The Blue Cloak

by Shannon McNear

  “What about Wiley?” She pulled back just enough to peer up into his blue eyes, and pushed away an errant lock of the gold-brown hair, bleached almost wheaten by the sun.

  His mouth firmed for a moment, and he shook his head. “There’s some who promised to be on the lookout—Sally actually told us where he might show—but I’m betting he knows now that Micajah is gone and thus might run fast and far.” His hand cupping her face, he brushed a thumb across her cheekbone. “And Sally and the others will come to trial in about six weeks. Would you want to go?”

  “Of course!”

  Daddy cleared his throat, and they both looked at him, propped against the counter with arms folded across his chest. Ben’s embrace loosened, but he still clasped her hand.

  “I’m not sure I should let you two journey anywhere together until you’re properly wed.”

  A flush swept Rachel, head to toe. Ben angled a look at her and said, without a trace of hesitation, “I’m willing. But only if Rachel says aye.”

  She could only stand there, mouth open like a fish and heart pounding in her throat. And of course she’d kissed him in front of everyone, and likely obligated herself, but—

  More whoops from the onlookers. “Well, what about it, Rachel?” one asked.

  Suddenly weary of being on display, she dragged Ben away to the back room. When she stopped and swung to face him, he caught both her hands in his. “My apologies, Rachel. I’d have chosen better timing for a proposal, I swear.”

  She shook her head, still unable to speak. All she could think of for the moment were the implications of Wiley disappearing but Sally not yet formally released from her marriage to him. “How—how is Sally?”

  His expression hardened, pain flashing in his eyes. “As well as can be expected. She—” He sighed. “Among all the other wretched acts Micajah committed—the murder of Sally’s baby was one.”

  The tears choked her again. “Oh no …”

  “And—” He huffed. “I should not tell you this. It serves no good purpose, except—it may come up in trial, and forewarned is forearmed. And Sally herself confirmed it.” He ducked his head for a moment. “There is a very strong possibility that the father of her child was Micajah himself, which makes the circumstance even more heinous.”

  Rachel recoiled, hands over her mouth. “Oh—poor Sally.”

  That predatory look, at the wedding. Sally’s pleas for prayer. It all made so much sense now.

  Her stomach near revolted.

  “Did Wiley ever intend to honor his marriage vows, I wonder?”

  “With him vanished into the wilderness, perhaps for good—we may never know.”

  Rachel considered him for a moment as he watched her in return. Standing back. Waiting.

  “And you—have you remained well through it all?” she asked.

  “Quite, thank you.”

  “I am so glad to hear that,” she whispered, throat closing again.

  Ben most certainly was not Wiley. Not in the least. He couldn’t be perfect, of course, and doubtless with more time she’d discover all the ways he was simply a man as any other, but—she knew his was a heart she could trust. Humanly speaking, anyway.

  “Rachel Taylor,” he murmured, “would you indeed do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Something between a sob and a laugh shook her. “I will,” she said, and threw herself back into his arms.

  “Oh, how I’ve missed you,” he rumbled, his breath warm against her neck. “But are you sure you can bear being married to a lowly frontier lawyer?”

  A definite laugh this time. “Aye.”

  “Even if we settled in the wilds of Kentucky?”

  She burrowed more snugly into his embrace. “Benjamin Langford. I don’t know how or when it happened—but nowhere is home without you. So I reckon wherever you choose would be just fine.”

  Once the question was settled, they did not delay—and Ben was glad of it.

  He could recall very little of other weddings he’d attended, but no other bride had ever been as radiantly lovely as Rachel, he was sure, who somehow in less than a week, with the sewing help of her mother and a younger sister, managed to produce a cool summer gown of white muslin.

  Not that he cared what she wore. She could have been attired in horse blankets and he’d have found her completely enchanting.

  On a fine, hot September morning, Reverend Rice read the ceremony over them. Hugh White stood as witness, with Ben signing his own marriage bond alongside Rachel’s father. Much of the community attended—Hugh’s wife, Eliza, delivered just weeks before of their first child, and the Rice family, among them. Ben could not remember a more joyous occasion.

