They met at the steps, and without thought, she put her hands out, and he took them. “I didn’t expect you so soon,” she said.
His teeth flashed in a brief grin against his beard, which had grown in thick and even now. “Well, I was hoping to speak with your brother. Is he about?”
“Oh, he’s—I’m not entirely sure.” Cheeks warming, Rachel pulled her hands away. Foolish to behave so in the impulse of a moment. What was it about Ben that drew such a thing from her?
His smile remained steady, his blue gaze so earnest her face was like to catch fire if she stood here gaping at him any longer. She swung away. “Do you—are you—planning to stay the night again?”
“I did not want to presume.”
She risked another glance. “We are most happy to have you, of course.”
His mouth curved again.
They located Dan in short order, and Rachel left the men to discuss whatever it was Ben needed to. Passing strange it was, though, when Rachel was always the one he sought out first. But she supposed she didn’t know him well enough to judge what he might have in mind.
It was full dark, and she’d informed the last patrons that they could return first thing in the morning for any additional items they might need, when Dan and Ben came through the doors. Dan saw the last of their customers out then locked the door and crossed to Rachel, where she’d begun settling the day’s accounts.
“Just a moment.” She finished totaling the page of sales amounts, wrote the figure at the bottom of the column, then looked up.
Dan wore a look somewhere between a glower and expectation. “Can you be ready to leave with the wagon train in the morning?”
The quill dropped from Rachel’s fingers. “What?”
Ben’s expression gave nothing away, but her brother heaved a sigh. “I spoke this afternoon with the wagon master, and he said his family could accommodate you all the way to Danville. I didn’t want to make a decision based only on that—although it was more favorable than I’d hoped for, to let you go. But then Ben showed up and offered to personally watch over you—in the company of the wagon train.” Dan’s eyes narrowed. “’Twouldn’t be proper for you to be in each other’s company without the accompaniment of others.”
Rachel became aware her mouth was hanging open and closed it. “Well, of course.”
Ben’s eyes were sparkling now, and even Dan’s look was no longer a glower.
“Tomorrow morning? Truly?” She couldn’t keep the squeal from her voice.
“I can walk,” Rachel insisted.
Ben had not expected their first disagreement to be over such a trifling thing as him offering to let Rachel ride Ivy while he walked beside.
“The other women walk,” she went on, “and most of the children too. It would be disgraceful for me, perfectly well and able to use my own feet, to ride when someone more infirm is made to walk.”
She’d done so the day before, but Ben thought that was simply so she could visit with the other women in the party. It was nearly beyond his comprehension that any female would actually refuse the favor of easier transport under such circumstances—but then, this was Rachel, made of far sterner stuff than some of his aunts and female cousins, and neither with child nor unwell as Sally had been when they’d found the Harpes.
“And see,” she said, lifting her skirts just enough to extend a moccasined foot, “I’m wearing the right shoes for walking.”
Moccasins. Yes, those would be the most sensible, and not the boots that he himself wore.
“Very well,” he said at last, and Ivy’s reins in hand, turned toward the train, just moving out from where they’d camped on the northwest side of Hazel Patch.
The last place Thomas had been seen alive.
“You won’t ride, yourself?” Rachel said.
“No. I’d rather walk alongside you, if you’ve no objection.”
She sputtered a little in surprise, her cheeks coloring becomingly. Ben smiled.
“Well, of course not,” she answered after a moment, and fell into step beside him as the procession set out.
Despite her pertness, Rachel didn’t immediately chatter at him, which Ben appreciated. Not that conversation with her thus far had suffered from any lack of depth or intelligence. And he should welcome some sort of talk to distract him from the weight of passing once again through this stretch of country.
Oh Thomas, how I have failed you.
Men fell largely into two types, Rachel had observed. First, those so enamored of the sound of their own voice they would hardly shut up, like the wagon master who spent much of the previous day talking with Ben about everything from the weather to the road itself and what it had been like before they’d improved it enough for wagons, rather than travel on foot or by horse. Although, Rachel owned she’d rather walk than be jostled about on a cart or wagon.
And then there were men so taciturn that a body could hardly get a word out of them. Ben seemed to fall into neither category, however—ready enough to converse, and not the mere blathering of some, but content enough to be quiet when the moment called for it.
Now seemed such a moment. She remembered well enough the significance of Hazel Patch to him, and if the memory of his cheerful and naive young cousin brought a pang to her own heart, what must he be feeling?
The weather was fair enough, and the timbered hillsides lovely with dogwoods and redbud blooming, and the forest floor scattered with trillium and Dutchman’s breeches. But to know that even now, danger lurked … and not some nameless, faceless shadow, but real men she’d met and shared fellowship with, such as it was.
She glanced up at Ben, whose gaze roved, skimming the country around them, and whose expression seemed to reflect her own thoughts. But was it because of his cousin, or something else entirely?
“What troubles you?” she asked.
His eyes came back to hers, startled. He shook his head slightly, then, “How—?”
She waited for him to say more, but when he didn’t, she said, “I can see it in your face.”
