Silent Seasons

By Gillian Hart

Set in the period of Americas westward expansion, this tale of love, power and conflict brings to light the swirling undercurrents of history.
Torn from a life of privilege in her native England, Racine finds in America a love and fulfillment with Lucas that had evaded her in a desperately unhappy marriage with the cruel and self-centered Clive.
In an epic tale of courage and commitment, Racine builds her own empire among the empire-builders in the age of the iron horse and the iron men who rode them to glory!
A romance framed in an equally romantic period of American history, Silent Seasons was created out of a deep love for the human spirit, in whatever time or whatever circumstance it may find itself.
After all, in the uncounted years we have been upon the earth, we havent changed all that much, We still love, we still grieve, we still pass through our own silent seasons.
Any who read this story will surely find in it elements of their own story. And isnt that what life is all about; the living of our hopes and dreams? Of course it is. We know it in our hearts.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496929914

Gillian Hart

GILLIAN HART is a professor of geography and cochair of Development Studies, University of California, Berkeley, and Honorary Professor, University of KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa. She is the author of Disabling Globalization: Places of Power in Post-Apartheid South Africa and coeditor of Gramsci: Space, Nature, Politics.

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© 2014 Gillian Hart. All rights reserved.

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Published by AuthorHouse 08/18/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-2992-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-2991-4 (e)

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Contents

Introduction

Foreword

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilog

Introduction

Set in the period of America’s westward expansion, this tale of love, power, and conflict brings to light the swirling personal undercurrents of history.

Torn from a life of privilege in her native England, Racine finds in America a love and fulfillment with Lucas that had evaded her in a desperately unhappy marriage with the cruel and self-centered Clive.

In an epic tale of courage and commitment, Racine builds her own empire among the empire-builders, in the age of the iron horse and the iron men who rode them to glory!

A romance framed in an equally romantic period of American history, Silent Seasons was created out of a deep love for the human spirit, in whatever time or whatever circumstance it may find itself.

After all, in the uncounted years we have been upon the earth, we haven’t changed all that much. We still love, we still grieve, we still pass through our own silent seasons.

Any who read this story will surely find in it elements of their own story, and isn’t that what life is all about; the living of our hopes and dreams? Of course it is. We know it in our hearts.

Foreword

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

A time to rend, and a time to sew, a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

The Holy Bible

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

To every soul on earth is given a time, be it a moment, an instant, or a time far greater than we care to be given. No matter. Each of us, regardless of our place in this life, is given our own private times, and our own private seasons. These are the silent moments that happen inside our hearts, minds, and souls while those around us are completely unaware. Only we alone can recognize them; if not at the time they were given us, then at least upon reflection.

At times these moments are so profound, so important that they bring about dramatic changes. At other times the changes are so subtle as to slip by unnoticed until recognized at some later time. It may be a look someone gives you, a word or a thought. It may be the meeting of two souls, or the separation of two souls, but it is the catalyst that begins those changes which take place in our hearts and minds. Quite possibly it may even change the beliefs we grew up with or, conversely, might strengthen them. Perhaps, as a result, we will look upon ourselves differently, think differently, or perhaps we will simply grow quietly away from those around us. However they may happen, these turning points are, in fact, a changing of the seasons in our lives. For each of us the events are different, as are the changes. But deep within our hearts, we know that in our lives, for us, another silent season has passed.

Chapter 1

The pictures in my heart came rushing to the surface as I sat looking upon the dear face I had loved for so long. He’s gone now, and I shall hold those times we had together like a selfish miser. They are mine!

I was saddened and angry, and my thoughts were fragmented. How could he leave without me? The ingrate! Didn’t he know how much of me he took with him? My soul would be buried with him, while my body continued to live on in its tomb-like existence.

The mourners shifted in their seats, pulling my attention back. Bloody fools; didn’t they know I don’t want to come back? Don’t they know, or even care, how I am suffering? The minister’s voice drifted through to me. He was mouthing more gibberish, so once again I cut his voice out as I allowed my thoughts to seek their own way through my mind, taking whatever course they chose.

