“We will keep that as our signal. Aye, we will. ’Tis both clever and easy. As I grab the weapon, I’ll know at once by feel without having to take my eyes from the target.”
She nodded.
Samuel stooped and inspected the wagon. “I was hoping I didn’t crack the wheel on that rut. The noise flushed out our supper, but I fretted that it boded ill for the wagon. ’Twasn’t anything more than a dry stick in the bottom of the rut.”
They went on, and Garnet quickly plucked the huge bird. By poking the largest feathers between fruit, she preserved enough to use as basting brushes. Being in the wagon’s bed lent her an opportunity to take stock of the contents. Yesternoon, her master mentioned apples and grapes. Those counted as a small portion of what he hauled.
Spotty school attendance lent her enough skill to read simple words. Barrels bore chalked words. Garnet tilted her head and read. Rye. Flour. The next word was the longest. She studied it and felt a flare of happiness. Cornmeal. Cornmeal from the Colonies cost dearly in England, and the few occasions when she’d eaten bread or mush from that grain left Garnet with a taste for more. She counted two barrels each of the rye and flour, eight of cornmeal. They must not eat wheat bread as much here.
The apples—what a boon! She’d be able to make pies and tarts aplenty. It would be good to dry as many as possible, too. The grapes were fresh, but they’d soon grow moldy. If the days stayed warm, she could dry them in the sun. Raisins would taste fine during the winter months.
Lettering on the staves of the single firkin read mo–lass–es. Molasses! But nine gallons of it? Brewers in the New World made rum from molasses, but surely nine gallons of the stuff wouldn’t yield enough to make the effort worthwhile. Then again, what household would require an entire firkin of it?
Four jugs clanked and rattled against the molasses firkin. Garnet wondered about their contents. Just about anything could fill them, but if it were spirits, that could bode ill. A drunken man was a mean man. So far, Samuel Walsh had been uncommonly mild and kind. If he drank, that might change in an instant.
“Come up here, Garnet. I’d like you to see the meadow. ’Tis a lovely sight.” He reached out a hand and helped her climb over and onto the seat. “Your hand is cold.”
She snatched her hand back, then yanked his cloak over her lap and burrowed her hands beneath it.
Master Walsh pointed into the distance. “See there? My neighbor and I come here to hunt each autumn. A deer trail cuts directly through here, so we’ve gotten several. There’s an earnest need for me to do some hunting before winter sets in.”
She nodded.
“I have a small smokehouse. It hasn’t much in it at the moment. We’ve eaten through most of our supplies, and they’ve yet to be replenished. I’ve been busy with the crops.”
Pointing at the flintlock, then the meadow, Garnet struggled to come up with a way to make him understand her. She tapped her chest. Then her thumb and forefinger made a ring, and she pulled the circle across the air and closed it, repeating the action several times.
“You make sausage.”
Pleased he understood her, she nodded.
“Venison sausage would taste fine. I’d be most appreciative of you making some.”
Garnet bit her sore lip and gingerly reached down. She fleetingly touched the fabric of his britches at the worn knee but withdrew her fingers as if they had been burnt. Steeling herself with a deep breath, she then made a sewing motion.
“You’d make me buckskin breeches?”
Her head bobbed once again. She held up two fingers and branched her hands over her head to make a rack of antlers.
Samuel boomed out a great laugh. “You talk well with those hands, girl. Two deer to make the buckskins. I know how to tan hides. I already have one all cured.”
She wrinkled her nose.
“Aye, the process stinks. I’ll do so away from the house.”
His house. I can ask about his house. Garnet shaded her eyes and pretended to look around, then sketched a shape in the air.
“You see a cabin.”
She pointed at him.
“Ah. Where is my home? We’ll travel ’til a little past noon. That’ll be at the Mortons’. They’re my nearest neighbors. Our homes lie about a mile apart.”
She eased back and quietly watched the scenery. Other than the road, no sign of civilization existed. Back home in England, cottages and farms dotted the landscape. She hadn’t traveled more than from her own village to her husband’s, but that trip took only half a morning. She’d seen habitations aplenty during the transit, too. Garnet couldn’t figure out a way to ask how late in the day they’d left the small town yesterday, but all of their travels since then carried them past untamed land.
