Ella and Margaret were arguing again.
“You can’t possibly stuff another gown in that chest! Besides you won’t need as many where we’re going,” Margaret said.
“What a welcome reminder that we are being exiled to the outskirts of the wilderness,” Ella said as she tried to slam the trunk shut. Margaret pushed her aside, opened the trunk and started re-folding her dresses into submission so that they could fit.
Ella left the room to sulk in the parlor. She was too tired to argue with Margaret. She flung herself down on the loveseat and took inventory of their furnishings, suddenly realizing that they had never owned any of it. All of her life they had lived in places that never belonged to them. Except for the few things her mother dragged around wherever they went such as their tea service, a few portraits, and William’s bust they had commissioned in Italy, they rented everything. The only real connections to England were Hannah’s extended family, otherwise they were a ship without an anchor, she thought sullenly.
Her mother bustled into the room, breaking up her thoughts. “Ella, stop brooding and finish packing. The coach will be here soon enough and we can’t be late.”
They had lingered as long as they could over preparations for their journey to America and now had no excuse to stay. It was time to move on.
For Ella however, it was just a tragic mistake she hoped would correct itself. Each day that had passed after her father broke the terrible news of their imminent return to the States, she had waited for some word, some note from Basil Napier, instructing her, imploring her, not to leave, to stay behind for him. A proposal of marriage. And each day was like another tear at her heart until she thought there would be nothing left of it to take to America. He still hadn’t replied to the poem she sent him:
Thou to the East dear love, I to the West;
Dense forest nooks, rose-tinted sky, all varied space between us lie.
In all we find the other, Love-apart?
Not while each are blessed with faithful heart.
She wondered if he had received it yet, or was he not willing to respond? Exactly what were his intentions? He had been whisked off to the Bay of Biscay before ever revealing them. Disgusted with her situation, she decided action was the best remedy and rose to finish packing but was stopped by the knock at the door. Her mother heard the knock and looked frantic. William opened the door to find a messenger with a note addressed to him. Ella’s heart leapt out of her chest; maybe it was word from Basil. Was this it? Permission for her hand in marriage?
William thanked the messenger, paid him and opened the note while Ella stood, waiting, stopping herself from accosting him to grab it out of his hand. She watched his face fall and knew it was not the news she had hoped for.
“William, what is it?” Hannah said. “It’s not your father is it? Is he ill?”
William walked over to Ella and stood next to her. “No, it’s not father,” he said taking Ella’s hand and letting the note float to the floor. “It’s Basil Napier. He was killed in service.”