I looked again on my dear love’s aged but still handsome face as my musings began to come together. It started with you, father, so many years ago; but how could you possibly have known? If you had, I know you would have acted quite differently. The memories began running through my mind, and I remember it all now as if it had been only yesterday.

It was hot, and my backside was sore from sitting on the hard wooden bench lining the long corridor leading to my father’s chambers. At least, I sighed, the hallway was wide enough to afford a small breeze to waft my way occasionally, giving me a small degree of relief from the sweltering stillness.

The year was 1848, and I was soon to find out it was not going to be one of my better years. Father had demanded my presence at least an hour ago and I was becoming irritated, for I had been waiting far longer than I cared to endure. I was becoming more and more fidgety. Jumping up from the bench for what I was certain was the thousandth time, I chanced to see my reflection in the mirror which graced the wall opposite where I had been sitting. I have never been consumed with my looks, but I was bored and took this time to study the face that stared back at me.

I try always to be as honest with myself as possible, and had to admit I was neither beautiful nor ugly although some have said I am attractive. I will have to take their word regarding that, for I am indifferent. I scrutinized myself critically in the mirror. I keep myself clean, hair brushed to a shine, and do the best I can with what I have. My hair is brown, falling down to my waist: I rate it only as nice. My greatest asset, I admitted with some small degree of pleasure, is my eyes: they are large and gray, and surrounded by long black lashes. I am too short, and this is a constant irritation to me. As to the rest, I have been given short shrift and it vexes me, but it is nothing I waste my time brooding about.

I noted my complexion and teeth were in excellent condition. I am considered intelligent and that, I must admit, is true. It isn’t seemly for a woman to be too educated; at least that is what my father says, and he is sorely distressed that I am. I suppose I am a freak of nature, for I love to study and learn and have filled my head with mathematics, Latin, German, astronomy and many other subjects that are supposedly reserved for men alone. I felt blessed, for books are so very expensive and I know that my father on his own would never spend money on such foolishness as books just for me. It was from my mother that these blessings came: where she got them I do not know, but they have been a constant source of joy to me. The women of my day that had any social standing spent their days learning etiquette, fashion, dance and how to attract a man. My interest in learning, on the other hand, has always been an irritation to my father. He feels it is a waste of time for a woman to indulge in such useless things. Women, he said, need to know nothing more than those things pertaining to the smooth running of a home. And of course obedience; first to her parents and then to her husband. It was for these reasons as well as a lifetime of others that I was suspicious of my father’s summons.

Why has he called me here? Surely there could not be another man: he knows how I feel about that. Maybe I have done something wrong? My mind buzzed with possibilities, for I know that father believes I am not a very obedient daughter. As I paced, the chamber door finally opened and a servant informed me that my father is ready to see me now. How could I have known I was walking toward a new life, a life I could never have foreseen or even dreamed of!

Come in, Racine, and sit down. I had Wilby bring us some tea. Would you pour out, please?

Of course, father. His face wore a thin veneer of artificial delight at my presence, and his little pleasantries aroused my suspicion even more.

I watched him closely to see if I could discern the reason for his summons. I could not. My father was never a loving or demonstrative man, and kept his emotions buried behind an impenetrable mask: his face wore the same expression day after day, night after night. I eyed him carefully. He was a stout man with a rounded face sporting a distinguished mustache. He cared little for anyone and had few friends. The only people who associated with him outside of family were either those who had a great deal of money, or personally cared for my mother. His greatest treasure was money, and his greatest and perhaps his only real interest was the making of money. He knew people in high places and was not adverse to using them as it suited him. My father’s money gave him power and standing, and this, combined with his personality, made him a man generally feared and disliked. I am sad to admit that I do not believe he has ever loved his family. I’m not complaining: this is simply an honest observation. Frankly, I think he would have remained unmarried, given a choice. I have often wished he had, for he is a man not loved by his family. However, a man of his day was expected to marry and my father could always be counted on to do what was expected when it came to observing the social amenities.

