by RITA GERLACH
Juleah stepped inside and watched Partridge head up the stairs. In the shadows above, the shape of her uncle came down the corridor.
“Dear me, woman. What's the ruckus? Who's that lady at the door?”
When Juleah heard her uncle's voice, she too hurried forward and stared up. Partridge stopped at the top of the stairs. She slapped her hand over her chest, and her bosom rose and fell.
“Mr. Stowefield, your niece is downstairs.”
“Oh, that is cruel, Partridge. It cannot be. Go see who it is and tell her I open for business in the morning.”
He turned to go. Partridge grabbed his arm. “You must go and speak to her at once.”
“Oh, very well.” Stowefield headed down the stairs. Boards creaked under his weight, and Juleah gazed up at his face through the gloom. He had aged, but still had the same kind face, ever noble.
“See here, young woman. What kind of joke is this to play on an old man in the throes of grief? How dare you come to my house and claim—” He stopped short at the bottom of the stairs. He trembled and reached for the banister. “Can it be? Do my eyes deceive me? Am I seeing a ghost?”
Juleah smiled and put her hands out to her uncle. “I am no ghost, Uncle John. Do you not recognize me?”
Stowefield froze. His eyes widened. He struggled to speak. A sob escaped his lips and he reached out to pull her into his arms.
“I am glad you are happy to see me.” She kissed his cheek and laughed.
“Happy? Words cannot describe.” He released her and in a rush, took her hand. “Come into the parlor and sit. Partridge, bring my niece something to eat. Are you hungry, child?”
Juleah nodded. “Very. Have you any tea?”
“As much as you wish.” Stowefield's voice quivered with excitement. “I cannot keep my eyes off you, child. You are worn out from your journey?”
“Indeed, but my journey was broader than the sea.”
Stowefield rumbled his brow. “Was it?” He looked confused, elated, and looked as though he wanted to ask her questions. Yet, he held back. She untied her ribbons, then drew off her hat and laid it aside. It troubled her, his mood, the teary eyes and the shock.
“Uncle, you are disturbed by my arrival?”
He snatched up her hands. “I was told—”
She squeezed his hands. “What were you told? Have I upset you?”
“No, child. Tell me everything.” His eyes were intent, although they filled with tears. He cocked his head. “What evil befell you?”
She released his hands. Where was she to begin to tell him all that had happened? “I was taken aboard a ship against my will, drugged, and kidnapped.”
Stowefield let out a long breath. To calm him, she put her hands on his shoulders. She went on to tell him of the strange house, of Judith Dirk and her potion. “Then the ship met a storm off Carolina and sank. I clung to life until fishermen pulled me from the water.”
“Rescued. God be praised you came through this unharmed, dear Juleah.” He began to cry and drew her swiftly into an embrace.
“There is more to tell you, especially about Seth,” she said.
Stowefield moved her back. “I learned the most awful thing tonight. I was told you died in a fire at Ten Width, but here you are alive.” He pressed his fingers against the corners of his eyes.
Shock coursed through her and Juleah stared at her uncle. “They believe I am dead?”
“Yes, that is why I looked the way I did when I first saw you, why I spoke of grief. I could not believe my eyes. Wake me at once if I’m dreaming. Oh, God, be merciful to me if it is not true you live.” And he lowered his head against her hands and wept.
Juleah drew her hands out from his and put them on his cheeks “Oh, you are not dreaming. Do not cry.”
Stowefield looked at her with a joyful smile and a light laugh slipped though his trembling lips. “God's miracles do not cease. But what reason would anyone have to tell me my beloved niece perished in a fire?”
“Indeed there was a fire, and I was taken. That is the reason.”
He nodded. “Indeed, that must be it.”
“Did my mother not write you? I have been worried about her, and Seth and the others. I have no doubt Seth is searching for me in England and has no idea that I am in America. I must go to him without delay, Uncle John.”
He looked at her with a start. “Seth was the one to tell me you had died. He is beset with grief.”
