by RITA GERLACH
With an uneasy tread, he mounted his horse. When he opened the door to his house, all was silent and dark. He ascended the stairs and went to his room, slamming the door. He stared at the empty bed, the cold white sheets, the light coming through the window. Why couldn’t he have been more understanding? He should have shown her gratitude for enduring a long journey to bring him news of his father, letters, and money for the Patriots.
He sat in a chair, still clothed and booted, his hand covering his mouth, hours passing, until night fell and stars lightened the sky.
CHAPTER 10
At sunrise, Nash saddled Meteor, rode up the mountain, and followed the ridgeline to an outcropping where he could see down into the valley. The spires of the churches pierced a clear blue sky. He dismounted and sat on the ledge, where he could talk to God, mull over recent events, reasoned what to do.
Still agonizing over his father, he thought of Rebecah. His eyes traveled north from one spire to another, to where the Boyd house stood. He pictured her there…or had she found a way to leave on this morn?
The thought of her going caused his heart to ache. He regretted how he had treated her. He should have pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He should have said how much he loved her, how happy he was she had come to him.
He got up knowing he had to talk to her before it was too late. He rode along the creek, paused to let the horse drink, when Robert Maldowney came trekking along the bank toward him.
“I was up at the house and Joab said you were away from home. I had a notion I’d find you here.”
Nash looked out at the water.
“Are you troubled?” Maldowney asked. “Is there anything I can do?”
“It would do me good to hear you say God has listened.”
“Aye, he hears, and he looks on the heart.”
“But never upon a man’s reason?”
“In times of battle a man must use his reason in order to survive. In times of danger, storm, and dearth the mind takes over where the heart leaves. But in times of love, that is a time when a man’s soul is put to the test.”
Nash pinched is brows. “You’re right of course.”
“I know about your lady. She’s come a long way.”
“And brought with her sad news of my father.” He went on to explain, his emotions mounting. “So you see I must go back to England. I’ll take her with me, if she doesn’t leave beforehand.”
“That would be unwise,” Maldowney said. “You would be implicated and thrown into prison.”
His friend spoke no truer words, for Nash had known the business his father had been taking part in, a business that both worried him and caused him to admire his father more than ever. “I would trade places with my father. No greater love, remember?”
“Aye, I know. But if you went back, what could you do for him if arrested yourself?”
With a heavy sigh, Nash looked up at the trees and shook his head. “I know you’re right. But I’m angry with the truth.”
“Trust in the Lord. Your friend, David, sounds like he is a wise man and shrewd when it comes to the law. You say there is no firm evidence against your father. It may be he has already been freed and you’ll have word of it in no time.”
“Indeed that could be true. David is the best lawyer in Plymouth. The idea my father could have been released by now comforts me.”
“Let us hope you will receive that news soon, my friend. And that the lady and you will be reconciled—at least in friendship if not in love.”
“Thank you, Robert. But I do love her.” Nash put his fist against his heart. “It burns in me like a fire. I’ve tried to change my feelings for her. I cannot. And then she shows up, looking as beautiful as the first day I saw her. That fire grew. Yet I showed myself bitter and resentful toward her.”
Maldowney reached up and gripped Nash’s hand. “She will forgive you.”
* * *
Carne’s barn stood on a rise of ground above Carroll Creek. Wispy willows shaded the water. Mallards skirted along the surface. A gristmill’s wheel turned, while the townspeople who strolled by, listened to the peaceful shower of water tumbling down the spokes.
One of the largest barns in the county, with a rough-hewn pine floor and stables in the rear for cattle and horses, Carne’s barn did not lack for room as a gathering place. Lanterns affixed to the posts lit the interior in golden light.
The barn was full of people—farmers, laborers, tradesmen, and refugees from the wilderness. Having seen to his horse, Nash walked inside. He weaved his way through the crowd. He had hopes of seeing Rebecah.
