by Susan Page Davis, Darlene Franklin, Pamela Griffin, Lisa Harris
She clipped away timidly at first, then with more confidence, at last standing back to eye her work critically. “There. Not a perfect job, but you’d pass in a mob.”
His eyes twinkled. “Next time I’m in a mob, I’ll recollect that.”
Lucy fetched the broom, swept up the clippings, and tossed them into the fire.
“Not saving it to stuff a pillow?” Jack asked with a smile.
She stared at him. “I stuff my pillows with feathers, if you please.”
He stood slowly, using the chair back for leverage. “ ‘Tis what my mother did when I was a lad. That little embroidered cushion yonder is filled with my baby hair.” He nodded toward the bedroom door.
Lucy blinked, unsure how to answer. At last she said, “Well, she was a doting mother.”
“Yes, and I was her only child to survive infancy.”
“Then we can’t blame her for being a mite smothery, can we?” Lucy said. “Now, I must get back to my loom.”
She hurried up to the loft. Why did her heart pound so? It was only a haircut, and a badly needed one at that. Was it because a bit of quiet fire had returned to his eyes, and more and more he resembled the young man she’d fancied four years ago? All those years she’d longed for Jack to notice her again. One glance would have satisfied her, she’d told herself. And now, here she was actually married to him and still craving his notice. But when he did look at her and attempt to tease her, panic filled her breast.
As she moved her shuttle back and forth, she considered his words. Was he merely trying to ease the tension between them so their odd marriage would seem more normal? Or could it be he hoped to woo her again? She knew she didn’t want to go on as they were, living as brother and sister might, sharing the work of the farm, each benefiting from the other’s labor. She’d had as much with her mother.
No, she would be very disappointed if things did not change soon. But was it her place to instigate change? Or was that what Jack was trying to do this morning? As the shuttle flew back and forth through the warp, she renewed her prayers for wisdom and discretion in her marriage, but added a meek plea, if the Lord so willed, for a bit of passion.
When she came in from milking that evening, Jack was leaning on the table, and on it lay a quilt and a lantern.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“My bedding. I shall sleep in the barn tonight.”
Lucy stared at him. “To what purpose?”
“Why, to protect our property, and to … to give you back your bedchamber.” His stare came across as a challenge.
Lucy felt her annoying blush return. It seemed that whenever Jack looked at her for more than a moment, her cheeks flushed.
“That’s not necessary,” she said. “After all, it’s your bedchamber, and was before I came here. I am comfortable out here on the pallet, and you need to have your healing rest each night.”
“I’m much better now, and I’ll not have my wife sleeping on the floor one more night. Please don’t fight me on this, Lucy.”
She pressed her lips together and studied his face. How important was this to Jack? Would it set him back to sleep on the straw pile in the barn? She supposed not, as long as he had clean bedding to lie on. The nights were warm, and lying on the straw, while not as comfortable as a featherbed, might ease his mind enough to let him sleep peacefully.
She had no doubt that Jack’s full recovery was dependent on his keeping his pride intact, and occupying the bed while she slept on the floor threatened it. Moving to the barn seemed to be the answer he’d found, and he was set on it.
“Fine.” She set down the bucket of milk and began her supper preparations. Jack said nothing, and after a minute she looked over at him.
He was watching her and gave a nod when she caught his eye. “That’s settled, then.”
“Yes, Jack. But I doubt you are ready to split wood or swing a scythe, so please don’t try it.” She began cutting the tops off a bunch of carrots.
“I should be haying.”
“We’ll trade work with Sam Ellis, or buy hay.”
“I’ll not buy hay when I’ve fields begging to be mowed.”
“Then we’ll hire someone. Will Carver, perhaps.”
He scowled. “In a week I’ll be ready to do a full day’s work.”
Lucy stopped chopping the vegetables. “Perhaps yes, perhaps no. You mustn’t go too quickly.”
“I don’t like having you haul water and firewood and hoe the corn.”
