“Adams,” Bristol snapped. If he imagined these remarks to be charming, he was wrong! Such personal comments might earn him a flirtatious response in decadent France or old England, but in the colonies, suggestive banter brought fathers with horsewhips. Hearing the riders’ approach, Bristol hastily pushed her streaming hair beneath her dust cap, dismally suspecting another humiliation on her horizon—she couldn’t possibly be presentable, her hair dripping from her cap in damp tendrils and her skirt clinging wetly to her thighs. She bit her lips and looked toward the woods.
The woman emerged from the forest first, smiling beneath a crimson hood and lifting a fur muff in greeting. Behind her followed several men, only one of whom Bristol recognized. She knew Mr. Morgan Caine by sight and reputation; few did not. Morgan Caine controlled nearly all the lumber trade in Essex County and surrounding counties as well. Mr. Caine and the others all wore the exquisite clothing of the very rich.
The dark-haired woman reined in a few feet from Bristol and the man she called Jean Pierre. Her sculptured brow lifted in surprise and her dark eyes swept Bristol. The woman’s smile hardened. “And what is this?” she asked coolly.
Her voice would have sounded the same if she’d discovered vermin in her kitchen, Bristol thought angrily. She felt an acute awareness of her simple plain clothing and disheveled appearance. Well, she’d not bow her head to folk as uncivil as these! She glanced at the woman’s crimson fur-lined cloak, mentally comparing it to her own worn cloth wrap. No matter. The Frenchman had proved that wealth guaranteed no excellence in breeding or manners.
Bristol’s green eyes flashed, and her chin rose. The Adams line was a proud one—more than the woman staring so disdainfully could claim. Bristol had placed the pretty face on the horse. The woman dismissing her so openly was a young widow from Salem Town. A woman of unsavory reputation, if Bristol recalled correctly. And no wonder. Who but such a type would ride in the woods in the company of several men?
Jean Pierre laughed. “This snow goddess is Mistress Adams. The young lady met with a slight accident. To my honor, I was able to offer assistance.” He swept his hat across his chest and mocked Bristol with a bow worthy of royalty. Several of the men chuckled, but Goodwife Sable Horton’s eyes remained cold.
“How charming,” she said icily, her eyes moving from Bristol to Jean Pierre and back. “Adams... Adams.” A knowing smile touched her lips, but not the dark eyes. “Ah, yes. I thought you looked familiar. Didn’t I see you recently in the square?” Now her voice purred, and she glanced archly at Jean Pierre.
The color in Bristol’s face deepened. Obviously Sable Horton saw Bristol as a rival. Though Bristol sensed the man at her side was more interested in hunting than in women, clearly Sable waged her flirtation regardless. And she chose to combat Bristol with insulting innuendo.
Bristol’s hands clenched at her sides, and her eyes narrowed to green fire. She’d not submit meekly to this attempted humiliation. “Perhaps you did, Goodwife Horton. I’m flattered you remember me. Unfortunately, I know you only by reputation.” Bristol smiled sweetly. “I don’t recall seeing you before. One sees so many people on market day, it’s impossible to remember anyone in particular unless she’s remarkable or outstanding, don’t you think?” The implication that Sable Horton was of no consequence hung in the air.
Goodwife Horton’s cheeks turned as crimson as her cloak, and her pouting lips clamped into a line. She stared at Bristol with flaring eyes.
Throwing back his head, Jean Pierre roared in delighted laughter. “I don’t pretend to follow this discussion,” he said, “but I judge the encounter to end in a draw. Or perhaps you’ve been bested, Sable?” Before Goodwife Horton could spit an answer, he turned to Bristol and took her hand. His warm lips brushed across her fingers, and he murmured, “Enchanting.”
Bristol jerked her hand away. But before he released her, Jean Pierre bent near her ear and whispered, “Your cap is crooked and you look like a wet cat.” Grinning, he swung into his saddle, and the party moved into the woods, laughing and shouting to one another.
But before they entered the forest, Sable Horton stared over her shoulder, with eyes that promised Bristol she would not forget this exchange. Then the forest swallowed them, and the only sounds were old Brown’s snort and Bristol’s pulse pounding in her ear.
