Frederick came down the stairs and hung his hat and coat behind the stairway. His intention was to ride that morning and he wanted to leave as soon after breakfast as possible. He had heard Edward and Catherine talking in their room as he had passed so they were certain to be down soon.

He started when he realised he was not alone, "Mrs. Wentworth asked me to say that you are to start as soon as you like with your breakfast, Captain." Mrs. Graham said. He now knew why Catherine had not wanted 'servants gliding about' the house.

"Thank you, Mrs. Graham," he said. " Broad daylight and ambushed again," Frederick muttered under his breath.

He entered the dining room and took tea from the credenza. He elected to wait until the others came down before he began. Soon he heard footsteps on the stairs. From his vantage, he was able to see Edward and Catherine descending. He looked back to his cup to take a drink and from the corner of his eye he could see them take leave of one another. He, heading to the room where Frederick sat and she to another part of the house. They had not yet relinquished hands when suddenly his brother, rector of the parish, and a man of seven and forty, swept her into his arms and kissed her in such a fashion, as to raise an eyebrow and cause Frederick to look away.

Stealing another look, Frederick felt like a mischievous little boy, spying so as to plague an older brother. When he put his mind to it, he was. Edward had not sought the society of women while Frederick was living at home. Since this childish pleasure had been denied him when young, perhaps he could justify partaking now. He laughed to himself, looking away as he stirred his tea. "The difference is I am past thirty, he well past forty and Catherine is his wife. Best to study your cup, Freddy," he said to himself.

Edward entered the dining room and said "You are not hungry? I am famished," he said energetically.

Frederick began to laugh. Quietly and quite unintentionally at first. The more he tried to stop, the worse it grew. Edward stood, mid scoop of potatoes, staring. "Are you all right? Is it something I have said?"

Edward's bewildered look brought on a new wave that he could not control. Edward knew his brother and he also knew that he would eventually share the cause. He continued to fill his plate, pour his coffee and seat himself. The laughter had abated as he took his first bite. He looked at Frederick, hoping that a new spasm was not in the offing. "Pray, what have you found so amusing? I assume it has to do with me," he asked with as blank an expression as he could manage.

Frederick was controlling himself as well as his mind and his countenance would allow. "I was overwhelmed by the thought that your performance in the hallway just now was rather uncleric-like and here I sit, a sailor, perfectly behaved."

Edward looked at him, as seriously as if he were in the pulpit. "I have always endeavored to make it clear to you, my dear brother, that there are certain pleasures reserved for the married. That was just one of several," he said, just the hint of a smile forming in the corners of his mouth. "I did not mean to embarrass you, or myself for that matter. Please say nothing to Catherine." He scowled slightly. "Of course you will not, what am I thinking? She had expressed concern at you being in here. I have overstepped, I fear," he said, biting his lip.

"Speaking of Catherine, will she not join us?" Frederick inquired.

"In a moment or two. She never seems to sit when she can be fussing about with things that need doing. She becomes rather vexed with me I am afraid. I am quite able to sit and read or wander about the countryside no matter what condition things are at home. What are your plans for today?"

Frederick had risen and was deciding what to have for breakfast when he said, "I thought I would ride. This parish has many beautiful prospects and I am hoping to take in one or two of them. What will you and Catherine occupy yourselves with?" he asked as he brought his plate to the table.

"I have more correspondence to finish. I suppose Catherine will ascertain how much damage I did to the house in her absence. She will have plans to make with Mrs. Graham about tomorrow. We shall be dining with the Keyes. It is their custom to have all the children and families for dinner on Christmas Eve. Your presence is anticipated, if you are brave enough to accept the invitation" Edward said looking at Frederick with a challenging eye.

"Heavens, what kind of people are they that bravery is a requisite quality of the guests?" he asked, looking at Edward with feigned alarm.

He smiled and said, "The bravery has nothing to do with their behavior, which in fact is irreproachable. For a family so large they get along amazingly well. As I say, the family is very large, so the bravery comes to play in wading into the crowd and keeping account of them all--which takes much concentration. I remember all the siblings and their respective spouses, it is the children I am confused by. I have returned a crying child to the wrong parents' more than once. They invited me last year, though Catherine and I were not in any way attached. I think Mrs. Keye has always had an eye on me for her daughter," he said with some amusement.

"Quite right, my dear. She nearly expired after Emily's wedding and we did not see one another for that five weeks two summers ago." Catherine said entering the room. She laid her hands on Edward's shoulders and bent to peck him on the cheek. Edward and Frederick exchanged glances and then looked away from one another--quickly. She observed this and said nothing. She thought it a good sign that they were sharing some brotherly secret, even if it seemed to be rather suspicious.

Frederick stood and placed his napkin on the table. "My dear brother, I am sure that Mrs. Keye counts you as one of her chief blessings in life as do many of us in this room," he said with alacrity. "I have a horse that is in need of a ride. Do not wait anything on me as I have no idea how long I shall be." He smiled, nodded to each and left the room to Catherine and Edward.

Frederick had only been in Edward's home for one day, but he already felt settled. Catherine was a wonderful match for him. He could see that they cared deeply for one another and that she engendered love and a satisfaction he had never seen in his brother before. To have that must be worth overcoming all the impediments, all the obstacles that seem to bar the way.

Frederick had not explored any of the beautiful prospects of the parish, he found he was drawn more to run the empty lanes. To ride when one could not be at sea was very much second place, but it did win over sitting. He had been out for nearly two hours and was not yet inclined to head back to the house. It was clear but not as cold as the previous day. Since there was no wind things were bracing, but not uncomfortably so.

He had slowed the driving pace to find himself near Joshua Junkins home. He had no reason stop here. It was not his habit to visit with people he had only just met and uninvited at that. But there was something about this man. Frederick had felt at their first visit that Joshua had looked into him so deeply that they were not as strangers. He did not know what kind of affinity they had for one another, but it was a thing he wanted to investigate.

As he rode closer to the lane's head, he could see that Joshua was out. For a reason he could not account, he reined his horse to the pathway and began toward the house. While heading down, he watched Joshua to see if he recognised him. He decided to call out so he did not head to the house as a rabbit. "Mr. Junkins."

Joshua waved. He had recognised him. Frederick dismounted and walked up to him. "Hello. I know this to be rude, but my horse seemed to take his own head and here we are," he said trying to sound as if it were none of his doing.

Joshua shook his hand with that grip that caught Frederick off guard. He slapped the sides of an old, dented bucket and pointed to the barn. Frederick looked inside, "You are just watering your animals?" The man nodded. Then pointed to the house. "You are finished and going to the house." Again he nodded. He motioned Frederick to come with him.

They entered the house from the rear. He had only been in the front sitting room on his previous visit. The back proved to be in the same style. Frederick and Joshua removed coats, hats and gloves, hanging them on pegs near the door. He looked around the room. Things neat and orderly. Well-crafted furnishings. Frederick wondered how he had managed to have furniture brought out and not be seen. Surely he had not dragged it in himself. Perhaps, as he began to know Joshua better, he would feel at liberty to ask.

Joshua was busying himself getting a tray for tea together. He also began to prepare meat and cheese and bread and other refreshment. Frederick felt somewhat awkward, he had not come hoping to be fed. "I did not mean for you to go to all this effort, Joshua." Joshua raised his hand as if to halt the protest. He left the kitchen and returned with a sheet of paper. He gave it to Frederick. It read, honored guest. "Thank you, but you do not have to do all this for me." He pointed again to the paper. Frederick smiled, he was the honored guest and must now accept the tribute.

The tray finished, they repaired to the sitting room. Joshua placed the tray on an old, inlaid oak credenza and motioned for Frederick to come to him. Joshua bowed his head and Frederick followed suit. The mumbling sound which passed for Joshua's voice ceased and the prayer was completed. As the honored guest Frederick was to take his tea first as he was served. He found that he was indeed hungry, though he had only finished eating two hours before. Taking his food, he settled into the chair he had occupied before. Joshua seated himself close by since the conversation would take place by way of paper and ink.

"You are not eating?" Frederick asked when he saw that Joshua took nothing for himself. If that were the case, he would feel very awkward. Joshua wrote, just before you arrived. "Oh, you have already eaten?" He nodded, and motioned for Frederick to continue his meal.

Edward? was Joshua's next note.

