Spoke Of Love

by Cathy Marie Hake

  Ruth called to one of the children. It took no time at all for her to fill the baskets they brought from the house with grapes and apples. She took Christopher and Ethan’s blankets and formed a bed for Garnet.

  Falcon came out of the barn with the little widow in his arms. Samuel barely kept from gaping. Completely washed and clean, Garnet wore a white linen bedgown. His cloak wrapped about her at least twice over. Fever painted bright red flags across her cheeks. Even so, her finely carved features relaxed with sleep into a rare prettiness. Without caked-on mud and grease, her hair took his breath away. Her name made perfect sense now, because her tresses were a deep, rich red.

  Ruth fussed with the cloak as Falcon put Garnet in the wagon.

  “Falcon, you’re blessed to have such a good woman to wife.”

  “I know. I think it a shame you’ve not yet found another woman for your hearth.”

  “I cannot imagine marrying again. It would not be a good union.”

  Ruth cast her husband an exasperated look. “The topic’s come up before and will yet again. For now, take pity on this woman and let Sam take her home. Sam, put her abed and keep her there. If the fever stays high, you know how to brew willow bark.”

  “I will.”

  “Go with God.”

  ❧

  Garnet woke and slowly studied her surroundings. She lay in a jump bed, propped up by several pillows. Half-drawn bed curtains kept the heat radiating from a low fire in the hearth. Hazy memories of a little girl singing to her and a man giving her sips of water filtered through her mind. The last thing she clearly remembered was plucking a turkey as she sat at the back of the man’s wagon. The man—his name was Wa-something. Walter? Wallace? Walsh. Yes. Walsh. Am I in his home?

  She couldn’t bring herself to stay abed at all, let alone in a stranger’s home. Garnet pushed off the thick coverlet and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She felt a little dizzy, but that passed soon enough. A neatly made trundle poked halfway out from beneath the bed. Nicely enough, it acted like a step for her. She paused a moment again as dizziness assailed her, then shoved the trundle in the rest of the way.

  Her master’s keeping room looked spare. Aside from a few trunks and the cupboard, it held only the bed, a table, and benches. As homes went, this one wasn’t cluttered, but it certainly wasn’t clean, either. Many of the things Garnet expected were absent. No herbs hung on the ceiling pegs to dry. Neither did many vegetables dehydrate on shelves, racks, or pegs. The posts for drying apple rings lay barren. The clarified hide that served as a window wore such a thick coat of dust, no light filtered in.

  Worried her master might enter when she wore only a nightdress, Garnet searched for something to lend a little modesty. A length of cloth lay draped over a peg, so she helped herself to it, tying it into a petticoat of sorts. With a towel for a shawl, she looked passably covered.

  The fire burned too low in the large stone fireplace. Garnet added another log and checked the pot that simmered over the flames. The broth inside held no flavoring save the remainder of what she suspected to be the turkey Samuel had shot on their travel homeward. A few stale crusts of bread lay sprinkled across the tabletop. She dusted off the far end of the table, helped herself to a bowl, and soon had corn bread ready to bake. After putting the cast-iron pan over the fire, Garnet took one of the carrots and a turnip, chopped them, and added both to the broth.

  “You’re up!”

  six

  Garnet turned and smiled at the young girl she faintly remembered. The little dark-haired beauty stood in the doorway, clutching a basket of eggs. “Father says you must rest yet. I am Hester.”

  Garnet wet her lips and lightly shook her head. She looked down at her ridiculous outfit and plucked at it, then smiled at the girl as her brows rose in question.

  “Papa says Goodwife Morton has your overgarments. She’s to come today. You’ll like her. She has a merry heart and will be glad to see you’re better.” She put the basket down and smoothed her apron. “I’m to go gather feathers. You’ll not get me into trouble by doing much, will you?”

  Garnet gave her a smile and shooed her away. Waves of weariness washed over her, but she couldn’t very well lie back down. Instead, she sat at the table, took up a knife, and very carefully peeled all of the candle wax from the candlesticks into a small plate. She felt terribly weak, but she desperately wanted to be useful. Moments later, a shadow fell over her.

