Finally she and Seth went to their quarters; Adam expected Wells to go, but he did not, for he and Molly were sitting together on the bench, laughing at one of the poems. Time ran on, and Adam grew more irritable until finally he stood up and said, “Well, it’s late. We’d all best get to bed.”
Robert jumped to his feet, his face red with embarrassment. “Oh, I—I’d forgotten the time! Sorry, Mr. Winslow!”
Molly walked with him to the door, handing him his heavy coat, and saying, “It’s been a wonderful evening, Robert. I hope you’ll come again.”
Wells gave a quick glance at Adam, who was shifting impatiently, and muttered, “Why—I’d like to! I’ll be more careful of the time in the future, Mr. Winslow.”
He left and Adam went over and latched the door. “I thought he’d never leave! Why can’t he talk business with Seth at a decent hour?”
Molly wheeled to face him, her face rigid with anger. There was a tremble in her voice as she said, “He didn’t come to see Seth—he came to see me!”
Adam stared at her stupidly. “You?”
“Yes, Mr. Winslow—me!” She was on the verge of tears, but her eyes were flashing as she stood facing him. “Is it completely incredible to you that a young man would want to come to see me?”
Adam stared at her, but he was still uncertain of what she was saying. “Wells was here to see you? You mean calling on you?”
“Yes!”
Adam’s anger flared out. “Well, he can’t do it!”
“Why not?”
“You’re too young, that’s why not!”
“I’m as old as Mary Edwards!”
He floundered, trying to find an answer and, knowing he was making a fool out of himself, finally blurted out, “Well—I’m the master here, and I tell you he can’t come hanging around you any more!”
“That’s it! You’re afraid of losing your bound girl! You’re afraid Robert will pay off my indenture and you won’t have a slave anymore!”
He grabbed her by the shoulders and shouted, “That’s a lie, Molly Burns!”
His grip was so strong she winced, but she looked straight into his eyes. “You’re hurting me—why don’t you go ahead and beat me, Mr. Winslow? That’s what people do with bound girls!”
He dropped his hands as if they had been burned, and for a long moment the air was charged with the violence of the scene that had exploded without warning. Then he said with an effort, “Molly, I never think of you like that—never!” Then, perhaps because he knew himself to have been unkind, he could say no more. Wheeling quickly, he left the room, leaving her standing there in the silence; as soon as he was gone, she gave a small cry, then collapsed at the table, her face in her hands, weeping as if her heart would break, crying, “Adam! Oh—Adam!”
The next day he was gone when she got up, and for three days she watched the road to no avail. She asked Seth, and his only reply was, “He took his gun and went on a hunt. May be a good thing for him, too.”
When he did return, he came to her at once and said, “Molly, I’m sorry about Wells. See him as much as you want.”
He stayed late at the forge every night for a week, and as she listened to the clanging of his hammer all day long, she felt cut off, but did not know how to mend the situation.
On Saturday morning, Adam and Seth were standing in front of the house when a messenger came riding up on a lathered horse. “That’s Henry Caldwell,” Adam said to Seth. “He works for my cousin in Boston.”
“Must be bad news to wear a horse out like that,” Seth said dolefully.
Adam felt the same, and said quickly, “What’s wrong, Henry?”
“Your father’s taken bad, Mr. Adam. You’d best come at once.”
Adam stared at him, then said, “You rest your horse, Henry. I’ll leave at once.” Then he called out, “Seth, saddle the bay for me!”
He ran into the house and met Molly, who asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Father—he’s dying, I think!”
“Oh, Adam!” She put her hand on his arm, and her lips trembled as she said, “Let me go with you!”
“No, it’ll be too hard.”
“I won’t complain,” she said quickly. “Please, Adam!” He stared at her, then smiled briefly. “All right; we’ll have to take the buggy. Get your things!”
She scurried off and fifteen minutes later Adam sent the team off at a hard gallop. “Me and Beth, we’ll be praying for you!” Seth called out.
The horses played out halfway there, and Adam changed teams at a smalltown blacksmith shop. “Keep them ’til I get back with yours, but I don’t know when that’ll be,” he told the owner.
