Abby bit her lip trying not to laugh. The poor man must be going stir-crazy. She wasn’t sure if she felt sorrier for him or Mercy.
Florrie’s shoulders shook with silent mirth. “Abby, what can we get for you today?”
Abby tapped her chin with her finger. “Let me see. We need salt, a couple of pounds of dried beans, and a tin of saleratus. Do you have dried apples?”
Mercy pulled a crock from the shelf behind her and scooped out two handfuls of dried apples. “Will there be anything else?”
“That’s all for today.”
Florrie measured out the beans. “I wrote a letter to my niece, and the mail was picked up yesterday.” She nailed Abby with a pointed look. “I noticed there wasn’t a letter going out to your father. Abby, you have to write to him and let him know where you are.”
“But, Florrie.” Abby tossed a glance over her shoulder to make sure the children were out of earshot. “If I write to Father, he’ll send an entire regiment after me and whisk me off to Raleigh. If that happens, what will Beth do? I promised I’d stay as long as she needs me—at least until the baby comes. All that matters to Father is that people jump when he gives an order.” She released a sigh.
“That doesn’t change the fact that your aunt is going to fear the worst when you don’t arrive as scheduled.”
Abby pressed her lips together in annoyance. “I know. I’ll write a letter to Aunt Charlotte.” She stiffened her jaw. “But I’m going to tell her that I won’t be arriving as expected and she’s not to send anyone after me.”
Florrie dropped the sack of beans into Abby’s basket. “And your father?”
Did she dare tell her father not to send anyone after her? A scowl wrinkled her brow. “I really don’t look for ways to defy my father. I wish I shared a close bond with him. It’s what I’ve always wanted, but I fear it will never be.”
“How can you say that?” Florrie wiped her hands on her apron. “Of course your father loves you.”
Abby picked up the basket. “Then why did he continually send me away? He considered me an embarrassment. I’ve never been able to please him. No doubt he will find fault with my decision to stay in Tucker’s Gap and help Beth.”
Florrie came around the side of the counter and slipped her arm around Abby’s shoulders. “But, honey, if he doesn’t know where you are and thinks some ill fate has befallen you, he’ll blame Nathaniel.”
Abby couldn’t dismiss Florrie’s reasoning. Postponing her letter writing was simply delaying the inevitable, and it hung over her head like a threatening rain cloud. Imagining what her father might do when he learned of her situation had kept her tossing and turning half the night. Florrie was right, of course. He would hold Nathaniel responsible unless she could convince him otherwise. In order to do that she’d have to write the letter. She pushed the nagging thought away.
After assigning Dulcie and Beau the chore of straightening the sleeping loft, Abby wrung water from a pair of long johns and hung them on the drying line. Dough for salt-rising bread sat on a sunny windowsill covered with a towel, and she’d set a pot of beans to soak. If there was time, Abby wanted to search the edge of the woods for lemon balm. Wren had shown her how to make a tea from the fragrant leaves, and she hoped the infusion would settle Beth’s stomach.
Across the path, Quinn and Nathaniel worked together replacing some of the fence posts in the corral. Abby brushed back a few stray strands of hair that had escaped her braid and stood hidden by the laundry flapping in the breeze. Although not as big or tall as Quinn, there was nothing lacking in Nathaniel’s effort. His rolled-up sleeves revealed rippling muscles in his forearms as he maneuvered a new post into the ground, and his sweat-dampened shirt clung to his broad shoulders and back. What would Aunt Charlotte say had she known her niece dawdled to admire a man’s shoulders? Abby slipped a hand up to her mouth as a snicker danced across her lips.
She picked up the laundry basket and propped it on one hip just as Nathaniel looked up from his task. Their eyes met and her step hesitated. A slow smile spread across his face, and he pulled his hand across his forehead and sent her a short nod. Her fingers tightened and dug in to the woven basket. A moment later he broke the gaze between them when he bent to pick up another post. But his smile sent bewildering tingles through her stomach like nothing she’d ever felt before. She pursed her lips and hiked the basket higher on her hip. Such nonsense. Or was it?
