The Indentured Heart

by Gilbert, Morris

  Adam looked up at young Dwight, and realized that there was more in his words than the others around knew. For the last few months the two of them had been bumping into each other constantly, usually at the Edwardses, often at church or at functions like this. Adam was so accustomed to having Mary claim his attention, as she had done for years, that he only now realized, although nothing was said, that he and Dwight were engaged in some sort of rivalry.

  Now staring at Timothy, Adam knew that the big man’s constant attention to Mary had awakened him, making him realize that he no longer felt like a brother to her—not in any way!

  Timothy read Adam’s expression and said, “It’s taken me a year to get Mary’s eyes off you. Matter of fact, I almost gave up! Worst case of a girlhood love I ever saw!” He smiled as Adam gave him an incredulous look. “Oh, you’re too dumb to know it, Adam, but everybody else did!”

  “In love with me?”

  Timothy laid a heavy hand on Adam’s shoulder, the weight of it enormous. “Too late, old man. I’ve managed to cut you out pretty well, but if you were a man who knew women—as that dandy of a brother obviously does!—why, I’d have had no show at all!”

  Adam felt as though he’d been kicked in the stomach by one of his mules! His mind reeled as Timothy walked off, and his thoughts tumbled wildly. Mary in love with me? But I’ve never even kissed her! Never really courted her!

  For the next hour Adam was stunned. He was still able to function, but his movements were automatic and his thoughts were fragmented. He managed to play some of the simple games that the young people engaged in out in the yard, but he could not have told you a thing that happened. Mary in love with me! The idea shook him, but despite his confusion, he did notice one thing: Dwight was never far from Mary, and the smile she gave him was not that of a little girl, but of a woman aware that she was being pursued!

  Adam Winslow was a slow-moving, easy-going sort. He smiled and was amiable in most things. But from time to time, he fixed his eye on something and, with every ounce of determination in his spirit, said, I’ll have that or die trying!

  The thick cords of muscles in his solid jaw suddenly bunched up, and his eyes narrowed to slits of royal dark blue. He stood there like a cat watching a bird, getting ready to pounce! Then he forced himself to relax, but there was something in his face that Molly saw at once—for she knew him well enough to recognize the tenacious look he had when his mind was made up.

  He said little, but he began moving closer to Mary, and she recognized at a glance what was happening. Her bright eyes flashed, and all afternoon, young and inexperienced as she was, she managed to play them off against one another.

  Charles had been drinking cider with Molly, and he said, “That young woman is a menace, Molly! Look how clever she is with those two!”

  “Mary’s clever enough,” Molly answered. “She’s always been able to get anything she wanted.”

  Charles stared at her in surprise, for there was an edge in the girl’s voice. “You don’t like Mary, do you, Molly?”

  “Yes, I do. She’s a fine girl, Charles, but she’s hard on people. She’s so much smarter than the rest of the world, she can get what she wants without trying. That would be bad enough in a plain woman, but she’s beautiful as well—and that could be terrible.”

  He stared at her, a sudden flash of approval in his eyes. “You’re a very observant young woman, Molly. I like that.” Then he stared at the trio across the yard and said, “My word, he’s huge! No man could stand up to him in a fight! I hope Adam’s got sense enough to know that—but then, Adam never had any sense! He’d tackle a grizzly bear if he got mad enough!”

  “I wish we’d go home,” Molly said suddenly.

  “Why? The party’s just started!”

  “These parties are pretty much the same, Charles. Sooner or later the young men will start having contests. Running, jumping, wrestling—that sort of thing.” She looked up at him, and bit her lip, murmuring, “I’ve never seen Adam so aggressive! He usually stands on the outside and just smiles—but look at him now!”

  Charles saw what she meant. Adam and Timothy were both practically hovering over Mary, looking for all the world as if they wanted nothing better than to fall on each other.

  “I don’t think wild horses could drag him away,” Charles said. He looked at Molly and said tentatively, “Adam and I have not been very close, but he confided in me yesterday. He told me he was in love with Mary.”