Mrs. Cottonwood and her daughters were present. He caught Drusilla’s gaze. She blushed and with a shy smile lowered her eyes. Her mother prodded her into the crowd by poking her hard with her finger, causing the poor girl to bump into Nash.
“Good evening,” Drusilla said.
He thought her mother’s behavior disgraceful. How embarrassed this child was, and how her head had been filled with dreams of marrying him.
“Evening, Miss Drusilla. I’m surprised you’re not dancing with someone.”
She looked up at him young and coy. “I was hoping you would ask me.”
“Well, at the moment, I’m looking for someone. Besides, my injury prevents me from being a good partner tonight.”
“May I ask who you’re looking for?”
“No one you know, Drusilla.”
“Oh, but I think I do. Is it that English lady that came to your house? Mother and I…”
A young lad was passing by. He was the same height and age as the girl, fair-haired and anxious. Nash grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Tom! This fair young lady needs a dancing partner. Dance with her, will you?”
“You bet!” With a broad smile, he took Drusilla’s hands and whirled her into the mix. A tune started up and the men hurried to select their partners.
Nash looked through the crowd. An ivory cheek. Coral lips. A turned head.
Rebecah stood beside Theresa Boyd, looking as though she wished she were somewhere else.
* * *
“Disgraceful.”
Rebecah glanced over her shoulder. Mrs. Cottonwood sat a few yards away with her flock of matrons. A deep frown creased her face.
“I cannot approve of such forward behavior. Visiting his house unaccompanied by a chaperon is a sign of moral turpitude. Lud, to think what would have transpired if Captain Nash had been at home. Girls brought up in the frontier have stronger morals than that. Take my girls, for example. Each one deserves to marry a rich landowner, and shall, even if it’s solely based on their good character.”
Theresa leaned in. “Did you hear that?”
“I did.” Rebecah sighed. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll be gone soon.”
“Of course it matters. Come with me.” She looped her arm through Rebecah’s and turned.
“Ladies, may I present my friend Rebecah Brent? Rebecah, this is Mrs. Smith, Mrs. Tinburgen, the Mistress Derwood, and Mrs. Watson. You’ve met Mrs. Cottonwood. They have lived in Fredericktown since before I was born. If there’s anything you want to know these are the ladies to ask.”
Rebecah curtsied, lifted her eyes to see the affront Theresa had caused. Each woman frowned, except for the Widow Watson. She smiled.
“I’m sure I could have learned a great deal from them, Theresa. But my stay here is short.”
“Oh, is it?” Mrs. Cottonwood craned her neck. “Well, that is news indeed.”
“Yes, Miss Rebecah is returning home, ladies.” Theresa drew Rebecah closer. “It’s such a shame. But then one must determine just what home means.”
Theresa tossed her head and hurried Rebecah away. The women were left with their mouths gaping.
“Old biddies,” Theresa said. “Not the widow though. She’s nice to everyone.”
* * *
He lost sight of her. His heart sunk. Had she gone? He went toward the entrance and would have gone out to find her, but a round of l
aughter caused him to halt. Clarke and others were having the time of their lives. Between them, Nash saw Rebecah smile. But her eyes spoke differently. How well he knew them, for he had spent many an hour looking into them. Tonight they were forlorn, lost—because of him.
He went toward her. Another man grabbed her hands, whirled her around, and when he let go, she bumped into Nash.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
She went to leave, but he swung his arm around her waist and pulled her into a concealed corner.
“You mean to run away from me again?”
“I don’t belong here, remember? You said it was a mistake.”
He looked into her eyes. “I was wrong. I’m sorry.” He stepped closer. “Rebecah…”
“Mr. Clarke has agreed to take me to Annapolis since there is no telling when the coach is due back. We leave tomorrow. If there’s a letter you wish me to take home, I shall.”
“I don’t want you to take anything back. I want you to…”
“Jack!” Clarke bounded up to them. “You cannot keep the lady to yourself. She has a line of men waiting to dance with her.”
