Lavinia's Window Page 3

  Mrs. Lawson wrapped Lavinia’s lunch in a linen cloth, and tucked it into the rucksack. “It just so happens that I’ve made a batch of iced sugar cookies. They should go nicely with some bread and a bit of cheese.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t stay too late,” Constance reminded her.

  “I won’t,” replied Lavinia, and left the two women discussing the day’s affairs.

  Lavinia walked along a well worn path through the woods. Bubbles trotted proudly in front of her, little ears flapping, tail wagging. Azalea bushes, heavily laden with pink and red blossoms, lined the trail. Forsythias waved their spiky yellow branches, and butterflies fluttered about in the breeze. After about a half-mile, they crossed a small stone bridge which spanned a bubbling creek. The path meandered up the hill beside the creek, which noisily splashed down over large boulders exposed by erosion. Bubbles panted heavily and sat down halfway up the path. Lavinia scooped him up and slung him over her shoulder. Bubbles snuffled a bit and chewed on her braid.

  “We’re almost there and a good thing, too. I feel like a pack animal.” Lavinia climbed up to the top of the hill, where a large pond glittered in the morning light. Millstone Pond was loved by generations of the Randolph family. A wide meadow dotted with wildflowers surrounded the water, which was bordered on the north side by a row of majestic weeping willow trees planted long ago by great-grandfather Cornelius. Cornelius, an avid fisherman, had also stocked the pond with trout, and built a sturdy dock that jutted out into the pond.

  Lavinia was surprised to see Kevin Pooley, Timothy’s nephew, fishing in the ancient rowboat tied to one of the dock posts. Kevin’s family had migrated to America in the early 1870’s. His father had been killed in a tannery accident in Philadelphia five years ago, and the tragedy forced Mae, Timothy’s sister, to split up the family. Timothy agreed to take in Kevin, and Mae took little Annie with her to New York.

  Though Kevin was traumatized by his father’s death, he was grateful to be released from the grittiness of Southwark, a crime-ridden area where mobs of corner loungers terrified the residents. It was a dangerous place, but the best that Kevin’s father could afford. On the farm Kevin thrived under Timothy’s care, and grew tall and strong. He was a cheerful young man with black curls and green eyes. Hardworking and resourceful, he soon became indispensable. It seemed that there was nothing young Kevin couldn’t fix if he set his mind to it. Although he was only fifteen, neighbors often consulted him regarding difficult repairs.

  “Marnin’ to you lassie!” waved Kevin.

  “Hello,” Lavinia grinned and waved back.

  Lavinia put Bubbles on the ground and plodded through the thick grass. “I thought you would be off somewhere working,” said Lavinia as she climbed onto the dock, pulling Bubbles up with her.

  “I am warkin’. Cook’s needin’ fresh trout for someone’s special dinner.” Kevin winked, green eyes twinkling.

  Lavinia sat on the edge of the dock. “Are the fish biting?”

  Kevin pointed to a half dozen nicely sized trout in a bucket at the back of the boat. “St. Patrick’s own luck is with me!” he added as the rod bowed, and he reeled in another large trout. “So, wee lass, what brings you here?”

  “Not so ‘wee,’ as I am twelve today.”

  Kevin cocked his head to one side studying Lavinia. “As I live and breathe, you do seem a bit taller today.”

  “Do you really think so?” asked Lavinia.

  “God’s truth.”

  “I think you are just being kind, but I do feel older and hopefully wiser.”

  Kevin nodded. “How’s our man, Bubbles?”

  Bubbles cocked his head to one side and leaped into the boat. Kevin laughed, “’Tis good to see that not everyone is willin’ to grow up so fast!” Bubbles tottered over to the bucket and sniffed the trout. One flapped its tail which sent Bubbles scurrying over to hide beside Kevin’s leg.

  “A wee bairn, this ‘un.” Kevin picked up Bubbles and put him back on the dock.

  “He does act like a baby, and I expect that he always will,” said Lavinia. “I am going to draw today like Aunt Claire and think about an adventure.”

  “Adventure?”

  “Yes, Grandmama says that I am to learn the seven heavenly virtues and the General says that I am to seek an adventure.”

  “Keep your wits about you, lassie,” Kevin warned. “Adventure has a way o’ gettin’ mixed up with trouble. I’m not so sure you’re old enough to tell the difference.”

