It was no use. Williamson had turned to examine a map on the wall. There was only one thing left to do, a habit from as far back as Jeremiah could recall.
Lord, I know I forgot to thank You for bringing me back safely on this ride. Please accept my gratitude now. If it wasn’t for You, I wouldn’t accomplish the things I do. I know You’ve led me down some strange paths before … but, Lord? I don’t like the looks of this.
“Lieutenant Stewart!” The colonel’s smile was broader than the gate leading into Jeremiah’s family’s pasture, showing his obvious pleasure with Jeremiah’s promotion. “I like the sound of that title. How about you?”
“I do not think this is a good idea,” Jeremiah spoke candidly. “Major Whelp will not be happy.”
“I knew you would be … well, should we say less than enthusiastic?” Williamson consoled. “This is only temporary. One hundred eighty days. Come on, Jeremiah. You are one of the few people in this county who can read and write, and the men trust you.”
“But what about Major Whelp?” Jeremiah repeated. “No matter what I do, he does not like me.”
Williamson snorted. “Whelp could not find a tepee if someone placed his hands on either side of its entrance. He is second in command only because he finished behind me in the election.” He pointed to a map on the wall. “Pay close attention, Stewart. This is what you need to know to catch up on what has been going on around here.” The colonel began to point out different areas on the map.
Aren’t you even going to protest? a little voice in Jeremiah’s mind asked.
Jeremiah frowned. No one argued with Williamson and won. He doubted that even the Almighty could change the colonel’s mind once it was made up—the stubborn streak in the Williamson family was as long as the Ohio River.
It was late April. Six months would take him to December. Did the one hundred eighty days start today? Or tomorrow?
Chapter 2
I think this is the most beautiful country I have ever seen,” Bessie Hall said with a sigh.
Sarah Lyons turned to the woman she had traveled with for seventy miles. Bessie’s curly red hair tumbled about her face, but her sparkling green eyes reflected her delight.
Bessie is the closest thing to a friend I have, Sarah reminded herself. I must be pleasant.
“It is green for September,” Sarah agreed. “I am so glad the nights of having to stay alert are over.” Sarah stretched to work out the cramps in her lower back that had accumulated with the miles.
“We made it. That is the important thing,” Bessie said.
Despair swamped Sarah’s heart as she watched Bessie caress a wilted sprig of late-blooming posies that her husband had tucked at her bosom.
Levi will never bring me flowers again, Sarah thought. Yet she strove to sound unaffected. “I am still amazed your husband let you travel.”
“You know how strongly Captain believes in the power of prayer,” Bessie said. “He was convinced that we had to be here now.”
Sarah prayed occasionally, but it had been a long time since she’d believed God answered her prayers.
“He trusted God to bring us here safely,” Bessie continued, looking around. “We made it, Sarah. We really made it!”
“So we did,” Sarah replied with little excitement. No matter how important this move was for her son’s future, her feelings about it were as dismal as the mud-covered moccasins she stared at.
“And Samuel did not give you any of the trouble that you feared he would, Sarah. That is one fine boy you are raising. I hope my children turn out to be as mannerly as he. You must be proud of him.”
Sarah glanced at her four-year-old, Sammy, who was nestled in a corner of the wagon. His thumb hovered near the “O” of his mouth. Shafts of sunlight highlighted his auburn hair. Others called him Samuel, but to Sarah and Levi he was Sammy. Sarah hoped Sammy turned out to be a fine young man. She owed it to Levi to raise their son the best she could.
Bessie’s chatter drew Sarah’s attention. “I wish Captain would get back. I wonder why he did not want us going in the house with him.”
Sarah didn’t answer; she just glanced about them. They had stopped their wagon not far from some dilapidated structures. Sarah became nervous in places she wasn’t familiar with—she hoped Captain would return soon.
“I do so hope our home is ready,” Bessie went on. “I am glad the colonel found a circuit opening for Captain. He might be gone when the baby comes, but Williamson is going to pay us in food and supplies. Does that bother you, Sarah?”
