Lavinia's Window

  Lavinia’s Window

  Michelle Weisen

  Copyright © 2007 by Michelle Weisen.

  ISBN: 978-1-60702-047-9

  Publication Date: 2009

  Cover Design by Paul & Tracy Mahoney

  Illustrations by Samantha Jones, Chameleon Illustration

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except for brief excerpts quoted for purposes of review.

  Mama flies with dying sighs.

  Baby cries her sad good-byes.

  Papa denies his family ties,

  and our tale will rise from truth and lies.

  Honeyflower -“Loss”

  Prologue

  25 March 1871

  Alex Rexford cut an impressive figure in his expensive suit as he sat alone in a first class car on the C&A Railroad traveling from Philadelphia. His thick dark hair curled around his collar and his profile revealed deep set brown eyes, an aquiline nose, strong cheekbones, and a firm mouth. Impassive and aloof, he gave no sign of his inner turmoil. Tragically, he had learned that very morning that his young wife had died. His natural poise deserted him as he shifted his large frame in unfamiliar positions, seeking comfort where there was none. He held himself in check as he twisted the ring on his left hand round and round while the train swayed back and forth on its tracks.

  He drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Had it been only a year ago? He leaned back and envisioned his lovely young wife, Julia. At eighteen, Julia possessed wisdom far beyond her years, and she was more precious to Alex than he had ever imagined anyone could be. She gave selflessly, and Alex could never quite believe his good fortune. There were no ulterior motives with Julia. She was too naïve to pretend to be anything other than what she was – a sensitive young woman with a deep sense of responsibility to those she loved. And she had loved him.

  “How could our life together unravel so quickly?” he thought as he buried his face in his hands. There was never any doubt that Julia was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He had reached the point where his business success had brought him financial stability, but only Julia filled the lonely spaces in his life that work eclipsed but never erased. She embraced his weaknesses as well as his strengths and deep down, he had feared to lose her. He was ready for marriage and believed Julia was also, but Julia’s parents, John and Constance Spencer, felt she was too young and New York was too far away from the little town of Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania. They objected strenuously to the marriage, creating ill will on all sides. Julia defied her parents and accepted his proposal. They married, but she paid a terrible price. In her parents’ eyes, their dutiful daughter ceased to exist. Julia knew few people in New York, and Alex worked long hours. She never complained but he knew her well, and worried about her feelings of isolation. He tried everything in his power to make her happy, and that included reconciliation with her parents. He extended many invitations to John and Constance in hopes of restoring the familial bond, but they never responded. Alex’s despair turned into a deep and bitter anger as he helplessly watched his wife suffer.

  And then Julia became pregnant, and it seemed that all might be put right. They planned to deliver their happy news to Julia’s family, when Julia’s father died suddenly. Alex accompanied his distraught wife to the funeral, not knowing what to expect. Constance instantly reached out for Julia, and Alex breathed easier. Still, Constance barely acknowledged his presence, and when Julia approached him to stay with her mother to comfort her, Alex had serious misgivings. He assumed it would be for a short time, but days turned into weeks and weeks into months. Alex grew frustrated with Julia’s endless excuses, and realized that he had underestimated Constance’s influence. He told himself that his work obligations prevented him from traveling to Pennsylvania but, in truth, he was no longer certain that Julia would return home with him if he did travel to Millstone Manor to claim her.

  A telegram from Constance arrived in March stating that he had a daughter and requesting he come immediately to Millstone Manor. Alex wondered why Julia had not contacted him directly. He could not bear to think that perhaps she did not love him after all.

  Upon his arrival at Millstone Manor, Alex was greeted at the door by a young maidservant and admitted to the drawing room to wait. It was a formal room, reserved for company, and Alex held no illusions regarding his stature in the Spencer family. When Constance entered the room, his animosity intensified. She was a formidable woman, and their brief encounters had not been pleasant. Constance had made her disapproval regarding the marriage well known, and he felt that she was behind Julia’s decision not to return to New York. Absorbed by his own concerns, he failed to see the grief in Constance’s eyes.

