The Crockett Chronicles- The Complete Collection

by Jennifer Lynn Cary

  He poured clean water into the basin, washed his face and hands, and dried them on a towel tossed carelessly on the bed.

  His next step would be to locate Sarah. Heading down the hall, he looked in on Wee Joseph’s room.

  Sarah sat in the middle of the floor, baby blankets, gowns and caps so carefully embroidered lay scattered over her lap. Her hair hung in her eyes and she gripped baby clothes to her face. Her body shook.

  It was the first time since the night Thomas died that he’d known her to weep. Usually she moved in a numbed stupor. Though it broke his heart, Joseph wondered if this might be the beginning of her healing process.

  He knelt on the floor and she threw herself into his arms with loud racking cries. Holding her tight, his tears drenched her hair. “Sarah, my Sarah. Oh, my love.” He kissed her temple and smoothed back the hair from her face.

  “I’m so sorry, Joseph. I’m so sorry. Forgive me, I beg you. I am so sorry.”

  He stroked her hair. “Sorry for what? You have done nothing wrong.”

  “I failed you. I failed you and Thomas and Wee Joseph and my father. I have failed you all. We should be holding our son and dressing him in these things and rocking him, and he is gone.

  Joseph pulled her onto his lap and rocked her back and forth. “He isn’t gone forever. He’s just waiting for us.” The thought came unbidden and out his mouth before he realized it.

  “Do you believe that?” She nestled into him and didn’t look at his face.

  Did he believe it? He wanted to, for her sake if not for his own. “Yes, beloved, I do believe it.” Maybe.

  Sarah relaxed in his arms. He rocked her until he heard the even breathing that told him she slept. The first peaceful sleep she’d had in a month. And the first time he had held her in his arms in as long.

  Perhaps the healing really had begun.

  He held her and rocked, not worrying about the time.

  Yet all the while, a small voice questioned in his heart. Though he strove to ignore it, the question persisted. He tried to close out the voice, but to no avail.

  And when will you let the healing begin in you?

  The echo clanged in his soul.

  Joseph had no answer.

  * * *

  The difference in Sarah’s demeanor over the next few days convinced Joseph that the healing had indeed begun. Her hair shone healthy, she took care in her dress, and most importantly, she revealed an occasional smile. She also cried sometimes, but not the heart-rending sobs from before. His Sarah had returned, and for that he was thankful.

  Thankful and determined she would never again hurt so deeply.

  Walking past Wee Joseph’s room one evening, he spotted the tender scene of mother and son readying for bed. Leaning in the doorway, he enjoyed how Sarah dressed the growing lad for the night and sat with him in the rocker. Her crooning lullabies were the sweetest music he could imagine. He let her song transport him away from trouble and pain to a place where all could be made right when rocked in the arms of love.

  “Aye, Wee Joseph. Close yer eyes. Dream of lovely fields and flowers, of ponies with swift feet, of yer mama and da. Aye, sweet lad, maybe dream of a brother or sister. Maybe yer da and I can work on that for ye too.”

  She wanted to try again.

  A cold vise twisted his heart. She wanted to try again.

  He should have known. What would he do? What could he do?

  He pushed off from the doorframe and strode to his room. His and Sarah’s room.

  I’ll not ask for Your help. No. Did You protect Kathleen? Or Wee Thomas? I cannot trust You. Blessed is the man who trusts you? Ha. Foolish is the man who trusts You, and I won’t be foolish with Sarah or my family any longer. I will protect them no matter what I have to do.

  An image of Sarah from their wedding night floated through his memory. Sweet, innocent, full of love and passion.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. Was he so selfish as to put his own urges before her health? Was he a man, or a dog wanting only to satisfy himself?

  No, he was a man, made of flesh and blood, but a man of responsibilities and self-control. Sarah’s welfare came first. His love for her was not dependent on fleshly passions. He could love her and care for her and deny himself, especially if it kept her safe.