Sarah’s jaw tightened. “You know I do not like it. Until I get my life settled I have no choice but to depend on others.”
“Doing so is not that bad, Sarah. David is a good man. So many others are, too, if you would only let them prove themselves.”
Sarah sighed. “I imagine so, Bessie. But right now I do not want commitments of any sort.”
“I think someday you will change your mind,” Bessie replied. “Oh! Did I tell you what Captain said about the militia? I cannot wait to see the men marching in their best and putting on a parade! Does that not sound exciting?”
“I did not come here to see men of any sort, those on display or otherwise,” Sarah reminded Bessie.
“Perhaps not,” Bessie announced. “But the people you meet here will welcome you. One day you will not hurt as much as you do now.” She patted Sarah’s forearm tenderly.
Sarah pulled away. She didn’t want a fuss made over her.
Just then Sammy awoke. “Mama?”
Sarah smiled at her son, grateful for his intrusion. She pulled Sammy onto her lap and straightened his shirt.
“About time you arose, sleepyhead,” she said, ruffling his hair. “Look! Over there is the river Captain promised we would see. And beyond those trees is where Bessie says our new home is.”
Sammy glanced briefly toward the woods before turning back to her. “Go see water?”
Sarah’s gaze flitted between sloppy tents and lazy horses. She must quit thinking that harm waited around every corner.
“If Bessie does not mind.” She gave Bessie a questioning look.
“Go on,” Bessie encouraged. “It will do you good.”
Sarah swung her son off the wagon, ignoring her tears. It was silly to think that Sammy would be eager to see his new home. He was too young to realize what they’d lost.
Sammy is the only one who makes me laugh, Sarah reminded herself. He depends on me to take care of him, to help him grow. Perhaps taking him to the river will help pass the time until Captain returns. And then …
Sarah shook the thoughts away. She was just anxious to find someplace warmer to sleep than on the ground beneath the wagon. The September air in the Ohio Valley could be slightly cool or downright cold at night. Lately it had been the latter.
“Will you join us, Bessie?” Sarah asked.
“I do not think so. I will just sit here and enjoy getting kicked by this young’un.” Bessie laid her hands on her rounded abdomen. “He will only be in here a few more months. Go on, Sarah. Samuel needs some pleasure in his life right now. So do you. Nothing will happen. Captain would not have left us here if it were dangerous.”
Bessie is right, Sarah advised herself. I haven’t been happy lately and it has affected Sammy. I came here with the Halls to make life better for us, so I might as well start doing so.
Sarah folded her hand over her son’s pudgy fingers and matched his small steps as they strolled toward the riverbank. Leaves rustled underfoot, the product of fall’s frosty hands. A few birds swooped overhead, filling the emptiness with tiny chirps. Sammy spied some twigs on the ground and giggled as he tossed them into the river.
While the distant clang of a blacksmith’s forge carried to them, a soggy mass of clouds drifted overhead. The resultant shadows filled Sarah’s heart with remembrance.
It might not be a harbor in the wilderness, but I miss our home, she thought.
“Twees sleeping, Mama.” Sammy pointed out
a barge headed downriver.
“They do look like it,” she agreed. “They are taking the trees to people so that they may build houses,” Sarah informed him.
Sammy jabbered some more while Sarah turned her mind back to her situation. She hadn’t understood how difficult it would be to leave the area that had been her home for seven years.
She missed the land she and Levi had built a three-room home on. There were so many pretty sights—trees welcoming spring with new buds, deer coming to the natural salt lick in the valley. The trees and the deer were still there, but not their home. Sarah pushed the thought away. Lighten your heart, she scolded herself, for Sammy’s sake.
“Listen, Sammy. I hear Bessie calling. Hurry now!”
Sarah chased Sammy back to the wagon, flapping her apron at him. She smiled at his squeals of joy, but as she climbed aboard behind her son, disappointment was in her eyes. Perhaps when they got settled she and Sammy would walk here. It seemed like a place of hope, of peace. Something Sarah sorely needed.
