“You better go,” Jeremiah said. “I do not want the little fellow to starve.”
“Yes. Bessie will wonder where we are if we are not home soon. Come on, Sammy.”
“Sarah?”
“Yes?” She squeezed Sammy’s hand.
“I know you recall that a few weeks ago we agreed to try to be friends. I do not feel I have done much to further our friendship, so I would like you to do something for me.”
“And that is?”
“Honor me by sitting with me at the Winter Supper.”
“See, Mother? Miah wants us. We can go,” Sammy offered.
Sarah kept to herself how much Jeremiah’s invitation thrilled her. She was tired of mourning, of holding to the past and having it drag her down. And here was a chance to make up to him for what she’d failed to do as a friend in the last few weeks.
“I will go, but you must understand that I go only as your friend.” And because it will keep you from sitting with Gemma Winslow, Sarah thought.
Jeremiah’s grin melted any ice that might have remained in Sarah’s heart. “I hoped you would say that.”
Chapter 12
If you keep moving, I will never make sure you are proper.”
“Quit fussing, Bessie. It is a get-together to listen to Captain’s service, eat, then come back here. One would think this is my wedding day, the way you are acting.”
“If you would just open your eyes and your heart,” Bessie answered, “it could be your wedding day. I must say that you look very fetching in this dress.”
Sarah held her tongue as Bessie fiddled with a bunch of material at the back of Sarah’s garment. Though Jeremiah had given the cloth to Bessie as a gift, Bessie pressed Sarah into accepting it for all the work Sarah had done for the Halls, both before and after Elizabeth’s birth.
Bessie had used one of Sarah’s old dresses for the sizing. This wasn’t a drab, washerwoman style, and it wasn’t the orange-brown material Sarah once had admired at the post. Sarah didn’t know how Jeremiah had procured the deep-green fabric, but it made Sarah think of spring leaves, of hope, of a better time.
She glanced down at the gown. Bessie had cut off tiny wooden buttons from one of her old garments, and they marched in two straight lines up each side of the skirt. Full sleeves accented the top of the dress.
“Ouch! That hurt!” Sarah jerked away from the stab of the needle, the skirt frolicking around her ankles. If she only had something more fancy than these plain brown moccasins to wear with it, she would be happy.
“You are as frayed at the edges as some of the seams of this dress.” Bessie held up a handful of bits of material she had picked up off the floor.
“I am not nervous,” Sarah declared. Not much, anyway, she admitted to herself. Her heart pounded in her ears at the idea of being around so many people at once. That was all. She was also thirsty, but if she sipped any more water, she’d have to disrobe to relieve herself.
“First is the worship,” Bessie reminded her. “Then the feast, with as many of us as can fit into the big room off the store.”
“I know. And we are to sit at the commander’s table.” Sarah wished that thought would quit playing so vividly at the front of her mind.
Bessie stood back and scrutinized Sarah. “Are you going to be all right?”
“Of course,” Sarah replied. “I am going tonight only as a friend to Jeremiah. There is nothing between us, and I do not want you thinking that there is.”
“You will have a good time.”
Bessie’s promise was overcome by Samuel’s announcement: “Cap’n is fixin’ to take us to the supper.”
Sammy’s eyes sparkled. Sarah knew he expected great things from the evening. In a way, so did she, despite her insistence to Bessie that she was only going as Jeremiah’s friend.
A gentle breeze teased the flames of candles set along the edges of the walkway. Frigid temperatures made the sprinkling of stars in the sky shine much brighter than normal. All in all, it appeared for the moment that the settlers’ tenuous hold on peace and security was safe.
Some of the men had moved the store furniture out of the way, making room for everyone who brought chairs to line them up. Captain had taken their chairs over earlier.
Inside, lanterns glowed softly, lending a special radiance to the room. Sap snapped in a corner fireplace. Sarah trailed behind Bessie, nodding politely as Captain introduced her to those she had not yet met.