Nathaniel scraped his plate and shoveled the last morsel into his mouth. Taking his meals out in the barn, horses were his dining companions. Mrs. Rutledge had told him he could join the family for meals, but he’d told her he didn’t want to intrude. Supper should be a special family time. Some of his best memories growing up were around the supper table. The Rutledges didn’t need a stranger in their midst.
The barn door creaked. He turned, expecting Quinn to walk in. Abby stood in the doorway. “May I come in?”
“Of course.” He stood and wiped his hand on the back of his pants. The lantern light played off her hair, streaking her dark tresses with gold. He sucked in a breath, noting as he did so his pulse quickened when she stepped inside the barn. “Supper was mighty good. Thank you.”
She lifted her shoulders slightly. “It was just beans and biscuits. I thought you might like some shortbread cookies.” She held out a napkin-wrapped bundle.
“Th–thank you. That’s nice of you.” He accepted the offering and flipped back the napkin, extracting a golden brown cookie and sniffing the sweet aroma. “Mm. I haven’t had a treat like this in a long time.”
“Well…” Her hands did a little nervous flip. “I’ll just take your supper plate back to the house.” She picked up the empty plate and turned to go. “Good night.”
“Wait.”
She stopped and looked back at him, brows raised in inquiry.
“Can you…stay awhile? Share the cookies with me?”
She shrugged. “I suppose. The children are already in bed.”
He fell into step with her and guided her out the door to the corral fence. Fireflies winked from the edge of the woods, and the scent of honeysuckle hung in the air. An almost full moon rose above the treetops.
“I saw you with the children today.” He reined in the grin that wanted to emerge. “Looked like you were playing in the dirt.”
“Tsk, I don’t play in the dirt, Mr. Danfield.”
He detected just enough of a playful lilt in her voice to know she wasn’t offended.
“We were using sticks to write the ABCs. Dulcie knows all her letters, but she’s never learned to read. Beau is just beginning to master the alphabet.” She chuckled. “If I could only get him to draw the loops of the B on the right side of the straight line.” Her obvious affection for the children was evident in the way she spoke.
He bit into a cookie and offered Abby one. “Mm, tastes just like the ones Mrs. Danfield used to make.”
Abby cocked her head. “You called your mother Mrs. Danfield?”
He took another bite and wiped the crumbs from his mouth. “She wasn’t my mother. The Danfields took me in when I was about seven or eight. I never knew my birthday so they weren’t sure how old I was. I was a street urchin—in Boston. My mother died when I was quite young. I never knew my father. Reverend Danfield found me living on the streets and took me home. He and his wife raised me, and they were good to me, but I never could think of them as mother and father. They were fine people, though.”
Abby’s eyes softened, and she smiled. “Isn’t it curious how we’ve been through so much together, but I never knew you were an orphan.”
“No reason for you to know.” Nathaniel propped one foot on the bottom rail of the fence. “Come to think of it, you’re the first person I’ve ever told.”
She lowered her eyes, and the corner of her mouth curved like she was enjoying a private thought. “May I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“How do you know Wren?”
“Wren? Wha
t makes you think I knew her?”
Abby clasped her hands, loosely interlocking her fingers. “Several times on the trail I saw her staring at you, like she knew you. And you looked at her the same way a couple of times, like you’d met her before.”
Nathaniel shrugged. “I knew many Cherokees. Most of them are just regular folks.” He stared hard at the treetops against the darkening sky. “I never did agree with the federal mandate to remove the Cherokees from their land. Seemed to me they had more right to it than we did since they were here first.”
Abby crossed her forearms on the top rail. “My father never knew it, but one of my best friends at the Salem Female Academy was Jane Ross.”
“Ross? Do you mean—”
She nodded. “She is the daughter of John Ross, the chief of the Cherokees. I wonder what is to become of her now.”