They pulled into Boston a little after midnight, and Adam drove straight to the house, which was lit up. Several buggies were tied at the post, and Adam hurried up the steps.
He was met by Rachel, who looked almost dead herself. “You made good time, Adam,” she said as she put her arms out. Adam held her close. She was nothing but skin and bones, but she clung to his neck with a fierce grip. She finally released him and reached out to embrace the girl. “Molly, I’m so glad you came! Miles has spoken of you so often these last days!”
“How is he, Rachel?” Adam asked.
She stared at him, her dark eyes sunk deep in the sockets. “I think he’s only holding on by a thread, Adam.” She smiled as she added, “He always was a stubborn man, you know, and he told me yesterday, ‘I won’t go ’til I see my son—you can bet on it!’ ”
Charles came out of the parlor with his mother behind him, and said tersely, “Better go in, Adam. He could go any time—and he wants to see you.”
Adam nodded but did not fail to notice the bitter look he received from Martha. He started down the hall, then turned and said, “Molly, come with me.”
She nodded to Charles and followed Rachel and Adam down the wide hall and into the same room where she’d read to the dying man from Gilbert Winslow’s journal. The room was dim, only one lamp burning on the table, and the sound of Miles’ breathing was raspy and erratic.
Rachel walked to his side, bent over and said clearly, “Miles—Miles?”
He stirred, moving his head from side to side, then slowly his eyes opened. “Adam?”
“He’s right here, Miles.”
As she moved back, Adam stepped forward and saw the recognition in the old eyes. A smile touched the shrunken lips, and he whispered, “You cut it pretty fine, boy. I didn’t know if I could wait . . . who’s that with you?”
“It’s me—Molly!”
He reached out and she took his hand. He held it tightly, then smiled, “We had quite some times, didn’t we, Molly?”
“Yes, sir. I—I’ve never forgotten a word!” She leaned forward and kissed his hand.
Feeling her hot tears on his hand, he reached out and touched her head with his other and said, “You remember how my grandmother kept on believing?”
“I—I remember.” She hoped he wouldn’t say more, for he referred, she knew, to how Humility Cooper had believed for a husband named Winslow.
“You must always believe, Molly,” he whispered. “You have a gift for that, you know!” Then he seemed to catch his breath and a look of pain raked across his face. “Adam?”
“Yes, sir?”
Miles released Molly’s hand and took Adam’s. The dying man’s grip was surprisingly firm; he said, “Rachel?” and she moved to the other side of the bed to take his other hand. He lay there quietly, then said, “Rachel, you remember how all of you were in jail at Salem? All of you—Father and Mother and Grandfather?”
“I remember, Miles.” Rachel leaned over and brushed her brother’s long hair from his forehead. “You used to bring us food every day. And you and Robert would cheer us up. You never let us down.”
Miles whispered, “I always felt bad that I wasn’t in there with you. I would have been if I could.”
“No, you kept us going. I remember Grandfather said once, ‘We’d all be dead if it w
eren’t for Miles.’ ”
“He said that? You never told me.”
“He was always very proud of you—we all were.”
Miles smiled then, and the tension left his drawn face. He held on to their hands and seemed to sleep. Finally his chest rose and he strained for breath.
“Miles!” Rachel cried, and stared at Adam. “He’s going!”
But the eyes of the old man suddenly opened, and he said in a firmer tone than they’d heard: “Yes, I’m going—it’s time!” He turned his face to Adam, and stared at him open-eyed. His chest heaved and he blinked, but then he opened his eyes and gasped, “Adam, my son! I have loved—have loved you greatly—these last years!”
“And I have loved you!” Adam said, tears flowing down his face.
“Have you? Have you? Then I am happy! For you—“ he coughed and half rose in bed, and his grip tightened—”you are—the best of—our house!” he gasped. “The best of the Winslows . . .!”
He expelled his breath, closed his eyes, and then his head fell back. Adam lowered it to the pillow and stared at Rachel.
