bag she took out a biscuit that she had saved, unwrapped the paper, and bit into the edge. It had hardened but would do. Before she closed the clasp on her bag, she ran her hand across its contents. Two day dresses, linen undergarments, one pair of stockings, brush, comb, and her Bible. A size fitted for a lady’s hand while traveling, she opened to the first leaf and saw her mother’s fine handwriting and the words, To my precious Darcy, on the day of her birth. She scooted over to a shaft of moonlight, turned the pages, and managed to read from the Psalms.
“Here my voice, oh God, in my prayer. Preserve me from fear …”
The night in the barn seemed endless and was enough to make her weep a little. She dashed the tears from her eyes, and then lay back and gathered the straw over her. Through an opening in the roof, stars shone and she gazed at them.
“I wonder what Aunt Mari would think if she knew that I was in a rundown barn in the middle of nowhere, all alone in the night?” Then a smile crossed her lips. “Uncle Will would be proud of me.”
Shivering, she outlined the star patterns with her eyes, until sleep conquered.
When morning broke, dusty lances of sunlight flowed through the shelter; yet, they did not wake her. A blackbird landed on the roof and sang. Darcy opened her eyes and saw through the hole above her that the sun had climbed in the sky. She brushed her dress down and slipped outside. Heading north, she walked on, happy that the morning rose bright and the birds were singing. Thank God it was not raining. The rays of the sun strengthened and slanted through the trees as if they were welcoming arms.
Her destination was much farther than the coachman had let on, and she walked for hours along the barren road again without seeing anyone. When the sun dipped toward the horizon, her stomach growled for food, and she rummaged in her bag for one last morsel of biscuit.
Before the light retreated behind the gathering clouds, she spotted a house situated upon a grassy hilltop, surrounded by graceful trees. Thick grass covered the yard. Blonde stone darkened in the shadows of the trees. Glass in mullioned windows glistened as if sheets of onyx. She hurried to the lane leading to the house. Etched upon a bronze plaque, embedded in a stone pillar at the entrance, Darcy read the words Havendale 1682.
“At last!” Hesitating to go forward, she clutched her bag, gazed at the house, the tall windows, and ivy. She thought of her father and Uncle Will, imagining them as boys running about, climbing these trees, tumbling about the lawn.
Stepping up to the door, she lifted the iron knocker and let it fall. She rapped twice before a servant opened up. A woman of senior years, dressed in a modest brown dress and stark white mobcap, set her hands over ample hips. “Yes? What is it? What do you want?”
Darcy stepped forward. “I have come …”
“To see if you can have a meal, is it? Well, go around the back, dear, and I’ll have a plate set up for you. But you’ll have to work for it. Hope you don’t mind scrubbing a kitchen floor.” The woman went to shut the door.
Darcy put out her hand and smiled. “I am hungry, and I will gladly help, but I have come to see my grandmother.”
The woman’s brows arched and a smile spread across her face. “You must be Miss Darcy.”
“Yes, I am she.” Darcy glanced past her to get a glimpse inside. It appeared dark and lonely, save for the light coming through one of the windows.
The woman laid her hand on Darcy’s elbow. “Well, come in quick. ’Tis a wind falling, and you’ll catch a chill.”
Darcy untied the ribbon beneath her chin and removed her hat, while the servant took her cloak from off her shoulders. She noticed the look of concern when her eyes ran over her clothing. “I walked a long way,” she said.
“Hmm. From the fork in the road I expect. I know that’s where the coach leaves off, and it is a very long walk.”
“Yes. I hope I do not look too untidy.”
“Well, you’ve had a time of it, now haven’t you? It’s a lonely trek from where they left you, so I imagine you are tired. Brave girl you are to journey all the way