The Frontiersman’s Daughter

by Laura Frantz

  Could it be?

  The door opened and the letter fluttered to the floor from her fingertips. Ian stood on the threshold, sunlight peeking over his shoulder. The sight of him, standing so hale and hearty, when she thought she’d lost him forever, proved her undoing. She dropped her face into her hands and sobbed. His own eyes were wet when he sat down on the edge of the bed, the letter at his feet. His strong arms encircled her, and her head rested against his shoulder.

  “’Twas tae soon tae give you the letter,” he murmured against her hair. “But I wanted tae reassure you. When you were sick you kept saying my name—and Olivia’s. I dinna ken you even knew aboot her.”

  “Susanna told me.”

  “She told you but there was really nothing tae tell.”

  “Just that you cared for her and asked her here for a visit.”

  “Aye, but Olivia would have none of it. And it didna truly matter. God had willed otherwise. So I gave you the letter tae read. If there is tae be anything between us, Lael, you should know Olivia doesna stand between us.”

  Nay, Lael thought, not even God. Was this His will? That she be well and in Ian’s arms? Was this all a part of His purpose?

  “Lael, I canna speak of these things now. You are tae weak. You must promise me tae rest and be well. For until that day I canna court you—or kiss you—good and proper like a true Scotsman.”

  Despite her great weariness, she smiled and drew back a bit. “I hear kissing is the best sort of medicine.”

  He grinned and it was so roguish her heart turned over. “Och, if I kiss you now like I want tae kiss you, you’d faint dead away. Nae, when I kiss you, I want you tae be strong enough tae kiss me back.”

  To listen to him talk filled her with a deep, abiding joy such as she’d never known! And then her face clouded. “Oh Ian, I have so many questions. How long have I been sick? And when did Ma Horn pass?”

  He hesitated, his face almost haunted. “You took the fever ten days ago, the very day I came tae my senses. Ma Horn died three days after. We buried her apart from the rest, partway up Hackberry Ridge, beneath a sycamore. Colonel Barr has marked it with a cross.”

  She pictured this and thought she knew the very spot. But her sadness was pushed aside by a rush of other pressing questions. “And Susanna and Will? Will came to see you when you lay dying—”

  “They’re all well and anxious tae see you. Susanna wanted me tae bring you tae her so she could nurse you herself.”

  “And Ransom?”

  “The pox passed him by, but took Annie.”

  Annie. She felt another stab of sorrow and leaned back against the pillow. Why had God let Annie die and she herself live? She could only imagine her brother’s heartache, yet there was nothing to be done for it except pray. Wasn’t that the only thing that truly mattered in those dark days in the blockhouse? Prayer had comforted the living and the dying when all else failed.

  He gently pushed her back onto the pillow. “Jane will be here soon tae bring you supper. But first you must rest.”

  How she hated for him to let her go! Fighting sleep, she watched as he built up the fire and brought her some cider. But no sooner had he shut the door than she closed her eyes and slept straight through Jane’s fine supper, not awakening till morning’s light.

  69

  Fort Click was but a shell now, with so many of its inhabitants buried on the hillside behind the high north wall. Without Ma Horn, the tiny cabin seemed inhospitable and hollow as a gourd. Lael couldn’t wait to leave it. Jane tended her without complaint, wondering aloud, as Lael had done silently, why so many had been taken while they themselves had been spared. The fort store eventually reopened with a new sutler, and the blacksmith’s anvil rang out again, restoring routine and order to the settlement.

  With Ian still tending the remaining sick, Lael grew restless. The rain kept her cooped up, sitting by the fire and sewing or reading. Ransom brought her spectacles, and at the sight of him she fought to keep her composure, for he looked ready to fall to pieces himself.

  She spoke her feelings outright as he sat down across from her. “Ransom, I’m so sorry about Annie.”

  He swallowed hard, his eyes on the hat in his hands. “I would have took her sufferin’ if I could.”

  “I know,” she said quietly. “I felt the same about Ian.”

  He studied her a long moment. “I come to get you today and take you home, but the doc won’t allow it. Says he aims to do a little courtin’ first.”

