The Heart's Stronghold

by Amanda Barratt

  If one person was undeserving of another, it was Sabine. While Sabine was quick to show off her skills when Papa taught Jacob to use a bow, Jacob was careful and calculated, a perfect student. Sabine took care to remind Papa about every good quality of the lieutenant, and her father agreed. Yet no word about a match was ever mentioned again.

  As the fort progressed, so did her affection for Jacob, and her resistance to change became nearly forgotten. She found herself absorbing Jacob’s anxiety for word on his daughter. After a stolen kiss or a secret meeting, Sabine would spend hours in her own thoughts, rehearsing a confession to her parents—one that always included her ever-mounting proof that Jacob was a worthy suitor.

  When might she have the courage to reveal her secret love to her parents? What might they say? She prayed for their blessing by the first bloom of the white ones—a promise of more than forgiveness, but of peace for the match.

  That evening, after the final embers of the cooking fire died, and Papa and Moeder retired for the night, Sabine lingered among the bare tulip patches, waiting.

  “Sabine?” His low whisper burst delight in her soul.

  “I am here, Jacob.”

  She could barely make out his broad figure drawing close. He held out his arms, his fingertips brushing her shoulders, and she clasped his hands in hers. The cool night air was snuffed out as she pulled close to his chest, his warm breath mixing with her own. Their foreheads gently pressed against each other.

  “Pray for us.” His usual request. The distress of his words always washed away Sabine’s delight and exposed her own concern for his dilemma.

  “Oh, heavenly Father, have mercy on us,” she began. “Let our ways be pure and our hearts be centered on You.” Sabine squeezed Jacob’s hands, and he squeezed back. He pressed her so close that her shoe thumped against his. On a jagged breath, she continued, “Give us peace as You work all things for our good—for the good of Amelia and the heart of her father.” A soft sound rumbled from Jacob. Sabine comforted him with her palm against his cheek. “Lord, You are perfect in all Your ways, and tonight, as with every night, we beg You to be swift in the fullness of Your plan for little Amelia and Jacob. Let them reunite quickly.”

  She bit her lip. The sound of the flowing river and the quiet call of an owl accompanied her prayers upward. Most nights Jacob would finish their prayer. But Sabine knew that tonight he’d not speak a word. His shuddering chest and the tears pooling against her hand on his cheek nearly cut off her own ability to speak. She must remain strong for him. She had plenty of practice with Moeder’s need for borrowed strength. Sabine could not deny the hunch that she’d grown up through her hardship for such a time as this—for such a man as Jacob.

  “Holy Spirit, You know our prayer without these words. Wash us in Your peace as we wait. Keep sweet Amelia safe. Amen.” She slid her hand away from his cheek, wiping his tears with her thumb. “My dear Jacob, it will be soon, I am sure of it.”

  He lifted his head up to the starry sky. “My greatest prayer is that the letter arrived in time.” He snaked his arm across her shoulder and pulled her close to his side as they walked to the door of her cabin. “I did not dream in a million winks that I would have someone speaking for me when I cannot.” He spun her toward him. “Sabine Van Der Berg, I do not deserve you.”

  Her pulse thrummed as he bent down and kissed her. The fairy tales never mentioned the depth and effect of such a gesture from the prince.

  She was glad for that.

  Sabine savored this devotion meant only for her, like a secret hidden away in her dreams.

  Yet her dreams were now in her everyday walking and breathing—and in loving this Jacob Bennington.

  No word came before the first snowstorm of the season. Sabine spent many hours at her window, cursing the nearly finished wall that blocked her view of the man she’d longed to see again.

  “How many inches do you suppose have fallen?” Moeder clung to Papa’s arm as he put on his winter coat of beaver fur.

  “At least five inches.” He grabbed his spade and began to unlatch the door. Sabine sprang up from beneath her own pelt and stood with her mother. When Papa opened the door, a knee-high wall of snow began to crumble into the house. “Perhaps more than five.” He chuckled then peered out. “The sky is clear. I will begin to move the snow.”