  “Joseph? Have ye pain in yer head?” Sarah stood before him. So deep in his resolve, he’d not noticed her entry. Now that she was near, his resolve began to evaporate.

  “No, love. Just a pain in my heart.”

  She knelt down before him, taking his hands in hers. “Dear Joseph, I am so sorry. I would do anything to keep ye from hurt.”

  “As I would you, love.” He needed to tell her, to let her know. How? How did he say he could not share that intimacy with her again? How did he prove his love yet withdraw that part of himself?

  “You have been so patient with me, Joseph. I love you all the more for that.” She held his hands. “I want you to know, I am ready to again try. I want to carry your child, have another baby.” He pulled his hands away. “We can do this. I know God will grant us another child.”

  He stood looking down at her. “How? How do you know God will grant us anything? How do you know He won’t decide to take the next baby or you or both? How many mothers must Wee Joseph lose?”

  She gasped, staring as if he were a stranger.

  It was a hurtful thing to say. He knew it and regretted it the second the words left his lips.

  He reached out to her, but she pushed his hand away and stood on her own. “What are ye saying then? Am I to never again know ye? Do ye plan to withhold yer love from me?” Her eyes blazed with fire, and the candlelight’s glow reflected in her hair.

  “Angry though you are, you are alive. You are able to stand here, and feel, and think, and cry because you are alive. What guarantee do you have from God Almighty that this will continue if we have another baby? The loss of Wee Thomas nearly destroyed you.” He grabbed her hands and, though she tried to pull them back, he hung on. “I love you, Sarah. More than myself, more than any passion, more than life itself. If I lost you with our babe, I might as well have walked into the bay and never come back. I will do what I have to do to keep you safe.”

  She tore her hands from his grasp. Reaching behind her she grabbed a pillow from the bed and threw it at him. “Then get out. Go. Keep me safe, then, but get out of this room.”

  He had never seen her so angry. Her arms locked at her sides, fists trembling with tension. And her eyes, blazing, but full of pain. Pain he had caused.

  “Sarah…”

  She pointed to the door. “Get out.”

  He did.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Wee Joseph is asleep.” Sarah stood in the doorway of the study. Her fingers played with the ribbons at her neckline.

  Joseph continued to focus on his ledgers.

  It had been weeks since he had touched her, ever since he moved into the guest room. Though polite, and even sounding concerned at times, the passion between them seemed to have died with Wee Thomas.

  She stepped closer, watching his careful notations with the quill. He never even acknowledged her. She longed to run her hand through his thick mane, pull him close, force him to see her. She would be happy just to have his fingers touch hers once more.

  But that hadn’t happened in so long. It almost felt like it had only been her imagination that it had ever happened at all. Not even in the time after Kathleen’s death had she ached for him as much.

  Tonight, though, tonight she would make the first move. She would reach out to him. Her hair was carefully brushed, gleaming over her shoulders the way he liked. Her new chemise, embroidered at the slightly lower neckline. She’d added a small dab of perfume to entice.

  “Joseph, we’re alone.”

  Still not a pause. Could he so completely shut his passions down? Did he not realize what he did to her by withholding himself?

  She touched his shoulder.
<
br />   His muscles tensed beneath his shirt.

  “Joseph, come to bed.”

  He continued to work as if she wasn’t there. If not for his muscles betraying him, she would have believed he didn’t know she existed.

  How could he sit there and just keep writing? She couldn’t have been more blatant. He had to know. Must she humiliate herself?

  But as he continued to scratch out the perfectly formed notations, she knew he wouldn’t acknowledge her invitation.

  He didn’t even care enough to look.

  Her fist clenched at her side. She longed to take the hated ledger and throw it into the fire.

  A single tear dripped onto his sleeve before she brushed the others away. She wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t beg. She had her pride. Instead she would do as she had done.

  Wordlessly, she climbed the stairs to her room.

  One more lonely night.

  Why did she bother?

