My breath caught. He’d leashed her?
“I fixed his meal.” She stared blindly ahead. “And—and that was that. I found a knife on the shelf over the kindling bin and sawed off the rope.”
A drum of horses’ hooves charged the air. Daniel and Phineas appeared in the distance, their galloping pace blurred by the misty dusk. We hurried to the side of the road. I waved my branch to draw their attention.
But I wanted the rest of the story. And I needed it before the others arrived. “What did you make for his last supper?”
“All I could find.” She kept her eyes on the men’s approach. “Mushrooms.”
* * *
Phineas leaped from his horse and rushed for Rachel.
I don’t know what she did or how she did it—most of my attention was frozen on the last thing she’d told me—but her gesture made him halt. Emotion worked across his face. He took a deep breath and ironed his expression. The only indication of lingering angst was in how he scanned me—jealously, for some reason. His tone was clipped when he observed, “Nice tree, Freddy.”
“Oh.” I finally let go of the branch.
Daniel grasped me by the arms. “What happened?”
“Linton kidnapped her.”
Daniel stared and mouthed, Kidnapped, while Phin’s head jerked back, as though someone invisible had delivered an uppercut.
Rachel glanced away from them. “He knocked me out and took me to his homestead”—her eyes grazed mine—“and had an attack not long after we got there.”
Fury bloomed in Phineas’s face, a red ire. “Where is he now?”
I found Rachel’s hand and squeezed. “He’s dead.”
Silence answered this announcement.
She tugged her hand free and walked to the side of the road. Her arms made a shawl over her chest.
Phin’s breath left him in a growl. He whirled around, hiding his face from us, and his fisted hands pounded the air once. “Rachel, Rachel”—his back shook—“how I wish I could make him dead all over again.”
“Lord Almighty,” Daniel breathed. He drew me into a hug, and the motion jangled my collection of stones. He glanced down. “What in the world—”
I pulled away to empty my pockets, aware as I let the stones fall from my hands that I would never again palm a rock without remembering this day—the day I’d planned to use rubble for a weapon.
Then I threw myself into Daniel’s arms.
He cleared his throat and murmured thickly, “If you ever run away and leave me like that again, I’ll lose my mind.”
I clung to him. He’d get no argument from me. I had never been so scared in my life.
* * *
The road, on our way back, all but disappeared in the gathering darkness. Had the moon not found an open berth between the clouds, we might have been forced to pass the night in the mill with the drunken guests, somewhere on the nasty floor. However, there was sufficient light for us to cautiously head north. We met up with the Welds brothers on our way, their identities revealed not because we could make out their features but because we heard Ed weeping, “I hate it here, Bobby. I want to go home, to our real home.”
We called out to them, and Robert joined the crying when we verified Rachel’s return. When Daniel finished briefly telling them what had happened, they stammered apologies. She didn’t appear to hear them. As we started the journey home, they repeated their apologies. She still maintained a silence. But after the third time Robert wetly moaned about “putting her in a bad spot in the first place, leaving her in the horrible hovel with that drunkard,” she snapped, “Yes, you did. And you didn’t cry about it then.”
Which effectively quelled them.
The closer we got to the Standen-Gale cabin, the more the day showed on her. By the time we reached the property, her teeth were chattering. I helped her out of her cousins’ wagon and braced her with an arm around her waist. She would have fallen on the spot otherwise.
The Welds brothers looked ashamed and anxious to leave. With a few mumbled words, they drove their wagon out of the yard.
Marian came to the door. She took one look at Rachel and ordered Phin, Daniel, and Gid to the barn to bed down with the animals for the night.
Not even Phineas argued with the command. The cabin, on this night, was not for men.
* * *
A fire filled the hearth. It threw a restless glow on the rough-hewn walls and played across Marian’s face, which was already alive with emotion, and glinted on Rachel’s lowered head, adding a reddish hue to the dusky length of hair. The hectic light matched our thoughts, the tumult of our feelings. Marian heated water in the kettle, then sat by Rachel, put her arm around her shoulders, murmured soft words, crooned in the way mothers do. I fed wood to the flames to hurry the warming, then helped Rachel when she struggled with the latches on her dress.
The cabin grew hot, but neither the fire nor the warm bath nor a flannel nightgown squelched our friend’s trembling. Marian fetched quilts off the built-in bed and tucked them around her shivering frame, from neck to toes.
Rachel rested her forehead on the table. “I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again.” Even her words shook.
Marian covered her mouth with a hand, then rose. She hastened across the room and took down a bottle from the top shelf of the pantry. “Maybe this will help.” She poured some golden liquid into a short glass and set it before Rachel.
We made a huddle at the table, my arm around Rachel’s shoulders, holding the cape of quilts in place, Marian opposite us but leaning forward to clasp one of Rachel’s hands in both of hers, chafing the knuckles, shaking her head, once muttering fretfully, “We need to get you warm.” Then, to me: “Shock.”
