Shiloh

by Lori Benton

  After months getting used to allowing herself such thoughts again, she found herself craving his embrace, certain she heard the same craving as he said her name. How she wanted to yield to it. But giving in would distract them from what they needed to talk over. Things needing airing before they could go deeper into each other’s hearts.

  She stiffened. He let her go. Whatever he had meant to say he swallowed back. “So . . . what d’ye think of New York?”

  The question dashed like the creek’s water. Cool. Distancing. Safe. “I didn’t know how much I missed the countryside till I got shed of Boston. But New York seems wilder than Carolina.”

  “Wilder than Mountain Laurel, this part of it.” His face tilted to take in the stars while the breeze ruffled his shirt. “There’s a wilderness on our doorstep. Mountains called the Adirondacks. We’re all but in their foothills now.” He lowered his chin, gazing at her in the starlight. “Does it frighten ye?”

  It wasn’t wilderness unnerving her. “No.”

  “Ye’ll like the farm. And Shiloh.”

  “You think Shiloh will like us?”

  “Us?”

  She could see the line of his brows pressed down. “Me and Mama . . . Gabriel.”

  His hand trailed shivers down her arm until his fingers curled around hers. “I cannot think anyone I’ve met will take against ye, Seona . . . if I understand what ye’re asking.”

  She didn’t think he did. “I’m asking . . . what do they know?”

  “What does who know?”

  “Your neighbors. Have you told them about me? About Gabriel?”

  “We talked of this, aye? The MacGregors know ye’re coming.”

  “I’m not Mandy’s mama.”

  He stayed silent for a bit, their fingers entwined, then asked, “Are ye wanting to know if I’ve told them our story?”

  Her heart banged. “Yes.”

  “Not everything, no.”

  When he didn’t elaborate, she asked, “What you have told them, was all of it the truth?”

  He released her hand. “Have I lied—is that what ye’re asking? Of course not.”

  This was turning out as difficult as she had feared. “Would you?”

  “Why would I lie?”

  So I won’t be despised, and our baby with me. The words were on the tip of her tongue when she realized he might take them badly, as if she was speaking against the MacGregors, of whom he thought considerable much. Who was she to know what they might or might not think of her? But she cared. All the more the nearer to Shiloh they came.

  “Soon as they set eyes on Gabriel, they’ll know he’s your son—same age as Mandy. But I’m not your wife and never was.”

  “In my heart ye were,” he said, impatience and reassurance mingled in his tone. “And I know we’re not married yet but—”

  As if their talk had somehow reached him, Gabriel’s crying rose above the creek’s chatter. Lily appeared above them on the bank, her shift pale in the moonlight, holding their fretful boy. Seona went splashing out of the creek to comfort their son back to sleep, saying not another word. She couldn’t seem to find the right ones anyway.

  Maybe they wouldn’t even see the MacGregors tomorrow or anyone else Ian called friend. Maybe there was time still to get their story straight.

  22

  SHILOH, NEW YORK

  They reached Shiloh by early afternoon, cart intact, sooner than Ian had dared hope. Passing the first scattered cabins along Black Kettle Creek, they drew curious hallos and stares from women tending kettles or children in their yards. Not from anyone with whom Ian was yet acquainted. Even the village proper, around Keagan’s store, was quieter than usual, save for the industrious ringing of the smith’s hammer and a few old men sitting in the oak’s shade.

  Ian returned their waves but didn’t pause the cart. He was starting up the slope past Keppler’s mill, the women following on horseback, when he spotted the dark-haired lass unhitching a gray mare outside the cabin where road and creek bent toward the farms. So did Catriona, who pressed Juturna forward.

  “Ian, is that—?”

  “It is,” he said. “She looks to be done teaching for the day.”

  Before he finished speaking, Catriona had heeled Juturna into a trot, which carried her up past the mill, where Maggie MacGregor turned, reins in hand. Even above the mill falls Ian heard his sister’s laughter as she swung down from the saddle and the young women embraced in the cabin door-yard.

  “That’s a sound I haven’t heard in too long.” Seona had ridden up close beside the cart, as she had done whenever the trail permitted—to be near Gabriel, who she had let ride with Ian after all, but not with her full trust. She was smiling more broadly than she had done last evening by the fire. The sight had mesmerized Ian then. It squeezed his heart with longing now.

