by RITA GERLACH
Jane talked about her boys and the neighbors down the road who just had their seventh baby. “Babies are fine and a blessing from the Lord. Do you not think, my lady?” Jane poured tea into a plain china cup.
“If it had not been for Rodney and my stepson, I would have been a lonely woman.”
Clearly, Lady Margaret fought back tears. Rebecah drew beside her, set her hand on her shoulder.
“We share in your sadness, my lady,” said Jane. “What is to be done?”
Lady Margaret lowered her eyes. “I don’t know, Jane. We shall soon find out.”
Dorene put her hand to her forehead.
“Are you ill, Dorene?” Rebecah asked.
Dorene raised her face. Rebecah noticed her cheeks were flushed, looked plumper than usual.
“I must be going home. I’ll ask someone else to help me from now on, Jane, seeing you refuse. One of the scullery maids should do.” Her voice was smooth, yet tainted with anger. Her dark eyes blinked to hold back fear.
Jane threw her hands over her hips. “I refused, my girl, because what you ask me to do is wrong. You go right ahead and try to make trouble for me with the master. It won’t get you far because he’ll find out why, and I’ll be the one to tell him.”
Dorene thrust out her hand. “I forbid you to speak!”
“Of this I must, Dorene Brent.”
“No, be silent, Jane!”
“You go right ahead and try to stop me.”
“You dare speak to me this way?”
“I do. Henry and I are willing to help in the right way, and so will your cousin and Lady Margaret if you let us.”
“Don’t say another word, Jane!” Dorene covered her ears with her hands. “You’ve no right to judge me. I’ll do what I wish to do, and no one will stop me.”
“What is wrong?” Rebecah moved around the table to her cousin, distressed by her outburst. Now she knew for certain Dorene faced some kind of grave misfortune. Shame and fear ebbed over her face, shone in her worried eyes. Gone were the haughty and proud expressions Rebecah was used to seeing.
“We’ve urgent business, Dorene,” said Lady Margaret. “As you know, Sir Rodney has been arrested. I must go to him. For once swallow your pride and speak now if you need help. I’ve a spare room at Standforth if you should need a refuge.”
Dorene jerked away. “You have no idea what is wrong.”
“It is obvious.”
Rebecah touched her hand. Surprisingly her cousin did not pull away. “Tell us what has happened. What trouble are you in?”
“I know you must hate me, Rebecah, for having wished you and Jack parted.”
“You are wrong. I do not hate you. But you’ve behaved badly.”
“Only because I wanted love so much. I wanted Jack, and I was jealous of you. But then, after you refused Lanley, he wanted me. He wooed me with soft words, words of love, promises of marriage. Now I’m left to face the consequences alone.”
Dorene burst into tears and reached for the back of a chair. Quick to reach her, Rebecah drew her into her arms. Her wayward cousin laid her head upon her shoulder and wept. Distressed, Rebecah looked over at Lady Margaret.
“Take Miss Dorene to one of your rooms, Henry.”
“Yes, my lady.” Immediately Henry lifted Dorene who was too weak to resist.
“And Jane, bring some salts. You need not tell us why you and Miss Dorene argued. It would be apparent to any woman she is with child.”
* * *
The Carrow’s bedroom was furnished with the bare necessities, much in conflict with Dorene’s taste. The bed was small and boxed with cedar. Down quilts covered the straw-filled mattress. Creamy muslin curtains banked the open windows. Upon the sill, Jane had placed a jar of wildflowers. Sunlight sparkled upon the glass, the water within it reflecting on the wall.
Rebecah freed the strings of Dorene’s bodice, enabling her to breathe easier. Beneath her nose, she waved the salts and Dorene opened her eyes.
“Are you feeling better?” Rebecah asked. Dorene nodded. “Here drink this.” She handed her a cup and Dorene tasted the homemade gooseberry wine.
“Now, talk to me without assuming what I might think? You’re in trouble and I want to help.”
“You want to help me?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Dorene sat up on her elbows. “I want to see Mab Penhurvy.”
Rebecah drew back. “The woman that lives outside the village in the woods?”
