They embraced, then Dorothea pulled away to discretely blow her nose and dab at her eyes with the handkerchief from herpocket.
“I must go before I become a sobbing mess and we both collapse into puddles of sorrow,” Dorothea said, as she gave Lydia a kiss on each cheek and swept out oftheroom.
Lydia sat on the edge of the bed. She looked around the room, trying to memorize its every detail, for she did not know when she shall be here again—ifever.
She walked around the room touching familiar objects and trying to decide what she absolutely needed to take with her. She wanted to travel light and start afresh in her new home. There was no point in taking anything she didn’t need. Certainly, her aunt would have books to read so she decided to take nothing with her other than her most essential necessities and one book to read on thejourney.
She heard her mother calling from the dining room. It was time togodown.
She must be brave she told herself for the fourth or fifth time that morning. She would miss her lovely home, her mother, Margaret and, most especially, herfather.
There would be no one to console her. She must stand alone, bear the grief by herself, and hope and pray that she might find a safe and welcoming harbor when she arrived at her new home. But Lydia realized and accepted the fact that she had no one but herself that she couldcounton.
* * *
Margaret’s weddinghad been a raucous success. The wine, beer, and cider had flowed freely, and her father’s cheeks were even rosier than usual. Her mother sobbed on and off most of the day, and Margaret and Emily were now the proud married ladies of the threesiblings.
The morning of Lydia’s journey, the sky was overcast. A cool wind blew in from the east and it seemed there would certainly be a storm brewingbeforelong.
Papa had borrowed a carriage from a parishioner, as he did not have one of his own, to transport what was left of his family and Lydia’s luggage to the carriage stop inPiddlehinton.
Dorothea had come to see Lydia off. She was wrapped in a woolen knitted shawl, pulled tightly around her shoulders to keep outthewind.
Mother was the only one rattling on as they waited for thecarriage.
“Here, this will keep you fed until you reach the first post house inn,” she said, handing Lydia a small basket. “There are several cheese sandwiches, a small prune cake and a flask of brandy if you get light headed riding in thecarriage.”
“Thank you, Mother,”Lydiasaid.
She had her arm through her father’s, and she snuggled up close to him to shield herself from the bite ofthewind.
Lydia turned to Dorothea. “Now, you will write, won’t you? I’ll depend on your biting observations on the foibles of our little village. No one else has quite your eye forshenanigans.”
“You can count on it,” Dorothea said, looking up at the sky. “I really should be getting home. I know it is going to pour down any moment and I cannot afford to catch achill.”
“Go. Go,” Lydia said, disengaging from her father and embracing Dorothea. “I shall miss you,” was all she could say or she would burst intotears.
Dorothea ran off just as the post carriage cameintoview.
Her father once again counted all the pieces of luggage, although he had already done that three times since they arrived at thecarriagestop.
Mother pulled her apron up to her face and covered her mouth in an attempt to stop fromcrying.
The clacking, bouncing, swaying carriage came to a stop in front of them. The huff and snort of pawing horses filled the air under the shouts of the drivers hoisting the luggage onto the carriage, as Papa assisted Lydia intoherseat.
She opened the carriage window and leaned out, reaching out to take her parents’hands.
Now her mother was covering her full face with her apron, trying to stifle sobs. Her father took her hand and just nodded as he couldn’t find the words tospeak.
“All hail,” one of the drivers shouted. “Ho, ho…” He snapped the reins and the horses strained on the harnesses to start the carriagerolling.
“Good-bye, good-bye,” Lydia shouted as she strained to see them before her parentsdisappeared.
“Godspeed,” her father called out, and the carriage turned the bend leading out of the village and she could see themnomore.
Lydia, back in her seat, took out her handkerchief, held it up to her eyes and pressed hard to help staunch the flow oftears.
After a short while, she was able to compose herself and she looked around the carriage. There were two other passengers—a middle-aged mother and her - what looked to be - ten or eleven year-olddaughter.
