The Frontiersman’s Daughter

by Laura Frantz

  Surely the Almighty had heard her feeble prayers of late and was giving her a way of escape. Although once she’d literally fled from Virginia, she was now willing to walk—nay, run—there once again. That was the simple truth.

  But it was not the complete truth. What was her motivation to return to a place that seemed to seep the very life from her with its strict, staid ways, tight as corset strings? To answer, she needed only to look at the man beside her. Her feelings for him could no longer be swept aside like so much settlement dust.

  As astute as he was, he would soon look at her and know. She, Lael Click, was fickle as the weathervane that sat atop the Bliss barn. She was falling in love with Ian Justus.

  Aye, that was the whole truth.

  56

  Dawn’s first light lay pink as a rose petal on the new snow as Lael and Susanna began preparing for Christmas dinner. The men had long since left to go hunting, taking the boys with them, and only little Lael remained behind, playing at one end of the warm hearth.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Susanna teased, passing Lael a rolling pin. “I thought I heard you and the doctor up late.”

  Lael said nothing and continued rolling dough.

  Susanna arched an eyebrow. “Why, you look worn to a frazzle. Ain’t you slept?”

  “Some.” But truly, she hadn’t. Her muddled emotions wouldn’t let her.

  Susanna began paring apples. “Sounded like some spirited talkin’ to me.”

  “Well, we’re not done talking yet,” Lael told her, hearing the men and dogs return to the yard. Excusing herself, she put on her coat and Susanna’s shoes and went outside onto the porch. Will and the boys were skinning rabbits in the side yard, and she bypassed them, finding Ian chopping wood behind the barn.

  She said without preamble, “I’m considering leaving for Briar Hill in the spring.”

  He did not lay aside the ax but kept working. “Wheest! You canna expect me tae congratulate you for that.”

  She folded her arms. “And why not? It will make things all the easier for you as the settlement doctor.”

  “I’ll no’ repeat my argument tae you, Lael Click, for you are tae mule-headed a lass tae listen the first time.”

  “What argument?”

  “The one aboot my need of you.”

  “You only fancy you need me. Any settlement woman can tell you about herbs and the like.”

  “Nae, ’tis you I need. The people here know and respect you. I am an outlander. And that’s all I’ll ever be—withoot you.”

  “But you’ve had patients—”

  “Old Amos and Colonel Barr. Some people passing through the fort, like Sadie Floyd. But few settlement folk.”

  “What about Granny Sykes?”

  He sent the ax into a stump. “’Twas simple enough. You were gone and she settled for me.”

  Settled? She sighed. He was the finest doctor—nay, man— she’d ever known, yet he spoke the truth. He was an outsider. Settlement folk had ever been leery of strangers. Hadn’t she once been suspicious of him herself?

  She said quietly, “If I went away, for good, the settlement would have to accept you.”

  “What choice would they have then? The settlement needs us both.”

  She could not dispute this. If only she had the gumption to tell him the truth. I’ve fallen in love with you, and I must go away before Olivia comes, because I can’t bear to see you with another.

  He had always been uncompromisingly honest with her, but he didn’t even know she knew about Olivia. Oh, how she wished she’d never set eyes on the miniature, or that Susanna hadn’t mentioned her name!

  She watched him at work, his handsome face intense and almost brooding, and felt herself give way. He said he needed her. Well, she needed him for entirely different reasons, reasons she didn’t rightly understand. She would stay till spring, and they would work together. It sounded so simple. But it was utterly, irrevocably complicated, like stealing honey from a bee gum. The prospect of working alongside him loomed sweet as honey. She would be stung severely, yet she was willing to do this very thing.

  She went and lay her hand on his arm. The gesture seemed to catch him off guard. He looked down at her, and there was a poignancy in his face she’d not seen before.

  Very carefully she schooled her emotions and said, “I’ll work with you, I promise. Till spring.”

  The answering smile he gave her hurt, and she turned away.

  “Till spring,” he said. Strangely, it sounded like a vow.