  As the cart crested the slope, Gabriel shot to his feet on the bench beside Ian. “Auntie Catweena!” he called.

  Pulling back on the traces, Ian clutched his wobbling son. The cart lurched to a halt in the door-yard, where Catriona and Maggie MacGregor were talking over each other in their excitement.

  Smile vanished, Seona dismounted and plucked Gabriel off the cart but forbore to remonstrate over his near tumble as Maggie and Catriona hurried over, arms linked. Their faces, so dissimilar—fawn-brown complexion to fair; dark eyes to blue; brunette hair to russet—shone with matching joy.

  “I’ve counted the days, thinking you couldn’t possibly arrive until tomorrow, earliest.” Maggie’s hair wasn’t plaited down her back, as she wore it at home, but swept off her slender neck, pinned beneath a cap. “Going by what Catriona last wrote.”

  “So ye knew she was coming?” Ian replied.

  “Oh yes!” Maggie laughed, happiness overriding her usual shyness. “You didn’t receive your letter from Catriona before you left. Papa has it at our place—he’s one of the few Jack Keagan trusts with a neighbor’s post.”

  “Not that you need read it now, Ian,” Catriona said, looking more like the lass he left behind in Boston than the heartbroken one met in Albany.

  “Maggie, let me introduce my son, Gabriel, and his mother, Seona. And her mother, Lily.” He turned to the women standing with reins in hand, Seona with Gabriel clasped to her hip.

  “Welcome to Shiloh,” Maggie said. “Naomi and the others are beyond excited to see you again.”

  “And we them,” Lily said.

  Seona seemed to gird herself with courage to find her voice. “I’ve heard of you from Catriona,” she said, while in her arms Gabriel stared, bright-eyed and curious, catching Maggie’s attention.

  “He’s a sweetie.” She swung her gaze to Ian, then back to Gabriel. “He looks just like you, Mr. Cameron.”

  “Call me Ian,” he said. “Or ye’ll make me feel as old as your da. Ye headed home?” He bent a nod toward the mare.

  “I am. I’ll ride with you, unless you’ve business to keep you in town.”

  “I think we’re ready to be done traveling.” He tried to catch Seona’s eye to be sure this was true. She evaded his gaze by handing Gabriel to Lily so she could mount up again. Answer enough, he supposed. But as she reached down to take Gabriel on the saddle with her, he caught Lily giving her daughter a questioning look.

  “More than ready,” Seona said with a smile that didn’t hide the strain behind the words.

  Riding behind Ian and the cart, Catriona and Maggie kept up a lively chatter, his sister asking about Maggie’s school, her parents, their farm, Maggie bubbling over like a spring with answers. Then Catriona asked, “Have you seen Francis since last you wrote?”

  “No one has,” Maggie replied, joy draining from her voice.

  Their conversation dropped in volume, or they dropped their horses farther back. Either way, Ian caught no more.

  “Who are they talking about?” Seona asked, nodding toward the pair riding behind.

  “Francis Waring. Someone I’ve never met.” Neither the MacGregors nor the Warings c
ould, by now, hold the faintest hope that his extended absence was just Francis being Francis, off wandering the hills. No one was. “He’s a close friend of the MacGregors.”

  Seona slid him a glance. “I mind him now—from your letters.”

  Ian cast her a searching glance at mention of letters. Had she forgotten what else they shared over those months? It felt as if a wall had risen between them, one he couldn’t find his way around. He thought he had begun to last night at the creek. Seona had voiced concern about the MacGregors, but Gabriel had interrupted the moment and there had been no chance to continue the conversation.

  Riding ahead on Ruaidh, Lily looked back. Seona urged her mount up to ride beside her mother, spurring Ruaidh into a matching trot Lily was forced to rein in. The horse knew this track well and was no doubt eager to be home. But there would be no riding past the MacGregors’ farm without stopping.

  “Ian,” Maggie called from behind, confirming his prediction as the forest hemming the track opened and fields came into view. “You won’t ride past without seeing Mama and the boys? Papa, too, if he’s there. At least for a moment?”

