised her face to meet the sunlight. “I’ve been watching it for hours, how the light mellows the clouds.”
“I wish your aunt was more attentive to the things of nature.”
“To console you, Uncle, I have seen her pause to admire the flowers she brings into the house.”
“Indeed, and now she has news and is eager for you to come home.” Mr. Breese looped Darcy’s arm through his and proceeded to walk with her down the hill. “She has the girls gathered in the sitting room and refuses to read a letter until I bring you back and we are both present.”
“I imagine she is cross,” Darcy said.
“She would have forbid you at this late hour. Next time tell me.” He threw out his free arm wide. “I don’t mind, and most likely will join you.”
The house belonging to Mr. Breese was modest by well-to-do standards, but affluent for a Marylander living at this distance, miles away from the cities of Annapolis and Baltimore. Darcy loved it, with its broad porch and dark green shutters. Its meadows filled with Queen Anne’s lace. Its forests thick with ancient trees and wild lady slippers. Above all, she loved the river and the creeks that flowed into it.
She stepped down the path between rows of locust trees, aiding her uncle along, for he was not strong in the legs at his time of life. The windows glowed with evening sunlight. The front door sat open, allowing the breeze to flow free. A shaggy brown dog slumbered on the threshold with his head between muddy paws, and when he heard her whistle, he lifted his head and bounded up to her and her uncle.
When Darcy entered the cool narrow hallway of the house, she pulled off her broad-brimmed hat and shook back her hair. Even with a bright sun that day, she had not worn it upon her head, but let it lay behind her shoulders. She set it on a hook beside the door and paused when she heard her aunt’s voice in the sitting room.
“Darcy,” Mari Breese called.
She stepped inside with a smile. “I am here, Aunt Mari.”
“Where on earth have you been? I have worried.” Mrs. Breese fanned her face with the letter, set it on her lap, and fell back against her chair. Accustomed to her aunt’s melodrama, Darcy dismissed her troubled tone of voice.
“I was out walking.” She kissed her aunt’s cheek.
“Walking, walking. What is so grand about walking? On my word, I do believe there are still Indians roaming about that would be pleased to snatch away a beauty like you. They might lust for that lovely hair of yours, I dread to think.”
Proud of her locks, Mari Breese tucked her mouse-brown hair peppered with gray further into her cap. Her eyes were dark blue, close to the shade of ink that stained the letter she held. The rose in her cheeks heightened, not from the heat in the room, but from the excitement. Darcy wished she could calm her. Everyone would be better off.
“Uncle Will said you have news, Aunt? May we hear it?” Darcy sat next to her cousins, who were seated with perfect posture in a row upon a faded settee.
“Yes, Mama. You said you would read it once everyone was here,” said Darcy’s cousin Martha.
Her eldest cousin possessed a flawless row of pearl-white teeth and eyes like her papa’s. She and Darcy were the same age, and their resemblance to each other caused people to think they were sisters. She wore her hair in a loose chignon today, silky and dark brown accenting her fair skin. Darcy could not tolerate the style, and each time Martha urged her to try it she exclaimed it gave her a headache.
“We have been patient.” Martha reminded her mother. The other girls, Lizzy, Abigail, Rachel, and Dolley chimed in.
“If your father would be so good as to sit down I will begin. It involves all of us.”
Mr. Breese drew his pipe out from between his teeth. He sat in a chair beneath the window, picked up the newspaper, and proceeded to look it over.
“Will, your attention please.” Mrs. Breese slapped her hands together.
“Here’s an interesting article, girls,” he said. “In March, a gentleman by the name of Whitney invented a machine that removes the seeds from cotton. Calls it the Cotton Gin. Fancy that?”
“More than likely it will add to the South’s sinful institution of slavery,” Darcy said.
“I hope not, Darcy. But with an invention of this kind . . .”
Mrs. Breese stamped her feet. “Husband, do you wish to hear this or not?”
He sat the paper down on his lap. “What is so important, my dear?”
“We’ve received an invitation. I must say, I have been anticipating this, and now we have something to break the boredom we endure in this wilderness.”