  She flushed despite her pleasure. “And what did you say to that?”

  “I asked what in blazes took him so long.”

  “You didn’t!”

  He grinned. “Yessir. I also told him to just go ahead and marry you if he was of a mind to.”

  She knotted her hands in her lap. “Tell me you didn’t.”

  He laughed, then sobered. “We’ve done enough buryin’, Sister. Some marryin’ would be a mighty fine thing for a change. Lately I’ve been thinkin’ how Pa never cared for the likes of Simon. But I think the doctor would please him a heap.”

  After that she worked twice as hard to get better, eating every morsel that Jane brought her, resting by the fire in Ma Horn’s old rocker, hardly leaving the cabin. Still, her recovery was slow. Why, I’m weak as water, she thought, taking up the hand mirror Jane brought her. She stared at her pale reflection and felt ashamed of her revulsion at the slowly healing pocks on her face. Would they scar? She supposed it didn’t matter. A changed heart rendered a poor complexion of little consequence. And she was changed. This was not a mere feeling but a certainty that the God who’d brought her through the pox could bring her through anything at all.

  Ian came in the evenings but could not stay away for long from his patients in the blockhouse, who were recovering as slowly as she. As of yet, there were no more of the whispered endearments or feverish kisses she recalled from her sickbed just days before. But she thought of them and longed for them more than she yearned for sunlight and fresh air.

  “You need tae be beyond these walls,” he told her. “When this infernal rain ends we’ll go oot, just the two of us.”

  He kept his promise on a raw windy day in March when the sun reflected in a hundred puddles across the fort common. “’Tis tae wet tae ride,” he told her, putting a shawl about her head and shoulders. “So we’ll row.”

  Before she could protest, he picked her up and carried her over the muddy common and beyond the fort’s gates, down the gentle sloping bank to the river. Catching sight of the water again, she felt as gleeful as a young girl. Sunlight was everywhere, warm on her face and hair and glistening off the wet leaves that whispered in the trees above their heads. They pushed off from shore and within moments the current carried them away. Smiling with delight, she pushed the shawl from her head and let it rest about her shoulders.

  As Ian paddled she took in all the beautiful, beloved surroundings she’d nearly forgotten, her eyes lingering on the far bank and the first raggedy robins pushing up like blue fringe along the muddy shore. They seemed bluer and lovelier than ever before. Or was she simply seeing with new eyes?

  “Why, I don’t even know what day it is,” she said in wonder. “But it’s spring, at last.”

  “’Tis the third of March,” he replied. “My nameday.”

  She looked at him in surprise, wondering that she hadn’t known till now. “How old are you, Ian?”

  “One and thirty.”

  She smiled and let her fingers trail in the cold water. “I’ll be one and twenty come April.”

  Past marrying age, both of them. In the stillness, she grew shy. “You must know, I’ve been made new. God has shown Himself to me. The old Lael Click is gone, with all her sorry ways.”

  He maneuvered the oars easily, his eyes never leaving her face. “I ken, Lael. As I lay sick I heard your prayers.”

  Her face turned beseeching. “I’m asking you to forgive me, Ian. For treating you badly when you first came to Kentucke. F
or refusing to help you make your calls—”

  “Only if you forgive me for my arrogance and door-slamming and all the rest.”

  She nodded, then drew a deep breath, a bit lost in the depths of his eyes. “Once you told me you prayed for me. Would you mind telling me . . . what you asked?”

  He hesitated, and for a moment she thought he might not say.“

  That you’d come tae know Him, nae matter the cost.”

  His honesty took her breath away. The cost had nearly been his life—and her own. Her eyes filled, as did his. Awed, she looked away. God had answered his prayer, there could be no doubt. Her heart and her head couldn’t hold it all, and she fell silent.

  The river’s blue path unfolded around them. Deep thatches of pea vine and clover smothered the banks. Spring had come and she’d nearly missed its coming. Everything pulsed with life. Even the wind smelled fresh and newborn.

