THE CAVERN OF DEEP HARMONY

PART SEVENTY-EIGHT:

Morgan paused just outside the picket gate, leaning back on it. He felt like a complete idiot. Susannah's father had taken him totally by surprise there in the dark. How long had he been there? He wiped a palm over his face, feeling sweaty. And then he'd gone and tripped over the brick right after Wellington had warned him about it. Damn!

Entirely distracted, he cut down Botetourt Street, heading for Duke of Gloucester. A cold tankard of ale. Yes, that was what he needed!  The Raleigh would still be open.  Half-way down Botetourt, though, he stepped into the midst of a very large road apple. It's scent, instantly released fully into the humid, night air, rose up around him, making him gag. He saw a small wooden bench not far away, and made for it.  As he sat there, not ten feet from Duke of Gloucester street, holding his boot gingerly with one hand while scraping at its bottom furiously with a small stick he'd found, a tall form paused on the corner of the intersection.

"Would that be you, young Mr. Kent?"

Morgan held the stick still, peering at the source of the male voice. The outline of the form was familiar to him and could belong to none other than George Washington.  "I...," he began, but stopped, aware of the unpleasant nature of his current engagement.

Washington began to walk toward him. "Oh, God," Morgan moaned to himself. He'd just made a fool of himself in front of Wellington, and now here came Washington.

"You are all right?" Washington asked, concerned at Morgan's cut-off reply.

"I am fine, sir," Morgan said, standing on one leg, keeping his sock-clad foot a bit in the air.

"Just a small inconvenience, I fear."

Washington cocked an eyebrow, smelling the inconvenience clearly. "Ah, I see." He smiled and

sat on the bench. "Do continue, Mr. Kent."

"But...but...sir?"

"The digestive by-products of the equine world and I are well-acquainted. As a farmer, I have found it...inevitable."

Morgan, more familiar with what was said about this man than with the man himself, hesitated.

Washington patted the bench beside him. "Sit, Mr. Kent, if you wish to remove it before it crusts."

Morgan couldn't help himself. He let out a small, delighted laugh.  Washington looked up at him,

a slight grin curving his lips. "You find me amusing?"

Morgan sat.  "I find you...real...sir. I was not sure that was actually the case."

Now Washington laughed, more of a deep, rumbling chuckle.  "Just don't tell anybody about that. We shall keep it between ourselves, you and I, that bit of information."

Morgan began to scrape carefully at his boot again, very aware of how each movement of his stick through the horse dung stirred its scent afresh.  Washington tipped to his right, scanning the ground, then leaned down.  "Here," he said, handing a larger stick to Morgan, "this may prove a more useful tool."

Taking the stick, Morgan paused in his cleaning task. "You were born here, were you not? Right here in Virginia?"

"I was, indeed.  It is my great honor to call myself a Virginian."

"I...I'm trying to understand what that's like, sir. What it means to the heart and the mind to be a Virginian."

"You have decided to become one, Mr. Kent?"

"I'm not sure, not sure of anything right now, sir. I didn't think...I never planned...."

"Mr. Kent, let me ask you something."

"Sir?"

"Do you know how it is we make God laugh?"

"Sir?"

"We tell Him our plans."  He patted Morgan's knee.

"Oh!"  Morgan was rapidly losing his power of coherent thought. First Susannah in the garden, then Mr. Wellington by the house, now George Washington and God and the horse manure here in the quiet night. None of them said, did, things that Morgan expected they would.  His jacket, which had been lying across his right thigh, chose that moment to slip to the ground.

Washington reached it before Morgan even began to move.  "This, I presume, is the jacket upon which the wine was deliberately spilt?"

"De...deliberately?"

"It was a gentlemanly thing you did. Miss Wellington was most discommoded at the dinner table."

"I...I didn't think anyone...knew...that. About my jacket, I mean."

"You sat at table, young Mr. Kent, with some of the most observant men in the colonies."  Washington smiled, handing the jacket to Morgan.

Morgan had set his boot down, resting his unbooted foot atop the other.  "I'm sorry I did not get to be a part of the after-dinner conversation."

"There will be other times, I am sure.  Some evenings there are more important things to tend to than conversation."

Good Lord! Did everyone know he'd been in the garden?

"This interest in Virginia, is it serious?" Washington continued.

"It...it seems to be becoming steadily more so, sir."

"Well, stay close to George Wythe. Any questions you have, he will have the answers to."

"You...you feel certain that war is coming?"

"I see little way these days that it may be avoided.  It is not a thing I would choose, being all too familiar with the means and effects of war, but if it comes, it will be fought with more heart and courage than England may expect to face."

"You've been a part of the English army yourself, though.  I don't understand how...."

"Virginia," he said softly. "That is what it comes down to, son. Virginia.  The past will not matter if war comes. Only that Virginia be safe."

"But Braddock," Morgan continued, stubborn in his lack of understanding. "Back in England, we know the stories, how brave you were there with Braddock when the French and Indians ambushed."

