Spoke Of Love
Page 2
“Rest here.” He laid the woman in the straw. “I must get supplies, and then I’ll take you home with me. I fear I left my blanket in the wagon over at the miller’s. The straw may itch, but it’ll keep you warmer. Pray, forgive me.” He tucked his cloak around her more closely before he took an armful of straw from the adjacent stall and piled it over her thin body. He made sure her face stayed clear, but the achingly sad beauty of her eyes took him aback. He gave her a tender smile and whispered roughly, “Rest.”
❧
At first, Garnet Wheelock thought this was a tall, broadly built man who possessed an exceedingly kind heart; but now, she knew different. With the morning sun shining through the open stable doors far behind him, a strange, golden nimbus radiated around the edge of his dark brown hair. Golden shards brightened the centers of his deep brown eyes.
He must be an angel—the angel of death. I never knew death would wrap me in warmth and whisper kind words. Lord, I’m ready. I come not on my own merit, but because the Lamb’s blood covered my sins.
“Rest,” the angel bade her.
This moment of security was probably the euphoria of a dying mind, but she sank into that comfort and thanked heaven for the mercy of being given a peaceful dream in her final moments. Heaven was but a breath away.
“I’ll soon take you away from here.”
Everything rippled as if a pool of blissfully warm water were closing around her. As she started to drift off, her last sight was of the angel’s compassionate smile. Soon the terrible memories would be purged from her mind.
two
Samuel knelt by the woman and watched as exhaustion claimed her. Plainly, the flame of life within her barely flickered anymore. Filth streaked her face and clothes, and she was gaunt with near starvation. He’d seen the depth of emotion shimmering in her eyes, though—and he knew that deep within the woman possessed a soul worth fostering.
Deciding he’d done the right thing, Samuel rose, led his horse to the stable yard, and mounted. At the miller’s, he reclaimed his cornmeal, rye, and wheat flour. The miller withheld the customary sixth of the grain as his payment, and Samuel helped him load the balance in large barrels onto the wagon.
“ ’ Twas excellent corn,” the miller praised. “Fine flavor. My woman made hasty pudding with it last eve.”
“ ’ Tis a blessing to have a goodwife who cares sweetly for you.”
“Aye.” The miller curled his flour-dusted hand around a wagon wheel. “Your milling bore a third of one more barrel. I’m willing to trade for more of it. Would you accept maple syrup?”
“I’ve syrup aplenty.”
“I’ve cider—sweet and smooth. Perchance a basket of apples and three jugs of cider?”
Samuel looked at the barrels of cornmeal, then back at the miller. He didn’t want to make an enemy, but the deal seemed less than fair. “A basket of apples?”
A sheepish smile tilted the miller’s lips. “Make it three baskets of apples and four jugs of cider.”
“Done.”
When the miller’s apprentice brought out the first basket of apples, Samuel’s eyes widened. “I mistook your barter for a bushel! I feel it unfair to take three baskets now. ’ Tis not an even barter.”
The miller chuckled. “Yonder is my orchard—look at how fruitful it is this year. I’ll truthfully not miss the apples at all. Your willingness to reconsider the barter to my advantage pleases me. Take all three in good health as a blessing to your house.”
“You have my heartiest thanks.” Samuel actually needed help hefting the crate-sized baskets up onto the wagon. The miller’s apprentice grunted as they finished the last one.
Samuel cleared his throat. He didn’t want to have to pay for the beautiful, large baskets. “I’ll return these containers when next I—”
The miller let out a boisterous laugh. “Don’t bother. An old man and his lackwit son live in the woods beyond the edge of town. They weave these baskets and barter for flour and meal with them. I’ve more baskets than sense, and I’d rather have you come back to me for milling than to go elsewhere. I’ll consider it an investment in hopes of getting more of your corn next season.”
“Be assured, I’ll return. I venture God will reward you for this kindness. I and they are blessed by your generosity.” He shook the miller’s hand and drove off in a well-stocked wagon.
