Daughters of Harwood House Trilogy : Three Romances Tell the Saga of Sisters Sold into Indentured Service (9781630586140)

by Crawford, Dianna; Laity, Sally

  Margaret shook her head and met her husband’s eyes. He bowed his head in prayer.

  Outside, shouts erupted, aggravating Lily even more.

  Ian parted the curtain to peer outside, but the window faced the opposite direction. “More folks comin’, I ‘spect.”

  His wife looked up at him. “Go ask them to be a bit more quiet, dear. Let them know this dear child isn’t up to joinin’ us at service, that I’ll be sittin’ with her. Oh, and when Eva gets here, send her in, would you?”

  “I’ll go wait for her.” He left the sickroom in haste.

  Lily felt a new rush of bitterness as he deserted them…one more fault she’d have to confess to the Lord along with having misjudged him earlier.

  Margaret reached out with a bony hand and patted Lily’s arm. “Don’t you be frettin’, child. Me an’ Eva, we’ll be stayin’ here with you till our Susan passes.”

  “Oh, thank you.” Crumbling with relief that Toby Dunlap’s sweet mother-in-law would also join them in the vigil, Lily clutched onto the bedpost, her eyes brimming with tears. “You have no idea how much I’ll appreciate having you both here. It’s been…so hard.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Margaret picked up a cloth from the nightstand and gently blotted Susan’s damp brow. “I been where you are more’n once in my life.”

  Yet again, Lily was grateful to be living among these kind people. When her own mother passed away, not one neighbor had come to lend a shred of assistance or comfort to her sister or their father except the physician. Rose had been barely thirteen at the time, and everything had fallen to her and Papa. With four younger siblings to care for and a household to run, small wonder Rose had grown into such a strong person. Lily had admired her older sister all of her life and hoped one day to emulate her.

  If only Rose were here now…especially when the time came to break the sad news to the children. She always managed to say just the right thing.

  “The young’uns don’t know how bad their mama is, do they?”

  Lily shook her head. “I didn’t want them to see her like this. I just…”

  “I understand.” Margaret gazed down once more at Susan, her eyes soft. “You might consider sendin’ Emma and Davy off to spend the night with their little friends.”

  “Yes, that would be best. I particularly wouldn’t want sweet little Emma to see her mother’s final struggle. ’Twould be something she’d carry in her memory the rest of her life. ’Tis best they remember her smiling, even in her illness.” Lily paused, considering how to relate her next comment. “The doctor said there’s a possibility that Emma might be stricken with this same affliction in years to come. Susan’s aunt also died of it.”

  “Mercy me.” Margaret kneaded her forehead. “What a frightful thought. Speakin’ of that Philadelphia doctor, are you ever going to break the seal on the letter from Susan’s pa?”

  Lily glanced down to see the missive crumpled in her fist. “I forgot about it.” She slid a nail beneath the edge and broke the wax seal, then unfolded the paper and read it aloud.

  My dear Miss Harwood,

  I cannot express the pain it causes me to be sending you this message instead of coming there personally with my wife. When I reached home, I rode to the stable to see to the needs of my horse before entering the house. I missed the quarantine sign posted on the front door. Our house servant has contracted the smallpox, and no one who enters may leave until the notice has been removed. My wife and I considered sneaking away under the cover of night. But then we thought better of it. We would never forgive ourselves were we to bring the pox to you all. We shall come as soon as we are free. Please convey this and our deepest love to our most treasured daughter and her children.

  Your humble servant,

  Frederick Gilford

  “Now the commander at the fort will have to allow John to come home. You’ll see.” Margaret smiled, but her confidence waned after a glance at Susan. “For all the good it’ll do our dear saint here.”

  Lily’s vexation brought heat to her face.

  “Our Pat sent us a message a few days back.”

  “You don’t say.” The realization that the post was getting through, just not to her, made Lily clench her teeth. She hadn’t received a word from John in weeks.

  The older woman droned on, oblivious to Lily’s anger. “Mail’s been real slow comin’ from the fort. But Pat’s been sent south to the fort at Harris’s Ferry, and he found somebody comin’ our way. He wrote that with the threat of them blasted Frenchies, river traffic upstream of the ferry has purty much stopped altogether.”

