He rode up, oblivious to her sinking heart, his eyes bright.
“Good afternoon!” he said. A relaxed and expert horseman, he held his hat easily across the pommel and reined in his bay gelding with one hand. He scrutinized her attire with evident surprise. “Are you . . . dressed for riding?”
“I must ask your pardon, Eli.” She was sure she did not look presentable, having slept very little after the struggle. “I cannot go with you after all.”
His smile disappeared. “Is something amiss? Have I offended?”
“No, no. I am so very sorry. I cannot discuss it.” She pasted a smile to her lips.
He tilted his head, his blue eyes piercing. “I hope you will tell me if something is the matter. I will be glad to help.”
“Really, everything is fine.”
But everything was growing less fine by the moment, for across the field on the other side of Eli’s horse, Will was walking quickly toward them. This would only complicate the matter. She wished he would turn around and go away.
“Where is your father?” Eli asked, still unaware of Will’s approach.
“He should have been home by now.” Distracted, Ann tried to keep her attention on Eli.
“Are you worried on his account?”
Will was only a few paces away. Eli’s horse must have caught sight of him, for it spooked forward a few steps. Eli regained his balance quickly, his eyebrows shooting up as he noticed Will.
“And who is this?” he asked Ann without taking his eyes off Will. The apprentice’s shirt was streaked with dirt and his hair tousled from his struggle the night before, in sharp contrast to Eli’s impeccable white collar and navy coat.
“Perhaps I should ask who you are, as you are on the Millers’ property.” Will’s face was drawn with fatigue, but he appeared taller and more substantial than she expected, even though he had to squint up at Eli on his horse.
“Oh, let me explain—” She had to save this situation. Will’s brows were knit together and Eli’s face as cold as marble. “Eli, this is Will Hanby, my father’s new apprentice.”
“I see.” Eli gazed down at Will and turned back to her as if he did not see at all, his perfect eyebrows drawn into a flat line. “Is he staying here?” A faint dryness edged his question.
“Of course not,” Will said. “I’m sleeping in the barn.” A muscle twitched in his cheek, but otherwise he remained motionless.
“Ah.” Eli sat equally still on his horse, matching Will’s stare with the hauteur of a French nobleman dismissing a grubby revolutionary.
Trotting hoofbeats thudded down the road. Grateful for any distraction, she turned to look. This time it really was her father. Bayberry’s trot accelerated to a canter as he closed the distance between them. But when he drew near, his expression visibly relaxed, and he slowed Bayberry to a walk again.
He guided the mare next to Eli’s gelding and halted.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Bowen. You’ve met my apprentice, Will?” He looked from one young man to the other. Ann hoped that was not amusement that flickered across his face. She would be irked if her father found this situation comic.
She hurried to answer before Eli or Will could say anything further. “I am a featherbrain, Father. I was to ride with Eli today, but it completely slipped my mind. Now something has interfered with that plan.” Her voice dwindled to awkward silence. No further explanation could be made in Eli’s presence.
“Mr. Miller, I must speak with you,” Will said. “It’s a matter of some urgency.”
Her father dismounted. “Pardon us, Mr. Bowen,” he said, nodding to Eli. He took the reins over Bayberry’s head and led her toward the barn. Will followed.
She marveled at their silent complicity. Consumed with his mission, Will seemed more a partner than an apprentice as the two men strode through the yard and went into the barn together.
But they had left her to manage Eli.
“It seems quite a melodrama is taking place at the Miller home,” he said.
“Yes.” She approached his horse and rested her hand on the bay’s neck. “Something unusual has happened, but I’m not at liberty to discuss it. Please forgive me.”
“I could never resist a plea like that.” His face softened into a more familiar half smile, but it faded. “You didn’t tell me your father had taken an apprentice.”
“It was all very sudden. He only arrived two days ago.”
“And he was already acquainted with your family? A cousin, perhaps? He seemed to believe he had the right to interrogate me.”
“He’s not a blood relation, but my father worked with him previously in Pittsburgh.”