Sarah knew within moments of meeting Gemma Winslow that the encounter was not going to be a high point of Sarah’s night.
Gemma’s voice dripped with derision. “So you are the one staying with the Halls. Jeremiah told me all about you—and your poor little boy.”
Sarah strove to sound pleasant, though she really wanted to shove a handful of snow down Gemma’s too-low neckline. “We do not plan on staying here long,” she replied. “Washington County is just a temporary solution.”
“That is good,” Gemma replied. “There is so little here for a widow. All the good men are taken, if you know what I mean.”
Sarah knew exactly what Gemma implied, but Sarah was the one who would sit with Jeremiah at the supper. That provided her a small sense of satisfaction. Sarah gave Gemma a cautious glance while Gemma exclaimed over baby Elizabeth. The woman soon moved on to other potential conquests, and, with a sigh, Sarah gazed around.
The entire county appeared to be there. Sarah spent time memorizing the sights so she might pull them out later and recall the festive details.
Sammy pointed out various small discoveries. For once, Sarah bit back the desire to hush him. He meandered freely between seats where families grinned at his very proper hellos.
After an opening prayer in which he thanked the Lord for the turnout, Captain began to recite the story of the Christ Child’s birth.
Sarah’s Bible readings to Bessie during the last few months had reawakened knowledge Sarah thought long forgotten. Though her mind resisted, Sarah felt God’s Word working in her heart. She could not pinpoint a time, but she knew it wouldn’t be long until she again believed in God. She looked forward to that day when she could cast off her fears and feast on the promise of eternal life.
Captain’s exuberant voice beseeched the crowd not to forget Jesus’ sacrifice. As he spoke, the cross at the front of the room drew Sarah’s full attention. Comprised of two saplings tied together with strips of leather, it was an amazing sight.
Sarah was struck by the significance that from trees that provided nuts for eating came a symbol that gave so many here a different type of nourishment. Her heart ached as she realized how much she had missed making that connection.
She closed her eyes, thinking that perhaps this was the night when she would allow God back into her life. But a commotion drew Sarah’s attention.
She watched as Jeremiah and two other men entered the room. The older one she presumed to be Colonel Williamson. He wore a pair of dark trousers and a well-worn gray shirt. His hair looked as if he had not combed it in a week.
On the other hand, Jeremiah was smartly turned out in a pair of black trousers and a crisp white shirt, one that Sarah was proud to have pressed. Her heart raced. She couldn’t help but think how splendid Jeremiah looked. She did not get a good look at the third man as the trio took their seats and the hubbub subsided.
When Captain finished his sermon, Jeremiah rose and apologized for being late. “But,” he said, “I have someone with me tonight who has come to impart to us some important news.”
“If he means that fool the militia has carrying messages, he belongs in the woodshed, if you ask me,” a portly man off to Sarah’s left snarled.
Sarah wasn’t the only one who thought the comment cruel, as Jeremiah glared at the man before continuing. His gaze rested briefly on Sarah before he went on.
“Many of you are willing to risk your lives in order to keep your families safe,” Jeremiah said. “But I have heard comments that place the blame for the atrocities on
Indian groups that I do not believe are at fault. I asked Shade, our messenger, to explain some things you may not be aware of.”
Shade stood and faced the audience. His dark hair was plaited down his back, and puffy smudges beneath his eyes led one to believe he didn’t sleep much.
“Please listen to everything he has to say before you make any judgments,” Jeremiah finished.
Shade spoke hesitantly, a fact that several near Sarah grumbled about. Above some rude snorts, he informed the audience about what was happening in the wilds of Ohio and farther west into Illinois. When he offered what he knew about the British encouraging Wyandot warriors to harass the Praying Indians in order to make the Christian tribe look guilty, he gained Sarah’s attention. Uneasiness filled her heart.
Shade requested that the audience not blame the Praying Indians. “They serve the same God you worship here tonight,” he said. “All they want is to live their lives in peace.”
“That ain’t true,” the portly man near Sarah shouted. “They come over here and kill our folks. You never lost someone to a scalping or you would not be defending those yellowbellies.”
