This story is set in late 2018, more than a year after the TV mini-series, "The Morgan Chronicles" had aired on the BBC America Channel. And more than a year since Henry's distant relatives, Henry Morgan and his sister, Cynthia Morgan, had gifted him of family portraits and the personal diary of his first wife, Nora Perth Morgan. Henry had elected not to read Nora's diary, though, telling Jo that its contents no longer mattered to him at this point in his life with her. Jo's curiosity, however, was beginning to get the better of her.
vvvv
"Found them!" Abe's voice rang out from the other end of the attic. He lifted up a small box of old Christmas cards, set it aside, and triumphantly retrieved a larger cardboard box underneath it filled with Christmas decorations that had been passed down from one generation to the next in Abigail's family. His smile faltered somewhat when he saw what was next to it with a small blanket over it.
"Great, Abraham," Henry happily told him. "Bring them right down so we can start trimming the tree." He turned to leave but stopped when he realized that Abe had not moved from his spot. Concerned, he asked, "Anything wrong, Abraham?"
A still silent Abe slowly walked over and passed the box of decorations to him. "Why'd you hide those things over there?" he asked, flicking his head to the pile of gentle clutter behind him.
"So you found them," Henry's voice was quiet as he gripped the box in front of him. "I told you before, Abraham, I do not need to know the contents of her diary or those letters."
"What if someone else wants to know?" Abe asked as he followed his father down the ladder stairs into the hallway near the guest room. "You're not the only Morgan in this household, you know," he reminded him while uncollapsing the ladder back into the ceiling.
Henry carried the box into the living room and sat it down on the floor in front of the eight-foot Norway spruce tree. He straightened up and stood with his arms crossed, waiting for his son to join him.
"I had begun to think that you'd tossed it out," Abe said. "At least let Jo and me read it. She's a Morgan now, too, and just as curious as I am."
"You mean just as nosy," an unsmiling Henry replied. "And, no, I did not dispose of it - yet."
"Well, I'm glad you didn't," Abe replied. "And Jo will be happy to know where it is, too."
"Abraham, surely, you and my wife can find much more interesting reading material either in our library or on the blasted Internet." Despite the nature of their conversation, Henry had to admit that he loved being able to say those words, my wife, again; and Abe loved hearing them fall so naturally from his father's lips and it caused both men to soften a bit.
"Are you afraid of what you might find out in it, Dad?" Abe asked cautiously.
Henry frowned and blinked several times before replying. "Not necessarily." He inhaled and exhaled deeply and looked his son directly in the eyes. "It's a life I lived a long time ago. It's over and I just don't want any of those old memories resurrected. My life is here. Now. In 2018, with you and Jo. You two have been urging me to live in the present. Well, I finally begin to do that and you want me to do an about face all of a sudden."
"No ... not ... Dad," a frustrated Abe began, "you got through the mini-series okay. But you can just leave the diary to Jo and me."
Henry chuckled, skeptical. "You'll both have questions. Or, the both of you will be just bursting to enlighten me about one entry or another." He smilingly eyed his son, his head tilted to the side and his hands clasped in front of him.
"Sometimes I just hate it when you're right," Abe grumpily admitted.
The shop's bell tinkled and Henry said, "That'll be Jo."
They'd closed the shop an hour early to hunt up the decorations so Jo must have let herself in with her key. He met her halfway on the stairs, kissed her, and took the paper grocery bag from her but she clutched the other shopping bag to her.
"Unh-uh, this one's full of surprises," Jo told him, smiling. "You don't get to see what's in here yet." She greeted Abe and disappeared into Henry's bedroom - their bedroom since their Central Park wedding eight months ago. "Nobody comes in here until I've finished wrapping these gifts," she called out before closing and locking the door.
"Why didn't you just have them wrapped in the store?" Henry asked her through the locked door. Her muffled reply seemed to suggest that store employees don't wrap as well as she does.
A bright smile suddenly broke out on his face at the thought of them welcoming their first child in the next seven months. A first for both of them. She and Sean had wanted children but they had agreed to wait a few years. Unfortunately, he'd died before they ever could. Henry, on the other hand, had not been able to have children with either Nora or Abigail. He'd sadly concluded that his unique condition was the cause. That it may have been preordained, thus, preventing him and Nora from ever having children. And, of course, after his condition had manifested itself, it had prevented Abigail and him from having children, as well. The fact that he and Jo were expecting, thrilled him to the bone to know that he'd been wrong all that time. With his smile still lingering, he then walked back to where Abe was standing near the tree.
