Abby’s stomach clenched, and she beckoned to the children. “We have to be going. Florrie, Mercy, I’ll see you tomorrow. Pastor, pleasure meeting you.” She herded Beau and Dulcie out the door.
They were crossing the road, hurrying toward the Rutledge home, when a voice hailed her. Her feet slowed, and she paused to turn. Teague Jackson strode across the road, closing the distance between them. “Thought you might need some help carryin’ that heavy basket.”
Uncertainty about the man lingered within her. “The basket isn’t heavy, thank you, Mr. Jackson. Come along, children.”
He lengthened his stride and positioned himself in front of her. “Now that ain’t very friendly. I ain’t a bad fella. Just tryin’ to be mannerly.”
Knowing the children were watching and listening, Abby tempered her tone and forced a smile. “Thank you for your offer, Mr. Jackson, but we can manage just fine. Good day.”
“Reckon I’ll see ya’ll in church tamorra,” he called after her as she hastened toward the house. She released a pent-up breath when he didn’t follow.
As they passed the corral, Nathaniel lifted his hand, gesturing for her to wait. She handed the basket to Dulcie and admonished the children to be quiet in case their mother was sleeping.
Nathaniel ducked under the fence and met her on the footpath. He waited until the children entered the house before he spoke. A frown darkened his eyes.
“I noticed that Jackson fellow followed you from the store. Did he bother you?”
Abby sent a quick glance in Teague’s direction, but he had already moved on. “No. He just offered to carry my basket.”
Nathaniel turned his eyes in the direction of Jackson’s harness shop, a couple of hundred yards from where they stood. “You’ll let me know if does, won’t you?” A hint of caution edged his voice.
She gave a tiny shrug. “I think he’s harmless.” She looked up into Nathaniel’s hazel eyes, and her heart fluttered. Whether his reason for asking was protectiveness or jealousy, his inquiry sent a tingle through her stomach. The way he worked his jaw indicated he didn’t agree with her assessment, but he changed the subject.
“The circuit preacher stopped by here to stable his horse.”
Abby nodded. “I met him at the store. I’m looking forward to hearing him preach tomorrow.”
Nathaniel stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground. “Would you allow me to escort you to church in the morning, Abby?”
The tingle in her stomach grew into a tremble. She sucked in a soft breath as warmth flooded her middle and climbed into her face. Uncharacteristic shyness tangled her tongue. She coughed to clear her throat of the lump that suddenly took up residence there. “I’d like that, Nathaniel.”
The scowl that had pinched his features minutes ago faded, and a smile took its place. His lips parted and he nodded. “I need to get back to work.”
“Me, too. I’ll see you later.”
He tipped his hat, but before he turned away from her, she caught a glimpse of the silliest grin she’d ever seen on his face.
Dew created sparkles on the grass as the morning sun sent shafts of light through the trees. Nathaniel’s memory of Abby’s hand on his arm as they entered the church last Sunday still pulled his face into a smile. The only thing that tainted the image was remembering Teague Jackson’s glower when he caught sight of them. Pastor Winslow had seemed especially pleased to see Jackson there, even though Sam Wise mentioned Teague never attended church before Abby came to town. Nathaniel knew he shouldn’t resent the man coming to church, but the thought still needled him.
He finished mucking out the stalls and pitched fresh hay to the horses. Quinn’s hammer rang in the air as the blacksmith fashioned a new blade for somebody’s plow. Nathaniel entered the forge and Quinn halted his labor.
“The barn is clean, and the stock is fed and watered.” Nathaniel wiped his hands on the seat of his pants. “What else do you need me to do?”
Quinn studied him a moment, as if taking inventory of his character. He pointed with his hammer. “Those saw blades over there are finished. They need to go to the mill. And that harrow belongs to Hiram Sizemore. Load them up in the buckboard and deliver them.” He concluded his instructions with a brief nod of his head.
Nathaniel’s heart lifted. If Quinn trusted him with the buckboard and team, perhaps now was the time to speak to him about borrowing a horse and some equipment.
