The Memory of Love

by Tammy Shuttlesworth

  A compassionate smile softened Captain’s face. “Sometimes we make choices that we think are best based on our circumstances at the time. Now and then, even though we regret them, we maintain those decisions because we think there is no way out, or because we are afraid to admit that we made a mistake.”

  “I do not follow you,” Sarah commented. “How does that apply to me?” Beneath the table, she began squeezing her hands together.

  “Pray take this in the spirit with which I give it,” Captain went on. “I am here to serve any who need it. I often speak with men who are being asked to do things they never imagined they would have to do. Many of them were raised without God. They are the most challenging to convince that if they ask Jesus into their hearts, He will heal their troubled souls. Not all accept that immediately. Sadly, some choose to ignore everything I say.”

  Sarah’s mind whirled at his words. “Are you telling me that if I go back to Jesus, all my troubles will disappear?”

  Captain’s voice was firm. “Trials and tribulations never disappear completely. But I do know that since you lost your husband, you seem to have chosen to live without tapping into God’s power. What I want you to think about is this, Sarah: How much more could you do if you had Him on your side again?”

  Chapter 13

  Ya got tha wrong place, mister, if yore lookin’ for dem Prayin’ Indians. Da Brits dragged ’em all off las’ fall.”

  Jeremiah studied the scraggly figure who said his name was Mash. He reeked of vinegar and a month without bathing. He also had a habit of picking his teeth while he talked, which jumbled his words.

  Jeremiah had ridden hard in order to arrive in the Muskingum Valley in just over a day and a half. He would ride just as hard on the return trip, but not before he discovered what he could about these mission settlements carved into the Ohio wilds.

  “Can you tell me anything about them, or their missionaries?”

  “Don’ know what ‘twould be.” A scowl formed along the edges of Mash’s unshaven lips.

  Jeremiah motioned toward the settlement. “I can tell this place was not always like this. It took some effort and time to build such log homes. It is too bad they have been allowed to deteriorate so much.”

  Standing at the entrance, Jeremiah could see more than forty cabins, their walls bonded with chinking. Their roofs sloped sharply toward the ground, a necessary slant that encouraged winter snow to slide off. A fence, woven around the bottom portion with dried grapevine, rambled down two sides of the mission behind the rows of homes, but portions of it were missing.

  “Don’t matter ta us. We’re deserters from da British army. Also got some Indians who claim ta be our allies. We didn’t have nowhere else ta go and dis was available.” Mash spit out the pieces of bark from a twig he’d been chewing. “I only been here a few weeks. Rode in, got ’vited to share some whiskey, and ain’t never left. Can’t tell ya nothin’ ’cause I don’t know nothin’.” Mash paused to wipe spittle from his beard. “Ain’t got nothin’ ta give, I ain’t.”

  “I will ride on, then,” Jeremiah said. “I appreciate your taking the time to speak with me.” He shivered as he realized how different Mash’s greeting would be if he discovered Jeremiah was on an official militia scouting trip.

  Someone shouted from down the pathway. “Mash! Get yore backside over here so ya can finish da cookin’.”

  Mash waved off the shout. “Ya best be ridin’ on if dat’s yore plan.”

  “That is my plan.” Jeremiah was glad he didn’t have to stay around these ruffians. They made his skin crawl. They didn’t do much for his appetite either. He turned his horse toward the tree line.

  Should he go farther? He knew there was another settlement downriver, one with a name Jeremiah could never remember how to pronounce. What would he prove by going there? Likely he’d find the same hopeless sort living among homes that were once filled with prayer and praise.

  Jeremiah clucked his tongue. His mount moved forward. Before horse and rider blended into the tree cover, Jeremiah took a last look back at the mission. He tried to see the settlement as it once must have been, tried to decide which of the homes might have been Sarah’s.

  “I am tired of talking about it, Bessie.”

  Sarah dropped the stack of plates onto the table, hoping their clatter would get her point across. She didn’t want to hear about Jeremiah, or the past, or her future.

