by Deeanne Gist
In the beginning, Constance had visited the construction sight. Still not wanting to believe the rejection was final, she’d bounded up the mighty hill that overlooked the shimmering bay Fiddler’s Creek fed into. The men had labored with shovels, carving out a massive cellar near the peak of the slope, their silhouettes sharp against a cloudless blue heaven.
But the higher she’d climbed and the closer she’d gotten, it was Drew her gaze had honed in on as he stuck the blade into the ground, stomping on it with his boot. Shoulders, arms, and legs bulged and rippled while he loosened the dirt, bent over, grasped the shovel low, and slung the dirt to the side before repeating the ritual in its entirety.
How differently men moved than women. Smooth, fluid, and graceful, yet one hundred percent male. She’d come to a dead stop simply to feast on the sight before she’d realized what she’d done and pressed forward.
At first, she had offered suggestions concerning the length, breadth, and area of the house, the distance between its posts, and even the location of the house so one could walk the shortest distance possible from the house to the creek to the barn.
But Drew managed to find fault with every suggestion she’d made, openly hostile with his rebukes. Stung, she’d eventually not only quit making them, but quit going to the hill altogether.
If he didn’t want to know where the hand stick must be placed so that the end of the wooden beam and the men at the ends of the stick carried equal weights, then so be it. If he didn’t want to know what angle the ridge and what height the side walls must be so that the wind blowing from either of those quarters would have the least effect on the building, then so be it. It was of no matter to her.
Knotting her thread, she bit the end off and shook out the final pair of winter breeches she was fashioning for the men.
“Can we go now?” Sally asked.
Before responding, Constance placed the sewing implements in a small mahogany box and hung the breeches on a peg. Her headache had returned this morn and what she’d really like was to rest here in the cottage. But she’d been promising Sally this outdoor meal for some time now, and the little thing’s expression was too much to resist. “I suppose so.”
Clapping, Sally skipped to the covered lunch basket while Constance fetched a cloth. “We won’t be long, Mary.”
Sally swept out the door, then turned to look at Constance while walking backwards. “Let’s go to the meadow and make chain daisies!”
“Oh, dearling, the daisies are all gone now. They only like warm weather.”
“But it is warm!”
Constance caught up to her and took the basket. “I know, but it hasn’t been. I fear the daisies wouldn’t be there.”
“Can we go see?”
A suggestion of pain stirred in Constance’s lower stomach. Touching it, she sighed. It had been at least three weeks since she’d had these nagging head and stomach irritants. She’d thought she was over them. Well, maybe they would pass quickly this time.
“Can we?”
“What? Oh, no, Sally. It’s simply too far. There’s a nice spot a little ways up, though.”
Sally’s expression turned sullen and she hoped the child wouldn’t be in one of her tempers. She certainly didn’t feel like coaxing her into a better mood.
They walked the rest of the way in silence, Sally kicking the dirt, Constance ignoring her spurt of assertiveness. Once there, she spread out the cloth under a big oak tree and made a concerted effort to be more cheerful and entertaining throughout the meal. Sally was having none of it.
“Can we go to the meadow after sweets?”
“No, Sally. We cannot. Oh, look! Mary’s packed us some apple butter biscuits. Here.”
Sally crossed her arms and furrowed her brows. “I don’t want any.”
Constance replaced the biscuit in the basket. “Let us away, then. I fear my head is spinning and you seem to be finished.”
Sally huffed. “Oh, I’ll eat one.”
This last spell of dizziness sent a wave of nausea through her. “No, you may have it when we arrive home, but truly, I needs must return.”
The child jumped to her feet, her eyes filling with tears. “That’s untruth. You just not want to. You never go where I want. Never do what I want. Only we sew, sew, sew. Why don’t you like me!”
Oh, dear Lord, please help. “Sally, come. I adore you and I’m sorry. I’m simply not feeling well.”
She was sobbing now. “I only want go to the meadow.”