  Distant drums traveled from within the wood near the lake’s shore. “They are preparing for tomorrow,” Papa noted, peering across the powdery plain.

  Sabine lifted on her toes to see the lake in the distance. She could barely make out one man, shrouded in a dark brown fur, raising his chisel and piercing the ice. Then another arrived, and together they began to construct the wood frames for their fishing tents.

  Joy bubbled up inside Sabine as shivers crawled on her skin from the wintry air. While her mother might never step foot outside during these winter months for fear of the unpredictable change of snow cover and icy patches, Sabine spent many long mornings spearing fish from beneath her hide-covered poles. During the winter fishing season, she often visited Apenimon’s longhouse, staying warm by their small fire as the chief shared stories and legends and the young men carved fishing lures for the next day’s catch.

  “Papa, I will prepare our shoes!” Sabine swept the crumbled snow back outside and then began to close the door.

  Papa gave a sideways glance over his shoulder. “I do believe that Lieutenant Bennington would be interested in joining us tomorrow morn. Might be more successful than the last fishing lesson.”

  Sabine’s face heated at the thought of their first playful encounter in the river and the overwhelming change of her heart later that day. “Yes, Papa. We are obligated to show him the way of ice fishing.”

  “I want you to fish beside me though, Sabine. We can each have our own tent.”

  “Yes, you do not need to be too casual with such a worldly sort of fellow,” Moeder chimed in.

  “Papa, has not Jacob been an ideal student, a perfect gentleman?” She borrowed her words from the practiced speech in her mind.

  “He is a good friend to us,” Papa admitted.

  “He is kind. I believe him when he says the end of his marriage was not his choice.” Her pulse drummed inside her ears. Was this her chance to defend the man who had her heart? “Is there no redemption for an abandoned husband?”

  “Ah, there is.” Papa nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps he will find an abandoned wife to care for.”

  Moeder laughed. “I am glad you are interested in what it takes for a marriage, Sabine. At least you are not as resistant as you used to be.” If only they knew that she had forsaken her resistance to find love long ago. Love had found her. “There is a match out there for you. A deserving one.”

  Jacob’s words pierced her soul. “I do not deserve you.”

  “Grace is a funny thing, isn’t it?” she muttered to herself.

  “What was that?” Papa inquired.

  Sabine opened her mouth to speak but then clamped it shut. “Oh nothing. Let us go to the officers’ quarters after my chores.”

  She closed the door, ignoring Moeder’s complaint about the icy air trapped inside now, and bustled about, frenzied by all that lay ahead this winter. None of the chill that Moeder mentioned caused Sabine discomfort. All she could consider was the small, snug fishing tent on the ice. If only Jacob could stay beside her as they waited for the next catch.

  By the time Sabine had restrung the snowshoes with new netting and gathered their ice chisels from beneath the lean-to, Papa had cleared the usual path between their cabin to the fort blockhouse. However, the path now led to a temporary entrance between the frames of two of the clay walls.

  Wrapping herself in her winter cloak, Sabine pressed as much of her face as she could into its warmth and followed Papa, mindful of any slick patches along the way.

  The chimney of the officers’ quarters puffed against the silvery-blue sky, and conversation carried through the door. After Papa and Sabine were
ushered inside, Jacob rose from the table, leaving Lieutenant Wilson with a disgruntled expression on his scruffy face.

  Jacob greeted Papa with a firm shake. “Mr. Van Der Berg.” His eyes glimmered in Sabine’s direction. “Miss Van Der Berg.” His smile held back a treasure trove of affirmations, sweet considerations, and of course the intimate use of her name.

  “Lieutenant.” She spoke each syllable with a precise pronunciation. “I pray that you have heard from your daughter?”

  The smile fell. “Nay. I fear with this treacherous weather, not one messenger from Albany will find us until spring.”