  “I know we’re all tired,” Catriona added, bringing Juturna up alongside the cart. “But please, let’s do? I’d like to retrieve that letter,” she added with a laugh Ian couldn’t resist.

  “My letter, d’ye mean?”

  “You needn’t read it,” his sister reiterated, reddening as he had known she would. “Really it’s of no matter. It’s much too . . . I mean, when I wrote it, I was—”

  “Of course ye can have it back,” he broke in. “And aye, we’ll stop. If Seona and Lily are agreeable.”

  Whether Seona and Lily were agreeable or simply resigned, their faces didn’t reveal as the younger women cantered ahead down the track between the sprouting cornfields, turning at the long lane leading to the MacGregors’ farmhouse, pushed back almost to the first rising of the ridgeline to the north. Less imposing than his uncle’s dwelling at Mountain Laurel had been, the MacGregors’ house was still a substantial affair, with its stone foundation and broad chimneys and the deep veranda wrapping its two-storied front and the single-story wings to either side.

  Catriona and Maggie turned their mounts in to the stable-yard, where Maggie dismounted and began unsaddling her mare. Horses grazed in a nearby paddock, one the old bay roan, Seamus. Neil was to home.

  “Matthew isn’t here,” Maggie was saying as Ian halted the cart in the yard. “He left this morning, gone hunting or checking his traplines. Soon as he’s back, I need to tell him Colonel Waring has two new colts to start.”

  “That’s right,” Catriona said, looping Juturna’s reins over a rail. “I forgot he works with horses. Are those his?” she asked, indicating those in the paddock.

  Maggie started to reply, but a voice calling from the house drew their attention.

  “Ian Cameron, welcome ye home!”

  Neil and Willa MacGregor were descending the steps, on their heels Jamie and Liam, who broke into sprints once their feet hit the ground. Before the tide of MacGregors sweeping from the house could overtake them, Ian moved to help Seona and Gabriel out of the saddle. Lily beat him to it, taking Gabriel in her arms so Seona could dismount. Then they were surrounded by MacGregors. Ian caught a flash of panic in Seona’s eyes before Willa MacGregor, taller than all except Ian and Neil and now quite noticeably with child, came forward.

  “You will be Seona. And Lily,” she added, addressing the women correctly. Then her mismatched eyes took in the child in Lily’s arms. “And this little one is your son,” she said with a look at Ian that confirmed rather than questioned.

  “Aye. Seona, Lily, let me present our neighbors, Neil and Willa MacGregor—and their sons,” he added as the dark-haired lads bobbed near, grinning. “Jamie and Liam. And ye’ll know who that must be,” he said to Neil and Willa, turning to indicate his sister, still in conversation with Maggie as they tended her mare.

  “Catriona Cameron,” Willa called, attracting his sister’s attention. “We are glad to welcome you at last. All of you,” she said, her hand coming to rest on her belly. “Lily, I am told you are a midwife. I will be glad of having you so near.”

  “Ye’re seven months along, I’m guessing,” Lily said, and Ian saw on both his neighbors’ faces surprise at her Scots lilt, no fainter than his own.

  While she and Willa spoke of babies, and Seona stood by mute, Neil took Ian by the arm. “I was awa’ to your place this morning. All’s well, though I ken they’ll be glad to have ye home.”

  “Thank ye for keeping watch. Now, can we drag my sister away from your daughter—” he raised his voice to carry—“we ought to be heading in that direction.”

  Seona was already turning to remount as Catriona joined them, leading Juturna.

  “Are we leaving?” his sister asked after introductions were repeated. Willa gave her the sealed letter that hadn’t reached Ian in time and wouldn’t hear of it when Catriona tried to repay the postage.

  Maggie, still glommed to her side, said, “Matthew is going to adore your filly, Catriona.”

  His sister stroked the horse’s seal-brown nose. “She’s Seona’s really. But she lets me pretend Juturna’s mine.”

  Seona’s smile seemed pasted on as Lily handed Gabriel back up to her in the saddle. Willa glanced from Ian to Seona, then said, “We look forward to seeing you soon. Come visit once you are settled. Any or all of you are welcome, as Ian knows.”

  “Mama . . . my belly is hungwy.”

  Everyone turned at Gabriel’s announcement, to see him kicking his small heels against Seona’s thighs, pointing at his stomach.