I knew my mother was lonely, and sometimes in unguarded moments a look of pain would flicker across her sad, prematurely lined face. I never asked about it, for I knew she would not welcome the inquiry. I mourned for the loveliness mother had lost to the adversity of the years, and for the silent afflictions which she bore that had brought about a life as gray and undistinguished as her severely styled hair. One thing I was sure of, though: she had never loved my father, and I had often wondered why she had married him.

Handing father his cup and holding my own firmly, I gathered my scattered thoughts and took my seat. A feeling came over me that I was not going to like this conversation. I girded my loins.

How old are you now, Racine?

Father! I’m sixteen: how could you forget?

I have more on my mind than your age, young lady, he snapped back defensively.

Why do you ask? I sipped at the tea for something to do, its flavor lost on my tongue.

I have a matter of great importance to discuss with you, but I must warn you in advance I will tolerate no hysterics. I mean it, Racine, he warned before I could utter another word. He cleared his throat and pushed on, indifferent to my feelings.

You have had three proposals of marriage and refused every one of them. You have now received a fourth. He cleared his throat again. This one you will not refuse. His eyes bored into me, cold and unyielding.

My heart skipped erratically. I knew it! A man! I did not wish to marry and have often said as much. Why won’t he listen? But I knew I must keep control of myself! If I start shouting, he’ll not listen to a word. I knew Lord Hardwicke’s Marriage Act of 1753 forbade marriages for anyone under the age of twenty-one, but that only applied to those without parental consent: it said nothing whatever about parents who coerced their own daughters into marriage. I knew I was not the first nor would I be the last forced into such a miserable arrangement. I looked down at the fine china cup in my hand and feared it would break from the pressure I was putting on it.

Father, please; I began, you know my feelings. Why am I being pressured?

Because I know what’s best for you, and I am sick and tired of your foolishness! Every normal young woman wishes to marry, have children and be a helpmate to her husband. You will be no different! God has given the law, and you will obey. Set your mind to it, young woman, and do not argue any further with me!

The phrase normal young woman was not lost on me. My mind whirled with all the possible arguments I could give. None, I knew, would work. I could have cried, but I refused to do so in front of my father. I wanted to scream that he could not force me into such an arrangement, but I knew he could. Slowly I rose from my chair and started to leave, praying only that my self-control would hold until I was out of his sight. I hesitated, striving to get both my heart and voice under control before I remembered to ask, Who is he? I mumbled, as I returned to my chair.

Clive Morehouse. He is well-to-do, and has many business interests right here in London. A good choice has been made for you, Racine. And it wouldn’t hurt you to be a little more grateful for all that I do for you.

I promise you, father, I shall show you all the gratitude you deserve. Now, I asked coldly, if you are through with me, I would like to go to my room. I stood in rigid control, sickened at the prospect of any marriage, let alone one that had been arranged with a man I didn’t even know. And after observing the union of my parents, how could he believe it would be a life I would choose for myself?

Yes, we’re through. I’m glad to see you are going to behave yourself and do the proper thing. Clive is a good man, and wishes to have the wedding as soon as possible, so you and your mother must begin the preparations immediately. How soon can you have things ready?

I swallowed hard, fighting for restraint. He can’t get rid of me fast enough, I thought. I was hurt, and I had no idea how he expected me to react.

Since I know nothing about such things, I’ll have to discuss it with mother and let you know.

I didn’t wait for him to answer. I was too angry. I accepted my fate, for I knew there was nothing I could do about the situation. My anger was consuming me, and what little love I had had for my father vanished. I made a decision: from this day forward my father would no longer exist for me.

I strode from the room and made my way back into the hall, passing the bench I had left only a short while ago. Just past the bench a large window stood open, allowing a soft breeze to make it’s way tentatively down the hall. I hurried to the window and leaned out, pulling the fresh air deep into my lungs. My hands shook as I fought to control my emotions. The marriages that I knew of were for the most part unhappy alliances: I had often overheard women speak of wedding night horrors when they did not realize I was around, and it frightened me. Women have precious little rights, I thought, and even less after marriage. Over the years marriage had taken on the appearance of something to be avoided: now I must join the ranks of those other women who were owned by a man, much as a horse or a hound.