"Edward is well. After we left you yesterday, he was silent as a stone all the way back home. Mrs. Wentworth had come back early. I was amazed to see him as he took notice of her. He became quite dazed," he said thinking back on how his brother's entire being seemed to go numb at the sight of her.

he loves her very much . . . she is his anchor

"I can see the love he has for her and she for him. She is an anchor for him? Yes, I can see that. I believe as I look back at him, he has always needed her. He just did not know where to find her."

philosopher

"Me? A philosopher? Hardly. I just think I know my brother," Frederick said. As he spoke, he remembered that assumption was not necessarily true.

Joshua gave him a look accentuated by an arched brow.

sure?

"Well, I thought so until this visit. I am surprised that he is so changed. Before, a visit with him had all the amusement of attending a very proper maiden aunt." Joshua smiled at this. "He was always so stiff. The Edward I am seeing now is much as he was when I was a younger boy. As I grew older, he became more distant. I had always believed it was the Church which had wrought the change. It would seem I must amend that idea."

Joshua had begun to write more than just a few word. He showed the paper to Frederick.

good . . . the joy of meeting God does not generally bring such an ill change

"But you must admit, many people who will claim a fellowship with God are not happy or caring people. You told me yourself of being at the mercy of those who would proclaim themselves to be servants of God and yet exhibited no love or feeling for you at all."

Is that the fault of God? . . . or an unchanged mind?

"I see your point. I cannot fault God for actions of those who claim him. I suppose if His will is not done, the fault lies with man." Joshua had begun writing again. Frederick was not comfortable with speaking about God. He was hoping to change the subject soon.

Catherine . . . what do you think?

Again, as if he knew what was on Frederick's mind, Joshua changed his tack unexpectedly. This had happened at the last visit and again he was grateful.

"I think Catherine is a lovely woman. She is very funny. Edward has been somewhat low and she is able to lift him with just a few words. He is very fortunate to love a woman such as her."

you love someone?

"Do I love someone? Mr. Junkins, you are a very forward sort of fellow. Do I love someone? Yes. Yes I do, very much." Frederick was mortified to feel a flush come to his face, he did not realise how just mentioning her would affect him.

does she love you?

"Does she love me?" He said it more as a question to himself. " She did once. I am not certain of her regard now. I am hoping very much that she does."

why are you not with her?

"Why am I not with her? I made a very tangled mess of things concerning her. I am, in a way, hiding from what I brought about." Joshua wrote nothing, but looked at Frederick in a way that made him know that elaboration was desired. "I was engaged to Anne, Anne is the woman I love. She and I were to wed almost nine years ago. I insisted we marry right away though I had nothing to offer. I felt that my self and confidence should be quite enough. She was persuaded to end our engagement. I was angry and bitter. I felt ill-used and thrown over by her. I felt her to be weak and easily prevailed upon. I never thought that anyone but myself should be heard by her. But the truth be known, I had no regard for her best. I did not put her . . . comfort of mind before my own. My pride was the true culprit. Edward tried to warn me but I would not listen." He stopped as Joshua wrote wise man. "Yes, had I only realised how wise then, I would be happily married for perhaps, nearly seven years now. Quite a long time for anger to keep one company wouldn't you say ?"

have you seen her ?

"Not for many years. A few months ago I found myself back in her company, but not really so. This can become muddled, but suffice to say, I have seen her and all the anger on my part is gone. Only the love remains. It was never gone."

faithful ?

"She or I? Me. Yes. I have never seen another woman who could stir my soul as she is able." As he said it, the pain cut. All the longing that had been quelled in Plymouth moved quickly through him. "She has never married. I have been told she had at least one offer, which she refused. I would like to fancy that is because of me, but I do not know," he said as his chest tightened.

tell me about Anne

"I don't know that I can Joshua. As I said, I have been very unwise in how I have acted toward Anne, and another young woman. To speak of her, not knowing if I shall ever have the opportunity of making her know how I now feel, that would be painful."

He pointed back to the paper.

tell me about Anne he reiterated.

Frederick acquiesced. "She is beautiful. Dark hair and eyes. She can pierce my soul with her eyes. Just being in the same room can be an agony." He stood and walked to the window. This interview was becoming too painful and too exquisite. In the past, he had given free rein to his feelings about Anne, but he had never had to articulate what stirred him so. To give thought, words and feeling to Anne was nearly more than he could accomplish.

Joshua pointed to the paper.

more to her

Frederick came to look. "There is much more to her. She is kind and gentle. Her family quite takes advantage of her because of it."

she is kind so she cares for them

"Yes, I suppose you are right. She is smart, she reads and loves poetry. She is funny. Not uproariously so, but that quiet sort that makes you chuckle to yourself. Sometimes at yourself."

more to her

He pointed again.

"You are quite alarming in your perseverance, Joshua." Frederick came back to the chair and sat himself fully facing Joshua. "Perhaps this will satisfy. After a heavy storm, a ship is chaos, stem to stern. Even that which has been battened down is tangled and torn. Things that were one place show up elsewhere. Nothing is where it should be. That was how I felt inside before Anne. I found in her a woman who began to order me. I could begin to think and make plans for her and myself. I desired to be more for her than for myself alone. Can you possibly understand all this?" The instant the words left his lips he regretted each and every one of them. To ask a man who had not had the company of a woman all his life, much less the love of one, whether he could understand what Frederick was trying to say . . .

Joshua began to write. Frederick took this opportunity to stretch and put his plate on the credenza and fill his cup. It also gave him a chance to berate himself privately for his heedless remark. Whatever Joshua was writing was proving to be long.

He sat back down and held the cup in his lap, watching the steam of the tea curl and float and disappear. How had this man made him dig so deeply into himself--again? Though, it had felt so soothing to speak of Anne, aloud, so someone could hear. He did not have to hide her away. He could acknowledge his love and allow it, for this little while, to be real and feel it and enjoy the sensations it brought.

Joshua was finished. He rose from his chair, handed the page to Frederick, patted his arm a few times and quitted the room.

Do not be embarrassed. Because of circumstances, I shall never know intimately of what you speak. I do know as my family began to leave me, I felt scattered and undone. Pieces all over. I wanted to die. I tried to die. God would not allow it. I began to see I had reasons to live. Not the love of another human, but God. He has kept me these long years. Then, He brought Edward to be my friend, now you. Frederick, remember, love beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Even when we are in a tangle.

He read the paper again. This man, so isolated from the world, knew the human heart better than most. He was coming to know his very well. He folded the page and put it in his waistcoat pocket. He wanted to keep it for a time when he would wish to remember this day.

Joshua came from the kitchen. He placed a small plate of sweets on the table between them. He took up the paper again and wrote a short bit.

I have something to tell Edward

"I shall be happy to tell anything you like to him."

tell Edward, the captive is free

"Tell him you are free ? No," after some pointing at words already written Frederick understood, "Edward is the captive? What is he free of ?"

the past

"I dare say there is not much in Edward's past he would need freedom from, Joshua."

how do you know ?

"I suppose I do not know with certainty, but he has always been so upright, so morally minded."

you do not know all

"I do not know all of his life? Well that is so. He was fully a man when I was but a tyke. I suppose there are many things I do not know, now that I put my mind to it. Does this have to do with his reaction to what you told me at our last visit ?"

Joshua nodded.

"Since you are such good a friend to Edward though, you will not tell me, will you?"

Joshua shook his head in the negative. He wrote,

talk to him .

"How can I talk to him if I do not know the subject?"

the opportunity will come . . . do not neglect it

"I have been puzzled about Edward, and Catherine made reference to my questions being answered. Does his past have to do with how he appears now?" Frederick asked looking at Joshua intently.

Yes . . . I think so . . . I am sorry, I am tired, can we part ?

"Of course, Joshua. The evening is coming and Catherine will be thinking me lost or worse. Thank you for your company. I have enjoyed this very much. I shall speak to Edward, though I think the route to the truth is a little ambiguous, I will stay to it." He reached out his hand to shake with Joshua. Joshua took his hand and drew Frederick to himself. He embraced him tightly, drew back and then looked in his eyes, friends he rasped in his low, wheezing voice.

"Most assuredly, Joshua. Friends," Frederick said clasping his hand with both of his own.

They walked back through the house, retrieving his coat and hat. Joshua said good bye at the door. Frederick walked to his horse thinking about all that had passed. Giving voice to his feelings for Anne was glorious, to speak about Edward had been disturbing.

Where has she got off to? Edward wondered. I saw her last in the study. Perhaps the kitchen. He walked down the hallway to find Mrs. Graham alone in the kitchen, attending to some carrots. No Catherine. "Mrs. Graham, have you seen Mrs. Wentworth? I seem to have mislaid her," he said with a smile.

