Loven’s wife and Patience descended the ladder, followed by the younger children. “We’re all well,” Loven’s wife said.
The two boys spilled out of the back room. Half the children aimed for Truth and her uncle, but Thomas, Thankful, and Mercy all surrounded Micah. “Will!” Mercy exclaimed and launched herself at him.
He caught the girl in a quick hug. The other two hung back a little, eyeing him uncertainly. Thomas lifted his chin. “It’s Micah now, Truth said.”
He let out a rueful laugh. “Will is part of my middle name.”
Thankful still glared. “Why did you leave without sayin’ farewell?”
“Are you back to stay?” Mercy chimed.
He shook his head. “I only came to warn the settlement about the Indian attack.”
Amid the girl’s expression of disappointment, Truth’s uncle, who’d apparently been listening to the exchange, looked pointedly at Micah and cleared his throat. “I’m following the chase up the mountain. You coming? We could use another rifle.”
Micah checked his gear and reached for his hat. Truth made to come as well, but Anthony Bledsoe shook his head. “You stay here with the young’uns. Just in case.”
Her shoulders dropped like a chastened child’s, but Micah thought she didn’t look as disappointed as she might.
The night had been harder on her than she wished to let on, he guessed.
As her uncle slipped outside, Micah stopped and caught Truth by the elbow. “I’ll be back later.”
Her lips thinned, but she gave a quick nod then glanced away. Throwing herself into his embrace as she had her uncle’s would have been more encouraging, but—there was no helping it for the moment.
Out into the clear cold, he followed, running after the war cries echoing down from the mountainside timber above.
They gave chase, some on horseback and some on foot, until dawn began to lighten the skies. At last the other men agreed that the Cherokee were long gone and it was safe to return to their homes. Some stayed out to keep watch, and Micah accompanied the rest down to the valley’s edge.
Not far from Truth’s farm, they stopped, gathering in a rough circle. Loven had already told the others of Micah’s part in sounding the alarm. Thanks and handshakes were offered from all around, while Loven smirked knowingly from a short distance. Some of them, like Loven, Micah recalled by face from those long days as a prisoner after the battle. Being back in their company, greeted as an equal at the edge of deep forest where his arms couldn’t but half span the biggest trees and where just hours earlier the war whoops of Indian and white man had echoed—it was eerily like King’s Mountain, yet unlike.
When the other men had said their farewells and gone, Loven Bledsoe lingered behind. Anthony had gone with those riding patrol for the day. “Since I need to go collect Milly and the boys,” Loven said, “I’ll walk with you down to Jacob’s place.”
Truth’s father’s name. Micah hesitated for a moment, but Loven beckoned to him and set off. The man’s long, braided hair swung on his back as he walked.
Micah trotted to catch up.
“No use pretending that ain’t where you’re headed next.” Loven glanced over. The look in his pale eyes was so reminiscent of Truth, it made Micah’s throat ache. “Wonder how many of those young bucks will be after your hide when they find out you aim to marry her.”
Micah wondered that himself, but he wouldn’t say so to her uncle. “If she’ll have me.”
Loven snorted. “She’s gone terrible soft where you’re concerned, make no mistake about it.” He stopped and swung toward Micah, studying him with a frown. “Why did the young’uns call you Will?”
“It’s what I went by when Truth first found me. My middle name. Didn’t want anyone to know who I was, where I’d come from.”
“And you are… ?”
“Micah Elliot. Lieutenant in the militia, Burke County, North Carolina.”
Loven’s expression remained still. “And you think you can make a life here over the mountains?”
Micah lifted one hand, palm upward, then let it fall. “There’s a girl down there what makes me want to try.”
Another long look. Loven blew out a breath. “If you ever hurt Truth—”
He straightened and met Loven’s eyes with a stern gaze of his own. “I’d never intentionally hurt her. Never.”
The ghost of a smile crossed the other man’s mouth. “Well. See to it then.”
And he set off walking once more.
Chapter 11
Truth ignored the quivering in her limbs as she and Milly led the young’uns, after daylight, in all the ordinary things that needed doing after such a night—fetching water and wood, tending spooked livestock, mending the broken shutter, emptying chamber pots. The attack had been over hours ago, and now all that was left was the weariness and the need to keep moving lest she fall asleep on the spot.
One of the young’uns gave a cry, and she turned to see Loven striding across the yard. Milly ran to meet him, she and their boys, and not until they closed about him did Truth notice who followed after.
Micah.
He tipped his head, watching her from beneath the brim of his hat, not smiling but walking with purpose. Toward her.
For some odd reason, she could not move. Last night, she’d found herself weakening toward him again, but today, in daylight, things seemed more difficult. He slowed as he neared her, as if he felt it as well.
“We saved you some breakfast,” Milly said, addressing Loven but turning to include Micah.
“You’re welcome to stay and eat,” Truth murmured, her gaze never leaving Micah’s.
He half smiled and dipped his head toward Milly then removed his hat. “If it’d be no trouble.”
But when Loven and Milly and the young’uns all continued toward the house, he didn’t follow.
