Honor in the Dust Page 8

  “What is it? Tell me,” Stuart said.

  “Well, you’ve heard me tell the story of Jacob. How he cheated his brother and had to run away. Years later he came back, and he had a large family. Several wives, concubines.”

  “What’s a concubine?”

  “I’ll let you explain that, Grace.”

  “It’s just a woman who’s not quite a wife.”

  Claiborn nodded. “That’s as good a definition as any. Well, he started back, and when he got close to his home he grew afraid. He had wronged his brother, and someone had told him that his brother was coming with four hundred armed men, and there he was, just a shepherd really, with no skill in arms.”

  “What happened?” Stuart breathed, his eyes bright with interest.

  “Well, he went out that night, I think probably to pray, and he met an angel.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “The Bible doesn’t say, but it says that Jacob wrestled with him.”

  “How could you wrestle with an angel?”

  “I don’t know, Son, but that’s what the Bible says. It says they wrestled all night, and finally the angel said, ‘Let me go.’ And Jacob said, “No, I’m not going to let you go until you bless me.”

  “And did he bless him?”

  “Yes, he did. That was the good Lord, I think, and he reconciled Jacob with his brother, and Jacob had a long and happy life.”

  “I wish we had an angel to go with us. Your brother sounds like a mean man.”

  Claiborn exchanged quick glances with Grace. The boy had picked up more than they had intended. Claiborn had no knowledge of how much Stuart knew about how he had stolen his brother’s intended bride, but Stuart would no doubt hear the story if they stayed anywhere near Stoneybrook.

  “I did wrong my brother. He’s your uncle, you know.”

  “What did you do to him?”

  “Tell him the truth, Claiborn. He’ll hear it anyway,” Grace said.

  “Well, your Uncle Edmund was going to marry your mother, but she didn’t love him. For some strange reason, she always loved me.”

  “And so you ran away with her, didn’t you?”

  “Well, I went to my brother and tried to reason with him, but he was angry and wouldn’t listen. I suppose he had a right, but he didn’t love your mother the way I did. So we ran off to be married and then settled in Ireland.”

  Stuart’s eyes were fastened on the two of them. “Maybe he won’t still be angry. It’s been a long time.”

  “Almost fourteen years, but we’ll have to find out when we see him. Now, let’s go on. I’d like to make Stoneybrook before dark.”

  “It’s so big!” Stuart said. He was staring at the castle and the town and the outlying fields. “This is all your brother’s?”

  “Yes, it is. Not nearly as big as some. Come along. Let’s go.” He heard his name called, and he looked up to see Orrick, who saw to the management of the fields, coming toward him, surprise washing across his face. He stopped in front of the three and grinned broadly. “Well, you’re back again, Mr. Winslow.”

  “Yes, I am, Orrick. You’re looking well.”

  “And you don’t, if I may say so.”

  “Well, we’ve had a hard journey.”

  “Did your brother send for you?”

  Knowing what was in Orrick’s mind, he said, “No, but I need to see him. Would you go tell him and my mother that we’re here?”

  “Aye, I’ll tell them. I’m glad to see you, Mr. Winslow,” he said in encouragement. “Others will be too, regardless of how your brother responds. Will you wait here or come in?”

  “We’d better wait out here.”

  Edmund sat in front of a fire half asleep and frowned when Orrick entered his private parlor uninvited. “M’lord, you’re wanted in the courtyard.”

  “What? Wanted by whom?”

  Orrick looked down at the floor, as if unwilling to say what he must. “It’s your brother, Mr. Claiborn Winslow, and he has his wife and son with him.”

  Edmund jumped to his feet. “What’s the villain doing here?”

  “He wants to see you, m’lord. I might say he looks pretty bad. Very much like a sick man. They’re all pretty worn down.”

  Edmund scowled at Orrick. “That’s none of my affair! In the courtyard, you say?”

  “Yes, m’lord. They wouldn’t come in.”

  “I should think not.”

