It was late morning when Rosalind awoke. Despite a fairly sound night’s sleep brought on by exhaustion, she did not feel rested. Sitting up, she reached for one of the biscuits Grace had set out, and nibbled absently on it. She then drank half a mug of water. Although the morning sun warmed her chamber, a cold, numb feeling still held her in its grasp.
“Enter, Grace,” Rosalind called out in response to the light rapping on her door.
“’Tis not Grace,” a familiar voice responded. “May I still enter?”
“Ben!” Rosalind cried, just as he opened the door and peeked inside. With tears in her eyes, she extended her arms toward her brother.
He rushed to embrace her. “Dear sister, I have been beside myself with worry! You cannot imagine how much I have missed you!”
“Not nearly as much as I have missed you!” she answered, fiercely clinging to him.
Ben gently extricated himself from her grasp and studied her face. “So, pray tell, how are you feeling?”
“Weak, but mending,” she said, sighing. She paused to allow her gaze to sweep over him. “How is Mother? And Nellie and Elizabeth?”
“They are fine…now. The news of your return came as a great relief to us…to the entire town. We wanted to rush over to be by your side the moment you were returned, but the Corwins advised against it, saying you were too ill. Today, I finally was sent word I would be allowed to visit. I hastened right over.”
“I am so pleased you did. I cannot even begin to describe how much so.”
“We were so worried about you, especially considering the grim circumstances surrounding your disappearance. And truth be known, despite our strong belief in the power of prayer, there were times when we nearly gave up hope.”
“I am so sorry I caused you such needless worry.” Rosalind’s eyes met her brother’s and pleaded for forgiveness. “But truth be told, I never was in any danger.”
Ben looked confused. “No danger? You were taken hostage at knifepoint by a murderer!”
Rosalind leaned back against her pillow and sighed. “Ben, get comfortable.” She waved a hand in the direction of the stool at her bedside. “If I do not tell someone what really happened, I am likely to go mad.”
Ben dropped onto the stool, his blue eyes never leaving his sister’s.
“Promise me,” Rosalind said, “that what I am about to tell you shall never go beyond this chamber.”
“You have my word on our father’s grave,” he answered without hesitation.
Rosalind lowered her eyes and fiddled nervously with the edge of her quilt. “Shadow did not murder Jonathan…I did.”
Ben stared at her, his eyes wide.
“I killed Jonathan,” she repeated. “By no means intentionally, but it was by my hand that he died.” She took a deep breath. “He was sotted and tried to force himself upon me, so I struck him. When he fell, he hit his head on a rock.”
Ben winced. “Then his death truly was an accident?”
She nodded.
“I-I do not understand, Rosalind. Why have you told no one of this?”
“When I realized Jonathan was dead, I panicked, knowing not what to do or where to turn. ‘Twas the Indian, Shadow, who came to my aid. He convinced me to return to my chamber and assured me ‘twould be best if everyone believed Jonathan died from a drunken fall. That way, there would be no scandal to deal with…or so he thought.” She shook her head. “Unfortunately, Matthew spied Shadow near the body and leapt to the wrong conclusion. He and Elias beat him, then bound him and tossed him into the stables. They planned to bring him to the gaol the next morn and then see him hang for murder.”
“But the Indian escaped,” Ben said.
Rosalind closed her eyes. “Aye, but not until I freed him.” When she heard Ben’s sharp intake of breath, her eyes flew open. “I could not allow him to die, Ben!”
“And the savage showed his gratitude by taking you hostage at knifepoint?” Ben snapped.
“Nay.” Rosalind felt her cheeks grow hot. “I went with him of my own free will.”
Her brother stared incredulously at her.
“Someone was approaching,” she quickly explained. “Had I not run off with Shadow, my presence in the stables in the middle of the night would have confirmed I had helped him escape.”