  “And?” Lily wasn’t interested in excuses.

  “Pat’s surprised John hasn’t up and deserted. John is that worried about his dear Susan. But the captain ain’t givin’ nobody leave. I was gonna tell Susan that today an’ let her know her husband’s itchin’ to get to her.”

  “He should have deserted.” Lily no longer tried to conceal her bitterness.

  Margaret offered a droll smile. “If he did that, honey, they’d just come an’ get him, lock him up for Lord only knows how long. They could even hang him.”

  In her heart, Lily knew that was true. John was not a heartless lout, but a loving, caring husband and father who loved his family deeply. He’d have moved heaven and earth for the opportunity to come home to them had it been possible. Her anguish spilled over into self-pity, and a wrenching sob burst from deep inside. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she swung away from Maggie.

  In an instant, the older woman rose and drew Lily into her comforting arms. “I know, child, I know. It’s been powerful hard for you here alone. But we’re here with you now.”

  A Sabbath service, somewhat subdued, went on without a hitch, though spiritual leader MacBride did cut it short out of respect for Susan. No one made mention of the inevitable, yet folks seemed to sense the unspoken fate looming over the household, and the adults were considerate enough to keep their voices quiet.

  That did not extend to the children. Lily detected Davy’s squeal above the racket of the other children as they played blind man’s bluff outside after the meal. Glancing out a small loft window, she saw little Harry Shaw spinning blindfolded Davy round and round amid peals of laughter.

  Emma stood in the circle with the other children, but she wasn’t laughing along with them. Her eyes remained focused on the house. Despite everyone’s efforts to act as if this Sabbath was the same as all the others, Lily’s little darling sensed something was terribly wrong with her mother. Never before had she and her brothers been barred from Susan’s room for so long a time.

  Emma, especially, needed to be away from here, and so did Davy. Lily knew it was imperative for the little ones to leave for at least a day or two. She stuffed the last article of Davy’s clothing into a pillowcase and climbed down the loft ladder. Then, collecting a second pillowcase holding Emma’s things, she ambled out the door.

  The sound of splintering wood caught her attention. The older boys were occupied with throwing hatchets and knives at the bull’s-eye painted on the side of John’s abandoned carpentry shop.

  She paused for a moment, studying Matt and Luke, both of whom wore grim expressions. Her explanation that their mother was sleeping and shouldn’t be disturbed could not fool two such bright lads. They knew the truth. Lily felt their eyes on her as she passed by the adults speaking in hushed voices around the outdoor table.

  “Lily, child.” Ian MacBride, seated at the head, crooked a finger at her.

  She turned back to him, hoping he wasn’t expecting another report on Susan.

  A kind sparkle lit his watery eyes. “Cal, here, has volunteered to ride to the fort and fetch John as soon as he gets his family home. The commander’s sure to let John come now.”

  Having had her hopes dashed too many times already, Lily barely restrained herself from spewing her mounting exasperation. Somehow she managed to utter something trite but acceptable. “That would be a kindness.” Then before she could
blurt anything further, she turned on her heel and continued on to her young charges.

  She waited until Davy had tagged one of the other teasing, dodging children and gleefully ripped off his blindfold before stepping up to her little towhead. “I’ve a most splendid surprise for you, Davy.”

  “For me?” His eyes rounded with delight.

  “Yes. You’re going to go play at Joey’s house today.”

  “I am?” He swung his gaze to his five-year-old MacBride friend. “Hear that, Joey?”

  “And his mama said you could even sleep in his bed with him tonight. Is that not marvelous?”

  Davy grabbed hold of Joseph and the pair jumped up and down together. Then he stopped, his grin turning to a frown. “You mean I can stay all night? Till morning?”

  Lily knelt before him. “Yes, for this one special night. Your mama and I want you to have lots and lots of fun. And just so you won’t get lonely”—she opened his pillowcase and drew out his stuffed lamb that had been his sleeping partner since babyhood—“Wooly is going with you.”