He could never be formal with servants, this was a person living in his house and he felt awkward. It was embarrassing to speak of being a servant from the pulpit and then order people about at home. At least for Edward. "No sir. She has not been in here for nearly three quarters an hour," she said looking to the clock.

Mrs. Graham went back to the roots and Edward called an absent, "Thank you," as he turned to go upstairs. Perhaps she was in their room. She had straightened the bed before breakfast, but she could, undoubtedly find things to bother about he was sure. He thought as he moved down the hall, when Mrs. Graham made her first sojourn to them, Catherine had made it clear that their chamber was not to be touched. She felt it to be a private place to she and her husband and did not want anyone else inside. Edward had laughed at being told, "When indulging ourselves in the pleasures of our marriage bed, I do not wish to have visions of Mrs. Graham dusting and fussing about." He smiled. "Catherine you are a wonder."

Edward was reaching for the door to their room when he noticed that the attic door was ajar. It had been that way for some time as the upstairs hallway was quite cold. He walked over, opened the door further and called, "Catherine! Are you up in the attic? If not, I am going to lock the door!

"Of course I am up here, and do not lock that door! It would not go well for you when I finally extricated myself!" she called back. He smiled and began up the stairs.

The attic of a rectory is rather like a museum. All attics hold unused and forgotten things of the past, that of a rectory holds even more. Along with household items, come theological and church related finds. There are not many other locales where a custom stitched surplice, the size of a small tent could be found. Nor a full carton--ten copies of, "Duties and Responsibilities of the Clergy in Condoling and Comforting With the Families of the Unworthy and Licentious" by The Reverend William Collins. All unread. There are always boxes and barrels of past families waiting to be mined for gems. Amongst all these treasures is where Edward found his wife.

He came to the top of the stairs and stopped. Catherine was standing on an old chair, reaching over her head for something on a high shelf. "What are doing? Let me reach that for you. If I fall, it will be all right, I am old and suppose to be infirmed," he said some laughter.

As Catherine dismounted the chair, she looked at him with a scowl, "Why do you jest so about your age? Last night it was your knees and today you speak of being infirmed. I do not like it," she said warmly.

Edward mounted the chair and asked, "This one?" She nodded. " I am sorry. Our jesting about my 'advanced age' never seemed to bother before. I shall endeavor to stop." He handed her a small box and came down from the chair. He turned and gathered her into his arms. "It is very cold up here. I wonder that you chose today to come up," he said looking to catch her eyes.

"I came for this box, nothing more. You are right, it is very cold up here and we should go back down," she said as she tried to turn and leave.

Edward would not release her. "I would like to know why you are suddenly provoked by the idea of my age, because provoked you certainly are."

"I am not provoked . . . I am not angry. I merely realise that you are older, but you are not old." Her face softened. "As a matter of fact, you are quite distinguished. There is finally grey coming to your hair, and some to your beard." She stroked his hair and beard to point up what she said. "Father envies you a great deal. He has told me that by your age, he had gone nearly all white."

"I would imagine so! He had seven children by my age! I should be shocked white myself if I were the father of seven! Frederick is my only child and I have quite relinquished responsibility for him, to him," he said. There was a fleeting tone of something Catherine could not discern.

"Do you regret not having children to dandle upon your knee?" she asked.

"Since I had no wife, until you graced me, no. But, in general, yes I regret not having children. Why do you ask such a philosophical question--and in this cold attic? Let us repair to the study, the fire is up and the room is warm." He released her and they made their way down the stairs. Edward closed the door and locked it. Catherine went into their room and placed the box on the bed, closing the door, she joined Edward in the hall.

"What is in that box you were willing to expose yourself to chilblains for?" he asked.

She laughed. "This house is drafty, but even the attic is not that cold. It is something I will show to you later. Now we must warm ourselves," she said drawing her shawl closer. Edward put his arm around her and she around him. They descended the stairs and went to the study.

Catherine seated herself as Edward closed the door. She like his study. It was warm and comfortable. She could feel him here. Even when he was gone on calls or other parish business, she would, at times come in here and sit. He wrote his sermons here, studied his Greek here, spent time in prayer here. The world saw the Edward Wentworth, who would emerge from this room, prepared to sermonise, prepared to counsel, prepared to meet their needs. In this room, she saw Edward study and toil and sometimes agonise. There was much to admire in him. She loved it all.

"Catherine! Now you are doing it!" Edward said, puzzled.

She roused herself. "Doing what? I was merely thinking to myself," she said, equally puzzled.

"Yesterday it was Frederick gazing off into the mists beyond and now you. I am being persuaded that my company lacks appeal," he said in a somewhat serious tone.

"I am sorry. I was just thinking about you. Hence the far away look and cheery countenance," she said rising to come behind him slide her arms about his neck and down his chest. He had seated himself in the chair next to hers. "I love you, and I was just thinking how much this room is a part of you. Nothing more."

"I suppose I should be comforted, you are ignoring my presence to think about me. I am sure I will find the compliment when I put my mind to this," said he, smiling. He gently caressed her wrists. Catherine bent down and kissed the top of his head. These quiet times would soon be at an end and she wanted to bask in the few that would be left to them.

"Edward, you and I must talk. I was never able to explain why Mrs. Graham has come to us again," she said. Catherine straightened and again seated herself next to him.

"I was beginning to wonder if I was to be a part of this household shift. What brought her to us this time?" Edward said, waiting for the account.

"The same as before. Mr. Graham nearly broke her arm this time and Mr. Belton had no patience with the drinking, so, he put Graham off the property and he has not been seen for the past week. Mother was in high agitation and felt badly about keeping him after the last bout. So, she asked if we could offer Mrs. Graham a place for a bit. It would keep Mother from seeing her and feeling so guilty and give her a place of refuge in the event Mr. Graham should return. You see, this is really an act of Christian charity," she said.

"You need not convince me, it is you who does not appreciate sharing the house. I can manage around her. You, on the other hand seem to be rather territorial and want things to yourself," he said hoping that he did not sound as if he were lecturing.

"You are right, but I have changed my mind since returning from town. Mrs. Graham being presented to us seems rather like Divine Providence," said Catherine with a tone of wonder.

"Why would you credit the Divine for Mrs. Graham and exactly what happened in town to change your mind about having someone to help in the house?" Edward said. He began to sit straighter and look more closely at Catherine as she spoke. Her opinion had been so set, that to see her change it now brought not a little curiosity on his part.

Catherine shifted in the chair. She turned her wedding ring around a few times. "I think I should tell you something which happened while I was away," she said looking nervous.

"Catherine, I hope that what you have to say will be equal to the agitation you are bringing to my mind," he said beginning to worry.

"Almost from the time we arrived in town, I began to have trouble sleeping. At night I was awake and during the day I could barely keep that way. After three days, I fell asleep all the time. I even dozed in a dress shop," she said. She looked at him to see what he was thinking and could not read the countenance.

"A dress shop? What has this to do with Mrs. Graham and not sleeping and sleeping all the time?" Edward rubbed his forehead. " Please just say whatever it is that you want me to know," said he with wearily.

"I searched out a physician . . .,"

"You saw a doctor, what is wrong?" cried Edward rising from the chair. He came to her chair and knelt before her.

"There is nothing wrong in the truest sense of the word. He confirmed what I had suspected for a few weeks or so. It was the reason I had not wanted to go at all. He told me, that in summer, we are to have a child." Catherine looked at him, not knowing what to expect. Children had been something they had rarely spoken about. They were certainly not past the ability or the desire. It had seemed more than they should ask, considering how they had already been blessed.

"A child . . . ," Edward whispered. He laid his head on Catherine's knee and stayed there long.

"Are you not pleased?" she whispered, fearing the answer. He was acting very differently than she had hoped he would.

"I am pleased beyond words. I am only shocked. I never imagined that I would be allowed to raise a child," he said in a quiet tone.

"And who would not allow you?" she asked with a questioning look.

"God for one, and anyone who had seen me struggle to bring Frederick to manhood. I made many mistakes with him and was harsh when I should have been caring, I lost my temper often . . . I feel that some of the mistakes and the attitudes he carries are owing to me and the muddle I made of things," he said as he sat back in his chair.

"I suppose we must take the attitude that God has decided you are to be trusted and have the ability. As for Frederick, you speak of him as a man for whom we must apologise wherever we go. Edward, he is a respected officer in the Navy, he has an independent fortune and . . . lovely table manners!" At this, they both began to laugh.