My mind was reeling, and I wanted desperately to bring myself under control before going to my mother. I wondered what she would think of this arrangement. Perhaps, I thought, she already knows and had been forbidden to speak of it to me. It would be like father to do such a thing.

My hands gripped the windowsill as I stood looking out onto the estate that was my parents’ property. The house and grounds were quite large, in keeping with my family’s high standing in London society. The estate was a short distance outside London proper and bordered on what had been in times past a large stand of trees which were mostly depleted now, giving rise to the rather ironic name Woods End. Still, the estate was close enough to London to take advantage of the niceties which made our life so comfortable. Gas lighting and even a gas stove that allowed us to cook without coal had been installed by a private company, making my parents’ home every bit as comfortable as anything in London proper where already hundreds of miles of gas lines existed to feed the street lamps, not to mention many homes and places of business. A full complement of servants relieved my parents, my younger sister Frances and myself of the necessity of performing menial tasks, one of the admitted advantages of wealth.

I had always been a lonely child, I brooded, and father always preferred my younger sister Frances over me. I never really understood this, though I tried desperately to win his affection, for I did love him. But he never accepted my childlike offerings, and in time, without the nourishment needed to grow, my love for him withered and, as of today, finally died.

I brought my mind back to happier times as the scenes from the window overlooking the estate filled my eyes. Beautiful trees and flowers made a rainbow of color across the grounds which were kept meticulously manicured. I remembered playing with Frances on those grounds. Frances was a beautiful young girl but selfish to the extreme. And on the occasions she and I had a disagreement father saw to it that Frances was the one appeased. The happy times I could bring to mind were always with my mother. And these I faithfully recorded in my diary.

The breeze frolicking about the window was a welcome relief from the heat and I narrowed my eyes to block the glare of the sun as I continued to muse on my life. The past flashed across my mind like a kaleidoscope of colors painting the pictures of my life. I recalled the overbearing ways of my father as he demanded obedience from all in the household. I recalled mother’s face as he pointed out her shortcomings in front of the family and servants, uncaring of her feelings. How many times, I wondered, have I walked past her room and heard her muffled sobs. These were the pictures of married life I had, and it was not a life I desired for myself. And now it was being forced on me, and I was powerless to stop it. I angrily brushed away the unwanted tears that were impossible to hold back any longer.

I am not generally given to self-pity, but today I allowed myself a few moments to reflect upon my unhappiness. Then, composing myself as best I could, I straightened my back and stepped away from the window.

Well, I sighed, I had best go speak to mother: but as for you, Mr. Morehouse, you will never own me! Never!

You will be beautiful, Racine….

Mother, you are sweet beyond measure, but nothing in this world can make me beautiful and you know it. Still, you’re a dear for saying it. I had been trying on the numerous dresses mother had chosen for my married wardrobe, and she had done a wonderful job of selection.

It had been four months since the meeting with my father which I knew would determine the course of my life. I had no say in my own life, it seemed, as I had no say in my father’s decision. In all fairness, though, things had gone smoother than I had supposed they would. I had met Clive two weeks after being informed of our upcoming marriage and he seemed to be a kind and thoughtful man, for which I was most grateful.

He is taller than me. But then, I laughed to myself, most people are. His hair is black, his eyes brown, and he has a firm, athletic body and I will not lie: this pleases me. All in all, I am not too disappointed. I am still not in a frame of mind to marry, but admittedly things could be worse! And I will not bring more grief to my mother by complaining. There is nothing she can do to help herself, let alone me, so I will hold my tongue.

…won’t it?

What? My mother had been speaking to me, and I had blocked out all but my own thoughts. I’m sorry, mother; I’m afraid my mind was elsewhere. What were you saying?

I as saying, how nice it’s going to be visiting with Clive and his family, isn’t it? His cousin Beatrice has such a lovely home. Now tell me your schedule once again.