  “He has been for a long time.” There was no emotion in Molly’s voice. She said it as if it were not very interesting, but he saw her lips were pressed tightly together, the small blue vein in her forehead pounding.

  “Well, let’s hope they don’t lock horns! That fellow’s a bull!”

  But they did. Just as Molly indicated, the young men soon began to engage in athletic contests, and as always it turned into a tournament, each of them determined to prove to the young women how strong or fast they were.

  It began with a shooting match, and Charles took part in that himself. They blazed away at a target, moving farther and farther back. They were all good shots, but soon it became evident that young Dwight and Tom Lindon were the best. Charles was eliminated, and then Dwight hit dead center, while Lindon missed.

  “What about you, Adam?” Timothy asked with a challenging smile. Adam had taken no part, although several had urged him.

  Now he saw that it had become a personal thing, but still he shook his head. “I guess not today.”

  Mary smiled and said, “Oh, I wish you would, Adam.”

  He lifted his head and smiled, “You want me to, Mary?” He looked at Dwight with a strange smile, then said, “I’ll take a shot.”

  He got the rifle that Charles had admired, and came to stand beside Dwight. “You can set the distance, I guess.”

  Timothy looked somewhat uneasy. “That’s a new rifle, isn’t it, Adam? Well, I guess we can set the target back a little.” He waved the young man back who was setting the white piece of board onto a tree. “That’s a hundred yards. Suit you, Adam?”

  “Fine.”

  Timothy shot first, kneeling and taking careful aim, the flintlock steady in his huge hands. He took a long sight, then finally fired. The young man ran over, looked at the target, then yelled, “Almost a miss. Touched the outside corner!”

  It was a good shot, considering the distance, and Dwight smiled, “Your turn.”

  Adam swept the rifle up and pulled the trigger. There was no appreciable pause between the time the gun rose and fired. The young man looked, then yelled, “Dead center!”

  A sudden cheer went up from the crowd, and Mary joined in the applause. Adam’s face reddened, and he should have stopped there, but he had been stung by Dwight’s attitude. “Move back!” he called, and twice more he waved the man back. “Right there.”

  “Nobody can hit that mark!” Lindon exclaimed. “That’s over two hundred yards.”

  Adam had reloaded, and now asked, “You want to shoot first, Dwight?”

  The big man looked at the distant mark and shook his head. “You’re showing off, Adam. Tom is right.”

  Adam raised the rifle, and this time he steadied his piece. It was, they all saw, as steady as if it were fixed in rock. Adam fired, and the call came back: “A hit—to the right.”

  Mary ran over and took Adam’s arm, her face a picture of delight. “Adam, I never knew you could shoot like that!”

  Molly said loudly, “He made that gun, Mary. Why wouldn’t he be able to hit with it?”

  The young men instantly crowded around, demanding to see the rifle, and Adam, for the first time, was the center of attention.

  “Dwight’s not happy,” Charles said quietly to Molly. “I’d guess he’ll try to top that shot.”

  And he was right. For a while there were foot races, but neither Adam nor Dwight entered into that, both of them far too heavy to challenge the striplings.

  Then someone cried out, “Let’s toss the ston
e!” They chose a stone that weighed about fifteen pounds, a round one, slapped smooth in a stream, and the young men took turns seeing who could heave it the farthest.

  Adam and Timothy were deliberately placed last. Everyone in the crowd realized that Adam was tremendously strong, but young Dwight’s strength was proverbial. Everyone in the village knew of the time when as a very young man he had crept up to a farmer who was driving a yoke of oxen hitched to a cart. Timothy had tiptoed up behind the cart, yanked the oxen to a halt, then held them as the farmer urged them on, their hooves skidding and scrambling as the young giant held them in place.

  As Adam picked up the stone, hefting it in one hand to catch the balance, the crowd held its breath. He crouched and sent it sailing twenty feet past the best attempt.

  Then Timothy walked over, and just the way he picked up the stone in his huge hands, as if it had no weight, brought a whisper from the crowd, and Adam bit his lip. He came back to the mark, turned ponderously, then sent the stone flying through the air! It went far beyond Adam’s mark. Everyone gasped.