"I suppose you're going to tell her that you've found it," Henry said, shoving his hands down into his pockets. "For your information, she has never brought it up to me after I'd told her that I didn't want to know what was in it."
"Well," Abe scoffed, "for your information, I know that she's wondered from time to time where you'd stashed it or if you'd gotten rid of it. She just wants to read it, Pops. What harm could it do?" Abe asked.
Twenty minutes later, the bedroom door opened and Jo came out with an armful of wrapped gifts. She walked over to the tree and looked admiringly up at it. "It's beautiful, guys." She set the gifts down in the armchair on the other side of the tree near the wall. "And what harm could what do?" She cast a knowing look at them as she stepped closer to them. "I'm a detective. Means I have big ears."
Henry reluctantly told her that Abe had found Nora's diary in the back of the attic where he'd hidden it and that Abe wanted to read it. It dismayed him to see her eyes twinkle the same way they always did whenever she felt close to uncovering an important clue. But she surprised them both.
"Oh, really? Well, good that you didn't throw it away, Henry," she told him and walked over to the box of decorations. "Let's get the tree trimmed. Sooner we do that, the sooner we can have dinner." She began picking up ornaments and hanging them on some of the limbs and they followed suit.
After the tree was trimmed, they enjoyed a Mexican feast of roast chicken, black beans, rice, salad, and flan for dessert. Jo had woken up their palates with ethnic delights from her childhood. She took great pleasure in cooking for her two favorite men and as they partook of the delightfully spicy meal, the diary and letters seemed all but forgotten. Henry and Abe volunteered for kitchen cleanup. Jo protested at first but eventually relented, announcing that she was off to an early bedtime. The subject of the diary didn't come up again and father and son soon retired to their respective bedrooms.
Jo was nowhere to be seen when Henry entered the bedroom, though.
"Hurry up, dirty bird," her teasing voice came from the bathroom.
He smiled and quickly undressed, joining her in the bubble bath. "Ahhh," he moaned pleasurably as he slid in behind her and nuzzled the side of her neck. She closed her eyes and moaned in blissful response. "I never knew that bathing could be so utterly delightful," he whispered in her ear, cupping and squeezing her breasts with her hands atop his.
vvvv
In the early morning hours just before rising, they lay comfortably in bed enjoying the warm delight of waking up in each other's arms. Henry still found it hard to believe that she was here with him; that they were actually married. How could he be so lucky as to have his heart stolen again by another exceptional, lovely woman?
"Good morning, sleepyhead," he said, using the deep register of his voice. It resonated through her and caused her to tremble delightfully.
"Same to you!" she replied, smiling with her eyes still closed and emphasizing the last word by reaching back to give him a light slap on the side of his rear.
"Ow!" he yelped playfully. "Have I just been subjected to a bit of your brand of police brutality? Because if I have, then I much prefer the, ah, sweeter pain you dealt me last night."
At that, she snuggled back into him more and replied in a deep, husky voice, "I'll bet I can make you like both."
"I think you already have," he sing-songed back to her.
vvvv
Two hours later, they emerged from their bedroom and laughingly entered the kitchen where they found a breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, and fried potatoes warming on the stove. They served themselves and sat down at the table, rounding their meal out with coffee, orange juice, and wheat toast.
While they ate, the conversation the day before about Nora's diary invisibly resurrected itself as almost a tangible object felt between them. Near the end of the meal, Henry sighed and sat back in his chair, eyeing Jo directly across from him. When Abe was there, she sat to Henry's right. When it was just the two of them, she preferred to sit across from him so she could look directly at him.
"Darling, I know you don't need my permission to do so but ... if you and Abe wish to read over that diary and those letters ... I won't object," he quietly told her.
"Really?" she replied, surprised. "You're right, I don't exactly need your permission but you know I'd never do it unless you were okay with it."
"Wouldn't say that I'm okay with it, exactly," he admitted. "But if it will help to clear the air and get Nora and her long-ago doings out of our way, then ... I'm all for it."