He reached his hand to her and she to him. "I am being ridiculous. The circumstances are so different." He rose, lifting her to her feet. Taking her in his arms he said, "You will be with me in this, I shall not be alone as before. Had you been with me twenty years ago . . . ," He kissed her. He suddenly pulled back from her and stared in shock. He had grown suddenly pale.

"Edward, what is wrong? You look as though you have seen death itself!" she said in an alarmed voice. She began looking about to try and see what he may have seen.

"I did not see anything. But last night we . . . you and I . . . together," he exclaimed in a low voice.

Catherine scowled, "Yes, you and I were together. What has that to do with you looking as though you have seen a ghost?" she asked trying to bring her voice under control.

"Well, are not all . . . conjugal matters to cease immediately?" Edward said with much seriousness.

"If by conjugal matters, you mean that we are not to lie together as man and wife, it is true that some would hold to that habit. Others are not persuaded it is necessary," she said, more calm now that his fears were known.

"I thought that it would injure . . . the child," he said hesitantly.

"My mother has guided four daughters and two daughters-in-law through twelve grandchildren and has never held to it. I dare say that her advice to me will be the same. There will come a time when things will be . . . awkward and then perhaps . . . let us leave this to another time Edward. No harm shall come, I shall see to it," she said marveling at his concern.

He took her in his arms again, "I suppose these are matters best left to the mother. The mother, I like the sound of that. That makes me the father," he said with a silly smile taking over from the worry.

"Yes, you are the father. I thought we could tell my parents tomorrow night. I wish to see Mother go from group to group as a bee from flower to flower. She will relish the role of family crier," she said as she laid her head on his shoulder.

"May we tell Frederick tonight? I would rather he hear from us than the 'family crier'," he said.

"Of course." She straightened, looking at him, "Do you suppose he shall fuss when he realises he is no longer your youngest? I am told, when I was usurped, I came complete with tantrums." They both smiled at the thought of it.

"I would hope that does not come to pass. Not that there would be much I could do, he is nearly a head taller than I," Edward said drawing Catherine closer to himself. He thought he would endeavor to keep the sweetness of this moment in his mind for as long as possible. Catherine in his arms, the warmth of the room and the news of a child. He had nothing more to wish for.

Catherine felt at home for the first time since her arrival yesterday morning. She had been able to tell Edward her news of a child in the summer and after his shock, he responded with all the joy she had hoped. They were just standing in the study, arms about one another, revelling in one another and the promise of a new life.

The door opened suddenly. Frederick began to enter the room. Upon seeing Edward and Catherine, he stopped. He had a look about him that Edward could not read.

"Excuse me, I did not mean to intrude," Frederick said as he backed out, closing the door as he went.

Edward released Catherine and called, "Frederick, wait! There is no need to leave." He moved to the door, grasping the handle hoping to stop his brother's exit. He looked around the door to see if Frederick had already gone. He had not. He stood in the hallway, Edward noticed that he had not yet removed his coat or gloves, his hat was in his hand. "You have not removed your coat, are you leaving again so soon?" he asked.

Frederick only stood looking at Edward through this short exchange. His face was flushed and there was a furrow in his brow which accentuated the lines in his face. "No, I had quite forgotten them as I entered. Edward, you and I have some things to discuss." His face relaxed somewhat as he removed his gloves and began to unbutton his great coat.

"Yes, all right. I shall ask Catherine to bring tea, you undoubtedly could use a good warming. Are you well? You look flushed," he asked.

"I am fine. I think the time for some answers has come," Frederick said. His tone was flat.

Edward turned and said to Catherine, "Could you bing Frederick and I some tea?" He took her in his arms and held her tightly. " Our joy is short-lived my love, I believe this is the thing I have most feared," he whispered. He breathed a ragged sigh.

"It will turn out well. You will make him understand. He loves you and will not be willing to break without exhausting every avenue. Edward, do not give up before you have begun," she said looking into his eyes. She saw a resignation to the situation and just a bit of hope. She kissed him quickly and left to fetch the tea.

As Catherine quitted the room, Frederick entered. He nodded to her and she looked as closely as she could, hoping to read his countenance. There was no mirth or cheer, but there was no malice either. This gave her some comfort. "Brother," she said as she passed.

Frederick closed the door. He laid his coat over the chair at Edward's desk, laying his gloves and hat deliberately on top. He looked as if he were ordering his thoughts to ensure no missteps. Edward watched him and decided to relieve them both by beginning. "So, where did you ride? The weather was good, not as cold as yesterday." He seated himself and awaited a reply.

Frederick did not answer immediately. He walked to the window and looked out to the receding daylight. "I ran the roads. No sight seeing. I spent a good deal of time with Joshua Junkins."

Edward was relieved. Perhaps it was not as he feared. Joshua had most likely wheedled something from Frederick that was closer than he had intended to reveal. Joshua was good at lulling you to confide. He knew that from his own experience. He relaxed somewhat. "And what did you and Joshua talk of?"

For a moment, Frederick's shoulders slackened and he seemed to take on a warmer look. Then his face tightened, as though he remembered what he was about. "Your friend and I discussed you. He asked me to relay a message to you. It is, 'the captive is free'. What does that mean, Edward?" Frederick turned looking to his brother.

Edward paused, searching his memory, "I would imagine it is Old Testament. It speaks of Christ binding up the brokenhearted . . . proclaiming liberty to the captives and, hmm . . . opening the prison of those who are bound. What it may mean to Joshua, I have not an idea. He has never referred to himself as a captive that I recall," he said with a puzzled tone.

"He is not the captive. He said you are. A captive to your past." Frederick said flatly. "What is in your past from which you have been freed?" He stood inspection straight, hands behind his back, falling back on old training in time of tension.

With this question, Edward felt the hair on his neck stand on end. His stomach lurched. It was as if he were frightened, he could feel it surge through his body. "What did Joshua tell you?" he asked.

"You have loyal allies in both Joshua and Catherine. Joshua would not tell anything to do with your past. Though he said I should not neglect any opportunity to speak with you. Catherine made an roundabout comment about my questions being answered soon. Edward, when I came here, your manner to me was markedly changed. I thought marriage to Catherine had done you a reformation. Then I observed you and began to know you were not so much changed as you were finally being honest with me. Frankly Edward, I hope the secrecy which seems to surround your past to be more alarming than the actual events of it." Frederick wanted Edward to have every opportunity, every fair turn at giving an account for what seemed to be such a mystery.

Edward, in his turn knew that the time to remove all the barriers had come. He asked God to bless his effort to bring light to the darkness. His effort to break completely with the past. There were no others he feared knowing. No one else he feared losing. So he began.

"I left home at seventeen. That was '84. I went to sea because that was the fastest conveyance out of Liverpool. I had no desire for the sea. But, it afforded a living and a home at the same time. I was seven years at it, hating most all of it. I could no longer accommodate myself to the life, so in '91, I jumped ship in Antigua. There is not much there, but I met a Dutchman who had stayed when most others had gone back to the low country. He saw something in this angry, hate filled twenty-four-year-old. He offered to teach me his trade. I accepted. The only requisite was I move myself to Barbados--Bridgetown."

Frederick knew of Bridgetown. Sugar plantations and one of the largest ports for slave ships accomplishing the Middle Passage. While the managing of a sugar plantation would necessitate the use of slaves, which was abhorrent enough, Edward's look and tone expressed something more. That left the actual trading in flesh. "You became involved in trading?" he said, not wanting the answer he knew was to come.

"Yes. I was," said Edward. No attempts to distance himself from it. There was nothing in his countenance that was a ploy for sympathy. A short, honest admission of the truth. Nothing more, nothing less.

The moral man within Frederick reviled the actions of his brother. To take part in and profit by that loathsome act was an affront to his sensibilities. The anger rose in him and though this was his brother, he had to ask what he had always asked of those who engaged in trading, "What possesses a man to partake in such depraved behavior?" Frederick demanded.

Knock! Knock!

Catherine came into the study bearing the tea tray. Frederick had asked the question loudly enough that he was sure she must have heard. He turned and looked her way, her face showed nothing. She set about placing the tray on Edward's desk. She was about to begin to pour when Edward said, "We shall serve ourselves when we have finished, Catherine."

She set down the cup and teapot. She looked to Edward, but he was seated away from her and did not turn. She saw Frederick from the corner of her eye. He was still flushed. Now there seemed to be anger in his eyes. Things were not going well, but things were not finished. As she was about to leave, she raised her eyes and met Frederick's look full on. They looked at one another a moment, there was nothing to see, both had their sides in this. It was yet to be seen whether it could become the same one. Catherine lowered her eyes, turned away and quitted the room.