  Every eye turned to Adam, and there was an eager light in their eyes, for the thing was turning out to be a personal contest between the two men. It happened often that two young men would pursue the same girl, and most of them realized that Adam and Dwight were actually competing for Mary Edwards.

  Adam glanced at the stone, shrugged, and smiled briefly, “No man in the world can beat that, Timothy.”

  “I hope that’s all of it—they’re even,” Charles muttered, but it was not to be.

  “No, they’ll wrestle,” Molly said grimly. “They always do. But Timothy never has. He said once he was afraid he’d hurt someone.”

  “Adam has more sense!” Charles protested.

  “No. He doesn’t!”

  Molly’s bitter words were prophetic, for when all the others had wrestled, someone cried out, “Timothy, what about you and Adam?”

  “No, it wouldn’t be fair,” Dwight answered.

  Adam’s face burned at the implication, and he said at once, “I’ll take a fall with you, Timothy.”

  A cry of excitement went up and a circle formed instantly around the two men.

  To Charles it was incredible. He stared at the bulky form of Timothy Dwight—six foot four and 250 pounds of hard muscle. Then he looked with apprehension at his brother. Adam had taken off his boots and was circling his huge opponent; he looked small. Charles had laid his hand on Adam’s shoulder once and been amazed at the thick sinews, but he still had no hope. A bullet in the brain! That’s what would stop that big ox! he thought.

  Everyone saw at once that Dwight’s tactics were simple. He could not hope to match Adam’s quickness, but if he got one hand on the smaller man, the contest was over; no human could pull free from a grip such as his!

  Twice Adam feinted, and twice Dwight was faked out of position. Both times Adam could have gotten a hold, but he knew full well that if he missed, he would be as helpless as a baby in Timothy’s hands.

  Then as Adam moved close, Dwight’s hand shot out, but he caught only the fabric of Adam’s shirt. It tore away like paper, and the crowd drew a sudden breath, for none of them had ever seen such a man as Adam. His body was smooth with muscle, tapering from a trim waist to enormous pectoral muscles, and with every move, the tremendous power of his arms was revealed.

  It could not last long, and it didn’t. Adam moved to his left, drawing Timothy after him, and as the large man went for him, he shifted, agile as a cat. He reached out and jerked Dwight even more off balance, and for one second, the giant’s back was to him. Adam leaped high, whipping his arms around Dwight’s throat, and locking his powerful legs around his waist.

  A cry went up, and Molly saw that Adam’s eyes were blazing, and she put her hand to her mouth.

  Dwight tried desperately to reach back and get his hands on Adam, but the smaller man ducked his head and clung like a burr. His right forearm was pressed against Dwight’s windpipe, and his left locked that arm in place.

  Dwight’s face grew red as his air supply was cut off, and a terrible whistling noise came from his tortured throat. Charles suddenly ran to the pair and pulled at Adam’s arms, but they were like iron bands. “Adam! You’re killing him! Let go!”

  Adam did not relax and Charles saw madness in his eyes. He reached out grabbing Adam’s thick hair and pulling his head back, at the same time yelling in his ear, “You’re a Winslow, idiot—not a murderer!”

  The words got to Adam, and he loosed his grip at once, and stood there, a dazed look on his face. He stared at Dwight, who was gagging and trying to get his breath; then his face turned deathly pale. He went over and stood looking up at the big man, saying, “Timothy, I—I didn’t mean to . . .!”

  Dwight glared down at him for a second; then the inherent good nature of the man took over. He forced a grin, slapped Adam on the shoulder nearly driving him into the ground, and said in a raspy tone, “Well, Adam, you’ll have to admit one thing—it’s been the most interesting party we’ve ever had in our whole lives, ain’t it now?”

  Molly saw Mary Edwards smile and come up to stand between the two men, and she turned and went into the house. Charles followed her and as they went inside, he said, “Well, they didn’t actually kill each other that time for her—but it’s not too late, is it?” There was no one in the parlor, and he suddenly stopped. Putting a hand on Molly’s arm, he swung her around, and before she could think, he drew her close and kissed her firmly on the lips!