  “Where are you taking me?” she finally asked, as the stretch of shore grew familiar.

  “Home.”

  Home? “But there’s nobody there, with Ransom up at Neddy’s now. And I’ll be so far from you . . .” Already she was missing him and not ashamed to show it.

  “You need tae be home, Lael.”

  Her face eased. “I reckon you’re right.”

  He got out of the boat, pulling it ashore, then helped her out. When her feet were firmly planted on the path to her cabin, he reached back into the boat. “We had tae burn your dress and underthings when you fell ill,” he told her. “But I kept these, in case you’d be wanting them.”

  The blue beads and silver bracelet passed from his warm hand to hers and seemed to build a wall between them. They looked strange to her, a part of her past, the old Lael not made new. She couldn’t even say thank you. With one hand she clutched the jewelry, and with the other touched the pearls at her throat. Their beauty jarred sourly with the borrowed butternut dress of Ma Horn’s.

  He got back into the boat without so much as a fare-thee-well. Had she only dreamt he’d kissed her when she’d risen from her sickbed? Bewildered, she watched him return to the river.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow, ye ken.” His voice carried over the muddy water—yet another barrier between them.

  She turned slowly and started up the trail toward home. All was quiet in the cabin clearing. Tuck was not there to meet her, for Will had long since taken him to Cozy Creek when she’d fallen ill. The new barn stood green and unfinished. To the side of the cabin, the mountain of firewood remained, warming her with its mystery. Lovingly, she looked at everything she’d missed and said a silent greeting. Everything was unchanged.

  Everything but she herself.

  “You’re a poor patient, Lael Click,” Ian growled, holding up an untouched bottle of Daffy’s Elixir to the fading light.

  She crossed her arms, glad for the soft, clean feel of her mossgreen dress and crisp cambric apron. He studied her then tossed the bottle back into his leather satchel. She tucked her bare feet under the hem of her skirt, out of sight, and looked down demurely at the planks of the cabin porch.

  “I think I’m well enough to go calling with you again,” she said softly. “That way you wouldn’t have to come all the way out here every day.”

  He looked tired tonight, and a trifle irritated, though he’d stayed for supper. She’d fixed his favorite things—cornbread with honey, a mess of fried fish Ransom had caught, some fresh poke salat. Even a dried apple tart and tea. But he’d hardly eaten.

  “You look in need of that elixir yourself, Ian. Or a bundle of herbs.” She longed to touch him, to lay a hand on his sleeve. But distance sat squarely between them, like the pile of supper dishes dividing them on the porch.

  He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging the leather tie. It fell to his feet, and a bit absently he ground it into the dust with the heel of his boot. Loose now, his hair hung well below his shoulders. Coal black hair. She doubted it had been cut since he’d first come to the settlement. Memories of Captain Jack pulled at her, erecting yet another wall.

  She fingered the pearls at her neck, her voice sounding strained and far off. “Any more smallpox in the settlement?”

  His eyes remained on the distant river. “Some. Simon Hayes is recovering. But Piper was buried yesterday.”

  She went completely still. Piper dead. Would the sickness never leave them alone? Would it continue to change and rearrange the whole settlement? Was this why he seemed so distant—so preoccupied? Did he think that if Simon was free, she might . . . ?

  Suddenly he turned toward her. “I canna keep quiet any longer, Lael.”

  The silence loomed large and lonesome. She leaned toward him slightly, her eyes studying every detail of his handsome, slightly scarred face. Had he changed his mind about her? Was that why he hadn’t so much as touched her? Her supper sat uneasily in her stomach, and she feared she’d have to dash to the edge of the porch if he said what she dreaded.

  “I’m soon tae sail for Scotlain.”

  Scotland? “When—why?” She could barely say the words.

  “In April. I’ve estate matters tae settle there. But after a time, I’ll return tae Kentucke.”

  “Estate matters?”

  “I’ve been away five years now. In my absence, a factor has handled things in my stead. But I’ve just learned he’s no’ an honest man and has mismanaged some of what I’ve given over tae him. I have tae go and set things right. Scotlain is my home, ye ken, just like Kentucke is yours. I’ve been gone a wee bit tae long.”

