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Updated: May 23, 2025
The Gaudylocks may wander and wander, but their home is on the Three-Notched Road, and they vote in Albemarle." The vote standing, and Adam being followed by a string of hunters, traders, and boatmen, the Republican candidate was again and finally in advance. The winds blew for him from the four quarters.
Aided by the homely friendliness of her cousin's house on the Three-Notched Road, he had met her and conversed with her without being greatly conscious of any circumstance other than that she was altogether beautiful, and that he loved her. But this was not Mrs. Selden's, this was Fontenoy.
"She's just Vinie Mocket," answered the boy. "There's a girl who stays sometimes at Mrs. Selden's, on the Three-Notched Road. She's not freckled, and her eyes are big, and she never goes barefoot. I reckon it's silk she wears." "What's her name?" asked the hunter, filling his pipe. "Jacqueline Jacqueline Churchill. She lives at Fontenoy." "Fontenoy's a mighty fine place," remarked Gaudylock.
The log house, the pine wood and singing stream, an owl that hooted each night, a row of tiger lilies and a thicket of blackberries, Jacqueline to tell her stories, Mammy Chloe and Hannah, the new brother who came home every evening riding a great bay horse and kissing Jacqueline beneath the mimosa tree, the brother who showed her twenty unguessed treasures and gave her the Arabian Nights, Deb thought the week on the Three-Notched Road a piece out of the book, and wept when she must go back to Fontenoy.
"Will you tell me what books I ought to buy? I have two dollars." The other looked at him with keen light eyes. "That amount will not buy you many books," he said. "You should enter some lawyer's office where you may have access to his library. You spoke of the Three-Notched Road. Are you from Albemarle?" "Yes, sir. I am Gideon Rand's son." "Indeed! Gideon Rand! Then Mary Wayne was your mother?"
Jane Selden's on the Three-Notched Road. "Yes," said Unity. "That is just what the Argus says. 'On Thursday M. Jérôme Buonaparte, the younger brother of the First Consul, passed through Annapolis with his bride lately the lively and agreeable Miss Elizabeth Patterson of Baltimore. M. Buonaparte's Secretary and Physician followed in a chaise, and the valets and femmes-de-chambre in a coach.
"I am happy here, and I am happy at Roselands but I was happiest of all in the house on the Three-Notched Road!" There was a moment's silence, then Rand spoke slowly. "I was not born for content. I am urged on and on and I cannot always tell right from wrong. There is a darkness within me I wish it were light instead!" He laughed. "But if wishes were horses, beggars might ride!
The visitor from the Three-Notched Road looked at him now with her keen old eyes and laid her mittened hand upon his arm. "Be a good man, Lewis Rand! Be a great one if you will, but be good. That comes first." Rand touched her withered hand with his lips. "It is women who are good. And you'll not come to town again until nearly Christmas! I'll ride over before then, and I'll settle Carfax for you.
"Aaron Burr is not a Corsican." He looked at his left hand, lying upon the arm of his chair, raised it, shut and opened it, gazing curiously at its vein and sinew. "You are talking midsummer madness," he said at last. "Let's leave the blazed trees for a while though we'll talk of them again some time. Have you been along the Three-Notched Road?" "Yes," replied Adam, turning easily.
Fontenoy was there and the house on the Three-Notched Road; Roselands, and much besides. For all the heat, and the fluttering of the fans, and the roll of declamation from the District Attorney, who was now upon the definition of treason, one night in February was there as well, the night that had seen so much imperilled, the night that had seen, thank God! the cloud go by.
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