When Edward was certain that Catherine was well away from the door, he began to answer Frederick's question. "With few exceptions, men partake of depraved behavior for the same reasons that they partake in noble behavior. Either a great desire of a particular outcome or great desire for profit. I did not wish to enslave anyone, but I did have a desire for profit. There was much to be had and I wanted it," Edward said dryly. His hand passed over his face. He had no desire for emotion as Frederick seemed to be stirred enough for them both. "I was good at what I did. I learned all Mr. Van Keuren had to teach me and being clever, I learned many things on my own. I became very adept at finding what individual buyers from the Colonies wanted, or at least making them think what I had was what they wanted," Edward's voice exposed his loathing of the words he spoke. The overall memories of Barbados had dulled with time. There were still solitary images that played brilliantly in his mind. All of them offensive and unrelatable.

"How could you continue for so long--three years was it?" Frederick again demanded. He stepped closer to the window, fingering the curtain ties. The thought of his own brother involving himself in this lowest of enterprises was sickening.

"You continue because the profit is good and because after a while your heart is so much a stone that nothing touches it. When I began, the docks sickened me. The smell--the fear--the wailing. As time went by I became enured to it all. I could walk among half naked men--and women. I looked at their bodies to decide price. I walked by frightened children with no qualms." The more he talked, the more lifeless his voice became. Keeping himself as dead to the account was his only defense. To feel and speak, it would take more than he could allow. It had already taken so much over the past twenty years.

"People think that when you give yourself over to gross sin such as this, that your heart becomes covered over by stone. It is hard and shielded, but still flesh. That is not true. To protect itself, the heart indeed takes on stone, but the double-cross is, that the stone it takes goes inward. Each layer of stone destroys a layer of flesh. Soon, it comes all together and there is no more flesh. You are left with a stone where your heart was," Edward stared into the fire, not seeing, not feeling, not hoping for a good end to this.

Frederick was fighting his own battle with the account. This was repulsive and ugly. He had become proficient dealing with things he loathed. In his time at sea he had witnessed many cruel lashings for offenses petty and not. He had seen several keel hauls. One that killed the man. As a captain, he himself had ordered the flogging of men, though he had endeavored to use it as a last recourse and only to the point of punishment--never torture. In the last war, so many had been pressed into service they could not be allowed off-ship for fear of desertion. At times, Frederick had thought them no better than slaves and him their master. It would seem, he was not as righteous as his moral indignation would attempt to make him believe. This realisation took the edge from his anger. It did nothing to alleviate the disgust he felt at the thought of buying and selling human beings, but it did open a way for some pity to seep in.

"You were left with a heart of stone? How does one survive that?" he asked, becoming fascinated with the picture Edward had painted.

"I do not know. I think I still had some flesh to me. I think that because when I was away from the docks, I could not stand the guilt and the shame. I had to try everything imaginable to survive day to day. I tried drink. I tried women. I did as many things as man has available to live with myself. Except leave," he looked at Frederick for the first time. His brother was looking out the window. The evening was coming and dusk had caught the sun. Normally, this was Edward's favorite time of day as the candles in the house were lit. Home feeling warm in the glow. He rose to light the candles in the study. There was no warm glow to be had this evening.

"So, how does a man with a heart of stone come to leave his 'sin' and care for his younger brother and sister?" Frederick's voice was calmer, lower. He saw in Edward that this was misery. Whatever he had done in the past, Frederick could see that his brother ached with regret and was going to allow even his own abuse if it were to bring a resolution.

Edward rose to pour himself a glass of wine. "Would you care for a glass?" he asked. Frederick shook his head. Watching the red liquid as it flowed into the glass, he wondered how much to say. How much could he reveal before his brother would quit him and the entire affair. "It began with Father's death. Mother sent word he had passed. There was nothing I could do." Edward paused and Frederick spoke up, "Yes, I remember her writing that letter. She had been in high agitation for days, not sleeping, not eating. It was all Sophy could do to keep her from becoming hysterical, all the time," he said quietly. He had not ventured down that path for many years. The scenery was still quite fresh.

Edward stood in a stunned silence. Until this moment, he had never considered that Frederick had his own memories of their family. That he would have been quite old enough to see and hear and to a point, understand things as they had happened. This brought a twinge to his heart. This sordid bit of family history had touched 'his boy' and Edward had not even realised it. Once Edward had come to take Sophy and Frederick, they had not spoken to it again. He and Sophy had many goes 'round. She did know many things and had not hesitated confronting Edward about any of them. She did not know of Barbados-- at least she never brought it to him if she did. He had no notion that she would keep quiet about that, she left nothing else alone. He felt ashamed that all these years, he had worried for himself, never thinking there had been another . . . another who seemed to carry the scars of a sordid past. Though Frederick's were fashioned by others.

"I never thought that you would know such things. I never thought at all about you having knowledge of all this," Edward spoke with a low and tired voice. He felt the need to sit. He had related these things to Catherine, and then, later to Joshua, but the telling had not tired him as this was. Edward went back to the chair and seated himself. He stared at the fire through the wine. What to say next?

"Once you came for us, there was never a reason to trod this old ground. We were happier after you came," Frederick said trying to emphasise the last phrase.

Edward raised his head in surprise, "Were you?"

"Yes. For all the times you were frustrated by us, angry or baffled as to how you were to act, you tried. You were never cruel. You did not retreat to your room as Mother did. Has not Sophy told you all this? She, I dare say, benefited most from your return. She then had someone to share the responsibility of me with. Edward, for years, she and I had only one another. Mother and Father were . . . ," Frederick did not finish. There was no need. He knew that Edward understood. The identical things which had driven his brother away, had continued with him and his sister. "Tell me how you came back."

Edward felt the tide shift. Frederick's voice had not the edge it had held earlier. Looking toward him, he could see the tiredness in his frame. He was now leaning against the window jamb, not ramrod straight as he had been. His face no longer tense, but relaxed, as if he were awaiting a story. "I came when a solicitor sent me word that Mother had died. Father's estate was a shambles and he told that a resolution could not be had if I were to stay in Barbados. In the packet of documents he sent was a letter from Mrs. Grayson. Do you remember her?" Frederick responded with a nod. "She wrote that you and Sophy were with her and she would keep you until I could arrive. It was the last thing she could do for our mother. Had she not done that, you would have gone to an orphanage or some such thing. I do not know what would have become of Sophy. I came as soon as possible. On the journey, I made decisions as to what I would do about the two of you," Edward took a drink and swirled the wine about. He sat, attempting to choose his next words.

"I am assuming by your silence that you had no intention of staying with us. How came you to go against your own judgement?" Frederick queried. Frederick turned to face Edward's direction. He leaned with his back against the jamb, waiting patiently for an response.

"I now see why you have done so well for yourself, Frederick. You are very perceptive. I did not want to stay. I wanted to be done with the estate and have you and Sophy settled in some suitable situation, then I would go back. As for 'going against my judgement,' that was due to my error in judgement. I arrived in Liverpool at early afternoon. I was not prepared for a reunion with you and Sophy so, I wandered the streets until nearly midnight. I then went to Mrs. Grayson's. She was lovely to me. She offered me a place for the night and told me how you were doing. She left me, but I could not sleep. My error came when I decided to look upon the two of you. I thought it could do no harm. I found the attic room Mrs. Grayson said she had given Sophy. You would not stay in the room with the Grayson boys, so I knew you would be with her." Edward finished the wine in one swallow.

"I had not seen the two of you since '89, and that was only for a few hours. On that visit Father banished me from the house. I was not to show myself again. In his mind, I became dead. So, you were seven when I had left last and Sophy was just thirteen. I wanted to see what the years had wrought. I found the room and entered. My heart was beating so hard I could feel it through my clothing. I was shocked when I saw the two of you," Edward said quietly as he relived that hot August night in 1794.

"What was so shocking?" Frederick asked, as he realised Edward had stopped the narrative.

Edward roused himself back to the present, "The two children I had left were vanished. Sophy had been just thirteen. Now I saw a young, beautiful woman asleep in that attic. She was so lovely with her hair spilling over the pillow. I had thought to have her wed as soon as possible to anyone who would have her. There she was, my younger sister, suddenly too dear to be dispensed with in such a fashion. That was when the blows to my heart began. With every look, there came a blow. It was nearly a physical pain. Then I looked on you." Edward glanced down at his lap and noticed his wedding ring. He had come so far since that night. That ring was the proof.