  “You cannot quit because you are tired,” Bessie pleaded. “Someday you will have to face what is ahead of you, Sarah. That means you are going to have to let go of the past.”

  Sarah glanced out a small window to see Captain showing Sammy how to push a pine branch at the snow to clear their walkway.

  “I have faced Levi’s death, Bessie. Why do you think I brought Sammy here? I want to make life better for him.”

  “I will grant you that. You have done everything you can to make his life easier. But I have one final thing to say.”

  “Then please do so. I need to get to work mending Sammy’s britches.”

  “If you faced Levi’s death, Sarah, then you should now think about your own.” Bessie settled her arms across her still-pudgy middle.

  Sarah’s eyes widened. “My own? Why, that is the most ridiculous notion I have ever heard. I do not plan on dying for years.”

  “None of us do, Sarah,” Bessie rejoined. “Sometimes it happens earlier than we expect. Levi is a good example of that. You read to me the other night from Hebrews chapter nine. Remember? You read that it is appointed unto men to die once then to face the judgment. We both know that God numbers the hairs on our heads; we just do not know when it will be our turn. That is why you have to be ready to explain to God why you turned from Him and insisted on running things on your own.”

  Sarah thought about Bessie’s comments. “You are right, Bessie. A few years ago, when I trusted God, I was happier. Then disaster struck, taking with it my faith—in God and humankind. I long to be the open and caring person of yesteryear, but I am not sure how to go about it.”

  “Happiness takes effort, Sarah. So does living when you think there is no reason to go on. God gives us heartaches to make us stronger. If we never weep, how can we know what true love really is?”

  Sarah tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “God gave His only Son as a measure of how much He loved the world He created, as a sign of His trust that humans would make the right choices in their own lives.”

  Bessie’s eyes glimmered with tears much like Sarah’s. “Yes, Sarah. He did.”

  Sarah began to pray daily for Jeremiah’s safety. She was not sure that she would ever tell him what she had done eight years ago, or if he would listen if she tried. But she wanted to do so, for Sarah now knew that she wanted more from Jeremiah Stewart than friendship.

  Jeremiah frowned as his rap on the door went unanswered. Since thoughts of Sarah had filled his mind on his most recent trip, he was determined to discover why. Journeys through Indian land were dangerous enough without thoughts of a woman clouding his thinking. Once and for all Jeremiah planned to settle the pull Sarah had on him and get her out of his mind.

  Gemma Winslow, with all her faults, might not be such a bad choice. At least he didn’t spend his free time thinking about Gemma, which allowed him to accomplish what he could for the militia.

  “Why, Jeremiah. You are the last person I expected to see. Come in.”

  He last had seen Sarah leaving the supper before Shade finished speaking. She did not act now as if she were trying to hide anything from him.

  Jeremiah knew he must deal with that issue eventually, but for now he spoke as candidly as he could. “I came because there is something I have to get straight.”

  “I figured as much.” Sarah waved him in, her eyes betraying an uneasiness at his presence.

  “Is Bessie here?”

  “She had a touch of stomach trouble yesterday, but I think she might be well enough to get up. Let me get her.”

 
; “No. I came to speak with you on official business. Can we sit down?”

  He heard Sarah inhale sharply, but she followed him to the eating room.

  Sarah spent some time arranging her skirt folds after she took her seat. “Go on and have your say,” she finally said without looking at him.

  Jeremiah draped his hat over the top prong of the chair. “I am not good at easing into things carefully, so I want you to know that anything I say is not designed as an attack on you.”

  He laid his hands palms down on the table, staring at a scar on the bridge of his knuckles. He had received the wound when he pummeled a tree shortly after learning about Jenny’s death.

  “You are not making much sense, Jeremiah.”

