A Scandal and a Legacy
by
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“You look lovely. Sarah, come with me? Next month? Please? We can –“ Her eyes filled with tears as she turned away her head. The voice that came out was not her own. Her thin whisper was rasped through a constricted throat. “Silas, you know I can’t. My father would never permit it. And how could I leave Mama anyway? Can’t you stay here?” “Stay here?” Stunned by the enormity of what had just happened, by the passion that had overwhelmed them both, plunging the depths of his being, followed immediately by the stark realisation of the hopelessness of their situation, elation turned to bitterness. His tone had been harder, crueller than he intended. “We could still see each other ….” Her voice sounded weak, uncertain. “You think your father’s going to allow that? Prospects, Sarah, that’s the only way. And the only way to get it is for me to go to America. I haven’t got any here. I’m stuck.” He took her in his arms, gently stroking a tear from her cheek, regretting his harsh words. “We’ll sort something out Sarah. I promise.” He took a breath, steadied his reeling mind. He would have to go away to get her back. “I’m planning to be on that ship on the tenth of May. I’ll hope to see you before I go,” he added awkwardly, not sure how to say goodbye. “But Sarah, I promise, I’m coming back for you. There’re fortunes to be made in America, and I’m going to make one. Wait for me. I’ll be back, I promise.” “Oh Silas.” Her voice broke. Tears had welled in her eyes again. She nodded. “I’ll wait. Till the end of the world.” Striving for control of his emotions, Silas had taken another deep breath, a multitude of emotions vying for supremacy in his heart. Then she was gone, the blue bonnet bobbing along the hedgerow. That was yesterday. Today, a looming despair overtook him. How long would it take to achieve what he wanted, what he needed, to be able to come back and claim Sarah? Two years? Less? Five years? More? He felt the familiar contraction in the pit of his stomach, the ache in his throat, the tension in his jaw as he untethered Juno, sage and silent witness to the secret of the barn. “Well, if it isn’t our rampant despoiler. Enjoy your romp in the straw did you? Bit above your station aren’t you blacksmith?” The goading, silken voice slashed through his thoughts like a sabre. His persecutor emerged from behind the tree at the intersection of the hedgerow and the mill lane. “Good tumble was she? I’ve probably taught her –“ Silas reached up, and in one furious spring, found Heatherfield’s coat. He pulled down hard. James Heatherfield came out of his saddle and onto the ground. Taken entirely by surprise, he shrieked. “You young upstart. You’ll regret this. My father –“ Silas’ fist, propelled by all his pent up rage, and years of containment around this arrogant bully, rammed into his solar plexus. Winded, Heatherfield reeled sideways. As Heatherfield regained his balance, Silas knew that this was not going to be as before. He was not going to back down this time. Heatherfield had age and maturity, superior strength and stature on his side, and probably felt, like the spoilt bully he was, that he would easily defeat the smaller man. But Silas was now determined and remembered well his lessons with Robert Kitchen on leverage and balance. And Silas had speed and lightness on his side. A fight ensued, hands grappling with any holds they could find on fabric or flesh. Using all his athletic ability, Silas danced around his heavier adversary, giving and receiving blows. Reaching very near the limits of his endurance, Silas summoned the last strength he had, and swung a punch to the cruel and supercilious face. He heard a distinct but slightly muffled crack, like the slap of a hand on a horse’s rump. His opponent went down with a gasp. Heatherfield lay dazed and exhausted, blood streaming from his nose and oozing from a number of contusions on his head and hands. It would take some time for the Honourable James Heatherfield to recover. Silas felt no compassion, no mercy, merely gratified at the downfall of the cruel bully. With satisfaction, he noted that Heatherfield’s usual immaculate riding outfit was torn, dirty and disreputable. Breathing heavily and moving slowly and painfully, Silas found Juno’s reins, mounted with effort, and cantered down the lane toward home. He would now be a fugitive for striking a member of the aristocracy. His mind whirled around in time to the pounding hoofs. Where to hide? How much time before Heatherfield recovered and put up the hue and cry? The die was cast. There would be no coming back. Escape was his only option.
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About the Book
It is 1836 in Suffolk, England. Eighteen-year-old blacksmith Silas Turner is an idealist who is passionate about injustice, the desperate situation of workers in rural East Anglia, and his family’s acceptance of their station in life. Silas dreams of seeking a new life in America, and one day returning with land and money to claim his sweetheart’s hand. But he has no idea that fate is about to intervene and change everything. Soon, two unrelated events transform Silas into a fugitive, forcing him to hurriedly escape to America to avoid possible exportation—or worse. Years later, still considered a fugitive, Silas eventually heads west with the pioneers to fulfill his long-held dream of claiming land. Will he be successful? In 2013, his descendent, Sy Turner, is about to find out when he travels to East Anglia to see the places he has read about in his forbear’s journals. As he uncovers the surprising truth of his ancestor’s early life in England, Sy meets the woman who will help him close the circle on his unfinished ancestral story. In a tale of love, loss, friendship, and betrayal, a scandal prompts a young blacksmith to emigrate from Suffolk to America to seek a new life as a pioneer in the uncharted west.
About the Author
Hilary Lepine is a former teacher, who also worked in mental health. Before finally retiring at seventy, Hilary was co-director of a heating and plumbing business for twenty years. Under the pen name Lottie Thorn, she has written and published three children’s books, following the fortunes of her church mouse “Mabel”. Hilary has attended numerous writing courses, starting with Cambridge University Institute of Continuing Education in 2007. Since 2019, Hilary has run a writing group with a focus on producing very short stories, one of which won first prize at a local competition. She is an alumnus of the National Writing Centre and has contributed to a memoir anthology from that institution. Always an avid reader of historical novels, Hilary was nevertheless surprised to find that a writing course exercise developed over time into the full-length historical novel. Hilary lives ‘almost on’ the beach in Suffolk, on the east coast, where she walks daily with her dog.