Spoke Of Love

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “So that’s what smells so good.”

  Garnet lightly fried the fish in butter and sprinkled fresh dill over them. She also sliced, fried, and seasoned potatoes. A salad of freshly picked dandelion greens filled up the remainder of the space on the pewter plates. Christopher poked Ethan in the side and mocked, “It’s about time you caught good-tasting fish!”

  “What is this?” Samuel looked at an odd thing in the center of the table.

  “You’ll never imagine, Father. We looked about, and there are only a few tapers left. Widow Wheelock scraped the wax from the candlesticks and melted it on a plate. She dipped mullein leaves in it.”

  Sure enough, as supper almost ended and the room got dim, Garnet lit the tip of the leaf, and it acted just like a candle.

  “You’re clever, Garnet. I’ve not seen such a thing. I’ll have Ethan gather rushes from the stream on the morrow. They make good light, too.”

  She nodded and got up to clear the table.

  “Garnet, Hester will clear the table. I need you to sit back down. I’ll ask you about yourself. Ethan, fetch your slate for us.”

  Garnet hesitantly sat down.

  “Without a formal introduction, we’ve done well thus far,” Samuel moderated. “But the time has come to discover a bit more about you. Forgive my lack of manners, but I wish to know your age.”

  She held up all ten fingers, then closed her hands for a second before holding all of them up again.

  “Twenty. The man I bought you from said you were sold to pay your husband’s debts. Am I correct in presuming your husband died?”

  She nodded.

  Obviously, she was remembering something painful. Samuel gave her a few moments. “When the time came that your mourning was over, did you hold an understanding with someone to become his wife?”

  She decisively shook her head.

  “I am Samuel, as I told you. I am nine and twenty. My wife died four years past. Christopher is thirteen; Ethan, ten; and Hester is five.” He felt it necessary to impart that information so she’d have a chance to collect herself. Judging by her wide eyes, short, quick breaths, and tightly clasped hands, Garnet was rattled. He should have told her about his family as they traveled. She must have been frightened, coming into an unknown situation. Just because she couldn’t speak didn’t mean that she didn’t communicate.

  “I should have thought to spin yarns about the children on our journey. You’ll learn of them soon enough, though. They are good children and most often do their chores willingly. I’ve not had much trouble from them and do not anticipate that you shall, either. Nevertheless, you’ve my leave to bid them do whatever chores you deem necessary.”

  Her lips parted in surprise, then pressed together as she dipped her head. Did she think he was teasing or ridiculing her? He barely grazed the back of her hand. “Heed me, Widow Wheelock. I redeemed you unto yourself. I’ve need of help and hope you will consent to stay, but I’ll not have you to slave, nor will my children show you disrespect. Freedom is a right in this land. I’ll not hold with denying it to another.”

  He saw the shock in her face and tried to continue as if he’d not said anything to surprise her. To make an issue of her emancipation would be more of an emotional drain, and he wanted to discover as much as possible about her past. That, in and of itself, was going to be hard enough.

  Her hands shook as she took the slate he placed in them. He fought the urge to steady them. Instead, he wove his fingers together and rested his clasped hands on the tabletop. “Are you able to read and write?”

  She held her thumb and forefinger apart.

  Samuel stated softly, “A little. That’s better than I could have hoped. If you’d care to learn more, mayhap I could teach you in the evenings. Without speech, you need some way to talk. I understand you’ve not spoken to anyone since your ship landed, yet you do in your sleep. Won’t you speak to us now?”

  Her lower lip quavered pathetically, and she captured it between her teeth. He hadn’t noticed until now that her front teeth overlapped ever so slightly. That small flaw was strangely endearing. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she closed her eyes to dam them in.

  “I’m a patient man. When you’re ready, you’ll speak. Until then, we’ll get by. You seem much at home on a farm.” He spoke in a carefully modulated tone, trying to elicit information without fraying her composure more than necessary. “I take it your family farmed?”

  She nodded jerkily.

  “Well and good. Indeed, that is well and good! We are in sore need of a woman’s help and influence. Believe me, your knowledge and skills will be more than welcome. My little Hester could be merry to have a lady friend.”