“He’s gone, Adam,” she whispered. She put her brother’s hand to her cheek and whispered, “He’s gathered to his fathers!”
The room was silent. Adam heard only the labored sound of his own breathing and Molly’s sobbing.
Then he looked at Rachel and said, “Aunt Rachel—I feel so alone!”
She nodded, her old face shrunken and tired. “He was so much of my world,” she whispered as she placed his hand down carefully. “Somehow the world seems empty to me without him!” Then she said softly, “Goodbye, Miles . . . . I won’t be long!”
They turned and left the room, but Adam paused for one last look. He heard again the words he did not himself believe: You are the best of the Winslows!
His lips formed the words, I’ll try to be, and then he left the room.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BROTHERLY LOVE
“Weel, it’s a fair pleasure, Wife, to get oot of the house and fight weeds.” Seth Stuart straightened up, gazed down the row of beans he’d hoed, then glanced at the house. “It’s my guess what we’re adoin’ to these blasted weeds is what Adam would love to do to young Mister Robert Wells!”
“You think they’re tellin’ him about getting married?” Beth gave a troubled glance at the house, then shook her head sorrowfully. “She told me last night that Robert had worn her patience down and she’d agreed just to make him hush.”
“She don’t love him?”
“Not a bit of it! But she’s sure that Mary Edwards will be mistress of this house soon—and she’d marry any man rather than stay here under the same roof.” She chopped viciously at a weed, missed, and cut a thick bean stalk down. “Oh, it’ll be a good match, I suppose. And Adam Winslow’s been enough to drive a saint crazy these last six months! Since his father died he’s done nothing but run around in circles after that girl!”
“Weel, I guess he’ll let Molly go—and sorry I am for it.”
Inside the house Molly looked out the window to see Robert come riding down the road. He’d gotten off his horse with a bound, and there was a determination in his face that made her wish she had never agreed to marry him.
She turned to Adam and said, “Robert is coming.”
He looked up at her, and the restraint that had built up between them was like a wall. He stared at her bleakly; then when the knock came, he moved across the room and opened the door.
“Mr. Winslow.” Wells stepped inside, saw Molly standing there twisting her apron nervously. “I need to speak with you.”
“Come in, then.” Adam stepped back, and the young man went over to stand beside Molly.
“I’ll not take much of your time.” He nodded at the silent girl, and there was defiance in his voice as he said, “I suppose Molly’s told you about us?”
“No.”
The blank look in Adam’s eyes and the single monosyllable offered no encouragement, so Wells said bluntly, “Well, I want to marry her. I’ll pay whatever is owing on her paper, so that’s no problem.”
Adam did not speak, but turned his dark eyes on Molly. She met his gaze defiantly, but there was a tremor in her lips and a vulnerable expression in her eyes.
“Is this what you want, Molly?”
“I think it would be best.”
“That’s not what I asked.” He wanted to beg her not to throw herself away on a man she didn’t love, but he had no right to interfere. “Do you love him, Molly?” was all he could ask, and the words came hard. This girl was precious to him in a way that was somehow confusing. He could never quite think of her as a woman ready for a man, despite the full erect figure and the quick mind behind the calm blue-gray eyes. His mind carried a memory of a tiny frightened child, dirty and thin, that he’d held in his arms long ago. For years he’d protected her, loved her—so much that this beautiful woman who stood staring at him still evoked the sharp memory of that child.
She hesitated slightly before she spoke. “Robert and I have agreed, Mr. Winslow,” she said evenly. “You know his reputation in this place. He’s a good, hard-working man, and he’s offered to make me his wife. I’m most grateful for your many kindnesses.” Her voice trembled slightly, but she pressed her lips together and added. “I’m sure you’ll be able to replace me without any trouble.”
Adam’s lips were dry, and he longed to find some way to deny their request, but there was nothing he could say except, “There’ll be no money in this, Wells. I’ve never considered Molly in any other light than as a dear sister. I—I wish God’s blessing on you and your marriage.”
Molly’s eyes burned and she said quickly, “Thank you.”