  “Well, Claire says adventure might find me.”

  “Claire’s got spirit, I’ll say that. Best you mind your grandmother and learn your virtues.”

  “I’m sure that I am to do both.”

  “Where will you be settin’ up your colors?”

  Lavinia pointed, “Over in that clearing. I’m going to sketch the willow trees.”

  “I’ll row you across the pond.”

  Lavinia handed Bubbles and the rucksack over to Kevin. She clasped his hand and carefully stepped into the row boat. She sat on the opposite seat and Kevin slowly rowed over to the other bank. He reached up and pulled some cherry blossoms from a low-lying branch along the way.

  “For your spiritual beauty, lassie,” he said and offered the flowers to Lavinia.

  “Thank you. They’re beautiful,” replied Lavinia, who tucked them into the band of her straw hat.

  Kevin helped Lavinia get settled. “Take care that you don’t stay too late, and put a fright into your grandmother,” cautioned Kevin. “Remember, you pick up the path right behind those stones.”

  “I’ll be careful to follow the path back. Thank you for the ride.”

  Kevin snatched his cap from his head and bowed. “If you need anything, whistle like I taught you, and the ‘Rainy Day Man’ will come to your service.”

  Lavinia curtseyed, giggling, “Thank you, kind sir.”

  The Rainy Day Man was a private joke between them. When Lavinia was eight, she had been bedridden for weeks with pneumonia. On rainy days Kevin didn’t work outside, and he often spent that time amusing Lavinia by telling stories, playing his flute, and carving small wooden animals for her. Thereafter, when Lavinia needed something, she called on her Rainy Day Man. The two had developed a close bond over the years, and Lavinia adored him.

  Kevin rowed back across the pond and cast his fishing line. Lavinia got out her paper and pencils and started drawing. Bubbles flopped on his back, wriggling in the grass. He finally rolled over and settled next to Lavinia, who was soon deep in concentration. She jumped when a loud whistle pierced the silence. Lavinia looked up to see Kevin waving as he carried his string of fish towards home. She put two fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly in return.

  Lavinia unpacked the lunch and shared her bread and cheese with Bubbles. They both drank from the pond, which was clear and cool. Lavinia studied her floral dictionary for a time, and then picked wildflowers from the meadow. Bubbles tagged along at her heels, nibbling on the tops of smaller flowers.

  “We shall stop and see Mama on the way home. Let’s see, we have tulips for love, flax for appreciation, honeysuckle for devotion, and balsam because I miss her.” Lavinia tied the colorful bouquet with a ribbon from her hair. She meticulously drew a small heart in the middle of the bow and added an “L” on one side and a “B” on the other. “That way she will know it is from us,” said Lavinia, leaning over to kiss Bubbles’ little face. He closed his eyes and grunted in pleasure.

  While Lavinia packed the rucksack, Bubbles stood knee deep in the pond, his pink tongue lapping busily at the water. A few small fish darted about his feet. He stood stock still staring intently at the wiggling creatures, and then vigorously plunged his face into the water, only to emerge shaking and sputtering.

  “My goodness! I think you better leave the fishing up to Kevin,” said Lavinia, wiping his face off with the linen cloth before putting it into the rucksack. Undeterred, Bubbles headed back toward the pond.

 
Lavinia pulled him back, “On no you don’t. It’s time to go.” She picked her way carefully along the steep path. At one point, Bubbles tumbled down the hill near the small waterfall, giving Lavinia quite a start, but he landed feet first and continued on his way.

  When they reached the clearing near the house, they followed the trail around the west side, passing the glass¬house where Constance and Mrs. Lawson grew flowers and produce all year long. The family cemetery lay beyond the glass-house, a short distance from the manor. In his time Cornelius had paid tribute to his deceased wife by planting two locust trees on either side of the old wrought iron gate. It meant that his love for her remained undiminished. Timothy kept the gate well oiled, and Lavinia pushed it open easily. Marble markers with family names dotted the cemetery: Mill, Graham, Cooper, Randolph and Spencer. Constance was an avid gardener and lovingly attended the precious parcel of land. Beds of daffodils, tulips, columbine, and candytuft pansies bloomed among the family plots. In addition to the glass-house, Constance also maintained an extensive flower garden and she created colorful wreaths of cut flowers to adorn the family gravesites. Julia’s resting place lay in a lovely nook in the Spencer plot next to her father. Claire had placed a tussie-mussie of red and yellow strawflowers (always remembered) and blue gillyflowers (lady fair) against Julia’s headstone. Constance had hung a wreath of ivy (faithfulness) and yellow cowslips (you are my angel). Lavinia knelt down and set her own bouquet next to the tussie-mussie.