Angrily she slapped at her snowy skirt. She felt childish and provincial—a shabby example of prudish Puritanism without having shown any of the finer qualifies also associated with such a background. Bristol fumed. No queen had ever examined a serf with more disdain and contempt than had Sable Horton when her dark eyes dismissed Bristol. And the Frenchman!
How did he dare address her like he had! Like she was an ill-bred serving wench quivering for his notice. Bristol ground her teeth at a wave of heat starting near her toes and flowing upward. The encounter both infuriated and confused her.
Suddenly she wanted nothing more than Caleb’s gentle, familiar smile. With Caleb she didn’t feel hot all over, she felt sure of herself and comfortable. Dear Caleb.
Bristol mounted old Brown, patting his neck affectionately. Poor Brown, he’d been ill-used today. And so had she. But enough of that. Bristol’s forehead creased in concentration; she needed a plan... everything seemed better with a plan. If this was to be her last meeting with Caleb, then the moments must not be wasted. They needed to decide their future today. Now.
Listening intently, she satisfied herself the hunting party had truly departed; then Bristol guided Brown’s plodding steps toward a hidden pathway. Faint and overgrown in summer, now the trail lay beneath a snow pack and a sprinkling of animal tracks. She would have missed it entirely had she not known of the path’s existence.
In the snowy stillness of the winter forest, Bristol heard the steady beat of her heart, quickening in anticipation with each swaying step old Brown placed. Gradually a plan took form in her thoughts, and she urged Brown forward, frustrated when he refused to be hurried.
She knew what must be done. Caleb had to be convinced. Noah might not bend to her entreaties, but Caleb would do as she suggested. Wouldn’t he? Bristol studied the reins thoughtfully. If Caleb prayed stubborn... Well, the Frenchman had unwittingly pointed the way; he had revealed a plan that could not fail. Brazenly Bristol lifted her wind-stung cheeks. If words failed to sway Caleb, the Frenchman’s rude gaze had reminded her of the power in a woman’s body.
Shamed by these thoughts, Bristol carefully examined her alternatives. She could see none. All she held dear in life was threatened, and she had to fight with whatever weapons she possessed. And never mind Reverend Parris’s teachings, she told herself grimly, surprised at her daring in this arena. But surely God condemned no one for the courage to battle for home and the man one loved!
Anxiously Bristol peered over Brown’s head as they wound deeper into the thick pines and bare-branched skeletons. When she spotted the abandoned settler’s cabin, Bristol released a vapory sigh of relief. The logs blended into the encroaching forest so well that discovering the cabin was always a surprise. She looked at the thin wisp of smoke curling up from a sagging thatched roof. Caleb still waited!
Reining Brown to a halt, Bristol stared at the log structure with an expression composed partly of eagerness, partly of dread. Her plan was sweeping. She’d made a momentous decision both in outcome and in method of persuasion. Once she was committed, there could be no turning back.
A tiny voice of sensibility warned her to remount and leave, reminded her of the dangers in disregarding providences. Bristol shook her glowing curls stubbornly. Providences could be misinterpreted. Besides, this was Caleb! How could her plan be wrong? They loved each other... and Caleb was her last hope. Her only hope.
The cabin door burst open, and Bristol stared at the large man filling the doorway. Her heart melted as did any nibbling thoughts of abandoning her plan.
Caleb Wainwright’s broad shoulders touched the doorframe on either side, and a tumble of sandy hair brushed th
e top of the jamb. He wore leather breeches and a leather doublet over a rough shirt straining to cover muscles hardened by years of heavy farmwork. Bristol swallowed. Below thick sandy brows, Caleb’s pond blue eyes touched the curves of her face.
“Bristol! I was afraid you couldn’t come.”
“Oh, Caleb, I have so much to tell you!” She pushed back her hood, and the dim winter sun fired the red curls escaping her cap. His blue eyes followed each movement.
“You’re wet. Did you have a fall?” He pushed open the door, and Bristol looked past him at the inviting fire warming the small cabin. “Quickly, Bristol, before you take cold.”
Her thoughts had been so concentrated, she hadn’t taken notice of the wet chill of her skirts until now. A shiver rippled her small frame, and she hurried inside, feeling the heat of his large body as she passed.