Clarke turned to Rebecah with a bow. “Ma’am, our captain is no dancing man. No offense meant. Will you dance this reel with me? Come on.” He took her by the hand and pulled her away. Into the commotion they went.
Jealousy seized Nash, and he fought to contain it. He saw her laugh as Clarke spun her around. She had not looked back, and he hated how it made him feel. Clarke had a belly full of ale. It made him a poor partner, for he stumbled and dipped like an infatuated schoolboy.
Nash stiffened his jaw and glared.
* * *
Rebecah stood where Clarke had left her. She looked over at Nash and met his eyes.
Did he not know how much she yearned for him? Did he not realize she struggled over what to do, desperate that he had not come to her?
She weaved her way out of the crowd. Hurrying into the night, she went down the hill toward the creek where the moon shone bright across the water. She stood on the mossy bank where the cool darkness hid her. She wept silently, wiping her eyes and looking up at the spangled sky.
Why hadn’t things gone smooth? She had found love and her world had fallen apart. Alone in a strange country without family or the protection of a husband, beset by loneliness, she regretted her journey.
Hearing someone behind her, she gasped. She turned and saw Nash standing in the moonlight with his hat in hand. Silence seized them both, and they stood motionless staring at one another. A moment and he stepped forward, his breath hurried, his look determined, desperate.
“You followed me,” she said.
He stepped closer. “I could tell you were upset and I became worried.”
“There was no need to have troubled yourself.”
“You should not go wandering in places you don’t know. Just beyond those trees, the bank is steep. If you go any farther, you could fall in.”
She tossed her head and a curl fell over her eyes. “I knew where I was,” she said, pushing it back.
“The creek is known to have copperheads from time to time. Do you know what they are?”
“Some kind of animal, I imagine.”
“They’re snakes, Rebecah.”
She stared at him a moment, a shiver passing over her. “Thank you for telling me. I shall be sure to avoid it.”
He came to her. She saw heartache in his eyes.
“I never meant to hurt you,” he whispered.
“Nor I you. Doesn’t my coming to you prove it?”
“It tells me you still love me.”
“You loved me—once.”
“I still do. I adore you.”
He touched her cheek. His arm went around her waist and pulled her close. “Don’t leave,” he said. “Instead—marry me.”
CHAPTER 11
Near the Potomac, a German settler, his wife and children, finished breakfast. Still the scent of fried eggs and bacon lingered in the rough-hewn cabin. Jonas Muller downed the last of his black coffee, set it on the table, and kissed his lady’s cheek.
“I’ll be hunting today, Karien. Dar is lots of deer and turkey in da woods dis season.”
“Easy for you, meine liebe,” she replied. “I’ve got to clean da mattresses today. Cold weather will be here soon and we don’t want weevils.”
“If I try, Karien, you’ll only tell me I’m doing it wrong.”
“Dat is true. You go on. I’ve got work to do.”
Jonas grabbed his musket, looped his powder horn over his shoulder, and headed out the cabin door.
“Don’t forget to wear a cap, liebe.” Karien snatched it from the hook on the wall and tossed it to her husband. “The wind is keen this morning.”
Jonas squashed it tight upon his head, winked at Karien and strode out into the sunlight.
Their son, age two, sat on the floor playing with his sister Adele. Adele’s head bounced from side to side and it made Gustav smile. Stretching her limbs, Adele stood and handed him a wooden block. A stool sat beneath the window and she climbed it.
“Papa will bring home a fat turkey, Adele,” Karien told the child.
“Mama, I see someone in the woods.”
Karien looked up from working her bread dough and wiped her hands along her muslin apron. A knot of fear formed in the pit of her stomach.
“Come down from da window, Adele.” She helped her daughter back to the floor. “Mama will have a look.”
Karien gazed into the world outside her window. The towering elms beyond showered the grass with golden leaves. The sky above was blue as a robin’s egg. The stream beside the cabin moved like a serpent down the hillside. She scanned the treeline. She gasped and sprang away.
“Oh my kinder!” she cried. “Save them, God!”