Constance opened her arms and Sally crawled into them. The child had become restless and moody with the onset of winter. She had an active mind that needed to be engaged.
Constance sighed, then tightened her lips. A pox on Drew for refusing Sally her academic pursuits. She would have to confront him again, even if she had to go to the big house to do it.
Leaning back against the oak, she cradled Sally and closed her eyes. Sweet, sweet Sally. She must pay more attention to her, do more. Share more.
When she next opened her eyes, it took her a moment to place where she was. A brisk wind carrying the smell of rain whistled through her skirts, emphasizing the sudden drop in temperature. Tucking several stray tendrils under her cap, she glanced around. “Sally?”
No answer. Surveying the sky, she frowned. Dark clouds had moved in and she could make no sense of the time. How long had she slept? “Sally?”
Quickly throwing the leftovers into the basket, she stood and shook out the linen, allowing the cloth to whip in the wind’s flurry. “Come, Sally. We need to head back.”
Still no response. An inkling of concern flittered through her. Securing the folded spread with the basket, she searched the area.
Sally answered none of her beckonings. Might she still be angry, even now hiding somewhere close but refusing to come forth? “Sally, come here this instant.”
Nothing. Constance’s frustration climbed. “Sally! There is danger for you unless you are with me. Now stop this silly game and come.”
Light seared the sky just before a deafening crash of thunder reverberated through the forest. That should have brought the child scurrying. It did not. She frowned. Sally must have walked all the way home by herself. Still, Constance cupped her mouth with both hands and called again.
Her eyes narrowed. She had no doubt Sally knew her way home. The child could navigate the forest much as Constance could find her way about London. Well, she would not do so again. It would be to bed without supper for Sally this night.
Snatching up the basket and cloth, she hurried home, her irritation growing with each step. The first few drops of rain fell as she entered the cottage.
Mary, hands dusted in flour, looked up from pounding her dough.
“Well, I was a’wondering about you.”
Constance shook her head. “We drowsed a bit, me longer than Sally, though. Where is she?”
“What mean you?”
Constance set the basket down and glanced up at the loft. “Sally. Where is she?”
“She’s not with you?”
Constance floundered. “She’s not come back?”
“No, mum. ”Straightening, Mary wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ve not seen her since you left this morn.”
Her throat tightened. “What time is it?”
“Why, the close of day will not be too long in coming now.”
Constance shinnied up the ladder. “You’re sure? You’ve not seen her at all? She’s not in the tick?”
“No, mum. Should I check outside?”
Constance nodded and the two of them searched the goat barn, the elm tree Sally liked to climb, the perimeter of the clearing, and then the cottage one more time. The ever-increasing shower tattooed the thatch roof, each rap heightening her anxiety. “Where’s the bell?”
“The master took it a few days ago, he did. The clacker fell off.”
Constance grabbed her shawl. “Stay here in case she comes, Mary. I’m going for Drew.”
“Thomas!
Get those braces up here, else all our hard work will be laying at our feet come storm’s end!”
“We’re here, sir!”
Drew motioned him and two of the others through the house’s skeleton as they barreled down the hall with all the spare lumber they could find. They’d just finished sheathing the second story but as yet had no roof nor chimney. Without the proper braces, a forceful wind could blow the whole house down. As it was, this sudden wind caused the exterior to whine and skirl.
With a rhythm established from months of working together, Drew and Thomas secured a length of timber at forty-five degrees across one wall while the other two men did the same to a second wall. Not for the first time did Drew feel frustrated with his father’s sketch, which called for a huge house shaped like a cross. Now, instead of a mere four walls to brace, he had twelve.
Rain slid in rivulets from his hat’s brim as he quickly checked the sturdiness of the brace, satisfied with its placement. “I’m going to see what’s taking the men outside so long.”
Thomas nodded before moving to help the others.
Hurtling down the stairs, Drew rushed out the front door’s frame, then jumped out of the way as another crew forged inside with more bracing lumber.