  Garnet looked over at the little girl and gave her a ghost of a smile. Samuel knew that smile cost her dearly. She was obviously grief-stricken, yet she cared enough about a child’s feelings to try to set aside her own hurts for a moment.

  “Because you now abide with us, I fetched Hester home. My wife died the year after bearing Hester. Dorcas—my wife’s sister—has kept Hester for me since then.”

  Hester gave Garnet’s arm an exuberant hug. “I like you. And I know you like me. Aunt Dorcas is sour as unripe berries.”

  Samuel cleared his throat.

  Hester shot him a surprised look. “Aunt Dorcas always says it’s not gossiping if what she tells is the truth.”

  “It’s not a lie if you’re telling the truth,” he said slowly. “But if your reason for telling a truth is to make someone else think badly of another, then you’ve stooped to gossiping.”

  Hester beamed at him. “Then I wasn’t sinful, Father. I was telling Widow Wheelock a happy truth. She is kind and cares nicely for me. It is a good change.”

  Garnet gave Hester a smile and pressed a trencher into her small hands. Hester headed for the swill bucket to scrape off the scraps. The young widow arched her brow at him.

  Samuel cast a look at his precious little daughter, then measured his words carefully. “I owe Dorcas a debt of gratitude for the safety she afforded Hester. Dangers abound, and I couldn’t mind her adequately on my own. Hester is capable of helping about the house and assisted Dorcas in many ways.”

  Garnet’s brow puckered. Since she sat with her back to Hester, she crossed her arms in a huglike fashion and rocked from side to side.

  Samuel answered her with a curt shake, then forced his voice to sound positive. “As Hester said, ’tis clear your heart overflows with affection. Having her back and knowing she will flourish under your care—’tis undoubtedly a heavenly reply to countless, diligent prayers.”

  Her eyes misted, and she again crossed her arms and made a silent pledge to cherish Hester.

  “You have my gratitude.” He paused, then pressed on. “What do I need to know about you? Did you leave any children behind?”

  Garnet shook her head, and he let out a gusty sigh of relief. “Good. Very good. I’ve noticed you pray. Is this of habit or of heart?”

  Her hand went to her bosom and patted over her heart. Suddenly, her features twisted with revulsion. She shoved away from the table and inched backward.

  seven

  Samuel turned around to see what elicited such a strong reaction from Garnet. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. A bit of movement caught his eye. A field mouse scampered along the edge of the room and darted toward the broom. He turned back and realized Garnet’s gaze remained pinned on the creature. “ ’Tis naught but a field mouse and a babe at that, Garnet. Chris, grab the broom and sweep him out.”

  Garnet opened the door, and Sam thought it helpful of her; but as Christopher started to nudge the mouse, Garnet lost all color and shuddered dramatically. The tiny rodent scampered toward freedom, and Garnet let out a wail. She spun around and raced outside.

  The dark swallowed her when she was a few feet away, but her terrified screaming made her easy to track. For one so sick and weak, she moved with astonishing swiftness. Samuel chased after her and tackled her in the middle of w
hat had recently been his cornfield. Even though small and pitifully frail, she fought him wildly—kicking, scratching, and hitting with panicked desperation.

  “Garnet! Garnet!” He tried to calm her, but she’d spiraled completely out of control. Samuel hated to strike her, but he knew no other way. He slapped her cheek, and her screaming halted in the middle of a shrill note. She sucked in a shocked breath, then broke into body-wracking sobs.

  “Garnet, Garnet.” He wrapped her up in his arms and rocked her in the field of dirt and cornstalks. Her hands fisted, clenching his clothing in tight balls as she pressed her cheek to his chest and wept. He pulled her closer still and murmured wordless sounds of comfort. It tore at him to witness her raw horror. He’d failed to appreciate the depth of her fear, a mistake he’d not make again.

  “Father?” Christopher shuffled close by. He held one of her candle leaves.

  “Light us back, son.” Samuel stood and cradled her in his arms. Wrenching sobs still shook her tiny frame all the way back to the house. Hester stood in the doorway, gnawing uncertainly on her knuckles.