Ben silently studied her as he struggled to digest all that she had told him. It seemed like hours to her before he finally spoke. “So, by running off with the Indian, you were made to appear the victim rather than the accomplice,” he concluded.
“Exactly,” Rosalind answered. “Shadow and I journeyed to Portsmouth together, where we stayed with a friend of his.” Her gaze locked with her brother’s. “During my time with Shadow, I…I came to…love him.”
Ben looked as though someone had just struck him in the stomach. “Dear Lord,” he whispered.
“Shadow confessed that he loved me, too,” she hastily added. “I was so happy, Ben. Shadow and I even made plans to build a new life together.”
Ben groaned and shook his head. “I do not believe what I am hearing! A savage, Rosalind? You fell for a savage?”
When his sister offered no response, Ben sighed and asked, “So, pray tell, why did you not stay with this beloved Indian of yours?”
“Shadow and I had a disagreement,” she said, swallowing the lump of guilt that rose in her throat as she was forced to recall the night she forever would regret. “I was so angry, I left him.”
“Oh?” Ben’s brows rose. “And what did he do to incite such anger and destroy this great love of which you speak?” A fleeting look of panic crossed his face. “He did not try to force himself upon you, did he?”
Rosalind laughed bitterly. “Not nearly as much as I would have liked him to.”
Her brother’s mouth fell open.
“Yes, Ben,” she said evenly. “I wanted him…more than I ever imagined possible.”
“Lord in Heaven!” Ben clearly was appalled. He rose to his feet and turned to face the wall. “Tell me I am not hearing this! Have you cast aside your morals, your beliefs?” He flung his arms into the air, as if surrendering, and turned back toward her. “How could you so easily have allowed that heathen to drag you down to his level?”
“That heathen had the good sense to refuse me!” she shot back. “Though Lord knows, I would have allowed him anything he wished, my love for him was so strong! And I already believed I was impure and thought I had nothing to lose.” She slowly shook her head. “How could I possibly have known how very wrong I was?”
Ben, his eyes not leaving her face, plunked back down on the stool.
“The Indian,” she explained, “the one who rescued me in the blizzard six years ago…’twas Shadow.” Paying no mind to Ben’s look of astonishment, she added, “It appears I have spent all these years worrying for naught. Shadow assured me that he never violated me in any way…that my ‘rape’ had occurred only in my childish imaginings.”
Ben’s eyes looked heavenward, as if he were praying for strength. “I am finding all of this most difficult to believe,” he said.
“I swear on all that is holy that I speak the truth.”
“But the savage…I was informed that Nathaniel…”
“Killed him?” Rosalind’s eyes instantly filled with tears. “Aye, ‘tis true. I loathe Nathaniel for what he has done. I cannot bear the sight of him.”
“But the word in town is that Nathaniel is a hero because he saved you from within seconds of dying by the savage’s hand. If that is not the truth, how did you come to be injured?”
“My guide, Mr. Beckford, died – his heart gave out during our journey. I attempted to find my way back to Adam’s on my own, but succeeded only in walking in circles. When I came upon Mr. Beckford’s body again, I swooned and hit my head. There was no savage involved. Nathaniel is no hero.”
Ben’s expression softened slightly. “Then how can you still bear to be under the same roof with the man? Surely, you cannot still mean to wed h
im after all that has occurred?”
“No…never.” She shook her head emphatically. “But there still is Mother’s and our sisters’ futures to consider.”
“And mine,” Ben reminded her, frowning. He looked thoughtful for a moment. “But how do you intend to get out of this marriage?”
“I shall think of something…I must. Meanwhile, I shall use my injury to delay any wedding plans for as long as possible. Nathaniel is by no means a patient man. Perhaps, given time, he might even give up on me and go searching for another bride…one who is more fit.”
“We could not be that fortunate,” Ben muttered. “The man seems obsessed with you. Did he not risk his life to search for you?”