She shrugged. “That’s as it must be for now. It won’t last.” But she could tell by his expression that he was still not content. All right, she would give in to him on the sleeping arrangements, though it wasn’t at all the next step she’d hoped to see in their relationship.
“At least we’ll know if anyone pokes about the barn at night.” She chopped the carrots into pieces and tossed them into her stew kettle.
“If someone’s pilfering from us, we’ll soon know it.”
“Perhaps …” She turned to face him. “Perhaps you should take your gun with you.”
“Oh, I don’t think this phantom is desperate. He’s only been taking a bit of food.”
“You don’t think it’s something more sinister?”
“What do you mean?” He walked over to stand beside her, and Lucy was keenly aware of his nearness.
“Nothing. It’s just that … well, while you were in the jail, I wondered if perhaps the person who killed Barnabas Trent was lingering about the neighborhood.”
Jack frowned. “This petty thievery doesn’t seem to fit in with violent murder.”
“No, but … at least take Sir Walter with you.”
Jack laughed. “Nay, the dog is your comfort. Keep him with you.” He limped to the table and picked up the bedding. “I’ll take these things to the barn and look around.”
“Supper will be ready in a bit.”
She watched him go, holding back her impulse to advise him to take the stick he’d been using as a cane while hobbling about the house and dooryard. Jack was as loath to surrender his independence as she was, it seemed.
She set the kettle on a pothook over the fire and opened her bin of wheat flour. Biscuits tonight. Jack liked her biscuits. As she kneaded the dough, she glanced toward the corner where she’d been leaving her straw pallet during the day. Sir Walter was curled up on the edge of it.
“Aye, you can have that bed tonight,” she said, pounding the dough extra hard. What had she expected? That she would move from the pallet on the floor into her husband’s bed with him? Apparently that was another thing Jack was not ready for, and she would certainly not be the one to broach the subject.
Would she ever have a real marriage? She had bound herself to Jack, and in so doing had helped save his farm and perhaps his life. Did his feelings for her go beyond gratitude, as she hoped they would? He was free now, not only from prison; he was free to establish a family and give her the warm, loving home she had always craved. But Jack seemed interested only in getting on with the farm work. Did he regret his impulsive decision to marry her?
She prayed as she rolled and shaped the dough. Lord, I need Your grace. Help me to be the best wife he could want. And someday, if it be in Your plan, let me truly be his wife.
At supper Jack talked about the livestock and his plans for haying and harvesting the grain crops. Lucy smiled at his eagerness and forced herself not to protest when he suggested that he would be back to full strength soon.
“Do you want to open your school again?” he asked as she refilled his cup with milk.
Lucy hesitated. “We’ve been so busy, I’m not sure. What do you advise?”
Jack smiled, and she felt her heart contract the way it used to when she knew he’d walked a mile out of his way just to see her.
“Do as you wish, but I’ll give you the same advice you gave me: Don’t do anything too soon. If you need your strength for harvest and preserving and weaving, perhaps you should not hold school just now.
”
She nodded. “Thank you. I’ll think about it.”
When he rose to go to the barn, her disappointment again assailed her. He hadn’t changed his mind. “Won’t you take the dog?”
“Nay. If our egg stealer came around, that hound would scare him away before I got a good look at him.”
Chapter 14
The hour was late, and Jack’s eyelids drooped with weariness. He stirred, grimacing at the pain that still lanced his side too frequently. What good would it do to stay awake any longer? No one was prowling about. Lucy had imagined it. Perhaps the men who had done chores for her had taken a few eggs and sneaked a few vegetables from the garden.
He’d sat in the barn doorway for the better part of an hour, to be sure Lucy had gone to bed. He’d seen the light of her candle go from the front room to the bedchamber. After a few minutes, it was extinguished.
Good, he thought. She’ll be comfortable tonight.
He hadn’t really wanted to distance himself from her. In fact, while she’d stood so close to him that morning to cut his hair, he’d wanted to sweep her into his arms and kiss her. Her gentle touch was almost a caress, although to her he supposed it was nothing, only another chore.
