Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 1)

by Kinslow, Nanette

  The young woman was thrilled with any container that might hold her and some water as well and thanked the boy profusely in her usual manner. Mark spent most of the afternoon heating water for her bath and, once the tub was filled with the steaming liquid, Rebecca’s excitement was engaging. The boy sat her in a chair beside the keg, concerned she might fall and handed her a cowbell to ring periodically so he’d know if she drowned. Rebecca thought it hysterical, yet delightfully thoughtful, and shooed him away from her chair beside the tub. Mark gathered the blankets he had pulled from the bed, finished replacing them with fresh ones and slipped out of the room timidly.

  Rebecca carefully pulled the filthy, mud encrusted clothing from her aching legs. Although she had been convalescing for days she was shocked to see that she was deeply scratched and bruised. One ankle had what looked like a nasty burn and both of her knees were nearly black with discoloration. Her abdomen was swollen and distended on one side and her arms were spotted with blotches.

  “Are you alright in there?” Mark called through the heavy door.

  “Oh yes, fine,” Rebecca replied weakly. “I’m sorry I forgot the bell.” She had to laugh in spite of the ache in her side and her dismal discovery of her condition. The swelling in her side alarmed her most of all, sending a shiver up her spine.

  She rang the cowbell loudly and could hear the boy’s chuckle outside. Lifting her weight carefully and slowly she lowered herself into the keg and slid into the steaming water. Her head began to pound instantly and she realized she still had much healing to do before a bath, even one in a rough old keg, would be at all enjoyable. She rang the bell again and painfully lathered herself with the soft soap the boy had given her. After several excruciating attempts to wash her hair well and much ringing of the cow bell she decided she had done enough when she could barely focus as she watched a thin trickle of blood drip into the hot water from her forehead. Fearful she might need to call out to the boy for assistance should she linger much longer, she pulled herself painfully from the keg and wrapped the blanket he had left for her around herself. Dressing in clean clothes would have to wait as Rebecca fell to the mattress.

  No longer hearing the bell Mark called out to her.

  “I’m alright,” she whimpered back.

  Mark was alarmed at the tone of her voice and announced that he was coming in. Before Rebecca could protest he burst into the room and found her faint and bleeding on the bed. Throwing another blanket over her bare legs he arranged her as carefully as possible and pressed a clean cloth to her head. Rebecca shivered violently and it was clear she was feverish. The boy cursed at how the bath may not have been a good idea and contemplated, as he had several times since finding the woman, riding down the mountain for help. No one would come looking for her he hoped, but if he left her alone and someone did, he would never forgive himself.

  “Damn it, Pa,” he cursed aloud. “Why aren’t you back yet?”

  Rebecca whispered a weak thank you for the wonderful bath and drifted off to sleep. When Mark was sure she slept peacefully and that the bleeding had stopped on her forehead he stepped outside the cabin to catch his breath.

  He thought he heard the hooves of an approaching horse for a moment, but it passed quickly. He listened tensely for several minutes to the wind in the trees. He’d spent every night beside the door and concluded that he could not leave the woman alone. He would have to wait until his father returned.

  Chapter Ten

  Once her fever broke Rebecca regained her strength quickly, joining the boy guardedly outdoors. When Mark’s father did not return as promised, the boy reminded himself that his late arrival was not unusual and did his best to help Rebecca heal quickly.

  She followed him out to feed the chickens in the afternoon.

  “What would happen if you didn’t take their eggs away?” Rebecca asked as she helped Mark gather the eggs.

  “They’d grow chicks,” he informed her, perplexed that the woman knew practically nothing about keeping fowl or any animal at all.

  “I would expect that,” she replied in her funny proper way.

  “Then we’d have no breakfast and a bunch of chickens!” Mark laughed.

  Rebecca scowled. She wasn’t a fool, she thought that there was something to taking away the warm eggs daily that she didn’t quite understand, but the boy found her ignorance so entertaining she held her tongue. His attitude towards her was improving though, she thought. She told him the best way to weed the garden while the soil was soft and damp, but not too muddy and he taught her not to be afraid of the chickens. She overdid, lying in pain at night, but she didn’t want the boy to see her as fragile and incapable of doing all the things a child could do.

  Both of them remained watchful, not venturing far from the cabin. Rebecca avoided the boy’s questioning about her as much as possible, preferring not to explain her reasons for leaving the train, or why she had come to America, and Mark spoke about his relationship with his father only when pressed, being as evasive as possible.

  Some books were left for Mark to study, but his father had stopped checking his progress over time and Rebecca helped him catch up. When they talked he’d ask her about England, never tiring of teasing her about her accent or what he called her “proper ways”, often mimicking her and laughing heartily at how different their descriptions were of the same things.

  Mark began to talk more and more about his mother and how desperately both he and his father had missed her. It concerned Rebecca that, although very capable of caring for himself, so young a child was left unattended for such a long period of time. She didn’t think much of Mark’s father for his neglect of the boy, even in the light of explanations of the man’s business dealings and grief over his lost wife.