“Aye, and then he wanted to be rewarded for finding me.” She closed her eyes, to shut out the memory of her reunion with the captain at Adam Stoddard’s. “In all honesty, at present, I cannot even think beyond today.” The tears she had been struggling to hold back spilled from her eyes. “When Shadow died, Ben, I died with him. My wounds, though not visible, were just as mortal as his.”
Ben moved to sit on the edge of the bed, then wrapped his sister in a comforting embrace. “My dear, dear sister,” he whispered, “you do seem to have a knack for getting yourself into trouble. Nevertheless, I have every faith you will make it through this nightmare – if you remain strong.”
Ben’s words forced Rosalind to recall the night Shadow also had told her to be strong…the night he had left to board the ship.
“I shall try,” she promised, pressing her cheek against Ben’s chest. “But tell me, brother, when will this pain within me ease? ‘Tis a thousand times worse than any injury or illness ever could cause.”
“In time, it will lessen.” He stroked her hair. “In time, little sister.”
In the adjoining chamber, Abigail Corwin pressed the back of her hand to her mouth.
She had heard every word.
* * * * *
For a long while, Abigail lay silent and unmoving in her bed, her head reeling as she recounted every detail of the conversation she had overheard. Her emotions ranged from anger over Rosalind’s deception, which had endangered the welfare of Abigail’s sons and husband, to sympathy over the girl’s plight. It was indeed a pity that Shadow, an innocent man, had lost his life, Abigail lamented, especially at the hand of her own son, but there was nothing anyone could now say or do to reverse the tragedy. The future was all that mattered, and Abigail was even more determined than ever to see Rosalind and Nathaniel wed. The two youngsters needed each other, she reasoned. Rosalind was in need of a strong shoulder to lean on, and Nathaniel…well, Nathaniel needed a woman like Rosalind to tame his wild ways and transform him into a respectable family man. Ben’s advice to his sister had been correct. Time would lessen her pain. And when it did, Rosalind would come to realize that a life with Nathaniel was preferable to one filled with naught but empty nights and barren years. Abigail already considered Rosalind to be her daughter, and she was determined not to lose the girl again. It had been her good fortune to overhear Rosalind’s plans, for now she would see to it that those plans were thwarted at every turn.
Ben had taken his leave more than two hours previously, and the silence from within Rosalind’s chamber led Abigail to suspect the girl had fallen asleep. With great effort, she slid her frail body to the edge of her bed and then struggled to her feet. Carefully placing one foot in front of the other, she inched her way toward the door that connected her chamber with Rosalind’s. She was breathless and lightheaded by the time she reached her destination. Silently, she eased the door closed.
“There!” Abigail breathed in relief, closing her eyes and sagging against the door’s cool wood for support. “Now Rosalind shall never suspect I know the truth.”
* * * * *
After Rosalind had supped on soup and bread that evening and was lying in her bed, Elias, accompanied by Nathaniel, visited her in her chamber. With quill and parchment in hand, the magistrate settled himself on a chair facing the bed and informed her in a tone that invited no argument, “I have come to take your deposition.”
Rosalind cast a pleading glance at Nathaniel, who stood leaning against the wall, his arms folded, his expression revealing nothing.
“I shall sit here until morning, if necessary,” Elias said. “The sooner you tell me all I require, the sooner I shall leave you to your rest.” His tiny gray eyes displayed not even a flicker of compassion.
Inhaling deeply, Rosalind clenched her hands into fists and prayed for strength. The moment she had been dreading – the moment when she would be forced to perjure herself – had arrived, and she saw no immediate means in which to avoid it. She knew that if she wished to protect her family’s reputation and spare them from being the victims of Nathaniel’s wrath, she must desecrate Shadow’s memory and paint him as the savage everyone believed him to be. But, she frantically wondered, did she have the ability to do so? Every word she was about to say would be put down in writing, witnessed and filed with the courts, so she knew she had to speak carefully and convincingly.
