Chapter One

Posted on Monday, 30 May 2005

"Seal over my heart

"Wear me as a seal over your heart, as a seal upon your arm; for love is strong as death, passion cruel as the grave; it blazes up like a blazing fire, fiercer than any flame. Many waters cannot quench love, no flood can sweep it away; if someone were to offer for love all the wealth in his house, it would be laughed to scorn."
--Song of Songs 8:6-7

14 December 1899

"As the new century approaches ever faster, I have felt compelled to look back over this past one hundred years. Something about a new century spells hope and perfection, and all that has so far been unattainable to mankind. One looks forward to it with expectations and a sense of relief at escaping from all the history of the present century. Intellectually, I know this is impossible; this past century, like all those before, has been full of wars, suffering, and sorrow. Bloodshed and misery is something that we humans seem to be unable to escape. Despite this knowledge, I cannot help but imitate the rest of my kind and look forward with a desperate, illogical hope that what has been true for all time will change literally overnight; that the world can somehow start afresh with none of the history of hatred and rivalries that have plagued us since the beginning of time. Perhaps the twentieth century will be more peaceful than its predecessor; I can only hope, a somewhat useless action, that somehow humanity has learned its lesson."

I put down my pen and looked at what I had written, smiling wryly as I realized that despite my reflections and highly prized intelligence, I still cannot forgive or forget some offenses, and in all probability, I never will. How can I expect the world to be more forgiving and farsighted than I am myself? After all, the world is made up of people like I. Nevertheless, I cannot help but hope, as I wrote in my journal, that somehow; and I do not know how this is to come about;, the twentieth century will be known as the most peaceful century heretofore.

"Georgiana!" I turned in my chair to see my younger sister, Marianne, running into the room. "I am so glad you are here, you'll never guess what Mama just told me! Elizabeth is in the family way, finally!"

I laughed delightedly.

"Marianne, that is wonderful! She has been so anxious about it that I began to fear that if it did not happen soon she might give up on children entirely. I suppose that Will is overjoyed too?"

"I am not sure; I haven't seen him since I found out. I believe that Elizabeth only told Mama this morning; she must have told her husband before that."

I chuckled.

"You know Elizabeth; that is not a certainty." At that moment, my brother Will strolled into the room. "Will," I cried, "I hear that congratulations are in order!"

Will blushed and nodded. His red face in no way diminished the huge grin on his face, and I rose to give him a hug. Marianne followed suit, and when Elizabeth came in a minute or so later, accompanied by Mama , the three of us were standing there with almost identical looks of idiotic happiness on our faces. Marianne and I ran to congratulate Elizabeth as well, and her husband put his arm around her waist and led her gently and carefully to the sofa, where he placed her and stood beside her with such a look of pride on his face that I barely restrained myself from laughing.

This scene was so different from a year ago; I could not help remembering. A year ago we were all wracked in torment and uncertainty, grief and anger and we did not know when that might end, if ever. I shook my head to remove the bad memories and focused again on my family. This was not a time to remember sadness; it was a time for happiness and celebration.

Soon after I excused myself, taking my journal, and walked to my father's private study. My father, George Darcy, is usually found there, and I went there first to tell him the news. He stood when I knocked and entered, coming around the desk to greet me with a kiss on the cheek and an elegant bow.

"Hello, Georgiana, you look happier than usual," he observed curiously.

I smiled.

"Yes, it appears that Elizabeth is finally in the family way, and the celebrations are beginning. I just saw her and Will, and the two of them could replace the sun they are beaming so brightly!"

My father laughed. "I can just picture it. I had not heard the news; they must have told your mother first."

I laughed too. "They have a talent for joy which I cannot but envy. Perhaps it is better to be less observant at times."

My father could not deny this fact.

"Does Amelia know yet?" He demanded after a moment of silence.

"I have not told her yet, but considering that sixth sense she possesses it is in no way certain that she does not know."

He nodded, and I went next door to inform Aunt Amelia.

I found her in her sitting room making life and death decisions: exactly what was going to make up her new spring wardrobe. She looked up with a smile when I knocked; Aunt Amelia, who is not actually a relative, is still quite young and she very much enjoys pastimes such as flirting and dancing, although she mostly does this with her husband, Uncle Edward, who is usually delighted to oblige. One could hardly term her intellectual; the only thing she reads regularly are the fashion books and catalogues that she receives frequently; but she is generally considered a delight to be around. Amelia Fitzwilliam is truly one of the most good-hearted people I know, which makes it easy to bear with her on the occasions when she behaves in a silly manner.

"Hello, darling. How nice to see you. I did not know you would be nearby today." She put down her lists and patted the seat next to her. I readily complied and sat on the over-stuffed rose velvet sofa at her side, laying my journal down on the table before us. Aunt Amelia waved to her maid to leave us and turned to me. "Now, tell me what has happened to upset you."

I looked at her in surprise. "To upset me? Why, nothing. I came to tell you that Elizabeth is finally in the family way, and that she and Will are in raptures about it. There will undoubtedly be some form of family celebration."

