MacFarlane's Ridge

by Patti Wigington

  “As I was saying, we should travel fairly quickly now that we’re off the mountain,” he continued. “Are you well, lass? You have a queer look on your face.”

  Cam nodded. “Fine,” she said softly. She was terribly disconcerted. His face was just inches from hers and she could smell him. He smelled warm and musky and comforting. She realized she liked waking up next to him, liked looking at him in the dusk from under a blanket. She sat up quickly, pulling herself away from him, and looked around the room, forcing herself not to look at him.

  “I’ll be right back,” she whispered, and wrapping the quilt around her, scampered out the door to the privy. The cold air on her face and the snow on her bare feet quickly brought her back to reality.

  Robert MacFarlane was thoroughly disappointed in himself. When he had first encountered Cameron Clark he had thought her quite unappealing. She dressed in men’s clothes and looked like a vagrant, and was much too forward in her speech and demeanor. She was too thin and her skin was too tan for a white woman. They had ridden together for a few days now, and it had been like traveling with a younger sister. At first she had tried to make conversation, but he hadn’t responded often, so she had left things alone. Cam said she had come from Charleston, although he had been to Charleston and had never seen women in trousers. In fact, he had practically forgotten she was female.

  And then she had awakened in the night, gasping for air, in the throes of a nightmare. He had held her until she calmed, and she fell back to sleep almost instantly. Now, in a morning light of a cozy farmhouse, beside the warmth of a good fire and under a pile of blankets, he had woken up beside her and had wanted her more than he had ever wanted any woman in his life. It was a good thing she got up and left when she did, he reflected. Otherwise things could have gotten quite awkward. He groaned and flopped back onto his plaid, frustrated.

  How long had it been since he had woken up beside a woman? It had been fifteen years since Meg had run off, and since then there had been a few random encounters in various exotic ports, but those had been out of sheer physical necessity rather than any real attraction. Rob figured that was why there were so many chores for men to do on a ship. If they were expending their energy working, they thought about women less. As near as he could recall, it had been at least three years since he had lain with a woman. By the saints, I started out as a sailor and I’ve become a monk, he thought. He would make a point of not thinking of Cameron Clark any more than he had to.

  Gerthe Wagner waddled in, and hunkered down beside Rob, ending any thoughts of passion he might have been having.

  “Good morning,” she smiled. “Where is your sister?”

  He squinted at her, and thought fleetingly that Herr Wagner should probably marry this one off very soon. “Cameron? Out in the privy. I expect she’ll be back in a moment.”

  She nodded appraisingly at his bare chest. “You are a man who works hard, ja?”

  He blushed. It was too early in the morning to have this many women looking at him. “Ja. I think your mother is calling ye, girl.”

  Indeed, Frau Wagner was lumbering in from the well, two large wooden buckets in her hands. “Gerthe! Leave the guests alone, liebchen!” She rolled her blue eyes at Rob and plopped the buckets down on the floor. She had not even broken a sweat.

  By this time Cam had come back in, looking freshly scrubbed and pink. Gerthe noticed immediately.

  “Your face is flushed! Are you not well?” she asked, concerned, patting Cam’s hand.

  “Er, no, I’m fine. I just washed my face off with some snow, that’s all.” It had felt quite refreshing, but what Cam really longed for was a nice hot bath. Maybe Mollie Duncan had a tub. “So, we’ll be leaving soon?” she prodded Rob.

  “Mmm, that we should. One more night in the woods and we should be to my brother’s – our brother’s place. We’ll help the Wagners with their morning chores first,” he suggested.

  Gerthe’s face lit up. “Herr MacFarlane, would you help me with the milking?”

  Rob grinned immensely. “I think I’d be more useful helping your father with chopping wood, aye? But my sister would be happy to help you. Wouldn’t you, lass?”

  Cam was horrified. There would be no way out of this one. She glared at Rob. Only the day before, she had told him that not only had she never milked a cow, but she was also a little bit afraid of them. She would cheerfully throttle him at the first opportunity. How on earth could she have thought he was attractive only a short while ago? Head high, she followed Gerthe out to the barn. She would not let Rob MacFarlane get any more satisfaction out of his little joke than she absolutely had to.