Samuel took the grain to the mercantile. With no wife at home, he’d been forced to barter or pay for simple items. It rankled him to have to rely on his wife’s sister to keep his sweet little daughter, Hester. Naomi had been a shrewish wife to him, and her sister, Dorcas, held the same temperament. If the woman he had just bought turned out to be half as stubborn or foul natured, he’d have her gone in a trice.
Lord, ’tis badly done of me to think such dark thoughts about her. I’ve prayed You’d make a way for me to bring home my beloved Hester. If this woman I’ve bought is of godly persuasion and sweet spirit, she’ll prove to be a blessing. I’ve no wish to marry again. Since she’s been sold off to pay for her husband’s debts, she’s likely soured on the notion of marriage, too.
“Ho, now,” the shopkeeper said as he approached. “What can I sell you today?”
“I’ve grain to barter,” Samuel started out. “I require molasses, an ax head, and powder for my flintlock.”
“I presume you’ll also want metal for molding bullets.”
Sam shook his head. “I’ve enough at home, but you can show me a shirt length of cloth, a needle, and thread.”
“Cloth and metal are expensive,” the shopkeeper warned. “Especially since the Crown passed the Iron Act, cost has gone up considerably. What grain did you bring, and how much do you have to trade?”
His harvest rendered a slightly larger yield than Sam expected, but he hesitated to part with much. Adding little Hester and the woman to his family meant more mouths to feed. Bartering away much of the surplus would be foolish. “I’d need to know your prices before I can estimate what I’ll spare you.”
“They’re posted on the counter.” The shopkeeper wandered toward a woman who stood by a small shelf before a display of spices. “Cloves. Fragrant, aren’t they?”
Sam reviewed the prices and winced. He desperately needed leather britches. Woven ones wore out too fast, and he couldn’t afford to buy more cloth—even if the woman he’d bought this morning sewed for him and spared his family the expense of hiring a tailor. A leather pair would last indefinitely, but after spending so much on the waif, Samuel knew he’d have to make do with what he currently owned.
Any misgivings he felt in the store disappeared when he returned to the stable. “Ma’am,” he said softly. The woman didn’t respond to him, so he gently pushed away the straw. A wayward strand of hair fluttered in the shallow currents of her silent breaths. Though he addressed her again, the woman didn’t rouse in the least. Sam slid his arms beneath her and lifted.
Never had he seen an exhaustion so profound, yet surprise rippled through him when the move didn’t cause her to stir or make her breathing hitch. Carefully, he placed her in the back of his wagon in the spot he’d left free to accommodate her.
When the sun almost reached its zenith and they had traversed a quarter of the way to his homestead, the wagon hit a rut deep enough to jar it badly. She woke with a gasp and bolted upright.
❧
“All is well; all is well,” a deep voice murmured.
For a few moments, Garnet felt disoriented. She couldn’t recall where she was or whom she was with. Shoving back her snarled hair, she saw her angel of death. It took a moment to realize he wasn’t a heavenly being but a mortal man. Memories of his kindness that morning surfaced. Lord, if ’tisn’t my time to be borne to Your bosom, You have my thanks for letting me belong to a compassionate man.
“How do you fare?”
His inquiry jarred her out of her musings. Though em-barrassed, she timidly looked off to the side of the road and hoped he’d guess at her quandary.
Garnet nodded and folded her hands in her lap. When the wagon stopped, the man wrapped the reins about the brake, jumped down in a single, lithe move, and reached up for her. “Here, now.”
I’d rather scramble down unassisted, but that might offend him.
A winsome smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t judge well. There’s a mud puddle over on the other side.”
His admission disarmed her. Garnet half stood, and he cupped her waist. It took every scrap of her self-control not to flinch. Her fingers fleetingly made contact with his broad shoulders as he lifted her down.
Instead of immediately letting go, he braced her waist. Fire streaked from his fingers clear up her back, but she tamped down her urge to twist free.
“I see slumber restored a bit of your strength.”
She nodded.
“Do you need me to carry you behind the bushes?”