  That night, when the candelabra was lit and boughs of mountain laurel gleamed waxy on the mantle with a bit of mistletoe and holly, Lael swept up her hair with ivory combs and put on the gown she’d brought. But she left the silver bracelet behind, rolled up in her work dress. When she came down from the loft, Susanna gave an appreciative gasp.

  At once, Lael’s confidence fled. “It’s too fancy, then. And too wrinkled.” She sighed and looked down at her shoeless but stocking feet.

  “Law, Lael, you look so lovely . . . even Doc Justus will fancy himself back in Boston,” Susanna exclaimed as little Lael came forward to stroke the shiny fabric in awe.

  “I have no corset or hoops,” she lamented, and without them her skirts did not look fashionably full.

  “The color . . .” Susanna said in wonder, wiping her hands on her apron and coming closer. “Why, it’s like pink dogwood. And the lace!”

  White lace lay pale and fragile as fallen snowflakes about the rounded neck and sleeves. Cut from pale rose silk, the gown’s bodice was embroidered with tiny flowers and leaves sewn with silk thread imported from France. It was Lael’s favorite gown, more beloved even than the regal purple from which she’d fashioned Susanna’s gifts. She’d worn the rose gown only once, when she had danced the minuet at her first Briar Hill ball. She’d not thought to wear it again.

  “’Tis called a sack dress,” Lael told her. “On account of the back pleat.” She turned around to show Susanna the way the pleated fabric hung from her shoulders to the floor like a train. “If you think it’s too fancy, I’ll—”

  But Susanna would have none of it. She disappeared up the loft steps and soon came down in her wedding dress, giddy as a girl, and they laughed at how it strained the seams about her growing waist. They stood at arm’s length, sharing each other’s delight, just as the men and boys came in from outside.

  Little Will and Henry entered first, noisy as wolf cubs, their cold, chapped faces sobering quickly at the sight of the women in their finery. Will had eyes only for Susanna, truly. And Ian? Lael had thought to look away. It wouldn’t be fitting to stare at him as if fishing for compliments. But look she did—just for a moment—and found he wasn’t looking at her at all.

  Her face, already flushed from the heat of the hearth, turned a deeper crimson. Suppose he believed she had worn the dress just to please him! The thought, accompanied by the little notice he had just given her, stung like a bee. She felt ridiculously snubbed—and near tears. She, Ezekial Click’s daughter!

  Suddenly, little Lael was there, looking up at her with such tender concern Lael knew the hurt she felt must be mirrored on her face. She shut her eyes quickly and prayed a silent, passionate prayer to master her emotions.

  In that moment she felt a strange peace pour over her like a pitcher of water. All her hurt over Ian and what he must think of her, all her muddled feelings about Captain Jack, even her grief about Pa and her fears about the future, seemed to wash away. She reached out and touched little Lael’s cheek and smiled.

  Christmas dinner was filled with laughter, and they all lingered long at the table, warmed from the mulled cider and sated from the abundance of food. Sitting but an arm’s length from Ian, Lael wondered if he was missing Boston and the company of family and friends. As for herself, she felt curiously light in spirit despite his snub. This Christmas rivaled the holidays of her childhood, when a taste of hard candy or a corn-husk doll brought lasting delight.

  When th
e dishes were cleared, Will opened his Bible and read the story of Jesus’s birth, and the children listened as attentively as the adults. Beyond the steady cadence of Will’s words came the spattering of snow and a draft that blew the candle flame about in a merry dance. Lael wished, childlike, that the seven of them could be snowed in like this forever.

  “All right, children, to bed—all of you!” boomed Will, adding another log to the fire.

  “But Pa!” the children chorused, rushing him all at once in a frenzied protest.

  But there was still corn to be popped, cider to be drunk, and a tale or two of Scotland’s fairies and castles to be told by the doctor, followed by his fiddling. And then there were the gifts, exchanged when the candles had nearly smoked out and the wind had driven a deep drift against the cabin steps.