Wells nodded, relief in his voice. “Thank you, Mr. Winslow! You may be sure I’ll be very good to her!” He put his hand out to take Adam’s.
Adam shook his hand, then said, “I suppose you two have plans. I have a lot of work, so you’ll pardon me.”
As Adam left the room, Robert turned quickly and put his arms around Molly, kissing her fervently. It was not the first time, of course, for he was passionately in love with her, but she was not responsive to his kiss, so he released her at once. He stepped back and asked quietly, “When will it be, Molly?”
“I’ll—think on it, Robert.” She mustered up a smile and said, “You get on now. Come back tonight and I’ll have some of that apple tart you like so much.”
The Stuarts had been watching the house furtively, and as Adam left, his back straight as a ramrod as he stalked to the shop, Seth said, “Adam’s not happy.” Then a few moments later when Robert Wells came out and rode off down the road, he added, “Aye, woman! It’s likely things won’t be too happy around here. Hate to see it come—it’s been a bonny place up to now.”
Stuart’s words were prophetic, for from that time on there was an air of unhappiness in the Winslow House. Adam continued his single-minded pursuit of Mary Edwards, never coming to blows with Timothy Dwight, but both of them working at their courtship with desperate intensity.
Robert came almost every night, often to eat, and when Adam was there, he made every attempt to be a good host. He talked to the young man of farming, hunting, politics; everything, in fact, except what Wells wanted to talk about—his marriage to Molly Burns.
The weeks went by until finally Timothy Dwight came striding up to Adam, his cheerful face marked with strain. “Adam, I’m sick of all this business!” He groaned and shook his massive head. “I thought courtship was supposed to be fun—and it’s making a wreck out of me!”
Adam smiled up at the big man. He had perversely grown more fond of Dwight during the tiring struggle for Mary’s favor, and he knew the feeling was mutual. “Well, I guess sooner or later one of us will up and die, Timothy.” He scowled then, and shook his head. “I agree with you, though. You got any ideas?”
“Well, not a wrestling match!” They exchanged grins remembering the last match. “But I’ve had enough, Adam!” Dwight’
s face grew serious. “I’m going to tell Mary tonight I want to marry her. I think you ought to do the same thing. Then we can both stand back, and the whole thing’s in her lap.”
Adam stared at him. “I think you’ve got a good idea, Timothy,” he replied, smiling. “You know what I’ve been thinking? I’ve thought that if there’d been only one of us—and I mean either one—Mary would have been married by now. What time are you going over?”
“Thought I’d drop over early, maybe about six.”
“I’ll be there at eight.”
They suddenly grinned and shook hands. “One way or the other, Adam, one of us is going to get hurt—but if Mary chooses you, I’ll not be able to hate you like I would nearly any other man!”
“Same here, Timothy.”
They parted, and at eight o’clock Adam seated himself in the large parlor of the Edwards’ house. Mary started to speak brightly of a quilting party she’d been to that afternoon, and Adam asked bluntly, “Dwight came over earlier, did he?”
“Why—yes, as a matter of fact . . .!”
“He have anything important to say, Mary?”
Her face flushed, and for one of the few times he’d known her, she was confused. She started to speak; then her lips trembled and she stumbled as she said, “Well—Adam—he said that . . .”
Adam smiled at her and nodded. “Yes, well, I’ve come to say the same thing he did. I love you, Mary. I want to marry you, but I can’t keep up this game we’ve been playing anymore.”
“Game?”
He was suddenly impatient with her, and reaching out, he pulled her close and kissed her firmly. She tried to resist, but he ignored her struggles. Finally, he released her and said, “Me or Timothy, Mary. You can’t marry both of us!”
Wide-eyed, she looked at him, breathing hard. His kiss had stirred her, and she whispered, “Why, Adam, you’re angry!”
“A little bit, Mary,” he confessed. Then he took her hand and said quietly, his eyes warm as he looked at her. “Mary, I know a young girl has to have a time of courting. But it’s gone too far! Why, the whole country’s laughing at me and Timothy, and your parents are embarrassed. It’s hurt me to see them having to endure this farce.”
The Indentured Heart Page 17
