Keturah sighed. Henry said less and less. Although Charlie’s face and gallantry thrilled her, she missed talking with Henry about God, about poetry, about everything. Perhaps when she gave him her Christmas gift, he would entrust her with his smile again and feel freer to share his mind.
Too soon it was time to go. As usual Caleb and Priscilla wandered off while they waited outside the store for Papa. Keturah handed each brother two small brown packages she had decorated with yew sprigs and their red berries. “Merry Christmas.”
Henry’s face lit up as he unwrapped the stockings she’d knitted. Although her sampler was progressing, the red shawl had performed no miracle to improve her poor attempts at other housewifely arts. At least the baggy stockings would keep his toes warm.
“Thank you, Keturah.”
That measured, golden look. Henry could not begin to equal Charlie’s charm, but his gaze, unchanged since the day he rescued her from the river, washed over her, warm as July.
“I will treasure them forever.” Charlie kissed her hand, but he looked and sounded impatient.
She cringed as they opened their second packages. What had possessed her to experiment? “I tried a new honey cookie recipe—”
Henry munched a gluey “treat” with a determined smile. “Very, er, sweet.” His words sounded muffled.
“I will cherish them.” Charlie carefully rewrapped the cookies. “But now, dear Keturah, I have a gift for you.”
He opened a blue velvet box. In the white satiny folds lay a gleaming silver locket, the likes of which she had never seen. Charlie pressed the locket open. Inside lay a curl of his shining black hair. His finger outlined her face with a featherlight touch that left a burning trail in its wake.
When she came to herself, Caleb was waving good-bye to Priscilla, and Papa was driving up. Her heart thumped loud as a churn, but she put the locket into her pocket and kept her face calm while Charlie helped her into the wagon.
Henry was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter 7
Keturah, I would speak with thee.”
She almost dropped her needle. Since childhood, Caleb had teased her.
But today his serious tone matched his face as he stood in their cabin’s doorway. She stuck the needle into her Christmas sampler and drew the red shawl around her. “Close the door before we catch our deaths.”
He thumped it shut then faced her. “Does Charlie have thy heart?”
Heat rose in her cheeks. She fingered the sampler’s corner. What business was it of his? If only Mama and Papa had not gone visiting.
His blue eyes probed hers.
She tried to laugh. “Surely thee knows I would make no promise to him. He has not yet spoken to Papa about courting me—”
“Nor is he likely to.” Caleb sat opposite her in Papa’s big chair and scanned her face with a keen, very un-Caleb look. “I fear an unworthy man has stolen thy heart.”
She glared. “Does thee judge a man by his cabin and livestock and money? Papa never taught us so.”
“I do not.” Caleb paused. “I did not when Henry pursued thee.”
She looked down at her hands. “Thee art mistaken. Henry desired only my friendship.” Apparently no longer. How she missed his odd but refreshing wisdom and slow, rich smile. He even missed Meeting two weeks straight—though Charlie now attended on First Day! She smiled, hopeful he would come to love God as she did.
Still, Caleb’s stare disturbed her. “Thee is an intelligent woman, Keturah, with much learning. But thee knows little of men.”
She did not know which bewildered her more, the compliment or the insult. But she would not swallow this outrage. “Certainly thee is an authority on women—”
“I am not. Or I would have persuaded Priscilla’s mother to let me marry her.” His head dropped.
Despite herself, sympathy softened her armor. “Perhaps thee would have been wise to avoid falling in love with an only child.”
His eyes shot blue sparks. “Thee talks of wisdom! Surely thee knows Charlie’s attendance at Meeting is only to win thee. He cares nothing for God or His ways.”
“Like God, thee can read his heart?” She crossed her arms.
“I do not need to. Charlie is often mentioned as a thief. Some even link him to the vile happenings at Ford’s Ferry and Potts’ Inn.”
Fury spurted through her veins. “Dare thee speak of whisperings with no evidence—”
“Thy locket is evidence enough.” His face hardened. “How would a poor boatman come upon an expensive trinket?”
Tears boiled from her eyes. “It belonged to his mother. She wanted him to give it to the one he loves most.”