  Lael took deep pleasure in the family’s appreciation of her presents. She hadn’t yet taken out Ian’s. It remained hidden in a saddlebag beside her though it would be easy enough to pass to him discreetly as he sat beside her on a bench, one knee brushing the folds of her silk skirts. They faced the fire while Susanna and Will occupied the two chairs, surrounded by the children.

  Not once had he spoken to her directly all evening. He hadn’t ignored her, truly, but neither did he seek her out as he usually did, and she missed the attention. She stole a look at him as he said something to Will. The firelight illuminated his face, calling out all its rugged lines and making him all the more striking. His face was nearly healed, but he would have a scar above the one eye, she thought ruefully. It seemed odd to her that across from them sat Susanna, unaware of her brother’s dark deed. As far as Lael knew, the secret smoldered between the three of them—just she, Simon, and Ian.

  He turned to her then and caught her studying him. Flushing, she bent down and took what she’d made from her bags and gave it to him. For a few moments he sat studying the homemade book in his hands before turning the pages. His face was inscrutable, and she couldn’t tell what he thought, until he found the braided lock of hair pressed between the pages. For the first time all evening he truly looked at her, lingering on her upswept hair as he held the cut braid across his open palm. And his blueberry eyes were like a mirror then, reflecting his soul’s surprise. And she couldn’t look away.

  Susanna called to her right then to help cut the pies. She got up abruptly, glad to have something to do. The children were clamoring for a bite before bed, and so she served them small pieces, pouring cream and grating a sprinkling of nutmeg on top.

  When she returned to the bench, Ian got up to fetch a second cup of cider. When he sat back down beside her, he placed a small oblong pouch in her lap and it sank into the folds of her rose gown. Her hand covered it wonderingly, her fingers stroking the soft buckskin, and it struck a familiar chord.

  But she was not the only recipient. He had gifts for them all—a pocket watch for Will, some fine cloth and a packet of buttons for Susanna, hard candy and a wooden toy for each of the children. She sat watching their enjoyment, and soon all eyes turned to her. Glancing down at the pouch, she had the uncanny feeling that he’d again given her the wrong one.

  Turning it upside down, she let the contents spill out into her open hand. Pearls. But not the ivory ones she’d mistakenly opened before. These were—could it be?—a very pale pink. They glowed warm and smooth in her palm, their astonishing rosiness unbroken except for a delicate golden clasp. Rarely had she seen anything so lovely.

  “’Tis a token of my affection for you,” he was saying in her ear, his shoulder pressing against her own. “For your friendship.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes, not at his gentle words, nor the priceless pearls, but for what he could not say.

  ’Tis a token of my love for you.

  Susanna saved her. She came from behind and took the necklace, attempting to undo the clasp. But after a few moments of fumbling she looked to the doctor. “The clasp is so small!” she exclaimed. “’Tis a task for a surgeon’s hands.”

  And so he obliged, coming to stand behind her. Without a trace of awkwardness he opened the clasp and circled her neck with the strand of pearls. They lay cool and heavy against her warm skin, complementing her gown and catching the candlelight.

  “Your gift—” she stammered in a near whisper. “It is so . . . kind.”

  He swallowed and she could see his throat tighten. Was he as moved as she? But his voice, when it came, was rock solid. “I dinna mean it as a kindness, Lael.”

  “Are these . . . from Boston?”

  “Nae, Scotlain.”

  “Scotland,” she echoed, reaching up to touch them.

  “From Castle Roslyn, tae be exact.”

  She looked at him, her face full of questions. “Are these family pearls?”

  “They were my maither’s. My faither wasna but a poor preacher, ye ken, until he married my maither.”

  A poor preacher! Hearing him speak of his past, her eyes widened. She remembered the small portraits on the mantle of his cabin. His parents? And these were his mother’s pearls? Priceless, indeed.

  She looked up then and found Susanna and Will readying for bed. The children were making a fuss and taking their gifts with them, little Lael amusing them all by blowing kisses to Ian before she disappeared up the loft ladder. Watching them go, Lael felt a keen disappointment. It was late, nearly midnight, she guessed. But she suddenly felt far from weary. Was he?

