Plymouth's Rock -- Part 3
by Kathy Neise

A mysterious, near-death stranger has been brought to Hindrake. Althia's curiosity is piqued, but will he live long enough to reveal his secrets?

John pulled the carriage up to the church, joining the others already there. He stopped and jumped down in order to help Althia out. She stepped into the cool Plymouth morning and shivered slightly, wrapping her shawl around her tighter. She thanked John and he climbed back up, maneuvering the carriage to the waiting area.

Inside, many of the town's elite was already gathered and squawking like hens in a barnyard, or so Althia thought. Althia nodded to this one and that one and attempted to make her way to a pew near the back.

"Lady Shevington, I am so glad to see you this fine Sunday morning." Sir Michael Langston made his way over to Althia. Sir Langston owned a beautiful, large estate named Willow Creek a number of miles inland. Often she and Sir Langston traded help, advice and equipment. He often treated her as an equal and she appreciated his candor and equestrian expertise.

"Sir Langston, how nice to see you. How are you doing?"

Sir Langston wore a dark brown coat and lighter pants. His large stomach looked trapped behind his coat buttons, which appeared ready to explode at any minute. Despite the cool temperatures outside and in the church, his face glowed red and perspiration formed on his forehead and lip. He removed his handkerchief and patted his face. The simple gesture reminded Althia of the man back at her home.

"I am doing well, thank you, but I am afraid that I have some horses that are not. I am to speak with my man this afternoon after I return home. I was hoping it would be alright with you to send John should we need assistance."

"Yes, of course, Sir Langston; I would be most happy to send him."

"Splendid. Hopefully, we will not need him, but I will send post if we do. And how is your mare faring?"

"Quite well, thank you. Her cold is nearly gone, thanks to you and your special remedy."

"Well, I know you take good care of her. I was happy to help." The other patrons began to take their seats, signaling the service was about to start. "I will let you know soon if we will be in need of John. Thank you, Lady Shevington."

"Anytime, Sir Langston," she remarked as she sat in the pew. She chose to sit in the back a number of years ago in order to be the first to escape. She did not mind the church service so much, but the whispering, gawking, and pointing became too exasperating for her. She could never understand their need to belittle and mock everyone not seen as equal.

The music began and the Bishop gestured for everyone to stand. Althia obliged and looked at the stain glass window at the front of the sanctuary. It depicted Jesus standing with his arms open wide and a dove winging above his left shoulder. The sunlight streamed in and caused the colors to pour into the small church building. She looked over at the row of pews across from hers and mentally identified everyone there. There were Lord and Lady Manchester, Lady Chanceler, Margaret and Leonard, Cordelia, her husband Edward and their two children, Andrew and Elizabeth, Sir and Lady Langston, Sir and Lady Wellston, and Lord and Lady Maynwaring. Every Sunday, just as constant as the rising and setting of the sun, these same people would occupy the same pews and carry about in the same manner.

The song finished, and the Bishop stepped forward to read the scripture for the day and then pray. Althia said a prayer for the stranger in her guestroom. Everyone sat, and the Bishop began his sermon while Althia's thoughts drifted to the young man in her house. She tried to imagine where he came from, how he was injured. He had called out for a woman and a child. Maybe they were his wife and child. She tried to imagine what they would look like. She thought that his wife might look very similar to Margaret. Yes, she could just see them now, Margaret's blonde hair and light skin in perfect contrast to his dark skin and hair. The man carried a young boy of two or three on his shoulders as the young family made its way down the shoreline. Yes, Althia's cheeks began to burn, I am sure that is it exactly. Well, soon he will be well and gone, and I will not have to bother with him anymore. Althia's emotional response surprised her slightly, but, nonetheless, she sat fuming the rest of the service.

As soon as the final "Amen" was uttered, Althia quickly skirted out of the building. John, conditioned to her quick exits, already had the carriage waiting for her. He helped her inside, and off they sped back toward Hindrake. All the way home, Althia continued to conjure up images of the man and his family. The imaginary wife made sure that the house was spotless and that the young boy was well behaved. Everyone was constantly in smiles, and it made Althia's stomach turn in anguish. Was it because she would never be that type of wife and mother? Or was it because she was not his wife and mother of his child? Althia gasped aloud at the thought that had somehow infiltrated her mind. Certainly not, she scolded herself. I know nothing about this man. He will surely reveal himself to be coarse, unrefined, and a brute. I shall be glad to be rid of him. But that wasn't how she had imagined him to be, and somehow the nagging thought would not leave her be.

The pair arrived home, and Althia made her way to the breakfast nook where Jane had her lunch prepared. Althia looked out upon the slightly cloudy day and her thoughts turned to her mother. Her mother died when Althia was just a baby, so everything Althia knew about her had been relayed from her father and grandfather. Her grandfather used to tell her that her mother was a warm and loving woman who loved anything that made her smile. Her father would remark that her mother could warm the heart of the coldest man in Plymouth with just one of her smiles. Althia wondered if she would have turned out to be more like her mother if she had lived. Cordelia and Margaret were such copies of their mothers. Would Althia have turned out the same way?