But those ten minutes had told him that he couldn’t keep sleeping in the house. He didn’t want his wife sleeping on the floor any longer, now that he was recovering, and he was certain she wouldn’t sleep in the bedroom while he was there, though he couldn’t help longing to have her beside him. What other solution was there?
He inched his aching arm into a marginally better position. He was married to a beautiful woman, yet he was sleeping in the barn.
Don’t think that way, he chided himself. Be thankful. The loveliest woman in the district is in your house. So far, she’s been willing to stay with you. She hasn’t mentioned leaving. She’s humbled herself to nurse you.
But then, Lucy would probably do that for anyone. It was her nature to be kind and to give of herself. She came here as a favor to him, and he wouldn’t ask more of her. He’d already asked too much. How had he ever thought he might ask her to share his life with him? He was amazed that she was willing to go on living here now.
Perhaps someday, Lord, You will allow us to form a true family. Give me strength to wait for that time. And, if possible, please allow Lucy to see me as a man who can provide for her and who is worthy of her love.
The door creaked on its hinges. Jack froze.
He held his breath and tensed, seeing a dark form silhouetted against the gray sky. He waited for the intruder to come closer. The door thumped softly shut. Jack determined to put all of his hoarded energy into his attack.
Lucy awoke to Sir Walter’s fierce barking. The dog flung himself against the closed bedroom door and scratched its lower panel, alternately barking and whining.
She lit the lantern with shaking fingers and grabbed her shawl from its peg, throwing it about her shoulders. When she opened the door, Sir Walter catapulted to the front door of the house and repeated his frantic performance.
“Steady,” she cautioned, reaching over his head to lift the latch. She hadn’t barred the door, lest Jack decided to return to the house for something. As soon as she drew the door in a few inches, Sir Walter raced off in a straight course to the barn, yowling as he ran.
Lucy stumbled after him, holding the lantern high. As she approached the barn door, she heard a muffled cry and a thud, followed by the clatter of a tool falling to the floor.
“Jack?” she called.
The barn door stood open, and the dog was already inside. His barking had lowered to a menacing growl punctuated by yips. She wished she’d brought the musket.
“Jack?”
“Here,” he panted. “Bring the light.”
She crept forward toward the cow’s stall, where she saw her husband kneeling over a twitching form. Jack held the intruder down with his knee squarely in the other’s back, but he clutched his right arm tight against his side, and his face was lined with pain.
Lucy hurried toward him and gasped when she saw his captive’s face. “Why, it’s a boy!”
“Is it?” Jack sighed. “I’m grateful. Any bigger or stronger, and he’d have bested me. I’m weak as a kitten.”
The lad squirmed, and Jack pushed his head into the straw with his good hand. “Lie still if you know what’s good for you. My wife’s a terror, and she’ll kill you if you move.”
Lucy opened her mouth to protest, but Jack looked up at her, still panting, and winked. Gingerly he moved off the boy’s body and sat on the floor. “Now, what’s your name?”
The boy raised his head, throwing Lucy an anxious glance. “Simon. Simon Brady.”
Jack frowned. “I don’t know anyone named Brady.”
“My father lives up the coast.”
“Ah. And what are you doing in my barn, Simon Brady?”
“I …” He looked down and bit his lip.
“Come to forage for your supper, eh?” Jack said.
“Aye, sir,” the boy whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s a bit late to repent of your stealing. You’ve been at it for some time.”
Simon hung his head, and Lucy thought she saw the glint of tears in his eyes.
“And why have you left your father’s house and become a criminal, eh?” Jack’s stern voice made Lucy feel sorry for the boy, but she said nothing.
Simon sniffed and looked at Jack from the corner of his eye. “I thought to join the militia, sir. I heard the captain here is a fine man to serve under.”
“And what did your father think of that?”
The boy’s mouth worked for a moment before he said, “He forbade me.”
“So you ran away.”
“Aye,” Simon whispered.