  “Good morrow, Garnet Wheelock! You’ll not recall me. I’m Ruth Morton—Samuel Walsh’s neighbor to the south. I hope you’ll be my friend, as well as my neighbor.”

  Garnet rose as the woman began to speak and curtsied.

  “Oh, don’t fuss with that. Sit down. Better yet, you ought to lie down. I didn’t expect you to be up. You still belong abed.”

  Garnet didn’t want to be quarrelsome, but she shook her head.

  Ruth smiled. “I’ll have to trouble my mind now whether to leave you the overgarments you wore, for I fear to do so will enable you to stay up. We want only good for you.”

  Her face was so preciously kind that Garnet felt something deep inside start to crack. Something about Ruth’s steady blue eyes and soft voice made her feel so vulnerable. All she’d endured suddenly loomed up and nearly overwhelmed her. She found herself clasped to a soft, ample bosom, rocked, and crooned to as if she were but a babe.

  When Garnet’s weeping drew to a conclusion, Ruth simply brushed a kiss on her forehead and whispered, “A good cry is ofttimes what a body needs most to return to health.”

  Abashed, Garnet nodded and went to get the pan of corn bread from the fire. She stirred the broth and couldn’t help making a face at it.

  Ruth twittered. “I oft wonder that Sam and the children don’t get the dwindles. He cooks only the most basic of necessities. Christopher chars meat over the fire when he must. Little Hester just came home, and I fear she’s too small to trust much near the fireplace.”

  Garnet nodded in acknowledgment. Not wanting to ridicule her benefactor for the lack of staples in his home, Garnet still needed to know about the food supplies. She pointed to the ceiling. The meager supply of herbs and vegetables spoke for itself.

  “ ’Tis harvesttime, and there’s a need to dry and put up. You’ve actually a well-planted garden, and God was generous this year. Samuel left the grapes at my farm. I’ve set them out to dry in the sun and charged my sons to keep the birds away from them. We’ll share the raisins betwixt our homes. In a day or two, I’ll return, and we’ll preserve your apples.”

  Garnet found herself smiling at the woman.

  “Here, now. Let me see to your marks.”

  She knows about them?

  “Don’t fuss,” Ruth said gently. “Someone mistreated you, and ’twas to his shame—not yours. Christ was whipped, too—and we know He was innocent.”

  This woman wants to be my friend. How blessed I am that You’ve given me her, Lord.

  Ruth Morton smiled. “If I’m pleased with how you’re healing, I’ll allow you the overgarments. I fear, should I not, you might be seen gardening in a bedgown!”

  Garnet smiled.

  Ruth took care of her back, helped her dress, and chattered the whole time. “Samuel Walsh is a widower. His wife’s been in her grave almost five years now. The only man I know who’s kinder than Samuel is my husband, Falcon.” Ruth laughed. “I’m partial to Falcon, so the comparison is a compliment.”

  Garnet smiled, then held out her hand and drew imaginary stair steps in the air, then flipped both hands palm upward and raised her brows.

  “Children?” Ruth reached up and adjusted the clout covering her hair. “Samuel has three. Two sons and little Hester. All three are well behaved.”

  Garnet gestured again.

  “Yes, the dear Lord has blessed Falcon and me. We have four sons and a daughter. There were two more children, but they returned to God’s bosom. Have you had children?”

  Garnet shook her head.

  “I�
�d planned to make corn pone and split pea soup while here, but I can see you’ve already seen to the meal. Rest, Garnet.”

  Garnet waved to encompass the entire keeping room.

  Ruth laughed. “I can’t deny that much wants doing here. Samuel is a kind man, though. He wouldn’t expect you to work for a while yet. Plenty of time lies ahead for you to put your hand to tasks.”

  Though she opened her mouth, no sound came out. Garnet wanted so badly to talk to Ruth Morton. The love of God shone in her kind eyes.

  “Sam told me you’re mute, yet you speak in your sleep.”

  Sadly, Garnet hitched her shoulder. She didn’t understand the malady, either.

  “Mayhap the Lord is permitting you this trial to increase your faith. Some religious orders practice silence.” Ruth smiled. “When God is ready, He’ll give you back your voice. Betwixt then and now, we’ll manage. Now I’m going to take my leave. I’ll be back day after next. Rest up, because I aim to have us dry apples and make applesauce. ’Twill be a busy day.”

