An Uncommon Woman

by Laura Frantz

  He approached Hester’s cabin, which was brimming with kin. Had he overlooked something?

  Standing outside the open door, Zadock answered his perplexity. “’Tis the date Pa died. And now Jasper lies beside him.”

  Clay removed his hat in respect, second-guessing himself. Hester had told him a while back the Swans marked the day by gathering but hadn’t said which day it was. They didn’t make a loud show of it, just assembled for a family meal.

  Should he stay his plan till a better time? Nay. There was rarely a better time. No guarantee of the next minute, nor tomorrow.

  The cabin quieted as his frame filled the open doorway. He wore his Sabbath-best linen shirt and breeches, buckled shoes, and the clocked stockings Tessa had made for him. In his pocket was the heirloom usually secreted in his trunk. The heart-shaped locket bore a slight crack in its tarnished face, but the entire necklace was still intact, the frail chain a filigree of gold. Once it had hung upon the bodice of the woman he loved best, the queen of his own boyish world. Somehow, miraculously, it survived the firing of the Tygart cabin before finding its way back to him, mayhap meant for Tessa herself.

  “Colonel Tygart, do come in.” Rosemary stood, turning toward the hearth as if to fetch him a plate or some coffee, but he shook his head while others murmured greetings.

  “I’ve come to speak with Tessa. Walk out with her if she will.” There, he’d said it. Issued the invitation. Would she deny him in front of all? Send him away to return the heirloom to the trunk, and all his hopes with it?

  Though alarmingly pale when he’d first come in, she was now a becoming pink as she stood. Clad in her Sabbath best—a dress he hadn’t seen before of pale green cloth, the fichu and apron an unspotted cream, her lace-edged cap with its dangling strings covering her bounty of carefully pinned, upswept hair—she made him unashamedly weak-kneed.

  He all but held his breath as she came his way, skirting the full table, every eye on them both. He’d missed her. Her voice. Her unique mannerisms. Her warm presence. Would Ross stand between them now? Or had she come to the place where she’d forgiven him for what he couldn’t rectify, couldn’t control?

  They walked out into the night, candles from a few cabins casting yellow squares of light hither and yon. In his skittishness, he’d forgotten a meeting was playing out in the blockhouse with the new command, a great many soldiers rambling about the common. He sought the place between a cabin and the far blockhouse nearest the spring that afforded them a bit of privacy. It smelled of mint, the herb growing wild in this sheltered, shady spot.

  The moonlight allowed him just a glimpse of her, but already he felt the droop of her once-steadfast spirit. He’d thought she was beyond a lasting melancholy as she’d been so full of life, but mayhap a father’s loss followed by two brothers was too much to cast off. It emboldened him in his purpose, though he was still unsure of her response. Gently, his hand reached for hers in a first, tentative bid. She didn’t pull away as he thought she might. His thoughts became the simplest sort of prayer.

  Lord, please help me get this right. His nerve wavered for a second as emotion knotted his throat. I know what needs saying but don’t know how to say it.

  At that instant came a slight squeeze to his hand, the pressure of her fingers heartfelt. Coming on the heels of her indifference, it choked him further. For another long minute filled with the wink of fireflies and the rhythmic croak of frogs, he battled for composure.

  “You look awfully handsome, Clay.” Her voice was warm if weary. “I’ve never seen you out of buckskins and plain linen.”

  “I feel like a skinned bear,” he admitted, which gained a little laugh from her. But appearance was not on his mind. “Do you forgive me, Tessa, for failing to find Ross?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive, Clay. You did what you could. I see that now, though ’tis a hard loss to take.” She touched his cheek. “Forgive me for being cold. My feelings for you never changed, they just got buried beneath the hurt of it.”

  He nodded, the feel of her hand so small in his. He wanted the world for her, wanted to recover Ross and see her smile again. But at least he still had her heart. “You need to be away from here. I see it plain, though you’ve told me so from the start.”

  “You mean go overmountain?”

  “Aye.” Even as he said it he knew what it would cost the Swans. Her brothers had need of her. Her mother too, even Hester. Hester had talked of an outing beyond fort walls, not clear to Philadelphia. But he forged ahead. “Would you be willing to venture to Fort Pitt? Marry me there if we can find a preacher, before making our way east to Philadelphia?”