  Christopher patted Garnet’s arm. “It’s gone. I got rid of it.”

  Sam ordered softly, “Hester, you’ll aid me with Garnet. Boys, you’d best wait outside.” Hester silently helped him tuck the woman in bed.

  Garnet finally reached the point of total exhaustion. Her tears and energy spent, she lay facing the wall with a dull look that carried hopelessness and heartache. Sam gently smoothed back her hair. “Hester, curl beside her here in the bed. The widow needs the warmth of another’s presence and caring.”

  Samuel tucked his daughter in and watched as she turned and wound her arms around Garnet and nestled close. “We’ll love you, Garnet,” Hester whispered in her soft, pure voice. “You can be here with me and Father and Christopher and Ethan. All is well now.”

  Garnet gave no reaction.

  Sam stooped and pressed a kiss on Hester’s crown. “Well said. You cuddle and find the peace of a sound rest.”

  He stepped outside afterward and stared up at the stars. He sought a second of solace from heaven, but it was slow in coming. Christopher somberly stated, “Mama cried like that once.”

  Ethan didn’t remember his mother. “She did? When?”

  “When Grandmother died.”

  “Did she scream like the demons had her, too?” Ethan asked, his voice shaking with fright.

  “Nay.” Samuel drew his son close to his side and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “I was there to hold and comfort her. She wept every bit as hard, but she was not alone in her grief.”

  Christopher kept a bit of distance and tried to act like a young man. He cleared his throat, and his voice barely cracked as he said, “Garnet has no one. Not a soul.”

  “True. I’ve no idea what transpired with Garnet, but ’twas something too terrible to let her mind and soul find peace.”

  Ethan looked up at him. “Father, she has us.”

  “Aye, that she does, but she barely knows us at all. God, alone, will have to be her comfort until she gains a trust in us.”

  The boys each recited their scripture for the night, went to the privy, and climbed the ladder to their bed. Samuel went out to the barn and opened a small chest that contained Naomi’s clothes. Without discussing the matter, she’d bartered his best ram to obtain a French brocade for her bodice and a length of fancy wool for her skirts. Staunch friends that they were, Falcon Morton and Thomas Brooks both lent him their rams that season. Memory after bitter memory swelled. Samuel tamped them down, grabbed the garments, and shut the chest with notable force. If the Widow Wheelock didn’t need the clothing so desperately, he’d have gladly left them tucked away forever.

  Sam slipped back into the keeping room. To his relief, Hester and Garnet lay curled together in a warm knot. Hester seemed more than content, but the firelight illuminated Garnet’s face. Judging from the expressions flickering there, she suffered troubled dreams.

  Unable to change that, Samuel drew the bed curtains closed to keep them warm and provide modesty. He prepared for bed, then pulled the trundle out for himself. The trundle measured far too small for him. Constructed for a pair of small children, it was less than restful for a big man.

  That fact didn’t matter. Garnet kept him awake with her restless cries. In her sleep, she sobbed and mumbled more pitifully than she had even at the height of her fever.

  “Lord most high,” Samuel prayed quietly, “take pity on your daughter Garnet. You, alone, know what she’s endured. Grant her peace of mind and a tranquil heart.”

  ❧

  Garnet surfaced from her sleep in slow degrees, with different things registering one at a time. She was warm. Her back stung. Something felt strangely out of place. She opened her eyes and gasped.

  A large hand rested over hers on the pillow.

  Garnet tried to pull away, but that hand curled about hers, and the callous thumb rubbed her palm. “Shh,” a deep, slurred voice bade from the other side of the bed curtain.

  Her gaze traced from the hand, to the thick, hair-sprinkled wrist, down to the muscled forearm that disappeared between the split of the closed bed curtain. Master Walsh honorably stayed on the trundle, yet he’d sacrificed his comfort and sleep to give her consolation.

  Garnet wasn’t sure what to do. Part of her wanted to accept the strength and caring her master offered. On the other hand, a woman of virtue could scarcely allow herself to be in such a compromising position. She made a small sound of protest and tried to slide free of his hold.