  Ruth gave her a hug and paused ere she stepped over the threshold. “When the boys stayed with me, they brought over the milk each day. I churned butter aplenty and tucked some in your springhouse.”

  Garnet hurried over to the doorway.

  “Oh, you’ve not gone outside yet? Come.” Ruth took her arm and led her off to the left. “The stream here flows with sweet water. Sam built a springhouse off to the side so you can keep butter, milk, and eggs even during the hottest part of the summer.”

  After looking at the clever setup and feeling a spurt of gratitude that she wouldn’t have to haul water far at all, Garnet looked back at the house. She shot Ruth a startled look and held up two fingers.

  “Aye. The boys sleep on the second level. ’Tis a common arrangement in these parts. The entrance is on the other side and can only be reached by a ladder. Winters are bitterly cold. This way, the fire’s heat remains down in the keeping room. If memory serves me correctly, Sam cut a trapdoor in the floor so the upstairs can take on some heat before he sends the boys to bed.”

  Tapping her temple, Garnet smiled.

  “Aye, ’tis clever. I’ll be back day after tomorrow.”

  Garnet dipped another curtsy. Ruth had called her a friend and been exceedingly kind, but Garnet knew Samuel was not only master of the house but her master, as well. She would thank him for rescuing her and for his kindness by serving his family with diligence.

  ❧

  Samuel plucked a weed and stood back up. “God’s blessing on you, Ruth.”

  “I’ve just come from visiting Garnet. She fares well enough.”

  “Fie! She needs rest yet.”

  “You’ll not see it of her. Already, she’s made corn bread and worries over the harvest. She was modest when I tended her. What do you know of her?”

  Sam knew Ruth was no gossip. Her interest stemmed from Christian charity. He leaned on his hoe. “I know nothing other than her name and that she’s a widow. I’m heartened to hear you think her health’s improved.”

  “The girl has a ways to go, but time will solve that.”

  “It bodes well that she’s modest. I’ve never seen sadder eyes, but the cause is unknown to me. Sorrow of all kinds can dim the spirit in such a way.”

  Ruth tucked her hands into the pocket of her apron. “The marks on her back bode ill. Have you considered that she may be with child?”

  Necessity made such frank talk acceptable. Still, Samuel squinted at the horizon. “I’ve no way of knowing. Time will tell. Hester shares the jump bed. Any offspring won’t be mine.”

  “Samuel Walsh! I would have never supposed that to be the case!”

  He gave Ruth a grin. “You might not, but others can be quick to judge and slow to think. I appreciate the faith you carry for me.”

  “Hear me: I know you too well to think otherwise. Her overgarments are in tatters. If you still have Naomi’s old things, I’m sure Garnet would not take offense if you offered them.”

  “They’re in the barn. I’ll fetch them.”

  Ruth looked down at the rich earth and said softly, “Just because they’re the same clothes doesn’t mean the woman wearing them will take on the same temperament. I probably ought not speak ill of the dead, but memories of your wife. . .” Her voice died out as she shrugged.

  Sam nodded curtly. He’d been careful not to speak of his wife. The memories were unpleasant at best. His sons didn’t need to hear tales of a shrewish mother, and they’d been young enough to be unaware of Naomi’s worst qualities. Sam refused to lie about her, so silence was the best he could manage.

  “I meant you no insult, Samuel. I intended to give re-assurance, not to gossip.”

  Sam shifted his weight. “Truth is the truth. I didn’t for a moment question your motive. You and your husband have been stalwart friends. ’Twas a merciful thing you said, for I confess, I hesitated to fetch Naomi’s clothing for that ridiculous fear.”

  “You couldn’t help it, Sam. Your memories are painful ones.”

  “There are those who would fault a man for living by feeling instead of faith.” He cleared his throat.

  “You? Lack of faith? Oh, Sam! You’ve acted wisely. A man shouldn’t plunge back into the river when he almost drowned in it.”