  Rebecca did not put much thought into the man during her early convalescence. But now his return began to concern her. She stood in front of the mirror and tried to see herself through the eyes of a stranger. The boy’s clothing was clean and decent she supposed, but she could not adjust to wearing pants instead of a skirt. The huge scab that had formed on her hairline was healing well, but still looked ghastly to her so she took to wearing a felt cap much of the time, stuffing her hair up into it to keep the waist-long mass out of her way. The clothing, though small, still fit her badly so she wore a large jacket over it most of the time. It occurred to her that the boy may have spent so much time laughing at her, not simply because she was a “foreigner”, as he called her, but perhaps because she looked so utterly ridiculous. She tried removing the cap, removing the jacket, replacing the cap without the jacket. Rebecca gave up hopelessly.

  It worried her that anyone might encounter her in such a state and she tried to devise a way she might find acceptable clothing. She was handy with a needle and she knit quite well. She mentioned that to Mark one day and it seemed to surprise him that she could be handy, even in a feminine way. Contrary to what her dead husband had once said to her about such things being best left to the peasants, as he often referred to the help, she enjoyed them and missed her tatting and the hours spent before the fire working on her bobbin lace. There was no way however that she could do anything about clothing herself in a suitable manner now. Rebecca began to wonder if perhaps she and Mark should leave the cabin and set out to find someone to care for the boy and possibly some kind of employment for herself, although she knew she possessed few marketable skills.

  “Mark,” she ventured one day. “I’m worried about your father. We really need to consider leaving. How would you know if something happened to him? I can’t just live here forever.”

  “We could ride back to the main house I suppose,” he responded to her suggestion. “I did it once before when he was gone for a while. He wasn’t too happy though.” Mark hadn’t forgotten his promise to always behave. He didn’t want to leave without his father knowing and he himself had begun to have concerns over explaining the woman. He did not want to admit to Rebecca that he had been worried now for quite some
time about his father and where to go from here. He decided to be forthright with her and admit his concerns.

  “I’m not sure what Pa’ll say about you being here. I had a friend ride up here once and he didn’t care for it much. Like I said, since Ma passed he’s been, well…, he’s sorta short sometimes. Maybe I could send you down alone you think? No one’s come looking for you and maybe you could find a way to get back home.”

  Rebecca thought the boy’s father completely unreasonable if he were unable to see that her being at the cabin was unavoidable. She was also terrified of leaving alone, and what would she do if she actually made it to anywhere? Dressed this way no one would listen to her, even if she did attempt to explain. How would she get home? She had no money and the only people who knew her were Mark… and Bedra.

  What if Bedra were to find her? Rebecca trembled at the thought. She tried to explain her reservations to the boy without sounding too fragile.

  “I could give you money!” he volunteered. “Once you get down to the bottom of the mountain you could set the horse free and she’ll come back on her own. I know a lady friend of my mother’s that might take you in and give you some regular clothes to wear!” Mark had become animated with excitement at his plan.

  Rebecca pondered, frightened over the idea, and then decided there was no alternative except to venture down on her own and try to improve the situation. She went over possible problems with the boy, even trying to get him to at least go part of the way down with her. She wished the boy wasn’t so fearful of his father and would simply come with her. She had become so concerned over the boy being alone that she promised that if she did make it down safely she would quickly inform his mother’s friend of the boy’s isolation.

  “I’m fine,” he assured her. “He’ll be back, he always is. Must’a got sidetracked is all. I’ll be just fine.”

  Mark hung an unusual hand beaded bag from the saddle horn on the morning she decided to leave.

  “There’s some money for you.”

  Rebecca pulled the cap far down on her head, fearing that she’d run into Bedra, and hoping if she did she would not be recognized.

  “You’ll be fine,” the boy assured her. “My Ma used to ride that horse everywhere, if she could do it you can, too! I’ll look for you when Pa’s back up. You remember all the directions I told you right?” he asked as he helped her onto the horse.

  “I think so.” Rebecca winced at the continuing pain in her side and fought back tears of uncertainty.

  Mark gave the horse a sharp slap and the chestnut mare started in a slow pace down the mountain, still unfamiliar with Rebecca’s tentative form in the saddle. The young woman looked back at the boy and worried he’d be alright, but his open smile put her a little more at ease and she focused on the path before her.

  Standing before the cabin, overwhelmed with emotion, Mark watched the girl ride down the path. When she turned back once or twice he waved openly to her. She looked very different than the day he had found her all beaten up in the abandoned shack. The sun drenched autumn days had put color in her cheeks and regular meals had filled her out some. Her help with the chores around the cabin had made her stronger and built her confidence. Mark wondered how he ever thought she was a boy like himself. Even dressed in the boy’s clothing she was definitely a woman and she carried herself on the back of the horse in a very ladylike manner. The boy thought again of his mother and how she sat upright so similarly whenever she was nervous.

  Despite his assurances to Rebecca he’d become unusually concerned about his father, and now he had grown attached to this woman and she had taken the horse. When the animal returned he thought it might be long enough to think about heading back to the main house. He wasn’t too worried about the woman, she did have some curious ways and there were many things the boy knew she needed to learn to live easily in his world, but he felt confident she’d find her way alright if she didn’t run into those folks who had waylaid her.