“Quinn, as you know, Abby’s and Florrie’s trunks were lost when the wagon wrecked. Could I borrow a horse and a block and tackle? I’d like to go down the trail and see if I could salvage the ladies’ trunks.”
Quinn stopped hammering and a scowl dipped his thick brows. The man stared a hole straight through him. “Don’t know that I can spare a horse.”
The blacksmith’s refusal stung, but Nathaniel had begun to realize trust took time. He turned and strode to the barn to hitch the team. The sound of childlike singing drew his attention. Morning sun glistened off Abby’s hair as she and the children headed toward the woods. She carried a basket over one arm.
“Abby.” He jogged over to catch up with them.
“Good morning, Nathaniel.” Abby gave him the same shy smile she did last Saturday when he asked to escort her to church.
“Where are you headed?”
She nodded toward the woods. “Wren told me how to make a tea from the root of yellow lilies. She said it will settle the stomach. She also showed me the berries of the squaw vine. They’re good for ladies—” Abby dipped her head, and her cheeks turned bright red.
Nathaniel cast his gaze through the trees, recalling the Georgia Guard patrol that came through less than two weeks earlier. The Guard’s reputation for questionable practices filled him with unease. “I don’t think it’s safe for you to go into the woods alone. I have a couple of errands to run for Quinn, then I’d be glad to go with you.”
Lines appeared between Abby’s brows. “But I wanted to make that tea for Beth as soon as possible.”
“This shouldn’t take too long. I want to go into the woods myself and cut some of those twisted trunks and limbs. I have an idea how I can use them.” He glanced at the children and then back at Abby. Her eyes reflected curiosity over his statement, but he wanted to make certain she understood his warning.
“It really isn’t safe for you to venture into the woods unescorted.”
Chapter 11
Abby admonished Dulcie and Beau to be good and mind their mother. She’d left Beth comfortably seated in the rocker while the children showed her how much they had learned over the past weeks. Dulcie proudly read entire sentences while Beau grinned as he told his mother the sound each letter made.
With a basket over her arm, Abby snuck a surreptitious glance toward the livery. Not seeing Nathaniel anywhere about, she slipped into the woods. The teas she’d made from lemon balm and yellow lily root had worked wonders to settle Beth’s stomach, and Abby was anxious to hunt for other leaves and roots Wren had showed her. The cool shade whispered across her bare arms and beckoned her deeper into the woods.
She plucked several squaw vines clean of their partridgeberries and snipped shiny pipsissewa leaves, remembering how Wren had used them on Nathaniel’s wound. Between Beau getting a new cut or scrape every other day and sparks from the forge leaving burns on Quinn’s arms, the leaves might come in handy. With her knife she peeled strips of willow bark to add to her basket.
Squirrels chattered overhead, and a chorus of birds accompanied them. A breeze rustled the leaves. The summer music so engrossed her, she almost missed the movement from the corner of her eye off to the right. She halted. Was it an animal? She held her breath and didn’t move.
After several minutes, she scoffed at her own apprehension. Nathaniel’s warning had her as jumpy as Beau’s hoptoad. Moving slowly she scanned the forest floor, hoping to locate some purple trillium.
“I watch you from trees.”
Abby dropped her basket as her hand
shot up to clutch her throat, muting her scream. Her heart lurched in her chest as she whirled to find a familiar face.
“Wren! You scared me to death.” She clapped a hand over her pounding heart.
A twinkle lit the Cherokee woman’s eyes, and a tiny smile wiggled the corners of her mouth. “You move through trees like black bear in spring.”
Abby’s quivering knees buckled, and she sank to the ground. “You move in absolute silence.”
Wren knelt beside her and began picking up the forage that fell out of the basket. “Partridgeberries?”
Abby shifted to her knees and retrieved the willow bark peelings. “I tried to remember all that you taught me during those few days we were together. There is a woman in Tucker’s Gap who is expecting a baby. She’s having…difficulty. You said partridgeberries are good for women in childbirth.”
Wren nodded. “Partridgeberries are good. You need vervain to make tea. Not find here.” She gestured to the surrounding woods. “Too dry. Vervain need wet. Come, I show you.” Wren picked up her own oddly shaped basket and slung it on her back.