Jo fought to contain her excitement because she knew it had been a tough decision for him. But as soon as the kitchen was cleared, she planned to ask Abe to bring the box of material down from the attic.
vvvv
With the kitchen cleared away and the shop closed on a Sunday, Jo and Abe sat in the living area near the tree on the settee next to it. Henry sat on the other side of the fireplace in a straight back chair sipping tea with a "Let's just get this over with" kind of look on his face.
Jo almost reverently picked up the dark brown, 5" x 7" hardback book from the box. The title on the cover indicated that it was custom made.
"Private Journal of Nora Francine Perth Morgan," Jo read out loud. She glanced over at Henry, who offered no reaction other than sipping his tea and staring straight ahead. She and Abe exchanged a look and he tipped his head down at the book for her to continue anyway. She opened it to a title page written in what appeared to be Nora's own handwriting by quill pen and ink. The next two pages caused both Abe and her to gasp when they saw two, handpainted pictures of Nora and Henry, one on each of the two pages. The same two pictures in small, oval frames owned by Henry.
"Wedding pictures?" Jo asked Abe.
He shook his head. "Dad said they sat for those portraits the year he opened his medical practice in London. High society stuff." He kept his voice low, not sure if he wanted his father to hear. They both startled at the sound of his voice.
"Not the most flattering of renderings of me, I grant you, but it wasn't meant to be," Henry told them, still staring straight ahead. "The portrait of me was meant to impart strength and trustworthiness to my potential patients. The portrait of Nora is more reflective of her actual looks but meant to be flattering to me, her husband," he continued.
Jo frowned in confusion. "What do you mean by more flattering to you?"
"It was a male-dominated society," Henry explained. "Flattering to me because I had the sense to choose her as my wife."
"Hmmphf," Jo scoffed. "A trophy wife."
"She was more than that to me at the time, I can assure you," Henry replied, defensively. "But, yes, she was also that," he conceded, picking his teacup up again and added, "It's, uh, complicated."
Jo laughed softly and shook her head, turning the page. "This entry is dated August the 14th, 1814."
Mr. Barton came up to tea. He brought a letter from a Mr. Royce Allen with astonishing news about Henry. The weather was quite unpleasant this morning befitting the rather unpleasant news of Henry being swept overboard from the Empress of Africa ship during a violent storm at sea.
Tuesday, August the 15, 1814
The diary, as usual, takes up most of my Tuesday mornings, but after receiving the devastating news yesterday about my poor Henry, my pen knows no words to adequately describe the grief in my heart.
Jo stopped reading and bit her lower lip, reluctantly finding herself identifying with and sympathizing with Nora at that point. She knew exactly what it felt like to have received the worst news possible about a beloved husband. She swallowed and cleared her throat and continued reading the rest of the entry.
I shall retire early tonight, for I feel quite tired after my second day of widowhood. One could say that I have been a widow since April 7, 1814, when Henry was actually lost at sea but since I was only apprised of his death yesterday I feel no need to press more grief upon my heart. This is already too much for me to bear.
Wednesday August the 16, 1814
I have been all the morning ill. In the afternoon, old Mrs. Barton came up with Papa and brought her black girl. Henry would have disapproved. But I have been out walking with old Mrs. Barton. It is a long time since she was here and everything is much altered. She is now sitting talking with Mama about old affairs. In spite of the fresh air from the morning walk, I still feel ill. No one else understands my grief. My loneliness. So I don't speak of it any longer. I received a note from a woman named Harriet Townsend. She claims to have seen my Henry. Of course, I burned the note in the hearth. She must be mad. How could he have survived being swept into the stormy sea? I must be mad for clinging to that hope. Dare I?
Thursday August the 17, 1814
I was very busy all the morning directing the staff with housework. In the afternoon, I felt ill again and took to my bed. Mama sent for old Dr. Barton. Nothing to worry about, he assured us. For I was in a family way. A miracle from the ashes. I was to have Henry's child. The last thing connecting me to him other than by name. Perhaps it is because I am all weeped out over him that I cannot find the tears of joy for our child yet. The evening is remarkable pleasant with a beautiful full moon as if to mock me in this new twist of my grief.