This is called the New World. I thought it received that name because it was newly discovered. Maybe that’s not so. Perhaps it’s because coming here causes a person to start life afresh because it is all so different.
❧
Sam was glad of the silence between them now. If there happened to be any game, sound would make it bolt. He’d mentioned the need to replenish the meat supply. Though Garnet might not speak aloud, she could make noise. She remained quiet, and he stayed vigilant.
Once past the meadow, Samuel looked down at Garnet and frowned. Her hand felt like ice earlier. Now shivers wracked her. He resisted the urge to touch the backs of his fingers to her forehead to test her for a fever. She happened to turn toward him and looked up. Her heat-flushed cheek told him she’d contracted a fever. Glassy eyes and chattering teeth reinforced his diagnosis, yet she did her best to smile bravely and straightened up.
Sam didn’t have the heart to remark on her ill health. Instead, he pulled the heavy woolen garment she’d draped over her lap earlier. “Let’s wrap you.” He draped it around her slight frame.
Awhile later, the wagon drew up to the front of a farm-house. A girl of middling school years ran up. “Heaven have mercy! Goodman Walsh, you’ve a woman with you!”
“God’s blessings, Mary Morton. Go fetch your mother.”
He eased away from Garnet. She’d fallen asleep again, and he’d tucked her close to his side in hopes of warming her sufficiently. She’d not been cold in the least, though. Once he got off the wagon, he gathered Garnet into his arms.
“Samuel!” Ruth Morton exited her cabin as she wiped her hands on the edge of her apron. “Mary told me you’d brought home a woman.”
“Ruth, I fear she’s ailing. I’ll bear her to the barn so we don’t take sickness into the house.”
Ruth drew closer and parted the cloak so she could assess the situation. “Mary, you and Henry tote the tub to the barn. Fill it halfway with water from the pump. John, fetch the boiling kettle and bring it, carefully, mind you. Peter, fetch my bedgown and a blanket. Hubert, bring a towel and soap.”
Hubert tugged on his mother’s skirt. “Master Walsh said she’s sick, Mama—not dirty.”
“Yes, dearie. I know. But she can’t sweat away her fever if dirt covers her.”
“I’ll fetch the soap!”
“And a towel,” Ruth called.
Sam laid Garnet on the blanket Ruth spread on the barn floor. He thought to leave, but Ruth stopped him. “Wait ’til I bathe her face. If she rouses with strangers, she’ll be frightened.”
Her words made perfect sense. Samuel hunkered down and snatched the soggy cloth from Ruth. “Go ahead and start on her slippers and stockings.” He gently swiped Garnet’s face a few times.
“I’ve not seen such filth on a person before,” Ruth stated in a hushed tone as she removed the girl’s slippers. They were nearly worn through at the soles. “Dear me, she’s even worse off than I thought.”
Samuel shoved up Garnet’s sleeves and swiped at her arms and wrists. “Cooling her will help.”
Ruth struggled with the knot in the waist tape of Garnet’s skirts. “Talk to her, Sam. I don’t want her waking to think someone means her harm.”
Samuel dip
ped the cloth again and rubbed it across Garnet’s forehead. “Open your eyes, Garnet. Wake now.”
Garnet remained alarmingly limp and silent.
Ruth clucked over Garnet’s bodice. “Oh, such care she took making this. The buttonholes—she embroidered little flowers about them. I doubt I’ll ever manage to salvage these clothes, Samuel. They’re rags.”
“If you’re concerned about saving her clothes, am I to assume you’re sure you can spare her life?”
“How she fares is in God’s hands. She’s half starved and in a deep swoon.” Ruth sat back on her heels and thought for a moment. “I’m going to have you lift her so I can remove her bodice and loosen her shirt. Once that’s done, you can leave. I’ll sponge her off since she hasn’t roused.”
Ruth’s plan seemed practical enough. Garnet would remain modestly covered. Samuel scooped Garnet into his arms and lifted her. She let out a whimper, and he immediately cupped her head to his shoulder and made a shushing sound.
“God bless her.” Compassion whispered in Ruth’s prayer. She looked up and gave him a quizzical look. “How did you come by her?”
