Spoke Of Love

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “You’ve a goodly supply of cheese there.” One of the men gave Samuel an assessing look. “I’d not be averse to bartering for some.”

  “I’d gladly deal with you, as well,” another said.

  “Garnet and I will discuss the matter.”

  The eldest looked perplexed. “How can you discuss anything when she’s mute?”

  Someone else let out a bark of a laugh. “I have yet to meet a woman who couldn’t make everyone know her mind.”

  “My goodwife is exceedingly expressive with her gestures, and she also writes on a slate.” Samuel moved to stand beside her. “But I speak for us both when I thank you all.”

  The men took their leave, and Garnet headed back toward the house. Christopher tried to steer Hester to the opposite side of the house.

  “Mama has to plait my hair so it won’t tangle whilst I sleep.” Hester slid her hand into Garnet’s.

  Relieved to stretch out the time before she and Samuel were alone, Garnet nodded. Once in the keeping room, she ran the comb through Hester’s dark hair over and over, then divided it into three sections and plaited it.

  Sam pulled the stool over to the middle of the room, stood on it, and pushed up on a section of the ceiling boards. Ruth had been right—a door existed there. “Chris,” he said, “ ’Tis silly for Hester to go outside and climb the ladder when I can lift her from here.”

  Hester wrapped her arms about Garnet. “This is the best day of my life! I have you for my mama, and I’m grown up enough to be upstairs.”

  As Sam lifted the little girl up to Chris, Garnet headed back to the spinning wheel. Wood scraped; then the segment thumped into place, leaving her alone with her groom. Garnet fumbled with the carded wool and hastily started spinning.

  “The children ought sleep well tonight. They’ve stayed up far past the time they usually go to bed.”

  Garnet didn’t look up. She merely nodded.

  “I planted very little flax this year—something I now regret. As you like to spin and knit, more flax would have allowed you to make linen and linsey-woolsey.” He went on to identify some items he felt the farm needed and what he felt could be bartered away. Finally, he decided, “The hour grows late. Cease spinning, and we’ll retire.”

  Pulling back the covers on the bed, he cleared his throat. “It’s been four years since Naomi passed on.”

  Garnet shuddered.

  “I tell you this because my nightshirt fell to pieces awhile back. ’Twas beyond redemption, so I—” He halted and gave her a stunned look. “Here I am, confessing I’ve no nightshirt, yet I’m sure you must have returned Ruth’s nightdress to her. What have you been wearing to bed?”

  Heat enveloped her. Garnet didn’t want to confess she’d been sleeping in a petticoat.

  “None of that now. Blushing is for maidens.” He towed her toward the door. “Grab the lamp. We’ll find something that will suffice.”

  They ended up in the barn, and Samuel knelt by one of the boxes Christopher had moved to create space for the loom. “I’ve been remiss in offering these things to you. Here.” The leather hinges of the box crackled as he opened it. “It’s been so long since I had a female under the roof that I no longer recalled the feminine things a woman desires.”

  Garnet peered over his shoulder. He pushed a hairbrush off to the side. Next, he took out a pair of stockings that would help keep her warm during the winter months. The stockings Garnet currently wore were carefully darned but so threadbare they wouldn’t last much longer.

  “Ah. Ruth made this for Naomi.” Insubstantial as air and prettier than a handful of snowflakes, the shawl he removed would be for fine occasions and church. Surely it wouldn’t keep her warm. Sam studied it a moment, then nodded. “ ’Twill serve you well whilst you suckle your babe.”

  Your babe. Though he’d not emphasized the word, his meaning still came through. Garnet rested her hand over her waist, as if to protect the child she carried.

  Oblivious to her concern, he set aside a rabbit-fur muff and a cape of two tones of blue. Tails of fabric from two smallish folded squares were likely aprons. Sam then lifted a yellowed-with-age nightdress from the bottom of the trunk. It unfolded, but as he held the garment over the trunk, the hem stayed clean. “As I recall, the aprons and this belonged to Naomi’s mother. She was a smallish woman like you.”

  Garnet mouthed, Thank you.