  “That is a sad but true observation,” Papa declared, placing his hand on Jacob’s shoulder. “But we would like to offer you a chance to make use of your waiting time. Let us teach you to fish.”

  “Fish? Again?” Jacob bounced a stare between each of them. “I fear that I’d catch my death standing in the icy river now.”

  “Ah, no, we will fish on the lake. Through the ice.” Papa approached the table where some traders sat. “I say, do you plan to join us? I’ve not seen any preparations made.”

  “Come, see the new spears we have carved. You’ll be pleased, Josef.” A trader rose as he chewed a piece of jerky. Papa followed him into the back room. Sabine and Jacob exchanged knowing glances, and she bit back a smile with all these men sitting about.

  “Apenimon and his men have begun building their tents already,” Sabine blurted to end the trance Jacob had on her.

  “The villagers will join us in fishing?” Jacob questioned.

  “Aye. They taught us our first winter here.”

  Jacob then addressed Lieutenant Wilson who had a quill in hand above a fresh piece of parchment. “Sir, it sounds like another opportunity to maintain a relationship with the natives. Do you also join in?”

  The older gentleman nodded thoughtfully. “I have. Mostly the traders and some of the other men take to the ice better. I do wonder if our welcome is wearing thin these days.”

  “All the better then. Let us continue to show them our appreciation for the ways they’ve taught us.” Jacob winked at Sabine.

  Sabine shifted from one foot to the other. How could Lieutenant Wilson be so uneasy about Apenimon and his men? She would not stand here and listen to this nonsense that they needed to prove themselves friends with the village.

  “Jac—Lieutenant Bennington. If you decide to join us, bring your fishing spear and a heavy coat to the shore. If not, well, you’ll need to be sure to have much to trade with the village to keep somewhat nourished.” She spun on her heel, reached for the door, and thrust herself into the biting cold.

  Jacob joined her in the crisp morning. “Sabine, what is this?” After he closed the door, he slid his bare hand across her shoulder, turning her around.

  She gladly faced him but tried to keep her seriousness. “I grow weary of that superstitious officer and his belief that the relationship with the Iroquois is so fragile.” She crossed her arms beneath her cloak.

  Jacob’s nose began to pink in the elements, and his eyes watered in the breeze. “Why is that your concern? They are like your kin. You are secure.”

  “Ah, but we are just Dutchmen living off the land. We have no control over what a British servant of the King might impose to appease his ridiculous fear.” She nodded to the nearly finished wall.

  “I see.” Jacob laughed and rubbed his hands together then lifted them to his mouth and blew into them. “You are right. Fear is what brought me here to secure this place for the British. This frigid, unforgiving place.” His teeth chattered.

  “It is not that bad if you are prepared.” Sabine drew close to him, gathered his hands in her own, and wrapped them around her waist, allowing the folds of her cloak to drape over his arms. “See, a little warmth is all you need.” Could he feel her heartbeat ricocheting in her chest?

  “Sabine, we must tell your parents about our courtship.” His voice was a rumble, scratchy and low. “I do not know that they would approve—of me.”

  Her heart skipped a beat and her stomach rolled. She could not bear to affirm the very truth of his concern.

  “They know you to be a good man.” Her words barely escaped the back of her throat, threatened to be squished by a lump forming as rapidly as the ice across the lake. “Please, do not worry. The time will come to tell them.”

  “And do not concern yourself with the query of an old officer. I will make sure nothing drastic happens to this place.” He kissed her. His lips were cold, and she was tempted to warm them up also. But the door began to open behind him, and she pulled away, stepping back several feet.

  Papa stared at each of them for a moment, then began past them down toward their cabin. “Come, Sabine. We must get the tent poles in the ice so they can freeze by morning. Lieutenant, join us if you choose.”

  Sabine gaped at Jacob, who did the same at her. That was close. And foolish, she thought, as they continued through the snow in silence. Her heart barely quieted its stampede though. Not because of the refreshing kiss from Jacob, but because of the stifling truth of his words.