“Boredom, my dearest? With this lot, how can you be bored? And it’s hardly a wilderness anymore, not with towns and villages springing up everywhere. It is no different here than in New York.”
Mrs. Breese huffed. “New York indeed? New York is a city. This is the end of the earth as far as I am concerned.”
“No different from where you were raised, then.”
“Indeed that is true. This invite reminds me of when I was a young. You girls shall benefit from this.”
Darcy’s cousins pleaded for her aunt to reveal the facts. She sat quiet, her mind summing up all the things this invitation could be. A ball? A dinner party or picnic? She thought of the few neighbors they had, and not a one seemed given to hold such events. But on the other side of the river were large plantations, and the Virginians were noted for gatherings of all sorts. She’d never been to the other side of the Potomac, and the chance excited her.
Mr. Breese lifted his paper and glanced over it. “Are you going to keep us in suspense, my dear?”
“I shall read it when I am ready . . . I am ready now.”
“I am glad to hear it, my dear.”
“Which do you wish to know first, who it is from or where it is from?”
“I suppose you will tell us both, whether I want to know or not.”
“It comes from Twin Oaks. A country picnic and dance is to be held this Saturday in celebration of Mr. and Mrs. Rhendon’s son’s homecoming.” She wiggled and her mobcap went awry. The girls were bursting with smiles and exclamations.
“How thrilling.” Mr. Breese yawned.
“It says here that Daniel Rhendon, has returned from a long stay in England and wishes to celebrate. I imagine everyone has been invited. Meaning those of good social standing like us.”
“Why do you suppose that, Mother?” Rachel winked at her sisters; her blonde curls toppling over her slim shoulders amid a wide blue ribbon.
“Because my dear, we are people of quality, and it is only proper the Rhendons would invite us.”
Darcy wondered why now. “They never have before, not in the all the years we have lived here.”
“That is true. Perhaps an acquaintance mentioned us.”
Mr. Breese blew out a breath. “It would displease your dearly departed mother to know you approve of the Rhendons, my sweet.”
Mrs. Breese arched her brows. “How so, my dear?”
“Have you forgotten, she was a loyalist during the Revolution?” Darcy’s cousins turned their heads in unison and looked at him with wide-eyed interest. “Their neighbors convinced your papa to join the militia at a ripe old age. Remember?”
Mrs. Breese shrugged. “I do. And Mama said rebellion was an evil thing. She grieved that Papa thought differently and took up arms against the King. I recall her wails that he’d be hung by the neck along with the rest of the traitors . . . which meant the Patriots.”
This sparked Darcy’s interest. Her aunt shared so little about her family. “Did their difference of opinion cause them to love each other less, Aunt?”
Mari Breese shook her head. “Not one whit. Mama swore she would not abandon Papa for his misguided politics, and she never did. His stint in the militia did not last long. He was too old to cope.”
It pleased Darcy to hear that love won out over all odds. If only it had been that way for her parents. She knew something dark had happened between them, with the little she could remember, but had never dared to force the information from her aunt and uncle. They never offered to reveal anything. And so, she left well enough alone.
Darcy shut her eyes and forced back one memory. That of her mother lying still and pale. She could not see Eliza’s face, only a flow of dark hair. She remembered the firm touch of her father’s hands, the sound of his voice, and the words—You’ve heard of Hell, haven’t you? Well, that’s where your Mama will be.
She had vague memories of her father, some that were nightmarish that she kept to herself, others of a loving parent who pampered her. Her heart ached recalling him and her mother, whose faces were a blur in her mind.
“This gives me pause to think of your own parents, Darcy,” her aunt said. “Such negligence by your father to have left for the West the way he did, leaving you with us without a forwarding address of any kind. But I should not have been surprised.”
“I do not remember him well enough to know, Aunt. And I doubt there are forwarding addresses into the western territories.”
“I would say it was more that he did not wish the responsibility of raising a girl,” said her aunt.
You see if you are a bad person and sin that is where you will go. That is where your mother is going . . . forever.
Those words came back again, caused her heart to sink. She gazed at the evening light pouring through the window and wished it could erase them from her memory.
