by RITA GERLACH
* * *
Dumbfounded, Lanley stared after Rebecah. “I say, Nash. Females are moody creatures.”
“Yes they are.” Nash, too, stared after her, but with thunder pulsing through his veins.
“What are your intentions?” Lanley asked, lifting his nose higher.
Nash gave no reply. He hurried past Lanley to go after her. Toby followed at his heels, and he turned and ordered her back. He saw Rebecah walk up the hill. The woods were heavy with the gray sky, and the ground wet from melting snow. He followed her into them and his boots sunk into layers of rotting leaves.
“Rebecah!”
“Go away,” she called back. “I don’t wish to speak to you.”
He could tell she was crying.
“Stop, my love. Tell me why.”
She turned, her eyes misty. “If you follow me, I’ll scream.”
“I haven’t a care if you do.”
She walked on.
He went after her.
“What has turned you against me?” he asked. “Why do you want me to leave and never come back? Do you think I can? Do you think I can throw away what I feel and forget you?”
She tumbled. Nash hurried to her. Although he was angry, he saw beauty in her face and grew weak. His heart hammered. “Are you hurt?”
“Go away.” She moved and moaned.
“You’re hurt. I’ll take you back and have March send for the doctor.” He went to lift her.
She shoved his hands away. “No. I don’t want your help.”
“Be still!”
“Don’t order me!”
“I will. You’re being foolish.”
“Yes! I’m very foolish. If you had told me everything from the beginning concerning the quarrel you had with my father, I would not have gotten involved with you. But no, you concealed the truth from me.”
His chest tightened. “Rebecah, let me explain.”
“No. Lies always grow into worse things.”
“And now you hate me?”
“I cannot love you.”
“You will not hear me out?”
“At the moment I find it hard to do.”
Lanley came staggering through the trees. “She is injured badly?”
“A twisted ankle,” Nash said.
“Dear me, I cannot lift her. You’ll have to do it,” he said looking at Nash.
Nash frowned. Of course he had to show up.
Though she protested, he lifted her in his arms and carried her through the woods with Lanley high stepping alongside. He took her to the house. March stood by the window, and saw them coming up the gravel drive. She hurried and opened the door.
It was explained in brief, as Nash lowered Rebecah to a couch. He looked at her a moment, then turned and left. If he had been alone with her, he could have done and said more. But with Lanley and March there, it was impossible.
He went to get his horse with his heart broken and bleeding. A shadow fell by the stable door and in stepped Dorene. Her hood, lined with rabbit fur, brushed against her cheeks.
With a proud lift of her head, she moved closer. “I thought you would be here.”
“I cannot stay.” His manner was cold, and he reached for the reins.
“Don’t go, Jack. I can see she hurt you. It makes me angry, you know.”
When she took off her cloak and let it fall to the floor, a carnal sensation shot through him. He did not want it to, but he was hurt and vulnerable.
She leaned back, her hair falling over her throat as she ran her finger along a post. “I’ll miss devotions today I think.”
“I doubt if they would do you any good, Dorene. But perhaps you should try.”
She caught him in a moment of weakness. The intoxicating sweetness of previous days when he and Rebecah confessed their love for each other had been poured into a bitter cup. Dorene touched his face. Her fingers were soft and warm. Raising herself up, she brushed her lips against his. He gave no response.
“What is wrong, Jack? Don’t you like to be kissed? Come. The hay is soft and warm.”
“No, Dorene.” Roughly, he put her back from him.
“I do care for you. I always have.” She put her hand against the curve of his jaw. “Again I ask you. Don’t you like being kissed? Is it not comforting when you’re heartbroken?”
With her fair speech and seductive gestures, Dorene caused the want to yield build in him. With flattering words dripping like a honeycomb, she meant to break him. Her timing had been precise, to catch him in a moment of weakness. He lived the moment in twilight, in the dark night of the soul, and it was to her advantage.
Dorene tossed her head back. “You’re not crushed. You’ve been rescued. It’s better for you to be free than bound. Don’t you agree?”
“If I went further with you, I’d be like a bird hastening to the snare.”
She laid her hand against his arm and her smile faded. “It’s not true what you say.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Solace yourself with my kind of love.”
“How, when I don’t love you and you are not my wife?”
“Oh, please!” She stomped her foot. “Must love always be the issue? Why not enjoy the pleasures without the chains?”
He put the reins over his horse’s head. “I want neither pleasures nor chains. I’m leaving. Most likely you and this Brent bunch will never see me again.” He put his foot into the stirrup and swung into the saddle.
“Expending yourself in a revolution will not help you forget.”
“Perhaps not.” He dragged the reins through his hands and steadied the horse.
“I’ll never forgive you for this, Jack. You’ve been cold to me. While you’re away, I’ll make life miserable for Rebecah, just to get back at you. I’ll tell her how you kissed me a moment ago.”
“Ever the liar.” He frowned. “But what does it matter now what you tell her?”