Shock. We had seen the marks on our friend. Marian had administered a salve on two of the rawest spots. But what else could she or I do? What could anyone do? I stared dazedly at the fire, tried to absorb what had transpired, held my shivering friend closer—the entire time feeling altogether foreign. A foreigner to this room, a foreigner to this moment, unfamiliar with even myself, thinking over and over, We are different now. Who were we yesterday? Nothing will ever be the same.
How silly I used to be … so anxious to toss aside childhood and move on with life. But I was learning something today, a lesson murky and bitter. Liberating feats, daring adventures—accruing such experiences wasn’t the essence of maturity. In fact, growing older seemed less about getting things and more about losing them, less about realizing dreams and more about feeling wakeful and alone. Maybe adulthood wasn’t really a matter of age at all. Maybe it happened whenever a person at last saw human nature for what it was, for the shape it could take, from the depravity of one to the mettle of another.
Well, I supposed I was good and grown now. I still held the image of my girlhood in my mind’s eye but could find no way back into the frame. I didn’t belong in the picture.
The hours passed, fast and slow at once. It was as if we were gathered for a wake. Not for Linton. He deserved no vigil. I was glad—fiercely glad—he was dead.
No … rather, we were keeping watch over the living. Over Rachel. By the hiss and crackle of burning wood, in this room of uneasy quiet, a brooding silence that demanded reverence, a careful broaching in whispers, Marian and I made a small shelter around our friend. And I prayed distractedly, without conscious aim, a pleading oh, God, oh, God. When I noticed what I was repeating, I forced myself to make better sense, to form an intention to this petition. What did we need right now besides succor and healing? Clarity. We needed direction.
And then, as morning smudged crimson into the web of branches, quite abruptly it came to me. An answer.
Marian had gone to stand at the window. Though her back was turned to us, I could hear the frown in her voice when she said, “Phin can stay with the Welds brothers at their cabin for a night or two.” She turned and gazed soberly at Rachel. “What you need now is some privacy.”
This prescription seemed to hit Rache
l in a strange way. She pulled her cheek from my shoulder and swept the cabin with a mournful glance. “I would like that. I would cherish a little privacy. My own place. Will I ever know what that’s like?”
“Yes.” I nodded for good measure.
They turned to me expectantly.
“I have a plan.”
* * *
In the morning, Marian left the cabin to carry coffee to the men. I slipped outside as well and pulled the door shut behind me. I wanted to breathe some cold air.
A few minutes later, I moved to head inside again but stopped when Phineas called me. He stood near the barn. I trudged across the yard.
Hollow cheeks, heavy eyes: he obviously hadn’t slept well, either. He nodded absently at my greeting. “My sister said I’m to stay with the brothers.”
“Just for a night.”
He palmed his unshaven jaw. His hand fell to his shoulder. He gripped it and gave the cabin a melancholy glance. “She doesn’t want me around.”
I knew by she he didn’t mean Marian. “Oh, Phin…” I sighed. “She needs you.” His music and charm and laughter. “She’ll need all of her friends.” Now more than ever.
He tried to smile. “Thanks, Freddy.”
I squeezed his arm and turned.
An hour later, Daniel and I left for my brother’s homestead. Behind us, in Phineas and Marian’s cabin, Rachel was finally asleep. Marian hadn’t discussed my plan with her brother yet, but she didn’t need me there to do that. Gid had already gone south to see to Linton’s burial, then head to the Holland Land Company with the hope that the record on the Linton property might have contact information. The family had to be informed of the man’s death.
I was glad for my brother’s absence. I needed to talk to Daniel alone, and since clouds had gathered in the sky for a repeat performance of yesterday’s weather, we did so in Gid’s cabin, as soon as we finished the morning chores.
When I reached the end of what I had to say, Daniel nodded. He was sitting beside me on the floor, cross-legged, elbows braced on his thighs, hands folded, head down. “I knew we wouldn’t leave. Not with all this upheaval.” He looked up, his eyes sad. “But I guess I didn’t expect one of us to go and one of us to stay.”
“It’s not forever. Only until wintertime.” I said this cajolingly, reassuring myself as much as him.
“That’s more than half a year.” He gazed at me glumly for a moment. “Are you sure this is for the best?”
I nodded.
Ed Welds needed to return to Middleton. Robert Welds maybe less so. But neither could remain in the Genesee Valley, not in the way they’d been living, practicing too little farming and dousing their insides with too much liquor. If they went home to straighten themselves out, they’d leave behind a small, serviceable cabin. “Rachel can keep her cousins’ place while they’re away,” I said. “She needs time to herself.” Desperately. “There’s no way she can get that if she continues on with Phin, Marian, and the children. And I can help Rachel, staying with her if that’s what she wants me to do.” I wrung my hands, hoping she would want that, for safety’s sake. I didn’t like the idea of her living alone. “Or staying with Gid but visiting her daily, making myself useful. Being a friend.” A better one than I’d been in the past.
He smiled a little. “As Harriet or Freddy?”
I shrugged. “As myself.” Those two, they didn’t seem like different identities now. They were both me, just a person struggling to figure out what to do, what to be. I was only beginning to realize the answers.