  His gaze never left her face, gauging any shred of resistance. This was not how he’d intended their courtship to play out. But nothing in his life had been framed by sameness, including this deciding moment.

  “You truly want me to be your wife?” Her chin was a-quiver. It was the most undone he’d ever seen her, save Ross.

  “With all my being.” He brought her hurt hand to his lips, kissing the bandaged fingers, when what he wanted was to take her fully in his arms. Again that knot in his throat nearly forbade speech. “If you’ll have me.”

  She nodded, discarding the nay he’d expected. “When do we leave?”

  Leaving, not marrying, was most on her mind then. “As soon as you like. With reinforcements here, we’re free to go.” He’d considered resigning his post more than a time or two, though this was not how he’d considered doing it. Now the hour had come to take her away, restore her fractured spirits. He’d nearly lost her. He’d not chance that again.

  “Let’s tell them then,” she said softly.

  They made their way back to Hester’s cabin to find the group ringing the table as they’d left them. Clay took the lead when Tessa didn’t speak. He still had hold of her hand, their fingers intertwined. “We’ve decided to marry, and we’d covet your blessing.”

  A short gasp from Hester and then Rosemary’s face broke into a joyous smile. Rising, Westfall clapped him on the back while Tessa’s brothers hooted their glee.

  Hester spoke for him, laying out the dilemma of why they couldn’t be present for the occasion. “You’ll not wed here, with no one to officiate.”

  “We’ll likely wed at Fort Pitt on our way to Philadelphia. Our hope is to leave out tomorrow if there’s no further trouble reported.”

  Affirming nods went around, though they all seemed surprised by the suddenness of the plan. Tessa said not a word, just continued holding tight to his hand as if her life depended on his laying things out. She was hardly the blushing bride-to-be. No smile graced her face. No hint of expectation.

  “With Major Jennings in charge, the valley should be in good hands,” Westfall said.

  “Plenty of men to hold,” Clay agreed. “And if I resign my command there’s always another posthaste.” A great many wanted to make a name for themselves, rise in the ranks. What better way to do it than tread west where the danger was the thickest?

  “We’ll begin packing then,” Rosemary said with a glance at Hester. “I’ve set some fancy things aside over the years. Needs be they go east with you.”

  Hester nodded, turning toward a trunk. “We’ll try not to weigh you down, just give you a fine send-off.”

  “How many days’ ride to Philadelphia from Pitt?” Westfall asked, taking out his pipe.

  “If we go hard, four sleeps—days.” Clay righted himself after lapsing into the Lenape mind-set as he was prone to do when worn down. “But we’ll take our time through the backcountry. Shouldn’t be much trouble that way, given the heavy military presence.”

  “You know the best routes, the trails to be chary of.”

  “We’ll see Philadelphia before the first frost.” He looked to Tessa, who gave him a small smile. God help him, he’d be a good husband from the outset. Get her safely to Pitt and then Philly.

  He’d not yet given her the locket. The time wasn’t right. Best wait till she was more wholehear
ted about things, mayhap their wedding day.

  33

  Morning dawned. Tessa lay on Hester’s loft bed, the old ropes sagging beneath her weight. The key was lost to tighten them, so she slept swaybacked atop the feather tick, which was flattened with age and repeated washings. She rolled onto her side, and thoughts of Ross rushed in—and Jasper—hollowing out her middle till she felt empty as a gourd.

  It was nearly her wedding day. Her wedding journey. That alone should spark some joy. Yet it did not. That deep hopelessness she’d felt along the riverbank when Ross had gone the other way with the Indians still weighted her here in the dark rafters smelling of herbs and smoke. Below, Ma and Hester made the usual noises of redding up and preparing breakfast. Her stomach, always a rumble of anticipation, turned.

  Closing her eyes, she drifted. Snatches of time flashed through her mind. The hair-raising instant she’d heard the tomahawks cleave the logs. Ross’s stunned features as he came into the cabin clearing. The moment she realized Jasper was gone. The breathless second when the Indian took the ball and fell, coming down on top of her. Clay grappling for his life in the leaf mold with another Indian. Jude’s jest about her serving mush to the savages.