  “Soon, baby,” she said. “I’m sure we’re all hungry.” She kissed the top of his blond head, her gaze meeting Ian’s.

  Memory stirred of Cherry Valley and Aram Crane and his need to speak to Neil about the man. Now wasn’t the time.

  “Right then.” With a farewell to his neighbors, Ian made for the cart. “Let’s be getting home.”

  Their arrival was a scene of pandemonium as Lily and Seona reunited with Malcolm, Naomi, and Ally, and Catriona gave Mandy kisses, before both bairns demanded to be let down, Gabriel’s hunger forgotten as Mandy babbled about their chickens and did Gabriel want to see where they put their eggs? Nip and Tuck ran barking circles around their knees, making the horses roll their eyes. Eventually the excitement wound down as Gabriel, tired and overwrought, abruptly fell to crying for his supper, Mandy adding sympathetic wails.

  While Ian and Ally saw to the horses, Naomi ushered the rest into the new cabin she shared with her menfolk. Somehow plates or bowls were found for all and spots to sit. She had fixed a venison stew—“We was about to sit to it”—in her most capacious kettle and set to making up another batch of pone. When he and Ally rejoined them, Ian found barely room enough to squeeze inside, as Naomi scraped the kettle and served up the last of the stew.

  He spotted Seona in the press, wishing he could judge her first impression of the place. As they had ridden in, he caught her looking out across the lake dividing their land from the MacGregors’, its shore lined with red pine save the northwest corner, just visible from the cabins. Past the lake the trees fell away to the acres of corn he and Ally planted a fortnight ago. Past those was the mixed stand of beech and sugar maple he had chosen for a building site, in the shade of which stood the cabins and stable. Beyond the grove the land dipped into a gentle roll of pasturage dotted with his and Ally’s cattle, before rising again to the south-facing ridge, thick with virgin timber. The ridge marched eastward until it too sloped down, giving glimpse of the mountain wilderness beyond. The place still took his breath away, filling him with the deepest satisfaction knowing it was his now, paid in full.

  Whatever Seona thought of it, she had taken pains to guard.

  She glanced up at his entering, preoccupied with keeping their fidgety son still on the bed frame where she sat, clear across the cabin, spooning stew into his mouth. More than one conversation
was happening in the space between, voices cutting back and forth. Naomi waded through the crush, seeing everyone had enough to satisfy.

  Surveying them in the tight space, sunlight streaming through doorway and window, it occurred to Ian it would be no easy matter, finding places for everyone to sleep. He was pondering how to broach the matter when he noticed Malcolm, perched on a trunk just inside the door, bowl balanced on a knee, attention given to a book laid across the other. Its cover was the same rich brown as the big-knuckled hand laid reverently upon it.

  “That the Bible Seona brought ye?” Ian asked and found it needed extra effort to swallow his next mouthful when the old man looked up, dark eyes wet with tears.

  “It means more than I can say, Mister Ian, to have my own at last. Thank ye, wi’ all my heart.”

  “Aye, Malcolm. Ye’re welcome.” Ian transferred his attention to the book. “I don’t think Da bound this one. May I have a closer look?”

  Malcolm lifted the Bible. Ian set his bowl on the windowsill, waved off a questing fly, and opened the book. On one of the front papers, his da had written an inscription. He lowered it so Malcolm could see, then read the words Robert Cameron had penned, touching each with a fingertip as he did so. “‘Presented to Malcolm Cameron this 30th of May 1797, by Robert and Margaret Cameron of Boston, Massachusetts.’”

  Malcolm stared at the page. Around them conversation had fallen off. Ian glanced up to see every eye upon them, Naomi’s on the verge of tears.

  “Malcolm Cameron,” the old man said. “Will ye show me those names again?”

  Ian pointed to each. “That’s your name, right there.”

  “I’ve always desired a Bible of my own,” Malcolm said, fingering his name on the page. “Now I need only learn to read it.”

  Catriona, seated beside Seona with Mandy on her lap, said, “Maggie invited me to help with her school. Why don’t you come along, Malcolm? Let her teach you.”

  Laughter filled the cabin at thought of the old man sitting among their neighbor’s youngest pupils.