“I got better things to do.” Charlie climbed the ladder, yawning.
Likely thieving and drinking. One minute he wanted to kill Charlie. The next, he worried his brother was getting in over his head.
Henry’s near-empty stomach growled. If he wanted to eat, he’d better get moving. Henry picked up his gun and headed into the forest again.
♦ ♦ ♦
“Mmmm.” Keturah, stitching a rose in her sampler, inhaled the fragrance of the sweet buns Delilah took from her dutch oven. “Those smell almost as good as Christmas gingerbread.”
“Like all excellent cooks, we must make sure our food tastes good.” Delilah laughed as she poured hot cider. They “tasted” two buns apiece.
“It is almost time to walk to the river.” Keturah loved fun times at Delilah’s house, but she had waited all day for this moment. She donned her red shawl. “At Meeting last week, Henry told me he had a surprise for me.”
Delilah put her hands on her nonexistent hips. “You’ve been meeting Henry for weeks. Do you think this friendship is wise?”
“Henry is a good friend, but a friend only,” Keturah stammered. She did not dare mention Charlie. Her cheeks felt as if she faced the fireplace.
“Do tell.” Delilah gave Keturah a schoolmarm look.
“You will come with me, Delilah, will you not?” Papa would never accept her going alone!
“Of course. I must ensure my best friend’s well-being.” She grinned. “And I must see this surprise.”
As they walked Rock and Cave’s main road, Keturah thought of Mama fussing because Caleb, gone on business for Papa, could not accompany them. Mama need not worry. Delilah would keep her sharp eyes on Keturah.
Would Charlie come today, too? Her pace and heartbeat increased.
Sure enough, in the usual meeting place, Charlie’s broad-shouldered figure stood beside Henry’s tall, thin one.
Henry greeted them, a rare ear-to-ear smile on his face. Surely his shining eyes were the color a crown must hold. Charlie stooped to kiss her hand. When he also kissed Delilah’s, her friend’s mouth froze into a large O.
“Would you like a keelboat ride?” Henry pointed toward the river. Sol, who had lent Keturah the blanket after her “bath,” waved cheerfully from a small boat beside the dock.
Delight filled her. “Have you always owned a keelboat?”
Charlie laughed. “Did he tell you that?”
“I told her no such tale,” Henry said stiffly. “We do not own a boat. Sol found a small one we could use for an hour.”
“I—I would like nothing more. I have long dreamed of this moment.” The Ohio, borrowing blue satin finery from the calm sky, beckoned. She longed to ride through its quiet ripples. Even on this chilly day, she wanted to leave the shore, the solidness that had bound all her life. But desire was a futile dream.
“I am sorry, Henry. I cannot without telling Papa, and he will not return until later.”
To her amazement, his grin widened. “I spoke to him after Meeting last week. He agreed, if we take only a short ride.”
She did not know which startled her more, Henry’s audacity or Papa’s permission. Obviously, he had not discussed this with Mama.
“Let’s take the boat down to McFarlan’s Ferry.” Charlie struck a dramatic pose. “I will show the lady sights she has never imagined—”
“Too far.” Henry sounded almost like Caleb.
She felt annoyed then remembered Henry planned this lovely surprise. She restored his smile with her own. “Of course it is too far. We will go only a short distance. May Delilah join us?”
Henry nodded. His mouth still curved upward, but his face had lost its glow.
This boat ride has become complicated. She turned to Delilah. “Do you think your father will agree?”
“Yes, since yours does. Keturah, will you come with me to ask him?” Delilah’s words came a little slowly, like cold molasses poured from a pitcher.
Reluctantly, Keturah left the brothers to eye each other like roosters in a barnyard.
As they strolled to the store, Delilah whispered, “Do you really believe he asked your father and he said yes?” Her keen eyes searched Keturah’s face.
She gaped. “Of course.”
“How do you know?”
Keturah paused. She said quietly, “I believe Henry.”
Delilah gave a rueful smile. “I do, too. Why, I’m not sure.”
“He is a good man.” Keturah didn’t know what else to say.
After a pause, Delilah opened the store’s door. “All right. Let’s ask. Though I do believe those two would rather I stayed on shore.”