  Once out in the barn, Cam was amazed at how quickly the plump German girl could actually move. Gerthe handed her a bucket, and pointed her towards a cow.

  “That one is Wilhemina.” When Cam hesitated, Gerthe gave her a funny look. “You do not know how to milk a cow?”

  Cam shook her head, embarrassed, and quite thankful that Rob MacFarlane couldn’t see her. “I’m afraid not,” she apologized. “I’m kind of a city girl. I don’t really like cows.”

  The girl laughed. “What is there to not like about a cow? They won’t hurt you. I will show you.”

  Cam felt like an idiot. She was an adult woman, and a teenage girl was patiently explaining to her why cows were not dangerous. Then again, there had been a lot of things lately that didn’t make any sense, not the least of them being that she had somehow managed to hop back a couple of centuries in time. She focused on Gerthe and the milking demonstration.

  “You squeeze it and pull, like this. Squeeze, and pull. Now you try.”

  “What if he kicks me?” Cam blurted out.

  Gerthe rolled her eyes. “Cows are she, not he. And she won’t kick you. Wilhemina is a good cow.”

  Cam squatted on the small stool beside the cow, who was mooing softly. Grabbing onto a teat, Cam squeezed, and pulled. Milk sprayed everywhere.

  “In the bucket!” Gerthe giggled, shoving the pail under the cow. Cam laughed along with her, and tried again. This time her aim was a little better, and she managed to get most of the milk in the bucket.

  There were seven cows, and in the time it took Cam to milk Wilhemina, Gerthe had milked the other six. The younger girl peered in the bucket approvingly. “You did well, Miss Clark.”

  As they left the barn, the day was proving to be rather warm, and Cam removed her coat. She sniffed delicately and noticed that she smelled a bit like cow. It wasn’t a bad smell. When they got back to the farmhouse, Rob had saddled the mare and loaded their bedrolls. He looked at her and stifled a smile. Glancing down, she was suddenly conscious of her appearance. Her shirt and jeans were dirty, and there was cow poop on her boots. She groaned, and tried ineffectively to scrape her foot on a rock.

  “So, lassie, how did you fare with those fearsome beasties?”

  Cam scowled at him and stuck out her tongue, but Gerthe Wagner sprang to her defense. “Your sister milks a cow as if she were born to it, Herr MacFarlane.”

  Rob’s only reply was a snort as he tightened the saddle. “I canna fault anyone for being born to handling cattle. All right, then, lass. Are ye ready to be going?”

  “I was hoping I could clean up first…” Cam said.

  He shook his head. “Nae, we really must be off.”

  “I have cow shit on my boots,” she whispered softly, hoping Gerthe wouldn’t hear.

  “Well, and there’s much worse things you could smell like than cow shit, aye?”

  “Like what?”

  He shrugged. “I canna think of one at the moment. Up with ye, then.” He grabbed her arm and hoisted her up deftly. They bade the Wagners goodbye, and Gerthe in particular seemed sad to see them leave.

  Frau Wagner waved. “We will come see you in the spring!” she called. The kindhearted farmwife had packed not one but two rabbit pies for them, as well as a warm loaf of bread.

  They rode in silence, the dog lumbering through the drifts ahead of t
hem, until they were well away from the farm. It was Rob who spoke first.

  “So, Cameron Clark, tell me about yourself. Did ye really come here from Charleston through the Faeries’ Gate?”

  “Well, I did live there before I came through it, yes,” she answered. It was, technically, not a lie.

  “And ye ran a wee bookstore there?” he pressed.

  “Yes. Are you familiar with Charleston?”

  “Aye. Where was your shop?”

  “On East Bay Street,” she replied, “up near the market. Do you know it?”

  He nodded, and she realized she had just passed a test. Her confidence slightly boosted, she continued. “I used to go for walks down to the harbor and watch the ships sail in.” Of course, the ships she had seen had been mostly naval submarines, yachts and shipping barges, but there was no reason to mention that.

  “Aye, tis a beautiful city,” he agreed. “How do folk there feel about the Crown?”