“A little rough around the edges, isn’t he?”
“Yes.” She did not wish to discuss Will with Eli, so she changed the subject. “May I accompany you down the road on your way back? I’m truly ashamed of my forgetfulness.”
His expression lifted. “I would be delighted to have your company. But I won’t ride while a lady walks.” He dismounted smoothly to stand next to her. “So let us walk side by side.”
He led his horse and they ambled down the road together.
“Perhaps you will come to tea soon with my mother and father. They have asked me several times if you will join us.”
That made her nervous. Mrs. Bowen was quite the formidable townswoman: tall and fair-haired, like all the Bowens, and well known to be possessive of Eli and his brothers. Ann was certain Eli had never told his mother of his first impulsive proposal. But now that his courtship was public, Mrs. Bowen undoubtedly wished to investigate.
“I would be happy to visit your family.”
Her agreement seemed to put him in good spirits, and he asked her about her reading. When they finished a light-hearted debate on the merits of Mrs. Radcliffe—she pro, he con—they were a good half mile from the house.
“I had better go back,” Ann said.
Their conversation had been a pleasant diversion, but Rumkin rushed back into her mind with unpleasant force. What would her father advise them to do? They did not have much time.
Eli stopped his gelding in the road, then took her hand.
“I’ll consult my mother about the best day for a teatime visit.” He stroked the back of her hand lightly with his thumb.
With a quiet goodbye, they parted and he mounted again. As he rode off, he tipped his hat with the air of roguish artifice that always made her giggle.
As she walked back up the road, she had time to reflect on his invitation. If the Bowens wished to meet with her, they must be willing to consider her as a potential bride for their son. Assuming she passed muster, a proposal might not be far off. She sighed. She could not think any further on that today. One dilemma at a time.
“Rumkin was here?” Mr. Miller asked. He stopped in his tracks just inside the front door of the barn.
“He came to the cabin. He tried to take John and Clara, but I shot him in the arm, and he ran off.” Will made his explanation as matter-of-fact as he could.
Mr. Miller’s tanned face turned grayish, then reddened. He turned away and hung his hat on the hook with slow deliberation.
Will had never seen the saddler like this. “Do you think he will return?”
“Not until he recovers, or retains an accomplice. That will take some time.”
“What are we to do if he does?”
Mr. Miller did not respond for a minute. He paced over to the window, then back. “We’ll have to get John and Clara safely north. He will not return if he discovers they are no longer here. And he mustn’t ever come back, not if we wish to preserve Ann’s peace of mind.”
Will remembered Ann’s tear-streaked face of the previous night, her reference to Rumkin’s attempt to kill her. He dared not ask what circumstances had led to that attempt, or why a young lady would lose her temper so completely as to rush to the brink of murder. Better not to know, or he might face the same temptation. For now, he must concentrate on the task at hand. “Clara is still unwell. How will
she travel?” he asked.
“I know two families who may be willing to help them go north. They live near Blendon Township, about four days drive northwest.” Mr. Miller removed his coat. “The Lawrences, or else the Westerfields. The Westerfields own a good bit of land out there, but in this case, I’d go to the Lawrences first.”
“You will escort the Simons?” Will asked. “Perhaps I should go with them instead, so you can stay with Ann. She is very unsettled.”
“I believe you and I will both need to escort the Simons.” Mr. Miller rubbed the back of his neck as if to massage away saddle-stiffness. “It would be too great a risk for one of us alone with the Simons, in a wagon too slow to outrun pursuit.”
“Pursuit from Rumkin?”
“No. From outlaws and robbers along Zane’s Trace, and even more on the Lancaster Road.”
“But what will Ann do?”
“I will send her to the Sumners with her sisters until we return. That will remove them from any danger and ease her mind.”
Will hesitated. He would follow his new master anywhere, especially in this cause, but one more doubt remained. “What if Rumkin calls the law on us?”
“Rumkin won’t want anything to do with the law. He’s too close to the noose himself.”
“Yes, sir.” He did not know quite what Mr. Miller meant by that, but he must trust his master’s decision.