Sarah chewed on the inside of her cheek. She really wanted to stand up and tell the blathering idiot to her left what she knew about the Praying Indians. She might have done so, but Jeremiah sat at the front of the room. She couldn’t let him learn about her connection with that tribe.
Shade’s features hardened. “I tell you the Praying Indians are not the ones you seek. They are being made to look like they are at fault by those who do not wish to be punished.”
“Then who is it?” the man insisted.
A swell of support followed the agitator’s comments. Jeremiah stood. The rumble subsided.
“Shade is here at my invitation,” he said. “Treat him with respect or you will find I order double details.” Jeremiah apologized to Shade.
“It is a sad day, Lieutenant Stewart,” Shade said. “As sad a day as when they crucified my Christ.”
The portly man erupted again. “You leave Jesus out of this. Those heathens come killin’ my family and they will have to reckon with me.”
Several shouted their agreement. Jeremiah placed two fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. The clamor faded.
Shade faced Jeremiah and shrugged. “I cannot change their minds, sir. It is up to you.”
Jeremiah later thought that the Winter Supper was one of the worst nights of his life. Sarah left her son with Bessie and disappeared. Jeremiah entertained Samuel willingly, even when Gemma Winslow finagled her way into sitting at his side. He kept glancing at Gemma, wishing that Sarah were sitting there instead.
When he asked, Bessie did not know why Sarah had left early. “Give her time, Jer,” she soothed. “Something probably reminded her of her husband, and she needs to sort it all out.”
Thanks to the colonel, Jeremiah had at least three more months anyway. He should have turned a deaf ear to Williamson’s pleas and refused to serve any longer. He would have, but he kept thinking of Bessie and Captain and their new baby, and Sarah and Samuel. He didn’t know what one man could do if Indians attacked, but he felt better knowing he was at least trying to help defend them.
But if he left the militia, then what? Would he leave Washington County? Where would he go? What would he do?
Gemma’s nasal tone intruded on Jeremiah’s thoughts. “This is absolutely the most wonderful gathering. I do declare, Jeremiah, you went all out to make this evening so special.” She batted her eyes.
Jeremiah mumbled his agreement. He didn’t feel like talking to Gemma. It would have been much nicer to have Sarah beside him.
“I asked Uncle Davy when he thought he was going to promote you, Jeremiah,” Gemma said. “Do you know what his answer was?”
Jeremiah shook his head. He didn’t care about promotions. Three months and he’d be gone.
“Well, he said that it would all depend on how soon you and I—”
“Excuse me—sir?”
“Yes, Rufe. What is it?”
“I hate to interrupt, but it is time to go, Lieutenant Stewart.”
Jeremiah jumped up, rapidly excusing himself.
“Will you be back soon?” Gemma’s anxious tone followed him out the door. “We have plans to make.”
Sarah tucked Sammy into bed, avoiding Bessie’s questions. Once he fell asleep, she flung her dress into a corner. Myriad emotions prompted by Shade’s earlier comments battered her.
No matter how she tried, Sarah couldn’t remember Shade’s exact words. Was he for or against the Praying Indians? Sarah thought he’d tried to convince the gathering to believe that the Christian Indians should not be blamed for any killings in Washington County.
Jeremiah said he invited Shade to speak at the supper. Did that mean Jeremiah didn’t believe the Praying Indians were guilty? Perhaps Jeremiah had attempted to get Sarah to tell him about the Indians because he thought that he could stop the militia from attacking them.
Sarah scrunched her eyes shut. If she could just recall exactly what Shade had said, she’d be able to figure it out. One thing was for sure—the crowd did not agree that the Praying Indians were innocent.
Realizing she would not figure it out tonight, Sarah sighed and climbed onto her mat. She gave one last glance toward the dark corner where her gown lay. So much for dreams.
