The Solitary Envoy, page 1
The Solitary Envoy
“LIFE BRINGS MANY CHANGES, BOTH ON THE PERSONAL LEVEL AND TO CHARACTERS IN THE PAGES OF NOVELS WE HAVE READ. I AM EXCITED TO SEE DAVIS AND ISABELLA’S CLOSE PARTNERSHIP NOW EXTEND INTO CRAFTING THE SOLITARY ENVOY. THEY HAVE MOVED THE ACADIAN SAGA FORWARD A GENERATION TO CONTINUE THE FASCINATING STORY OF A NEW NATION BEING FORMED AND NEW RELATIONSHIPS FORGED.”
—JANETTE OKE
The Solitary Envoy
Copyright © 2004
T. Davis Bunn and Isabella Bunn
Cover photograph by Claudia Kunin
Unless otherwise identified, Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owners.
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a Division of
Baker Book House Company, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 0-7642-2857-9 (Trade Paper)
ISBN 0-7642-2862-5 (Hardcover)
ISBN 0-7642-2861-7 (Large Print)
ISBN 0-7642-2863-3 (Audio)
* * *
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Bunn, T. Davis, 1952-
The solitary envoy / by T. Davis Bunn & Isabella Bunn.
p. cm. — (Heirs of Acadia; 1)
ISBN 0-7642-2862-5 (alk. paper) — ISBN 0-7642-2857-9 (pbk.) 1. United States—History—War of 1812—Fiction. 2. Women—Washington (D.C.)—Fiction. 3. Americans—England—Fiction. 4. Washington (D.C.)—Fiction. 5. Acadians— Fiction. I. Bunn, Isabella. II. Title. III. Series: Bunn, T. Davis, 1952- . Heirs of Acadia; 1.
PS3552. U4718S65 2004
813’.54—dc22 2003021806
* * *
FOR JANETTE AND EDWARD OKE
We join countless readers and students
in gratitude for affirming our faith and
inspiring our imaginations.
T. DAVIS BUNN is an award-winning author whose growing list of novels demonstrates the scope and diversity of his writing talent.
ISABELLA BUNN has been a vital part of his writing success; her research and attention to detail have left their imprint on nearly every story. Their life abroad has provided much inspiration and information for plots and settings. They live near Oxford, England.
By T. Davis Bunn
The Gift
The Messenger
The Music Box
One Shenandoah Winter
The Quilt
Tidings of Comfort & Joy
Another Homecoming*
Tomorrow’s Dream*
The Dream Voyagers
Drummer in the Dark
The Great Divide
The Presence
Princess Bella and the Red Velvet Hat
Return to Harmony*
Riders of the Pale Horse
To the Ends of the Earth
Winner Take All
SONG OF ACADIA*
The Meeting Place The Birthright
The Sacred Shore The Distant Beacon
The Beloved Land
HEIRS OF ACADIA†
The Solitary Envoy
*with Janette Oke †with Isabella Bunn
Contents
PART ONE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
PART TWO
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
PART THREE
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
PART ONE
Chapter 1
As with every morning, Erica was the first to enter her father’s office. Her mother insisted upon calling it the library, but library was too fancy a word in Erica’s mind. Not that the room wasn’t lovely. Just entering it gave her a little thrill. She walked down the long line of high windows, sweeping back the heavy drapes. Sounds of the exhilarating world outside entered with the brilliant May sunshine. Erica paused by the last window, the one whose light spilled onto her father’s desk, and felt a rush of delight. She never tired of this view. But that was not all that made her happy on this day.
The Langston home occupied the highest hill in the village of Georgetown, which was also the closest point to the new government structures rising further along the Potomac River. Erica could just make out the armory and the Capitol in the distance. The president’s official residence was finished. The Continental Congress had been renamed the United States Congress and had its own new building. Even so, further north there was still some argument over whether this new city of Washington should be called the nation’s capital. The critics asserted the capital should be located in a city with more history. Some said New York, others Philadelphia, and the loudest of all declared it must be Boston. Erica’s family came from the Massachusetts colony; she had as much right as any to disagree. The truth was, all those northern towns had foreign history. They were founded back when America was still a collection of British colonies. But here in this year of our Lord 1812, America was its own nation. And America needed its own capital. Anyone who stood at this wall of windows and watched the town awaken to another glorious day could see that Washington was the heart of this great new country.