Long ago abandoned by the settler who had built it, the one-room cabin was constructed of logs and mud. Much of the crumbling mud pack had fallen over the decades, allowing weak lines of light into the windowless room. If the builder had possessed any furnishings, they too had disappeared with the passage of time. The only furniture consisted of two wooden stools placed before the fire.
Bristol extended her cold hands to the flames, looking at the stools from the corner of her lashes. One stool bore a carved B and the other a C on its top. Last summer Caleb had etched their initials in the stools; a hot still day, lazy with the scent of honeysuckle and a drowsy drone of insects. He’d finished with a proud flourish, holding out the stools for her admiration. And his sober young face had studied her seriously. “Someday, Bristol Adams, I’m going to marry you.” Then he’d leaned forward and pulled her into a quick, awkward kiss, and Bristol had been surprised into laughter.
Perhaps a wounding laughter, Bristol thought, as he’d never kissed her again or mentioned that moment. And he’d had opportunity. Bristol was able to sneak a few moments alone with him about once a month. She lowered her head in a spasm of guilt. The lash marks crossing her back were deserved.
Caleb spoke near her ear, bringing Bristol forward in time. “Bristol, when I saw you in the square, I wanted to tear that whip from the constable’s hands and turn it against his own back! If I could have offered myself in your place, I would have!” His voice was anguished. “Your pa is right. I should have been whipped at your side. I’m more to blame than you! If my own pa wasn’t dying, he’d have put me there. I should have taken the responsibility myself!”
Bristol smiled into his troubled blue eyes. “Caleb, that’s all behind us now... I need to talk to you.” She sat on the B stool and waved Caleb toward the other. She leaned forward and peered intently into that cherished face. “Caleb, I...” Bristol swallowed hard, the words clumsy and halting on her tongue. “Do you love me?” She said it in a rush, blushing. They had never spoken the words aloud.
Caleb’s hair gleamed sandy bright against the red flooding his cheeks. He stammered. “Bristol... you know I do. I—”
“Papa’s sending me away from home!” she cried, unable to withhold the news another minute. “He’s sending me to England, and we might never see each other again!” The words spilled from her full lips, and quick tears brimmed, sparkling like green diamonds in the firelight.
Caleb’s mouth fell open. “England?” He looked staggered.
“Caleb! Caleb, if you truly love me, help me!” Her lovely features came together, matching the desperation in her voice. “Don’t let Papa do this to us!”
Caleb touched his forehead, shaking his sandy hair. “England?” England existed in another universe, across an ocean, impossibly distant. “Bristol, are you certain?” He slid from the C stool and knelt by her side, staring into her wet eyes in disbelief.
“Aye!” She told him about the talk with Noah, about Aunt Prudence. “Oh, Caleb, I can’t bear it! I can’t bear it!” She hid her face, embarrassed to cry in front of him but unable to stanch the flow of tears. “I don’t know what to do!”
Awkwardly Caleb patted her shoulder, then stood and stared into the crackling flames. “Bristol, I...” His jaw worked, and then he turned to face her, his mouth firm. “Your pa’s idea won’t work! I’ll wait a lifetime for you if I have to. He can’t keep us apart forever. If he tries, I’ll...”—his arms waved wildly—“I’ll come fetch you. We’ll be wed without his permission. Let me think... I receive my inheritance in April, and the harvest should be in by...” He frowned, mentally calculating the seasons. “If you haven’t returned by October, I’ll come for you, I swear it!”
“No, Caleb.” Bristol sniffed, wiping her eyes. He wasn’t saying what she wanted to hear. “You don’t understand. I don’t want to leave home at all!” She rose and lifted her face to him, her cheeks streaming tears and her eyes begging. “There’s another way! Couldn’t we elope? Run away now?” Shamelessly she pressed on, ignoring the surprise in his expression. In her original plan, Caleb suggested this solution, but she realized he needed to be nudged. “We could elope to Boston. Oh, Caleb, it’s all I thought about, riding here. We’d be together, and I won’t have to leave. Don’t you see?” Her voice rose in excited persuasion.
Caleb’s strong face clouded in astonishment. “Bristol, we can’t!”
Bewildered, Bristol stared up at him. “But... but you said you loved me!”