  Edmund dashed out of the room. When he burst into the open air and saw his brother standing there, he could not speak for a moment. Indeed, Orrick had spoken the truth. Claiborn was not the same man. He was so changed that for a moment Edmund could not believe it was Claiborn, but the anger rose in him as his eyes fell on Grace and then on the boy. That could have been my son, he thought bitterly.

  He stopped in front of Claiborn and said, “Why are you here? No one sent for you.”

  “Well, yes, someone did, in a way.”

  “Who took that liberty? Certainly not I.”

  “I got a letter from Mother.”

  Edmund could not answer for a moment. His anger was not flaring now; it was a dull, steady glow. “You can’t stay here. Get out.”

  “Please, Edmund, forgive me. I know I wronged you.”

  “Oh, now that you’re starving and have no place else to go, you’re sorry! Where have you been with your sorrow all these years?”

  “I would have asked earlier, but I didn’t think it would do any good.”

  “It won’t. You get out of here now.”

  “Very well. Come along, Grace.”

  They turned the weary animal around and started back to the courtyard gates.

  They had just gotten outside when Orrick came rushing after them. “Mr. Winslow,” he said, “your mother says I’m to take you to her summer house.”

  Life came into Claiborn’s eyes. “Where is my mother?”

  “She’s in the castle. She said she’ll see you later, but for now you go to her house and stay there.”

  “That’s kind of her.”

  “I’ll go along with you. I think there’s plenty of wood. You could have a nice fire, and she said to bring you whatever food I can get from the kitchen. You look kind of lean in the shank, Mr. Winslow, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  “It has been a long, hard journey, but I’m mostly concerned about my wife and son.”

  “That’s a fine-looking boy. Looks just like you.”

  Stuart heard this and smiled. “I am just like him.”

  “My name’s Orrick, boy. What’s yours?”

  “Stuart.”

  “Stuart Winslow. Well, you’re the spitting image of your father—” He almost said “as he used to be,” but he broke off the words.

  Thirty minutes later they were at a house lodged beside a small brook that gurgled as it passed. Orrick opened the door, and as they unloaded their possessions, he got a fire going in the large fireplace.

  “I’m going to get some food from the kitchen. I’ll be back with it soon.”

  “That’s kind of you, Orrick. You always were kind to me, though.”

  Orrick stopped and chewed on his lower lip. Politics were part of his life. He had to get along with Edmund, but he had always had a warm spot in his heart for Claiborn. “I thought of you often since you’ve been gone, sir. It’s good to see you back again and your lady and your fine boy.” He turned then and disappeared.

  “You see? God has made a way,” Grace said. Looking around the house, which was small but well-built and snug, she murmured, “Do you suppose your mother will let us stay here?”

  “I don’t know if she can or not. Legally it might belong to Edmund, but somehow I think it will work out.”

  Lady Leah Winslow was in her room, sitting in front of the fire. She had watched Claiborn and his family arrive and leave.

  She longed to go after them with Orrick, see them to her house, sit and talk with them, but first she had to deal with Edmund. Her son and Edith arrived as
soon as Orrick departed.

  Edmund burst out, “Well, Mother, have you heard?”

  “Yes. Claiborn’s home.”

  “He says you sent for him.”

  “That’s right, I did.”

  “You must get rid of him,” Edith snapped. “They have no place here. After what he did to your son, I’m surprised that you’d even think of it.”

  “God told me to send for him.”

  Both Edith and Edmund stared at her. She looked at them calmly and dared them to speak. Edith almost choked when she said, “God told you? He came to this room, and he spoke to you face to face?”

  “God speaks through his Spirit.”

  “Well, he can’t stay,” Edith said. “Tell her, Edmund.” When he remained silent, she circled him, glaring at him all the while. “We don’t have any sons, Edmund. Would you hand all this to your betrayer of a brother?”

  “I would never do that! Not after what he did to me!”

  “Then be rid of him!”

  Leah knew her son’s marriage to Edith was hard and had only grown more difficult. Edmund turned to his mother. “I cannot allow them to stay here. I’m sorry, Mother.”