  “The Crown?” Cam forgot that she was in an America at war. She racked her brain for anything she could remember about Charleston’s history. The city was more famous for its rebellious activities during the Civil War, and Cam took a shot in the dark. “Oh, they’re quite against the Crown. Um, they built forts just in case of attack,” she added helpfully, recalling that batteries had been built on both Sullivan’s and James Islands prior to the Revolution.

  He nodded, and seemed satisfied. “Aye, that they have. I’ve ported there many a time. You did say your family was dead?”

  Cam marveled at the way the man could change the subject. She would watch what she said, and stick as close to the truth as possible. “My parents are dead, and I never had any brothers or sisters. My grandmother raised me from the time I was nine. She died last year.”

  “Ah. No wonder ye never married then. Ye were takin’ care of your gran, I expect?”

  Granny Emily would have laughed at the idea of being taken care of by anyone, let alone Cam. “Well, not exactly. I mean, I did, but I went to school and was busy with the bookstore, and… I don’t know. It’s really not your business,” she finished lamely.

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself, lass. By the way, this friend you followed here through the Faeries’ Gate, was she from Charleston too?”

  Had Wanda ever said where her family had lived? It must have been near here somewhere.

  “No, actually, she was from around here, I think. Her family is named Mayberry.” A thought struck her. “Do you know them?”

  “Nae, but Ian or Angus might. And Mollie has delivered a few babies here and there, so she might know the name. Ye can ask her when we get to the ridge.” He guided the mare carefully along a narrow trail. “What about the man that was after you?”

  Cam shivered at the thought, and hoped fervently that she hadn’t been seen when she plunged into the whirlpool. Although, she reflected, even if he had seen her jump in, he certainly would have just assumed she drowned, rather than follow her in. “He was after something that I had, although I don’t actually have it anymore,” she admitted.

  He turned to look at her over his shoulder. “What manner of thing is so important a man would kill a woman for it?”

  “It was a book, and it was very valuable,” she explained. There was no way she was going to tell him about Mollie’s journal.

  “What kind of book? It must have been very rare, indeed.”

  Cam’s mind raced, trying to remember which authors had lived before 1775, and settled on the obvious. “Shakespeare. It was a very rare copy of a book by William Shakespeare.”

  He smiled. “Which play was it?”

  She glanced down at his plaid. “Um, Macbeth. Do you know that one?”

  “Do I know it? Aye! Tis about a Scottish king, and he is married to a madwoman.”

  She smiled at his description. “So anyway, this guy wanted the book, and he thought Wanda had it, so he tried to kill her, but I thought she had gotten away, and so I went to the Faeries’ Gate to find her. Then he killed another friend of mine, or at least I’m pretty sure he did, and he tried to kill me.”

  “All for a book? It must be worth a fortune, lass.”

  “You have no idea,” she sighed, thinking of all that had happened in the past few days. “No idea at all.”

  They made camp for the night, and Rob warmed up Frau Wagner’s pies near the fire. The bread was nice and soft, and Cam made happy noises while she ate. Rabbit pie really wasn’t that bad, once you got past the whole idea that it had been a cute little bunny in a previous lifetime. She noticed that she wasn’t as sore today as she had been, and thought maybe she was getting used to being on the horse. She had tried to refrain from putting her arms around Rob’s waist as much as possible today, and was beginning to get the hang of keeping her balance. Pleased with herself, she wrapped in the quilt Frau Wagner had given her and gazed up at the stars contentedly.

  Rob was covered in his plaid a few feet away. He studied her with interest. He suddenly remembered what it had felt like this morning, waking up next to her, and pushed the thought quickly from his mind. He was simply going to assist a lady who needed help, that was all. He would help her find this Wanda, and then send them both packing back to Charleston in a hurry. He had neither the time nor inclination to have a woman in his life, especially not this one, he thought. He had other things to think about, like selling his ship, acquiring some land, and starting a farm of his own. There was land available near Ian’s, and the fertile ground was perfect for a tobacco crop.

  Cam’s eyes closed, and her breathing steadied as she fell asleep. Rob stayed awake for a long time after that, watching her through the flames.

