She crossed the river bridge and walked out of town. It would have been faster to continue past the church and vicarage, but she was not ready to face those poignant memories just yet.
As she followed the river toward the wood, a child’s wail pierced the air, followed by heartbroken sobs. She glanced around, trying to locate the wee sufferer, and there, under a sprawling English oak, stood a boy of four or five in long pantaloons with high waist buttoned to a jacket above. A wide, frilly shirt collar rested on little, heaving shoulders.
Rebecca set down her things and hurried over to him.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Eyes wet and nose running, the boy pointed up into the tree.
There, high above, a kite lay snared in the branches, its tail and string entangled in the gnarly limbs.
“Oh dear. That is a pity.” Rebecca looked around for help. “Where do you live?”
He wiped his sleeve under his glistening nose and pointed over the river, narrow here, to the back of the vicarage.
“And are you out here alone?”
He shook his head and began sobbing again.
A girl a few years older appeared, carrying a long stick.
“Do hush, Colin. You are not a baby anymore. I will try to get it down for you.”
Seeing her, the girl hesitated, then explained, “He was given that kite for his birthday and breeching. I was supposed to help him fly it, but the wind grabbed hold and would not let go.”
“I see.” Rebecca surveyed the tree and considered the situation. “I shall go up for it,” she offered. “You stay here and watch over your brother, will you?”
The girl’s eyes widened, then swept over Rebecca’s neat carriage dress and hat. “You, miss?”
Rebecca nodded and unpinned the ornate hat—Lady Fitzhoward’schoice, not her own. The feather would only get caught in the branches. Then she tied her petticoat between her knees to keep from showing more than she wished.
She looked around again, glad there was no one but these two children to witness her unladylike act.
Seeing a cracked wagon wheel abandoned beside a nearby tree, she rolled it over and propped it against the trunk to form a sort of step stool. The lowest branch grew almost horizontally before curving upward. It had always reminded her of an elephant with its trumpeting trunk, like the one she’d seen at Astley’s Amphitheatre. The branch was too high for the children to reach, but with the help of the wheel, she managed to lift one foot to theYbetween it and the trunk, grasp the branch with gloved hands, and half swing, half lift herself up, the bark rough against her delicate stockings, which would no doubt be ruined.
From there, she righted herself and began the relatively easy feat of climbing the remaining branches as one would a ladder.
Below her, the children clapped, and she felt rather like a performer at Astley’s herself.
Rebecca had never been afraid of heights and had happily scrambled up trees, including this one, as a girl, heedless of scraped hands and knees. But she was a woman now, out of practice and condition, and was soon breathing hard as she scaled the great oak.
Nearing the kite, she sat on one accommodating branch and propped her half boot on another for support. Then she began the tedious task of untangling the kite tail and string.
She looked down at the waiting children. The canopy of branches hid the girl from view, but the teary boy was in plain, vivid sight.
“Can you get it?” he asked. “Can you?”
Unexpectedly, her vision tunneled, and she felt strangely dizzy.
The scene and plea were all-too familiar, and upon its echoes she hurtled back through the years, looking down from a similar perch to a tearful John below, although several years older than this boy.
“May I?” he’d pleaded. “Please? Just this once?”
He’d wanted to climb up the tree with her. Begged to. Her parents had charged her with keeping an eye on her little brother—keeping him safe. She knew John was too young. Too unsteady. But he kept begging and whining and finally she’d relented, thinking if she kept him close, all would be well. She’d helped him up to the lowest branch and he’d climbed up from there, ignoring her warnings and entreaties to wait for her and not climb too high.
Heart pounding, she’d hurried after him but before she could reach him, he slipped and fell, landing on the hard-packed earth below, where he lay deadly still....
“Are you all right, miss?” the girl called up, scattering her dark cloud of reverie.