“I must go to her. Will you take me? I cannot go myself. I’m too afraid.”
“I’ve heard of her, what she does in secret. Dorene, you cannot do this.”
“You said you would help.” Dorene fumed tearfully.
“I did and I will. But I’ll not help you destroy your unborn child.”
Dorene shoved Rebecah away and got up. “You don’t understand a thing.”
“I understand very well.” Rebecah argued, her tone growing angry. “Life is worth saving, even when it’s inconvenient.”
Dorene’s face stiffened. “I don’t understand such things like you. Will you now preach at me? Will you tell me how God must condemn me for what I’ve done and what I’m wanting to do?” Defiant, she tossed her head and swung around to meet Rebecah. “Well go on, say it. I’m bound for Hell.”
“Be quiet,” Rebecah demanded. “We will work this out. What you carry inside you is a part of you. Do not reject the child in your womb. For all you know, that child could be your saving grace, the one who will love you all your life.”
For a moment, Dorene’s angry stare softened. She turned and stared out the window. Rebecah drew up beside her. Jane’s boys were playing in the yard. Dorene reached for Rebecah’s hand. Her reserve broke as they watched the boys roll on the grass.
“My father will cast me out,” she said slowly. “I do not want to be like him.”
“Think of what your mother would tell you.”
Dorene turned to Rebecah. “Oh, how I wish she were here.”
“You have people around you that care. Perhaps if you tell me what happened, it would make you feel better.”
Dorene wiped her face dry. “Father was away on business. I was bored alone at Endfield. Lanley’s visit was unexpected, but I was glad to see him. We supped together, talked long into the night, and then the conversation turned to romance. I ordered March not to disturb us. When I knew she had gone to her chamber, I took him by the hand and led him to my room. He stayed with me all night.”
“So this is Lanley’s child you carry?”
Dorene nodded. “I did not mean it to happen.”
“You must tell him.”
Dorene looked at her with wide eyes. “I cannot, Rebecah. He would deny everything and reject me. If word gets around, I’ll be unwelcome in all good society. Lanley will not have me, and my father will send me away.”
“I believe Lanley is an honorable man.”
“He will reject me, I tell you. Do you know what happens to women like me? Your name is dragged through the mud. You become an embarrassment to the family, left to live out a life as an old maid. And the names people call you.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way. You must tell Lanley.”
Dorene shook her head back and forth. “No. No.”
“He will marry you quietly. Besides, he has always wanted an heir.”
“That is true.” Dorene’s eyes flashed at the idea. “But I am afraid.”
“You cannot let fear prevent you. You must think of the child instead of yourself. You’ve been selfish, Dorene. The child should be entitled to his father and his fortune.”
Dorene looked at her with a shake of her head. “Why couldn’t I have been more like you, Rebecah? Lanley wanted you. I feel I was an outlet for his pain of losing you. Second best. He will not have me. Not like this.”
“You will not know until you try.”
“You are so sure.”
“I cannot say, but it is the right thing to do.”
“I was wrong to meddle in your affairs. If I had not, you would have run off with Jack and married him. Lanley would have chosen me in the long run, perhaps.”
“Perhaps he has chosen you now.”
Dorene’s expression softened. “I’m sorry, Rebecah, for coming between you and Jack.”
“I try not to think of John Nash and what could have been.” But it was hard and she felt the pain of losing him snatch at her heart.
Dorene leaned her head against Rebecah’s shoulder. “I thought you would have hated me. You must forgive me for the wicked things I’ve said and done.”
Rebecah stood. She walked over to the window and opened it wider. “I’m leaving today with Lady Margaret. We are going to Sir Rodney.”
Dorene shot her a worried glance. “Oh, my trouble has delayed you. Here I’m crying over my situation, while Lady Margaret sits in Jane’s parlor agonizing over her husband.”
Rebecah’s skirts whispered across the floor. Sunlight poured through the window and she felt its warmth. “I shall tell you now what must be done, and for once in your life you will listen to sense. You’re going to have a baby. You need Lanley. It would be wrong not to tell him.