“Pshaw,” Keturah said, though she feared Delilah spoke the truth.
Mr. Scott, who also knew Sol as trustworthy, agreed, and they ran back to the dock.
The boat was small, tapered at front and back, with a patched canvas awning at the stern. But Keturah pretended she had stepped into Papa’s history book. She became the ancient queen Cleopatra, about to board her barge on the Nile.
“Afternoon, ladies.” Sol gave them his friendly, toothless grin. “Little warmer than usual in November. Good day for a ride.”
“I promise not to fall in.” Keturah returned the grin.
“Henry here will keep a good hold on ya.”
The remark made her blush. She couldn’t look at Henry, so she looked at Charlie. Was he born with that smile, glittering like the water’s surface in the sun? She pictured him in a dashing gentleman’s garb, silk hat in hand.
“I’ll assist the ladies.” Charlie lifted her onto the boat as if she weighed no more than a milkweed seed, taking his time about releasing her.
Friends helped her down from wagons all the time. But Charlie’s touch made her want to fly!
Henry, his face turning dull red, extended his hand to Delilah. He loosened the boat from the dock.
“Ladies, hold on to the tent, please.” Sol took charge. “Get them settin’ poles, boys, and give us a push out into the river.”
Henry accepted a pole from the other oarsman, a big, silent man whose cheek bulged with a large tobacco chaw. Charlie manned his pole at the opposite side.
Keturah hoped the atmosphere would lighten as they sailed. The brothers dug their poles into the river bottom, and the boat nosed off the dock as if eager to be free.
Suddenly, Keturah floated down the Ohio, vast and blue. She felt as if they skimmed on sky. Wonderful. Frightening. She gripped the awning’s splintery wooden frame, her knuckles whitening.
“Are you well?” Delilah gave her a quizzical look. “‘Tis but water.”
“Mama never even let me have a swimming hole—”
“You should have had more brothers.” Delilah clicked her tongue. “But look yonder at our oarsmen. Perhaps their skill will ease your mind.”
“Give the ladies a song, boys!” Sol called without a break in his rowing. “En roulant ma boule,” he sang in a booming voice.
Henry and Charlie, pulling on big oars, answered him in harmony.
“En roulant ma boule roulant, en roulant ma boule.”
The spritely song tweaked frowns into smiles, fears into fun. Keturah would not allow her wayward feet to dance to the happy rhythm, but her fingers tapped against the awning’s frame.
Henry grinned as he rowed, his rich, strong baritone weaving through Sol’s solos and Charlie’s higher tones. She’d heard Henry mouth a few notes, but now he sang full voice. What a gift God had given. If only he could sing at Meeting. Perhaps he would sing some French Christmas carols for her. Keturah hummed along, though singing was not her strong point.
“What does it mean?” Delilah asked when the singing boatmen paused for breath. “How did you learn it?”
“Henry and Charlie’s grandpa taught it to me before you was born,” Sol answered. “Good song to keep us rowin’.”
“Grand-pére sang it to us when we were little.” Henry’s face softened as he pulled. “The chorus is about rolling a ball, and while he sang i
t, Grand-pére rolled a rag ball to Charlie and me.”
Keturah smiled at the picture of an old man playing with two dark-haired little boys—until Charlie spoke.
“You were his favorite.” His smile did not fade, but his lips tightened away from his white teeth like an animal’s.
Keturah started. Delilah gave Charlie a sharp look. Henry pulled steadily at his oars, eyes straight ahead.
“Alouette, gentille alouette, alouette, je te plumerai,” Charlie sang, giving Keturah a wink.
She couldn’t help laughing, but judging from the look in his eye, she did not ask what this song meant. Instead, she swept her gaze over the river, an everlasting poem of liquid and light. Occasional grayish-white limestone cliffs jutted ancient chins above black leafless trees along the shore, raising their branches in salute to their Creator.
“‘O Lord, our Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth.’” Keturah could no more keep the psalm from her lips than she could stop breathing. Her gaze caught Henry’s. Though he said nothing, she knew his silent song matched hers word for word.
Charlie shook his head, chuckling.
“Slow that rowin’, boys,” Sol drawled. “Have to turn around soon and pole, so take a break.”