She momentarily considered feigning a swoon to gain additional time, but finally surrendered. “I am prepared to tell you all that occurred.” She looked directly at Elias. “But I beseech you, sir, to have patience, for this shall not be easy for me.”
“Take all the time you need,” Elias said with a nod. “I may, however, interrupt you to ask questions.”
Rosalind quietly, methodically, began to recite her false tale of being taken hostage at knifepoint, of spending days in the forest with Shadow and finally, of being abandoned near Adam Stoddard’s house.
Elias scribbled on the parchment as she spoke, pausing only to dip the quill into the inkpot he had set on her night table. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Tell me more about your journey to Portsmouth. Were your hands bound? Was the Indian’s knife constantly at your throat or back? Did he deprive you of food and water? Did he threaten or beat you?”
Rosalind’s head reeled from his many questions. “While in the forest,” she carefully explained, “I neither was bound nor beaten, and I never was deprived of food.” She suppressed a bittersweet smile as she recalled how Shadow had tried to convince her to eat the raw fish. “I made no attempt to escape him because I knew it would be futile. I knew not where I was nor how to get back home, and even if I had tried and succeeded in gaining a lead on him, I knew he too easily would catch up with me.”
Elias appeared disappointed with her response. “Did the savage never attempt to assault you in any way?”
“He never laid a hand on me,” Rosalind answered. Not until I encouraged him to.
Elias’s forehead creased as he absently tapped the point of the quill against the parchment. “Well, we all agree that he murdered Jonathan, and ‘tis obvious he did the same to Roger Beckford.”
“Nay,” Rosalind said. Although she had little recourse other than to remain silent about how Jonathan had died, she was not about to allow Shadow to also shoulder the blame for Roger’s death. “As I said before, Mr. Beckford was not murdered. The man had a weak heart. The strain of the journey while carrying a heavy pack proved to be too great for him. I witnessed his last breath and I can assure you, it was not caused by anyone’s hand.”
“Describe what occurred immediately prior to Beckford’s death,” Elias said, his eyes boring into hers.
“I was awakened by his gasping for breath. I discovered the poor man clutching at his chest, unable to breathe and suffering great pain. Within minutes, he was dead.”
A trace of a smile curved Elias’s lips. “The man already was gasping and in pain when you awakened? How can you be certain then that the savage had not assaulted the man as you slept? Did you check his body for wounds or marks?”
Rosalind shook her head. “Nay, I did not.”
“Then for all you know,” Elias reasoned, “the Indian very well could have directly caused Roger’s death.”
The assumption was so absur
d, Rosalind found it difficult to hold her tongue and not lash out at Elias.
Elias interpreted her silence as an admission of Shadow’s guilt. “Tell me,” he persisted, “how you came to get that bump on your head.”
“I assume I struck my head when I swooned,” she said.
“’Tis it not possible that after you swooned, the savage attempted to ensure you never awoke again by hitting you with a rock? ‘Tis my strong belief that the savage was about to inflict a second, perhaps fatal blow when Nathaniel’s timely arrival halted the action and saved your life.”
Rosalind was forced to bite back an angry response. “I know not what occurred after I swooned,” she said tightly. “I know only what Nathaniel told me when I awoke here.”
Elias gave her a smug look, obviously confident he had gained another small victory in his efforts to portray Shadow as a crazed killer who surely would have murdered her, had Nathaniel not come to her rescue.
“I am very tired,” Rosalind said, closing her eyes. She was eager to be rid of Elias and his ridiculous accusations. “Have you all the information you require?”
“For now,” the magistrate responded, scanning what he had written. “I shall copy this over more legibly, then return it for your signature. In the meantime, if I have any further questions, I shall let you know.” He stood and turned to face his son. “Come, Nathaniel,” let us leave the young lady to her sleep.”
“I crave a word alone with her first.” Nathaniel spoke for the first time all evening. “I shall be along directly.”
Too Far to Whisper Page 23