She smiled. "That is wonderful. I am so glad for her; she has been waiting for this for over a year now. I know she was concerned about it."

I laughed, "Yes, and you should see Will! I would not be surprised if he finds in a few days that his face is stuck permanently in a smile!"

She laughed with me for a minute, but then became serious again. It is usually impossible to get Amelia off a scent once she takes to it.

"Now Georgiana, I know that something has upset you. What is it? Is it about the baby?" She looked so concerned for me, and I knew that I would never escape if I did not tell the truth.

"Well, in a manner of speaking. Before they came in with the news, I was writing in my journal," I gestured to the book before me, "and thinking over the past year. So when they came in to tell me, after I was no longer distracted by the news, I could not help but think about. . ." I trailed off, not wanting to put it into words.

Aunt Amelia nodded. "I understand, dear. It would be difficult. I am surprised that Anna did not consider it when she came in with the news."

I smiled, "It is not her fault; that was over a year ago, and she is caught up in the prospect of her very first grandchild."

Amelia shook her head, "It would only be the second, if things. . ." she trailed off as well at the sight of my downcast eyes. "Very well, dearest: I will not press you to speak of it if you do not wish it." She paused, clearly searching for something to say. "I know! I am sure you wrote about the whole thing in those journals of yours; you have been carrying them around for as long as I can remember. Perhaps going over the facts will make it easier for you to come to terms with it."

I nodded mutely, privately thinking that it was the last thing I wanted to do. Reminisce over the events of last year? I could only imagine how horrible it would be; living it once was much, much more than enough, and I did not like the idea at all of bringing up all the details to memory again. I walked downstairs, seeking solitude in the library of Aunt Amelia and Uncle Edward's house.

Chapter 2

Posted on Wednesday, 8 June 2005

I was sitting at the lovely walnut desk staring at the curtained window before me. It is not as though the curtains were exceptional in any way; they went nicely with the masculine tones of the library, being a rich red brown color. No-I was thinking over what my mother had said to me, as well as the optimistic words that I had written in my journal. Despite my idiotic hopes, I knew very well that some things can never be forgotten, or forgiven. Blood stains deeply, and heartbreak and loss are things that try the strongest and bravest. I cannot claim to be the strongest or the bravest; these things had tried me to the edges of my sanity and had changed me irrevocably; whether I had wished to change or not. I had taken my journal with me, of course, and I took a deep breath and dragged my eyes down to the scratched and discolored blue leather cover. This book had been through quite a lot with me. With another deep breath and an almost overwhelming feeling of dread, I turned to the very first page and read the words that I had written in the summer of 1898.

"It seems beyond doubt now that there will be a war with Spain, probably fought in Cuba. It all seems pointless, somehow, but everyone assures me, each other and (I think) themselves that the war, if it could be called that, would be over in a few weeks, a month at the most. I might believe them, except for my father's information that, since the beginning of time, people have always said that about wars, and they have rarely been correct. As he was a member of the Union Army in the Civil War, he knows to what horrible scenes such predictions can bring. Underestimating the enemy, as he calls it, is easy to do and very hard to recover from."

Further down the page,

"I have been talking to the boys, and they are all determined to join up if it does come to war. I do not understand the fascination of war to men; why does death and blood and mud appeal to them so much? Do they not remember the stories that Papa and Uncle Edward would tell when we were young? Being boys, they probably heard more than I."

I remembered that day-I was so confused by this fascination that I went to speak with my father about it-and even he could not tell me, exactly. The closest he came was to tell me that young men seek ways to prove that they are men in truth, and the battlefield is one of the most intense places to do this. Too there are dreams of glory that even grown, experienced men have difficulty suppressing.

"It is easy, Georgiana," he said, seeing my disdain for such behavior, "to condemn it as silly and foolish when you are on the outside of it. It is even possible to see the foolishness when one is inside it as well, but it is something that you must understand. You have your own weaknesses, your own temptations and foolishness. I realize that you do not understand the motives that govern such actions and decisions, but do not assume that there are no motives for it."

I will never forget my fear in those days-I was eighteen at the time, but that is not young except in the sense of years. I knew quite well that many, many men died in wars, from wounds and disease. I also knew that we women had an almost equally hard part: that of waiting with nothing but the hope of seeing our men again to sustain us. 'The boys' with whom I was discussing it were my elder half brother Tom who was twenty-eight, my brother Will at twenty-two, and our three next-door neighbors. My father's best friend, who my siblings and I know as Uncle Edward, has three sons with Aunt Amelia, his wife. The eldest, Ken was twenty-four, Charles was twenty-one, and Wickham was almost exactly 9 months younger than Charles. My younger sister Marianne shared my apprehensions, although I was reluctant to share the full extent of my fear with her; she was only fifteen at the time.

My father and his childhood friend, Edward Fitzwilliam, lived next door to each other in nearly identical brownstone houses in New York City. When they turned eighteen, both fought in the Civil War to restore the Union. It was a noble endeavor, and they had both looked forward to gaining glory and renown on the battlefield. When they had been soldiers for some time, much of their idealism had faded; they still believed the Union worth fighting for, but dreams of glory, which would be won over the bodies of other men, had washed away in the blood and horror of fighting one's own countrymen. Because my father and I have always been close, I think that he might have told me more, spoken more in depth, than he did to any of his other children on the subject.