  She looked at him openly, wanting him to linger, not wanting the night to end. “You’ve rarely spoken of your family.”

  “What do you want tae know?”

  She grew thoughtful. “Tell me about your mother.”

  He looked into the fire and crossed his arms. “Her name was Brenna Roslyn and she was an earl’s daughter.”

  “And your father?”

  “Alexander Justus. He was preaching at a revival in Edinburgh when my mother first saw him. She had a heart for spiritual matters. They married soon after.”

  She could well imagine how it had been. The handsome Scottish preacher, so much like the son, and the lady Brenna, probably smitten at first sight. “And her family? Were they happy with the match?”

  “No’ at first. But my faither, God be thanked, soon saw them all converted.”

  She smiled at this, full of wonder at the tale. “And did they live at Castle Roslyn?”

  “Aye, and spent half her inheritance printing Bibles.” He paused and looked more solemn than she had ever seen him. “They died in a smallpox epidemic when I was twenty.”

  “Oh, Ian, I’m sorry,” she said in a rush, hardly knowing she’d spoken his name. But it was not lost on him. His eyes were full of light and mischief when they met hers again, as if daring her to take it back.

  She studied him carefully. “Were you not . . . angry at the Almighty when it happened?”

  “Nae, just full of sorrow. The rain falls on the just and the unjust, ye ken.”

  “You have no other family?”

  “I’m an only child.”

  “And what,” she asked, “has become of Castle Roslyn?”

  “It waits for me. Or my son. Though it might be a heap of rubble and old roses by now. I’ve no’ been back in five years.”

  The poignancy in his face turned her heart over. But he spoke with such assurance, full of faith that it was there for him and always would be, and for his son after him. How she would love to see it, she thought, looking into the fire. The same wistful longing she tried so hard to put down returned. She imagined his future son. Handsome. Strong. A man of steadfast convictions. A man of faith. The kind of son she would be proud to call her own.

  Her hand went to the pearls again, not cold any longer but warmed by her skin. How she longed to keep them! If she did, she would always have something to remember him by. A token of affection, he had called it. But hearing the story of Brenna and Alexander Justus, she knew she could not hold onto them. They were fine for a wife or a daughter, truly. But too priceless to be given in mere friends
hip.

  “I—they are so lovely—but I—I cannot keep them.”

  Because of Olivia, she could not say.

  She spoke slowly, afraid to look at him. “But if I return them, I’ll need your help.”

  He hesitated but she’d already turned her back to him, waiting for him to unfasten the clasp. He took them off as effortlessly as he had put them on, and the sudden spareness of her neck was no match for the barrenness in her heart.

  Had she hurt him? She feared she had and was hurt in kind. But his silence was in no way nettlesome or brooding or dejected. Clutching the pearls in one hand, his voice, when it finally came, was near her ear and held only warmth and understanding and tenderness.

  “Till spring,” he told her.

  57

  “I’m so housebound I feel fretful,” Susanna exclaimed to Lael, shucking off her apron. “Let’s walk out to the knob.”

  It was the last day of the year, the day before Lael would depart the Bliss cabin. She felt fretful herself but for entirely different reasons. There was to be but one more night of shared supper and conversation and Ian’s fiddling and the children’s funning, and Lael was already feeling the loss.

  Leaving the children behind with the men, Lael and Susanna started out. Soon they were carrying their coats as the sun winked at them, melting the frost and warming the woods to almost spring-like temperatures.

  “I never did see any Indian sign up here atop the knob,” Susanna told her. “But it would make a fine lookout, be it redman or white.”

  “Seems like you can see clear to Virginia,” Lael said as the knob came into view. “Can’t you just picture a cabin right here, with a wide porch taking in this pretty place?”

  “This land’s here for the takin’, ” Susanna told her. “Though up so high and on so much rock it’d be awful hard to farm. But say you were to marry somebody other than a farmer. I reckon the doctor could give a string of them pretty pearls for this piece.” Lael looked at her friend, about to hush her teasing, but there was no mirth in Susanna’s eyes.