  Sweeping everything back into the box, Sam said, “I’ll carry this chest in for you. Mary Morton used to stand on one of similar size. Falcon built it to raise her up to the table so she could help her mother with cooking. Hester enjoys being at your side. This will enable her to assist you.”

  Garnet held the lamp as Sam carried the box back to the house. Every step demanded her courage. We married out of necessity, but he is trying to provide for me. Cecil drank himself under the table at our wedding supper. Compared to that, this is a vast improvement.

  A movement caught Garnet’s attention.

  “Garnet, open the door latch.”

  Samuel’s words barely made it past the pounding in her ears. A scream welled up.

  fifteen

  Sam dropped the box and whipped around. Garnet’s shrill scream wavered in the crisp night air, but he saw no danger. “Garnet—”

  She shuffled back.

  Sam grabbed her with one hand and the lamp with his other. Garnet tried to twist away. He blew out the flame and hastily thumped the oil lamp down on the box while still manacling her wrist in an unyielding grip.

  Another scream welled up and burst out of her.

  Sam squinted in the direction she was staring and saw nothing more than a rat scurrying away. But ’twas a field mouse that caused her to panic that other time.

  For a small woman, she fought his restraint with astonish-ing might. Sam clenched her wrist more securely and yanked her against himself. Wrapping his other arm about her shoulders, he dipped his head so his mouth would be next to her ear. “Garnet. Garnet, ’tis gone. It’s gone now. All gone. It ran off.”

  Terror left her stiff, but Sam counted that as a vast im-provement. She’d ceased screaming and no longer tried to break free from him.

  “You’re safe. Hear me, Garnet. ’Tis gone.” He turned loose of her wrist and wrapped his other arm about her in an un-yielding hold.

  She whimpered a single word, shuddered, and swooned.

  Sam swept her up, carried her into the keeping room, and laid her on the bed. Flames from the hearth gave a soft glow to the room, yielding light and warmth, so he left her only long enough to pull in the box and lantern, then latch the door.

  Help. She’d finally spoken, and the word was a plea wrought with nothing short of terror. Help. Admittedly, beady-eyed rats weren’t welcome, but why would she hold such fear of a common rodent?

  He pulled off her mobcap, then removed her slippers and stockings. Her stockings—they’d been mended in so many spots, ’twas nothing short of astonishing that they stayed together at all. I’m glad there are stockings in the box I gave to her.

  Sam sat on the edge of the jump bed and chafed her hand. “Garnet? Garnet.”

  Slowly, her eyelids flickered open. At first, confusion clouded her eyes, but just as quickly, fright filled them.

  Her panic tore at him. Clasping her hand firmly between his, Sam said, “You’re safe. I promise; you’re safe. ’Twas outside, and it’s gone.” Reassurance flowed from his mouth, and the fright slowly faded from her face, only to be replaced by vulnerability.

  He held fast to her hand with one of his, but traced her lips with his other fingers. “You spoke, Garnet. God gave you back your voice.”

  She said nothing.

  Lord, what am I to say to reassure her? Put words in my mouth.

  Trailing his fingers through her hair, Sam let out a slow breath. “The day Naomi died, Ruth packed that box. I slammed on the lid and took it out to the barn. I’ve said the marriage was not a happy one. In truth, ’twas miserable. Keeping Naomi’s possess
ions locked away was my way of putting the bad memories behind me. Now that I’ve opened the chest and gone clear to the bottom of it, I’ve found the memories no longer hold sway over me.”

  Garnet lay perfectly still.

  “Something happened. It must have been terrible for you to sacrifice your ability to talk just to tamp down the memory. Just as you stood with me as I opened the lid to the chest, now I’ll stay with you. Open your mouth and give voice to the fear. You asked for my help, Garnet. God gave you a gift by returning your voice. Don’t turn away from it. Use your voice now, and we will lift the lid on the box of your fear. Once we get to the bottom of it, you’ll be free.”

  Her lips quivered.

  Sam continued to hold her hand and stroke her soft hair. “Help. That is what you said to me. You saw something—”

  Her whole body went rigid.