Henry released his oars and unfolded his long frame, his gaze still intertwined with hers. “So, you like the water after all?”
“I like this view of it,” she said softly. “I thank thee. No one could have told me how grand it is.”
The glow on his face warmed her. “I think it even more beautiful in winter than summer.”
“But never lovely as you.” Charlie’s glinting smile melted into a look of little-boy adoration.
Delilah yanked her arm. “Come, there is something on your face.” She pulled Keturah under the awning and brushed at her cheek.
“Did I not wash the crumbs from my face before we left?” How annoying, in the midst of such poetry, such romance, to present a face like a dirty urchin.
“No crumbs,” Delilah hissed in her ear. “But do not let him cast his spell on you.”
“Whatever does thee mean?” Keturah pulled away.
“Charlie would turn any woman’s head. He no doubt has turned many.” Her friend’s eyes bored into hers. “Would you encourage such boldness?”
Keturah wiped her cheek to continue the facade and tried to speak lightly. “Thee acts as if I have pledged marriage. A few pretty words mean little.”
She brushed past Delilah to the deck, back to the sweet freedom of the river flowing on forever, the wind in her face, and Charlie’s velvet gaze.
“Pole us home, boys.” Sol swung the sweep to steer the boat back. Guiding it close to the shore where the current was not as strong, he sang new verses to “En roulant ma boule.” Charlie almost danced along the gunwales of the boat as he sang and pushed his pole into the river bottom.
Though the water seemed gentle, all four men joined in poling the boat back to the Rock and Cave dock. Delilah stood at her elbow—silent, thank heaven—and Keturah savored the last stretch of her first boat ride. The afternoon sun, a rotund King Midas, turned everything in its path to gold. Charlie, bronzed like an Egyptian god, guided their river chariot away from danger. Keturah clapped her hands to the men’s rollicking song, letting its magic pump through her veins.
Only later, after Papa’s pleased grin at her ecstasy and their wagon ride home, did she realize Henry, while poling back, had not sung a note.
Chapter 6
Henry knew the look all too well: the shining blankness in women’s eyes when they looked at Charlie, as if they had turned into empty-headed china dolls in a store window. Why had he thought Keturah different? He dove into his corn husk tick without undressing and pulled the ragged quilts over his head. Out of habit, his fingers sought the leather pouch hidden under his shirt and felt the coins he’d hoarded for her Christmas gift. A shudder of anger passed through him. Just let Charlie try sleeping in the loft tonight. He felt like flinging the little bag into the river. Instead, he tossed and rolled, his muscles reminding him of extra hours he had loaded and rowed to make the money. Would he let Charlie push him into throwing away something so valuable?
Try as he might, he could not forget Keturah’s wonder at the river’s beauty, the way she spoke of its Creator as he did. He pictured those soft red lips pressed against his. His hands cupped her face as he and the sun’s rays played with stray wisps of her golden hair.
He sat up. Stupid! How could he, lanky, silent Henry, who long had played second fiddle to Charlie’s charms, hope to kiss Keturah? She had forgotten his existence—almost didn’t say good-bye when they landed at the dock. Not that he had lingered.
He buried his face in his hands. Oh God, why did You ever let me see her, hear her voice?
No angels answered. He did not expect any. Neither did he expect this odd Quiet to invade him. Its current felt strong as the Ohio’s after a storm, yet it gently floated his wounded heart along like a leaf.
A door opened downstairs. Footsteps shuffled like milling cattle. Probably his uncle. A faint catlike tread of moccasins. Charlie. Henry felt as if someone had dumped hot coals into his clothes. His body tensed, his fists clenched, readying for the fight of his life. But the Quiet swirled through his rage like a river of peace, leaving him limp. He flopped onto his mattress and listened.
No more steps. No ladder creaks. Henry gave a silent, mirthless chuckle. Above all, Charlie protected himself. If he were smart, he would not come to the loft tonight, nor tomorrow, nor next week.
The Quiet continued flowing over Henry’s seething insides. He wanted to tell it to go away. Yet he wanted to say, Stay forever. Finally he gave a weak shrug. All right, God. I won’t kill him. But if I don’t, he’ll hurt Keturah.
