Spoke Of Love

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “There’s a good idea. It’ll be a sweet treat, and one to warm you a mite.”

  She turned the sausage. It put off a savory aroma, and the way it sizzled made his mouth water. A handful of minutes passed ere the sky went dark. The warmth and light of the fire were welcome against the eerie black of the night.

  Samuel sliced the sausage in half and handed her one. Garnet tore her portion in half yet again and gave him the other piece. Her smile faltered as she kept only a quarter of the offering.

  “Aren’t you hungry, little one?”

  She lifted her piece of sausage and the apple, as if to say, “This is enough.”

  He sighed. “I suppose it is sufficient for someone so small and depleted.” The leery look on her face spoke volumes. He quickly tacked on, “Garnet, I do not anticipate hunger this winter. God has been gracious, and in time, you will gain enough from His bounty to fill out into a healthy form. I’ve no plans to cast you off in your frailty.”

  Tears of gratitude sparkled in her eyes.

  “Sit and eat,” he bade.

  Garnet waited until he scissored his legs and folded down into a comfortable spot; then she sat a good yard away. Samuel said nothing about the distance she put betwixt them. When she finished eating, she got up and rubbed sand, then tall grass between her hands to clean them. Although the stream wasn’t far off, it had grown too dark to wander away from the fire.

  Using a knot he pried from one of the pieces of firewood, Samuel put it on a thin, flat rock and set it afire. Garnet looked intently at the odd arrangement.

  “ ’Tis a knot lamp.” He tilted his hand so she could see it more easily. “I presume you’ve never seen one afore, but all about us is a bounty God provided to meet our needs. This will last a fair while and provide enough light to take care of essential trips. I’ll step away a moment. When I return, you might well use it for your privacy, too. I’ll not want you to rise in the night. There is safety only by a fire.”

  She acknowledged his words, and he left. When he returned, Garnet accepted the knot lamp and left the immediate area. She attended to her needs and swiftly returned to their tiny camp.

  The small knot lamp illuminated her features softly, and Samuel wondered if beneath all of the grime she might actually be pretty. He sternly reminded himself that appearance was a worldly matter, and one that didn’t bear much thought. The quality of her character needed to be determined, for that was where a person’s true beauty lay. He’d learned that bitter lesson soon after he’d wed.

  As he put a few more pieces of wood on the fire and watched them catch, Sam stated in an even voice, “I’ve but my cloak and a single blanket, Garnet. The night will be bitterly cold. We had frost this morn, and from the look of the moon, we’ll have a thicker one again tonight. I vow I’ll not abuse you, but I plan for us to share those coverings.”

  Garnet gave him a wary look and ventured to shake her head tensely. She knelt by the fire and patted the ground there, as if to let him know the fire’s warmth would be enough for her.

  Ignoring her, Samuel took the blanket over to a shallow indentation in the ground he’d filled with leaves and pine needles. He spread the blanket over them, wishing he could offer her something warmer, more comfortable, and all her own. When he looked up, she glanced over at the wagon and pointed. Then she folded her hands and lay her cheek on them.

  “Nay, Garnet. I’ll not have you sleep beneath the wagon. Though that would normally be the best way for us to stay warm, you’ve coughed a bit already today. The flour and cornmeal put off a fine dust, and ’twould sift down on you. I’ve gathered more wood—that fact should bear witness of my certitude we’ll have a cold night.”

  She stared at the pile of wood he’d supplied. The corners of her mouth drooped.

  Sam walked to her and held out his hand. “Come, Garnet. I’ve given you my word. You’ve nothing to fear from me. I’m an honorable man. I’ll give you my back this night.”

  Even by firelight, he could see how her face flamed. He felt ungallant for this insistence, knowing full well this turn of events appalled her. Still, the temperature had already begun to drop. She was piteously thin and had barely survived the previous night. If she weren’t kept warm, little Garnet wouldn’t make it through another cold night without taking ill.

  A small whimper trembled deep in her throat, and her eyes stayed huge. Garnet bowed her head.

