The Vicar's Daughters

Seeing from a New Perspective

Amanda and Rachel set off on their horses the next morning. The rain had washed the earth clean, leaving large puddles in the lane that reflected a now-blue sky. Many leaves had been dropped during the storm and lay like colorful tiles plastered in the road. Most oaks had bare branches now, and only the cedars nearer the edge of the moors stood out in a dress of pale green.

After a long night of bared emotions and confessions, it felt good to be out, moving and enjoying the simple pleasures of life. The girls set off in the direction of Roseberry Topping, the highest point within ten miles. They had a small parcel of sandwiches and fruit, and planned to spend the afternoon in the respite of nature.

Rachel was the better rider, and Amanda felt a bit unsteady, having spent a month or more away from the stables. Her normal mount was an older mare, but she was expecting what may be her last foal, and Amanda was on Battelle, the tall stallion that many men had looked at buying that summer, but no one had. Battelle often tossed his head, impatient to run, but Amanda held him back. They walked the first mile, just getting used to each other.

"Are you ready for a quicker pace?" Rachel asked with a grin. Amanda nodded, and they kicked the horses into a trot. Battelle's muscles moved smoothly beneath her, and Rachel's mount worked to keep pace. After a quarter mile they moved up to a canter, then a gallop, leaning over their horses' necks and covering ground rapidly. The wind in their faces was brisk, yet made them feel free of all trouble. When they finally reined to a stop they were smiling.

They went slowly through the tiny village of Newton-Under-Roseberry, passed the old church there, and curved around to a small glade where several trees made a semi-circle. They dismounted and tied their horses where a patch of good grass was within reach. From there, the way to the top was a winding footpath, about a mile long, ascending up and up until they crested the anvil-shaped hill and stood on the rocky outcropping.

"Ah, it's gorgeous," Amanda sighed, standing above the wide Cleveland valley and seeing the land roll in gentle hills in every direction.

Rachel sighed. Even in its stark, bare state, it did seem more beautiful, more dear to her than before. The trees were brown, scraggly silhouettes against the hills. The fields lay in weathered-gray patches or rich brown fallow sections. A farmer and his wagon moved along a path, just a tiny ant-like being traversing a long trail.

Behind them, the moors were a distinct gray-green, with clumps of trees hidden in the ravines and tiny brooks branching through the hills. The heath-bells were faded to a papery gray and made rustling sounds in the wind, sounding like the whole moorland was saying, "Hush, hush."

Amanda and Rachel sat on a small homespun blanket, pulled out their sandwiches, and watched the wind making waves through the grasses.

"The last time we came here, John and Dabney were with us," Amanda said.

"Yes, I was really irritated that Dabney spent very little time looking at the view we'd come for, and most of his time looking at you."

They laughed, wiping crumbs from their mouths and picturing that long-past summer day.

"John spent an extra-long time staring across the moors, as I recall," Amanda added.

"Now we know why." The thought, although sad, did not bring the aching weight of betrayal that it had only the night before. She breathed in the sweet autumn air, filling her lungs with a fresh breath, as if to prepare for a long run ahead.

The rest of their lunch passed in silence, except for the cry of two hawks that circled on the breeze, searching the fields below for mice or voles.

"Shall we return?" Rachel prompted, and they stood up, gathered their things, and began the descent to the base of Roseberry Topping.

They talked of trivial things, making each other laugh as they tripped and slid on the loose gravel sections of the path. Finally they ran the last quarter mile, the pull of gravity moving them faster and faster until they jogged headlong into the glade where there horses waited. Amanda flew past Rachel with a laugh, swung around a small birch, then abruptly stopped. Rachel nearly crashed into her backside, but spun away with a surprised "Oh!" at the last second.

She straightened her bonnet and looked crossly at Amanda, but then turned when she saw that she had her eyes fixed ahead in terror.

A man in a large tri-corn hat stood next to Battelle, reins in his hand, as if he were about to abscond with their horse.

"Wait!" Rachel cried, leaping toward him. The man turned with a jump, and the horse tossed his head and began to back away.

"Whoa, stand," the man said quietly.

Rachel hesitated. The man's accent was familiar...

"Ah, Miss Pearce!" he said, and swept off his hat, adding a low bow. "And Miss Amanda Pearce!"

"Why, it's Monsieur Duchamps!" Rachel said with a curtsy. She finally recognized him, though he was dressed somewhat more fashionably than their last encounter. And was that a military coat?

"Forgive me," he said, drawing the horse forward and laying the reins in Rachel's hand. "I happened through here and saw this fine horse. I recognized him and at once was full of remorse, for I thought he had been bought. I was just on my way to purchase my own good mount, and if the Vicarage had this one still, he would have been my first choice."

"You are in luck," Amanda smiled, approaching them. "He is just my mount today, and still for sale."

"Indeed?" he said, and turned back to the horse. He patted his neck, ran a hand along his shoulders, lifted a hoof and examined it. He seemed satisfied.

"Sold."

"Mr. Duchamps, I believe last time you visited, you said you were not in a position to pay for such a mount."

"Well, I am in a much better position than the last time we met."

"Oh?" both girls said, then smiled. Amanda covered her mouth. "Pardon me, I was just... curious."

"I would be happy to accompany you back home, Miss Pearce, Miss Amanda...Oh! But I should call you by your married name."

A shadow flitted across her face, and she blinked a few times. "You have not heard?"

"I...uh..." He could see from her discomfort that something was amiss, but dared not guess at the cause.

"I'll tell him," Rachel offered, and placing one hand on his arm, turned him aside, whispering. "Monsieur Duchamps, regretfully, Amanda is not married. Her fiance met with an accident and perished just a few days after the ball."

A look of horror crossed his face, and he swept off his hat, placing it over his heart. "Ma chére amie," he said, turning with a bow to Amanda. "I apologize for my assumption. Quelle tragedie."

Amanda nodded her acknowledgment, and swallowed the lump that welled up in her throat. "Thank you. It seems fortune has turned topsy-turvy at our house. Rachel's engagement is broken off as well." Mr. Duchamps looked at her with raised eyebrows of astonishment, and she nodded. "Yet our sister Marian is married, just this past fortnight."

"I offer my congratulations, then, on her marriage, my condolences for the... sadness of your situations." He replaced his hat, looking from one lady to the other. "My visit perhaps is unwelcome at this time."

"No, no, assuredly, please accompany us home," Rachel said. "Besides, if you do want to ride such a fine mount, you will need to discuss it with Father."

"I do most desperately want such a fine mount," he replied, and turned back to the horse. "He's a thing of beauty." He stroked his nose a few times, then brought him near so Amanda could mount. After lifting her up and helping her feet find the stirrups in the side saddle, he came to Rachel's mount.

"May I?" he asked. She paused, knowing she needed absolutely no help getting up into her saddle. But she nodded and let him come to her side, looking up into his eyes as he placed his hands at her waist. There was a spark, almost electric, when he touched her, and she held her breath as he hefted her up. She gathered her reins and looked back at him. His hand still rested on her horse, patting it absently, while he studied her face. Then he seemed to decide something and smiled.

"What is it?" she questioned.

"Ah, nothing, nothing," he said, then hurried to where his horse was tied a few feet away. He was soon mounted and led the threesome out of the little glen and down the lane past the church.