  But then, Rachel’s sparkling dark eyes, laughing mouth, and sweet blushes were all he could seem to give attention to.

  A wife of his own. God willing, a family to follow. And, please God as well, someday a place to belong.

  At one point in the festivities, the women all surrounded Rachel, giggling and chattering, and Ben turned to Hugh, lingering at his side with a pipe and tankard of ale. “So, I have you to thank for much of this.”

  “Or blame, depending upon how things go between you both.” Hugh grinned. “It has come about far differently than I imagined, but aye, I’ve long thought the two of you would suit.” He nodded toward Rachel. “And she seems very happy.”

  “I hope to continue making her so,” Ben said quietly.

  Russellville, Kentucky

  The first of the three trials took place Monday, October 28, 1799. The jury was chosen and sworn in, then Susan was led up before the bar, and the charges read. She pled not guilty, as Ben knew she would.

  Not everyone believed even the possibility that the women could be innocent. They’d had a long time and many opportunities to escape such a horrendous situation. How could they witness the things that had been done, stay silent, and not be guilty?

  It didn’t help when Susan claimed, at least for a while, that Micajah would never have committed a single murder if not for Wiley’s influence. Both Betsey and Sally quietly contradicted her, though, and soon enough she gave up that argument. Ben had counseled her during the initial questioning to simply admit what she’d seen Micajah do and leave it at that. The man was dead now—no reason not to. But Susan’s own hold on reality seemed tenuous at best. Or she was simply incapable of not trying to shift a situation to her own advantage.

  He couldn’t blame her, really he couldn’t. To live for as many years with the man as she had—it appalled him to think of it, more than half her life as “wife” to a Harpe, and involuntarily so for at least the first years.

  She could not, in any sense of the word, be completely whole and sound of mind or body after enduring so much.

  But innocent of having actually committed those murders or assisting with them in any way? Yes, he could well believe that.

  It was still difficult, however, to believe how much tenderness the woman yet held for a man she’d seen perpetrate such horrors. “Big weren’t so sound of mind himself,” she’d confided once to Ben. “So many times, he’d swear he could feel the ground shaking under his feet, when no one else could. And sometimes he suffered powerful bad headaches.”

  She and Betsey both owned, however, that after the first accusations in Knoxville more than a year before, Micajah and Wiley had declared war on all mankind, and determined to wreak as much damage as they could.

  After hearing all the evidence, the jury deliberated then handed down the verdict of “not guilty.”

  Ben exchanged a look and quick smile with Rachel. Just two more trials to go.

  Betsey’s was scheduled for the next day. A different jury was selected and sworn in, and once again the evidence was read.

  Washed and well dressed, Betsey could be considered almost a beauty. She was a mystery in and of herself, and Ben should not have been surprised when, at the outset of questioning after Micajah’s death, she’d stirred as if waking for the first time, fixed hi
m and the other men with a look, and began with, “I was born Maria Davidson, daughter of John and Clarissa Davidson of North Carolina. My father served as an officer in the war against England and died at the Dan River by the hand of the British. When I was but a girl, William and Joshua Harper—those were their names then—stole me from my home, and I’ve served variously as wife to both, as it suited them. But I was never legally married to either.”

  She was soft spoken, which he’d expected, but astonishingly articulate as well. And when asked why she never left the men, she tipped her head and gave them all the sort of look one would a vexing child. “Do you think we never tried? They threatened to hunt us down and make our lives even more miserable than they already were, until we’d learned that we rightfully belonged to them.” She cleared her throat and refolded her hands in her lap. “I called myself Elizabeth, Betsey for short, and Susan and I both took the alias Roberts and called ourselves sisters to make it harder for our families to track us.” She hesitated. “Susan had a brother who might have, but there was no one who cared so about me.”

  Ben had related all this later to Rachel, who was equally astonished by it. She’d become as determined to make a show of support for Betsey and Susan as for Sally, through everything.

