Amanda's Story

Lost and Found

After a second round of hosting the Pearce family, the Duncombes were having a good-natured laugh about setting up a quarterly visit. They would have insisted Amanda stay another day or two, but Mrs. Duncombe's labor pains began and the Pearces bundled up Amanda, took their carriage and three girls, and hurried home.

At the moment, the gentlemen were away from the manor house. Mr. Duncombe had escorted the prisoners to the nearest gaol, and Beauchamps had gone to report to Squire Huxtable. The Watson brothers and Mr. Barker had to make statements to the sheriff, so they had left early that morning.

As Amanda rode away from the house, they wound around Helmsley Castle and then Rievaulx Abbey. Amanda leaned up against her father, eyes roving the hills and the distant walls of the Abbey. It was the first time she'd seen it since Dabney had proposed last year, and she felt a dull ache as she remembered how elated she'd been, how terribly in love she'd felt, and how the whole group had celebrated with her that day.

Yet, she didn't cry. She didn't even tear up. She wondered if her heart had grown cold, or tired, or slow.

"It's a new season," her father said, his tone soft and hopeful.

"Hmm?" Amanda murmured.

"You were probably thinking of last season—the picnic at the Abbey. Nothing wrong with that. But this is a new season, and you are a new you."

"Father, I don't feel new. I feel so old. I have the scars to prove it." She lifted her hands, showing where the scabs had formed over her cuts.

He shook his head and pulled her shoulders tighter against his chest. "Think of it like baptism. Not a birth, like Mrs. Duncombe's new child, but a rebirth through love and grace."

Amanda pondered this a moment. "I certainly emerged wet enough."

He chuckled, his chest shaking and bouncing her head. He turned and looked back for a moment. "It's sometimes through the roughest spots that we come out with greater understanding."

She turned back to watch as the walls of the Abbey disappeared behind a hill. She let the ache subside and with it, the reluctance to move on. She faced forward, a small smile on her face as she anticipated reaching home and embracing a new beginning.

It was only an hour after arriving home that Amanda insisted her hair be dressed, a simple morning dress put on, and she be helped into the parlor. She sat in the window seat with a pillow behind her, a blanket over her legs, and watched the lane and roadway in front of the vicarage. She was sure he'd come by tea time.

Tea came and went, and she returned to the window seat. She propped the window open, letting the cool breeze move through the room. The doctor had insisted on fresh air, and she had hoped someone—a certain someone—would offer a walk in the garden or a ride in his dog cart.

Amanda asked for a writing slope and paper, and began to write a letter to Phoebe sharing her adventures. The night was dark and she needed a candle by the time she finished. And still, no one came.

Rachel and Marian both stopped at her bedside before they retired, telling her that he was probably delayed in his travels, or had urgent church business. They smiled with a warmness that Amanda began to suspect. What had they seen, or heard? They just shook their heads when asked and wished her good night.

The next day was a long repetition. Amanda posted her letter to Phoebe, took a short walk through the garden in the midday sun, and perused the vicar's study for a new book. In between each activity, she looked out the parlor windows. A dozen times.