He nudged the sides of his horse and it moved out the stable doors. His dog ran ahead. He followed the high road with vinegar in his heart. He wrestled against the pain clawing at his soul, tried to suppress it as cold wind hit his face. He mulled over Rebecah’s words again and again, and soon felt sorry for her. She was hurt.
His heart sank deeper, as his horse galloped on. Could he blame her for being hurt? Yes, he had met up with her father while escorting a patriot to the Pennsylvania boarder. Yes, they engaged, and he fired his gun. But whether it was his bullet that caused his death, he questioned. Regretting he had withheld the event from her, he wondered who had told her, and in what manner was it revealed.
Who then was his accuser?
* * *
Rebecah managed to get upstairs to her room after refusing Lanley’s feeble attempt to help her. Her body ached, but she did not care. Her heart ached more.
“Do you believe this slander?”
Lavinia pushed the door closed and leaned against it. Rebecah could see how troubled she was by the frown on her face.
“How can it be true, Rebecah? How could Jack be held responsible for your father’s death?”
“They confronted each other in Maryland…”
“I heard from my father about the letter and its contents. It doesn’t add up.”
Frustrated Lavinia took Nash’s side, Rebecah turned away. “My father would never lie about a thing like this. When he came home he was dying. I saw the wound…I saw… heard them remove his arm.”
“We should make inquiry to the physician.”
“What good would it do? The only thing he can tell you is my father’s arm became gangrene, and he removed it. But it did not save his life.” Then she recalled Dr. Harvey’s words.
I’ve been asked not to divulge the details.
What were these details? If only he had revealed them to her.
Lavinia sat next to Rebecah. “There was a man in the village five years ago who cut off his finger and died of an infection in less than a week. There must be more to this than what you’ve be
en told. How could he have lingered so long, crossing the ocean with a wound like that and then traveling home? You must think, Rebecah.”
Rebecah made no reply.
“I’m sorry you’re hurt,” Lavinia went on. “But you must listen to sense.”
“I don’t wish to speak of it anymore.”
“Oh shame, cousin. Are we God that we should condemn Jack? He must be heard out. Speak to him again and let him explain. How else will you know the truth unless you seek it?”
Rebecah’s eyes filled with bitter tears. “Say no more, Lavinia. What is my pain compared to yours?”
“Your pain is greater.”
Rebecah looked at her cousin. The room had grown dark. Outside the sky thickened with clouds and sleet fell. She listened to it pricking against her window.
“I still love him. And that is the greatest burden of all.”
CHAPTER 18
For Nash the journey to Standforth grew agonizing. He rode for miles, blind and brooding, watching the sky grow thick and heavy with clouds. He mulled over the events of the day, tried to recall each thing she said, each look, each action.
He tightened his grip on the reins, stressed and baffled by the accusation laid upon him. He caused the death of Sir Richard Brent?
Impossible. But she blames me.
His mind drifted back to the day of the skirmish. Could a bullet wound fester so long before it would kill a man? No.
In a fair wind, it would take weeks to cross the ocean. Surely the British field surgeons would have cared for Sir Richard and gotten him well before making such a journey.
Perhaps the infection returned, and I am the cause.
His mind wrestled back and forth in a flood of questions. Then the guilt settled deeper. If he had caused this…”
How can she ever forgive me?
He crossed the windswept countryside, rode into the valley and edged his horse over a narrow cobblestone bridge. Beneath it, water flowed amid crusts of ice. A candle burned in a lantern beside the door and he sighed, his heart heavy.
Nash looked into the deepening sky. What shall I tell them?
Angus met him in the courtyard. Nash dismounted, handed him the reins and entered the house. Upon the table lay his letter to his parents explaining his departure. A moment and he stared at it, then snatched it up in his fist and crumbled it. A fire blazed in the hearth. He strode to it, threw the pages into the flames, watched them burn away to ash.
He waited for his heartbeat to calm, heard movement outside, the whinny of horses, and his stepmother’s delightful laughter.
Margaret Nash came through the front door flushed and lively. She slipped off her cloak and laid it aside. She was plainly dressed, her frock a soft brown wool.
“What a beautiful day. You should see the sky, John.” She sat by the fire and pulled off her riding boots. “Your father will be in directly. You know how he is about the horses.”
Nash walked over to the door, stood on the threshold and looked back at her. In a few days he would leave and he wanted to remember her like this. Lady Margaret glanced at him with a worried smile. He saw, by her changed expression, she marked the fatigue in his face and the melancholy in his eyes.
She pulled the cord for her servant and ordered food brought. “Come and sit, Jack.”
Nash ran his hand over the smooth polished wood of her table. He had no appetite. Food was no longer important—neither drink or material things.
“What is wrong? You were in some kind of scuffle?” She looked at him for an answer.
“It was an equal match.” He tried the beef. Tonight it was tasteless in his mouth.
“You must be careful while in England, Jack. People are talking. The King’s men are on guard every moment for dissenters and sympathizers.”
“Let them watch me. I don’t care.” He shoved the plate aside. “I shall go in rags and pledge everything I own, even my life for The Glorious Cause.”
She reached over and touched his hand. “You know war is the least thing I want for you. What will your father say?”