Abby scrambled to her feet and followed Wren down a slope where the solid ground gave way to softer, swampy earth. Abby hung on every word as the Cherokee woman described how to use the vervain leaves to brew a tea for Beth.
“Vervain make your friend strong when her time comes.”
They followed the low-lying marshy ground out of the woods to a sunnier area. Wren showed her which cattails to pick and described how to use the fuzz for Beth’s baby to prevent a rash. As Abby’s basket became fuller, they turned back toward Tucker’s Gap. Wren pointed out red clover for making a relaxing tea. Entering the deep woods once more, they found the purple trillium Abby sought.
As they hiked, Abby looked at Wren. “After you left us that day on the trail, I wondered if I would ever see you again.”
“I see you play with young ones.”
Abby stopped in her tracks. “You’ve been close enough to the town to see us?”
“Mm. I watch.”
The very idea of Wren coming so near the town spiked Abby’s curiosity. Would the woman answer the question that had niggled at Abby for weeks? “Wren, you knew Nathaniel before the day the outlaws shot him, didn’t you?”
Wren let her basket slide off her back. A flicker of wariness piqued her expression, and the woman’s narrowed eyes studied Abby for a long moment. “He is a good man. I know this.”
“But how do you know it?” Abby’s suspicion strengthened.
Wren’s chin lifted, her unwavering gaze defined her determination. “Soldiers come to our village. Say my people must leave our homes and go to fort. They take land, home, animals, all things. We can no longer stay in the place where we are born.”
The Cherokee woman absently fingered the stems of red clover from the basket. A faraway look fell across her face, as if she no longer spoke to Abby, but to God. “The day soldiers come we say please for more time, so we can gather things. They say no, we must leave now.
“One soldier with long sword tell other soldiers to shoot. I try to hide with my sister and my friend. Children cry. Their fear is great. One soldier—” Wren turned her eyes back to Abby. “Your Danfield, say stop. Do not shoot.”
A rush of warmth filled Abby’s face to hear Wren refer to Nathaniel as hers, but she set the feeling aside. The story Wren related both drew her and repelled her. How could the army commit such atrocities? Abby wanted to cover her ears, to forbid the picture Wren painted from forming in her mind—except for one thing: What was Nathaniel’s role in this abomination?
Wren’s expression grew hard. “Danfield say to soldier with long sword, ‘Do not shoot. This is murder.’” She swallowed once, twice, and her chest heaved with each breath as she continued relaying the incident. “Danfield see me and my sister and friend with children. He push us to the trees. He tell women to hide children in forest. Soldiers still shoot. My sister fall. Danfield run to her but she is dead.”
A single tear made its way down Wren’s cheek. It was only then Abby realized her own face was wet with sickening sorrow for Wren’s story. But the Cherokee woman wasn’t finished. “The soldier with long sword take Danfield. Danfield do good thing, try to stop wrong. They treat him with hate and shame.” She shook her head. “Soldier with long sword…evil.” Wren spat the word. An icy shudder trembled through Abby despite the warm summer day. She set the basket down and slipped both arms around Wren. There were no words to convey the tumbled emotions within her. The loathsome memory Wren recounted and Nathaniel’s heroic effort to protect Wren and the others swirled in her mind. Nausea rose in her throat when she realized Nathaniel had been branded with dishonor when his deeds portrayed him a most honorable man.
When Abby released her friend, their eyes locked. Appreciation shone in Wren’s gaze as she gripped Abby’s shoulder for a long moment.
“You’re right.” Abby’s voice came out in a hoarse whisper. “Nathaniel Danfield is a good man.”
Abby bent to pick up her overflowing basket. She fell into step with Wren as the two made their way back toward Tucker’s Gap.
“My father said Nathaniel was court-martialed at Fort Reed. That’s nearly two weeks’ journey from where you found us on the trail. How did you come to be in this area?”
“My people live in small village one day’s journey from New Echota,” Wren explained. “After soldiers come and kill my sister, many run and hide in hills. Soldiers hunt. We move east and north. Always move. Do not stay long in one place.”