“On our way out of Rushville,” Mr. Miller said, “I will not conceal John and Clara. Rumkin will be certain to hear that they have left town. I don’t think he will be able to pursue us anytime soon, given his injury.”
So Will would travel with Mr. Miller for at least a week. He anticipated the adventure and the chance to begin serving others, as he had vowed to heaven. But he also felt a trace of chagrin that he would not see Ann for some time. And that blond milksop, Eli, would certainly be very attentive to her.
He had no business entertaining such thoughts. He had better write that letter and send it to Emmie.
“Mr. Miller . . .”
“Yes?”
Will dropped his eyes. He did not like to ask directly for help. “I need to write a letter.”
“Of course. There’s paper in my desk. When you are finished, give me the letter, and I’ll post it at Sumner’s store on our way out of town.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The front door burst open.
“Father!” Mabel ran through the doorway and jumped to embrace Mr. Miller. He circled her with one arm, his usual air of reserve softening for a moment. Susan entered more sedately and untied her bonnet strings.
“Girls, have you been behaving yourselves?” Mr. Miller asked.
“Yes,” Mabel chirped.
Susan gave her a skeptical look. “We went to see Clara at the cabin,” she told her father. “She seems better. I made her some broth.”
“Good girl. Now I need you to pack some food for the Simons. They will be leaving today. We’ll need traveling food like jerky.”
“I thought Clara was too ill to travel,” Susan said.
“She isn’t well enough to walk, but I’m revising our plan. Will and I will take them by wagon northward. So, Mabel, I also need you to go to the barn and fill one of the big saddlebags with corn for the mules.”
“Don’t worry, Father. We’ll take good care of everything while you’re away.” Susan put on a very adult expression of dutifulness.
“You will not be here. You girls will go with Ann to the Sumners. I’m sure two of the Murdoch boys will be pleased to earn some wages by caring for the farm again for a week.”
“We’ll be in town for a week?” Mabel said. “I can’t wait to see Hattie!”
Susan appeared equally excited as she opened the pantry and began rummaging through the shelves, pulling out items. Mabel poured out a stream of chatter advising Susan what she should or should not pack.
“Mabel, the corn,” Mr. Miller said.
She scurried out the door, loose hair flying every which way.
Mr. Miller beckoned Will out the open front door and spoke in a low voice as Mabel ran across the yard out of earshot. “They don’t know about Rumkin, do they?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Now if you would please go tell the Simons about our plans, I’ll prepare the wagon. We’ll get a good night’s sleep and leave tomorrow morning.”
As Will crossed the yard to the fields, he saw Ann’s slight blue-clad figure twenty yards down the road. She was headed toward him.
He wanted to wait for her, but that might not be wise. She would be shy after the events of the previous night. Feeling awkward himself, he lifted one hand to acknowledge her and kept walking.
To his surprise, she waved at him and smiled. He would do a great deal to see her smile at him so again. A great deal.
And that was why it would be wise for him to leave town for a while.
Twenty-Nine
SETTING OFF IN A PARTY OF SEVEN PEOPLE MADE THE two miles to Main Street feel like a pilgrimage. Will walked after the wagon as it squelched through a thin layer of April mud and gravel. Mr. Miller drove the mules while Susan and Mabel sat just behind him in the wagon bed. Separated from the girls by a pile of hay, Clara and John sat against the tailgate.
In the clouded gray light of the morning, the girls’ silky dresses contrasted with the homespun clothes of the Simons, and even more so with the coarse ropes binding the couple’s wrists. Will hated to see John and Clara bound, even though he knew it was all a sham and Mr. Miller had tied the ropes too loosely to hold them.
He averted his eyes from the disturbing sight. Rushville’s center was small, consisting of only ten or twelve buildings clustered along the narrow street. Will read each sign as he trudged past: a doctor, a blacksmith, and a dry goods store. The only brick building had a beautifully lettered sign proclaiming it the Dodson Hotel.
The mules’ heads bobbed and their strong legs moved like pistons, flinging up soupy scree.