  He knew if he did go down in a few days there’d be some things he have to take care of and with Rebecca there he had never picked up those blasted traps. He set out into the woods to find the snares and get rid of them.

  Chapter Eleven

  Timothy Elgerson awoke with a stiff neck and an aching back, his pistol still beside him and his head pounding like thundering horses.

  He cursed himself and staggered downstairs to the study where he pulled a bottle of brandy from the immense desk. He sloshed a generous amount into the snifter and took a hard pull at the rich liquor.

  “To another blasted day!” he toasted to himself and dropped into the chair behind the desk.

  After several hours of sleeping off his stunning hangover, he took to roaming the house moodily. Every board, each piece of furniture and ornament bore the thumbprint of the man. He loved the house immensely and with every project to refine the home he’d stood beside Corissa enthusiastically displaying his latest creation.

  “Do you like it?” he’d ask his wife, wanting nothing more than her approval. “I want it to be built perfectly, and I hope the woodwork is to your liking.” Her smile faded in his memory.

  The huge Victorian style home boasted the finest design from the deeply polished floors to the delicate crystal chandeliers. Its grand expanse opened at the entry with a wide central staircase and solid oak doors that fit perfectly into pocket enclosures leading into the grand parlor to the left, a cozy study situated to the right.

  Timothy had once thrived within the walls of the vast home and the spectacular landscape surrounded by stands of strapping white pines. He had loved the excitement of friends at gatherings and often filled the home with bustling visitors, the sounds of a lively band filling the evening air.

  He cringed at the thought of allowing Octavia the opportunity of bringing guests into the house once again. A party was one of the things he had avoided with determination since his wife’s death and he planned to make himself as scarce as possible.

  His musings were interrupted by the sound of a commotion in the back kitchen and he passed the staircase towards the rear of the house to investigate the disturbance. A limited staff did oversee the residence but the uproar sounded like a larger group than the few lingering employees.

  “Ah, sir!” Simmons, the butler ushered Timothy into the kitchen as soon as Elgerson had stepped towards the door. “It’s good you’re here sir, we didn’t hear you come up the drive,” the butler carried on in a rushed tone. “There’s been some trouble with the train, sir, most unfortunate!”

  Several of his neighbors occupied the space, jumbling about with a number of the staff as well as the newly appointed deputy sheriff from Billington.

  “Seems there’s been some sort of robbery,” Deputy Albertson interjected. “Looks like a pair of men hid out on the express with some dynamite and it’s pandemonium up at the bend there just past the bridge. We’re riding out now to make sure everyone’s alright. I’d sure like to see you join us, Tim. We could certainly use your help.”

  Timothy Elgerson took the stairs two at a time, donned a clean change of clothes and gathered a few provisions before meeting the deputy and four other men in the stable. The group set out at a gallop through the pines towards the bridge that bordered the south end of Elgerson’s property.

  It was the second time a robbery had been attempted in the region, but the close proximity to his home made Elgerson nervous.

  When the team of men reached the river they could hear the voices of frantic passengers and railroad employees raised in panic. Several of the travelers stood in groups at either end of the short bridge, and the engineer and conductors were frantically describing the raid to the Billington sheriff. Elgerson slid down from his horse and surveyed the damage.

  “Well, the only thing I can figure is that they must have boarded at Hawk Bend on the early train,” fretted the engineer, pacing and wringing his rough hands. “They had to have hidden out in the blind baggage because I never saw them on board
and neither did any of the conductors.” Three uniformed conductors nodded their heads vigorously in agreement.

  “Then, right before we hit the bridge the express car just blew up! Damndest thing, she opened up just like a tin can!” The engineer threw apart his hands. “Didn’t do enough damage to stop the train and it didn’t appear that anyone was hurt badly. They didn’t get much, but the car’s awfully damaged. Those fellas got right at the safe they’d blown up and headed off into the woods that way.” He gestured towards a narrow break in a thick stand of pine.

  “I’ve got men up there now,” the sheriff began. “Appears they had horses hidden back up there waiting. They must have left them there earlier, got on the train somehow and figured they’d blow it here on the bridge, maybe take the bridge out and get away clean. We’re putting together a group of riders to see if we can track them. Sure could use your skill with that rifle, Tim,” the sheriff went on.

  “I’m none too pleased with how close this is getting to home these days, Ben,” Elgerson replied. “Where are the men?”

  “Up past the old mill road, Tim. I’m sure you can find them. I’m obliged to you.”

  Elgerson caught up with the small posse after taking stock of the clearing where the robbers had obviously been hiding their horses. The old maple stained with tobacco spittle and a small covered heap of ashes gave evidence that the men had most likely spent the night before riding down to board the train at the station in the early morning hours.

  The posse was made up of a group of men Elgerson knew well, an honest capable bunch made up of neighbors as well as his former foreman, Roland Vancouver. The men greeted him as he approached and he fell into their ranks easily. They rode the woods in the most direct path, all noting evidence of previous riders towards the Hawk Bend station.