“Mayhap, Charlie took it from her. Or she herself stole it.” Caleb tried to capture her gaze. “Keturah, open thy eyes. Some say Charlie’s father and grandfather were pirates who preyed on innocent folk.”
She sprang from her rocker. She crossed the room and turned away. Silence, like an enormous ax, fell between her and Caleb, broken only by the fire’s mutterings.
Finally she spoke. “Charlie’s family has long lived in darkness. So the Light of Christ cannot dwell in him. Thee believes this?”
“Thee knows I do not. Henry lived with the same evils, yet spoke to Papa of convincement until—”
“Until Charlie came to Meeting, too.” She whirled around and glared at him.
“Until thee made a fool of thyself over Charlie. Can thee not see?” Caleb’s words exploded like live coals in a barrel of gunpowder.
“So I have neglected to use my influence on Henry, yet should not do so with Charlie.” She lifted the latch and slammed the door behind her, clutching her red shawl like a best friend as she ran for the washhouse.
♦ ♦ ♦
Henry held his breath, motionless in the thicket. Early evening darkness cloaked Ford’s Ferry Road, the only road to Potts’ Inn. The few remaining leaves hanging from overhead branches gave their death rattle. He’d heard nothing more. So far.
For a moment Henry wished he’d brought whiskey. But a jugful did him no good after he lost Keturah. It would do him no good tonight. Charlie’s life might depend on his keeping a clear head.
Charlie deserves what he gets.
True, but ever since Ma told him she’d overheard Charlie’s plans to ride Ford’s Ferry Road, he’d stuffed his mind’s whisper into a bag and tried to drown it.
Ma taught her sons to be thieves. But she didn’t want them to be murderers. If Charlie “guided” travelers from Ford’s Ferry to their deaths at Potts’ Inn, he might as well wear a noose around his neck. Ma had heard that the brash new constable planned to raid the inn.
Charlie had stayed away from home—wisely—after giving Keturah that locket. Yet now Henry was trying to save his neck. Charlie, who stole people, just as he stole valuables. Charlie, who stole Keturah.
He deserves what he gets.
Let Charlie destroy himself. It would be so easy to go home to his warm loft. No more of Charlie’s lies. No more taunts.
You’d have Keturah to yourself.
A vision of her gleaming hair glowed in the shadows like a thousand candles; her warm, laughing face and lips so close, she lit his. A rush of heat ran down him. Keturah might be his—if he let Charlie reap what he had sown, as he had read in the Bible.
A tiny star gleamed through the clouds above the road, capturing Henry’s eye and sending it heavenward. Then the star fell, its showy path snuffed out in a moment. His inner flames died with it, leaving him dark and empty as the night. But another faint star escaped the murky clouds, refusing to be devoured. To his surprise, the yearning for God bubbled up inside him. The Quiet answered it, filling him till he thought he would explode from joy and anguish. Why would God want anything to do with him? Didn’t He know about his drinking and returning to the old ways—about the hatred inside him, the rage at Charlie that could make him a murderer, too?
What do I do? He almost cried aloud. Do I warn Charlie? Do I go home?
A baby’s soft cry nearly made him jump out of his moccasins. Down the road, Henry spied two horse-sized shadows and recognized his brother’s stealthy gait. Horror clogged Henry’s throat. Children as well as adults disappeared upon entering the inn’s welcoming, deadly door. And Charlie was leading a family there.
Potts would never let a constable take him alive. Would these innocent people survive a gun battle? He heard another child’s voice.
Henry whistled the redbird’s call he and his brother had, since childhood, used to indicate danger.
He saw Charlie lift his head then raise his rifle. Henry stuck a leg out of the thicket and shuffled his moccasin through dead leaves. If Charlie was drunk and trigger-happy, he’d rather take it in the leg than the chest.
“What’s this, Henry?”
He sounded annoyed but stone sober. Maybe Potts or Ford had threatened him to stay away from drink. A tall figure rode the horse behind Charlie, even taller because he wore a stovepipe hat. Henry addressed the man. “Sorry to bring you bad news, sir, but Mr. Potts sent me to tell you the inn is full.”
