bribes. They were, and will continue to be, expressions of my…feeling for you. If Jack will allow them — as expressions of affectionate friendship.”
“I am certain he will, Hugh. You and he are almost brothers.”
“An elder brother,” mused Hugh to himself. For a moment, Etáin saw that he was lost in a thought of his own. In his face she saw a distant, sad irony. Then he began pacing. “When will your parents publish the banns?”
“Soon, I suppose.” Etáin thought for a moment. “What moved me to decide, Hugh, is that my parents are returning to England — I mean Scotland — for my father’s firm has instructed him to close the shop.”
“Oh…?” Hugh paused in his pacing. “Well…I must see more of them before they leave. Well, that will leave Mr. Stannard the whole business,too…. ” He resumed his pacing. “Now, Reverend Acland is not likely to want to come so close to Jack in so intimate a circumstance as a marriage ceremony. He would probably refuse to officiate. And, I am certain that Jack would likewise not savor a proximity, nor wish him to have a hand in such an important event. Therefore, I shall write Governor Fauquier, and ask him to perform the wedding. He is, after all, the titular head of this colony’s church establishment. Would you mind that?”
“No.” Etáin smiled again. “You are generous, Hugh. I will ask Jack about it.” Then she rose and put on her bonnet. As she tied the knot of the ribbon, she said, “I must go now.”
“Yes.” Hugh escorted her to the front door. He said, “My riding chair has been repaired. May I drive you back to town?”
Etáin shook her head. “Thank you, no. I will walk.”
Hugh took one of her hands, raised it to his lips, and kissed it, lingering on it long after that gesture had been made. Etáin brought up her other hand and lightly brushed his face with her fingers. After a moment, Hugh released her hand. Then she turned and walked down the porch steps. Hugh watched her go along the path that led past the kiln and other outbuildings to the gate hidden in the far trees. He stood on the porch until her form merged and vanished into the early spring foliage.
He retreated to his study, and sat for a long time staring at the books on his shelves. Fénelon…Bodin…. Locke…. Harrington…. Bolingbroke…. Not a single light among them could offer him a word of advice or a nugget of wisdom this moment on how to cure himself of the aching desolation he felt now, and which he knew he would feel for a long time to come.
I must congratulate Jack, he thought. But, not this minute.
A ray of sunshine briefly pierced the melancholy overcast of his soul, and he understood what Etáin had meant by this being one of his sadder virtues. Well, he thought, there is some dignity in grief — depending on how well one wore its mantle — but little consolation, and no resolution.
All he could see now in the unlit space of this study, glowing in the aura of his memory, were an angelic face and hands that played gracefully over the string of a harp.
Chapter 5: The South
J ack Frake agreed with Hugh about Reverend Acland. It made no difference to him, however, what other official presided over the marriage. He accepted his friend’s offer to ask Governor Fauquier to perform the ritual. And so, on a sunny mid-April afternoon, a short, simple ceremony was held in the ballroom of the Governor’s Palace in Williamsburg, witnessed by Etáin’s parents, Hugh, John Proudlocks, and three members of the Council who happened to be there on colony business.
Outside the Palace, Hugh told Jack that he had business upriver at West Point the next day, and so was obliged to return to Meum Hall that afternoon to prepare for the journey. “Also, some of the bashaws in Gloucester have been pestering me with invitations to call on them, and I won’t hear the end of it until I have knocked on a few of their doors.”
Even though there was no hint of an
“I am certain he will, Hugh. You and he are almost brothers.”
“An elder brother,” mused Hugh to himself. For a moment, Etáin saw that he was lost in a thought of his own. In his face she saw a distant, sad irony. Then he began pacing. “When will your parents publish the banns?”
“Soon, I suppose.” Etáin thought for a moment. “What moved me to decide, Hugh, is that my parents are returning to England — I mean Scotland — for my father’s firm has instructed him to close the shop.”
“Oh…?” Hugh paused in his pacing. “Well…I must see more of them before they leave. Well, that will leave Mr. Stannard the whole business,too…. ” He resumed his pacing. “Now, Reverend Acland is not likely to want to come so close to Jack in so intimate a circumstance as a marriage ceremony. He would probably refuse to officiate. And, I am certain that Jack would likewise not savor a proximity, nor wish him to have a hand in such an important event. Therefore, I shall write Governor Fauquier, and ask him to perform the wedding. He is, after all, the titular head of this colony’s church establishment. Would you mind that?”
“No.” Etáin smiled again. “You are generous, Hugh. I will ask Jack about it.” Then she rose and put on her bonnet. As she tied the knot of the ribbon, she said, “I must go now.”
“Yes.” Hugh escorted her to the front door. He said, “My riding chair has been repaired. May I drive you back to town?”
Etáin shook her head. “Thank you, no. I will walk.”
Hugh took one of her hands, raised it to his lips, and kissed it, lingering on it long after that gesture had been made. Etáin brought up her other hand and lightly brushed his face with her fingers. After a moment, Hugh released her hand. Then she turned and walked down the porch steps. Hugh watched her go along the path that led past the kiln and other outbuildings to the gate hidden in the far trees. He stood on the porch until her form merged and vanished into the early spring foliage.
He retreated to his study, and sat for a long time staring at the books on his shelves. Fénelon…Bodin…. Locke…. Harrington…. Bolingbroke…. Not a single light among them could offer him a word of advice or a nugget of wisdom this moment on how to cure himself of the aching desolation he felt now, and which he knew he would feel for a long time to come.
I must congratulate Jack, he thought. But, not this minute.
A ray of sunshine briefly pierced the melancholy overcast of his soul, and he understood what Etáin had meant by this being one of his sadder virtues. Well, he thought, there is some dignity in grief — depending on how well one wore its mantle — but little consolation, and no resolution.
All he could see now in the unlit space of this study, glowing in the aura of his memory, were an angelic face and hands that played gracefully over the string of a harp.
Chapter 5: The South
J ack Frake agreed with Hugh about Reverend Acland. It made no difference to him, however, what other official presided over the marriage. He accepted his friend’s offer to ask Governor Fauquier to perform the ritual. And so, on a sunny mid-April afternoon, a short, simple ceremony was held in the ballroom of the Governor’s Palace in Williamsburg, witnessed by Etáin’s parents, Hugh, John Proudlocks, and three members of the Council who happened to be there on colony business.
Outside the Palace, Hugh told Jack that he had business upriver at West Point the next day, and so was obliged to return to Meum Hall that afternoon to prepare for the journey. “Also, some of the bashaws in Gloucester have been pestering me with invitations to call on them, and I won’t hear the end of it until I have knocked on a few of their doors.”
Even though there was no hint of an
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