  Alex lashed out. “Why am I standing here? Where is my wife? ”

  “Julia died giving birth to your daughter,” she said quietly.

  Shocked, Alex felt the room shift. He staggered, and steadied himself against the back of a divan. Constance went over to an oak side table and poured whiskey from a crystal decanter. She pressed the glass into his hand. The liquid burned his throat.

  “How in God’s name could you allow this to happen?” Alex shouted. “Did it ever occur to you that my wife might still be alive had she returned to take her proper place at home? Why, New York has the finest medical care in the United States!” Enraged, he threw the tumbler at the wall where it shattered.

  Constance flinched. “My daughter made her own choices.”

  “Did she, Constance? Julia came here to console you, and I allowed it because I hoped she could find a way to make you understand how much we both wanted you to be part of our lives. Do you have any idea how much pain you caused your daughter when you abandoned her? What did you expect me to do? You rejected my own pleas to reconsider your position.” Alex shook his head in disgust.

  “I was a fool to believe that you had changed. You used my wife’s family loyalty to bind her to you and, in doing so, betrayed us both.”

  The ugly accusation hung between them.

  Alex turned away and stared unseeingly out the window. “Where are they?”

  “We buried Julia in the family cemetery and...”

  Alex whirled around. “You buried Julia already? How could you? Were you afraid that I might take her away from you even in death?”

  Constance looked away, and Alex saw the truth in his statement. “Where is the child?”

  “Rose is in the nursery.”

  “Rose?” “I named her after Julia’s grandmother.” “The child shall be called Lavinia, after my mother,” said Alex evenly. “Do you understand?”

  Constance hesitated for a moment. “Yes, as you wish.”

  “Show me where Julia is buried,” he ordered. Constance led Alex out to a small family cemetery some distance from the house. They walked without speaking. She pushed open the wrought iron gate and directed Alex to a fresh grave covered with flowers. Alex stood at the foot of Julia’s grave and looked out at the gray overcast sky.

  “What a miserable place this is,” he thought. He felt numb, and it seemed that he could barely recall what Julia looked like after so many months. “I must return to New York,” he said finally. “I’ll order the headstone.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Alex turned and noted how thin Constance had become. Her face was lined with sorrow, and bluish smudges of fatigue bruised her eyes. The deaths of her husband and daughter had taken a harsh toll. Alex felt no sympathy for her. She had ruined their lives. Let her suffer. Yet, she stood in anticipation and Alex sensed that there was something she needed from him. What, he could not imagine.

  She hesitated and then, “Will you take the baby
with you?”

  And there it was. She wanted the girl.

  “Sir, may I offer you something?” Alex turned, momentarily confused. The porter stood before him. “Are you all right, sir?”

  “Quite, I’ll take brandy,” he said stiffly.

  “Very good, sir.”

  Alex sipped the brandy, and closed his eyes. He left the child with Constance of course, but he had made her wait it out before replying. Wretched woman! What Constance anticipated would be a difficult decision for him was no decision at all. He had no desire to raise a child alone, and so he left Millstone Manor without seeing the baby, much to Constance’s disgust. Still, she dared raise no objections lest he change his mind.

  “Let her remember me every time she calls that child Lavinia,” he thought with grim satisfaction, “I am only obligated to provide for the girl financially. Beyond that, let Constance finish what she started.” He traced his ghostly image in the window. It was a face naked with grief, rare in one who kept a tight rein on his emotions, and he did not recognize himself. Alex pressed his burning forehead to the cool pane of glass, forced to imagine an unthinkable future, as the train slipped away into the night.