The office’s other three walls were covered in paneling and lined with glass-fronted shelves. The floor was mahogany planking, brought up from Brazil on one of her father’s ships. Whale-oil lamps gleamed from the walls and hung from the ceiling. Above the shelves were paintings her father had commissioned, four in all, one of each of the merchant ships his company operated. And soon there would be a fifth ship, the first her family would own outright. All the others were owned with other investors. Ships were frightfully expensive things, as Erica well knew. But her father said it was time for them to strike out on their own. And Forrest Langston was never wrong.
There was a space on the wall ready to receive the new painting. The previous week, her mother had removed the portrait of her own father to make room for the new vessel. This fifth ship was one of the new clipper designs. Her hull had been laid in New Haven the previous summer. She was to be called the Erica, and Father said she would make their fortune. But not even that accounted for Erica’s excitement this morning.
She moved to her father’s desk. It was made of imported African stinkwood and was gigantic, larger than Erica’s bed. Father called it the only ship he would ever captain. Erica and Carter, her father’s chief clerk, were the only two people permitted to touch it.
Carter was older even than her father and had been with the family forever, as far as Erica knew. He had a steel trap of a mind and was Father’s right hand, loyal to the core and entrusted with every detail of the company’s affairs. But at the moment Carter was away with her father, so the task now The Solitary Envoy rested in Erica’s hands. It was a responsibility of which she was particularly proud.
Erica placed the ledgers front and center on the desk. Beside them was the correspondence she had already separated into two careful piles. The larger was from the interior, as everything west of Washington was known. The second pile was correspondence from their partners and clients in other nations, arriving on the ships calling at Annapolis or Baltimore or Norfolk or even New York and brought down by coach. This second pile was quite small for representing almost a month’s mail, which was worrisome indeed.
Even more alarming was the collection of newspapers and pamphlets stacked upon the desk’s right-hand corner. Erica tried hard not to look in that direction. But despite her best efforts, her eye was caught by the top broadsheet, a London paper dated six weeks earlier. The news was far from good.
“Erica?”
She started as though she had been caught doing wrong.
“Yes, Mama?”
“Child, I do hope you are dressed.”
“Of course I am, Mama.”
“Come and let me have a look at you.”
Erica was already crossing the carpeted expanse. Beyond the doorway to her father’s office was Carter’s office. Beyond that was a parlor used for business meetings. A tiny table was nestled up close to the parlor’s only window. Erica felt another thrill of joy pass through her when she saw it. Then her gaze darted away, for her mother was standing just inside the parlor and was watching her closely. Erica dropped a curtsy. “Good morning, Mama.”
But she could tell that her mother had caught the look and was now frowning over its cause. There had been numerous discussions between Erica’s mother and father over that little table and what
“Child, why are you not wearing your lovely new frock?”
“This is Father’s favorite dress.”
Mildred Harrow Goodwind Langston was a woman of rather stern bearing. Her parents, Nicole and Gordon Goodwind, had held a large estate in Western Massachusetts, and she had received a considerable inheritance when they had gone to their eternal reward. Mildred’s great uncle, Charles Harrow, was a titled landowner in England until his death. Erica thought her mother tended to place far more importance on wealth and position than her actual heritage warranted, but she did not speak her mind. What little Erica knew about England left her unsettled. England had gone to war with her beloved America to keep it a colony. England now barred America from trading directly with France and Spain, with whom England was still in conflict. England’s blockades delayed her father’s ships and charged ridiculous tariffs to cross the high seas. Erica had many reasons to dislike England.
But Erica’s mother set great store by her connection to this Harrow family. No matter that Grandmother Nicole had died when Erica had been only five, nor that she had never met Great Aunt Anne. Her mother loved to mention oh-so-casually to her guests that she was fourth in line to some fortune that did not even exist anymore. Erica loved her mother very much.
But she was her father’s daughter. Everyone said so.
“Child, your father is not due back until this afternoon at the earliest.” She regarded her only daughter with a worried expression. “You really mustn’t let yourself be disappointed if he is delayed. You know—” “What time are we expected to join Mrs. Simmons?”
“Eleven o’clock, as you well know. And please don’t interrupt.” Despite having birthed four children, two of whom were lost in infancy, Mildred Langston was still a most attractive woman. She held herself erect, dressed well, and was known far and wide as a hostess of considerable standing. Politicians and merchants alike vied for the chance to be a part of her social set. “Your father will do everything in his power to be here for your birthday celebration. But times being what they are, you must understand if he is delayed.”
Erica lifted her chin, as she had often seen her mother do when confronted with something she did not care to accept. But the act did not help. Erica could not bear the thought of Father not being home, today of all days. She tried but could not completely erase the tremor from her voice. “But he promised.”
“He promised to try.”
“But he’s been gone almost a month!”