  “Garnet, rest awhile where you are. You’re safe. Daybreak isn’t far off.”

  His tone was so inviting, so mellow that it was impossible to defy his quiet command. She sighed and rubbed her cheek against her pillow. As Samuel Walsh patted her hand, she coasted back to sleep.

  The cockerel crowed. At the first rusty sounds the bird made, she came alert. Heat filled her cheeks when she had to disentangle herself from her master’s hand.

  “Garnet,” Samuel ordered, “remain abed whilst I dress. There’s no cause for anyone to be overset.”

  Samuel’s bland voice calmed her tremendously. It was his home, and she—she was his rightfully purchased slave. Even so, he’d treated her with respect and great compassion.

  Was it just a dream, him telling her that she was free? It was hard to tell fact from fancy anymore. Everything blended in a muddle. Whatever her station in his house, Samuel Walsh seemed to be a godly man. He had not taken advantage of her. That said much of his moral fiber.

  In mere moments, the solid sound of him stomping each foot into his boots let her know he’d finished dressing, but a rustling sound ensued.

  “Widow Wheelock, hold fast to the bed curtains. I aim to push in the trundle.”

  He’d made the trundle bed? What manner of man was he, to perform such a mundane, domestic chore? Garnet couldn’t answer him, so she simply did as he bade. The trundle scraped a little as he shoved it beneath the jump bed.

  “I’ve placed my wife’s clothing upon the table for you. Wear them in good health. I’ll go milk the cow. You’ll have some privacy.” The door opened, then shut.

  Garnet crept out of the bed and tucked the covers back over little Hester. Garnet looked down at her tattered clothes. She’d slept in them—a reminder of how she’d panicked the night before. Shame and revulsion washed over her.

  I can’t waste time regretting what’s past. I have to forge ahead and prove myself now.

  The luxurious quality of the clothing her master left on the table stunned Garnet. She could scarcely imagine wearing such fine garments. The blue brocade bodice looked fine enough to be worn by the queen’s own ladies-in-waiting. The skirts were wool—of mingled blue and green threads—but far more voluminous than a farmer’s wife normally wore. With a farthingale beneath them, his wife would have been outfitted elegantly enough to be seen as a woman of consequence in London. The apron was made of finest linen. Never had Garnet owned clothing of this q
uality, and what she did own bordered on immodest due to its sad condition.

  She quickly changed, then knelt at the fire and added just enough wood to bring it to a cooking level. Wood took time to chop and carry. She didn’t want to make any more work for the boys. Already familiar with the food supplies on hand, Garnet started corn mush for breakfast. Once she had that underway, she took the larger pot and filled it with a chopped onion, some garlic, half a dozen peppercorns, water, and peas. By nuncheon, she’d locate wild thyme and sage to add to that hearty soup.

  Ethan brought in milk, and Christopher filled the wood box. Those light chores done, they all sat down to eat. After asking the blessing, Samuel added milk to his mush and stirred it. He’d given her clothing a long look, then turned away.

  He must have loved his wife dearly to have provided such finery for her. If seeing me dressed in her clothing is painful, then it would be best for me to change back.

  “Ethan, you’re to gather rushes and reeds today. Christopher, you’re to stack the cornstalks so they’ll finish drying. Another thing: I’ve seen several hares.”

  “I’ll set snares.” Christopher reached across the table, scooped a generous heap of butter with his spoon, and plopped it atop his mush. Grinning at Garnet, he said, “I’m partial to roast hare.”

  She smiled at his boldness. Ruth Morton had mentioned the Walshes hadn’t eaten well in years, and the zeal with which they dug into what she’d prepared made it clear her master and his sons would gladly devour whatever she set before them.

  Garnet listened as Master Walsh directed each of the children with their duties. The chores he set out were common enough. She wondered if he was doing this more for her benefit than theirs. Still, it was good of him to let her know how the family operated. She needed to hear what was already set to be accomplished so she could fill in the other areas.

  “Widow Wheelock, we are grateful to you for the meal. ’Twas tasty enough, but I’ll thank you to remain abed this day. A sickness near took you to the hereafter, and it cannot be permitted to return.”