  Sam cupped her cheek and bent closer. “It was outside. We’re inside.”

  A broken sigh poured out of her.

  “On the day you left England, did you still have your voice?”

  She nodded.

  “Yes. Say yes, Garnet.”

  “Yes.” The single syllable sounded tentative and raspy.

  “Well done.” He studied her by the fire’s light. “The voyage was harsh. The man I bought you from said of the dozen brides, only five survived.”

  She seemed to shrink right before him. “Chained.” Her eyes squeezed shut, yet her hand gripped his with desperation. “Together.”

  The first word chilled him to the marrow of his bones; the second left twin streaks of anger and disgust through him.

  An ugly sob wracked her. “They died.”

  Sam pulled her into his arms. The horror he felt in knowing what happened didn’t begin to compare with what she’d endured. From her reaction to the rodents, Sam knew what would come next. Holding her securely, he echoed her words. “They died.” She shuddered, and he knew how cruel it was to push her—but ’twas also essential. Until she finally purged her mind of the gruesome memory, she’d not break free from the terror that enslaved her. Cradling her head to his shoulder, he said, “They died, and the rats—”

  A keening wail tore through her. Words tumbled out between her sobs. “Storm. . .rats! Screamed. . .no help. No help.”

  Garnet wept and wept. Finally, she slumped against him.

  “ ’Tis over now, Garnet.” He kissed her brow. “Sleep.”

  She fell headlong into sleep, and Sam tucked her in. He kicked off his boots and removed his doublet but decided to stay in his shirt and breeches. It wasn’t much of a wedding night, but it wasn’t much of a marriage, either. After a time, he crawled into the bed.

  In the still of the room, the fire glowed and occasionally sparked. Night sounds intruded, and there were the occasional odd bumps from the children up in the loft. Then Garnet made a choking sound.

  He opened his eyes at once. “Garnet, give me your hand.”

  Biting her lip, she tried to silence her weeping.

  “Garnet, your hand—yield it over to me. If you are fearful of me, please attend and know there is no cause. If you are saddened, then take the comfort a friend offers.”

  A small, work-chapped hand slid timidly across the mattress. He engulfed her hand in his. Hers was too thin by half and shook. Samuel noted both facts with a measure of dismay. He whispered in a deep rasp, “Slumber now, Garnet. No harm shall come to you in my care. I vow it.”

  He held that hand until it went limp from her falling asleep. Still, he let it rest on their corn-husk mattress and covered it with his own big, capable hand. Should she awaken, there would be that sign of his concern for her. He should have gone to sleep straight off, for he was markedly tired, but something had happened that made it impossible. He’d caught himself just a breath away from kissing the backs of her fingers.

  ❧

  A blast of cool air awakened Garnet. She blinked. Why am I on this side of the bed? Memories of the previous day welled up. She gasped and turned her head in time to watch Samuel shut the door.

  He glanced at the bed and smiled. “So you’re awake.” Setting the milk pail on the table, he chuckled. “Ethan laid snares yesternoon all by himself. He’ll be impossibly proud of himself when he checks them.”

  Realizing she was dressed beneath the bedclothes, Garnet slid from the mattress and made the bed.

  Warm, heavy hands touched her shoulders and turned her. “It would be wise for us to discuss bartering. Our neighbors will all know of your fine cheese and want to trade for it. What say you?”

  Garnet nodded.

  “Give voice to your thoughts,” he urged quietly.

  Last night hadn’t been a dream? Had she regained her ability to speak? Garnet hesitated, then whispered, “Breakfast?”

  Her husband smiled. “I’d ask you to make stirabout. I always burned it, but yours carries a fine flavor. What do you add to it?”

  “Molasses or honey.” She moistened her lips. “More honey? Rice?”

  “The Carolina Colony grows rice aplenty. Laswell has connections to someone from there. Obtaining rice will be easy enough. As for honey—I’ll ask Falcon. Last year, he found a stump brimming with honey. Not only did Ruth have honey to trade, but beeswax, as well.”

  “Ruth.” Garnet felt a wave of warmth just from thinking of what a dear friend her neighbor had become. “Want her to have cheese. Generous.”