“As I know all too well.” A trace of her mother’s own apparent worry showed through. “I have not heard from him in eight days now. And you know it is his custom to write me three times a week.”
“Surely nothing—”
“No, everything is fine. While at tea yesterday at the Mooreheads’, I met a banker from Philadelphia. He traveled on the same coach as your father five days ago and said he was in fine fettle. No, it is just …”
“Just what?” Erica encouraged.
Mildred crossed her arms. “Just that we must wait and see. Now please turn around.”
Erica sighed and did as she was told.
“Who did your hair?”
Erica reached up to the collection of decorative hairpins, fearing that something had come undone. Her hair was dark and so thick she could hardly run a comb through it. Others called it luxurious, but Erica considered it a bother and kept it long only because her mother insisted. It was always threatening to tumble down, no matter how carefully she pinned it.
But today everything felt in its proper place. “I did, Mama.”
“It is quite … remarkable.”
“It’s called the French weave. I saw it in one of the journals from Paris.” She turned back around and caught sight of her mother’s face. “Whatever is the matter?”
Her mother’s normal reserve seemed shaken. “You are growing up.”
“I’m seventeen, Mama.” That very day, in fact.
“Of course you are. But saying the words and accepting the fact with my own eyes are two entirely different matters.” She smiled then. Mildred Langston’s smiles were rare events, which was a great pity. They were luminous, transforming her features and making her look more like an older sister than a mother. “You are every bit as lovely as they say, daughter.”
“As who says?”
“Never you mind. I won’t have your head swollen with coffeehouse chatter. Now give your aging mother a hug.”
Erica let herself be enveloped by her mother’s arms. For some reason the closeness left her feeling sad, perhaps even a little frightened. “You’re not old, Mama.”
“If I am to have a daughter finishing her seventeenth year and every inch an adult, I most certainly am that. Possibly even ancient. But enough of that. Have you had your breakfast?”
“Not yet. I was just on my way down.”
“Well, you’d best hurry along then. We can’t be late—” Mildred was interrupted by a great thumping sound that became louder with each passing moment. “What on earth is that?”
Erica followed her mother back through Carter’s office and into her father’s chamber. The rear entrance, the one that led down the passage to the main warehouse, was shoved open. In came her brother and a warehouse worker, carrying something heavy between them.
“Top of the morning to you both!” Reginald Langston was tall for his age of fifteen and a half, with his father’s build and personality both. Reggie greeted the entire world with one great smile. “Where do we drop this?”
Erica saw what it was they carried, and her hand flew up to her mouth. She could not speak.
“Quick now, else I’ll just heave it through the window!” Erica forced herself forward. The light played across the surface of her brother’s burden like oil upon gold. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Reggie laughed heartily. “Brazilian rosewood. Father ordered it up special. Been sitting down in the warehouse for months, stowed back behind a pile of jute where not even my nosy sister could spy it.”
“Father had this built for me?”
“Fashioned by the finest cabinetmaker in all Washington. He called it his signature piece, whatever that means. Quick now, my grip is slipping.”
“Let’s see … how about over there, by the far window.” Turning around meant seeing her mother’s disapproval. Erica was only too well aware that Mildred was not at peace with this particular development. But her father had prevailed, and Erica hoped the discussions were behind them. Seeing her mother now, with a frown creasing her forehead, she steeled herself for more objections.
But her mother only turned and said, “Five minutes, Erica. No more. Then I want you downstairs in the kitchen with a bowl of hot porridge.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“We can’t be late. Especially not today.” She turned and left the room.
Reggie said nothing more until the two had deposited the desk beneath the tall window. “Sorry. I didn’t know she was here.”
Erica ran her hand over the surface as the warehouse worker turned and left. “It is most exquisite.”
“It’s called a secretary. French in design. A woman’s writing desk.” Reggie took a rag out of his rear pocket and gave it a quick rub. “Father made me promise to bring it up personally if he wasn’t back in time.”
Erica hugged him tightly but could not take her eyes off the desk. “You are the best brother in the whole world.”
“Certainly, but you’re the odd one. Never knew anybody could be so excited over a place to work.”
“I’m thrilled, Reggie, as you well know.”
“Yes, I do know.” Reggie was far from being a lazy young man. When not in school he worked long hours in the family warehouses. “And I am glad of it. You know I’ve no head for this kind of thing.”
“Neither does Father. But he does well enough.”
“Aye, but I don’t have to, do I?” He gave her a friendly push. “I’ve got you to do it all for me.”
“No, you don’t. You have to learn all this yourself. How else …” Then she caught his smile and knew he was jesting. She turned back to the desk. “Isn’t it the most glorious thing you’ve ever seen?”