  She slept again. The smell of turnips and apples roused her, then more voices. Westfall’s . . . Clay’s. Someone began climbing the loft ladder. Hester. Her great-aunt lay a hand across her forehead as if checking for fever before going below again. Someone had left a piggin of water by her bed. Slowly, she swung her bare feet to the floor, leaned forward, and drank till her stomach felt overfull.

  As she dressed, tying her stays and raising her arms to settle her petticoats into place, her brothers came into the cabin. Three brothers when there’d been five. They were discussing raising the toll of the ferry crossing next spring.

  She came down the ladder like an old woman, one rung at a time, sore hand still tender. Zadock, Cyrus, and Lemuel stared at her. Though they were not given to emotion, their eyes were nonetheless damp. She sat woodenly at the table as Ma poured her a cup of dittany tea.

  “Brought some of your belongings from home early this morn,” Zadock told her quietly. “Suspect you’ll want to pack your hand fan and such.”

  Tessa smiled her thanks, feeling their sore-heartedness. Any happiness they felt about her coming marriage was overshadowed by their new grief and impending goodbyes.

  In time Maddie poked her head in the doorway, her steady presence bringing a sense of normalcy to the hushed cabin. She sat down by Tessa, eyes alight. “Guess you get to go to town and see those fancy folk yourself.”

  “Guess I do.” Tessa swallowed a bite of toasted bread smeared with butter and Hester’s quince preserves. “Can’t go back to the cabin.”

  “I understand.” Maddie sipped her own tea. “You been through an ordeal. Might be good to get away. Just have time alone, you and Clay.” A slight chuckle. “Suppose I’ll have to start calling you Mistress Tygart.”

  Tessa Swan Tygart.

  Why did this, something she’d dreamed about, only leave her benumbed?

  “Clay has some fine city kin. You’ll feel like a queen among those wealthy Quakers. Friends come by their name on purpose. They’re hospitable folk, mostly. Clay’s kin especially.”

  “I don’t have the slightest notion how to act, what to say.” Would these fine Quakers be shocked if she came unadorned? “If I had some proper clothes . . . manners.”

  “Come town, Clay will see you dressed proper. As for your manners, they’re in no need of altering. If he’d wanted a town-bred girl he’d have married one. Just stay true to yourself.”

  The reassurance bolstered her for what felt more hurdle than honeymoon. Trying to overcome her lethargy, Tessa poured herself another cup of tea, as the beverage braced her. “Pray we get there safe and sound.”

  Thus far Maddie had steered clear of any talk about Ross or Jasper. Heartsick as she was over them, Tessa feared she’d burst into tears at the mention. She fixed her gaze on her chest of pretty things. Where was her joy? Her anticipation? It had gone north with Ross, been buried with Jasper. Ross had always teased her about marrying, said he’d dance the night through. Jasper had promised to take Pa’s place and give her away.

  She unwound the bandage from her hand. Almost mended. Clay’s head wound was still cause for concern. A fine pair they were, beat to pieces by what they’d been through, drained to the dregs with hardly a word of comfort to share between them. They were free to leave the valley, but Tessa sensed she wasn’t the sole reason they were going. Something had shaken Clay so that it seemed he was as ready to leave as she.

  Having breakfasted and dressed, she helped Ma and Hester gather her belongings into saddlebags. Clay had already readied Bolt and a packhorse near the gates. She longed to go to him. Touch him. Comfort him as only she could. But his hands remained at his sides, as did hers. She couldn’t recall the last time he’d embraced her. Kissed her.

  The distance chafed. Yet she had no heart for any sweetness, for kisses or sentimental words. Sharp-witted as he was, that didn’t escape him. He kept his own counsel, simply talking, not touching. Somehow it seemed wrong to make merry when so much had gone wrong.

  He approached her, a new hat in hand. “Tessa . . . You’re sure about this?”

  Was she?

  “Never surer, Clay,” she finally heard herself say, setting her jaw for the farewells at hand.