  “Well, you do what you must, Edmund. If you refuse to help your brother, I will. I’ll use the land your father put in my name to help them.”

  Edmund blinked in shock, and Edith did the same. Leah knew they practically counted the days until her death, when her large tract of land adjacent to the present Winslow land would become Edmund’s. Then he would have nearly twice as much land to till without having to pay her an annual fee.

  “Now wait a minute, Mother—”

  “No, that’s the way it will be, Edmund. You make your choice. Either you help your brother and his family or I will.”

  Edmund glanced at Edith, then back to her. Leah returned their cold glare, hoping they saw her steely resolve.

  “Very well, he can stay,” Edmund said at last, ignoring Edith’s start of surprise. “But he’ll be under my authority. And they certainly cannot reside here. They must stay in that house.”

  “I’m sure one day you’ll find charity in your heart for your brother, Edmund.” Leah smiled. “For now it is enough. But please go and assure Claiborn and his family that you’ve changed your mind, that they are now welcome at Stoneybrook; I know he will not set foot again within the castle gates until he hears directly from you.”

  Edmund swallowed hard but turned and left the room. Edith stayed for a moment, but Leah simply shook her head with a frown, warning her not to say a word.

  Edmund stood in the parlor of Leah’s house, refusing to take a seat and carefully avoiding any glance in Grace’s direction, staring instead at his brother. “You’ve been of little use since you were born, but our mother wants you to stay. Out of respect for her, I have chosen to allow it. She says you can use this house. In the meanwhile, you will take care of the hawks and the dogs. Surely you haven’t forgotten all you knew about falcons.” Indeed, Claiborn had always been good with hunting birds. “You and the boy can take care of them until I find somebody else.”

  With that, he left, and Claiborn sat down heavily, head in hands.

  As soon as the door shut behind Edmund, Stuart blurted, “I hate him! He’s horrible. Let’s go away from here.”

  “No,” Claiborn said. “No, Son, God led us here. And here we will stay until his reasoning becomes clear.”

  “At least here we have food, shelter, work,” Grace said, putting a comforting hand on her husband’s shoulder.

  He looked up at her. “And maybe in time we will succeed in gaining my brother’s forgiveness as well as his tolerance.”

  8

  The care of the hawks was no work at all for Stuart, even though Sir Edmund had intended it to be punishment. Stuart, now nearing the age of manhood, loved the birds, and his father, he was convinced, knew more about hunting falcons than any man in England—even more than the king himself.

  He held the bird named Sky on his wrist and felt the power of the talons as they clamped down. “There’s a good bird,” he whispered. The hawk was hooded, but when Stuart ran his fingers along its throat, it opened the wide beak, a signal that it waited to be fed. With his free hand Stuart got hold of a small fragment of meat and held it up. The hawk took it daintily enough but then gobbled it down.

  Putting the hawk back on its perch and removing the hood, Stuart looked over all the birds. The mews had been in terrible shape when his family arrived, but Stuart and his father had worked to make it clean and suitable for the noble birds. Stuart then took over as much of the work as possible, giving his father time to regain his health.

  “You have a gift for the birds, Son.”

  Stuart quickly turned. His father had come in silently, his feet making no noise on the litter—mostly sawdust and reeds—beneath the bird cages. “You’ve taught me everything I know, Father.”

  “I am proud of your gift with these noble birds. It’s the sport of kings.”

  “One day the king might take a liking to our birds.”

  “Well, you aim high. He has the choice of any birds in the kingdom.”

  “But ours will be the best, won’t they?”

  “I trust they will.”

  At that moment Sir Edmund came charging in. “You two are idling, as usual, I see. Can’t get an hour’s worth of work out of you!”

  Stuart’s temper flared, but before he could speak, Claiborn said quietly, “I’m sorry, Brother. We were just working a little with the hawks here.”

  “You were lazing about! That’s what you always do. You must work harder.”

  “What, in particular, would you like us to do?”

  “Go over and help with the horses.”

  “With pleasure.”