  * * *

  He couldn’t do it. If he had to spend one more night with her so close, he would either give in to his passions or go insane.

  Had Sarah no idea of her effect on him?

  Joseph dropped his quill leaving an inky splotch on the ledger. Raking his hands through his hair, he wanted to scream.

  Her perfume still lingered in the room and only the memory of their baby son’s still form kept him from taking the steps two at a time and breaking down her door.

  Shoving back his chair, he left his study and strode through the kitchen, rushing outside to the cool night air.

  A breeze blew off the bay. He turned his face to the wind, longing for the air to blow the storm in his heart far out to sea.

  Maybe the answer lay out there, out beyond Bantry Bay. If he could just sail away from his troubles…

  No, his heart would never leave Sarah.

  But perhaps his body could. Perhaps he could help with the negotiations in London. He’d done it before. He knew they needed new backing what with all the expansion. Perhaps Jacques would agree. And Sarah would be safe enough. Bridget would be there at the house, and the Fontaines now had a large tower house on the bluff. They would gladly offer her help, should it be necessary.

  Tomorrow he would talk to Jacques, tell him he was interested in becoming more involved in dealing with the London partners. The idea gave him a way out, and the agitation in his mind settled. He sighed and returned to the house.

  To his bedroom.

  Alone.

  * * *

  Sarah sat on the floor inside her bedroom. There was no desire to feel the extra space left in her bed. Listening, she heard the back door close and the measured tread of her husband on the stair.

  Let him stop at the door. Let him want me as I want him.

  The footsteps sounded closer. She held her breath, listening for them to slow.

  Instead they moved faster past her door. Seconds later she heard his door open and close.

  Or was that the door to her heart slamming tight?

  She couldn’t say.

  * * *

  Joseph would have rather laid on the bed and taken a nap. Instead he placed his portmanteau on it and proceeded to fill the case with clothing. His eyes felt bleary and, no wonder, since he had tossed and turned the whole night. Jacques didn’t argue. In fact, he was happy to have Joseph relieve him of some of the traveling burden and wanted him ready to sail with the noon’s tide.

  He still needed to tell Sarah. After last night, there was no telling what she would think.

  “You’re leaving?” She stood in the doorway.

  He’d not heard her approach. It was a surprise he heard anything as tired as he was.

  “Sarah…”

  But she was gone.

  He finished packing and went downstairs to the kitchen. Bridget baked shepherd pie for the noon meal while Wee Joseph played with some pans on the floor. There was no sign of Sarah.

  Picking up Wee Joseph, he squeezed him close. “Take care of your mother, son. I will be back before you know it.”

  Bridget didn’t raise her head. Did she know? How could she not, living under the same roof? She must think…He didn’t know what she thought.

  He put his son back on the floor. “Bridget, please tell Sarah I will be back as soon as the business in London is completed.”

  “Aye, sir.” She never turned around.

  “And Bridget, please tell her… tell her…”

  Now she turned and arched an eyebrow at him. Bridget most definitely knew. “Perhaps that is a message ye should deliver yerself?”

  He nodded. “Perhaps you are right.”

  The idea that had seemed so wonderful last night only appeared to make matters worse in the daylight.

  Joseph shook his head, kissed Wee Joseph, and left.

  * * *

  Sarah climbed the bluff overlooking the harbor. She could easily see each ship docked. Unless he planned to leave by horse, this is the way he would go.

  She stood tall, daring him to spot her, hand to her forehead to block the sun’s rays.

  Soon he came into view, stopping to speak with a man. Most likely the captain. He pulled out a paper and handed it over. The captain handed it back and gave him a clap on the shoulder. Joseph nodded and went below deck.

  It was all so simple, fast. Over and done.

  She turned and wandered back to the house.

  * * *

  Joseph put his case below deck and returned to watch as they pulled from the harbor.

  He could see someone on the bluff to the west. Studying the walk, he knew it had been Sarah. Was it her way of seeing him off?