  The next morning, when they woke, snow was falling again. The temperature had plummeted during the night and Cam was chilled to the bone. She stomped her feet, trying to warm up. The skies, which had been sunny and blue the day before, were now a foreboding shade of gray.

  “This storm looks like a nasty one,” Rob pointed out. “We must hurry if we’re to make it to Ian’s today.”

  They quickly climbed up on Betsy, and urged the gentle mare forward. They spoke little. It was too cold to talk, Cam thought, and she abandoned her resolution not to touch Rob MacFarlane. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, her quilt over her head like a cape, and tried to keep warm. She must have fallen asleep like that, because the next thing she knew he was shaking her.

  “Up there,” he yelled over the howling wind. “Beyond that tree line. That’s the ridge where Ian and Mollie live. We might just make it before the squall comes in!”

  “How much longer?” she shouted.

  “I dinna know exactly, but it should be by midafternoon!”

  Midafternoon? She felt like they had been riding all day. With no sun out, it was impossible to get an idea of the time. Cam suddenly felt very dependent, and held on even tighter. She pulled the quilt around her some more.

  As the hours passed, the sky blackened, and Cam could see fat wet snowflakes beginning to fall. This was the sort of snowstorm that moved into the mountains quickly. She hoped it wasn’t much further, because if the snow got bad, they would find themselves lost in the blizzard.

  Suddenly something was grabbing her leg, and she screamed, startling Rob, who whirled around, knife in hand.

  “Mollie!” he exclaimed, and slid off the horse.

  Cam looked down, and saw that what had grabbed her leg was a small woman wrapped in a green plaid shawl over a brown woolen skirt.

  “My apologies,” Mollie said with a frown. “I thought perhaps Robbie had brought back my sister, Sarah. A wee bit hard to tell what’s under a big lump of a quilt like that, aye?”

  Cam smiled weakly and slid off the mare. This was Mollie Duncan! Cam was surprised. She was not at all what Cam had expected. She had thought Mollie Duncan would be a large, formidable woman, like Frau Wagner. The woman in front of her was barely bigger than a child. She had large slanted eyes that peeked out from a fringe of pale blonde hair. Cam thought she
looked like the paintings of elves and fairies on the book covers in the science fiction-fantasy section at the bookstore.

  Mollie looked her over. “Ye’re chilled to the bone, and filthy to boot. Let’s get ye inside and bolt the door, there’s a fierce wicked storm a-comin’. Ian! Your brother’s back, an’ he’s brought a visitor! Get his horse taken care of!”

  Ian appeared from the house and gazed apprehensively at his brother. The two of them looked nothing alike, Cam thought. It was Rob who made the first move, taking Ian’s hand warmly.

  “Did ye no find her, then?” Ian asked softly.

  Rob glanced at Cam, then shook his head. “She is dead, Ian. I am sorry for it.”

  Ian nodded, and looked at the ground. “Aye. Well, then. I’ll be stablin’ your horse. You and – dear Lord, is that a woman under that blanket? -- you go get a wee bite, Mollie’s made chicken stew and there be plenty.” He paused. “It’s good to have ye back, Robbie.”

  Rob smiled. “Aye.”

  Mollie Duncan practically dragged Cam into the house, and sat her down in front of the hearth. It was much like the Wagner farmhouse, but bigger. It appeared to have four rooms rather than two.

  “Your clothes are soaked, lass! Strip down and set by the fire!” the tiny woman ordered. Noticing Cam’s hesitation, she snapped, “I’ve seen plenty o’ sick folk before and they were all half naked or more. I’ll turn my back if it will make it the easier for you.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Cam meekly.

  She left the room, and Cam hurriedly undressed under the quilt. She did keep her underpants and tank top on. Even though she had worn them for several days, until she had a change of clothes she wasn’t giving them up.

  Cam was thoroughly exhausted, but still forced herself to take the time to look around the room. Although the house was not large, it was cozy. Over the fireplace opening, she noticed three bundles of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling. She sniffed them tentatively, but could only identify the basil with any certainty.