  “Mama, I’ve brought you some flowers from Millstone Pond. Bubbles and I were sketching, and thinking about an adventure. Kevin says I ought not to think about getting into any trouble, and I shouldn’t think I would. I’m not very daring and I’ve only been one other place with Grandmama, which is Philadelphia to visit Claire. Grandmama says that I am to concentrate on my moral education so that I can make decisions for myself that are good. The General expects that I shall behave with courage and honor but, Mama, I am only twelve. I am happy to be growing up but I am also scared. I don’t know what to expect. I miss you so much.” Lavinia buried her face in her hands, tears slipping through her fingers. In a singular moment, a warm gentle breeze fragrant with spring roses, surrounded her in a caress. Lavinia felt a flower petal kiss her cheek and immediately felt at peace. She murmured, “I love you, Mama,” and the wind whispered endearments in return.

  A hand lightly touched Lavinia’s shoulder. She turned and gazed into tender green eyes filled with sympathy.

  “Oh, Timothy. I’m sorry that you found me in tears. I am trying so hard to act grown-up but I hardly know where to begin,” said Lavinia wiping her eyes.

  “Now, now, lassie. ‘Tis a hard day to be sure,” Timothy said soothingly. “We’re all missing our Julia today, particular as her little ‘un is becoming such a fine young lady, just like her mother was.”

  Timothy had more experience with death than most. He had arrived in New York when he was eleven, a red-haired, freckle-faced lad from Belfast, one of the multitude of refugees forced to leave Ireland during the potato famine to avoid starvation. Landing on the docks of Ellis Island alone, he enlisted in the Union Army as a drummer boy. Within days he was stationed at the front lines at Bull Run. General Edward Randolph was a great leader who rode into battle with his troops, and it was by chance that the General’s horse skidded in the chaos of battle, throwing him to the ground near Timothy. Timothy leapt up, caught the wayward horse, and helped the General remount. The General pulled the terrified boy up behind him and deposited him safely behind the lines. Later, he questioned Timothy about his background and was moved by the young boy’s story. The General was an educated man and held none of the prejudices that many directed toward the Irish. He gave Timothy a job caring for his wolfhound, Liberty. Timothy also met Lieutenant Colonel John Spencer, the General’s brother-in-law. Both men kept a close eye on Timothy, who took it upon himself to clean their tents and look after their things.

  Over the months the carnage and senselessness of the war began to weigh heavily upon the General as the numbers of dead and wounded young men accumulated. His slumber was rife with nightmares, and he rarely slept more than an hour or two at a time. Timothy saw first¬hand how heavy his responsibilities were, and admired how the General conducted himself.

  At Cedar Creek a cannon ball exploded throwing Timothy to the ground, knocking him unconscious. When he awoke, he called for the General to no avail. He crawled through burning smoke over dead bodies and through pools of blood, searching. He whistled for Liberty and heard a short bark. He followed the sound and found Liberty covered in filth guarding his master. The General’s left leg had been shattered by a shell, and Timothy knew that his life hung in the balance.

  “Don’t let me die here, Timothy,” whispered the General. “Take me home.”

  “You won’t die, Sir. I won’t let you.” Timothy tore his own shirt into strips and bound the leg tightly to stop the bleeding. Somehow he managed to carry the General across his shoulders out of the battlefield and, when he could carry him no more, he dragged him. Faithful Liberty limped along beside them as they made their way to the surgeon’s tent. The General survived the amputation of his leg below the knee, and Colonel Spencer made arrangements with a local family to board his injured brother-in-law until he was well enough to travel. Timothy tended to the General’s needs and cared for Liberty, neglecting his own health, and, after several weeks, transportation was arranged. The General and Liberty were settled into a hired coach for the journey home. Colonel Spencer drew a map, and tucked a letter into Timothy’s shirt pocket for Constance. “It’s up to you now, son.”