She gathered little Gustav into her arms and grabbed Adele’s hand. She moved the bed aside, took the knife her husband kept underneath it and shoved the blade between the floorboards until they gave way to the hiding place Jonas had made in anticipation of Indian attacks. With trembling hands, Karien put the boards aside and then reached for her children. Adele looked at her with frightened eyes. Gustav sucked his fingers.
“Down, Adele. Go down and stay. Keep your brother close.”
Karien reached inside the pocket of her dress and handed the children a bit of sugarcane, hoping it would keep them quiet.
“Let us play a game of hide and seek. You’re not to come out until Papa finds you.” She put her finger against her lips. “So be as quiet as mice.”
Adele’s large blue eyes filled. “Mama?”
“Do what Mama says, Adele. Don’t make a sound.”
Karien helped Adele down, then Gustav. “Mama is going to put da boards back now. We’ve done this before, remember? Be quiet until Papa finds you.”
With the floor covered Karien slid the bed back in place. She pulled a musket off the wall. Then she barred the door. Through the window, she saw Indians creep toward the house. Muskets were in their hands, war paint on their faces. Their hair blew back in the breeze. Their copper bodies glistened in the sunlight. They screamed the war cry, and Karien felt her blood run cold.
“Jonas? Jonas where are you?”
As she spoke the last word, she saw her husband running toward the cabin. He stopped, knelt, and fired his musket, felling one Indian. Another ran toward him and swung his tomahawk. He fell back, and Karien saw blood pour out onto his hunting jacket.
She wanted to cry out, scream his name. But for the children’s sake, she threw her hand across her mouth and pushed the words back. Terror beat through her heart. Fear seized every fiber of her body. They were at the door, ramming against it. What power did she have to stand against this pack of wolves? She was a woman, a mother, a wife who saw her husband killed.
Tears pooled in her eyes as the door broke in. She stood back and raised the musket. She fired. She gasped. Fear surged through her, for her life, for her children when she saw
she had missed. She uttered a prayer and they seized her arms. Her heart stopped with terror. Indians were near the bed, stepping over the floor above the heads of her babes. She fought back like a mother bear, sunk her teeth into the Indian’s arm that held her. He knocked her down, gathered up the length of Karien’s golden hair in his fist. She struggled and wept—knowing what was to come.
The Indian blazed his knife, ran it through her skin. Blood poured down her face. With her children’s names upon her lips, Karien Muller fell back and died.
* * *
Nash drew rein and looked down the hillside. An Indian emerged from the cabin, his chest smeared with war paint. With one quick thrust, he raised the golden trophy in his grasp and yelped. Nash’s blood curdled. Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead and his hands shook.
The warrior bounded down the cabin step, joined the others. With cries of victory, they were gone, with sacks of goods, with scalps upon their belts.
A chill raced through Nash as silence descended. His eyes remained fixed on the cabin door. It moved slightly in the breeze. He looked away toward the barn, saw a man upon the ground, his hand outstretched.
Nash’s men gathered round, and without a word, he nudged Meteor forward and walked him down the hill. The others followed, their muskets poised, their long knives in their fists.
Inside the hapless cabin, the dusky haze of the sun streamed through the loopholes in the windows. Bread dough lay in a wooden bowl, and there upon the floor lay the body of a woman, her face and dress splattered with blood, her eyes open, searching for the meaning of her death. The golden hair, that had been her glory, was no more.
Sorrowful at the sight, Robert Maldowney knelt beside her and picked up her hand. “Poor lass.” He closed her eyes with the palm of his hand. “Andrew and I will bury them. I’ll speak a word over their graves.”
“Prayer in life would have done them more good. What does it matter now?”
Angry, Nash picked up the red and white patchwork from off the bed. With care, her body was laid within it. Beneath Nash’s boots came a whimper. He looked down, heard it again. He moved the bed and lifted the floorboards. Two sweet but frightened faces stared up at him, eyes glistening with tears.