Jack let that hang in the air for a moment before asking, “So did you see Captain Murray?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And did he take you into his company?”
Simon’s head sank lower. “Nay. He said I’m too young.”
“Ah.”
Simon darted a glance at Lucy, then raised his chin and looked at Jack. “He said I might come back when I’m sixteen.”
“And how long will that be?” Jack asked.
Simon slouched once more. “Three years.”
“Did you think to live off my eggs and milk for three years?”
The boy said nothing.
Lucy cleared her throat. “Shall I fetch the constable, husband?”
Jack looked up and frowned. “Not just yet.” He turned to Simon. “Boy, I’m going to consult with my wife about what to do with you. We could have you put in irons and flogged for this.”
Simon sniffed, and his shoulders trembled. He didn’t look at either of them.
“You stay right here,” Jack said. “Don’t you move so much as your little finger, you understand?”
“Aye.”
Jack reached toward Lucy, and she gave him her hand. He groaned as he got to his feet, then stood still for a moment, wincing and holding his right arm close to his abdomen.
“Where is your sling?” she whispered, peering at his ashen face.
“Lost in the scuffle. I’ll find it in the morning. Step outside with me.” Jack sought out the dog. “Battle, keep watch!”
The dog growled and settled down on his haunches a yard from the boy. Simon cringed away from him.
Jack limped out the door, and Lucy followed, shutting it behind them.
“What shall we do?” she asked.
Jack looked up at the stars. “I’d hate to see the boy treated the way I was, although he deserves some punishment.”
“I only said that about the constable to frighten him,” Lucy admitted, “the way you said I might kill him.”
Jack chuckled. “He’s terrified of you now.”
“Oh, Jack, I expect he’s afraid to go home. Perhaps his father would beat him.”
“That may be why he left home to begin with, although many a
boy romanticizes about the military life.”
“Shall we tell him he can sleep in the barn tonight?”
Jack frowned. “I want to make sure he had nothing to do with Trent’s death first.”
Lucy caught her breath. “He’s a boy.”
“Yes, and Trent was a mean old man. If he caught the lad stealing and came at him, who can say what might have happened?”
“All right, then, you talk to him. But let me know how it turns out.”
Jack gave her hand a squeeze. “If it’s not too much trouble, I think I’ll be ready for some willow bark tea when I’m through here.”
“Oh, Jack, you haven’t cracked your ribs again, have you?”
“I don’t think so, but I’m sore, and my arm aches.” He held up his left hand and examined it in the starlight. “I expect I skinned my knuckles, as well. I hope I didn’t hurt the lad.”
At the end of half an hour, Jack felt satisfied that he had the boy’s entire story and that Simon was telling the truth. He bade the lad to lie down on his own blanket and promised to bring him some food, then left him in the barn with the dog.
He found Lucy sitting by the kitchen fire. She’d put on her outer clothing and had the tea steeping for him. She started to rise as he entered, but Jack waved his hand. “Sit.”
“I’ll need to check your injuries.”
“It can wait.” He settled on a stool across the hearth from her and clasped his hands together between his knees. “He’s not a bad boy. He’s been hiding in the woods all summer, making the rounds of farms in the night for food.”
“Where has he slept?”
Jack sighed. “He lived in Trent’s barn for a while, before Richard came. Most nights, though, he camped out under the stars. The weather’s been warm, so I don’t think he suffered much. But like all boys, he’s always hungry. Hence, the thievery.”
“I don’t want to press charges.” Lucy searched his face with an uncertainty that led Jack to believe she would follow his lead in this, whatever he suggested.
“Nor do I,” he told her. “I asked Simon about Trent’s murder, but he says he had nothing to do with it. In fact, he claims he didn’t even know what happened for weeks. He did notice a lot of men at Trent’s place one day—probably the day of the murder or mayhap when they took inventory of the estate. After that he never saw the old man again. But he swears he didn’t harm Goodman Trent, and I believe him. Lucy, he’s either an honest boy or the best liar I ever met.”