  He released her at once, and she stood there gaping at him.

  He laughed at her and said, “It won’t kill you, one little kiss, Molly. And if those two fools had any sense, they’d be fighting over you instead of that little mouse!”

  He had thought little of the kiss, but when he looked at her, he was taken aback by the flashing anger in her eyes. She was pale, but her voice was steady as she said, “Mr. Winslow, don’t you ever do a thing like that again—not ever!”

  And as she whirled and left the room, he took a deep breath, shocked to discover that her anger had shaken him!

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “THE BEST OF THE WINSLOWS!”

  Charles went back to Boston, telling Adam before he left, “You can beat Dwight out, Adam. These preacher’s daughters are pretty hotblooded! Grab her, kiss her soundly, and she’ll wilt in your arms.”

  Adam had smiled, but had done no such thing. During the three months since Charles’s visit, he had worn a path to Mary’s door, but he usually found Timothy there, so the two of them spent most of the time trying to wait each other out. Neither of them referred to the wrestling match, but Mary did from time to time. She delighted in the contests, encouraging both of them, but seeming to favor neither.

  Once her father came and sat with them, on one of the rare occasions when Timothy was not there. He had a sober look on his long face, and Adam’s heart sank, for he was fully ready to hear Rev. Edwards tell him to leave his daughter alone. But that was not what was on the minister’s mind.

  “Adam, I’m afraid you’ve not been helped by your friendship with us.”

  “Sir?”

  “We’ve become very unpopular in this place, as you’ve noticed.”

  “Why, there are some malcontents, Brother Edwards,” Adam said quickly. “But they’ll come around.”

  Edwards sighed, and he looked suddenly old and worn in the yellow candlelight. “I fear not. My stand on the new birth has alienated many of them.”

  “Not a single person has joined the church in three years!” Mary said indignantly. “They’re jealous of Father’s fame. All they want is someone to visit them. They don’t understand that it’s an honor that he gets calls to preach all over America!”

  “I’m not a very good pastor, my dear,” her father sighed. “I can’t seem to make small talk.” Then he smiled and said, “If we have to leave this place, Adam, you’ll be one we’ll miss the most.”

  “Leave? Why, it can’t come to that
!”

  Edwards shook his head sadly. “It may, my boy. There is much dissatisfaction with me in the church.”

  “Father’s been so worried,” Mary said tearfully after her father left. “With ten children and a new baby, you can see why.”

  A proposal leaped to Adam’s lips, but before he could speak, Mrs. Edwards came in with Elizabeth, the new addition, and the moment passed.

  Adam stayed long hours at the forge, working on the rifle, but his temper grew short. It leaped out when people spoke harshly of Rev. Edwards, and when he offered to thrash the next man he heard speak critically of the pastor, everyone was careful to keep quiet about the matter when he was around.

  His bad temper flared out at home. For the first time, he was short with the Stuarts, even with Molly. Seth had endured one of his rare outbursts, then said, “Weel, now, Mr. Winslow, I think you’re yellin’ at the wrong man. I dinna’ think ye’ll go too far wrong if ye look in the mirror. Ye’ll see there whose t’ blame for your troubles.”

  Adam had stared at him, then stomped off with his eyes smoldering.

  Molly came in for her part of his wrath one Tuesday evening. A young farmer named Robert Wells had been stopping by the place quite often. His father owned a large tract of land, but it was mostly the son who operated it. He and Seth were good friends, and often they exchanged ideas, but lately he had come over several times in the evening and talked. The kitchen was the warmest room, so all of them sat around the table.

  He was there when Adam came through the door with a glum look on his face. He’d had another failure with the breech mechanism, and his bad temper was obvious to everyone but Wells.

  For several hours the young man sat there, talking some to Seth and speaking at times to Adam, who only grunted. He and Molly were reading some book that Adam had never heard of, and they grew animated, laughing at their wildly differing interpretations of some of the poems. Beth Stuart sat near the fire sewing, her face expressing pleasure in the visit.