Washington chuckled again. "Stories, eh? The truth of the matter is that I had been so sick with influenza during the march toward the Forks of the Ohio that I had to ride in one of the wagons.  During the Battle of Monongahela, I could barely sit my horse."  He leaned back a little, lacing

his fingers, remembering.

"Two horses were killed under me, though.  Came down hard and it was even harder for me to get back up.  Later, I counted four balls that had gone through my uniform."  He sighed.  "But that is simply the way it is for a soldier. He fights even when he cannot stand."  His gaze locked on
Morgan.  "If you stay in Virginia, you may discover this for yourself."

"I know," Morgan whispered.

"It is something that must be considered.  All of us face many hard choices in these times."  He stood, straightening his jacket. "I must be on my way."

"Thank you, sir," Morgan said, standing as well, balancing carefully. "I am glad you, you..stopped by."

Washington chuckled again, nodding down at Morgan's boot. "Good luck with that.  It is a common hazard one faces afoot in the Williamsburg dark."

Morgan stood, watching Washington's figure until it disappeared around the corner.  Then he sat heavily, his mind filled with what they'd talked about. Yes, hard choices. Many hard choices. But Susannah's face came, dancing before the eyes of his memory. Some choices just might come more easily than others.

"I both am eager to go and reluctant to leave," Eden sighed, snapping her largest suitcase shut. She sat down on the bed beside it, looking around the room that had become so familiar, so full of memories. Marshall was coming through the bathroom door, a small kit of supplies in his hand. Marshall. All of it, every single bit of it, centered around, on, and in him.

"Would you like to stay longer? We can."

"No, I'm ready to walk in the door of your house."

"Our house," he corrected with a smile.

"Our house.  I need to make memories there, too."

Setting the kit down atop the dresser, he moved toward her, his hand running along the suitcase until he found her. Squatting in front of her, he took both her hands in his.  "This means the world to me, Eden, that you should be coming to live there. I'm not sure I can really convey all

it means to me. The house, it was always, has always been such a part of me. My roots are there, going down under the foundation stones of it in a way that they can never be pulled." He kissed her hands, his face very serious, then continued. "When I'd be away from it and know I was coming back, my thoughts would fly, like birds, ahead of me. But I lost that. For two years now
the birds have not wished to fly.  I'd still think of it often. It just came inevitably to mind. It's so connected with the how and the why of me. But my nostalgia for it became more of a despair that the life of it was gone." 

He licked his lips. "When I was little, I used to imagine I could hear the heartbeat of the house. It was very real to me. But the heartbeat stopped and the silence it left in the house was a heavy, dulled thing. Now you come to it and I know, I simply know, that I shall hear its heartbeat again. It will be home, Eden, a thing it's not been for way too long."

Eden tended to think in terms of what Marshall brought to her life, the change, the veritable lifting he'd caused, not what she might bring to him. Leaning forward, she kissed the top of his bowed head. "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways," she murmured. "I can hardly wait."

She opened the bedroom door, a couple of bags in her hands, to find Mike standing there, poised to knock.

"Mike!" she greeted, smiling. "I'm so glad you came."

"Hadda come say good-bye, you know," he replied. "Thought I could give a hand, too, with the bags."  He looked into the room, spotting Marshall. "Hey, there. Got a bag I can help wrestle down the stairs?"

"Hello, Mike," Marshall said, holding out his hand. "I'm pleased we don't have to leave without my having a chance to tell you again how grateful I am for all you've done, for all you've been."

Mike came into the room, shook Marshall's hand, then stooped to ruffle Wadsworth's fur. "All three of you have been really special to me." 

"Where's Maria?" Eden asked.

"She's on duty right now. Asked me to say her good-byes for her."

"And how's that going?"

"Goin' just fine, Eden. Just fine."

"I'm glad, Mike," Eden smiled. "Really glad."

Mike went over to the dresser. "I 'spect you're plannin' on takin' this dollhouse thingamajig?"

"Definitely," Eden laughed. "In fact, I'd appreciate it if you'd carry it out to the car for me."

"You got it!" Mike said, picking it up as well as curling his fingers through a big suitcase handle.

Martha and Harold were waiting by the front door.  "I'm going to miss you all," Martha said, holding out her arms to hug Eden. She was blinking hard, trying to hold back tears. "Never had guests before who became part of the family." She gripped Marshall's arm. "Who's going to appreciate my cookies now?"

"I'll still be around, Martha!" Mike called back over his shoulder as he crossed the porch. "You ain't gettin' rid of me."

"We'll be back, Martha," Marshall said. "This place means a lot to us. You mean a lot to us. I hope you know that."

"I do," Martha sniffed, her chin quivering. "I've just gotten so durn used to you all being here. It's going to seem empty without you."

When the final good-byes were said, the car all loaded, Wadsworth sitting in the back seat beside the dollhouse, Eden backed slowly out of her parking place. Martha, Harold, and Mike were all on the front porch, waving. She described it for Marshall and he waved back. "What a
monumental difference a choice of inn makes," he commented as they headed for the road.

"Don't it just!" Eden said firmly. "Don't it just!"

Marshall laughed, moving his hand to her right leg. "I love you, Mrs. Sinclair."

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