  Or of saying goodbye?

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I can’t get her to come out of her room, Mistress Fontaine. She doesn’t answer my knock, and I don’t think she’s even taken nourishment in a couple days.”

  Sarah could hear the conversation outside her door. She hadn’t meant to worry anyone. She just hadn’t felt like eating. Or doing anything, for that matter.

  “You did the right thing to send for me. I will speak with her.”

  Someone went down the steps, presumably Bridget. She didn’t want to talk with Anne or Bridget or the Queen if she blessed the bay with a visit. She might talk with her mother. But then, her mother was not anywhere around here.

  Sarah continued to stare out her window. It looked over the bay and she could see the sea gulls soaring overhead. Did the males fly away and leave the females behind, all alone on their nest?

  At once she wanted to throw something at the gulls. How dare they leave their females alone. Searching for anything that might make a hefty projectile, she turned too quickly. The room spun about her. “Ho.” The lightheadedness caught her by surprise. She steadied herself against her dresser.

  There, that was something. Bridget’s vase of daffodils. What did she want with daffodils? She picked it up and lost her balance. The vase tumbled from her hands. She fell back against the tilted mirror, knocking it over.

  The beautiful, one-of-a-kind gift from Joseph lay shattered in a thousand pieces. The cracked base poked up at her like an accusing finger. “Oh no! Oh no!” She scrambled on hands and knees grabbing shards, trying to fit them back into the frame.

  A large piece of the glass still clung to the top part of the oval. The woman in the reflection stared back. A complete stranger. Her hair hung unkempt, her sallow skin accentuated the sunken, red-rimmed eyes.

  The woman began to cry, and Sarah cried with her.

  “No wonder Joseph left. Who would want me?” She raised her hand to wipe her tears but saw red dripping down. Holding her arm in front of her, she watched as blood ran from her palm, to her wrist and forearm. It reminded her of a stained-glass window she’d seen as a child, one depicting the crucifixion.

  Inside she heard the small voice again.

  I want you, Sarah. I bled for you and died for you. And I will hold on to you. Don’t let go, Sarah. Courage grows strong at the wound.

  Arms wr
apped around her and pulled her to her feet. She took a couple steps to the bed and the arms turned her around.

  “Take courage, Sarah. The Almighty is your champion. He will prevail.”

  Sarah nodded to Anne and sat on the bed.

  “Let me see your hand.”

  Sarah obeyed.

  Anne examined her palm. “It doesn’t appear to have any glass in it. Bridget, bring bandages as well.”

  Sarah closed her eyes. She could feel pressure being applied to her hand. Maybe that was the courage growing strong. She fell back on the bed.

  * * *

  “I feel so foolish.” Sarah shook her head, staring at her bandaged hand. “Forgive me for causing you worry.” She had no idea how long she had slept, but vaguely remembered being fed some broth and having her face wiped with a wet cloth.

  Today her head felt clearer, her body stronger.

  Anne plumped another pillow and propped it behind Sarah’s head. “I don’t worry. Well, perhaps I do a little, but when I recognize it, I turn it over to my Heavenly Father who is much more capable and will work it out for His glory and my good.”

  “Where does your faith come from, Anne? I read my Bible, I listen to my minister, but I still doubt and feel afraid. Where do you find that kind of faith?”

  Anne sat on the edge of the bed, holding Sarah’s uninjured hand. “I have had many years of leaning into His grace. I believe what Paul has to say—nothing can separate me from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus. Nothing. So, what is there to fear? Pain? I won’t suffer like He did for me. Death? It is but gain. Being alone? I’m never alone. The Holy Spirit resides in me and is my Comfort. I have perfect peace.”

  Sarah picked at the bedclothes. “What if Jacques left you?”

  “He will one day, or I will leave him to go on to our reward. It will hurt. We have been together for many years now, and he is a good husband. A good man of God. But I still have the peace of Christ.”