A young woman’s voice wailed from the other horse. “But Mr. Ford said the inn would accommodate us!”
“Are you sure?” The man spoke loudly because the baby now screamed at the top of its lungs. “The children are in need of shelter.”
Sending up frantic silent prayers, Henry kept his voice calm. “It would be unwise to travel eight more miles, only to be turned away.”
Finally Charlie spoke. “Perhaps a family in Rock and Cave will take you in.”
Charlie understood! Giving thanks, Henry held his breath. Would the man believe him?
“If that is our only choice.” The woman almost moaned.
The man swore at his horse as he turned him. “Take us there.”
“We will do our best to find lodgings,” Henry promised.
“You mean you will,” Charlie hissed in his ear.
Henry nodded and pressed his thumb hard into Charlie’s arm. Another signal he should lie low. Charlie slipped to the side of the road.
“Are you not going with us?” Anger filled the man’s voice. “What about the money I paid? And why should we trust him?”
“He is my brother. You can trust him,” Charlie said.
If things weren’t so desperate, Henry might have laughed. Instead, he said, “I will guide you to the village free of charge.”
The man gave a grudging assent, and Charlie disappeared into the underbrush.
Henry clasped the woman’s bridle and began the slow, dark journey through the forest to Rock and Cave. Where would he ask? He dare not take them to those he knew, to be stripped of their belongings like a Christmas goose of its feathers.
If only the Wilkeses lived in this direction. Memories of Delilah’s large cabin prodded his mind. If the Scotts could not help, he would check with Priscilla’s family. He did not know them except for Meeting, but he could not imagine Quakers leaving a mother and children out in the winter darkness.
He wiggled stiff fingers. His weary legs felt like logs. As he led the horses back to Rock and Cave, the faint star brightened, reminding him of the Christmas story. How had Joseph felt, guiding a woman about to give birth along a dark, dangerous road? Keturah also showed him the terrible story of King Herod’s attempts to kill baby Jesus. Tonight, as Henry guided the angry man and sniffling family to Rock and Cave, he prayed God would send angels to protect them all—and his scheming, conscienceless brother.
♦ ♦ ♦
“Mama?” Keturah, amazed as if the skeletal trees had budded green, stared at the stout figure walking toward Papa’s wagon. “Is she going with us to town?”
Papa flicked the reins. He did not look at Keturah. “She has not seen her friends for many months.”
A small circle of dismay spun in Keturah’s middle. “But she hates the river—”
“Thy mama has been known to change her mind.” Papa turned to meet his wife.
Mama knew the only way to make beds. To braid Keturah’s hair. To stir soup. When had she changed her mind about anything?
Mama’s black Meeting dress rustled as Papa helped her up beside Keturah. She cast a glance back at Caleb. He looked away.
What had transpired? Whatever it was, she liked it less and less.
Her mood did not lighten when they pulled up to Scott’s store. Henry had absented himself from the group again. But Charlie’s smile sent a thrill through her as if she had touched lightning.
Until Mama followed them into the store. Thankfully, she remained out front while Keturah, Charlie, and the others found seats in the back room. Oblivious to naught but each other, her friends murmured and giggled.
Charlie kissed her hand. “My love, I have waited all week—”
“Thank you, Friend Scott,” Mama’s words boomed like cannon shots. “I would like two bags of flour.”
Keturah tried to ignore the conversation. “I wear thy locket close to my heart—”
“Thy hog butchering went well?” Mama continued. “I declare, we didn’t get half enough liver or sweetbreads—”
Keturah almost gagged. Mama knew full well she despised both. Mama chattered on with the storekeeper, then with his wife, until tears of fury blinded Keturah. Were not she and Charlie adults? Had they not remained with the group as was proper? If only they could spend time alone—or at least without an accompanying hog-killing dialogue. She might even talk with him about God, as she did with Henry. A flash of brilliance lit her despair. She addressed Priscilla.
“We do not know when we will see the sun again. Why not walk by the river?”