Nathaniel didn’t have an answer. “I wonder what will become of the whole Cherokee nation.” He shook his head. “I hated what we had to do, but a good soldier is expected to obey orders.”
Abby raised her palm to her chin and leaned on her elbow. “Father said you defied orders and showed contempt for the government. Is that why you were court-martialed?”
The bluntness of her question didn’t surprise him. She’d proven on the trail she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. But he wasn’t certain he was ready to let all the details of the court-martial come to light. Especially the secrets he kept hidden in his heart.
He let a long, silent minute go by. “Nothing was ever proven.” But Felicia believed it.
“How could you be convicted without proof?”
Nathaniel worked his jaw back and forth. Funny how he’d felt comfortable sharing the details of his childhood with her, but one simple question closed him up like a shuttered window before a storm.
“Nathaniel, I’m sorry. Perhaps it’s none of my business, but the stigma of dishonor will follow you for the rest of your life.”
He stared at the silver moon rising higher in the inky sky. “I want to clear my name.” If she only knew how much. “But it looks like that might never happen.”
He took the last cookie from the napkin and broke it in half, offering one piece to her. “So, have you written to your father yet?”
Abby jerked her head around. “I started a letter, but I haven’t finished it. Who knows when the mail will go out again? There’s plenty of time.” She bit into her half of the cookie.
He eyed her with a smirk. She wasn’t fooling him for a minute. He turned around with his back to the fence and leaned his elbows on the rail. The way the moonlight gleamed off her long single braid reminded him of a silvery waterfall, creating such a distraction he almost forgot his own name. Every bit of discipline he learned in the army was required to stay his hand from reaching out and touching her hair.
Abby took the now-empty napkin and folded it. “It’s getting late. I should go in so I don’t disturb Beth and Quinn when I climb up the loft ladder.”
Disappointment needled him. He wouldn’t have minded passing the moonlit hours with this fascinating young woman, but he nodded. “I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
She took a couple of steps backward. “Good night.” She turned and walked toward the cabin.
“Thanks for the cookies.” And for the company.
She smiled over her shoulder. “You’re welcome.”
He headed into the barn and blew out the lantern. Up in the hayloft he stretched out and tucked his hands under his head. The open loft window afforded him a view of the stars thrown against the expansive black canvas. The vast number of twinkling lights reminded him of the people of whom he and Abby had spoken. She’d expressed concern, wondering what would happen to her friend, but there were so many more.
“What will happen to them, Lord? To all of them—Wren and the others who are hiding in the hills, and all those already confined to the relocation forts? They’re Your children, too. God, I pray safety for them.”
Abby’s image tiptoed into his prayer. Her demure smile and the way the moonlight gilded her hair caused his pulse to quicken. So many things about this woman drew him, not the least of which was her genuine concern for the people to whom this land belonged generations before white men arrived and claimed it. Her nearness affected him so differently from when their journey started. His earliest impressions of her as a spoiled, opinionated, uncaring woman had crumbled into dust over the past couple of weeks. Other than her petulant grieving at the loss of her trunks, she’d met the challenges along the trail with determination and grace. A smile accompanied Nathaniel’s musings as his eyes drifted closed.
Chapter 9
Despite the absence of a regular preacher, the folks of Tucker’s Gap assembled in the small chapel on Sunday morning and raised their voices in praise. Nathaniel allowed the joyous time of hymn singing to minister to his soul. After the reading of scripture and exchanging of prayer requests, Sam Wise, the owner of the sawmill, stood to make a few announcements. “Let’s remember next Sunday is a regular preachin’ Sunday. Pastor Winslow’ll be in Tucker’s Gap on his circuit stop.” He gestured toward the front row. “This here young lady’s been stayin’ with the Rutledges, helpin’ out with the young’uns and such, and she has somethin’ she’d like to say.”
A keen awareness widened Nathaniel’s eyes as Abby stood with a shy blush on her cheeks. Her hair was different this morning. Instead of her normal single braid, she’d pinned it up like a crown. He blew out the breath he was holding.