“Whoa.” Mr. Miller set his shoulders back and reined them to a stop.
They had arrived at the general store where Will had first asked for directions. It seemed an age ago.
“May we go in, Father?” Susan asked from her perch in the back of the wagon.
“Wait for Ann, please.” Mr. Miller jumped down to the street and tethered the horses to the hitching post. As he finished his knot, Ann rode up behind them on Bayberry, her blue skirt draped in a graceful arc down the mare’s side.
Mr. Miller walked up beside her stirrup. “Hold Bayberry’s head, if you would,” he said to Will.
Will approached and took hold of the leathery straps under the mare’s chin. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen a woman dismount from a sidesaddle, but it must be a complicated operation. He turned discreetly away, looking at the storefront. In the dim reflection of the store window, he saw Mr. Miller brace Ann by the hand while she extricated herself from the saddle horns, which involved much rearranging of the skirt. Finally, Ann turned sideways on the mare’s back and slipped down as if sliding down a mountain into her father’s steadying arms.
Now he could look at Ann without the risk of seeing something he ought not. Though he had already seen her in her nightdress. His face flushed hot as he pictured filmy cotton in place of the elaborate embroidery twining down the back of her riding coat.
As Mr. Miller started back toward the wagon, Ann paused beside the mare and looked directly over her right shoulder at Will. He was sure she wanted to say something, but she only met his gaze silently. Her brown eyes were large and fringed with beautiful dark lashes, her skin so smooth and pure she reminded him of a cameo. No, not a cameo, cold and perfect, but instead warm—he had held her in his arms and felt her breath on his neck. Almost undone by that thought, he could not think of anything to say. After a long moment she broke their mutual gaze and walked after her father. Will patted Bayberry’s neck while his scattered reason reassembled itself.
In the wagon Mabel gathered her skirts, t
hen hopped over the side, briefly revealing her lacy petticoat. That earned her a soft scold from Susan, who waited demurely for her father to assist her. When they were both on the ground, Ann took their hands and headed for the store. The Simons remained sitting—Clara leaning her head on John’s shoulder. John sat very still in his bonds, his eyes following the others in their activities.
“Will, watch them while I go in with the girls.” Mr. Miller’s businesslike tone kept up the charade. He had said that, until they reached Lancaster, the safest course was to pretend that he and Will were taking John and Clara to the river to send them back to captivity.
“Mr. Miller.” Will found the folded parchment letter in his pocket and extended it to the saddler. He took it with a nod, then followed his daughters under the porch and through the door of Sumner’s.
Will held the mare and wished they would hurry. Once they left Rushville and headed down Zane’s Trace, he and Mr. Miller could at least speak to John and Clara in a normal fashion.
Soon Mr. Miller came out of the store with a quiet, burly man whom he introduced as Mr. Sumner. The man took Bayberry’s reins from Will; the mare would be staying with the girls, boarded in the Sumners’ barn.
Mr. Sumner glanced at the bound wrists of the Simons as he led the mare away. What had Mr. Miller told him? The truth, or the false story?
“Come on, Will.” Mr. Miller climbed up to his seat, and Will hoisted himself into the wagon bed. With a cluck to the mules and a slap of the reins, the saddler drove down Main Street and out of town.
Once they were out on Zane’s Trace and away from prying eyes, Will relaxed his guard. He might as well take what pleasure he could in the journey, thanking Providence that he was alive and free in the countryside, for today, at least.
Though it was cloudy, it was not too cold. The mules trotted along, up and down gentle slopes that did not tax them too greatly in their harness. They would make good time, if the road stayed this fair and broad the whole way.
The musty smell of late winter had blown away, and the air quickened with the promise of new life. The bare branches of the trees were no longer gray, but had reddened or greened to prepare the way for what was to come. Little leaf-knobs sprouted on twigs, and yellow catkins hung bright against the creamy bark of the birches. It was that moment of early spring like the pause when a fiddler has lifted his bow and holds it over the strings, ready to call forth the music.
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