But she dared not. She could not risk him missing it, and wondering why this old painting by Margaret Macy had gone missing so soon after the arrival of a new housemaid.
When Nathaniel returned to his room later that evening, he picked up the volume of Burns poetry he’d discarded earlier. From it, he extracted the small watercolor of Lime Tree Lodge—the last thing he had rescued from his burning ship. He wondered why he insisted on torturing himself. Still, he allowed the memory to come.
———
Nathaniel had met the Reverend Mr. Stephen Macy at a debate sponsored by the African Institution. The topic was immediate vs. gradual emancipation after slaves were first educated for freedom.
There had been several distinguished speakers on both sides of the debate, but Nathaniel found himself most moved by the simple, heartfelt plea of a clergyman from a neighboring county. Mr. Macy called for immediate freedom, declaring souls had no color, and that everyone was equally important to God, whose son died to purchase freedom for all.
Nathaniel did not agree with everything the man said, but his heart was touched. Looking back now, he realized Mr. Macy had planted a seed in him, which would not come to fruition until after he had lived in Barbados and seen the atrocities of slavery with his own eyes.
After the debate adjourned, Nathaniel introduced himself to Mr. Macy. The reverend accepted his hand, and even his disagreement, gracefully. In fact, he invited Nathaniel to call on him at his home when next he traveled that way.
A ride to his uncle Townsend’s took Nathaniel into Sussex later that fall. Nathaniel decided he would take Mr. Macy up on his offer. The village of Summerfield was not large, and by asking the blacksmith, Nathaniel was quickly able to locate Lime Tree Lodge.
What a picture the cottage made. Two stories of golden stone hung with ivy and capped by a slate roof. Beautiful old trees bordered the property and a stone fence surrounded a garden awash in autumn color.
Nathaniel sat astride his horse across the lane, partially hidden by a large willow, taking in the scene and wondering whether or not to intrude. A gig and single grey clattered into view and Nathaniel recognized Stephen Macy at the reins. Beside him sat a young woman with fair hair. Adoration lit her face as she laughed at something Mr. Macy said. She kissed his cheek and leapt from the gig before it came to a complete stop. Loping to the tree swing in the side yard, she began swinging with energetic pleasure more youthful than her years. He felt himself smiling, and his heart lighten at the sight.
A much younger girl and boy ran out from the cottage. The young woman jumped from the swing, landing neatly, and surrendered her seat, pushing first one sibling and then the other.
Stephen Macy appeared beside Nathaniel’s horse, mouth quirked and amusement in his eyes. “Do you plan to sit there all afternoon and enjoy the view, or are you coming inside?”
“Ah. Sorry, sir. Wanted to give you time to settle before I knocked.”
Stephen Macy looked over the stone fence at his three offspring. “That’s my eldest, Margaret. We just returned from parish calls. She’s a treasure, as are my younger children. I am a blessed man.”
“I see that, sir.”
Mr. Macy regarded him. “Nathaniel, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“My wife is not at home, but do come in and join me for tea.”
“I don’t wish to intrude.”
“Not a bit of it. Come. Arthur will see to your horse.”
A few minutes later they sat down together in a cozy parlor. An elderly housekeeper brought in a tray laden with biscuits and tarts and every good thing.
The young blond woman stepped into the room and hesitated at seeing him. “I’m sorry, Father. I did not realize you had a guest.”
“Come join us, my dear. This is Nathaniel Upchurch. Mr. Upchurch, my daughter Margaret.”
Nathaniel rose and bowed. “Miss Macy.”
She curtsied. “Mr. Upchurch.”
At closer range, the young woman looked familiar. Nathaniel said, “I believe I have seen you before, Miss Macy. In London, during the season?”
“Have you?” Self-conscious, she touched her windblown hair and dipped her unpowdered face. “I am surprised you recognize me; I must look a fright.”
“Not at all.”
Her face was still rosy from the carriage ride and exertion of the swing. In his view, this Margaret Macy was far more appealing than the powdered, perfectly coiffed lady of the ballroom. She looked unaffected, spirited, and breathtakingly beautiful. Had her father not been in the room he likely would have saidso.
Margaret joined the men for tea, sitting ramrod straight and clearly uncomfortable. But her father’s teasing soon cajoled her into laughing at herself and at him. Then he went to work on Nathaniel, regaling his daughter with an exaggerated account of catching Nathaniel “spying” over their garden wall.