It disturbed Althia to brood about such things. She had never felt discontented with her life before. She had simply accepted it and went about assuring its continuance. Why was she suddenly filled with doubt and insecurity? Only one answer kept coming to her mind: that man. That man in the guestroom was the cause of her angst and uneasiness. He must be discharged as soon as possible. Althia finished her meal and then made her way to the guestroom to check on her soon-to-be-leaving guest.

No one was in the room, save the man lying on the bed. Althia assumed Humphrey had retired to his room. The man looked as if he were resting, but somehow uncomfortable, as if he were in pain of some sort. Althia looked at the bandages surrounding his abdomen and did not see any of the infection escaping. She strolled back to the bookshelf and looked for another selection. Her eyes stopped when she read the title on the spine of one of the books. Her father used to read this book to her often, and she loved to hear about the travels of Gulliver and the places and people that he met. She reached for the book and sat down in the chair. Before she began reading, she glanced over at the man. He still did not look at peace but at least he was not having an outburst. Althia opened the cover of the book and turned to the first page. Maybe it would help him to hear a voice? she wondered. Normally, she would have shied away from reading aloud--and especially in front of strangers--but since the stranger in question was currently unconscious, she felt comfortable reading aloud. Althia cleared her throat and began: "My father had a small estate in Nottinghamshire; I was the third of five sons..."

Nicholas saw himself in the classroom of his youth. His adult body was somehow occupying the same chair he sat in as a child. The other children were gathered with him in a circle surrounding the teacher. She was standing there, looking into a book and reading something, but he had difficulty making out what she was saying. It seemed that she was talking from very far away, even though she was standing right there in front of him. He looked over and could see the other boys and girls just as they were when he attended class with them. None of them seemed to think it strange to see him grown up and in his naval uniform. On one side of him sat his brother and on the other sat Howard Bailey. Howard prided himself on being the class bully, and most students cowered in his presence. He even tried to pick on Nicholas when he could, but never in the presence of Thomas. Thomas had given him a round beating one day after school and made sure that Howard did not try to take revenge on Nicholas. Howard pulled the curls of red-haired Susanna causing her to start crying, which just made Howard laugh.

"You cannot treat her like that. I will not allow it." Nicholas stood to his complete six feet and towered over the young boy sitting down.

"Is that so? And who is going to stop me? You?" The boy got out of his seat to face Nicholas and somehow they saw eye to eye.

Nicholas glanced over at the teacher who just continued reading as if nothing was wrong. Nicholas walked over to her, forgetting Howard and the other children. This was not the same teacher from his youth. He could not get a clear picture of her face, but her voice was at once melodic and yet at the same time tinged with sadness. He tried to reach out to her, but her image disappeared into wisps of smoke.

Instantly, he sat up in his bed on the Leviathan. He could still hear the voice. It beckoned his heart, and he knew that he must find its source. The voice seemed to mimic the roll and retreat of the waves while he paced the strangely empty deck in search of its owner. The words and sound of the voice weighed on him and carried its sadness to the deepest reaches of his soul. He knew that if he could just find the woman, he could stop her sadness. Somehow he knew--he must find this woman and relieve her pain. He tried to take another step but something was stopping him. He looked to see tiny ropes encircling his legs. He tried to move his arms, but ropes held those down as well. Lifting his head proved just as fruitless as tiny ropes bound his neck and forehead. He lay on the ground while tiny men and women surrounded him dancing for joy. A shadow fell over his face as his wife Catherine came walking up behind the dancing munchkins.

"Did you really think you could escape, Nicholas dear?" She sneered at him. "You belong to me, and I will make sure you never escape. Can you hear me? Can you hear me?" Dejectedly, Nicholas relaxed and closed his eyes.

"Can you hear me? Can you hear me?" Althia asked the comatose man. Night had fallen and shadows covered the man's face. However, he seemed to look more peaceful, or, at least not in so much pain. "I am going to dinner now. Humphrey will be in shortly to attend to you. I do wish you would awaken soon." Althia set the book down on the chair as she stood and felt the man's forehead with her hand. It seemed to be slightly cooler, and she was grateful. She lingered for a moment--her mind wishing to leave, but something else beckoning her to stay. She shook off the feeling and made her way to the nook and dinner.

Althia found that she did not have much of a stomach for dinner and quickly retired to her bedroom, but she did not feel like sleeping, either. She just laid in bed, thoughts and emotions churning over her. Yes, that man was surely the cause of her emotional turmoil. Once she became rid of him, she would be back to normal, Althia tried to convince herself--but something kept nagging in the back of her mind that this was not to be the case.

©2002 StoriesByEmail.com