Yes, Rachel needed time. But perhaps I needed some more, too.
“And tomorrow I get to escort Robert and Ed back to Middleton.”
“Because they’ll likely kill themselves, trying that journey on their own.” I was only half joking. It was a wonder the brothers had made it here alive in the first place. “Of course, they have to agree to the plan. But I think they will. They owe Rachel. Plus, they’re not happy. Back home, they can trade their labor for earnings and restore their squandered savings, all while basking in the doting affection of their mama.” I took Daniel’s hands, trying to keep my voice light when a telltale quiver kept sneaking in, trying to do this right thing when much of me desired a different course of action. “And you can correct all the errors your cousin made while he tried to run the farm in your absence.” Daniel had been gone for such a long time already. It was impossible for him to linger in these parts for another handful of months. He had too many responsibilities back home.
He squeezed my hands and said gruffly, “I’ll whittle away the lonely nights, making you a wedding present. A cedar-lined chest would be nice.”
“Carved with my initials?”
“If I can fit them all.”
My laugh tripped on a sob. I stared through a sheen of tears at our clasped hands. “Then come back for me, please, right after banking-up season, as soon as the snow begins to fall.”
“Bringing the Welds brothers with me?” He sounded less than thrilled at the prospect.
“Ed is probably better off staying in the bosom of his family. Maybe just Robert.”
“And where will Rachel go then?”
“I don’t know. I’d love to convince her to return to Middleton with us, but she might want to stay here. She could easily earn money with her needle and spinning. As people pour into this valley, roads will improve, mills will multiply, farms will start turning a profit, and opportunities will grow, particularly for domestic services. More men than womenfolk will settle here at first. Rachel won’t have trouble finding work.” Then, wistfully: “She might even save enough to lay a stake.”
He sighed but didn’t comment. The Holland Land Company wouldn’t let a woman purchase a parcel. He knew that as well as I did.
But why not? Why in God’s name not? I gave my head a shake.
“I bet Phineas would sell her a portion of his property.”
I glanced up, startled. “You’re right. He owns hundreds of acres he hasn’t even touched.”
Daniel nodded. “He’s been improving Marian’s land.”
I pondered this possibility. Rachel could handle her own homestead. She could do whatever she wanted. She wasn’t poor Rachel in my mind, not anymore. Not with the way she faced adversity. She’d survived more obstacles than anyone I knew.
“Or the three of us”—he cleared his throat—“we’ll all head back to Middleton together.”
I smiled. He was a good man. “I’ll miss you, Daniel.”
He tugged me nearer. “How much?”
“Terribly.” I wrapped my arms around him, relishing his strength. I wiggled closer to relish it better.
We stayed in that tight embrace for a long time. I wanted to prolong it for hours, for days.
But with a sigh, I pulled away. On impulse, I ran my finger along his chest, starting with an L, then an O …
“Are you initialing me, Harriet?” he teased.
I finished the word. “Yes.” For I was that word, too: not just a Freddy or a Harriet, but what I carried in my heart. What I felt for this man.
“Good. That makes me yours.”
“Then don’t get lost or stolen.” I kissed him. “And I will reclaim you soon.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am grateful to my agent, Rebecca Stead, for her wisdom, patience, tremendous skill, and humor, and my editor, Liz Szabla, for her expert guidance and generous enthusiasm. And many thanks to Karen Sherman, Melinda Ackell, Liz Dresner, and the rest of the wonderful Macmillan team for their outstanding assistance.
Several friends provided ideas for sources, lent me useful books, and encouraged and advised me at different stages of the writing process, including Alethea Johnson, Jennifer L. Johnson, Jennifer R. Johnson, Gwen Oosterhouse, Amy Gaesser, and Sheila Stewart. I especially want to thank Diane Palmer, who introduced me to the firsthand accounts compiled in Arad Thomas’s Pioneer History of Orleans County, New York, gave me access to the archives belonging to the Orleans Chapter
of the Daughters of the American Revolution, answered my questions about the Genesee Valley pioneers, and read an early draft of this manuscript. Special thanks, as well, to Sharon Root, whose family letters, memorabilia, and stories deepened my appreciation for and understanding of the western New York settlers’ experiences. And I am grateful to librarian Adrienne Kirby, who graciously lent me dozens of books from her personal collection and taught me a great deal about our local history. And a warm thank-you to my bright friend Anna Symons, who also read an early draft of this novel and offered sound advice. I am obliged to these dear women. So much of what they lavishly shared engendered the seeds of this narrative and fostered its development.
Thanks to my students, who delight and inspire me and who, over the years, have helped make this Lake Ontario fruit country the place I call home.
Sincere thanks to Douglas Carlson, cherished mentor.
Heartfelt thanks to my best friends and siblings, Noelle Swanson and Robert Ostrom, for their unwavering faith in me. Affectionate gratitude to all my family, far and wide.
And deepest thanks to Michael, Lily, and Quintin, the loves of my life.
THANK YOU FOR READING THIS FEIWEL AND FRIENDS BOOK.
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