  “Are you telling me to be generous in the barter, or are you saying Ruth is generous?”

  Garnet caught herself as she started to nod. “Both.”

  Samuel chuckled.

  Since he was in a good mood, Garnet hesitated to ask the next question, but it still needed to be asked. “Owe any debts?”

  “Not a one.” He rubbed his forehead. “I’ve grown lazy about knowing what foodstuffs we have on hand. Since you took over cooking, all I’ve done is enjoy the meals and not paid attention to our supplies. In addition to honey and rice, what have we need of?”

  “Oats?”

  “Much as I like your stirabout, I should have anticipated that answer. Dickson grows oats. He has two indentured servants who help considerably, but men rarely trouble themselves over domestic chores. Betwixt your cheese and soap, I estimate Dickson will strike a deal quite gladly.”

  “Crocks of cheese.” Her voice sounded funny, but Garnet continued on. “Sheep’s cheese. In the springhouse.”

  His brows rose. “As much as Hester chatters, I’m surprised she didn’t tell me all about that venture.”

  “Made it while children are at school.”

  He looked at the pegs in the ceiling and shook his head. “Your industry surpasses imagination.” His gaze fell to her belly, and his tone went flat. “I suppose it’s a good thing. The last days before having a babe, women slow down. You’ll be abed for a solid month after delivering, too.”

  Garnet turned away and started breakfast.

  Samuel rapped his knuckles on a tin pan as he did each morning to wake the children. “Up with you!” he announced.

  The door to the second story slid open. “Hester left her shoes down there last night.”

  “Hurry! I have to go to the privy!”

  Garnet located Hester’s shoes as Sam reached up. “Hester, cease your wiggling and giggling, and I’ll bring you down.” As soon as he had her in his arms, Sam turned his daughter and snuggled her as if he’d never held anything more precious. “Don’t fret over shoes, Garnet. I’ll just carry her this morn.”

  Once he stepped out the door, Garnet set Hester’s shoes on the crate. The soft thump echoed the heaviness in her heart. He’ll cherish his own children, but he’ll merely tolerate mine. Lord, I don’t know what to do.

  sixteen

  As he carried Hester back into the house, Sam tugged on her braid. “Something special happened.”

  “You got married!”

  “Yes, well. . .that’s right, I did.” He shut the door and bent to set her down.

  “And now
I got a mama.”

  He nodded.

  “Mama does that, too—nods her head.” Hester danced from one foot to the other. “That means you are the same. That’s why you got married. Schoolmaster Smith said things that are alike belong together.”

  “You need to get dressed. It’ll be breakfast time soon, and then you’ll be off to school.”

  Once they all gathered around the table, Sam bowed his head and prayed. “Most loving Father, we thank You for the bounty You’ve bestowed upon us. Thank You, too, for the special gift You brought last night. Be with my children at school today. Let them be attentive and return home safely. Amen.”

  “What special gift?” Hester asked as she grabbed her spoon.

  Christopher choked and turned crimson.

  “The loom—remember?” Ethan plopped a dollop of butter on his stirabout.

  “Actually, I wasn’t referring to the loom, though I’m glad to have it back.” Sam motioned to Garnet. “Why don’t you tell them about it?”

  “I’ll get my slate.” Ethan popped up.

  Garnet reached over and stopped him. “No. Thank you.”

  “You talked!” Christopher half shouted in surprise.

  “Oh no.” Ethan slumped down. “Now Aunt Dorcas is going to want the recorder back because the wi—because Mother can sing at church.”

  “She can’t have it, can she, Father?” Christopher rested his elbows on the table. “If we got the loom back, that means the council believes anything that belonged to Mother belongs to. . .” Christopher cast a look at Garnet.

  “Mama,” Hester supplied. She beamed. “Mary Morton calls her mother ‘Mama,’ and I always envied her. Was it sinful for me, Father? I wanted my own mama. Now I have one.”

  “One of the commandments exhorts us not to covet.” Sam looked at his bride. “We are to be satisfied with our lot in life. Life rarely brings you what you want.”