  “Go on and help with the horses,” Edmund snapped. “Then I’ll find something else for you to do.”

  “Right away, Edmund,” Claiborn snapped back, suddenly at the end of his patience. Stuart clamped his lips shut as he walked beside his father. Claiborn was still limping pretty badly, but Stuart was glad to see the color in his cheeks and pleased that he had put some meat on his thin frame. He felt the weight of his father’s hand on his shoulder, and it pleased him. He listened as his father kept up a running monologue about hawks and their training, care and feeding, how to breed them, things he already knew. But he didn’t stop him; it felt good to walk with his father, listen to him. Even better to be away from Edmund. With each step, Stuart’s racing heartbeat slowed.

  Claiborn paused outside the stables and said, “You’re taking in all I say just as if it came from heaven. Not many boys listen to their father as you do. I appreciate that, Stuart.”

  After they had helped with the horses, which did not take long, for there was really nothing to do, late in the afternoon Claiborn led Stuart back to the summer house. He pulled out a pair of foils from a rack and said, “How about a fencing lesson?”

  “Yes!” Stuart cried. He loved fencing. He and his father took time to practice every day, whenever possible. He took the foil, which had a button on the end of it, and put his right foot forward, his left back. His left arm was curved behind his head.

  “That’s a good fighting pose you have there.” Claiborn took the same pose and advanced. Soon the air was full of the clanging steel of the foils. Stuart’s arms were not strong enough yet to push a fight, but in two more years he knew they’d rival his father’s.

  Stuart startled when a voice said, “Well, aren’t you two the very picture of noble leisure.” Stuart turned to see Lady Edith, who was watching them with cold eyes. She had come by, no doubt, to spy on them. Without another word, she turned and walked away, her head high.

  “Why does she hate us, Father?” Stuart had learned to expect nothing in the way of kindness from the woman and watched her with something akin to hatred. It was not so much the way she treated him, but he could barely stand it when she showed cruelty to his parents.

  “Well, that’s hard
to say, Son. I’d guess she has no gentleness in her, and if there is no gentleness, there is no love. Mayhap she hates everyone.”

  “Even Sir Edmund?”

  “Even herself. Now then, let’s see what your mother and grandmother have been doing.”

  They entered the house and found Lady Leah still there. She smiled and held out her hand, and at once Stuart went to her and took it, leaned over and kissed it.

  “Is that right, Grandmother?”

  “Why, you’ve done as well as a courtier! I can’t believe you have such grace. You are a real nobleman, Stuart Winslow!”

  Stuart flushed. He liked his grandmother very much. She told him stories of her younger days, grand stories of when life at Stoneybrook was peaceful and joyful. Leah brought him small presents, and he knew that most of the food that came to their table was from her.

  “Sit down and tell me what you’d like to hear today,” she said.

  Stuart sat as close to her as he could and said, “Tell me about the court and how the people act there.”

  “Well, it’s a very wicked place, my boy.”

  “Oh, Grandmother, not really!”

  “You have good morals, Grandson, but I hope you never get caught up in the king’s court.”

  Stuart smiled and said, “You never can tell. Now then, let me show you what I’ve learned to play on this lute.”

  Afterward, she said, “Very good, Stuart. Very good. Now let me sing you a song.” She sang in a thin, sweet voice:

  Henry, our royal king, would ride a-hunting

  To the green forest so pleasant and fair;

  To see the harts skipping, and dainty does tripping:

  Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repair:

  Hawk and hound were unbound and free.

  “Do you know who wrote that song, Stuart?”

  “No, Grandmother.”

  “The king himself. Our sovereign lord Henry.”

  The news surprised Stuart. “I thought he was a warrior and a soldier.”

  “Indeed he is. They tell me he’s outstanding in the arts of weaponry, with a lance, with a broadsword, the longbow. He’s almost unbeatable, but he’s also a good dancer and a good singer.” She looked at Claiborn, who was sitting across the room, studying the two with a smile on his broad lips. “Are you still teaching the boy Latin?”