  She knew Scotland was weeks, perhaps months away. She’d studied navigational charts at Briar Hill and well remembered sailing times and distances. It held a peculiar fascination for her, hemmed in as she’d been in Virginia. Dreaming of distant lands had solaced her somewhat while there.

  Crushed, she fought for composure. As he stood on the porch step, his eyes were on the river, seemingly unaware of her struggle. Utterly deflated, she sat, hands in her lap. He’s changed his mind about me. And he’s telling me as gently as he can.

  He called for his horse. “At dawn I leave for Lexington. I willna be back till Friday.”

  The finality in his tone shook her further. Four days he’d be away. How much longer would he be in Scotland? What if he never came back? He stepped off the porch and was gone. Without one look back. She watched him ride away with an ache in her heart too big to hold. She wanted to run after him, but pride pinned her to the porch.

  What now, Lord?

  70

  To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven . . . a time to keep, and a time to cast away. Time to do a bit of both, she decided.

  On either side of the fading fire were her twin trunks from Briar Hill, their lids open, the leather straps that bound them loosened. The first trunk she designated for keeping, the second for casting away. Her fancy Briar Hill dresses went into the one, along with an assortment of fans, shoes, stockings, a neat stack of embroidered undergarments, and the cameo Pa had given her.

  The tiny carved bird Simon had made so long ago went into the second trunk, along with Pa’s budget and a pile of old linens. A small, sun-bleached bonnet of her own was discarded along with some too-short, too-tight dresses. But she nearly balked when she came to the beads and bracelet. Holding them in her hands, she wanted to weep. Were they all that remained of Captain Jack?

  She passed through the open door onto the porch. The early spring air bit into her, but the twilight was clear and tinted pink and there hardly seemed a shadow. She stood still, listening to the sighing wind, her eyes willing the shivering woods to bring forth the figure she’d not forgotten. Had he lost his life in the growing conflict? Had he succumbed to the dreaded pox? Was it just September when she’d swam the river with him and he’d held her face and her heart in his hands beneath the waterfall?

  Turning, she put the jewelry in her pocket and went to light a single tallow candle. The trunks seemed a reproach to her now, open and waiting,
demanding her decision. She stood between them and felt the pull of the savage and the civilized once more. A final time she took out the beads and studied their color, desperate to remember. Blue as robin’s eggs. Is that what he’d thought when he’d given them to her? Alongside them the fine bracelet shone silver in the candlelight.

  Bending over, she cast them away and closed the second trunk. There were some hurts, she reckoned, too deep for tears. When she turned back around, a shadow filled the open door frame. She sucked in her breath and stepped back. Ian? Captain Jack?

  The commanding height and fine physique were nearly the same. Tonight, he looked more Scottish laird than frontier doctor. His buckskin breeches, all the rage in Paris, so she’d read, tapered to highly blacked boots. The fine linen of his pressed shirt was startling white against his dark hair, now freshly cut and tied back in a neat queue. And the clean, close-shaven lines of his jaw gave him an intense, almost brooding look. He was as handsome as she’d ever seen him. Oh, the looking at him is too easy . . .

  She finally found her voice. “I didn’t hear you ride in.”

  He stepped over the threshold. “I didna ride. I rowed.”

  She looked past him through the open door. A full moon was rising, near perfect to ride the river, if it wasn’t too breezy. “You’re back early from Lexington.”

  He nodded and surveyed the trunks, one open and one shut, with all its secrets.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  Did he think she was returning to Briar Hill? She smoothed the clean cambric of her apron with unsteady hands. To everything there is a season . . . a time to keep silence . . . a time to speak. The Scripture echoed in her head like a song. ’Twas time to speak. Past time, truly.

  His voice was hard, almost unfriendly. “Tae Briar Hill?”

  “Not Briar Hill, Ian. Scotland.”

  He stood before her, eyes intense. “And what will you be doing in Scotlain?”

  Her chin came up. “Living with the laird.”