Frederick quit his place at the window and moved toward the fire and the other chair. He sat, not looking at Edward but to the fire. He knew in his soul that his love for his brother had conquered the revulsion for his past. Most likely because Edward had first conquered himself.

"You had been seven when I left, you were now twelve." He chuckled to himself, "You were all arms and legs. You were on a pallet on the floor. I came and knelt closer to see your face. Your hair was still quite blond then and because of the heat it was stuck to your forehead," Edward touched his fingers to his own brow in memory. "I found out later that one of the Grayson boys' had caught you with a rock the day before and you had a scrape along your cheekbone." Again, he touched his own face. "All the while, the blows to that cold and stony heart were playing a tattoo in my chest until suddenly, the stone cracked." He hadn't realised how forcefully had been speaking. At the word "cracked" both were startled from their respective images of the scene.

Edward breathed for what seemed to be the first time since the conversation had begun. "I knew I would not go back to Barbados. There was nothing I wanted or needed there. I knew that I must take care of the two of you. I wanted to." Edward hesitated. He did not want Frederick to think he was trying to curry his favor by what he needed to say. He decided to proceed, it was something he wanted Frederick to know, no matter how ingratiating it may seem. He shifted in his chair, he turned toward Frederick. It did not matter if his brother looked at him, he would say this, "The night I saw you for the first time in so long, was the night I began to feel again. I could breathe in whole breaths again. I have called you "my boy" over the years because seeing you again rescued me. You became mine. Like a sailor's talisman for luck. Not that now I believe in such things now, but the idea is the same. As long as I had you, my life would be well. To lose you, especially to this horrible past, would have been the sinking of me."

Edward leaned back in the chair. He was done in and had no more strength. It was finished and it would seem that he had not lost. Frederick had remained. He closed his eyes and prayed silently to God a prayer of thanks.

There are times in our lives when a truth that had been long known comes fully to the fore and becomes deeply infused in our souls. Frederick had long known that Edward cared for him. Today, it was infused in his soul, just how much. It was still not clear for him why Edward had felt the need to masquerade all those years as the sullen Reverend Wentworth. This was a question he would pursue later, for now it was enough to know the true Edward.

Acknowledgements--I would like to thank Pamela T for all her help with these chapters. She asked just the right questions. And Tenby for all the encouragement and 'smiles'. :-) SusanK

Neither Edward nor Frederick knew how long they sat silently before the fire. That was not very important. After great exertion, rest comes naturally, and rest is what they did. What was important was the fact that the truth had been told. The truth had been heard and accepted. The exchange had been arduous on both men. Both had learned things they had not known. Things that would take time to fully embrace.

"Edward?" The voice was Catherine's. She was outside the door. Edward rose from his seat and opened the door to her. She and Mrs. Graham stood in the hallway. Catherine bore a try of cheese, meat and bread, a dish of compote and a tart. Mrs. Graham carried a tray with fresh coffee. After the old tray had been removed and the new settled, Catherine said to Edward quietly, "I heard nothing for nearly three quarters of an hour and thought that now would be a proper time for this." She looked toward Frederick. He was seated with his legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. His arms crossed over his chest, head tilted back and eyes closed. He looked to be asleep.

"Is he asleep?" she said with some surprise in her voice. Sleep did not strike Catherine as a proper response to such an emotional conversation.

"I do not know. All is well, I think. We have not spoken for some time, but I think that we understand one another. He is still here and that is all I care about," he said quietly, not wanting to awaken Frederick if he were indeed asleep. Edward gathered Catherine in his arms and just held her. She had told him that this would come out well, she had been right.

"I shall leave you. It is nearly nine and Mrs. Graham is tired. I shall be about if you need anything. I knew that you would bring him 'round," she said in a whisper. She could not resist one quick kiss to his pale cheek. She saw the near exhaustion in his eyes but, was relieved to the core. She turned and left, stopping to look once more at Frederick, perhaps sleep was the best response. She pulled the door gently closed.

Edward stood near his desk, stretching his shoulders and rubbing his neck. The tightness was practically gone, the fatigued muscles remained. He examined the trays that Catherine had brought. Food did not appeal just then, but he poured himself coffee. As he began to drink, he turned to look out the windows. There was not much see. Lights in the distance, other homes lit against the December dark. He speculated how many of them had passed the evening dealing with family secrets. Edward decided that the possibility of a few doing so was high at any time. As a rector, he knew there were many family secrets in the parish.

But his was no longer a secret and consequently, there was no fear to fear. His thoughts continued in this vein and so caught up in them, he did not hear Frederick stirring. "Does Mrs. Wentworth often listen at doorways for three quarters of an hour?" he asked.

"Wha . . . oh! I dare say she was referring to the fact, one can stand at the head of the hallway and tell if there is conversation occurring. Words are not distinguishable. I practice my sermons here and she can discern when I am finished by standing there and listening for a bit. I cannot fathom Catherine lurking about, ear to a keyhole," he said. Edward could not even bring a vision of such a thing to his mind. "Speaking of sleuthing, why did you play dead while she brought the tray? Was that not rather . . . shifty on your part?" he said. Frederick's tone, the fact he had not moved and was still in his languid position made Edward think this was to be light exchange and that the tension of the past few hours was over.

Frederick opened his eyes and turned his head toward Edward, "TouchÈ. I thought it best that you tell Catherine that the field of battle is clear. If that is coffee I smell, could you bring me a cup? I feel as though I ran the lanes instead of my horse," he said, bringing his arms over head in a stretch.

Edward turned to pour the coffee and said, "So this was "the field of battle" was it?" He dosed it liberally with sugar and brought it to Frederick.

"Not in the conventional sense." He took the cup. "Thank you. Could you have seen the look Catherine imparted to me when she brought the tea, you could have rested in the knowledge you had a very strong and willing second should the need have risen. Had you fallen, I have no doubt that my head would even now be gracing a pike outside your entry door," he chuckled as he took a drink. To come back to the ease he had felt with Edward these last two days was a relief. He had allowed himself to be worked over by his emotions on the ride home from Joshua's. Though he had begun in a state of agitation, Edward's calm responses and emotionless delivery had brought his excitation down to a manageable degree.

"Heavens! You make her to be quite an Amazon! I would say it more like her to reason you into taking your own head off, placing it on the pike for her and to be polite, clean whatever mess you have made," said Edward. He knew that Catherine would laugh if she could hear this rather coarse characterisation of her. There had been that time he had caught her wishing Mr. Graham's head upon a platter . . .

"You have a wife of great strength. I knew her and me to be, at that particular moment, on opposite sides of the valley. You shall always have someone at your back with her," said Frederick. He put down the cup and moved to tend the fire. It had gone low and needed some prodding to bring it back.

As he took a drink, Edward smiled and said, "That is good to know. Should the Barbarian hoards invade Crown Hill, she is the first I shall seek." He was glad for the banter, but he knew there was still more for his brother to know. His primary question had never truly been answered.

"I must tell you, Frederick, I am surprised you have remained. As angry as you were to begin," said Edward.

Frederick looked to the fire as he settled himself on the floor before it. Edward handed him his cup. He took it as he leaned against the front of his chair and began, "I was angry, but then I began to think about my career. In it, I have seen and done things I am sure to those ashore look to be uncivilised and barbarous. Not that punishment can be compared to slavery, not that one is equal to the other. I just saw the wrong of so strongly accusing twenty-year-old crimes in light of my own, more recent--dealings. My time at sea is, I hope, not over and I may be called upon again to mete out justice by harsh, even to many, cruel methods."

"Whatever brought me aid in this, I am thankful for it," Edward said joining his brother on the floor. He asked, "Do you remember the last time we sat before a fire such as this?"

Frederick smiled widely remembering, "Yes! It was the year '02, Christmas night. I had been able to come from Plymouth and Sophy and Croft came from Yarmouth. That was the last time we were all together for the holiday. I think that was the last time I saw you jolly," Frederick said. He drew up one knee to his chest and rested his arm upon it. Just looking at the fire and feeling its warmth, and thinking back on that night they had all shared was comforting.

"It was a wonderful night. We roasted chestnuts. I still have that roasting pan somewhere. When those were all gone, we melted cheese on bread. I am not sure which told the more outlandish stories--you, Croft or Sophy!" said Edward, reveling in the memory.

"As I recall, there were a few outlandish tales floated by you, brother!" cried Frederick.