  Timothy kept the General comfortable during the journey home. As they approached the long drive to Millstone Manor, he was unprepared for the wealth and grandeur of the property. A cry went out as the household caught sight of the coach. Constance was the first to reach them, and immediately began issuing orders. Relieved of his responsibility, Timothy slumped to the ground. Everything became a blur as Timothy drifted in and out of consciousness. He awoke days later to find Julia bathing his face with a towel. She looked so much like an angel that he thought he had died. She assured him that he was very much alive, and that her uncle was also healing. Constance thanked Timothy for the letter from her husband. Old Cornelius expressed his gratitude at Timothy’s bravery for risking his life to bring his son Edward home, and listened carefully as Timothy related the General’s numerous acts of courage amidst the horrors of the war, and the events that had led up to their injuries.

  Timothy’s condition improved rapidly with food and rest, and he insisted on caring for the General himself, giving Constance a much needed respite. Months passed and the family realized that their dearest Edward would never fully recover. John Spencer returned home shortly thereafter, and he and Constance decided to remain at Millstone Manor with their daughters. Old Cornelius had become fond of the courageous young lad who faithfully tended his son, and inquired as to whether Timothy would stay on as Edward’s companion. Timothy accepted and over the years had become a loyal and trusted member of the family.

  “There, there, young miss. Your mama wouldn’t want tears on your special day,” said Timothy, offering her his handkerchief.

  “I know. I am feeling much better now,” sniffed Lavinia, wiping her eyes. “I didn’t expect you at home. I thought you might go riding with Claire and the General.”

  “Not today. I’ve been mending fences. One of the mares got out.”

  “Will you be at my party?”

  “For certain, unless the General has other plans,” said Timothy. “Your aunts have arrived from Philadelphia. Time for you to skedaddle home.” “I shall. See you tonight, Timothy. Come along, Bubbles.” Timothy watched Lavinia skip along the garden path with Bubbles zig-zagging behind her.

  He turned back to Julia’s headstone, and gently placed a forget-me-not next to Lavinia’s nosegay. He made the sign of the cross and whispered, “Ar dheis Dé go raibh a hanam, err yesh day guh rev ah hahna
m.”*

  * May your soul be on God’s right hand side.

  Raspberry -“Regrets”

  Chapter 3

  That afternoon Constance sat at her desk preparing to write a letter to Lavinia’s father. She reflected upon the past as she always did when bringing Alex up to date on Lavinia’s progress. Alex had never responded to a single letter, although he did send a Christmas gift every year for Lavinia with a generous check to cover her expenses.

  Lavinia kept everything inside, and Constance knew that she was a deep and sensitive soul, and so Constance maintained her one-sided correspondence with Lavinia’s father despite his continued silence. He had a beautiful daughter, and Constance meant to keep her alive in the letters and pictures she sent. If Alex ever chose to end his estrangement from the family, at least Lavinia would not be a total stranger to him.

  “Julia was so young when she met Alex. We only wanted her to wait until she was a little older before committing to marriage,” thought Constance. “We meant well, but our actions caused Julia much pain. Now Lavinia suffers. We had our faults. John and I did not make it easy for Alex. Therefore, I must continue to reach out and hope that he will not reject my efforts as we rejected his.”

  Still, no matter how hard Constance tried to come to terms with the past, she could not free herself of the bitterness that she carried within her heart towards Alex Rexford, not only on her daughter’s behalf but her granddaughter’s as well. Constance took a deep breath as she picked up her quill, hoping to find the right words that might appease the anger that Alex harbored toward the family.

  Mr. Alexander Rexford

  20 March 1883

  Rexford Shipping Company

  New York City, New York

  Dear Alex:

  Today is Lavinia’s twelfth birthday, and I am sending a recent photograph of Lavinia and Bubbles. She dotes on her little pug, and he follows her everywhere. As you can see, Lavinia is growing up. She is a lovely girl, sensitive and kind to everyone, but remains quite shy. I have discussed the possibility of day school with her to encourage a more outgoing disposition, but she prefers to study at home with her tutors. Lavinia currently studies history, science, and mathematics. She reads well, and also draws and paints. We are proud of her accomplishments and I am enclosing her tutor’s comments about her school work.