Truth’s chest felt strangely tight as Micah studied her, long-lashed dark eyes narrowing, one hand raking back his hair. All at once, she remembered her manners. “I thank you for what you did last night.”
The lashes fell, and he shook his head, mouth curving slightly. “It’s I what should thank you, for giving me back my life.”
Sensible thought fled. She’d only done what she felt compelled to by Christian charity.
She’d not admit it had become far more than that.
Head tilted, he looked at her again. “Truth Bledsoe, I have something I need to say to you, so hear me out. Recall when I told you I wouldn’t decide about returning home until I found something worth laying my life down for?”
The intentness of his gaze begged a reply, and she gave a quick nod.
“Well, I’ve found it. It’s you, sweet Truth. I’d gladly spend the rest of my life as I did last night—standing beside you, defending you. That is, if ”—he went shy and shifted from one foot to another, cradling Papa’s rifle in his arms—“if you’d be willing.”
His gaze became direct again. “You need the help, you and the girls and Thomas. But I’ll not make a pest of myself or demand an answer before you’re ready to give it. You take your time, and when you’ve decided, you know where to find me.”
The fine morning blurred before her eyes, and she could not speak for the thickness of her throat. Blast him, what was this he did to her?
If it pains you that I’m here and your papa isn’t. . .
She blinked, swallowed, tried to speak.
He smiled a little then held out the rifle. “It’s a fine piece,” he said softly, and once her hands closed about it, he took off the shot pouch and powder horn and handed those to her as well. “My thanks for the use of them.”
She fumbled with the straps, but he curled her fingers around them. He hesitated then leaned in, lips pressing to hers and lingering for but a moment.
He smelled like the wild forest.
In the next moment, he backed away. “It was a long night. Rest soon.”
And then he was gone.
Could she walk
back into the cabin and pretend nothing was amiss? Her feet carried her there, regardless. Inside, she sank onto a stool as Milly and Loven stared at her.
“Well,” Loven said. “That didn’t end as I expected.”
“Isn’t he staying for breakfast?” Milly asked.
“No,” Truth said.
“What happened?”
Truth blinked. Her sister-in-law’s gentle but probing tone brooked nothing short of a reply. “He asked me—” What exactly had he asked, anyway? Of a certain, something far more than Let me sleep in your barn and fix your fences. He’d said the words “for the rest of my life.”
“He asked me to marry him,” she said and buried her face in her hands.
It felt like the whole cabin stopped to hear what she’d said.
“Oh, Truth,” Milly said.
“And—do you want to?” Loven asked.
She made herself breathe—in and out—then pressed her hands to her knees and looked at them. Patience stood on the other side of the table as well, poised to listen.
“How can I marry him and not be untrue to Papa?”
The silence was broken only by the laughter outside of the young’uns at play.
Loven’s gaze was steady. “Your papa would want you to do whatever is best for you and the young’uns.”
“And that would be—?”
He let out a long breath. “It’s my thought that what took place at King’s Mountain is best left there.”
Something Micah had said pricked in her memory. “And what of—what took place after.”
Was it her imagination, or did Loven flinch just a little? He swallowed. “That, too. Our rage was slow to die, Truth girl. But Ferguson threatened our homes and families, and the threat of the Cherokee has been hard enough without the Crown trying to bully us directly. Micah understands that now. Think of what he risked to come down here last night to warn us.”
What he had risked—to defend her. The words wrapped her about.
But Papa… Papa would have tanned her hide if he’d thought she’d gone soft over a Tory.
“I just don’t know.” She rose and turned toward the back room. “I’m tired. Patience, wake me up long about noon, will you?”
Days later, she still didn’t know.
It was Christmas Eve. A sudden snow kept them from going anywhere, so Truth had sat the young’uns down for the traditional reading from Scripture. As she turned to the familiar passage about a cold night and a passel of frightened shepherds visited by angels, the pages kept falling open to other places, and the odd sentence would leap to her attention. “But love ye your enemies, and do good, hoping for nothing again… Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father also is merciful.”
“If your enemy hungers.”
Her hands stilled on the pages. She’d given of what she had, not expecting a reward—and God had been merciful in sparing their lives.
God sent you… .
What if He truly had sent Micah to be more to her?
She pressed ahead to the Christmas passage. “Fear not: for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy…On earth peace, good will to men.”
And farther down, “Mine eyes have seen thy salvation.”
Hours after, she could not sleep. The cabin was quiet, but as her habit in the nights since the attack, she couldn’t seem to settle. She lay in her bed and listened to the howling wind and wondered for the hundredth time where Micah was. Closing her eyes, she let herself think about his mouth on hers, the warmth of his breath on her cheek, those dark eyes, and his dimpled grin. The kiss in the barn—again. The feel of his arms around her for that moment, lean and strong, and his shoulder beneath her cheek.
She rose from her bed, wrapped a blanket around herself, and pushed her feet into worn fur-lined moccasins, then paced the main room as soundlessly as she could.
Salvation through the hand of a Tory. Was that so difficult to believe? For some, perhaps. She knew, and others as well—she’d heard Loven and Milly speaking of it—that it was salvation from the hand of God. Not only on that night so recently passed, but—for the span of their lives—through that Child born so long ago.
“Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.”
She dropped onto a chair, weeping.
Lord in heaven, can I forgive? And if I do not, how can I, in turn, merit Your great grace?
She did not merit it, then or now. Else it was not grace.
Chapter 12
Truth peeked out through the shutter as the sky held the colors of a newborn day. The overnight snowstorm left everything covered in glittering white. Each tree branch and twig bore its own delicate coating, reminding her of lace or sugar glaze.
She’d finally returned to bed and, lulled at last by the relative safety of snow and wind, slept until just about dawn, when she awoke with a fresh sense of purpose and a strange, sharp joy.
Patience tiptoed up to peer out as well. Truth opened her blanket, offering to share the warmth. The younger girl nestled against her side, and Truth tugged the blanket around them both.
“It’s beautiful,” Patience breathed.
“It is that. Merry Christmas, little sister.”
Patience giggled. “Merry Christmas.”
Thomas popped up on their other side. “Shall I fetch the ham now?”
He was getting near as tall as her, she noted. “Hmm, in a bit. First, I want you to run over and let Uncle Loven know that we won’t be coming to church or dinner today.”
Both Patience and Thomas stared at her, but she only smiled. “Shoo now. I have other plans brewing, but don’t tell them that.”
Thomas dashed off to finish dressing. With a regretful sigh, Truth closed the shutter and set Patience to build a fire. They’d not be here long, but the front room was ice cold.
In the lean-to, which she’d been making her own after the news of Papa’s death, she lingered over the decision of what to wear. The odd desire to look her best warred with the need for practicality—but she’d be climbing the mountain today after all. Over her shift, she tied on a set of jumps rather than the boned stays. Over that, her pocket and two layers of petticoats, a quilted calico first, then the faded indigo she usually wore. Her red-and-blue-flowered short gown went next—it had been one of Mama’s—and the knitted elbow-length mitts she was never without during the colder months. And under, of course, went stockings and leggings and moccasins.
Her cap, however—she tucked that into her pocket, after brushing and braiding her hair. She would not be tramping up the mountain in a mere hood and cape if she could help it.
Out in the main room, she gathered what they’d need—the frame for the iron spit, half a dozen small pumpkins for roasting, sugar and spices folded carefully into a clean cloth, the dried berry pie she’d baked the day before similarly wrapped. Their great Bible in its own carrying pouch. All of it, settled carefully into haversacks and blanket bundles for carrying.
Thomas returned, and she sent him to the smokehouse for the ham she’d selected the day before. Milly and Loven would be missing it, but they had meat put up as well—and this was too important.
Making sure everyone else was dressed for the trek up the mountain, Truth put on her hunting coat and strapped both hers and Papa’s shot pouches and powder horns across her body. Lastly, she returned to the back room for the bundle she’d prepared the night before. Once that was slung in place, she put on her hat, took both her rifle and Papa’s in hand, and led off into the snowy morning.
“Where are we going?” Mercy asked.
“I bet it has something to do with Micah,” Thomas said.
“Silly, we’re taking Christmas to him,” Patience said.
Truth smiled a little. Her sister was as sharp as any.
“Are you going to marry him, Truth?” Thankful asked.
“We saw him kiss you,” Thomas said.
“How could you not?” Truth muttered, but she smiled wider.
Mi
cah, unashamed, kissing her in the front yard for God and everyone to see.
“Are you going to marry him?” Patience asked.
She laughed. “I just might.”
Thomas and the younger girls broke out into whoops and huzzahs.
“Wait,” Mercy said. “Is he still a Tory?”
Truth laughed until she was breathless—which wasn’t long, considering they’d hit a steep portion of the trail.
Micah had always loved snow. On this morning, he stepped out of the cave and was struck breathless by the clear glory surrounding him.
As pure as the first Christmas morning, he was sure.
Filling his lungs with the crisp, clean-washed mountain air, he scanned the forest. Did he risk leaving tracks for a quick run to the lookout at the summit?
Aye, how could he not?
The chill air burned his nostrils and invigorated him as he raced up the now-familiar track. Glimpses of the snow-covered distance flashed between the trees, white and shadow stark in the dawn, but he pressed on until he came to the familiar tumble of boulders.
At the top, he feasted his eyes. First toward the east, and away southward in the misty distance, past the rippled mountaintops, the land that had birthed and bred him. He thought of his parents, gone these many years, and of the bitter struggle between John and Zacharias during the early part of the war, before Zach had gone to join the Continentals. His sisters, busying themselves in their growing families and only speaking of Zach in whispers afterward.
His own idealistic fervor until the awfulness that was King’s Mountain.
The world did not hold enough treasure to tempt him to trade places with the rebels, not with the way their officers had left the fallen prisoners to be trampled to death on the march by day and then vented their fury upon them by night. But after watching the settlements scratching for survival here on the frontier, and furthermore, living it as he’d sought to help Truth, his heart had changed. He was no stranger to hardship, being backcountry folk himself, but their raw determination amazed him.
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