An ache wormed through Abby’s heart. “Do you have shelter? Enough to eat? Clothing?”
Wren shrugged. “We have little. Our needs are not great.” The corners of her lips curved up to accompany a look of contentment. “The God who cares for the sparrow cares for Cherokee.”
They continued walking in silence. When they drew close enough to Tucker’s Gap to hear the sawmill, Wren stopped. She removed the V-shaped basket from her back and took Abby’s basket, emptying it into hers. Then she handed her full basket to Abby.
“You take this basket. Make easy work when you hunt leaves and roots.”
Abby shook her head. “I can’t take your basket, Wren. What will you use?”
Wren lifted one shoulder. “I make new one.” She grinned. “More big. This one too small.”
Abby laughed. “Thank you.” She grasped Wren’s hand. “I’m so glad you’re my friend.”
The two parted. As Abby closed the distance to town, she called to mind what Wren told her about Nathaniel. He saved Wren’s life and the lives of those children, and was court-martialed for doing so. In her frequent arguments with her father, she remembered him stating adamantly the meticulous orders from General Winfield Scott that the Cherokee were to be treated with kindness. What Wren described represented a gross violation of General Scott’s orders. But who would take Wren’s word over that of a military tribunal?
As the livery came into view, Abby quickened her steps, anxious to speak with Nathaniel about what she’d learned. She set Wren’s basket down by a tree and hurried toward the barn. She heard voices as she stepped through the open doorway. Quinn and Nathaniel must be discussing work. She hesitated, not wishing to interrupt. Then she realized she heard only one voice, not two. Nathaniel’s voice. “Father, my life, my name, my reputation are in Your hands. Even if it meant spending the rest of my life under the condemnation of the army, I’d still not change a thing. I’d rather be in Your will first, Lord, than have the approval of men. But is it wrong for me to want to clear my name? If I’m labeled dishonorable, my testimony is tainted. Nevertheless, Lord, I trust You and desire to be used by You in whatever way You see fit.”
Hot tears burned Abby’s throat. She’d never known a man who embodied the term “honorable” like Nathaniel.
Nathaniel rose to his feet and brushed hay off his pant legs. He’d made his request to God, but regardless of the outcome, he’d trust God’s design for his life. He drew in
a breath, filling his heart with the assurance of God’s control.
He picked up the two large water buckets and headed toward the spring. He looked past the trees to the footpath leading to the Rutledge home. Abby walked toward the house, carrying a basket. As he hurried to catch up with her, he noticed the basket was full of various greenery, blossoms, and pieces of roots. She’d been in the woods.
“Abby, wait.”
Hadn’t he made it clear he didn’t want her venturing into the woods unescorted? He couldn’t remember ever meeting such a stubborn female.
She turned to face him as he approached.
He pointed to the basket. “What’s all this?”
She plucked out a couple of leaves and stems. “Red clover, vervain, pipsissewa—”
“I didn’t mean what is it, I meant—”
“I know very well what you meant.” Abby cocked her head. “I went gathering these herbals because each one has a specific use and benefit. Beth needs these things.”
Nathaniel narrowed his eyes. Some days she was so gentle and beautiful, and other days she was the most exasperating person he’d ever encountered. “I thought I told you not to go into the woods alone.”
She gave him a short nod. “I seem to recall you saying something to that effect, but I wasn’t alone.”
He cast a sweeping survey of the surrounding area. “Oh? Who was with you?” If she says it was Teague Jackson…
She glanced from side to side and lowered her voice. “I met Wren. Nathaniel, she and I talked and—”
“It’s not safe—” The volume of his words increased with his irritation, but he quickly quieted his tone. “It’s not safe for either you or Wren to be out there alone. I know you’re fascinated with Wren’s knowledge of herbal medicine, but Abby, I can’t stand by and watch you put yourself in danger.”
“We weren’t in any danger.” She leaned forward, her expression animated. “Wren told me—”
Nathaniel held up his hand. “Miss Locke! Just because we have been waylaid on our journey to Raleigh does not negate my responsibility for your safety. I don’t want you going into the woods alone.”
Brides of Georgia Page 9