Night was falling and the crickets in the garden were chirping. Mari stood and pushed the window wider to allow the breeze to pass into the room. Then she sat back down and looked over at Darcy. “Oh, it has troubled you for me to mention them. Will it help if I told you that your papa loved your mother? That much I can say with certainty, Darcy.”
Darcy raised her eyes to meet her aunt’s. “Do not worry yourself, Aunt Mari. I was so young and do not remember them. You and Uncle Will have been my parents, and I thank God for it.”
“I believe the truth is when Eliza died, Hayward went west to lose himself in his grief,” her uncle said.
“Oh, how romantic!” cried Dolley. Her winsome blue eyes glowed as she clutched her hands to her heart. Dolley heaved the next two breaths while she brushed back her light brown hair from her forehead.
“Romantic?” Mrs. Breese clicked her tongue. “A sad turn of events, shrouded in mystery is hardly romantic, Dolley. There were things said and done we will never know . . . never.”
Darcy grew silent, for she had nothing she wanted to say that would reveal her own thoughts and feelings on the subject. But within her, emptiness remained.
Her aunt reached over and patted her hand. “Never mind, Darcy. You should not think on such sad things. I’m sorry for mentioning them. Let us return to the Rhendon’s invitation instead. I wager you will catch the eye of many a young man at this event. Perhaps even find a husband.”
Darcy shook her head. “Oh, not me, Aunt.”
“Why not? You are just as pretty as Lizzy and Martha, and I dare say even Abby and Rachel. Dolly is yet too young.”
Darcy disagreed. She thought her cousins were far more attractive. They were enamored about fashion, wore their hair in the latest styles, and always wore stockings and shoes. Whereas she cared little for what was in and what was out, wore her hair loose about her shoulders, refused to wear stockings in hot weather, and loved going barefoot in summer.
She stood up and going to the window, she leaned on the sill and drew in the air. “If you could have your way, Aunt, you would have us all married by Saturday eve.”
Her aunt sighed. “Well you should have married a year ago. Lizzy and Martha should be married by the year’s end. I was sixteen when I married Mr. Breese.”
Mr. Breese looked over the rim of his spectacles. “Thank you for the reminder, my dear.”
She gave him a coy look in response. “Now, girls,” she went on. “We should look at each one of your dresses to see if they are in acceptable condition for this affair. If they are not we shall see if we can make subtle repairs or changes to them, perhaps add or subtract where needed.”
“Can we not make new dresses? Or go into town and buy new ones?” Lizzy gazed over at Mr. Breese with a demure smile and batted her large blue eyes. Darcy had seen it many times—Lizzy’s attempt to twist him around her finger.
“For all six of you?” Stunned, Mr. Breese lifted his brows. “I am not a rich man, Lizzy. You must make do with what you have.”
The girls pouted in unison, but Darcy rose to her feet and swung her arms around her uncle’s neck. “We shall make you proud of us. Our clothes are just as good as any others and we should not be judged by what we wear. French fashion is out, since their gentry are wearing sackcloth and ashes these days.”
Mrs. Breese brushed her handkerchief over her neck. “Oh, Darcy. I hope you keep opinions like that to yourself while at Twin Oaks. Many people judge a young lady by the clothes she wears. It says where you fit in.”
“Yes, Aunt.” Darcy wrapped a strand of her hair around her finger. “I hear they have fine horses at Twin Oaks. Do you suppose they shall let us ride?”
Astonishment spread over her aunt’s face. “Certainly not. It would be unbecoming.”
“But ladies ride all the time, Mother,” said Abby. She had not spoken until now, and Darcy smiled. Lately, Abby strove to break out of her shy nature and join in the conversation. She was the politest of young ladies, and in appearance the image of her mother. Horses were her passion, and the idea of possibly riding one at Twin Oaks caused her eyes to light up.
“I do hope the Rhendons allow it, for you especially, Abby,” Darcy said.
“Ladies should not ride at country picnics,” said Mrs. Breese. “I will not have my girls racing about the grounds like backwoods bumpkins.”
Lizzy had to inject. “What do you suggest we do, Mother? Sit all day fanning ourselves, melting in the heat, making eyes at the boys?” Each girl giggled, except for Darcy who smiled.
