hat from the hook beside the door and drew it on, then picked up the jar kept in a cloth bag on the table under the window. This she attached to her waist. Once outside, she took a deep breath of the morning air. “Try it, Mr. Brennan.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “Your meaning, Darcy?”
“Breathe in the air.” He did as she bid and she laughed at him. “Deeper. There, do you not feel how pure it is? It comes down from the mountains into the valley, gathering every scent God has blessed in nature.”
They walked side-by-side along the path and trudged up a hillside. Once they reached the top of the bluff, they looked down at the place where the Potomac and Shenandoah gathered. Across the way, a peaceful village stood in the gorge. Darcy drew in another breath, turned, and headed back down the hill with Ethan.
After walking a mile or so downriver, they came to a clearing rife with wild fleabane and red clover. She chose a few dry heads and put them inside the jar. “I fear the rain has gotten the best of the old blooms,” she said, tossing away some moldy ones.
Ethan observed her. “Yes, and your shoes and dress as well.”
She laughed. “That you would care to notice, sir.”
“I cannot help it,” he told her. “You must allow me to do the work.”
“I am fine,” said Darcy. “Let us walk on to a drier place.”
After the span of a few yards, Ethan lifted his eyes to see the old house situated in the distance upon a plane of overgrown grass peppered with thistles.
“I rode here yesterday,” Ethan said. “It must have been a fine house at one time.”
“Yes.” Darcy put her hand above her eyes to block the glare. “But River Run is long forgotten.”
“Perhaps it still lives in the memories of those who once lived there.”
Darcy gazed ahead at its brokenness, its sadness not escaping her, seeping into her as if an old wound had been made to open and weep. Inside the window casements, shards of broken glass sparkled in the sunlight. A dirty film glazed them and gave the decaying structure a forbidding atmosphere. The roof had rotted away in patches and many shingles were long gone. The front porch stretched across the front and dipped to one side, the simple columns covered in poison ivy. It was a lonely place, a place of the past, ravished by winters and summer storms, a skeleton of its former existence. They drew closer, and a covey of mourning doves alighted from the rafters, their wings whistling as they beat them.
“I spent my babyhood here,” said Darcy. “You shall think me very poor now, Mr. Brennan.”
“I had heard of River Run. Now that I’ve seen it with my own eyes, I tend to think your father was a prosperous man. And whether poor or rich, Darcy, it makes no difference.”
Surprised he thought this way, she cocked her head to one side and narrowed her eyes. “You are not at all what I imagined an Englishman of status to be.”
“Status, is it?” he laughed with sarcasm. “Does that really matter either?”
“Not to me, it doesn’t. I do not remember much about this place, except for a swing that was attached to that old tree over there. And I remember some of the people who lived here.” She lowered her head, and a breath escaped her lips.
“Your parents?”
“Yes, among others, but the images in my mind are vague. My mother died long ago. I imagine my papa is now with her. He left for the frontier when I was a child and has not been heard from since. I was brought to my uncle and aunt very young. They have been the only parents I’ve known. I do not remember my father’s face, nor my mother’s. Is that not strange?”
“You were a small child as you said.”
“Yes, but you would think I would remember them in that way.”
“Sometimes memories come back in later years.”
“I do recall my father’s hands were large, and my mother had dark hair. She was kind and I believe she loved me.” The thought of her mother’s affection sparked a painful memory— the day her papa told her Eliza had died and had not been worthy of heaven.
“My mother and father are both gone, and a sister,” Ethan said. “I understand your sorrow.”
“I am sorry to hear it. I did not know.”
Ethan leaned forward. “Is it not an interesting coincidence