“That I’m a man and have a right.”
She drew away her hand from his. “I’m meddling.”
“No, Mother. I realize how much it troubles you.”
“We might talk of something else. Did you hurt the man?”
“I was not in a fight with a man, but a woman. Hurt her? Indeed I hurt her.”
Lady Margaret’s mouth fell open. “What woman?”
“Rebecah. We quarreled and she broke it off. It was not meant to be.”
“You’re hurt as well.”
“I’ll get over it. It’s my own fault for getting involved. I should have known better.”
“Whatever happened between you and Rebecah can be mended.” She tried to be encouraging. “Lovers do quarrel, and they make up.”
He looked at her with sad, uncertain eyes and leaned on the table. “Can God change the heart of a person? Can he help me forget?”
“He makes every attempt to help us.”
“Perhaps I’m just a blind fool.”
“No, Jack. You’re not that.”
“Will it grieve you when I leave again?”
“Of course. I’ll miss you deeply.”
“Father should sell Standforth and come with me.”
“Someday. But not yet.”
“I understand.”
“When you left home for America, my heart was heavy as lead and I grieved for your going. I worried and prayed. When at last you had come home and you told us of your success, I was put at ease.”
“I hope you will remain at ease. I’m returning without a wife, which I can tell you regret.”
The front door slammed. With his face flushed from the cold, Sir Rodney strode into the room.
“Ah, Jack, you’re back. Good. Did you know my lady is a better judge of horses than any man in the county? The gentry are asking for her opinion on horses.”
Nash smiled. “I was thinking of her better judgment.”
Sir Rodney nudged him on the shoulder. “It’s a shame you did not stay and go with us, being a brisk day and the countryside so pleasant. How has the day passed for you?”
“I’ll leave you men to talk.” Lady Margaret gathered up a book she had left on the settee and exited the room.
The troubled son put another log on the fire, and for a time they sat quietly looking at the flames build.
“What ails you, Jack?” asked Sir Rodney.
Nash faced his ever-patient father. “Rebecah has rejected me. She heard about the altercation I had with Richard Brent.”
“Surely she understands the circumstances.”
“She blames me for his death.”
“Ridiculous. I cannot see how.”
“Nor can I, unless…”
“What are you thinking?”
“He could have recovered, and then the infection reoccurred.”
“After so long?”
“I do not know.” Nash ran his hands over his face.
“This must be Samuel Brent’s doing.”
“I don’t know who accused me…”
“Well, someone filled her ear. It had to be him. He wants her to wed that namby-pamby Lanley. Oh, he has gone too far this time. Is Rebecah blind?”
“I’m the blind one.”
Sir Rodney shook his head. “There is more to this than meets the eye. I’ll go to Samuel and speak to him in your defense—in front of Rebecah.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“I know Samuel well enough to know, he would not hesitate to have you arrested. Perhaps there’s no time to clear you.”
“I agree, Father.”
Sir Rodney leaned forward. “As much as I hate this, you must leave, my son.”
“Cowards run.”
“Do it for our sakes, your stepmother’s and mine.”
Nash paused to think, then nodded. “I’ll go first thing in the morning.” He took hold of his father’
s arm. “But promise me this. You will come as soon as the fighting is over. Let us be a family again. Let me take care of you and your lady in your old age.”
Sir Rodney hesitated a moment. Then he threw his arms around his son.
* * *
Before dawn, before swallows dipped and banked across the sky, Nash embraced his father and slipped into his stepmother’s room to wake her. Her hair peeked out of her nightcap and she looked at him with startled eyes. He kissed her cheek and spoke tenderly. A moment later, he climbed into the saddle of his horse and looked back at the house he had grown up in one last time. Sir Rodney stood with his arm around his tearful wife at the front door, and raised his hand in farewell. Nash lifted his hat and spurred his horse. His heart was pained to leave them, and he steeled himself with a struggle.
The roads were clear, but he took a different route over the hills and open fields. When Endfield came into view, he reined in his horse and looked at it from the top of the hill. A new day had risen over the horizon, and the birds had begun to sing. His heart beat in his breast and he struck up his courage.
March’s mouth gaped when she opened the door. “You’re not welcomed here.” She went to close it, but he brushed by her without saying a word.
He walked through the house, down the hall to the breakfast room expecting the family to be there. March hurried at his heels. “Stop, Mr. Nash. You mustn’t go in there.”
She may be right. I may be a fool for doing this. But I must have the last word.
The first face he saw when he walked in was Rebecah’s. His eyes met hers, and she froze. Disbelief shadowed her face. Her uncle stood with an oath.
Dorene set her napkin down. “Jack. Have you come to grovel? You see, Rebecah. He has come to beg for your forgiveness.”
“I’ve come to say my peace. A man has the right to face his accusers.” He looked at Brent. “Throw me out, but let me defend myself before you do.”
“How did you get in here?” Brent stormed.
“I tried to stop him,” said March. “But he forced his way inside.”
Brent moved from the table. “You may leave, March. I’ll handle this.” She obeyed and closed the door. The room remained silent except for the crackling of the fire.