He rasped, “I bought her in town. She cannot speak.”
“You bought her?”
“Look how pitiful she is. Her owner was cruel, and I couldn’t bear to leave her with him.” He changed his hold to allow Ruth to unbutton the homespun waistcoat from the base of Garnet’s throat down to a very narrow waist. The garment was a standard woman’s article, simply and modestly made. But even with layers of clothing beneath it, Garnet still looked impossibly thin.
“Alas, Samuel, your heart is compassionate—”
“I confess, ’twas not just an act of mercy, Ruth. I’m hoping she’ll stay so I can get Hester back from Dorcas. It grieves me deeply to have my daughter under her roof.”
Ruth nodded. “She’s a difficult one. Still, how are you to. . .” Her voice trailed off, and she gasped as the waistcoat came free and the back of the shirt beneath it sagged. “Oh, Sam!”
five
He didn’t mean to look, but he couldn’t help himself. He reflexively held Garnet closer and glanced down. Ruth’s hands shook as they unfastened the last few lacings, but the fabric stuck to ugly wounds. Garnet’s back bore lash marks and bruises aplenty. For a brief second, she roused only enough to stiffen and whimper before her body wilted.
“Blessed Savior, have mercy,” Samuel whispered in an-guished prayer.
Ruth swallowed hard. “Rise up and hold her for me, Sam. I thought to leave her on the blanket and sponge her clean, but I must soak the shift to peel it from the stripes on her back.”
“Aye, then. Be quick about this ere she rouses. I tell you, Ruth, I didn’t know she was wounded. She bore her pain in silence.” Sam tucked one arm behind Garnet’s knees and rose.
Ruth removed each garment until the strange woman wore only her threadbare shift. Samuel supported Garnet’s weight, but in no way did he help divest her of a single scrap of cloth. He wouldn’t shame her or himself in such manner, so he kept his eyes trained on a dusty cobweb hanging from a nearby rafter.
“There now.” Ruth moved away. “Lower her into the water. The tub’s a little to your left and a pace and a half ahead.”
The toe of his boot let him know he’d found the large wooden vat. Water saturated his sleeves as he gently folded Garnet and situated her in the tub.
“It’ll take some time to soak the shirt away from her wounds. Send Mary in with more buckets of water. We may as well see to the girl’s hair. You called her Garnet, did you not?”
“Aye. Garnet Wheelock. She’s a widow. Sold to cover her husband’s debts.”
“Best you and Falcon pray, Samuel. By faith, I say only the Almighty can heal the wounds in the heart of a woman so miserably mistreated.”
Sam exited the barn. The Morton children all crowded around to hear about Garnet. Sam heaved a sigh. “Mary, your mother requires your assistance. John and Henry, round up buckets. They’ll need more water.”
“Samuel!” Falcon, Ruth’s husband, came from a nearby field with Hubert riding on his shoulders. “My son tells me you brought back a woman.”
“He did, Father,” John shouted. “But she’s sick.”
Mary gave John and Henry each a shove. “Hush and go fetch water. Father needs to speak with Goodman Walsh.”
Falcon lowered Hubert to the ground and ruffled his hair. “I spied a few hens by the oak stump. Take Peter, and search for eggs.”
“Peter!” Hubert scampered off.
Falcon’s jaunty grin faded. “So the woman’s ill?”
Sam nodded curtly. “A fever’s taken hold. Ruth’s with her. I didn’t know when I bought her that she’d been whipped.”
Falcon turned toward Samuel. “What, my friend, could have possibly motivated you to buy a bride?”
“She’s not to be my bride.” The very notion appalled him.
Falcon shook his head. “After years of rearing the children on your own, I fail to understand this.”
Sam folded his arms akimbo. “My reason is plain enough. I’m not rearing my children; I’m rearing my sons.”
“Ahh, Hester.”
“I want my daughter back, and I cannot pry her from Dorcas unless I have capable assistance. I confess, after realizing Garnet’s ill, I think perhaps I have lost my fair reason.”
Falcon slapped him on the shoulder. “I doubt this. The hand of our Lord moves in unexpected ways. We should trust in His wisdom instead of your understanding. My goodwife will tend the girl with care.”