“These must be read immediately, sir. Then you need to write out the requisitions for supplies. Then there is the complaint that must be handled. Now, let me think. Oh, yes. If you have any questions, the colonel said he would be back in two days. There, I think that is it.”
Jeremiah stared at the stack of papers the clerk had thrust at him. “I guess that settles what I will be doing for the rest of the evening.”
“Did you have other plans, sir?”
“Of course not. And please stop calling me sir. Save that for the real boss around here.”
The clerk grinned. “Sure thing, Lieutenant Stewart.”
As they passed houses strung between trees like fallen pinecones, a variety of sights and sounds assailed Sarah. Men shouted, axes splintered firewood, venison grilled over open pits, and children rushed around. Sarah was annoyed, not at the sight of the children, but because she wasn’t sure that trying to find a new life for Sammy and her was the right thing to do.
Perhaps I should have listened to my heart and kept Sammy among familiar surroundings.
And where was that? a voice in her mind taunted. All alone in the wilderness in a burned-out shell of a home with a young child and no man to protect you?
But at least it was ours, Sarah argued back. Now, except for Sammy, I have nothing—no home, no husband, no life.
“There’s always the Lord, Sarah. You can depend on Him.”
It wasn’t the taunting tone of her sadness talking; it was her husband’s voice drifting to her from within the tangled mist of remembrance. Levi never stopped believing that God would take care of them, even though Sarah’s faith wavered as often as the sun rose and set.
“Keep Sammy safe, Sarah,” Levi implored her just before he closed his eyes for the last time. “Promise you will take him to meet my parents and your sister. Promise me….” Levi’s words faded into the nothingness that had taken him away from her forever.
I promise, Levi, Sarah thought, renewing her pledge. She swiped at the tear trickling down her cheek. So many wrong moves, so many chances gone bad. If only …
Sarah turned the ache away. She couldn’t think about where loving Levi had left her; it was too hard to accept, harder still to forget. And despite Bessie and Captain’s best efforts, Sarah found that pain doesn’t fade easily. Sometimes, no matter how often Sammy smiled at her, she wasn’t sure it ever would.
Chapter 3
Sarah shaded her eyes from the piercing sun so she could gaze at the shanties huddled together. A man blowing into a horn made quite a racket. She supposed it was all part of their militia practice.
The tang of sizzling bacon filled the air. Sarah’s stomach growled, for she hadn’t eaten much of a morning meal. However, thoughts of food did nothing to solve her dilemma. Now, which building had Bessie said was the trading post?
Scrunching her eyes shut to help her recall didn’t help. She’d been in such a tizzy, with Sammy pulling at her apron while Bessie reeled off instructions, that she had failed to listen properly. At least the trail through the trees was well marked. The trading post was another matter.
Sarah stared at the building beside the one they stopped at the other day. A blue jay perched on the roof tilted his head and squawked an obnoxious welcome. Could that horrendous building be the trading post?
She took another look around. It might be safer if she went to the building she recognized as Williamson’s home. She could ask there for directions.
Sarah tossed a frightful glance toward the trees. Captain and Bessie’s residence was at the far end of that stretch. She longed to hurry back to them, afraid the cost of independence was more than she was willing to pay.
She braced herself. No, I cannot let Sammy grow up on others’ benevolence. That is what I must keep in mind.
An ear-splitting whistle penetrated Sarah’s awareness. More militia practice, no doubt. Did they think that noise would deter the warriors? Sarah could tell them from firsthand experience that that wouldn’t work.
She took a deep breath. I am here to find work, to turn my life around, to help Sammy. I have to reach these goals, no matter what I run up against.
The man who peered at Sarah over the top of heavy spectacles seemed close to her own age of twenty-five. A sparse beard sprouted from his boyish cheeks, and freckles blotched his otherwise pale skin.
Sarah summoned a friendly smile. “Good day, sir. I just arrived and am looking for a list of work folks around here may need help with.”