  Her family ringed her, their faces a study of emotions. Save Ma, never had she seen them cry, not even at Pa’s passing. Tears stood in Zadock’s eyes while Lemuel hung his head. Tessa embraced Cyrus first as he stood closest, his thickset arms holding her for several long moments, his face pressed against her shoulder. Hester, long schooled in life’s miseries, simply thrust a handkerchief into Tessa’s hand, her cherished dream finally realized. Ma was nearly undone by the sight of her tender sons.

  ’Twas not just their sister’s leave-taking they cried for, but Jasper’s and Ross’s as well, Tessa knew. Ruth and other fort dwellers soon joined them, wishing them well and offering a prayer for safe travels.

  Drying her eyes, Tessa finally mounted Blossom and held the reins with her good hand while Clay bade goodbye to the officer now in charge.

  “Be sure and write when you get to Pitt,” Hester admonished. “And then Philly. We won’t rest till we know you’re there unscathed.”

  With a wave of his hand, Clay led them out Fort Tygart’s gates, a new burden settling on Tessa’s shoulders. Would they ever see the garrison again?

  By the time they’d cleared the Buckhannon Valley, their party of two had swelled to twelve. A wounded soldier and a chance meeting with a family of six fleeing their homestead both slowed and changed the tenor of their party. There was safety in numbers and added guns, and now Tessa had feminine company, given the wife and daughters among them. She seemed glad of their presence, and Clay made his own peace with it, realizing the Almighty might well be hedging them in, though not one Indian did they see.

  In a hundred miles the trees thinned, and evidence abounded that the white tide of settlement was subduing the wilderness league by league in a relentless advance. Endless acres of winter wheat and fences now crisscrossed the landscape, the forts they saw looking out of place, rustic oddities in a land becoming so firmly settled.

  His own land along the Monongahela was not far but didn’t warrant a closer look with such a large party. Still, he made note of the ridge and stream that led to it in his own private thoughts, glad to the heart to have something to show for his stint in so long a war.

  On the outskirts of Fort Pitt, he drew an easier breath as they parted with the group and entered town as a couple, intent on finding a pastor to unite them in holy matrimony with little ado.

  Riding alongside him, Tessa seemed a bit wide-eyed, reminding him of his first time at the unruly outpost. “If it’s any solace, Pitt bears no resemblance to Philly. Word is the fort is about to be decommissioned.”

  “So, we�
�ll not lodge inside its walls?”

  “Nay, farther north along the Monongahela River. Semple’s is the best lodging hereabouts. They have a few amenities you might like.” He’d say no more. Best let Semple’s speak for itself.

  A finer day couldn’t be had, the river as blue and placid as he’d ever seen it, the town’s more sordid corners brightened by sunlight.

  “This is where you met up with Keturah,” she said.

  It wasn’t a question. He simply nodded, hoping the mention didn’t usher in dark thoughts. “As you can see, there are many Indians here from various tribes. They come to trade, treat, and make merry, among other things.”

  She took in the color and confusion on all sides of her. Pitt always seemed like an unending fair, muddy and sprawling and uncivilized with a great many sounds and smells, oft obnoxious and unwelcome but never boring.

  They dismounted near Semple’s stable, the tavern’s door and windows open wide on such a clear day. As Clay led Tessa through a side entry, Mistress Semple herself met them.

  She dismissed Clay in a glance, her shrewd gaze on Tessa. “Well, Colonel Tygart, I see you are in fine company today!”

  Her hearty welcome made Tessa smile, while he himself managed to say with a beat of pride, “This is Miss Tessa Swan, my intended from the Buckhannon River country.”

  “A border belle, I see.” She ushered them into a parlor, ringing for a servant to bring refreshments. Mistress Semple had many talents, her uncanny ability to sense a need one of them. “What can I do to help ensure your stay here is a memorable one?”

  Clay cleared his throat. “A preacher is in order.”

  “Of course. None more respectable than Pastor Guthrie. I shall send for him as soon as you say the word.”

  Clay looked to Tessa.

  “Aye, once I’ve cleaned off the dust of the trail, thank you,” she answered.