“He will despise me.”
“I know him well enough to believe he would not.”
“You’re so sure, Rebecah?’
“To reject you would cause a scandal and I think he has had enough for one year. Let me speak to him.”
“You would do this after the way I’ve treated you?”
A soft smile lifted Rebecah’s mouth. “If I were in your shoes, I would accept any help offered to me. Promise you will not do anything until you’ve heard from him.”
“Alright…I’ll wait.” Dorene rose and gripping her hands looked into Rebecah’s eyes. “Thank you. Whatever happens, whatever he may decide, I will cherish this child.”
Rebecah threw her arms around Dorene and embraced her.
* * *
Across the ocean, a bank of heavy thunderclouds rose over the mountains to the west. Nash waited beside his horse marveling how the peace of the natural world could exist alongside the terrors and cruel punishments of mankind. His heart grew heavy, so much so he wanted to shout aloud and wake the world from the dark slumber blinding the true mission of man.
It was beyond comprehension what had happened at the George Folke farm. He could never describe what horrors he and the others had seen there. Unmistakably warring Indians had committed the gruesome deeds.
Nash and his men had been on patrol when they saw smoke rising above the line of trees at the base of the mountain. He dismounted beside the smoldering cabin. The porch had burned, but the shell of the cabin remained, for its foundation was made of stone.
He and the others stepped inside. The stone fireplace jutted skyward through the rafters, blackened and stripped. Nash picked up the remains of a quilt. He turned the red and white patchwork over and saw the blood upon it. A doll lay broken beneath it. Dropping the quilt back in place, he stood and stomped outside.
The pigpen stood at the edge of the forest beneath the shade of the trees. The swine within it grunted and wiggled their noses between the slates in the stall. Mud and mire covered their tough skin.
“They burned everything but that.” He strode off. Maldowney dashed ahead. When he reached the pen, he stopped short, stiffened, and spun around. “Stay back!” he shouted.
Nash hurried forward. “Robert! What is it?”
Maldowney wiped his mouth with his sleeve and held his arm out to prevent Nash from looking. Nash shoved his arm away and looked over the stile. The man within him tore and the want for revenge exploded. Folke, his wife and children, had been murdered, their bodies hacked and thrown to the pigs for fodder. Bits of bloodstained clothing soaked up the mud among broken bone.
Slamming his fist into one of the stiles, he let out a cry. Then he drew out his flintlock pistol and shot one of the pigs. He reloaded and shot another. His men stood stark still watching him reload, looking on with compassion and dismay.
Then Maldowney set his large hand over Nash’s. “Stop, Jack. ‘Tis not the fault of these creatures.”
Slowly, Nash lowered his weapon. The men gathered around, and one by one they followed Robert Maldowney’s lead and went down on bended knee. Nash stared at the ground with his jaw clenched, while his friend prayed.
He rubbed his eyes as if to wipe away the memory of the massacre. With his hand over his hunting knife, he headed for his horse.
“Black Hawk.” The Indian raised his face. His eyes were proud and Nash saw in them warrior courage. “Can you track the men that did this?”
“Can the wolf find the wounded bear, my brother?”
Nash nodded. “You’re that wolf. You tell me.”
Black Hawk looked up at the hills and pointed. “They are above that line of elms, above the cleft in the rocks.”
“You lead, Black Hawk.” He climbed into the saddle and dragged the reins through his hands. “When we catch them, we will be walking into a hornet’s nest.”
Nash could see it troubled the Scot to see him full of vengeance. “No murder shall I do, Jack. Israel stood against the armies of the Philistines and the prophets blessed them before they went into battle. And so, I do the same. Let us try to capture these men and bring them to trial.”
Nash shrugged. “They’ll hardly give themselves the chance, Robert. For when they meet with us, they will try to kill us.”
CHAPTER 32
Shadows lengthened across the forest. The air grew cool, and pockets of mist rose through the trees to the heights of the mountains. The sky turned hard blue to the south, granite to the north.