Clive’s carriage will be sent ‘round for me at twelve noon. We’ll spend two nights, and return day after tomorrow. I looked into the face of my mother and my heart wept for her. What is that hidden sadness which lays so heavy on her heart? I loved her so much and it hurt me to know she was not happy. As I was musing on this the idea to take her with me popped into my head. I didn’t know what Clive would think of it, but in truth I didn’t care.

Mother, I’ve a splendid idea! Why don’t you come with us? I know Clive wouldn’t mind, and I would love it! After all, I don’t even know them, and the thought of being alone with his family frightens me, I lied. I would love to have a member of my own family with me for support. I wouldn’t feel quite so alone. I watched as the transformation came over her.

You wouldn’t mind? But what of Beatrice? After all, she’s not expecting me. I’m not sure how she would react to an unexpected guest. I can’t explain why, but the surprise in her voice pained me.

Mind! You ninny, I would love it, and I’m certain Beatrice wouldn’t mind a bit. Please say you’ll come!

It’s so late: I’m not sure I could possibly be ready on time, she fluttered, indecisive yet still excited at the prospect of going out.

Of course you can: I’ll help you! Please say you’ll come! I could see my enthusiasm was contagious.

I will have to ask your father, she hesitated, but I’m sure he’ll say it will be all right.

I watched as her excitement built, and I knew she wanted very much to be with me. I cursed myself for not having asked her sooner.

Why don’t you go and speak to father, I urged, and I’ll start packing your clothes as soon as I slip out of this dress. Now hurry! I fairly pushed her from the room, assuring her that without fail she would be ready by the time Clive’s carriage arrived. And we were, just!

We enjoyed our visit with Beatrice and her family: it was the first time in a very long time I had heard my mother laugh. We played parlor games, told stories on one another and exchanged favorite family recipes. Needless to say, I was teased unmercifully about my upcoming nuptials when the men were not about. I flushed at some of the remarks made, but I lived through it. Clive teasingly warned me about the insane family I would be marrying into, and mother could not get enough of their relaxed camaraderie.

Of course my interest was Clive, and I directed many furtive glances in his direction during our visit. Throughout the afternoon and evening he had been most attentive; almost too solicitous in fact. I began to feel as if he were being a bit too attentive, and I didn’t like the feeling of being smothered. I made a comment about it that night to my mother and she brushed it off.

Really, Racine, he’s just a little nervous. Believe me, my dear, it will stop soon enough after the wedding. Enjoy it while you can. She patted my hand and laughed. I know this is not the man you would have chosen for yourself, but you mustn’t imagine faults where there are none.

I forced myself to relax, thinking perhaps she was right, for no one but me seemed to notice anything amiss. I began to wonder if my reluctance at being married might have caused me to imagine it. I forced my misgivings from my mind and compelled myself stop brooding about it, and the time with Clive’s family passed quickly and pleasantly. We had to return home all too soon, and began immediately making plans for the wedding.

Mother seemed a bit more relaxed following our visit with Clive’s family. They had given her a list of all the people they wished to have invited to the wedding and she happily busied herself planning my upcoming nuptials. We must start having a gown sewn for you: do you have a preference for any particular design? Without waiting for my answer she went on, It will take weeks to have it made, so you must decide immediately. Then we must run about to the printer and make a selection from their invitations. You know the shop I’m referring to, I’m sure. Mr. Crips is the proprietor and he’ll do a wonderful job; I just know it. Then we must attend to the finishing touches on your wardrobe. She became lost in the list before her.

Mother, I would like to ask you something that I know is none of my business: I hope you won’t be offended.

Her face froze, but she said nothing to stop me.

What’s wrong between you and father? I blurted out before she could say anything. Please, mother, I know you aren’t happy: I just want to know why. I’m not a child. I’m going to be married in three months, and this is something I would like to have settled in my mind. If you can’t tell me, I’ll try to understand.

Racine, there are some things that are none of your affair. How could you ask me such a thing?