"Very few!" Edward said as he shifted himself, facing Frederick, resting his back on the side of the mantle. "That night was when I began to feel at ease about Sophy. I felt I had done the correct thing in allowing her to marry Croft." Edward gazed to the ceiling, thinking back. "He was so much older than she and she was so headstrong," he said turning to give a sideways look to the fire. "They knew one another such a short time. Sophy had threatened me with Gretna if I would not approve, so I really had no choice."

"What convinced you, on that particular night?" asked Frederick.

"Just watching the two of them together. They had an ease and a way about them. I remember that as the night went on, Sophy fell asleep on Croft's shoulder. When he realised, he sat very still so as not to disturb her. He even lowered his voice. Everything was done to allow her some rest. I knew then they would be a good match."

Frederick thought about his brother-in-law, now Admiral Croft. His reputation was one of fairness, but strict adherence to regulations. He mused what the Admiral's subordinates would think of the thoughtful and loving picture just painted by Edward's memory.

"I remember how worried she had been to tell you of her going with him on his next sail. The North Seas. She thought you would raise a fracas, but you did not. It relieved her greatly," Frederick said throwing some odd bits of kindling on the fire, watching them flair and disappear.

"There was no call to worry, I had by that time learnt that Sophy was not mine to manage. When she was under my care, I could barely keep hold of her. She's a good girl, there are times I miss her nearly as much as I miss you," Edward said looking at Frederick.

They looked at one another for the first time since they began. There were still questions to be answered.

"Why have you denied yourself to me for so long?" asked Frederick. There was no rancour or anger. Only curiosity.

Edward moved, using Frederick's shoulder to raise himself. Walking to the desk, he took the tray and brought it before the fire. Moving the other chair to lean upon, he seated himself and began, "Fear mostly. Fear of being found out. Fear that you would reject me. Your opinions on the matter had been formed early. The ironical part was, it was I who had taken you to the abolitionist meetings." As he had spoken, he had pointed to foods on the tray and plated those to which Frederick had nodded.

As Frederick took the plate, he asked Edward, "Why did you not throw in with them? They always seemed to have more fire and spirit than the regular church goers."

"Because Frederick, for all the fire and passion, in many cases I saw mixed motives. Men who were trying to build themselves a following. Do not take my meaning wrong, there were and are good men in that battle. Clarkson and Wilberforce were just beginning to make progress in Parliament, there was good coming about, but as with any human endeavor there were the false and the genuine all mixed. Many were only interested in ascertaining whether I had profited by the trade. If I had, there was an expectation that I should divest myself of the filthy lucre. Of course I should give it to them and only then would I be truly free of my sin. I had every intention of keeping the money and engaging in the freedom of feeding ourselves," Edward said forcefully. He took a few bites, remembering some of the disappointment he had felt in not finding a haven with others like himself.

Frederick took this opportunity to ask, "Was there no money in Father's estate? Did you completely take us on?"

"Yes I did, and no, there was no money in the estate. Father had made some very bad business decisions. Everything but the house had been encumbered. Thank God he had left the house alone. To keep the Wentworth name worth having, I paid off the last of the creditors. I did not mind. I felt that the money though made in a loathsome manner was somehow sanctified by its good use."

"So what happened when you told people in the church of your past?" asked Frederick.

"I did not. When I first went to church, I spoke to the rector and told him of my past and that I felt I had a call to the church." Edward began to rise again to fetch the wine. Frederick motioned for him to remain seated, he brought the decanter and glasses. Edward poured and continued, "This was in '97 or '98 and the issue was still quite volatile. He told me to keep quiet. He wanted no anti or pro sentiments causing divisions in the congregants. That taught me that I may have God's forgiveness, but man's was another matter entirely." He took a drink of the wine he had poured. "So quiet I remained. Even with you. As you needed me less and less, making your own way, being successful--I feared even more. Not needing me, in my mind, meant you could be rid of me without much trouble to yourself. I am sorry, my fear caused me to think so ill of you. I learnt to content myself in having you near, just not close."

The similarity between Edward's manner with him, and his manner with Anne these past months was not at all lost on Frederick. While Edward's actions had been based in fear, his had been anger and pride. He mused that there seemed to at least be some merit in his brother's fear, but none in his pride. This realisation made his display even more galling. He was finding that he and Edward were indeed more alike than ever he had imagined.

"My final resolve to keep this secret, came in the year '08; I had just moved into the curacy of Whitechurch. You had just captured the Great Nation, you saw the Asp go down in Plymouth and were being posted to the Laconia. Captain Wentworth was coming into his own, all the things you had anticipated for yourself were coming to be." Edward took a drink and continued, "I was so proud of all you had accomplished." He looked at Frederick, it was the first time he had been able to express openly the pride he felt in his brother's achievements. He raised his glass in quiet toast to Frederick. "You came to Whitechurch for a few days--remember, you brought Harville?" he said.

"I remember the chief thing of Whitechurch was how bad your accommodations! You were very tenacious to have survived three winters there!" Frederick said, placing his empty plate on the tray.

"I was more thankful than you will know that you began sending me money now and again. The circuit I had there was hard and poor. Anyhow, the two of you came and we were 'round the table after dinner, you and Harville were regaling me with tales and you began to tell of . . . ,"

"To tell of a group of slavers we had met up with in San Fernando. Yes, I remember. I was quite plain in my disgust. What had repulsed me the most was how they truly enjoyed not only what they did, but also the telling of it," Frederick said. He picked up his glass of wine and watched the fire a moment through the red. He took a sip and glanced over to Edward.

"Well, I remember none of that. I do recall you saying that "the stench of misery" was all about them and that you hastily left as it was sickening you so." Edward put down his glass and looked into the fire. This was the first time that this remembrance had not made him nauseous with fear. "After you said that, in my mind, all I could hear was your voice saying, "the stench of misery" was all about me and that you would have to leave. I was determined to keep this to me until the grave if necessary."

"So why the obvious change of heart?"

"I was persuaded that I had to tell Catherine before we wed. If she were to discover this after we were married, all trust would be so damaged that there would be little hope of repair. Little did I know that her mother has Quaker family in the Colonies that are as fiery in the movement as any on the earth." Edward smiled at his own folly. "So . . . I go to do my noble deed. She understood and forgave the debauchery, but when it came to light the cause of it, she sent me away." His voice was quiet. "She would not speak to me or hear from me for five or six days." He turned to Frederick, "Were I a smarter man, I would have realised that I was madly in love, for agony such as that does not come from mere esteem. Finally, she did allow me to come. She looked horrible and had not slept much. She had been fasting and praying. She said that she could not escape the fact that if she desired God's forgiveness, she could not refuse her forgiveness to me."

"She certainly could forgive you, but that would not require that she marry you. Why did she?" Frederick asked, curious.

"That is true. I have never asked her. Perhaps, like myself, she was in love and just did not know. No matter. I am awed each time I think of how close I came to losing her and all that I have." He paused for a moment, colour came to his face and he looked at Frederick with a wide smile. "I have some news for you," he said, as he lightly slapped Frederick on the arm.

This behavior brought an amused smile to Frederick's face, even as he was seeing Edward in a new light, actions such as this were most likely, not typical. "Well, what sort of news would cause you to cuff your own brother?" he asked.

"Catherine has told me, just today, that we are to have a child come summer. What say you to that?" he said in a most self-satisfied fashion.

For the briefest of seconds, Frederick did not know what to say. The oddest feeling came over him. He realised that a child made what Edward and Catherine had together very real and very visible. It represented their love in a tangible, touchable form. For the briefest of seconds, Frederick was so jealous of his brother he wished to cry. Edward's life as a cleric had never drawn the slightest envy from him, but now his life as a man, with a wife he was nearly senseless in love with, and a child coming was enough to make him offer all he had in the way of fortune and position just to taste of it. To have the woman he loved, the only woman he had ever loved, with him and to have a family by her . . .

"Have I quite left you speechless? I know I was for a moment. Who would have ever thought that I would have such a blessing? My being so much older, I had rather thought we would have to depend upon you to carry on the Wentworth name."

"Congratulations! I wish for you and Catherine every happiness. This is wonderful news." Frederick pulled himself back to his brother. He could not slight his joy for this sudden melancholy. He had taken Edward's hand to shake it. That would not be enough. He stood and pulled Edward up by the hand he held and embraced him. So many things had taken place in this one room, in this one day. It was only fitting that the clock on the mantle struck midnight. The day had begun well and had ended better.