Sleep eluded her. Her mind returned again and again to Jeremiah. Would he arrive in the morning and demand to know why she had left the gathering? Sarah balled her hands into fists. If Jeremiah learned that she had grown up with the Indians that most militia members apparently thought responsible for destroying their families, then Jeremiah, as part of that company, would want nothing to do with her.
Fear pooled in Sarah’s heart. Not long ago she admitted to him that she traveled with a missionary to live in the Ohio wilderness. At the time, she did not suspect that Jeremiah would connect that missionary with the Praying Indians.
Shade’s comments left no doubt that Jeremiah would eventually make that link. While he might be able to accept her despite her having lived with Indians at one time, Sarah did not think Jeremiah would accept her if he learned what she had done eight years ago.
Why is that? a little voice in her mind nagged.
“Because I do not want to hurt Jeremiah,” Sarah whispered. “I care about him. As a friend doing a job he does not want to do in this wilderness we live in.”
Is that all? the tiny voice quizzed.
No, but I will just have to deal with the way I feel about Jeremiah as a man. On my own. Again.
At the last possible moment, Sarah led Sammy down the hall to the eating room. She convinced herself that any unpleasantness about her disappearance from the assembly last night was better off dealt with and put behind her.
Captain’s blessing was quick. “Bless this food to nourish our bodies. And pass the flatcakes, Bessie.”
The ping of forks against pewter plates and the soft thud of wooden mugs being set on the tabletop accompanied other normal eating sounds. Sarah waited for Captain or Bessie to bring up her behavior of the night before.
“Jeremiah is gone,” Captain announced after he devoured a towering stack of flatcakes and two mugs of coffee.
Bessie’s shocked gaze collided with Sarah’s. “When did he leave?”
“Early this morning,” Captain said. “Rufe mentioned as we left last night that Jeremiah and some of the others in the militia will be out of the territory for at least a week.”
A quick sigh of relief fell from Sarah’s lips. Jeremiah would not be coming by to call her to task for running out on him. She drizzled syrup on her flatcakes, but she didn’t think she would eat.
“Sarah,” Captain began. “I hope you will forgive me for intruding, but I think it is time we talked.”
The nibble of food Sarah took stuck in her throat. She glanced between Bessie and Captain. Bessie stayed quiet, as if she wished she knew a way to turn the conversation in anothe
r direction.
Sarah realized that she was not the only one who had been going through rough times. Dull shadows beneath Bessie’s eyes were not only because Elizabeth refused to sleep for longer than a few hours. Sarah lost track of the nights Bessie fretted when Captain did not return home when Bessie expected him to. Even when he did, he rose early to visit with families whose men had joined the militia and were having second thoughts.
A feeling of hollowness invaded Sarah as she shoved her plate aside. “I suppose it is. First, please allow me to apologize for last night. My behavior was highly unsuitable.”
“I think you should save your apology for Jeremiah when he returns,” Captain said. “I wish to speak to you about something else.”
“Oh? But I thought …”
Captain cleared his throat. “This is not easy, not just because of who you are but because some people believe sharing things of this nature isn’t done unless the one addressed is in their immediate family.”
“Go on.” Sarah could not figure out where he was headed.
“Bessie and I promised not to press you because we realize that everyone heals differently. Neither of us wishes to make you more uncomfortable than you already are.”
“Just say whatever it is you wish to say,” Sarah stated. “You do not have to go slowly with me. I am strong enough to stand up to anything.” She placed her hands in her lap, pressing her right thumb into her left palm.
Captain scratched at his beard. “I understand that you are helping Bessie learn her letters. Some would say that is a good work, Sarah, something that she will have with her the rest of her life.”
“Did you not want her to learn?” Sarah wondered if she’d upset Captain without realizing it.
“No. I am glad you are doing it. But that is not my point.”
Sammy played with his flatcake, pushing it around his plate and saying, “Gee-up, gee-up.” He’d seen the militiamen say that to their mounts. Sarah laid a hand on his arm to stop him. He sulked but began to eat without any accompanying sounds.
The Memory of Love Page 25