I ask you because, for reasons I cannot understand, I feel it somehow it involves me. I not only shocked my mother, but myself. I could not believe that I had spoken to her in such a manner.

My dearest daughter, she whispered, her demeanor slowly softening, I cannot give you an answer at this time but you have my word; when the proper time comes, I’ll tell you.

I was shocked into silence not only by her answer but by her dignity and quiet composure. She had denied nothing; she simply refused to appease my curiosity. I would have to be satisfied with that. Now, are you going to help me with these wedding plans? I’m afraid your sister would take over completely if she were allowed.

Frances? What in the world is she doing? She’s only thirteen!

Nevertheless, I now have a list of her friends that she wishes to invite. We simply must get this affair under control. Time is slipping away, and I want everything perfect for you. Thank God everyone we wish to invite is right here in London! Even so, she sighed, we must get the invitations ready and in the post.

That was the day my mother and I became friends. I don’t really know what had happened to bring about such a difference, but our relationship was mysteriously transformed in those few exchanges. It would be one of those beautiful moments in my life that I would always remember.

I’ll get our wraps and we can go to Mister Crips’ before lunch. After that we shall go to the seamstress and select a design for my gown. I promise you, mother, we shall at least accomplish those two things if nothing else. Would that make you happy?

Extremely! I’ll have Wilby bring the carriage around. Oh, Racine, she bubbled, I’m getting so excited! This is going to be a wondrous occasion! I’ll get Frances, and we can all pick our gowns at the same time. She bustled out of the room.

I groaned at the thought of my sister being with us. She can be very difficult at times, and I had hoped she could make her dress selection on some other occasion, but the happiness that radiated from my mother halted any objections that may have come to my lips. I steeled myself for what promised to be a trying day when, moments later, Frances came crashing into the parlor in her usual rambunctious manner.

Is mother right? I’m going to select my own dress? she burst out in delight. What color should I wear? I think pink will go well with my black hair and blue eyes, don’t you agree?

I’m sure it will, but why don’t we decide after we see what the seamstress has to offer?

Oh very well, but I’m sure pink will be my choice. You don’t mind, do you? She was so enthusiastic: how could I refuse her anything?

Of course not. Choose whatever you like; after all, it’s father who will be paying the bill. Frances danced out of the room, leaving me to puzzle at how two sisters could be so completely opposite from one another.

Our day went better than I had hoped, however. We stopped and ordered the invitations, then hurried on to the seamstress where true to her word, Frances chose a pink taffeta that complemented her complexion beautifully. The women in the shop would work longer hours, but they assured us our gowns would be ready in just a few weeks. Mother was elated!

I was becoming exhausted after having been put through the ordeal of being measured from what I conceived to be every angle imaginable, so I knew mother had to be feeling the same if not worse. Frances, on the other hand, had got her second wind and was ready to make a day of it. I wasn’t; I wanted to return home, collapse, and read a good book.

You’re exhausted, mother. Let’s slip into this little cafe for afternoon tea. It’s bound to refresh all of us. What do you say?

Oh Racine, I’d love a cup of tea, she sighed wearily as we stepped through the door, the bell tinkling our arrival.

It had been a pleasant but tiring day, and finishing it off in the cafe was a refreshing break from all of our scurrying about. Even the ride home was fun, despite Frances’ protests that there was so much more to be done.

You simply don’t want to go home: now hush, Frances, mother ordered. Let’s see…, she mused aloud, dismissing Frances from her mind, your father will pick up the invitations as soon as they are ready and we can all work to get them in the post. We’ll see to securing a license and post the banns as well, of course. Then in a fortnight we’ll pop in for a fitting to see how our gowns are coming along.

I leaned back against the seat and enjoyed my mother and sister’s chatter. Basically in three weeks things would be at a point where I could relax and wait for my wedding day, which would come almost immediately thereafter. A day, regrettably, that I was not looking forward to: it was a time which for me would come all too soon.

The ensuing few weeks swiftly passed in a flurry of activity, and the day of my wedding finally and irrevocably arrived, I couldn’t believe the