Nash watched Black Hawk steal silently through the trees. The feathers in his hair blended with the darker shades of the woods. He bent low, stopped and raised his hand. And when Nash lifted his in reply, the Indian prince stepped forward and halted in front of him.
Nash’s heart had been pounding, for what Black Hawk had found he was anxious to know. Beads of sweat rippled down his temple and he wiped them away. “What can you tell us, my brother?”
Black Hawk pointed to a place in the hills where two mountains met. Mist lay thick and deep within the crevice. “Twenty shots from where the arrow flies. From the bridge in the rock, I’ve seen them.”
With a creased brow, Nash stared up the hillside from where Black Hawk had come. The woods were thick and the undergrowth heavy. How any man could trek through it without making a single sound seemed impossible.
Taking up the reins of his horse, he turned to his men. “We have to leave the horses behind. One neigh, a hoof breaking a twig, will give us away.”
“Over there are hemlocks.” Andrew Clarke jerked his head in that direction.
Nash went on. When they reached the grove, he pulled Meteor inside, rubbed his nose, and tethered him there alongside Clarke’s horse. He stepped away with the others, Black Hawk in the lead. They mounted the hill to a deer trail swept clear of leaves.
Halfway, a covey of quail erupted from the ground, took flight and scattered. Nash saw Black Hawk squeeze the hilt of his tomahawk. The men instantly crouched behind the brush. He locked his eyes on the ridge. Had the enemy found them instead?
He glanced over at Clarke, saw his hands tighten around his musket. He heard Maldowney suck in a quick breath. A whisper of wind rustled the leaves in warning. The sun slid behind a cloud. The forest shifted from shadowy daylight to grim twilight.
His heart raced and he steeled himself for the battle.
Over the crest of the hill a warrior stood. He threw his arms into the air with a blood-curdling cry. His war whoop echoed through the woods. Nash lifted his musket and took aim.
Five more warriors poured over the hill and ran toward them. A tomahawk whirled within inches of Nash’s head, struck a tree behind him. Clarke fired his musket. Blood spilled out along an Indian’s chest and he fell.
Nash took aim and fired. The bullet splintered a tree and
passed into an Indian’s heart. He glanced to his left. Maldowney threw himself upon a warrior that wrestled with Black Hawk. With his great hands, he pulled the man up, squeezed the knife from his hand, swung him around and shook him like a rag doll. Bending him like a reed, he then tossed him into the woods. The others turned, scrambled up the hill and over the top. One turned whose face Nash knew.
LaRoux!
Black Hawk sheathed his knife. “I did not need help.”
Maldowney heaved a breath. “Perhaps not, my friend. But you’re welcomed just the same.”
Andrew Clarke curled up on the ground and moaned. Nash set him up against a tree and looked at the wound on his arm. “You’ll be alright, Andy. Try not to move.”
An aching grew in his mind as he looked at his bleeding friend. A strange desire to see the warring end surged through his veins like quicksilver. He untied the scarf around Clarke’s throat and tied it around his arm. Nash looked up at Maldowney.
“Help me get him on his horse.”
The two men held Clarke’s arms over their shoulders and guided him back down the hill. Clarke’s horse snorted as they helped him mount.
Meteor pranced with wide eyes until his master’s hand calmed him. Nash noticed the blood on his hands when he drew the reins over the horse’s head. He walked to a stream beside the path and washed the blood away.
CHAPTER 33
David’s shadow fell across the threshold when he opened the door and stepped inside the sitting room. Rebecah looked over at him. Marriage had changed the man. He looked healthier, happier, deeply in love with her cousin, overjoyed with the baby they were going to have. It made her smile, gave her hope that true love could last.
“Mr. Deberton has arrived,” he said.
With a quick turn, Lady Margaret moved from the window to a seat beside Rebecah.
“Has he news about my husband?”
She twisted a handkerchief between her hands, her expression drawn and anxious.
“Yes, and it would be best if I let him tell you, my lady. He’s taking off his coat and gloves and will be in directly.”
“Perhaps it will be good news,” Rebecah said to Lady Margaret when she lowered her eyes. “Anything else, David?”