A sheet of wind and rain struck him, knocking him a bit askew before he hunched over against its force. Body O’Caesar, but it was cold. He hurried around the house’s perimeter, his boots sinking into the soggy ground as the water covered a good two inches of shoe with each footfall. They’d gotten more rain than usual throughout the season, so the ground had little use for this dousing and wasn’t absorbing like it should.
No sooner had he spurred the remaining men on than he noticed the rain rapidly draining into the trench around the basement walls. He hurried toward it, surprised at the amount of water already accumulating. A fie upon it. Although the trench was needed to do all the exterior work on that lower level, if it filled up with water and sloughed in, the mud avalanche could collapse the bricked-in cellar and, subsequently, everything built on top of it.
Hastening back inside, he bounded down to the basement, chilled and suddenly fatigued. No water had seeped in yet, but if the rain continued with this kind of ferocity, it wouldn’t be long before it did. Standing in the middle of the cool, clammy, soon-to-be kitchen, he pinched the bridge of his nose. There was not enough time to pack full the entire trench, but he had to do something. Help me, Lord.
The syncopated drumming of hammers above-stairs provided a bass for the monotonous roar of rain teeming outside the narrow barred windows that lined the top of the room. Moving swiftly from one to the next, Drew put up the shutters. By the time the last was secured, he’d formulated a plan, flimsy though it was.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he nearly collided with Thomas as he reached the first floor. “Collect half the men and help me embank the dig-out and divert the flow of the storm’s runoff. Have the others continue to brace the interior.”
Barely had they begun their labors when, for a moment, he thought he heard Constance call forth. Jerking his head up, he peered through the deluge but saw nothing. The perpetual downpour had not slackened but continued with its merciless assault, punctuated by ripple after ripple of distant thunder.
He waited a moment more, then wiped his face against his shoulder and returned to his task. Pouring a load of excavated dirt from the wheelbarrow, he began to develop a dike around the trench, then paused. There it was again.
Squinting his eyes, he just made out her advancing silhouette, then jumped to his feet and jogged toward her. What the devil was she doing out in this mess? Well, by trow, whatever it was, she’d have to handle it herself, for he could not leave the house.
It took him but a moment to take in her drenched clothing and the sodden shawl weighing her down. It wasn’t until she was within reach, though, that he saw the dismay in her eyes. “What?”
“Sally,” she gasped.
He could see her struggle to breathe, pulling vast amounts of air into her lungs. Saints above, had she run the entire way? “What? What of Sally?”
“She’s gone.”
Gone? Oh, dear God. Grabbing her arm, he jerked her erect. “What do you mean, gone?”
“I mean gone. We were having our midday meal out-of-doors and I must have fallen into a light slumber. When I awoke, she was gone. I assumed she went home without me, but when I arrived home, she wasn’t there. She wasn’t there, Drew! Have you seen her?”
All too quickly, the flash of alarm he’d experienced turned to anger. He shook her hard. “By my life, Constance. Gone means dead. Never say to me she’s gone. Do you hear me? Never!”
Tears filled her eyes. “Drew, you’re hurting me. Stop.”
He immediately released her, only to then catch her elbow, steadying her. Panic once again took hold as the impact of her words made itself felt. “You’re sure she’s not at the cottage? Never before has she run off.”
Constance swiped at her eyes. “I know. I know. We had a disagreement. She wanted to go to the meadow. She was tired of--”
“I’ll be right back.”
Tearing back to the trench, he quickly found Thomas. “Sally’s lost. Stay here and have the men do what they can to protect the house. Isaac, Samuel! With me!”
The flight back to the cottage with the two men following and Constance sludging along beside him was but a blur. All he could think was, not Sally. God wouldn’t be so cruel as to take Sally from him too.
So many little ones. His sister Margaret, only a few months old when their cottage burned during the Massacre of ’22. Drew had just turned seven, Josh was six, and Mama had left them in charge while she collected berries. Since Margaret was asleep, they decided to climb the big elm tree and carve their names into its branches with their new knives. It was from that vantage point they saw the Indians suddenly appear, invade their cottage, then set a torch to it. Flames clothed their thatched roof with a fiery cape in a matter of moments.