“I do! Enough to want the best possible future for us. Eloping won’t provide any future at all.” Caleb captured her hands and looked down into her wide eyes, anxious that she understand. “Bristol, how would we live? Have you considered that? I’m a farmer. Farming is what I know, all I want to do and all I’m suited for. If we wait a month, one month, I’ll have my own land... rich bottomland that will yield a living good enough for any man. If we run off now, we’ll leave our future behind us. Ma’s will stipulates I must be single to receive the inheritance. If we wait, we’ll have it all, everything we want.”
Bristol choked, her hands turning to ice. “But... but if we wait, I’ll be shipped to England! Away from home!”
Caleb gently stroked her hands. “If we elope to Boston, you’ll be away from home,” he pointed out softly. His anxious eyes searched her face.
“You don’t understand! At least in Boston we could be together.” She felt a surge of rising frustration. She felt like grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. “There’s more to life than farming!” Drawing a calming breath, Bristol detailed her plan, the plan she’d hoped Caleb would suggest. “So you see, all we have to do is wait in Boston! Papa can’t turn his back on us forever... he won’t! Then we’ll come home. The important thing is that we’ll be together, and we’ll be here in the Bay Colony. Not an ocean away!”
“The important thing, Bristol, is that I can’t earn a living in Boston. And I’ll—”
“I could be a serving wench and... and you could be a cobbler!”
“—and I’ll lose my inheritance.”
Unable to understand why each continued so obstinate, they glared into each other’s flushed faces. The fire snapped in a heavy silence.
Caleb dropped her hands, as if suddenly aware he held them, and he turned his face toward the flames, running a hand through his thick hair. His jaw knotted. “Bristol,” he said in a quiet, reasonable tone, “if we display only a little patience, we’ll have a good solid future. If we act hastily as you suggest, we have each other sooner, but we lose the land and a chance for your pa’s goodwill.” He frowned, thick eyebrows meeting. “You’re upset now, and not thinking clearly.”
Bristol’s teeth clenched, and she clasped her hands tightly, hiding a tremor beneath her long white apron. Walking angrily away from the fire, she paused at the cabin’s back wall to stare at Caleb’s silhouette and allow the cold to freshen her mind.
He vowed he loved her, but he refused to elope. She turned his reasons in her head. Aye, she understood his concern. But wills could be broken, unreasonable conditions set aside; remaining single to receive his inheritance was an unreasonable condition. Why would
n’t Caleb see this? Bristol’s breast rose in a deep sigh.
Very well. She’d hoped it wouldn’t be necessary to put the second part of her plan in force, but there seemed no alternative. Let him refuse her after this! Grimly Bristol untied her hood and cloak, folding them near the wall. She smoothed her gown over lush breasts, tugging it tight. Next she removed her dust cap and shook the brilliant curls loose around her shoulders.
For an instant she paused, staring at Caleb’s stiff back. This wasn’t remotely the romantic encounter she’d envisioned for her first experience with a man, but desperation drove people to desperate acts. And her future was at stake. If she was destined to perform with cool calculation instead of great ardor... well, then, so be it.
Pasting a smile on her lips, Bristol stepped forward and touched Caleb’s arm lightly. “I’m sorry, Caleb. You’re right... I am upset. So much has happened...” She let her voice trail, touching her back with a grimace and allowing her eyes to brim. Tears clinging to her lashes, Bristol lifted her face with a tremulous smile, turning slightly toward the flames, knowing the firelight would display her to best advantage.
Caleb stared. His blue eyes swept from her flowing mass of shining hair to the tears sparkling in her long lashes. And his gaze steadied on the brave smile wavering about her full mouth. His face dissolved.
“Poor Bristol. It has been hard on you, hasn’t it?” he whispered.
Stepping into his arms and pressing her face against his shoulder seemed a natural response. Caleb stroked her hair, sucking in his breath at the soft silkiness beneath his fingers.
Smiling into his shoulder, Bristol relaxed in Caleb’s embrace. She’d imagined this moment for so long. No matter that his warm arms circled her in a contrived arrangement; he was here and she was here, and he held her in his arms. Her heart soared; she believed she could spend the rest of her life with his arms holding her.
Salem's Daughter Page 5