  “Come, then.” He stooped, lifted her, and carried her to the blanket. She seemed so frail in his arms. She probably didn’t weigh any more than his ten-year-old son. Samuel paused for a moment and gently swayed her from side to side in a small arc, much as he had his children when they were babes and in want of soothing. The way she’d gone so tense in his arms and stopped breathing cut him to the heart. God, bless this woman. Only You know what she’s endured.

  He laid her down to face the fire, then took the knife from his sheath. She jolted upright as a strangled sound of fear curled in her throat. Samuel restrained her with one hand while he flipped up the edge of the blanket and laid the knife beneath. That hand came up to cup her gaunt cheek. “I gave you my knife for the night. I hope having that at hand gives you reassurance.”

  If anything, her shoulders curled inwardly even more.

  Samuel carefully checked his flintlock, and she watched his every move. He observed her out of the corner of his eye. As he set another smallish branch to the fire, the widow lay down. Aye, she did, and he noted how her fingers located the knife beneath the blanket. Not that he blamed her. Sam took his place beside her, then pulled the cloak up to cover them both. The leaves crackled and rustled beneath them. His back pressed against hers, but she immediately shifted a few inches away.

  “Sleep, Garnet. Your fears are groundless.” He made an effort to breathe slowly and evenly. It might make her believe he was falling asleep. In truth, he didn’t feel overly tired. He knew she must be, though. Clearly, the rest she’d gotten today was insufficient. The deep shadows beneath her eyes bore mute testimony to that fact.

  Radiating warmth from the fire teamed with the heat he created. Her weakened state and a full belly conspired against her. Samuel knew from the way she shifted and shook her head that Garnet tried to battle the fatigue, but it eventually overcame her defenses. Finally, she went still and slack. At least she’d found refuge in sleep. He whispered a word of thanksgiving for that small favor. Rest would restore her.

  ❧

  She wept in her sleep.

  Her thin shoulders heaved with the harsh sobs. Samuel rolled over and tucked the cloak around Garnet more closely and studied her. He wasn’t sure of her age. According to her papers, she was a widow. Since she’d been sold to cover her husband’s debts, he must have died quite recently. Young and fragile as she seemed, he’d addressed her as Mistress Wheelock all day. Standard convention would change that to Widow Wheelock. Samuel determined to give her the choice of which address they’d use. Fresh grief might well be causing her to weep now, and calling her widow would twist the knife of cruelty into her.

  Jumbled sounds came from her mouth, mixing with her heartrending sobs. Her mouth was lush, but a scab darkened her lower lip. Clearly, her owner had struck her. He’d kicked her, too. And she was terrified when I explained how we’d have to spend the night. Sickened to the depths of his soul at how she must have suffered, Sam watched the firelight flicker across her delicate features. Lord, You alone know everything this poor little woman’s suffered. Even when her body has long since healed, her heart will ache. Be merciful to her. You’ve placed her in my keeping. Allow her to find safety and peace.

  Sam quelled the almost overwhelming urge to smooth her tangled hair and soothe her. He’d given his word he’d give her his back. If she woke to his touch, she’d panic. Instead, he carefully leaned over Garnet and forcefully shoved another log on the fire. Unable to break his word and hold her, he very gently murmured, “Garnet, come now. Roll over.” To his relief, she obligingly turned over.


  “Good, good,” he whispered as he took her far hand in his. Samuel lay down again and gave Garnet his back once more, but he shifted back and tugged her palm so she half squirmed until her chest and cheek were pressed to his spine. A choppy sigh exited her, and she seemed to calm—at least he hoped she’d calmed. To his relief, she no longer shuddered with those oh-so-quiet, body-wracking sobs that tugged at his heart and soul. He lay there and clasped her small hand in his.

  She was nothing more than a hank of tangled hair and a few thin bones—and a gentle smile and possessed of a tender spirit. His feelings took him by surprise. He tamped them down. The woman needed brotherly love. She’d tried to clean up, but in truth, she still stank. He smiled wryly as he let that realization dampen the attraction he felt. A short while later, he drifted off to sleep with her cuddled up behind him.