  “Nothing makes sense anymore, Sarah. I pray daily, begging God to provide the answers I need to do what is best. You once ordered me to forget about the little people. I did not even try, because I know I cannot do that. I might not like my position in the militia, but the little people are young boys like your Samuel, and like my niece Elizabeth. They are the families, friends, and people I see daily, even you. They are also our enemies, many of whom have no more choice in what is going on than we do. Sometimes it seems things are more confused than they ought to be.”

  “I thought you said you came here to discuss business.”

  Jeremiah sighed. “When I first took this job, I worried about learning everything I had to do.”

  “So?”

  “I have prayed more in the last year than I have ever done in my life,” he admitted.

  “You must be lacking sleep, for you are talking in circles.” Sarah’s glance flitted past Jeremiah’s and ended up on the woodpile.

  “No, Sarah. It is not from lack of sleep. It is more likely because, when I think of you or look at you, words seem to flee my mind. Speaking sensibly becomes one of the hardest things I have ever had to do.”

  Sarah shifted position. “I do not think that is why you are really here. Is it, Mr. Stewart?”

  Jeremiah drummed his fingertips against the tabletop. The fact that she had not used his given name hurt, but he ignored it. “You are right. You once told me you traveled with a missionary after the orphanage you lived in was destroyed.”

  Sarah raised her chin to look him squarely in the eye. “That is true.”

  “I am making an assumption here that may be incorrect, but did you happen to settle in the eastern part of Ohio?”

  Only the continual drumming of his fingers on the table broke the silence. Jeremiah watched as fear flickered in Sarah’s eyes.

  “There is nothing I know of that says a person cannot move around wherever they wish, is there?”

  “No, but I need to hear what you know about it.”

  “The mission?”

  Jeremiah didn’t know exactly what he was looking for. He’d seen the settlement with his own eyes. “Where it is. How many lived there. What kind of land surrounds it. Tell me anything you can think of.”

  Sarah jumped up and tramped around the small room.

  Jeremiah cleared his throat. “Several months ago, when I served as a courier, I met most of the Indians that David Zeisberger had living with him in those mission settlements.”

  Sarah glared at him. Jeremiah would have preferred not to continue, but something he didn’t understand forced him to go on.

  “On this latest trip I stopped by Fort Pitt on my way home,” he said.

  Sarah pulled at her earlobe. “So?”

  “The commander granted me access to the fort’s journals. Those chronicles contained some of Zeisberger’s actual missives to those who ran Fort Pitt throughout the last ten years or so.”

  Sarah’s facial expression gave away nothing. “And?”

  “In a letter eight years ago, Zeisberger mentioned that one of the young women he allowed to live at the mission disappeared … with a young man … Levi Lyons.” Jeremiah tried not to sound harsh, but the accusation poured out of him.

  Sarah paled. “Are you pestering me so that I will confess?”

  Jeremiah fought for self-control. “I want to know about the mission. That is all.”

  Sarah studied Jeremiah. His long hair was uncombed, his lips pinched, and she thought he’d lost weight since she’d last seen him. “You want information from me to help you fight your battles with the Indians. Check your muster rolls, Mr. Stewart. I am not one of your soldiers.”

  Jeremiah threw his hands up in the air. “You have to tell me, Sarah. Why can you not see that?”

  “Because I see a greedy man who wants me to help him kill Indians.”

  “I do not want the information for that reason.”

  “Oh? You know, Jeremiah, while you were gone I began to hope that you and I might someday become real friends.”

  Jeremiah took a step toward her. “I would like to discuss the friendship possibility later. This is official, remember?”

  “Right. I did not mean to detain you from your militia business.”

  “Sarah, I do not want to do it, but I have to tell you that the missionaries and inhabitants of those missions are charged with treason.”

  Sarah did not blink.

  “And that the British forced several Praying Indians north, away from their homes, their crops, and their freedom. All I am trying to do is find a way to keep them from being held accountable for something they probably have not done.”

  Sarah remained silent, but agitation flashed in her eyes.

  “I am a Christian, Sarah. I do not kill people on purpose. My parents taught me to love all mankind, not just those with the same color skin as mine.”

