Acadia Song 04 - The Distant Beacon Read Online Free Page B

drawn from a childhood fairy tale, yet there it was. A royal crest adorned the travel-stained door.
    She watched as a young man leaned out the window and called, “All right, that’s far enough.”
    “And high time too,” the driver shouted back. Even in his mud-spattered state, the man was dressed in regal finery. And the horses. Though with muck dripping from their chests and each one foam draped and blowing hard, she knew these were magnificent animals. The driver slackened the reins and threw on the hand brake. “Whoa there, ease up now.”
    It seemed to Catherine that half the village followed in the lane behind the carriage. And all of the children. Well they should, for it was only the fact that she could see them chattering and pointing that allowed her to believe her own eyes.
    The driver climbed down from his high perch, when the carriage door opened and the young man said, “No, no, Samuel, you go ahead and see to your horses.”
    As the driver moved away toward the horses, Catherine saw he was dressed in the formal blue of a naval officer, with long hair tied back in a blue velvet ribbon. He inspected the muddy lane by the carriage, then reached inside and pulled out a greatcoat, rather the worse for wear. He stepped down, ignoring his polished boots now in muck beyond his ankles. Then he did the most gallant thing Catherine had ever seen. He spread his coat to make a clean path from the carriage to their stone front walkway.
    He turned and reached up a hand, and Catherine’s hands went to her mouth at the sight emerging from the carriage. Too young for a queen, a duchess, perhaps. The young lady’s white dress seemed to float about her. An awestruck murmur rose from the villagers gathered around as she stepped carefully to the ground and trod across the greatcoat.
    She arrived at the gate and fumbled with the latch as one blind. She was crying. Raising her head to search the housefront, she called, “Mama?”
    “Nicole!” Catherine flew around the kitchen table, spilling a bowl of vegetables in her haste. She fumbled with her own front-door latch until, with a second cry, she hammered it back with the palm of her hand. Nicole was still standing by the front gate, unable to make it open. Catherine ran down the path and reached over the gate to sweep her daughter up in an embrace so fierce nothing could hold them apart. Not the gate, nor time, nor linen finery, nor life’s changes, nor the cheering of all those crowded along the lane. Nothing.

Chapter 3
    “I didn’t want the carriage to come down the lane at all,” Nicole said again. She sat, her back straight, with Catherine’s best teacup and saucer placed carefully on her knee. “But the mud was so very bad, and Gordon insisted.”
    “It’s fine, dear. I couldn’t care less about such matters.” Catherine noticed for the first time in years that the handle of Nicole’s cup was chipped, and the cup didn’t match the saucer. Even worse, Gordon’s cup was cracked from rim to base.
    “She halted us an hour’s ride outside the village to change into this fine white frock you see,” Gordon noted with a small smile. He stood by the unlit fireplace, almost as one ready to snap to attention. Not even his stockinged feet could diminish the young man’s military bearing. “I couldn’t permit her to muddy up those shoes walking across your village lane.” He hastily added, “Not that I mean to denigrate your town, madame. Georgetown is as fine a hamlet as I have seen. It puts most English towns to shame, and I mean that most sincerely.”
    “Thank you.” Catherine gripped her cup without raising it to her lips. She wanted to reach out and again draw her daughter close but found herself gazing in awe at this refined young woman.
    Nicole’s poise wasn’t just in her bearing. She spoke with the finest diction, her French accent a mere trace now. Her face was dusted with some powder, and she carried about herself the fragrance of Oriental