“There will be other things to do,” said Mrs. Breese. “You older girls must strive to be noticed, dance with those who ask, and do all you can to win a heart or two.”
“Sounds boring to me,” Rachel moaned, “and too hot to do anything.”
“Then be sure to wear plenty of powder, and stay in the shade,” said Mrs. Breese.
“Anything else we should know?” Mr. Breese folded his paper again.
“Well, I have not finished reading the invitation.” Mrs. Breese held the letter up to her eyes. “It says young Mr. Rhendon has brought a party with him from England. It does not list the names, but it says he brings two ladies and a gentleman.”
“The English cannot keep themselves away, can they?” Darcy said.
Mrs. Breese gave her a sidelong glance. “It says here, the gentleman is an exceptional rider and will make inquiry into Captain Rhendon’s thoroughbreds.” Again, she set the letter down on her lap and sighed with delight. “How interesting is that, my girls? Two ladies and an English gentleman.”
Mrs. Breese folded the invitation and set it on the side table beside her.
Darcy went from the room out into the hallway. She stepped out the door, sat down on the stone stoop, and stroked the dog’s ears. What would happen if she caught the eye of some gentleman at this gathering? He would have to have excellent qualities for her to like him, and she doubted if there was such a man alive, for her expectations were much too high.
She wanted a man like her uncle, kind, generous, with a sense of humor that matched his sense of duty. Could there be such a man searching for a girl like her?
A pause and she listened to the chatter coming from upstairs. The girls were sorting through their clothes, and Missy, their housemaid, came down the stairs with an armload of frocks, stockings, and laces, all in need of washing and repair.
Her aunt appeared in the upstairs landing. “Darcy, come look at your gown. It is important.”
She did as she was asked, and when she drew out the best dress she owned from the armoire, she held it out before her and looked it over. Her aunt stared at it, tapped her forefinger against her chin, and huffed. “It will have to be made over.”
The gown in question opened down the back and closed with hooks and eyes. The bodice seams were piped, with narrow cording of matching fabric and the hem deep and faced with heavier fabric to protect it from wear.
“I think it is fine the way it is, Aunt. But if you think it needs altering . . .”
“Oh, indeed it does. We will alter the sleeves and add ribbon and trim.”
“Seems like too much work for one day’s outing.”
Mrs. Breese took a step back and squared her shoulders. “I dare say, Darcy, I have never known you to have a lazy bone in your body. Believe me, altering this gown shall be well worth your time. Besides the cloth was too dearly acquired to abandon, and too many hours had gone into the original stitching to cast it off.”
Darcy agreed. She was not in the least bit slothful, but sewing made her fingers sore. Yet, she would follow through. “I did not mean we should cast it off, Aunt. I just happen to like its simplicity. You know I am not anxious to wear a great deal of ribbon and lace.”
“Then keep it as it is, if it pleases you.” Slapping her hands together, her aunt let out a little giggle. “I am so happy that full skirts and tight bodices are out of fashion, as well as high-dressed hair and painted faces.”
Darcy smiled at the image in her mind. “I cannot picture you with your hair piled high and powdered, or your face painted.”
“Never!” said her aunt. “A tight bodice yes. But the rest, I cared not. For it was so vain and made a woman look clownish.”
Expecting such an answer, Darcy laughed. “Then I, too, am happy.”
Her aunt leaned toward her. “Now, we have four days to complete our tasks. Saturday shall be here before we know it.”
“Yes, Aunt.”
“Missy shall take care of the rest of the chores so you girls can work without interruption. Now you should be glad for that. No feeding the chickens. No collecting eggs. Isn’t that grand?”
“I like feeding the hens and collecting eggs.” She glanced at her aunt with insistence. “I can still do my work and finish my dress.”
“Let us not put that to the test, Darcy.” And off her aunt went through the door, leaving Darcy to stand in the middle of the room with her dress in hand. She held it against her body and gazed into the mirror.
“It will do just as it is.”
With that resolved, she put it away and headed downstairs. She took up a willow basket from beside the kitchen door and went off to the hen house.

Order Now!

<< Go Back