He continued to study her, in turn. The silence left her feeling a little foolish, except she had a father, and brothers, and more experience conversing with men than she supposed any young woman ought. And Ben did indeed bear the telltale tightness of mouth, and at the corners of his eyes.
At last he shook his head again and looked away. He blew out a heavy breath. “Just over the Rock Castle River,” he said softly, “we’ll pass the place where Thomas met his end.”
No words came to her this time. Without thought, she reached over and brushed his forearm. He shifted, but only to catch her hand in his and squeeze it in a way that was at once firm and warm and—familiar.
Then he released her, and they kept walking as if nothing had just happened between them.
“Ahh.” The word escaped her like a sigh. “I thought that might be it.” She hesitated then said, “Will you tell me when we reach the spot?”
He gave a single nod, quick and hard.
The scenery here was beautiful, with rugged cliffs that gave the river its name. The party forded without difficulty—here Rachel did allow Ben to set her on Ivy, for the river crossing and no longer—and then a little farther down the road, Ben’s hand brushed hers again.
“It was here.” He pointed to a gully just below them, thick with trees and mossy boulders.
Without a word, Rachel twined her fingers with his, and this time neither of them let go for a while.
April 8, 1799
Sally paced the floor, stopping to stretch this way and that. The nagging ache which had begun early that morning came and went, no better but no worse either at the moment.
Betsey stood peering out the window, dandling her babe, while Susan half-reclined on her cot, nursing Lovey, but Sally could feel the older woman’s eyes upon her.
“Here comes our lawyer man, Mr. Langford,” Betsey sang out suddenly. “And he’s got a lady with him.”
Sally huffed. Mr. La
ngford’s kindness was not to be faulted—in fact, were she young and innocent again, rather than heavy with child and made ugly by her misfortunes, she might try to catch his eye herself—but she was in no mood for talk today. Certainly not to meet—
Mr. Langford’s voice outside was answered by that of their guard, and then the lock rattled and the door was pulled open. Mr. Langford stepped in, hat in hand as his gaze swept the room before settling on Sally, then he reached behind him and drew the woman forward. The lay of her hair, the angle of her jaw, all seemed familiar.
“Rachel!” The name burst from her lips.
The dark eyes of her old friend went wide. “Sally! Is it you, truly?”
And then she was in Rachel’s arms, sobbing without reason.
“’Tis all right,” Rachel soothed. “I’m here.”
Rachel held Sally’s slight form, not quite as bony as she’d appeared during that brief glimpse months ago, but still thin—except for the hard roundness of her belly.
If only they could protect her from all the consequences of that ill-fated choice, nearly two years ago now. But in this moment, all she could do was offer an embrace and tears of her own.
“Is there someplace we might go to talk more privately?” she whispered to Ben.
He nodded and stepped aside to speak to the guard.
Sally drew herself up, breath still heaving a little, and swiped at her face. “Might I—introduce you? Rachel, this is Susan and Betsey.”
The women nodded, wary, as Rachel offered a smile and dipped her head in greeting. “Nice to meet you,” she murmured. “I’m an old friend of Sally’s. Was at her wedding.”
The words sounded inane even to her own ears.
And heaven help her, inconsequential though it was in the moment, she looked around and saw the slightest glimpse of blue peeking out from behind the one called Susan. Obviously the woman still had possession of Rachel’s gift to Sally.
But it mattered not. There were other cloaks.
The guard bade them outside, and Rachel led Sally with an arm about her shoulders.
Ben took them to the nearby courthouse and through a back door into a dim hallway and a small room to the side. Rachel pulled one chair close to another and settling Sally in one, perched in the other, still clinging to her friend’s hands. “I would ask if you’re well, but …”
“Well enough,” Sally said, her eyes touching Rachel’s then falling away, full of tears. “I—I can’t believe you’re here.”
She squeezed Sally’s hands. “It took me longer than I wished, but I couldn’t not come.” A sob shook her again, and Rachel pressed her forehead to Sally’s. “Tell us what we can do to help you.”
Sally shook her head, slowly at first, then more emphatically. “We’re being cared for well enough—”
“I mean otherwise, Sally. Ben has told me how reluctant you are even to speak against Wiley and Micajah. Is there nothing else we might do?”
It was somehow the wrong thing to have said. Sally’s expression hardened for a moment in an alarming reflection of the women she’d been keeping company with.
“I am sorry. I’ve not even asked what happened since you and Wiley married. How is it that you find yourself here?”
Her eyes still lowered, the frown deepened. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“Well, to begin with—who are Susan and Betsey and how do they figure into all this?”
Gaze averted now, Sally said, her voice flat, “They were there, living with Wiley and Micajah already, when Wiley and I first married. Susan got to fussing about me being a legal wife and her not, so in September, Micajah took her off to Blount County to make things official.” She was silent for a moment. “But—things being legal or not didn’t matter to either of those men.”
Rachel clamped her mouth and kept any shock she might have expressed—wanted to express—unspoken.
“And then—well, you probably know how wild they got, there in Knox County. Horse racing, drinking, and causing a ruckus … then came word that the livestock they’d been selling was stolen.” Another silence. “That, I can’t speak to. But I know they stole the horses that got Tiel after them. They came home in a tear, made us pack, and we took off into the wilderness.” She blew out a breath, looked past them as if gazing off into the distance. “And that’s when things got even worse.”