“My darling Seth!” Juleah cried. “What did he say in his letter? Is he all right?”
Stowefield shook his head. “His letter? No, child, he told me here, today. He's come back to start again in Virginia.”
“He is here?”
“Yes, he's in the city.” Stowefield stood and paced the floor. “Where he is lodging, I do not know.”
A wonderful feeling of elation filled her, overflowed from her. “I must find him.”
“But it is past midnight.”
“The time matters not. I must find him at once”
Stowefield placed his hands gently on her shoulders. “I won’t have you going out into the night alone, Juleah.”
He was right, but the idea of waiting drove her crazy. “Can you not send a messenger to the inns?”
His brows rose. “At this hour? Business is closed until morning. Taverns and inns are locked and the keepers abed.”
She squeezed his arm. “But there must be someone, Uncle. Please, I cannot bear to think Seth is near and I must wait hours to see him. Please, there must be a way.”
He paused and rubbed his chin. “You’re right, child. What am I thinking? I shall go find him myself, or my name is not John Stowefield.” He hurried from the room out into the hallway. “Partridge!”
Partridge, with her cap askew, tottered forward. “Where are you going, sir?”
“To the inns, in search of Seth Braxton.”
Stowefield squashed on his hat and ushered Juleah out the door. “Ho, there, good man,” Stowefield called to the driver. “I’ll pay you well if you take us through the town to the inns.”
“Indeed you will, sir,” said the coachman, swallowing down the ale and brown bread Partridge had provided. “For my mate and I are dog-tired.”
“I’ll pay your lodging. First, take us to the taverns on Market Street along the city docks. ”
The coachman tipped his hat, and the footman opened the coach door to help Juleah and her uncle inside. The horses whinnied and pranced. Then the coach wheels rumbled over the cobblestones.
The streets were quiet and blanketed with fog. All windows and doors were shut for the night. Street lanterns glimmered. Stowefield tapped on the coach roof to alert the driver. He put his head outside the window when the horses slowed.
“Be a good man, footman, and knock on that door. Ask the innkeeper if Seth Braxton abides within.”
The footman jumped down, ascended to the door and knocked. A moment and it opened. A man stood inside with a candle in hand. The footman turned back and shook his head. “No one by that name here, sir.”
“Let us go on to the next,” Stowefield said.
Juleah turned with desperate eyes to her uncle. “What if we do not find him.”
He patted her hand. “Do not worry, my child. We shall find him soon enough.”
They stopped at two more inns, The Gray Fox and The White Crane. Still they had not found Seth. Next, the coach drew up in front of a stately inn, The Flagship.
Determined to find Seth, Juleah and her uncle exited the coach and followed the footman through the gloom up to the door. It was unlocked.
“The innkeeper will not like getting roused from his bed at such an hour. But it is of no consequence. We are on a mission.” Stowefield looped Juleah's arm through his, proceeded with her up to the door and stepped inside to the quiet great room. An oil lamp burned on the counter near the staircase.
“I know the innkeeper well,” Stowefield went on. “No doubt he shall grumble beneath his breath as he slips
out of bed, landing his bare feet upon the floor.”
Stowefield patted the bell on the counter several times, until a creak in the floor above signaled the innkeeper had been awakened. Down the staircase, he tottered in his robe, slippers, and tasseled nightcap, holding a candle. He rubbed his eye with his fist and stared at the couple standing in the misty gloom. “It is well after midnight, sir.”
“I am aware of the time, Mr. Randall, and I beg your pardon for this intrusion, but it is paramount I speak with you. You know me. I am John Stowefield.”
“Dear me, sir. Don’t tell me you and this lady are here for accommodations? I have no room for such goings-on.”
Stowefield frowned. “This lady happens to be my niece. She has come from England after a harrowing journey and seeks her husband. Have you a lodger this night by the name of Seth Braxton.”
“I believe I do, sir. Let me check my book.”