  What if she could not convince her parents to agree to bless their courtship? Might she bring heartache to the father who always provided and the mother who’d lost so much?

  Their daughter was in love, and ever foolish.

  Beneath the darkened early morning sky, Jacob’s boots crunched through the snow. His lantern shone a dim halo on the pure white land ahead of him. Not until he was at the very edge of the shore was he aware of the transition from snow-mounded earth to snow-laden ice. He cast his lantern ahead, observing the three tents he had erected with the Van Der Bergs yesterday. Just a few yards away were the Iroquois tents. Along the far bend of shore, the fishermen began to emerge from the tree line.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Sabine and her father approach. They greeted him with hushed voices. Carefully, they walked to their tents, and after her father entered his, Sabine blew Jacob a kiss from her gloved hand.

  “Perhaps I need assistance,” he whispered across the short distance of ice.

  “ ’Twas not my idea to put up three instead of two.” Her bottom lip poked out. Oh, might Amelia arrive quickly so they could gain approval from her parents to marry. The secret was bursting at his seams, and he wanted to divulge the love growing inside him.

  He lay as flat as he could on the ice and readied his spear above the hole but only chased the fish about with his lure. Once he attempted to plunge his spear into their flesh, they escaped.

  He was still not successful by the eight o’clock hour. His companions and the Iroquois, however, secured a large enough load of fish for a feast. The sun crawled above the lake as they sat around a small fire on the shore and cooked their freshly caught breakfast.

  “Do not worry, son.” Mr. Van Der Berg patted Jacob’s back. “With practice comes perfection.”

  Sabine sat across from him, the heat of the fire shimmering before her face, creating the illusion that she was—an illusion. He wanted to be near her and entwine his fingers with her own, but the space between them must remain just as vast as the ice sheet before them. She spoke with Apenimon, anyway. Together they laughed and carried on.

  A shorter man, with a face framed in the fur of his hood and his long black hair fanning out down his coat, crouched beside Apenimon. “Look what Pierre left behind.” His English was good. He must have been an Iroquois interpreter. He twirled a shiny goblet between his fingers by its stem and flicked Sabine’s more simply-made mug. “We give away much to the east, but I do wonder if our Huron brothers have the greater trade.”

  Apenimon’s nostrils flared, and he said something in a foreign tongue. The man made a clicking sound, shook his head, and moved over to another fire where more villagers cooked their food. A couple of the traders exchanged glances then landed timid stares in Jacob’s direction.

  He tightened his jaw. Sabine whispered with Apenimon and continued to eat. No matter how long Jacob stared
at her, she did not look up from her plate.

  Once they had finished the meal and the rest of the men retreated to their tents, Jacob approached her as she gathered up the utensils. “What did you talk about with Apenimon?”

  “His son.” She still did not look at him. “He is growing quickly. I must visit him soon.” She gave a complacent smile.

  “Sabine, what was said when that man spoke of the French?” His voice was sterner than he meant it to be, but it did the trick.

  She looked up. Her intense glare pierced through him. “There is nothing to fear. He is kin to the woman who married a Frenchman. He’s always teasing about allegiances.” Her mouth’s corners drooped. She licked her lips quickly and returned her attention to her chore. Why did she seem uncertain?

  “Is that all?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then why won’t you look at me?”

  “Apenimon is not happy with his friend. He reminds him of their treaty with the British. Yet his friend entertains the Frenchmen often.”

  “I see.”

  Sabine shot another heated look at him. “Is it wrong for them to be allies with both of us? Why must we make them choose on land that is their right?”

  Jacob glanced around. “You should not express such ideas without knowing who might be listening.”

  “I have seen the French wares.” Sabine spoke in a hushed tone. “They are appealing. The quality is impeccable.”

  “Enough, Sabine.”

  “There is nothing to be afraid of, Jacob. You are as pale as a ghost. I am speaking of trade, not war.”

  “Do not be naive, Miss Van Der Berg. With the French worming their way into our trade relationship, there is always the possibility of—”