  Primrose -“Early Youth”

  Chapter 1

  20 March 1883

  The golden glow of early morning light filtered through the lace curtains of Lavinia’s window. Small patches of sunshine tiptoed along the hardwood floors and crept up the rose damask coverlet to spill across the sleeping form of a slender young girl. Lavinia lay on her side with her hands tucked under her cheek. Her light brown hair, caught up in a white ribbon, curled about her shoulders. Even in sleep, her pale face held a certain seriousness not often found in young children. Lavinia was a motherless child with an indifferent father. Unlike many children in her situation, Lavinia was very fortunate. Her Grandmama and Great-Uncle Edward cared for her at Millstone Manor, the house her mother grew up in. It was a home filled with joy and love.

  Lavinia’s eyelashes fluttered as she slowly awoke. The burdens that troubled her sleep faded as she smiled at the little pug snoring softly beside her. She leaned over to tickle his belly.

  “Bubbles! Wake up!” Bubbles arched his back and yawned. He stuck out his pink tongue before snuggling into Lavinia’s arms. “My goodness, Bubbles. Today is my twelfth birthday. I should think you would be as excited as I am!”

  Drowsily, the little pug looked up, cocking his head to one side. He stared into his mistress’s shining blue eyes for a few moments, and then scampered up to cover Lavinia’s nose with sloppy kisses.

  “You are a silly little thing!” she laughed. “Good morning to you, too! Come, let’s see what kind of day it is.” Scooping up Bubbles, she crossed the room and settled into the cushion on the window seat.

  Pink and white dogwoods gently rippled against the waning pinks and purples of the sunrise. Morning mist rose from the meadow where a dozen horses grazed, some nursing new-born foals. Daffodils and tulips lined the path between the gardens where evidence of newly planted potatoes, spinach, cabbage and carrots poked through the tilled surfaces. Mrs. Lawson, their short, stocky cook, was already out checking the wire fencing and snipping samples from her collection of herbs. Rabbits and squirrels scurried about, hoping to steal a few delicate shoots.

  Mrs. Lawson was a fixture in the Randolph family home with forty years of service, and her culinary talents were nearly as legendary as her track record at the county fair. The garden was her pride and joy, and her best efforts had produced numerous first place ribbons, which were a testimony to her secret formulas and horticultural talents. Lavinia giggled as Mrs. Lawson flapped her enormous apron to shoo away a thieving black crow. Wisps from her grey bun whipped about in the wind, and her breath created clouds in the frigid morning air as she scolded the intruder.

  The sun climbed higher, and the sky turned a brilliant blue. Lavinia looked out over the hilly countryside, lush with evergreens, and blossoming with new growth. “I love spring, Bubbles, don’t you?” Bubbles snorted and nibbled the edge of Lavania’s nightgown. “No, no! Chew on your baby!” Lavinia pushed a small doll she made herself into the pug’s little mouth. Bubbles chomped it with relish.

  Lavinia leaned back in the window seat and surveyed her bedroom. Few changes had been made since her mother was a girl. The walls were still painted a soft pink, and a fine Persian carpet rested upon the hardwood floor. The wood of the antique bed, armoire, and desk shone like honey, and a silk mosaic diamond quilt in rose, pink, and green lay at the foot of the bed. A picture of Lavinia’s mother hung above the headboard. The portrait had been painted prior to Julia Spencer’s marriage. It depicted a lovely young woman, sitting in a half profile, her blue eyes gazing off in the distance. Her auburn hair was swept up into a mass of curls which cascaded down her back. She wore a simple blue silk dress, which accentuated the paleness of her skin. A string of pearls encircled Julia’s throat and a large bouquet of white roses rested in her lap. Lavinia stared intently at the portrait, touching her own face and then turned back to the window, locating the tall locust trees that framed the wrought iron gates of the family cemetery, and sought out the place where her mother lay.

  Lavinia reflected aloud, “I wonder if Mama sat here on her twelfth birthday.”

  “She most certainly did. Just as you are now.” Constance Spencer entered the room, wearing a lavender linen morning gown. She was a beautiful woman in her early fifties. Tall and graceful, with silverish-blond hair and gentle blue eyes, Constance radiated serenity and composure.