  The boy’s mouth dropped open. “Wooly! You get to go, too!” He snatched the stuffed animal from Lily’s grasp and caught Joey’s hand. “Let’s go climb in your wagon right now!”

  From behind, Lily felt tugging on her skirt. She turned around to her Emmy.

  Tears filled the little girl’s blue-green eyes as she stared despondently at the second pillowcase. “You’re sendin’ me away, too, aren’t you?”

  Lily tugged the child into her arms and cradled her head. “I’m so very sorry, sweetheart. It’s best.”

  “My mama’s dyin’, isn’t she?”

  Lily couldn’t bring herself to lie to the child. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Doesn’t she want to see me?”

  “I’m sure she would, if only she were able, honey.” She blotted Emma’s tears with her apron. “But she can’t now. She’s no longer awake. I’m thinking the Lord wants to take her away gently while she’s asleep.”

  “Up to heaven, where she won’t hurt anymore.” Emma’s chin began to tremble as new tears spilled over her lashes and down her fair cheeks.

  Lily’s heart crimped with an ache beyond words. “Yes, darling, where she won’t hurt anymore.”

  “Will the angels brush her hair for her so she looks pretty? And bring her flowers?”

  A soft smile tugged at Lily’s lips even as her own eyes swam. “I’m sure they will. They’ll take special care of her because she’s been sick such a long time. And the Lord will take care of all of us, too. But right now, it’s best if you go visiting.”

  Emma released a shuddering breath. “All right. I’ll go. But if mama wakes up again, tell her I love her. I want her to know that.”

  “I’ll surely tell her for you.”

  “Am I goin’ with the MacBrides, too?”

  “No. I thought you’d rather stay at the Pattersons’ with Mary. Her father is going to ride to Fort Henry to fetch your papa home.”

  “He is?” A glimmer of hope glistened in Emma’s moist eyes. “I’ll tell Mr. Patterson to hurry ’cause it’s real important.” Resigned to her fate, the child took the pillowcase of belongings from Lily and started for the Pattersons’ cart.

  Already missing her little ones, Lily turned to see that everyone had climbed aboard their wagons. This Sabbath that had seemed so interminably long had ended earlier than usual. It couldn’t be past two. Watching the families leave, she mustered a smile and waved at Davy as the wagon wheels crunched over the trail.

  The last wagon had barely disappeared into the trees when Matt and Luke approached her, their demeanors gloomy and despondent. “Where do you want us to start digging?” Matt asked in a dull voice.

  “What?”

  “Mama’s grave.”

  Her little men stared at her, their arms akimbo, ready to do what needed to be done. Lily reached out and pulled their unwieldy bodies close. “Your mother is still alive, but she’s no longer conscious. Grandma Margaret and Eva Shepard are sitting with her. I’ll let you know when it’s time.”

  “We want to start on it now,” Luke said, his voice wavering.

  His brother nodded. “We don’t want no one else doin’ it.”

  Lily looked from one to the other, seeing their determination, knowing their need to be doing something—anything. She realized their being outside, working through their feelings of helplessness was far better than waiting in the house. She could hardly face going back inside herself and breathed a silent prayer of thankfulness that Margaret and Eva had stayed behind to wait with her.

  “Well, I believe your mama was partial to that pretty little knoll behind the pasture, where the first spring flowers always bloom. I think that would be a fine spot.”

  With a solemn nod, the lads walked, shoulders sagging, to the shed where the tools were stored.

  Lily watched after them, feeling their despondency. Please, dear God, bring John home quickly. Not for me, but for the children. They need him now.

  Yet even as she prayed, she couldn’t keep from desperately needing him herself.

  Chapter 9

  Susan never regained consciousness. Approaching the midnight hour, she drew one last, gurgling gasp, and her soul took flight. The features so recently pinched with suffering relaxed, and an almost-smile settled over her lips. The death watch had finally, mercifully, come to an end.

  Silver-haired Eva Shepard’s generous bosom rose and fell as her faded blue eyes darted from Lily to Margaret; then she got up from her chair and drew the sheet over Susan’s face.

  Lily’s own heart seemed to stop as she swallowed a huge lump in her throat and stared at the still form beneath the quilt.

