The Perfect Hope Part 65

"And Lizzy?" Hope added. "All she really wanted was to fall in love, get married, make a home, and raise a family. Everything her father expected of her, except for the first step because love didn't enter into his plans for his daughters."

She slipped the key in the lock, opened the door. "We had guests in here last night. The room hasn't been serviced yet."

"I think we're okay with an unmade bed. Sit down, Clare," Avery ordered.

"I'm fine."

"Pregnant women should never turn down the opportunity to sit."

"You're right." Clare lowered into the purple velvet chair. "Does she stay in here, do you think, when you have guests like last night?"

"It depends. Sometimes I feel her up in my apartment. Or in The Library if I go in to refill the whiskey decanter or restock the coffeemaker."

"She spends time with you," Avery added. "Tell us about the letter."

"I told you."

"Tell us again, and maybe you'll be telling her, too."

"There are hundreds of letters. My cousin and the school archivist made enormous efforts to find letters written to and by Catherine. The bulk of what they have and what I've had access to were written to her. Letters from friends, relatives, the governess she had as a child, her music master, and so on."

Avery nodded, sat on the edge of the bed.

"There are letters from James Darby, the man she married, and several from her to him. They've been my favorites so far. In them you can see the evolution of their feelings for each other, the affection, the humor, the respect. He fell in love first, I think, and I think his loving her, understanding her, helped her discover herself."

"Lucky for her," Clare stated. "She married someone she loved, and who loved her."

"I think they had a really good life," Hope said. "He not only financed the bulk of the school she wanted to build, but came to share that vision with her. He was from a good family, financially and socially solid, so her father approved. But they loved each other. She was able to have a full life with the man she loved. It wasn't a marriage based on fear or duty or convenience."

When she caught the scent of honeysuckle, Hope eased down beside Avery. "Love opened her life. She loved her sister, but she was young, afraid, and didn't know yet what it was to be in love. She kept her sister's secret, as far as I can tell. And my sense of her, from the letters, is loyalty. I don't believe she would have betrayed you. She wrote to your cousin Sarah Ellen. They were close to the same age, and she shared her heart, her thoughts, her joys and worries with her. She feared for you, if your father learned you were slipping away to meet Billy. He was a stonemason, working on your father's estate. Is that right? You need to tell us if that's right, so I can keep looking."

She appeared in front of the door leading to the porch.

"He carved our initials into a stone. He showed me. Initials inside a heart in the stone. He put it into the wall, so it would last forever, and no one would know but the two of us."

"What was his name?" Hope asked.

"He's Billy. My Billy. I was riding, and went past where I was permitted, alone. Down to the stream, and he was there, fishing on a Sunday afternoon. He should not have been, and I should not have been. A brisk March afternoon, and the water in the stream pushing through the thawing ice."

Lizzy closed her eyes as if looking back. "I could smell spring trying to break through winter, yet snow still lay in the shadows. The sky was winter gray, and the wind still bitter."

Opening her eyes, she smiled. "But he was there, and it was no longer cold. I should never have spoken to him, nor he to me. But we knew as if we had always known. A look, a word, and hearts opened. Like in the novels Cathy would read me, and I would laugh at love at first sight."

Hope wanted to speak, to interrupt. His name, just his name. But didn't have the heart.

"We met when I could get away, and loved the rest of that cold March, into the blooming spring and to the lushness of summer."

She held out a hand toward Hope. "You know. All of you know what it is to feel so strongly for someone. He worked with his hands, not with wood, as your loves do, but stone. This alone would make him unworthy in my father's eyes. We knew it."

"Did your father find out?" Hope asked.

"He would never believe or suspect I would defy him in such a way. He chose a husband for me, and I refused when I had never refused him. At first, it was as if I hadn't spoken. He simply continued with his plans for the marriage. I continued to refuse, but, in truth, I would have had no choice. And the war ..."

She turned to Clare. "You understand what war does to those who fight it, and to those who are left behind to wait and fear. He said he must fight, must go, or have no honor. I begged, but in this he would not be swayed. We would leave together, marry, and I would stay with his family until he came back for me."

"Where was his family?" Avery prompted.

"Here?" Lizzy's fingers worked at the high collar of her dress as she looked around. "Near? It fades. His face is clear, his voice, his touch. Hard hands. Hard and strong. Ryder."

"Yes," Hope murmured. "Strong, hard hands. You eloped with Billy?"

"I could not. That very night my father signed my marriage contract. I should have remained silent, but I shouted at him, I raged. I thought of Billy going to war, and I raged at my father. I would never marry but for love. He could beat me, lock me away, throw me away, and still I would not do what he demanded of me. So he did lock me away, in my room. He struck me."

As if that memory remained all too fresh, Lizzy touched her cheek. "My mother took to her bed, and he struck me again, and dragged me to my room, locked me in. I could not get out, could not get away. Three days and nights, my father kept me locked in my room with only bread and water. I did what I should have done before. I told him I would obey. I asked his forgiveness. I lied and lied, and I waited for my chance. I left that house and my family, my sister whom I loved, so much, in the dead of night with what I could carry. I took the train to Philadelphia. So afraid, so excited. Going to Billy. I traveled by coach. So hot. Such a hot summer. I was ill. I wrote ... to his mother. I think. It fades. I wrote, and I came here. He was here."

"Billy came here?" Hope asked her.

"Near. He was coming. I could hear the cannon fire, but I was so ill. He was coming. He promised. I'm waiting."

"Eliza, I need his name. His full formal name." Hope got to her feet. "He was William."

"No. He was Billy, but Joseph William. He would build us a house, with his own hands. Will your Ryder build you a house?"

"He has a house. Eliza-"

"And a dog. We would have dogs. I left my dogs and my home and my family. But we would have dogs and a home and make a family. I think I was with child."

"Oh G.o.d," Avery murmured.

"I think ... Women know. Is that true?" she asked Clare.

"I think it is."

"I never told him. I only began to know when I came here. Then the heat, and the sickness. And it fades. It's too long." She held out a hand they could see through. "It all fades."

"Oh, don't-" Hope began, but Lizzy faded away like her hand.

"Pregnant and alone and sick, while the man she loved went off to war." Avery rose to crouch by Clare's chair, lean her cheek on Clare's hand.

"It wasn't like that for me. I was never alone. I had family who loved me. But yes, I can understand how frightened she must have been, and G.o.d, how determined. To leave everything with only what she could carry, to come to a strange place-and to realize she was carrying a child."

"Then to lie in bed, sick and dying, listening to cannon fire. He fought at Antietam," Hope said. "I'm sure of it. He was near, and he was a soldier."

"His family was near, too," Avery reminded her. "And we're not looking for a William, but a Joseph William. Maybe Williams? Would they have called him Billy?"

"I don't know, but having a potential first and middle name, or a potential first and last, is going to help."

"The longer she talked, or tried to, the less she was here. She was less and less defined as she talked to us."