She turned to face the assembled group, but when her gaze made contact with his, she paused for a moment. Did her blush deepen?
“As Mr. Wise has said, I’m helping Beth with the children for a while. Dulcie, Beau, and I have been working on our letters and numbers.” Abby smiled down at the youngsters. “If any other children would like to join us for lessons, they are more than welcome.”
Nathaniel’s heart swelled. Her graciousness in offering to teach the children was one more attribute that made him realize how wrong he’d been about her.
Sam Wise announced the closing hymn, and everyone stood and joined their voices in song: “O God, our help in ages past, our hope for years to come.”
Nathaniel closed his eyes and absorbed the words.
“Sufficient is Thine arm alone, and our defense is sure.”
God’s peace poured over him. Your defense is all I need, Lord.
At the end of the hymn, families gathered to fellowship. He sent surreptitious glances in Abby’s direction, hoping to catch a moment to speak to her. Two mothers nudged their children toward the front bench where Beth Rutledge introduced Abby to more community youngsters.
Florrie Cobb joined Nathaniel and gave him a beaming smile. “Such nice folks here. Mercy stayed home with Mr. Tucker this morning. It’s so difficult for him to get around. Just helping him out to the front porch is an ordeal.”
“Doesn’t he have crutches?”
Florrie pursed her lips. “I don’t think so.”
Nathaniel rubbed his chin. “Crutches shouldn’t be too hard to make. I’ll see what I can do.”
Florrie hugged his arm. “Nathaniel, you have such a good heart.”
Nathaniel smirked. “I know a few folks that might disagree with you about that.”
Nathaniel stepped inside Tucker’s General Store and tipped his hat at a woman who was exiting.
Florrie called out from behind the counter. “Hello, Nathaniel.”
“Morning, Florrie. Is Mrs. Tucker around?”
Mercy stepped out from the back of the store, wiping her hands on her apron. “Did somebody need me?”
“Good morning, Mrs. Tucker.” Nathaniel gave her a polite nod. “How is your husband doing today?”
She cast a glance behind her toward the doorway from which she’d just entered. “It’s so hard for him to move around. He’s getting ornerier by the day, and I’m ready to snatch him bald-headed.”
Nathaniel grinned. “Well, that’s
why I’m here. Florrie and I were talking at church the other day, and I think I can make him a pair of crutches. But I need to know how tall he is. I’ve seen him sitting out on the porch a time or two but couldn’t get a good fix in my mind of his height.”
A smile deepened the creases across Mercy’s face. “He’d love some company. Won’t you come back and meet him?”
Nathaniel nodded. “It would be my pleasure.” He followed the woman past the curtained opening and across the kitchen to an open door.
“Leon, there’s somebody here to see you.” Mrs. Tucker stood aside and motioned for Nathaniel to enter.
Leon Tucker lay on the bed, his leg encased between two splints and secured with wound strips of cloth. His thinning hair bore tufts of silver. A twinge of commiseration poked Nathaniel’s gut. Lying there day after day would certainly drive a man to distraction.
“Good morning, sir.” He extended his hand. “I’m Nathaniel Danfield. I’m a—”
“You’re a friend of Florrie’s.” Mr. Tucker reached up and shook his hand. “We’ve been mighty pleased to have her with us.” He pointed to the chair beside the bed. “Have a seat.”
Nathaniel sat and laid his hat over one knee. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”
Mr. Tucker waved his hand. “I’m Leon. Florrie tells me ya’ll were travelin’ from Fort New Echota to Raleigh and got waylaid.” He shook his head. “Bad business that. Ne’er-do-wells that rob honest folks and threaten their lives…” A scowl dipped the man’s brow.
Heat scorched Nathaniel’s face at the memory, wishing he’d done more to stop the bandits. If he’d obtained better directions, they wouldn’t have been on that trail in the first place. The millstone of responsibility hung around his neck.
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