  And so it was with genuine happiness and relief that they received the reading of Betsey’s acquittal as well.

  The morning of Sally’s trial dawned clear and cool, and as the other two women had been moved already to other lodgings, Rachel took it upon herself to go to the jail and help Sally dress and prepare for the event—even as difficult as the prospect was of leaving Ben’s side so early. Ben resolved that, however, by rising early as well and now stood outside, chatting with the guards and sharing the sweet rolls he and Rachel had brought from the ordinary.

  Rachel had assisted in washing Sally’s hair the night before, and this morning made her friend sit while she brushed and dressed the locks that, though still golden, were not quite as lustrous as they’d been at her wedding. The experience of wandering the wilderness, often in very great haste, hadn’t allowed Sally to properly care for herself, though by the time Ben had brought Rachel up to Russellville to await the trials, Sally had imposed some order on the tangled mane. But it was a comfort to both of them for Rachel to do this, even if it didn’t take long, and Sally had been given a proper cap to cover it all with after.

  The people of Russellville, like those of Danville, had proved amazingly generous in providing all three women with clothing and other needed items. Sally truly lacked for nothing as she faced the prospect of another trial.

  “There,” Rachel murmured, setting the last of the pins in place and smoothing back a few stray hairs. “You look lovely.”

  Sally fingered the cap, lying in her lap. “Thank you so much. Should I even bother with this, do you think?”

  “That’s entirely up to you. It seems to be less the custom here, although a cap is always useful while working about the house to keep one’s hair clean.”

  Rachel held a small looking glass while Sally settled the cap into place and adjusted it. “Makes me appear more respectable, I think.” Her blue eyes darted to Rachel’s and away. “The more of that the better, don’t you agree?”

  Rachel made a sound of assent—she hoped it sounded encouraging at least. It was so hard at times to know just how to respond.

  In this moment, though, Sally folded her hands into the skirts of her gown and tucked her chin. “I wish—I wish I could undo the whole last two years. Pa says—he says that everyone at home has been so concerned, surely they’ll continue to be understanding about it all. That they’ve all said they’re ready to welcome me back and do whatever necessary to help me live a normal life again.”

  Sally’s father had made the journey up to Russellville with Rachel and Ben to attend the trial, in the hopes of bringing Sally back home with him when it was all over.

  Sally snorted softly. “As if I could ever feel normal again, after everything.”

  Rachel let her hand rest on Sally’s shoulder for a moment then circled the chair and crouched before her friend, covering her clenched hands with her own. “No one blames you for this, Sally.”

  Tears stood in her eyes. “I know how people talk. For that matter, I’ve heard them here. Not everyone thinks us innocent—thinks me innocent. There’s been talk of hanging us regardless.” She sniffed. “Moses Stegall even brought a bunch over, intending to lynch us, but Mr. Stewart who keeps the jail took and hid us in a cave until they got tired of waiting around.”

  “Well. Shame on Moses Stegall then.”

  “It’s a hard thing having your wife and child burned in their own house,” Sally whispered.

  “Still. Neither you nor Susan nor Betsey were there when that happened, were you?”

  Sally shook her head then swallowed hard. “But we were there for—others.”

  Still holding Sally’s hands, Rachel sighed and leaned her forehead on Sally’s knees for a moment. Dear Lord, give me wisdom here.

  “I am so sorry you’ve had to endure all this,” she said at last.

  Sally’s hands uncurled and clasped hers in return.

  A knock sounded on the door outside. “It’s nearly time,” came Ben’s voice.

  “And we’re nearly ready,” Rachel called out, with a little smile.

  An answering smile curved Sally’s mouth, briefly lighting her shadowed eyes. “He’s one of the good ones, Ben is.”

  A giggle escaped Rachel even as a blush swept her face. “He truly is.”

  Sadness rimmed Sally’s expression for a moment. “I confess I’m a little envious of you, in fact.”