Falcon’s faith—both in God and his wife’s skill—reassured Sam. “How have my sons fared?”
“They’re fine boys. Hardworking. They missed you sorely, though. Your Christopher and my Aaron have done well, going to and fro your place each morning and eve. I sent Ethan with them this noon with instructions for the boys to divert water from the stream into your watering pond. I figure our flocks can graze in your pasture the next week or so.”
Sam frowned. “My sheep haven’t overgrazed, have they?”
“They ate no more than I expected.” Falcon gestured dismissively. “Your land sustained my sheep when I took my grain to the mill. I daresay our flocks could double in size and still have sufficient pasture. I see you have a turkey in your wagon.”
“My trip turned out to be far more productive than I expected. I’ve apples and grapes to share.”
“I’ll not turn down either. ’Twill be good to enjoy them.”
Samuel heard laughter and pivoted. “Christopher! Ethan!”
His sons rounded a bend of trees. At the sound of his voice, they ran into his outstretched arms. At thirteen, Christopher was a copy of his father. Tall and broad, he would soon be a man. Ten and already stretching past the phase where he was nothing more than knees and elbows, Ethan showed the same promise.
Samuel hugged them both, then stated matter-of-factly, “I’ve brought a woman home. Her name is Widow Wheelock. She’s ailing, but as soon as she recovers, she’ll help us greatly.”
Christopher asked, “Are you going to marry her, Father?”
Falcon chuckled. “You can’t fault him, Samuel. All will wonder the selfsame thing.”
“They’d do better to mind their own business than to plot out my life.” Sam gave his sons a steady look. “I bought the widow so we can bring Hester home.”
Falcon peered over Sam’s shoulder and raised his brows as Mary emerged from the barn and approached them.
“Father, Mama’s rubbing the lady’s hair dry. She directed me to tell you the woman’s fever is because she’s hurt, not because she bears disease.”
“She’s hurt?” Ethan scratched his elbow.
Sam didn’t want to explain. “Goodwife Morton’s seeing to the widow. You boys go gather your belongings.” As the boys walked away, Sam and Falcon turned and headed to the barn. Falcon called out, and Ruth softly bade them enter. Sam strode to the edge of the blanket and hunkered down. “How does she far
e, Ruth?”
Ruth finished wrapping the towel about Garnet’s hair and whispered in a pained tone, “No one ought ever be so mistreated.”
Falcon rested his hand on her shoulder. “She won’t be again.”
“She’s not roused at all. Perchance she ought to remain here for a time.”
Samuel’s face tightened. “I understand you mean her well, but she’s been bought and sold twice already. To finally awaken and discover herself in yet another household will only make matters worse. I’ll take the boys and go on home with her.”
Ruth chewed on her lip for a moment. “I suppose you can keep watch over her whilst Christopher goes to Dorcas’s and fetches Hester.”
Sam shook his head. “I’ll need to fetch my daughter.”
Falcon nodded. “A wise decision. For all her sour talk, Dorcas benefits from keeping your daughter. With Hester carding wool, Dorcas is able to spin far more. She’ll be loath to let Hester go.”
“The decision isn’t hers to make. Hester’s my daughter. She’s coming home.”
“Your resolve is clear.” Falcon addressed his wife. “Dear, Sam offered us some apples and grapes. Go see to having the children carry in whatever Sam spares us. Mary can stay with the widow whilst I empty the water into the garden.”
Ruth rose. “Come, Samuel. We’ll prepare a place in your wagon. Feed her broth until I pay a call in a day or two. Mind you, give her nothing more than broth or hasty pudding. Curds and whey are acceptable, as well. She’s too careworn to take in much else.”
“I’m thankful for your skill.” They reached the wagon. He looked at the apples and grapes. “I’ll leave a basket of apples and most of the grapes for your family. The grapes will spoil ere Garnet’s healed sufficiently to dry them.”
“I’ll take just a few apples and thank you for the grapes. In a few days, I’ll come to call and help Garnet preserve apples. ’Twill provide an excuse for me to come, so I’ll tend her back again then. She’ll be able to stay seated whilst we work on the apples afterward.”
Spoke Of Love Page 4