  Samuel woke before she did. He carefully slithered a few inches from her and quietly rose. She lay burrowed in his cloak, her face obscured by its folds and her snarled hair. He tucked the edges of the blanket back over her. She’d shivered the whole night long, and he’d struggled to keep his vow. Had he been able to envelop her in his arms, he’d undoubtedly have warmed the wraithlike woman far better. Her conduct from the start kept him more than aware of her opinion of men, though, and he couldn’t very well expect her to hold him in any esteem if he proved to be a liar.

  The way she cringed from even the simplest touch and cried in the night troubled him. What harm had come to her in captivity? There was no way for her to tell him, though he couldn’t help being curious. Then again, it was none of his business, and to bring those memories up might be too much for her.

  His neighbor’s wife might be of some help. Ruth Morton had a quiet way about her that made it easy for others to divulge confidences and troubles. Mayhap keeping company with a woman would bring Garnet some peace of heart.

  Just before daybreak, he’d added the last bit of wood to the fire and silently prayed she’d at least not suffer any untoward effects from the biting chill. She’d be safe enough now. Samuel stalked off. After visiting the creek and watering the horse, he knelt and reluctantly shook Mistress Wheelock’s shoulder.

  She bolted up and scrambled back away from him in a reflexive move.

  four

  “Good morrow.” Master Walsh studied her. After a long moment, he gave her the slightest smile and gestured at a small pot at the edge of the fire. “I’ve made corn mush. There’s but one spoon. Go on to the creek to splash yourself awake and break your fast. We must journey onward.”

  The pounding of her heart slowed. Garnet nodded. After eating, she took great care to make sure to extinguish all the embers. The task left her feeling warm and sticky.

  “Well done.” Master Walsh nodded toward the fire ring. “One spark, and the whole area would be aflame. I’m done hitching Butterfly to the wagon, so let’s get on the way.”

  Garnet gave him a quizzical look and mouthed, “Butterfly?”

  A pleasant chuckle bubbled out of him. “My daughter named the mare. ’Twas the most beautiful thing she could think of, thus the name. I humored her.”

  Affection rang in his tone, and Garnet couldn’t help smiling. Yesterday, he’d said they’d stop and pick up his sons. He’d not spoken of his daughter. Neither had he mentioned a wife. Her smile faded. If only he would tell me more of his family.

  “Come, we must move on.” He beckoned her. As soon as she reached his side, her master reached for his cloak. “The morning air still holds a chill. Here.”

  Garnet stepped back and patted the blanket.

  “No, no.” He shook his head. “I’m plenty warm enough. You’re a tiny bird of a woman. Let this warm you.” He enveloped her in the folds of his cloak.

  She cringed.

  His eyes darkened, and the gold centers dimmed. His face went somber, as did his tone. “You need never fear me.”

  Unable to respond with words, she twitched him an apologetic smile.

  “ ’Twas an explanation, not a chide,” he said softly as he cupped his hands about her waist. “Now up you go.”

  Garnet scooted to the far side of the bench. Once they set out, she couldn’t decide what to do. The cloak made her too hot, but when she shrugged out of it, she started to shiver.

  “Put it across your lap, girl.” His voice stayed low and gentle. “We’ve half the day’s travel. Soon you’ll see an open meadow. Game likes to graze there, and I make it a habit to keep my flintlock loaded.”

  She nodded. Only a fool left his firearm unloaded. Garnet looked at his flintlock and knew a raw twist of memory. Her husband had owned one. She knew how to clean and load it. In truth, hunger once drove her to fire it. The bruise on her shoulder lasted three weeks and served as a remembrance of that fruitless effort.

  Garnet never fired it again—not because she feared the inevitable pain in her shoulder but because Cecil wagered and lost the flintlock. It was yet another vital thing he’d sacrificed due to his gambling. In the seven months of their marriage, they’d work their small farm by day. By night, Cecil had squandered anything their labor achieved—hay, ham, milk, a bushel of peas, the pewter dishes from their table, and even the blankets from their bed. Item after item disappeared from their humble home—each toted away by someone who bested her husband at cards.

  She wondered about Samuel Walsh. He hadn’t said, “A woman to help my wife” or “A woman to help my family.” Was he a widower? He’d mentioned a daughter and sons—how many did he have? How old were they? He provided well for them. Then, too, he was a man who showed generosity and compassion—and restraint. He’d not touched her in an untoward manner. Garnet shuddered.