The young man’s glance took in the worn hem of her gray full-length dress before he gazed back at her. “Jeremiah said you-all was coming. Have a hard time on the trail?”
“I do not know any Jeremiah,” Sarah replied. “But to answer your question, we did not run into any heathens.”
“That does make the journey more tolerable. Oh my! If my mama were here she would hang her head, ’cause I overlooked my manners. Rufus Putter, ma’am. Everyone calls me Rufe, or Putt.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Putter. Now about that list … where can I find one?”
“I hate to disappoint a fine-looking lady like you, but I cannot help you.”
Sarah refused to give in to the urge to just plop down in the dust and cry. Other than sponging off the Halls, she had nowhere to go. She mustered her courage, knowing this was something that must be done in order to build a new life.
“I am fairly well trained in teaching and housekeeping,” she offered.
“Most folks ’round here do not believe in schooling. As for housekeeping, none have enough to pay someone—”
“Rufe?”
The voice that intruded into their conversation was so commanding, Sarah’s gaze snapped to the other side of the room. The soldier walking toward them nodded briefly at Sarah.
“Sorry for interrupting, miss,” the newcomer said, “but militia business comes first.” He turned back to the clerk. “I cannot find that last message from Major Whelp. Do you have any idea where it might be?”
The men debated the issue while Sarah tried not to listen. She told herself it didn’t matter, but the boldness in the newcomer’s voice would fill one of the Allegheny valleys she’d recently traveled through.
As the clerk and the new arrival walked toward the rear of the room, Sarah followed, studying the room with a wary eye. A crooked table held a few books and an inkwell and quill. The few pieces of furniture appeared to be on the verge of collapse.
Sarah returned her gaze to the soldier with the vibrant voice. He was tall and apparently in charge. Then he was the person she should talk to about work.
“Go look,” the soldier directed the clerk. With Rufe gone, he leaned against a table, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and gazed at Sarah.
Sarah knew what he saw. Her hem was muddied and torn, her hair tangled from a run-in with a low-hanging branch, and her shoes almost worn through the sides. Though he stared at her, Sarah didn’t think he meant to be rude. He seeme
d to be focusing on her eyes. They gazed at each other until the clerk cleared his throat.
“Sir?” Rufe prodded.
“What?” the soldier snapped. “Is this a lassie of yours and you need to finish making plans to meet with her later?”
The idea that she could be anyone’s lassie made Sarah want to giggle. She took a good look at the soldier again. His hair was beyond midnight and full of soft curls that whirled over his brow. She had a sudden urge to push them back away from his eyes, much as she might her son’s tousled mop.
“I am not his lassie,” she said, finding it difficult to quit looking at him.
If his hair was beyond midnight, his eyes reminded Sarah of a morning mist, with a smidgen of mischief in their depths.
He looked between her and Rufe and chuckled. “You do not know what a relief it is to hear that, miss. If you were, it would not say much for your character. But seeing that you deny knowing this scalawag we call Rufe, you must be a good sort.”
Sarah sensed that the soldier was joking. Still, his praise warmed her from head to toe, and she drew in a deep breath to stay focused.
“Since you appear to be in charge, perhaps you can help me,” she said. “You see, I just arrived with the Halls, and Bessie … er, Mrs. Hall, sent me to the trading post to see if anyone might have need of help. I am very adept with children. I can also teach, if there is need.”
“Did you memorize that or just make it up on the spur of the moment?” he teased, slanting the clerk an amused glance.
“I assure you I am well qualified in these areas,” Sarah replied briskly.
He held up his hands in surrender. “I do not doubt that. I am surprised to see you here, that is all.”
Sarah frowned. “You make it sound as if few women ever come here.”
“From what you said earlier, it sounds as if you are in search of the trading post,” he said. “This is David Williamson’s home—or, rather, this end is his office. We mostly see volunteers for the militia in here. Have you come to volunteer?” The twinkle in his eyes accented his grin.
The Memory of Love Page 17