Josh mimed his desire to take on the Indians and save Margaret, pointing to his new knife. Drew, however, shook his head, some greater power alerting him to the folly of such an action.
The fire raged, its heat suffocating. Thick, swarthy smoke inundated them in the tree, parching their throats, stinging their eyes, and making the act of breathing near impossible. The Indians fled and Drew wasted no time in shinnying down the tree.
The crackling and roaring of the fire blistered his ears, its scorching breath propelling him back, back, back. Josh grasped his hand and Drew turned, his utter helplessness and horror mirrored in Josh’s eyes.
Mama told him afterward they were living on land the Indians claimed and the natives had only been trying to take back what was theirs. She also said he’d saved both his and Josh’s life, which would have been lost along with the baby’s, but never did his guilt lessen. Margaret had burned to death, and she’d been under his care. He should have left Josh up in that tree and gone after Margaret alone.
His mother never blamed him, never scolded him. Still, he’d heard her cry herself to sleep more times then he could count and he’d watched as Grandma carried much of the load for the months following the massacre.
Five years later, Nellie was born, followed by Alice. Never would he leave their side when he was placed in charge. As a result, he and Josh taught them to fish, shoot, and swim. The girls taught them to prepare a midday meal, chase butterflies, and pick wildflowers.
When Josh was eighteen and the girls were still in pigtails, they all exchanged poignant embraces before Drew boarded a ship bound for Cambridge University.
By trow, but he missed them. The newness of England and the novelty of university life never quite extinguished the dull ache his longing for home evoked. Then he met Leah.
Everything changed. The landscape came alive, the days passed more quickly, and his desire to lay the world at her feet overwhelmed him. By the time his two-year stint was completed, he’d talked her into going to Virginia to
be his wife. She agreed only when he promised to give her a few months to adjust to the colony before they spoke their vows.
Upon their arrival, he discovered little Alice had died some six months earlier. He’d never received Father’s letter nor the news that he had twin siblings, Sally and Sister.
Still, he’d yet to hear the worst. The week before his ship docked in Jamestown, his beloved mother had been bitten by a snake, right there in the clearing. She’d died in a matter of days.
Leah nursed him through his grief, only to have pneumonia strip her of life three months later, a mere week before they were to wed. That left Grandma, Father, Josh, Nellie, and the twins.
Ah, the twins. So rambunctious were they, the family hadn’t been given but a moment to consider their losses. Sally babbled nonstop, while Sister followed her like a shadow, never uttering a sound. Then the inevitable occurred. He lost Father and Sister to burning fevers, and now, Grandma and Nellie to his brother-in-law.
A crack of thunder pealed through the heavens. They’d just made it to the cottage, but with no sign of Sally.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Slipping a coiled rope over his head and shoulder, Drew perused her sodden clothes, drenched hair, and shivering body. “You’re not going.”
Constance straightened. “I am going--with or without you. So make up your mind. Do we leave separately to search for Sally or together?”
He sighed. If he let her go, she’d surely catch her death. If he didn’t, she’d most likely do precisely what she claimed, and then he’d have two lost females to find.
Whirling around, she grabbed one of his jerkins from the peg. “Enough! I am away. Do as you will.”
With that, she slipped the jerkin on and stomped out the door. He slammed his eyes shut, prayed for patience, then nodded to his men. “Let us away.”
The wind, rain, and cold blasted him, immediately causing him to withdraw into his deerskin jacket. He hesitated only a moment before following Constance. His jerkin looked ridiculous on her, riding clear down to the backs of her knees, causing her skirt to bunch and billow out at the bottom. The sleeves of the jerkin weren’t attached to it, but its heavy leather should at least keep her torso somewhat warm and dry. It was clear she was heading in the direction of the meadow.