Jo stopped reading and looked at Henry, who most definitely was reacting to that last diary entry. He slowly rose from his chair blinking and frowning, looking here and there but focusing on nothing. Finally, he walked slowly out of the room and disappeared into the kitchen. Jo passed the diary to Abe, who cradled it in his lap in stunned silence. He watched Jo follow his father into the kitchen, wanting to join them, but thinking it was best that he didn't.
In the kitchen, Jo found Henry with bowed head at the kitchen sink, his arms spread out, and with palms turned inward, his hands gripping the edge of the counter. She walked up behind him and placed her hands on his upper back. She then put her arms around him and said, "Wow, Henry; a baby. That's really something."
He spun around with a joyful look of wonder on his face and replied, "Indeed! I thought it was because of me, because of my condition that I'd never fathered a child." His smile faltered ever so slightly as his left cheek flinched upward a few times. "Of course, I don't know that she was able to bear the child but ... " his cheeks jumped upward again. "You and I have nothing to worry about." He looked down between them and back up at her. "Our child ... our children ... will be fine."
They kissed and embraced, then with their arms around each other's waists, walked back into the room with Abe. They retook their seats and Abe resumed the reading.
"That last entry was a little better than the ones before it," Abe said, his eyes fixed on the pages in front of him. "But every entry up til then and several after go kinda dark," he added. "Sounds like she went into a deep depression that lasted several months in spite of the fact that she was expecting. So, I skimmed ahead to December 1814. Listen to this."
Monday December the 25, 1814
Eliza Coleman came up this morning and spent Christmas with us. Mama insisted I still wear my widow's black but it has begun to chafe me. Henry isn't coming back. But tradition holds that I wear this black cloth of grief for several more months. Still - it was a joy to see Eliza again. She livened up, or rather her pet spider monkey livened up the household. Chee-Chee, she calls him. An utter delight. He got away from her and had the staff running behind him up and down the stairs. In and out of the house. Frightening Mama and cook, jumping on Papa's back. He rather liked it, though. James and John stopped to breakfast with us this morning and were promptly jumped on, as well. It took me a few moments to realize that the heartiest and loudest laughter was emanating from me. So long since I'd laughed. So long since I'd been cheered. The best present of all this Christmas.
"Sounds like she was able to get out of her funk," Abe said. He lowered the book and looked over at his father. "Dad, uh, is that your first time hearing about ... a baby?"
Henry sighed and quietly replied, "Yes." He sighed again and added, "I suspect that she may have lost the baby but I'm gladdened to know that children were possible for us. Read on," he urged Abe.
Tuesday December the 26, 1814
This morning has been taken up preparing for the ball given by the young gentleman at Mount Edwards. Mr. Barton came up this afternoon to join the party.
Wednesday December the 27, 1814
They all spent a very pleasant evening with plenty of dancing. Talk was about because I refused to don my black garb, only a black bonnet and scarf. Of course, no one asked me to dance - the curse of being a widow with child - but I still enjoyed being there. They danced till four o'clock this morning. Mama and Mrs. Allen came up to see us in the evening and they both had a lecture for me. No matter. Eliza and me and Mr. Barton have been on our lake sliding all the morning - and in my condition! Eliza and Mr. Barton wanted to walk down to Aunt's but the fun at the lake had worn me out.
"This Barton guy keeps poppin' up," Abe grumbled. "You remember him, Dad?"
"He was a family friend, although I could never really warm up to him. He was also a fellow physician. Ah, Edward. Edward Barton." Henry replied. "He was also the son of the old Dr. Barton and he was once my rival for Nora's hand. A bit too opportunistic for my tastes."
"The son of the old doctor who had signed your commitment papers?" Abe asked.
"And most likely the father of Nora's other son, Albert Morgan," Henry replied, nodding.
"I smell a rat!" Abe exclaimed grumpily.
"Me, too," Jo said. "Um, since she was a widow, should he have even been hanging around her so much so soon after you ... weren't around anymore?" Jo asked. She'd been through that herself after Sean had passed away. Too-soon, would-be courters moving in even while the corpse was still fresh. Her brother, Carlos, had once punched one such too-sooner in the nose and he'd never shown up again.