  He shot her a questioning look. She dipped her head and fussed with the cloak, pleating its folds over her lap.

  “Your silence gives a man ample room to exercise his patience and control his curiosity.”

  Garnet peeped out of the corner of her eye. Was he mad? No, his lips were tilted in a grin. She let out a relieved sigh and rested her hands beneath the thick woolen cloth. Quiet descended between them. Birds’ songs, the wind soughing through the trees, and the mare’s steady clop-clop-clop filled the crisp air. Her previous owner spent most of the time berating and punishing her. This man’s silence carried no bitterness or anger, and the lines radiating from the corners of his eyes hinted that he laughed often and easily.

  Almighty God, have You brought me halfway around the world and now blessed me with safety? Please, Lord, let it be so.

  Weariness dragged at her. Garnet wakened, horrified to discover she’d slumped against her new master’s side. Her face rested against his sleeve. It smelled of smoke, pine, and lye soap. She gasped and sat upright at once.

  “You barely rested at all,” he stated mildly. He was kind enough to omit mentioning how she’d made use of his arm for a pillow. “I’d suppose you’re in need of much rest yet. Did you have a rough voyage?”

  She nodded grimly and stared bleakly off to the side. He seemed to respect her wish to reveal nothing more, and for that she was grateful. The wagon wheels hit a rut and cracked loudly. The sound alarmed an enormous bird that hid in tall grasses not far off.

  The flintlock boomed loudly next to her, making her jump.

  “Bless us! We’ll have fowl this night!” He put down the firearm and jerked back on the reins at the same time. Once the horse halted, her master was off to get the fowl he’d downed. He held the bird by the legs and strode back to the wagon.

  Resting the stock of his flintlock on the floor of the wagon, Garnet clamped the long barrel between her knees. It measured four feet long, so she needed to rise up on tiptoe to pour a spoonful of powder into the muzzle. She made a patch with a small bit of buckskin and a ball from the bullet pouch, then tamped it down with the rod. She carefully put her master’s firearm back in the exact same location and the very same angle as it had been as they rode.

  “No doubt you’ve seen a turkey before, but they’re wild and for the taking h
ere. Back in England, the sumptuary laws make them cost dearly; in the colonies, instead of having them just for Christmas, we dine on them whenever God blesses us.” He put the turkey at the back of the wagon. “I have a friend who keeps a flock on his farm. He clips their wings, so they can’t fly, then drives them through his tobacco fields. They’re good at eating worms off his plants.”

  She looked at the tom. Her hands came up and flew wide to indicate that she thought him to be of notable size.

  “Aye, this fellow will make a few fine meals.”

  Sam had already slit the neck to bleed the turkey. Garnet crawled to the back and hauled the bird onto her lap. She pulled out the first few large feathers and set them aside. Looking up at him, she held one up in a silent query.

  “Save the largest, but let the rest go. We’ve nothing to save them in, and a turkey left unplucked ends up having to be skinned to rid it of the feathers. The meat becomes all dry and charred in that eventuality.”

  She bobbed her head in acknowledgment and set to work at once as he went to get the flintlock. Inspecting his weapon carefully, her master came back and lifted it up a few inches. “How much powder did you put in?”

  Too much powder would make it explode. Too little would be a waste. It was a reasonable question. She made him understand just how much and what steps she’d taken.

  “ ’Twas done as I would have. I’ve not seen a woman load a firearm ere this, and you did so correctly. Did you do it because I said I always kept her loaded?”

  She nodded.

  “And you’ve done the task ofttimes afore, haven’t you?”

  She bit her lip and nodded again.

  “Garnet, I’m not upset with you. I’m near poleaxed, though. I’ve had a mother and a wife, and neither ever loaded a weapon. It never occurred to me that a woman might have gained that useful skill. Tell me this, though: If you load her again, how am I to know the deed is done?”

  Garnet didn’t even have to think. Setting the turkey aside, she took the flintlock from him, plucked out a single strand of her hair, and wound it three times around the trigger guard. Handing the flintlock back, she calmly resumed her work on the turkey.