Rachel waited, her heart thudding painfully in her chest, and Ben was likewise quiet, but Sally seemed to come suddenly back to herself and glanced at both of them in turn.
“I dare not tell you,” she whispered, finally.
Later, Ben sat with Rachel before the hearth of the ordinary where he’d secured her lodging, both of them sipping coffee served out of porcelain cups. Rachel bent over hers in that posture Ben was beginning to know well, and surreptitiously reached up every so often to dry her cheeks with the handkerchief he’d given her.
“I warned you,” he murmured, torn between watching her and averting his eyes. He could not blame her the emotion, nor the shock, but it was hard to see her so and not wish to offer comfort with at least a hand on hers—and here, in such a public place, it would be unseemly.
“You did,” she answered, and shot him a watery glance.
Hang it all, anyway. He blew out a breath, and hitching his chair closer, reached out and took her hand. Her fingers closed about his. “I am most regretful at how this has turned out so far,” he said.
Rachel squeezed her eyes shut, head tucked.
“We’ll see what happens with the trial, however,” he went on. “Perhaps she’ll reconsider.”
Her grip tightened briefly. “Perhaps,” she whispered, and brought her cup to her lips.
“We can pray so.”
Her dark gaze came to his, searching, as if surprised, then cleared. “Aye, we can. And we will.”
Ripples of pain became waves, slow and strong, washing over her and pulling her under like a river current in the deeps. Sally fought to keep her breathing steady in the darkness, so not to disturb the other women, but as the night wore away, she could not keep the catch from her throat.
“Sally? Are you in labor, girl?”
Susan’s voice grated across the silence.
“M–maybe,” she responded, half a squeak.
“Get up and pace the floor a spell. It helps.”
The woman’s unexpected kindness, though brisk, brought a burn to Sally’s eyes. She rolled carefully off her cot, wrapped a blanket around herself, and set to the task.
Susan was right. It did help.
Betsey and baby Joe slept on, but Susan crept to the door, whispered something to the guard, then after scooping little Lovey up against her shoulder, returned to watch Sally.
It wasn’t long before the midwife and her assistant arrived, and by this time Sally was having to stop and lean on the wall, while a low groan tore itself from her throat. The midwife’s hands were unexpectedly gentle and comforting as well, soothing across her shoulders and back. “Don’t fight the pains,” the woman said. “Just go with it.”
As if Sally had any choice. Her body was determined to do whatever it was God made it to when the babe she was growing had enough of being inside. Gone were her thoughts of making it stop. She only wanted it to all be finished.
And long about midnight, or a little after, Sally was astonished to find herself delivered of a tiny girl. As the midwife placed her, still wet and sticky from Sally’s own body, into Sally’s arms, a powerful wave of a different sort altogether swept through her.
“Oh sweet baby,” Sally whispered, trembling, and kissed the tiny head adorned with curls that glinted golden red in the lamplight.
“What’ll you call her?” Susan asked.
The midwife draped them both with a blanket, and Sally stared into the wide, dark eyes in the scrunched little face. “Eady,” she said. “My mama’s name.”
And would her mother ever hold this one?
Chapter Ten
Monday,
April 15, 1799
All of Danville and much of the surrounding county turned out for the trial. Rachel was grateful she’d come early enough to find lodging before the influx of people attending the district court session came, needing to find a place to lay their heads.
She and Ben sat in the row directly behind the women. The court had decided to appoint someone else to serve as defense, but Ben remained as counsel, at least unofficially.
They knew already that Susan’s plea would be heard today, but that they’d recommend the women’s trials be rescheduled for later in the week, because Susan had taken sick just before the Sabbath and still could hardly stand.
They called her to the bar, and she rose, clutching her month-old child, though Rachel had offered to hold the babe. The charges were read for Thomas Langford’s murder, and when asked how she pled, she answered, in a low, scratchy voice, “Not guilty.” She followed the words with a fit of coughing.
A murmur washed across the room. The two judges peered at her while the clerk made his notes off to the side. “It has been requested that the trial of Susanna Roberts be delayed, and for reasons evident to the court, we will set her trial for two days hence, on Wednesday, April 17. As we have a full docket on that day already, the trial for the other two women will be set for Thursday, April 18.”
All three were led back to their cell. Ben and Rachel followed. Sally was allowed to linger outside the jail for a few moments, and after a moment’s hesitation she gave baby Eady over into Rachel’s arms.
Rachel stroked the downy curls and cheeks while the tiny lashes fluttered and big, dark eyes gazed up at her. “What an extraordinarily beautiful child she is,” she murmured.
Sally’s still-weary countenance lifted in a genuine smile. “Isn’t she? I still can’t believe she’s mine.”
For a moment, Rachel glimpsed her old friend as she had been. The golden hair was brushed and braided, Sally’s face scrubbed clean, her garments neat if threadbare, and joy in her child lit her eyes—but there was still nothing of the exuberance that had been the old Sally.
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