She emphatically refused by shaking her head.
He finally turned loose and cleared his throat. “Then go and be assured of your privacy. I vow I’ll give you your due. Take your time and fear not.”
She twitched what she hoped would pass for a smile and went off behind a bush. A wary glance over her shoulder confirmed the man kept his word. He stood with his back to her, so she gratefully ventured to the edge of the stream. Shoving up dirt-encrusted sleeves, she knelt on the bank.
Her reflection left her gasping. Snarls, oil, and dirt abounded in her tresses. She’d been able to see how grimy her hands had grown, but her face was even worse. Rivulets streaked her cheeks from when she’d wept this morning. Her new master must possess infinite kindness for yielding over so much money for her. She couldn’t remedy her hair at the moment, but at least she could wash the worst off her flesh.
Sand from the bank bit into her palm. Sand, Lord. You’ve provided sand so I can scour away the filth. Face, arms, hands, and even the back of her neck—the cool water and abrasive sand scrubbed them clean. Another glance let her know her master continued to face away, so she even furtively lifted her skirt and whisked dampened hands over her legs.
When she returned, the stranger reached out and took her hands. A smile creased his kind face. “Being slovenly clearly isn’t your way. The papers give your name as Garnet Wheelock, but that is all. I’ve no notion what to expect of a woman bearing such a fanciful name.”
How can I make this man understand I’ll work hard for him? Garnet went down on her knees and placed his hand on her head.
“I’ll have none of that. No one ought kneel to another. Such obeisance is reserved only for the good Lord.”
Garnet rose.
He nodded his approval. “I am Samuel Walsh, a planter by trade. In the days ahead, we’ll come to learn more about one another. For now, I’m eager to be on the way. My sons are staying at the Mortons’.” He frowned as she tried to dust off her skirts. “First, we’ll go by Goodwife Stamsfield’s. Perchance she has a bit of soap we can buy.”
Garnet thought for a moment, then wrung her hands.
“You’re nervous?”
The pantomime hadn’t transmitted her meaning. She tried again, rubbing her palms together, and then holding them side by side and blowing on them. She then formed a circle with her thumb and forefinger to depict a soap bubble rising.
“Soap!”
Her head bobbed, and she tapped her breastbone to trans-mit that she’d make it for him.
Samuel Walsh grinned. “Ah, so you can make soap. I’ll ask you to do that soon. I’ve little left at home.”
She bobbed her head in assent. Mayhap things would turn out passably well.
three
Garnet Wheelock wasn’t a brazen woman. Indeed, she acted as bashfully as any modest woman might. Samuel kept a mental catalog of her traits. Since he knew nothing about her, he had good cause to wonder about her character. To this point, she had exhibited the virtues of modesty and cleanliness. He’d not yet seen a vice, but those might remain hidden for a short while ere she became comfortable and let down her guard.
After assessing the length of the shadows on the ground, he proclaimed, “We’re making good time home. Let’s continue.” He lifted her into the wagon. Pain flickered across her features. “Are you ailing?”
She averted her eyes and shook her head.
After climbing up, he turned her back to face him. His hand cupped her jaw. “I’m not a man to value deception.”
Her slender fingers shook as she haltingly reached up and gingerly wrapped them around his wrist. She hadn’t the strength to remove his hand, but it was clear from the way she stiffened and shied away that she was not one to welcome a stranger’s touch, however innocent it might be.
“As you wish.” He sighed, then turned back, grabbed his cloak, and swirled it about her. “At least keep warm. I’ll have Goodwife Morton see to you.”
She clutched the cloak around herself and let out a soundless sigh. The wagon set into motion. They continued on in a strange but companionable silence. At one point, Garnet patted his arm and pointed ahead a short distance.
“Grapes, eh?”
She nodded and hopped off the wagon. Heavily laden, the conveyance trundled slowly enough to allow her to scamper ahead. A timid smile creased her face as Samuel drew close. Having identified wild grapes, she gathered a handful and raised them to him. Sweeping her hand back toward the vines, she arched a brow.