  “Grandmama!”

  “Happy Birthday, my dear.” Constance stooped to embrace Lavinia and sat on the opposite end of the window seat. Bubbles crept into Constance’s lap, little doll between his teeth.

  “Do you think that she would be proud of me, Grandmama?”

  Constance gazed fondly into the small face that resembled her own daughter so much. She placed her hand under Lavinia’s chin and inspected her. “Let’s see, now. You are beautiful, talented, and intelligent. Not too obedient as to be boring, and not too disobedient as to be wicked. You say your prayers as you should, and you are most kind-hearted, especially to animals. I should say that your mother is proud of you, Lavinia, as we all are.”

  “I wish I had known her,” sighed Lavinia.

  “I know, dear. It must be very difficult,” sympathized Constance. “But I believe that those who depart before us are never very far away. If you look into your heart, you will find her. You are very like her, you know, but you are also unique. This will be a significant year for you. It is a time when you will decide for yourself matters of great importance.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You are twelve and still a child in many ways, but you are also on the threshold of becoming a young lady.

  The path you follow will offer many opportunities, but it will also present obstacles. Circumstances will arise to test you. Those around you will influence you, but you cannot always rely on others to set the best examples. I believe there are certain truths that sustain us, Lavinia, when we need them.” Constance placed a fine red leather journal embossed with “LSR” in Lavinia’s lap. “I am giving you a journal, just as my mother gave me when I turned twelve. I ask that you spend this year concentrating on the seven heavenly virtues.”

  “What are the seven heavenly virtues, Grandmama?” Constance opened the journal. “I have written them on the first page for you.”

  My Dearest Lavinia,

  Happy twelfth Birthday. Today I offer you the seven heavenly virtues: love, creativity, wisdom, truth, tolerance, freedom, & courage. These qualities are necessary for happiness, and a happy life is my greatest wish for you. Love, Grandmama

  “Virtues are important traits of character which all people respect. The virtues represent values that we are not born with, but must strive to achieve for ourselves. God gives us the gift of choice, and the ability to tell the difference between what is good and what is not. I believe these val
ues are central to living a moral life, and they will keep you in good stead throughout all your days.”

  Lavinia traced the initials on the cover with her finger, “Lavinia Spencer Rexford.”

  “Yes. You are the daughter of Julia Spencer and Alex Rexford. You represent a new generation, Lavinia, and carry our family’s hopes and dreams into the future. A happy life depends upon wise choices and honorable principles. That is why I continue the tradition, and I hope that you will too when you have your own children.”

  Lavinia noted that Constance had pressed a sprig of parsley between the pages. “I can’t remember what this means, Grandmama.”

  “Consult your Flora’s Dictionary.”

  Lavinia went over to her nightstand and picked up the popular little book that associated flowers and herbs with their meanings. She riffled through the pages, “Here it is. Parsley represents knowledge.”

  “That is correct. It is my hope that you will not only learn your virtues, but you will understand what they mean in the true sense.”

  “Thank you, Grandmama. I promise that I will use my journal to discover how the seven virtues will help me, just as you asked.”

  “I appreciate your willingness on my behalf, child, but you will realize as time passes that this task is for your own benefit.” Constance placed Bubbles on the cushion, stood up, and kissed the top of Lavinia’s head. “It is time that we both dressed. Mrs. Lawson has no doubt prepared something special for your breakfast this morning, and you know that the General dislikes waiting for us, birthday or no birthday.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Lavinia went over to the pitcher and poured water into the basin. She washed thoroughly and dressed in a soft pink cashmere dress with a high waist that fell in soft pleats just above her ankles. Nancy, a lively young country woman with rosy cheeks, brown eyes, and wavy dark hair twisted up into a bun entered the room carrying clean bed sheets. She was Mrs. Lawson’s niece and came in during the day to help out at the manor.

  “Hello, Nancy. Can you please help me with my hair?” asked Lavinia.