  Rachel could not speak, at that. “Oh Sally,” she whispered at last then rose to her feet and tugged Sally’s to hers. She reached for the blue cloak, a little worse for wear but carefully cleaned, and settled it around her friend’s shoulders. “Come. Let’s get this day over with so you can indeed return home.”

  Epilogue

  February 1804 (five years later)

  Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”

  Ben stepped inside the cabin and, pulling off his hat, went to one knee to greet the boys, Thomas and Nicholas, ages four and two, respectively. Sliding one hand across her rounded middle, Rachel smiled and turned from the table where she’d just laid out bread and butter.

  She never tired of watching Ben gather their children into his arms, or their enthusiasm for his appearance, even if, like now, it was simply a brief visit home for luncheon. One arm about each of them, he grinned at her over their heads, then scooping them both up, levered to his feet and gave both a small toss to better settle them against his side. Tom whooped, but Nick only chortled.

  Thus encumbered, Ben sauntered toward her and kissed her warmly, to the renewed giggles of the boys, then he set them down. “Off with you for a moment. I want to kiss your mother some more.”

  “Eww!” Tom declared, and ran away to his wooden blocks. Nick only stood there, grinning. Rachel laughed and shooed him away as well.

  Ben gathered her in for a longer and more thorough kiss then with his arms still around her, lifted his head and looked down into her eyes, suddenly very serious. “They’ve found Wiley Harpe.”

  Rachel felt the sudden need to sit down and reached behind her for a chair. Ben pulled a folded newspaper from one pocket and laid it on the table in front of her.

  She scanned the article. “This is the Frankfort paper?”

  Ben nodded.

  Extract of a letter from a gentleman in Mississippi Territory to his friend in this town dated February 8, 1804: “There have been two of Sam Mason’s party—which infested the road between this country and Kentucky—in jail at Greenville for trial. They were condemned last term and executed this day. One of them was James May; the other called himself John Setton but was proved to be the villain who was known by the name of Little or Red-headed Harpe, and who committed so many acts of cruelty in Kentucky.”

  Rachel pushed the pape
r a little away from her and looked back up at Ben. “Tried, condemned, and executed.”

  He nodded again. “The story goes that he and May had been part of Mason’s gang for a long while, and thinking to collect on the bounty, double-crossed the old river pirate, cut off his head, and wrapped it in clay to preserve it.” Ben grimaced, doubtless remembering the scene he’d related to her from nearly five years before, of another certain criminal’s head. “When they went to claim the bounty, someone recognized Harpe, and said he’d bear a particular scar on his chest from a fight in a tavern right about the time he and Micajah started their killing spree. So, they made him remove his shirt, and there was the scar.”

  Rachel shook her head slowly. “All this time.” She traced the edges of the paper with her fingertips. “I wonder if Sally knows. Perhaps—perhaps now she’ll feel released to marry again. If she can bear it.”

  Sally’s trial had held no surprises, and at the end, the jury handed in a verdict of “not guilty” for her as well. She’d stood weeping openly in the circle of her father’s and Rachel’s embraces. They hadn’t much to prepare for departing again for Knoxville, so early the next morning, they left, Ben and Rachel accompanying them. Sally took her last leave of Susan and Betsey the evening before. “I prayed and God delivered us, at least of Big,” she declared to them. “The Lord is worthy of your trust for the rest of your lives, whatever that may be.”

  “Always the preacher’s daughter,” Susan said, but with less mockery than one might have expected. Betsey looked thoughtful and nodded.

  A local planter, Colonel Anthony Butler, had offered to shelter and employ the women until such time as they decided to go elsewhere, and both Susan and Betsey seemed content with that.

  After seeing Reverend Rice and Sally safely back to Knox County, Ben and Rachel lingered a bit to visit with family and friends then made a wedding trip to Virginia so Rachel could meet Ben’s family. His uncle and aunt and cousins received her very warmly, but soon they both were eager to be away again. Their first destination after that was Daniel and Anne’s, where the earliest days of their unconventional courtship had taken place, and then to Stanford, very briefly, where Ben made inquiries on what community farther west might be in need of him.