Tears, like hot springs, welled in him. Keturah again in his mind’s eye, the river behind her, the psalm on her lips. Keturah, her eyes locked with his in something bigger than an embrace.
Did God mean Charlie would not win her after all? Joy and caution collided like boulders, sapping the last of his strength. Finally he folded his hands in prayer. Please take care of her.
He dropped into a coma-like sleep.
♦ ♦ ♦
Henry no longer sat in the back at Meeting. When he moved behind one large Quaker family, they blocked his view of Keturah.
With his eyes off her shining hair, he regained his mind. Henry saw the plain truth: If he had indeed held Keturah, he had lost her. Of that he was certain. If, during their weekly get-togethers, Henry spoke to Keturah of village news or dared offer a fragment of his deeper thoughts, Charlie pickpocketed them as smoothly as he did his victims’ money. Within seconds his gilded, counterfeit charm dazzled Keturah so that she saw no one but him. Henry wondered if he should stay away. Would Keturah notice?
The elderly man sitting in front of Henry turned and cast him a curious glance. Had he said her name aloud? He stared at his hands, chiding himself for thinking about her. Henry focused anew on the speaker’s ministry about the Light of Christ who dwelled in His every follower, giving guidance and hope throughout one’s life.
Henry had heard such claims since he first came to Meeting, but today he listened well to God and the Friends He inspired. The man’s words filled Henry’s empty heart until he thought he would burst, yet he longed for more. Keturah or no Keturah, he believed what he heard. Why nibble scraps of truth when a feast awaited? He wanted nothing more to do with the sin and pain of his pirate past. He would not face life any longer without the Light of Christ inside.
After Meeting he spoke to Friend Wilkes as he often did. Instead of discussing the latest pamphlet he’d borrowed, Henry expressed his desire.
“Thee has experienced convincement?” The man’s kind eyes searched Henry’s face and, he felt, his soul.
He answered steadily, “I have.”
“Now is a hard time for thee.” A statement, not a question.
So Keturah’s father had sensed the growing ga
p between Keturah and him. The man’s gentleness eroded Henry’s resolve to appear strong. “It is.”
His voice squeaked. He wanted to hide, but he lifted his chin. “In the midst of hardness, we learn true wisdom. Isn’t that what the scriptures teach?”
“Indeed.” Friend Wilkes laid a hand on his shoulder. “But I would that thee be sure. Will thee lay over several weeks before declaring thy intentions?”
“Lay over?”
“Ponder, pray, consider, so thee can make a solid decision.”
He wanted to belong now. And never look back. Disappointment sucked the air from him. Why did Friend Wilkes suggest delay? Did Quakers try to discourage others from joining? Or only him?
“I will continue to hold thee in the Light and advise thee.” Friend Wilkes clasped Henry’s hand. His fatherly smile eased Henry’s anxiety. “And I will rejoice when thee becomes a part of us.”
He meant it. Henry had no idea why the man advised postponement, but he would do as Friend Wilkes said.
♦ ♦ ♦
“Delilah, I thank thee for rescuing us from the cold.” Keturah threw her arms around her friend. The group sat on hide-seated chairs and stumpy logs around the crackling fireplace, warming blue hands in the Scotts’ hospitable cabin.
“Pa said we can get together to talk in his store’s back room from now on. But today, we have a party.” Delilah’s dark eyes sparkled. “After all, it soon will be Christmas.”
“You saved our lives.” Charlie made a gentlemanly bow. Zechariah, Delilah’s new, very large beau, hovered nearby. Keturah noticed Charlie did not kiss Delilah’s hand.
Henry nodded his thanks and drew closer to the fire. Thin as a lathe, he froze outdoors. Sometimes he coughed, worrying Keturah.
Delilah and her mother handed out hot cider and sweet buns. They all sang to Zechariah’s fiddle and played Blindman’s Buff and Who’s Got the Thimble?
“No fair!” Keturah laughed when Charlie cornered her the fourth time. “Thee always finds me.”
“‘Tis true.” Delilah stared at Charlie’s blindfold, but with her mother’s warning glance, she began gathering mugs.
Henry, who had been laughing like a boy, grew quiet.
A Plain and Sweet Christmas Romance Collection Page 42