There was no sense staying in this room, or the house for that matter. Frederick had not bothered undressing, electing instead to remove his boots and lay upon the counterpane, contemplating his life. Since coming to Shropshire, he had no pleasure but to see Edward happy. Excepting their revelatory discussion of that evening, the time had been marked by an ease he had not had with his brother, but found to his liking. That was becoming his foremost solace. All other things were quickly becoming dust. Frederick rose from the bed and made ready an escape to ride. He glanced out the window to find the dark as deep as when he had left Edward in the study. He would have to wait.

The day had been exhausting, yet sleep had not come the entire night. Emotion has the ability to tire in ways physical exertion cannot. He continued to look out the window into the dark. The weariness was practically overwhelming, but the images would not stop. Visiting Joshua, allowing Anne preeminence in his thoughts, confronting Edward concerning his past. Peace had been made and healing begun. The thought most on Frederick's mind these past hours though had nothing to do with any of those. The news Edward had imparted before they had left one another for the night was chief in his thoughts.

A child. Edward and Catherine were to have a child in the summer. Such a simple declaration. An event that takes place every day, in all corners of the world. An event usually met with joy and celebration for some, sadness and dread for others. To his shame, it was met in Frederick's heart with envy and not a little anger. The envy was indeed toward Edward.

His brother lead a quiet life which had never attracted him. Frederick relished the excitement of the sea. The fresh possibilities each new day for danger, challenge and in the past few years, reward. So why did the life of his brother suddenly outstrip nearly everything he had accomplished in the past few years? His life was being outdone by a country cleric because Edward was not alone. He had Catherine, his second self and he did not have to face each day as a solitary man.

Frederick moved about the room quietly, not wishing to make his sleepless known. The struggle to master this was becoming more difficult. He found himself back at the window, leaning on the sill. The envy toward his brother was manageable and he knew it would not lead to any breach. It was the anger that galled him. For the anger was not toward Edward and the news he bore--the anger was reserved expressly for himself.

The cool and deliberate anger he felt, was for his imprudence with Louisa. It was also for his frigid and unfeeling treatment of Anne. He leaned his forehead against the cold pane of glass. Just allowing his mind to form her name was a hurt and a reproach. He conjured her face from the last time they were together. She had watched him for a reaction to the change which had come about after his leaving to secure a chaise. She could not help but see his surprise and vexation at her being substituted for Mrs. Musgrove, not only as his passenger, but in the nursing of Louisa. He berated himself that the pictures she would by necessity carry with her from that night were, his solicitude toward Henrietta, his regret of the entire scheme of a last walk, his declarations of Louisa being sweet and dear--presumably to himself. His only consideration of her, had been confirming how the Musgroves were to be told of Louisa's injuries.

She knew nothing of the revelations brought by the fortnight of reflection. How the walks and rides about the fine country of Lyme had, at first forced him to admit to Louisa's self-will and heedlessness. Then forced the next step, admitting Anne's complete superiority in nearly all ways to the other. His recalling her collected mind in the face of calamity. The surety that had come with Anne and her directions to each in the crisis.

The fortnight had been spent not only enumerating character qualities of each, but meditating upon the very differences in their personal beings. Louisa's young, comely and fresh countenance had very much attracted his attention in the beginning. Even now though, thinking of Anne's mild dark eyes and deep chestnut hair, the translucence of her skin that he longed to caress, these all worked to bring about a shudder and a heavy sigh in recognition of what all this must signify. A man does not cease to love a woman out of anger. Disinterest perhaps. His attention being drawn elsewhere, possibly. Not anger though. That agitation brings the object to mind much too often to forget, and the anger necessitates actively engaging the object to berate and recount wrongs. He raised his arm to the jamb and leaned his head against it. Looking into the glass, he could almost see her face, her eyes, her silhouette. He loved Anne more intensely and thoroughly than he had thought.

Were he to share this with Edward he felt sure that, "Pride goeth before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall," would pass his lips. "Oh God, let this not be my destruction," he whispered.

As Frederick roused himself from Anne, he saw that the sun was crested and he could now flee these walls and perhaps find some peace in new scenery. He hurriedly pulled on his riding boots, then gathered his coat, hat and gloves from the chair where he had thrown them earlier. He took another look out the window, endeavoring to know the weather. There were few clouds and a thick covering of hoarfrost. Intense cold appealed to him, it would match his mood. He left the room as quietly as possible and made his way down the hall, taking special care before Edward and Catherine's room. He had to smile, he could hear Edward snoring. "Sleep in peace, brother," he thought.

Catherine was just finishing her hair when she discerned Frederick walking down the hall. He was about early, considering the late hour he and Edward had kept. She looked over to Edward. His snoring had awakened her, but this night's sleep was the deepest he had partaken in months, so she had no resentment. Since receiving Frederick's letter telling of his return to the land, Edward had been given over to anxiety and sleeplessness. She knew that those times were over. Edward of old would be returning to her.

She rose from her dressing table and went to the bed. She sat next to him. Her sitting had caused him to move to his back and cease the snoring. She was wishing him awake, but there was no sign of that. His breathing had slowed and become rhythmic. She gazed at him for really the first time since coming home. In the attic she had noticed the grey in his hair and beard. They were both aging, she could feel it. Hers was due more to the child within, but there were still changes owing to age.

Catherine saw again that Edward's hair needed to be trimmed, she must do it today, before going to her parents' for dinner. With her fingers, she combed his hair about, and brought some order to it. She stroked his cheek and lightly touched his beard, this brought his hand up to rub away the tickling sensation her caress had brought. His hand rested on the coverlet. She looked at it closely. Edward worked with his mind, not his hands so they showed no calluses, no wear. She took his hand in hers and felt of the familiar skin and size, she soon realised that he was awake. The pressure on her hand was increasing. "Edward, open your eyes. I know you are not sleeping," she said smiling. Her wish had been granted, though she had done much to make it come about.

"Is this what you do as I sleep? You poke me and prod to your satisfaction?" he said. His eyes remained closed, but he raised her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. Bringing out his other hand, he grasped hers in both and rested it on his chest.

"I do not poke you nor do I prod. I was merely trying to awaken you in a gentle manner," she said softly.

"What time is it? Unless it is near noon, I do not wish to get out of this bed," said Edward in a half-serious tone. He still did not open his eyes. It was his habit to be up before seven each morning, but today he was in the mood for sleep. The months and really years of apprehension were over and rest for his fatigued soul whispered insistently.

"It is nearly half-past seven." Catherine looked to the clock and amended, "More nearly eight actually. Should news of the Reverend Wentworth lolling about his bed, this late in the day, gain ground in the parish, I am sure that tongues will wage," she said with great embellishment.

"If they must, they must. I am still done in." A smile came to his face and his eyes opened. He looked at his wife, arched his brow and said, " You and I could create an extraordinary scandal. You could loll with me and we shall stay here the entire day! What say you Mrs. Wentworth? Shall we open ourselves to such uproar?" As he spoke, he took her by the shoulders and pulled her to himself.

As she sat, resting her cheek on his chest, the question sounded to be a wonderful idea. Though, the more wonderful part was Edward's manner. He had never lost his humour completely, it had only been subdued. She could tell, it was back and would be surfacing more regularly. She sat up and leaned close to him, "I would love to engage in such an indulgence, especially with you, my dear, but today is a busy one." She straightened. " Dinner at the Keystone tonight and that means a hair and beard trim for you. I must press that perfectly horrid dress Mother bought me in London." Edward smiled. He had heard of the dress, but had not been shown the offensive article as of yet. "There are always things that come to attention when preparing for an evening out. I would like to take a small walk before beginning. I shall walk and leave you here to rest a while longer. When I return, you must get up," she said punctuating each word with a light jab of her finger.

She began to rise, he caught her hand and brought her back to be seated. He raised himself on his elbow, "I love you Catherine. Thank you for bearing with me through all this turmoil my past brought to us. The past few weeks were made liveable only because you bolstered my spirits when I was low. I owe you a great deal, my love. I do not think I had the courage to face my brother without you." He gently pulled her to him with his free hand. They kissed as they had when they were first wed. There was no tension or regard for other things, only each other and the joy that brought.

Had it been up to Edward, they would have brought about that scandal. He was quite prepared to allow Mrs. Graham to tell whomever she chose that the Rector and his wife stayed to their bed until late in the morning. Let her speculate what she will about why. Catherine on the other hand was too sensible to allow such a thing. Though in her mind, it did seem a wonderful idea.

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