"Personally, I have very strong ideas about honor. I think that one's honor truly is worth dying for, and I believe that firmly and irrevocably. I do not mean dying in a duel, or something silly like that; it proves nothing and is a waste. However, I do believe that if death is called for in maintaining one's honor and integrity, it is worth it. I know that many do not agree with me on this point, but I think that living after having betrayed one's honor and integrity would be much, much worse. So yes, I am concerned about the honor of my brothers and my friends, but at the same time, I am very concerned that they come back safely and intact. Something in me that I try to ignore says that this is unlikely. This is what is making me fearful and sends foreboding clouds to my mind."

On another day, I had written,

"Wickham is the most reluctant of all the boys to join; he tried to be scornful of their talk, of their plans, and claimed that it was sheer idiocy to risk one's life on such a venture. 'There will be more than enough farmers' sons to join up and die for the United States;' he said once, 'why should we go and risk death?' The rest of us stared at him. He is, unsurprisingly, scared of death and that rules him far more than a sense of duty and responsibility, or anything else for that matter. Wickham has always been more interested in what he could get out of situations than in doing the right thing. Ken looked at him as though he were a worm, and said, 'As citizens of this country, we have both a right and a duty to protect it. If we are not willing to fulfill that duty when necessary, what right do we have to remain citizens?" Wickham subsided with a scowl on his face. Ken is really very impressive; that side of the thing had never occurred to me before."

Just as I was about to turn the page, Mama walked in, still smiling broadly. She came right over to the desk, and the smile disappeared as she saw what I was doing. Immediately, her eyes filled with concern.

"Oh, my dear," she said, "I am so sorry. I simply did not think of how this might affect you, after last year..."

I stood up quickly. "No, no, Mama, please do not be concerned. I am fine, really."

She looked at me skeptically. "Are you sure?" I nodded. She did not look convinced. "Georgiana," I did not meet her gaze. "Are you questioning whether the miscarriage was for the best?"

I looked up quickly. "No, I know that it was; putting my own concerns aside, the baby would have grown up with a horrible stigma and huge disadvantages. But I know that intellectually; because in my heart, I did want that baby, and as inconvenient as it was I would have loved it very much." She looked sad. "Oh, do not imagine that I spend my days repining," I said lightly, "It was only a momentary feeling when I saw how happy Elizabeth and Will are."

She looked doubtful, and sat down in a chair near my own. I followed suit.

"Then why are you reading over your journal, dear?"

I shrugged. "It was an idea of Aunt Amelia's; she thought that I might be able to come to terms with the events of last year if I could look back over them with a cool head."

Mama nodded. "A wise suggestion. Amelia is no fool, and as it happens, I agree with her on this point. You have made an admirable effort to move forward, and I know that you have been much happier recently," she winked "but I think that it would help you to see the events in perspective. You are an intelligent woman. By reviewing the events of last year you will either be confirmed in your thought that it was a horror beyond belief, or you will find that, once you are not in the middle of it, you can look back and accept it as something that occurred in the past; something that is over and done with."

I nodded. I had come to the same conclusion myself. "Yes, I know Mama; I am trying. I will not deny that I am a little concerned, but I do agree that it is a good idea. I cannot deny that it still affects me, and I will not have that. I do not wish it to poison my life forever."

She did not have anything to say to that. She sat for a moment, then rose and came to kiss me on the cheek. Without another word, she left the library. After a moment, I resumed my previous activity.

"There is now no hope. Congress has declared war on Spain and all the boys (except for Wickham) are packing to leave. They have been upstate for the past several days for training, and will be back tomorrow for two days before their ship leaves for Cuba from New York Harbor, so we will be able to say goodbye. I find it hard to describe my emotions; I am proud of them for doing what they believe is right, but I am terrified of what might befall them. I understand that medical practice has improved since the Civil War, but what I have read, and hints from my father, still make me shudder at the thought that my boys might be subjected to a hospital."

"Ken has asked me to come see him today and to bring one of the photographs that Papa had taken of me on the occasion of my eighteenth birthday. Papa gave his permission for this with an odd smile on his lips, almost as though he is planning something. I would do anything for Ken; I have been in love with him for my entire life, and I think that Papa knows it. Ken wants to talk for a while, he said. On occasion, I imagine that he is in love with me as well. He looks at me so earnestly sometimes, as though searching for something in my face. I am afraid that it is only my imagination. If someday I can have his love, my life will be complete. In the meantime, I value his friendship very much and I depend on him in so many ways. When he praises me, I feel that everything is wonderful, and when he rebukes me, I listen, more than I do to my mother! I know by now that anything Ken thinks is worth giving is more than worth having; his friendship is one of the things that I could never give up. Two days ago, he told me that he values my opinions, estimation and regard very highly, certainly much more highly than that of the 'old cats' who rule New York society. Humph. I am not certain how much of a compliment this is."