  His face and ears burned. As a man with children, his family rated higher on a level of need than did a single man. Twice, though, he’d refused bridal candidates. The first time, the woman’s father asserted he expected Samuel to give over Christopher in exchange. The second had been last summer—but Sam recoiled from the very notion of taking the offered thirteen-year-old bride.

  Ruth took her hands out of the pocket of her apron. “Who knows? Mayhap you waited because the Lord had Garnet in store for you.”

  He stared at Ruth, and his voice went rough. “Put aside that thinking here and now.”

  Ruth laughed. “Now, Sam, there’s no need to get riled. You’ve brought your daughter home and have a woman there.”

  “I’ll move my bed to the attic to still any wagging tongues and quench wild imaginations.”

  “You’ll do no such thing—at least not yet! The trundle is decent enough until Garnet has recovered. If Garnet’s fever returns, Hester is too small to go outside and climb up a ladder in the pitch dark of night. Clearly, these are uncommon circumstances. With the bed curtains closed between the trundle and the jump bed, along with little Hester there, propriety is maintained.”

  “It’s a temporary arrangement. As soon as I’m positive she’s fully recovered, I’ll join my sons in the loft.”

  “You’ve thought it out. I agree with the plan. For you to stay in the keeping room would make others believe you’re fostering an attraction.”

  He scowled. “Widow Wheelock is comely, but her char-acter is yet a mystery. I know nothing of her. I’ve not even heard her voice other than in the garbled mutterings of a fever.”

  “You might think to have the reverend pray over her. That she talks in the night means her heart is sorely troubled. No doubt, he will pay a call to see her. The elders will demand it.”

  “I assumed it to be the case. They’ll see her on the Sabbath.”

  “Best you be sure to give her Naomi’s cap. Her hair is a thing of beauty and will be cause for comment. She’s not vain in the least, but others will find it less than plain. To have an attractive widow under your roof will likely wreak havoc.”

  Samuel mulled over Ruth’s words for the rest of the morn-ing. At midday, he went to the cabin for lunch. Corn bread awaited him, fragrant and still warm. Hester met him in the doorway, her eyes twinkling. She whispered excitedly, “Just imagine! She fixed up the broth!”

  A bouquet of mustard and sweet cicely poked out of a small crock on the table. A small bundle of the same lay off to the side on one of the trunks. Herbs and flowers hadn’t been brought into the cabin since Naomi died four years before—and then they’d been for use and never to simply add charm to their abode.

&n
bsp; In deference to the small woman who had fallen fast asleep on the bed once again, Sam silenced his sons as they entered the house. They sat down, and Samuel ladled up the soup. His mouth began to water. A few sliced cabbage leaves floated along with the carrot and turnip bits. The broth was thickened with something to give it body, and bits of seasonings that teased his memory lent a toothsome aroma to the steam rising from the pot. Best of all, dumplings floated on the surface.

  “Did she make this, or did Ruth Morton?” Ethan de-manded to know in a hiss of a whisper.

  Hester smiled and giggled as she pointed to the small occupant of the jump bed. “She did.”

  As Christopher reached to help himself to even more, Samuel checked his arm and inquired, “Did she partake of any, Hester?”

  “Aye. Only the littlest bit.”

  Samuel let go of Christopher’s arm and let him have more. “She eats very little.”

  “She’s not much larger than Ethan,” Christopher decided, staring at the small form on the bed. “Are you sure she’s all grown up?”

  Samuel hadn’t thought to ask her age. One didn’t ask such a thing, but under the circumstances, it was an understandable question. Christopher counted thirteen winters, and he’d wish to marry in another three or four years. He was coming to the point that young bucks noticed women. Still, Samuel had held her and knew she was not in the bud but in the bloom of her life.

  “Mayhap when she awakens, we can discover more of her.”

  They finished eating and went back out. Samuel returned to the house past sunset. Hester sat outside the door and churned butter. “Father, we’ve been busy!”

  “Is that so?” He paused and relished the happiness lighting his daughter’s face.

  Her head bobbed in rhythm with the knocking paddle. “The lady took me for a little walk. We gathered milkweed and twisted it. She told me it’ll serve as candlewicks.”

  “She’s talking?”

  “With her hands,” Hester said in a blithe tone. “Ethan caught fish. Three fish. The lady is making them for supper.”