  The growing sparks in Sarah’s eyes were the only indication that she heard him.

  “Do you not see?” Jeremiah pushed on. “I chose to deliver messages because I refused to take an active part in killing people.”

  “You are not carrying letters back and forth any longer,” Sarah accused. “You are even more involved in the decisions to send men out after them. You might as well murder them with your own hands.”

  “You feel strongly about this because you knew people at that mission, and there are others in places near them that you knew, too.”

  “That is not … the reason!”

  “Then tell me why you keep refusing to cooperate,” Jeremiah demanded. “What is it that bothers you about Schoenbrunn, or that other place, Ja-nade-en?”

  “Ja-nad-den-hut-ten,” Sarah said, correcting his mispronunciation of the Christian settlement Gnadenhutten. “You would not understand.”

  “You do not know that. You are judging me without knowing what drives me,” Jeremiah stated. “You have not given me a chance since the very first time we met, have you? You are afraid of commitments, Sarah. That is what this boils down to.”

  “That is not true.”

  “You are too afraid that what we share now might grow into something significant, are you not?”

  Sarah dropped her gaze to the floor. Her heart twisted in the wrong direction, hurting much as it had when renegades had killed her husband. That couldn’t be. There was only one man she loved that much, and his name was not Jeremiah Stewart.

  “I do not have to know you to see what sort of man you are. I have met others like you.”

  “You have not been listening to me, Sarah. I keep trying to tell you that I am not like the other men you have known.”

  “Really? Then why are you, like everyone else, unable to understand that there are some things about my life that I do not wish to share? Keeping it hidden is much easier to deal with, so much less painful.”

  “That is fine with me. But at least tell me what type of man I am, Sarah Lyons. I want to hear it from you.”

  Sarah lifted her chin, meeting his gaze. “This is ridiculous. This is not business, as you professed it was to be when you arrived, nor is it getting us anywhere.”

  Jeremiah pretended not to understand the hurt in Sarah’s eyes. “We will not get anywhere until you let someone knock that frown
from your face and that pain out of your heart. I have been there, Sarah. I know what it feels like.”

  “You do not have any inkling of what happened to me, Jeremiah.”

  “I can tell that you lost something very precious.”

  “As if you would understand the agony in that,” Sarah said.

  “Yes, I w—”

  Jeremiah’s words were lost in Bessie’s worried interruption. “What is going on in here?” Bessie bumbled into the room, rubbing her eyes. “I heard voices.” She glanced back and forth between the two of them. “If this is private, I will leave.”

  “It is not private,” Jeremiah volunteered when Sarah said nothing.

  “No. It is not,” Sarah granted. “I was just telling your brother farewell.”

  Bessie slipped to Jeremiah’s side and gave him a sisterly hug. “Welcome back, Jer. Did you know you two were making enough noise to scare a herd of wild horses away?”

  Jeremiah and Sarah glowered at each other.

  Jeremiah jerked his head toward Sarah. “I came over because Sarah knows things about those missions that Zeisberger settled in the Muskingum Valley. She refuses to help.”

  “For a very good reason,” Sarah inserted.

  “Sarah, you have to put your own feelings aside for the moment,” Jeremiah cajoled. “You might know something that will help avoid a disaster. That alone should make a difference.”

  Sarah crossed her arms in front of her, not caring that it drew attention to her shaking shoulders. “I have not been there in years.”

  “That does not matter. Tell me what you know about the people who lived there. How strong was their faith? Why did they choose that area?”

  “Both of you can ask all that you want, but I will not divulge a thing.”

  “Jer?” Bessie stood beside her brother, though she appeared to want to be at both their sides. “Give Sarah some time. Knowing you, you sprang this on her and now you have her all worked up. I am sure that once Sarah mulls it over, she will realize that helping you is the right thing to do.”

  Sarah faced Bessie. “Do not tell me that you think I should assist him?”