Juleah's heart skipped and she reached over to grip her uncle's arm. Mr. Randall pulled the heavy ledger up on top of the counter and opened it. He then ran his finger down the pages.
“Yes, he is here. Should I alert the gentleman, or does Mrs. Braxton wish to go up?”
Juleah turned to Stowefield. “Uncle, let us go up together. You must tell him, first.”
42
Agonizing time had passed since the night Michael Bray had told Seth the thing that had sunk his heart into a perpetual night. Even though he had put a great distance between himself and England and was set boot-firm upon the land he loved, he could not remove Juleah from his mind and heart. Upon a knoll thousands of miles away lay that fair shell from which a gentle soul had flown. Forever, he trusted, she would live within his.
He thought of his father's house; the oaken door would meet him, where he had hoped she would have stood, her hand held high as he walked from his fields. Her face would have been aglow with the Blue Ridge's golden twilight, the Virginian breeze whispering through her unbound hair.
An armchair sat beneath the window, and he drew himself to it before the blackness outside and the feeble light within offered by a single candle. If only she could have been with him now, the moonlight shining on her face, in her eyes.
He drifted off to sleep, but at length raised his drawn face, roused suddenly by footsteps and softly spoken voices out in the hallway. An owl hooted somewhere in a distant marsh, and Seth put his arms across his knees, and hid his face.
When they reached the room, Stowefield rapped on Seth's door and waited. The door drifted open, and in the faint candlelight that came from within, Juleah's husband stepped forward in his linen shirt with his hair loose about his neck.
She stood behind her uncle. In the shadows she trembled. The desire to run into his arms overwhelmed her, and she forced down the sobs coming up in her throat.
Moonlight made its way through a side window near Seth. It shone on his face, and though Juleah could not see how worn he was with grieving for her, he appeared more handsome than she remembered.
“Mr. Stowefield?” Seth hurried to tuck in his shirt. His brows pinched together, surprised to see the old gent. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
Stowefield smiled, stood aside, and swept his hand in Juleah's direction.
Seth eyes locked onto Juleah's. She smiled. Tears pooled in her eyes. Her heart thumped with such elation that a cry slipped from her lips.
Stowefield nudged Seth on the shoulder. “Wake, man! Your eyes are not dreaming. She's not dead. She’ll wear your ring still, bear your name, and live with you many, many years. Speak to her. Your eyes do not lie.”
“Juleah!” Seth rushed forward, reached for her, touched her, snatched her up into his arms. She threw hers around his neck, pressed her cheek against his. Joy took possession. He spun her around, and they laughed and cried together.
Stowefield stepped away toward the stairs. “Good night, my children,” he called back. “God give you peace.”
Juleah glanced at him, warm and tender. “Thank you, Uncle John.”
Seth cupped his hands around Juleah's face. He kissed her cheeks, her eyelids, her lips, wove his fingers through her hair, breathed in the scent of her, and took in the feel of her body against his.
“I should have never stopped believing you were alive.” He whispered through her locks and gathered them into his fists. He lifted her up and carried her inside the room. He held her close and kissed her until they were breathless.
“Hold me in your arms, Seth. Hold me and never let me go,” Juleah said.
The silky feel of her rushed through him. The ribbons in her hair pulled loose from the hastening of his fingers, and her locks fell in a cascade of bronzy silk down her back.
The candle on the bedside sputtered, and the flame died. Pale moonlight floated through the window and dusted over them. She sat on the bedside. Seth fell to his knees in front of her, wrapped his arms around her waist and wept.
“Juleah. Juleah.”
“I am here.”
“I stood beside your coffin and watched them lower it into the ground and cover it with earth. I waited until everyone had gone. I wept over what I believed was your grave. My heart was torn out of me, and it felt worse than death.”
Juleah lifted his face to hers. “Oh, Seth, my love!” And she drew him up and hung her head against his shoulder.
Long into the night, they spoke of each other's harrowing stories, often with tears, frequently with an embrace and a kiss. Then they grew silent and their loving spoke of deeper things.