"A widow could not visit a widower or unmarried man unless one of his female relatives was present," Henry replied. "Likewise, he could not visit her unless one of her male relatives was present. From her entries, it appears that proper protocol was followed during their mutual visits. At least, I assume that either her father and/or her brother, Hunter, were present." Jo shook her head disparagingly and Abe chuckled.
"It's the way things were back then," Henry explained, shrugging. "The veiled widow could elicit sympathy but also predatory male advances."
"In other words, she had to be protected," a disgusted Jo said in an annoyingly nasal voice. "Aagghh!"
"Those little black veils are kind of ... sexy," a smiling Abe said. He caught himself too late and flustered for an explanation when Jo and his father rolled their eyes. "What I meant was - "
" - I know what you meant," Jo said, bobbing her head up and down as she smirked at him. "I know all about you enlisting Henry to be your wingman when you went to the burial of Fawn's husband. May God forgive you two."
Henry and Abe cleared their throats and spoke over each other with intent to continue reading from the diary.
"Uh, yeah, uh, here," Abe said, earnestly studying the current page. He frowned as he flipped back and forth. "Aw, man, the next few pages are stuck together. Jumps from that December 1814 entry to February 1815. Can't read what happened to the baby. She was making entries practically every day so that means that the entire month of January 1815 is probably in these pages that are stuck together," he said with dismay.
Jo took the book and examined it while Henry walked over and sat next to her. "You're right," Jo said. "The baby was probably born that month." All three of them let out a sigh of frustration.
"You know, it is possible that these pages can be separated by the same process employed to separate ancient parchments," Henry said as he took the book from her and studied it himself, his brow furrowed. An intriguing mystery, he told himself. His son or daughter born only three months before he'd returned home and no one had uttered a word to him about it!
"Ooo, here's something!" Abe breathlessly announced.
Friday February the 25 1815
I have returned from town today with Mr. Barton. I have been spending a week with his mother and sisters. It would have been a pleasanter week had not the child been on my mind. It was as if the weather was so unpleasant as to be a coincidental match for my lack of mirth and good humour although they did their best to lift my spirits. Since I have come home, Mama and Papa have pressured me to have a headstone erected next to Henry's for the child but I refuse for I fear to always view both of them will send me further down the gullet of grief. To know that he is buried in his father's empty grave is enough for me. Baby Henry. Old Dr. Barton is right; I should bury my grief for him there, as well. Never to speak of him again lest I die from this pain of loss.
"A boy!" they all exclaimed in unison.
While Jo and Abe exchanged excited thoughts about how close they had been during their visit last year to Trillingham Manor, something didn't sit quite right for Henry.
"How I wish that she had told me about our son when I'd returned home," he lamented. "Nora and I kept no secrets from each other."
"Yeah, but telling her about your secret of Immortality didn't go well for you," Abe pointed out grudgingly.
"That 'old Dr. Barton' advising her to bury the baby in your empty grave and place no headstone sounds ... " Jo paused then said, " ... shady. Crazy and shady." As a cop, she'd come across a lot of weird cases with people committing crimes for a lot of weird reasons. But to convince a bereaved widow and mother to bury her dead baby in her husband's empty grave?
"She must have been so grief-stricken that she chose to go along with him but ... why?" Henry wondered.
"We could try to find out," Abe said.
"You mean go back to England?" Jo asked, hopefully, excitedly.
"Well, maybe," he replied. "But first we've gotta get these pages separated so we can find out what's written on them."
"You're right, Abraham," Henry said. "I would most definitely like to know what happened to our son."
Notes:
Diary entries inspired by "The 1815 Diary of a Nova Scotia Farm Girl, Louisa Collins, of Colin Grove, Dartmouth" As Edited By Dale McClare .
Slight reference to "Forever" TV show S01/E08 "The Ecstacy of Agony"
Diary entry about the spider monkey loosely inspired by a similar scene in the 1937 Shirley Temple movie, "Heidi"
Information on widows in the Victorian era found on these and other Internet sites:
Widows in 18th century England
/~ece/student_projects/make_your_
Women in the Victorian era
wiki/Women_in_the_Victorian_era
2011/09/14/dowagers-and-widows-in-19th-c-england/
19th Century Widower etiquette, Victorian era, Antebellum
2012/01/18/19th-century-widower-etiquette-victorian-era-antebellum/