  With a sigh, Margaret reached out and touched her arm. “Go fetch the family Bible, child. You need to write down the date of her passing.”

  “Oh. Of course.” Walking out into the cabin’s darkened main room, Lily lit a table lamp, then collected a quill and ink jar and brought them to the dining table. The Bible still lay open to 1 Corinthians, where she’d been reading earlier. She flipped to the beginning of the volume, to the page where family records were listed.

  Scanning down the contents, she sank onto the nearest chair. The facts of the Waldons’ life together were all there—their births, the date of their marriage, the day each child had been born. Now Lily would make this unhappy recording. She dipped the quill into the ink and tried to steady her hand as she wrote: Susan Gilford Waldon died on Sunday, the tenth day of July, 1757.

  Finished scribing the words, she closed her eyes against stinging tears. Dear, sweet Susan had died at such a young age. She’d lived a scant thirty-one years, five months, and two days, far too many of which had been spent under unspeakable suffering. It was so unfair. So senseless.

  Lily blew on the wet ink. Oh, Lord, please don’t let this cup of suffering visit our little Emmy, too…. I beg of You.

  Closing the Bible, she glanced up at the loft, where the boys lay sleeping. Tomorrow morning would be soon enough to tell them about their loss.

  By the time the sun passed its zenith, much had been accomplished. Ian MacBride had come by shortly after dawn to check on Susan’s condition. Upon hearing the sad news, he rode across the creek and asked Richard Shaw to build a coffin; then he rode on to inform the rest of the families in the cove. Because of the hot, sultry weather, he scheduled the funeral service for the following evening, figuring that if Cal Patterson didn’t run into trouble, he’d be back with John by tomorrow afternoon.

  John…here…tomorrow. Try as she might, Lily couldn’t keep the thought out of her mind. How would he deal with having missed his wife’s final moments?

  Washing the dishes after the noon meal, she noticed that the pounding of hammers in the workshop had become sporadic. She looked across to the squat building. Mr. Shaw and the boys must be almost finished with their task. The boys. As before, they wanted to keep busy away from the house while Lily helped the older women prepare their mothe
r’s body for burial.

  The dog started barking, and a different sort of pounding drifted her way now—but not from the shop. She pushed the window open wider. Hoofbeats. Someone was coming. Fast. Wiping her hands on her apron, she hurried out the open door. It couldn’t possibly be John coming so soon.

  She reached the edge of the porch just as the rider rounded the building. Ian MacBride. The older man’s mount skidded to a stop before her, lathered and panting hard.

  Ian swung a frantic glance about. “Richard! Where’s Richard?”

  “In the shop.”

  Having heard the commotion, Mr. Shaw, Matt, and Luke exited the building with weapons in hand and approached Ian with questioning frowns.

  “Matt!” Ian ordered. “Ride over to the Shaws’ and on to my place. Tell the women to bring the children here to the blockhouse while we’re gone. You, too, Lily. Richard, mount up. We’ve no time to spare!”

  Lily’s heartbeat quickened. Something was amiss. “Where are you going?”

  Even as Mr. Shaw bolted for the hitching rail and his horse, Lily leaped from the porch and captured Ian’s mount’s bridle. “What’s happened?”

  His wife echoed Lily’s question from the porch. “Yes, Ian. What’s wrong? Are we bein’ attacked? We need to know.”

  “We didn’t hear no warnin’ shots,” frizzy-haired Eva piped in as she came alongside Margaret.

  “There weren’t any.” Ian stared at them momentarily, then dismounted. He stepped up to Lily and took her by the shoulders, his demeanor grave.

  A dreadful foreboding tightened her chest. Whatever the trouble was, it couldn’t be good.

  The old man’s eyes softened as he gazed down at her. “Now, I dunna’ want ye to be frettin’, lass. There was only three of ’em, near as we could tell.”

  “Three of whom?” Lily felt her panic rising.

  “We’re thinkin’ Indians. They was most likely sent ahead to scout out the cove. When Mary and Emma dinna’ come back from takin’ leftovers to the springhouse, Nancy sent her Henry to fetch them. He come runnin’ back alone, just as I rode in.”