A ship's bell clanged out in the harbor. The moon dipped low in the starry sky. The breeze whispered and swayed the curtains over the window. Night, moon, and wind surrendered to a misty dawn.
When Seth woke with Juleah in his arms, he gazed over at her and outlined the curve of her fingers with his. The pale morning light fell over her face. He gathered her up against him and fell back to sleep contented, thanking God for this miracle of love.
43
Two days later, Seth hired a pair of horses and left Stowefield's house after partaking of a hardy breakfast. He had bought Juleah a wardrobe, and today she looked fair in blue and white calico with a straw hat that shaded her love-lit eyes. They traveled toward the Virginia glens. Seth's heart swelled, and he glanced over at her riding sidesaddle upon a gentle chestnut mare. Juleah's eyes were shining with wild, elusive grace, and her laugh charmed as the songs of birds echoed through the woodlands.
Upon drawing closer to his land, he reined in his horse. Juleah steadied her mare beside him. A stout oak stood at an enormous height. Beneath it grew a patch of ferns. Green lichen speckled its protruding roots.
“There.” He pointed to the tree and its vast canopy. “This oak is like the one I sat under when I first met Michael Bray, when I learned his name and that he loved my sister. I escaped with my life that night, and that brought me to you.”
He nudged his horse on with a touch of his knees, and together they rode under the tent of trees. Cicadas whirred and dragonflies danced over purple thistles.
Below the greening heights, the Potomac murmured over rock and boulder. A hawk cried and circled the sky. Juleah watched it dive toward the water, skim the surface, and come up with a fish in its talons. “Your country is wild indeed. I’ve never seen such a river as this.”
“There is more,” he said, and she followed alongside him, until they saw the house his father had built. Juleah measured the height and breadth of it with her eyes.
“It is a large house, and to think you lived here alone.”
“I preferred it, but not any longer.”
He helped her from her horse and took her hand to lead her up the stairs. Hand in hand, they walked into the foyer. From it, they entered a room of whitewashed walls and tall mullioned windows that faced west. Magenta light from the setting sun filtered through blown glass and shone against the oak floor. Within the room sat a large table with four chairs, each of which was scarred with time. A clock, a tall cupboard with brass-wo
rk handles, and a rough-hewn box for firewood made up the furnishings.
Juleah walked about the room, stopped to run her hand over the table and the back of a chair. She rested beside the window-sill where she could see the Potomac, reddened by the descending sun. Seth grabbed her hand and hurried her upstairs, took her through each room, ending with the largest.
“This was the room my father shared with my mother. It is ours now.”
“May I make cream-colored curtains for the windows?”
“Indeed, you can do whatever you wish.”
“I would like a blanket chest to hold the quilts I shall make and perhaps sometime in the near future a cradle.”
Seth picked her up and whirled her around, kissing her lips and laughing. They spent the night in that room. The moon hung outside the window and the hoot owls called through the trees. He promised her they’d return to build a life there, have lots of children, raise chickens and horses, plant corn and wheat. He loved her that night, in the quiet wilderness. Their two souls breathed; their two hearts beat as one.
In the morning, he took her to the river. The stones she stepped over were smooth, and he held her hand as she crossed them. Slipping her into the water, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. He admired the way her eyes sparkled, the way her hair fell in wet tendrils, and the way her skin shimmered in the sunlight.
“It is paradise here,” she breathed in, and pulled close to him.
“With you.” His hand caressed the curve of her back.
“There is no one else around for miles.” An afterthought struck her and she looked at him with worried eyes. “It is true, isn’t it? Unless there are Indians nearby.”
“You needn’t worry.” He did not wish to tell her about Logan's War, how the Indians had massacred settler families from the Virginias to the Hudson. The tribes had moved deeper into the wilderness, yet the threat still existed from lone bands of warriors.
Seth put his hands around her face. “I’m glad we’re alone. No servants to interrupt us. No unexpected guests.”