Caleb’s taut mouth told Keturah he knew exactly what she was doing. But Priscilla, delighted, pulled him to his feet. Delilah told her father where they were going. Once they left the store, the group would slowly, quietly separate into couples.
Mama, tying her bonnet, met them at the store’s door. “Wonderful idea.”
No. No. She wouldn’t—
“We do not know when we shall see the sun again, do we?” Mama almost marched them toward the river, her steps firm and unswerving.
“Exactly what Keturah said,” Zechariah said innocently.
Caleb grinned.
Even the brisk breeze could not cool Keturah’s burning cheeks. Charlie wore a pained smile. Mama stuck to them until they returned to the store. While the group drank sassafras tea, she babbled on and on to anyone who would listen.
“Can I meet you alone?” Charlie whispered.
“I do not know!” Keturah gritted her teeth. She felt like a chastened, naughty child.
“At your house?” His warm breath caressed her cheek.
“Tomorrow, when my parents visit friends. But Caleb will be home.” She thought quickly. “No one will be working in the washhouse on First Day.”
“I will meet you there.” He lowered his voice to a husky plea. “Do not disappoint me, my love.”
Chapter 8
Henry glanced at Charlie, sitting next to him during Meeting, feigning attentiveness to the speakers. Did his brother hear even one word about the goodness of Christ? Henry, back at Meeting for the first time in weeks, listened. Despite his pain at seeing Keturah and the insanity of Charlie’s presence there, he practically wallowed in the warmth of the Light of Christ. Never again would he allow anyone or anything to separate him from God.
Afterward the Friends did not quiz him on his absence or ask what brought him back. Instead, they welcomed him with smiles that made him feel as if they really were his friends. Friend Wilkes rested his big hand on his shoulder, eyes filled with gladness. “Would thee read a pamphlet on God’s charity toward us?”
“I would.” Henry could hardly wait to explore its depths.
Friend Wilkes’s delight faded as he greeted Charlie. Other Friends spoke kindly to his brother, who was on his best behavior. But for the first time Henry could remember, Charlie did not overwhelm a group with his charm. Although the Friends did not know Charlie,
they knew him.
“Thee has returned.”
He had not noticed Keturah’s approach. God, do not let me falter.
Her dazzling smile was genuine, but her brilliant eyes, ever forthright, did not meet his. They drifted with only glances at Charlie instead of the usual adoring gaze. Henry’s breath quickened. Did she know the truth about his brother?
But the glances shared between them were still potent. The faint flutter of hope Henry harbored dissolved. Only a fool would not sense their attraction. But Keturah seemed uneasy. And her cold hand, extended in fellowship, clung to his shocked fingers an extra moment. “I am thankful to see thee.”
Charlie edged her away. Henry felt almost grateful. He could hardly bear her troubled glance. Then a torrent of fear swept him away.
He had protected travelers on Ford’s Ferry Road from Ford, from Potts, and from Charlie. What had he done to protect Keturah?
♦ ♦ ♦
She shivered despite the red shawl. Mama and Papa had left an hour ago. Caleb snored in the cabin by the fire. Surely Charlie would come soon.
The washhouse’s rickety door opened. Charlie, sporting a dashing black cloak, clasped her cold hand to his warm lips. Could any girl wish for a more handsome beau?
“Ah, a smile.” He tapped her lips with his finger. “Now you look like my Keturah, the most beautiful girl in Illinois. No, the most beautiful girl in the world!”
“Flatterer.” But her pulse soared at his words, his touch.
“I only speak the truth.” He drew her to him.
How she yearned to melt into his arms. But she could not dissolve the unease she felt at deceiving Mama and Papa. Even Caleb with his self-righteous sermonizing.
Not that she had lied about Charlie’s visit. She simply had not mentioned it—
“The smile disappears again?” Charlie gently turned her chin up.
His luminous black eyes nearly undid her. But she needed to talk. “I—I do not like to mislead my parents.” There. She finally said the words that pestered her like cawing crows.
“Nor do I.” Charlie drew back. “But your ma would smother our love. And though I come to Meeting, I fear your pa does not accept me.”
A Plain and Sweet Christmas Romance Collection Page 43