“Whoa!” The wagon halted, and he looked behind him in the wagon for something to hold the unexpected bounty. Nodding to himself, he stepped into the bed and rummaged. “I bought cloth. . . . Here it is. By knotting it, I might be able to empty most of the apples from one basket into it. Then we can fill that basket with grapes.”
She shook her head and gestured.
“No?”
Garnet pointed at each of the baskets, then held her hands apart.
“There’s a fine plan. I’ll remove some apples from each basket and knot them into the cloth; then we can pile grapes on the top of the baskets.”
Garnet beamed and nodded.
The stop took very little time, but Sam considered the yield more than worth the moments spent. When the baskets were full, Garnet harvested one last bunch. Samuel got the water jug he kept under the wagon seat and rinsed them. They shared the unexpected bounty as their nuncheon.
Samuel lifted Garnet back into the wagon and got underway. Juice stained his fingers, and he noted her hands and lips were tinted, too. She looked a bit better all washed up and rested. “I confess,” he stated as he leaned toward her a little, “I’m experiencing the sin of pride. I’m returning home with a woman to help my children, apples, and grapes that were all unexpected.”
She folded her stained hands together as if in prayer, then pressed her lips to them and opened them. She lifted her palms heavenward, as if in thanksgiving.
“Aye, we give thanks to God for His generosity.”
When the sun hung low in the sky, he pulled to a small bend in the road. “We’ll need to stop here to pass the night.” She seemed to understand, but he wasn’t sure what kind of life she formerly led. A country girl would have full understanding of what an evening stop entailed; a city-born one—either slave or servant—would be completely ignorant of the necessary tasks. This stop would reveal a fair bit about her. “There’s a creek just behind that stand of trees. I’ll water the horse.”
She nodded and let him help her down. As he unhitched, she looked around and gathered up some twigs and a few pieces of wood.
Samuel watered the horse, returned, and nodded approvingly at the well-constructed formation of tinder and small pieces of wood in the center of the stone circle she’d created. He felt a small flare of relief. She might well serve his family in acceptable fashion by at least doing mild tasks about the homestead. “Well done, Mistress Wheelock. I’ve flint in the wagon under the
seat.”
She hastened to the wagon for the desired flint and soon had a small fire going. Once it caught, she went off for a necessary moment. On the way back, she gathered more wood.
“You’re not a sluggardly woman, I must say.” He handed her an apple after she released her hold on the wood and allowed it to tumble to the ground.
She smiled her thanks for both the apple and the praise, bowed her head in thanks, then jerked away when his hand covered hers.
Samuel looked at her somberly. Her eyes were huge, and her lips began to quiver. I scared her. He made a note to be more cautious with his contact. Using the low, lazy tone he employed when soothing his children from their nightmares, he said, “You can count me as a friend. I merely wished to voice the blessing, seeing as yours is one I cannot hear to share.” He gave a simple, heartfelt prayer, then let go of her. He skewered a sausage on a green stick, and she silently took it from him.
She was such an enigma. Filthy, but clean-handed. Gentle, yet strangely remote. In spite of her ragged clothing, she showed an odd dignity. She knelt gracefully by the fire, nudged a small log so it would burn more evenly, and cooked the sausage. Instead of holding the stick over the flames, she skillfully propped the end of it between two heavy stones so the sausage arced over the fire and roasted.
Samuel made no pretense about watching her. He needed to take her measure. A city girl might have enough common sense to take care of a fire, but she’d not know to prop a cooking stick in this fashion. She’d have chosen a dry, brittle stick instead of a supple, green one, too. She wouldn’t have identified the grapes at such a distance, either. Garnet showed more promise as the day passed. What she lacked in strength, she made up for with knowledge.
Samuel watched as Garnet checked the sausage once more. She seemed satisfied that it was beginning to sizzle its way to perfection. That done, she took a pair of apples from the wagon. After wrapping the fruit in a few large leaves, she carefully put it in the ashes to cook.