“That… that would be wonderful, Ambrose,” replied Cam, trying to hide the catch in her voice. She took his hand in hers. “Thank you. For everything.”
And with that, the big, bearded man crossed the field and once more, vanished into the wilderness.
They approached MacFarlane’s Ridge from the north, and the first thing Rob saw was his cabin on the crest of the hill. Someone had finished the roof, and there was a door now, although it didn’t appear that the house was inhabited.
He examined the rough shingles carefully, and nodded with approval. “A fine job, whoever’s done this.”
“Ian, maybe, or Angus?”
Rob snorted. “Angus is happier with his nose in a book than working with his hands, and Ian doesna know one end of a hammer from the other. No, ‘tis someone else.” He looked around, anxiously. “Where d’ye suppose they all are?”
And then she heard it, faintly at first, then growing as the wind changed directions and brought the sound towards them. Music, and laughter.
“Someone’s having a party,” she said with delight. “It’s coming from down towards Tom Kerr’s house!”
Rob grinned. “A ceilidh. Tom’s always meant to host one but never got around to doing it. Well, that’s a fine thing, aye?”
They tied up the horse in front of the cabin, and opened the door. It was essentially as he had left it. A few pots for cooking lay cold beside the empty hearth, and Cam repressed a shudder.
“We could live here, I suppose,” Rob said doubtfully. “It doesna really feel like home, though, does it?”
Cam shook her head. Suddenly, a thought hit her. “I have just the thing,” she grinned. She reached into her bag and pulled out the scissors that Wanda had stolen from the desk of Lieutenant William Clarendon.
He frowned. “D’ye mean to stab me with those after we’ve traveled all this way together?”
She laughed. “No, no. It’s something that Wanda told me about, when we were traveling with the Mohawks. If a house doesn’t feel like it belongs to you, you bury iron under the hearth, and you bless the house.”
Rob arched his brow. “Aye, tis true. Although I’m not entirely sure those are iron.”
She frowned. “Well, they’re metal, so they should do, shouldn’t they?”
“It certainly couldna hurt, then, could it? And did the woman say anything about what sort of thing ye’d say to bless a new house?”
Cam studied the scissors. “Yes, she did. It’s a bit pagan, but if you don’t mind then I certainly don’t.”
Rob kissed the top of her head. “Wanda and those scissors got us out of Fort Wyndham. Ye can say anything ye please, aye?”
He levered the hearthstone up slightly, and Cam wedged the scissors beneath. The stone in place once more, she wiped her hands nervously on her skirt.
“I’m not positive of the exact words. I mean, I can’t remember all of it,” she apologized.
“It’s alright, lass. Just say what ye know,” he said gently, taking her hands in his.
She closed her eyes then, and thought of Wanda, red hair whipping in the wind, screaming her strange chant at Kills Bears and his braves.
Wanda, grinning and dumping tobacco leaves all over Wayne Sinclair’s desk.
Wanda.
“We bless this house by earth, from which we gain so much, and to which we shall give back. We bless this house by air, wind blowing through our home, fresh and pure.”
She could feel Rob’s body, hard and firm against her back, his breath warm in her hair.
“We bless this house by fire, which will keep us warm on the coldest of days, and light our darkest hours. We bless this house by water, washing away anything that might harm us.”
Our darkest hours, she thought. I believe we have already been through those, haven’t we?
Finally, she turned to him, and kissed him softly. “We bless this house.”
He smiled down at her, surprised. “Aye, that we do. That we do.”
As the sun began to drop over the ridge, bonfires sprang up here and there. Mollie and her family sat peacefully in front of the largest blaze, accompanied by the Kerrs and Angus and Jamie.
Tom Kerr pulled out his bodhran drum, and tucked it under the stump of his arm. With the remaining hand, he began to tap out a deep, low, rhythm. A few moments later, off amongst the campfires, came the sounds of someone filling a bagpipe with air. Mollie could feel the haunting drone of the pipes deep down into her bones, and she shivered just a bit.
“That’ll be one of the MacGregor boys,” murmured Ian over her shoulder.
She nodded, and glanced down at little Hugh, who was sucking noisily at her breast. Sarah was asleep in the wagon beside her, and Hamish rested his head on his father’s shoulder.
Tom Kerr’s daughter, Morag, was holding Young Tom. She handed him off to Sally, and rose to her feet. She was a good-sized girl, strong and healthy, and unfortunately, looked just like her father. When she opened her mouth to sing, however, she had the voice of an angel.
“I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger, traveling through this world of woe,” she sang, her voice ringing clear and true, echoing through the mountain air.
“But there’s no toil or sweat or danger, in the world to which I go.
I’m going home to see my loved ones,
I’m going home no more to roam.”
The soft thrum of the bodhran and the droning of the pipes continued, accentuating Morag’s pure voice.
“I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger, so many miles away from my home,” the girl finished. There was a great deal of applause for Morag, and she blushed crimson.
Jamie’s eyes glinted in the firelight, as he watched Morag. “She’s very pretty, isn’t she?” he whispered.
Startled, Angus looked at the girl. “Aye,” he said softly, “I suppose she is rather pretty, at that.” That was when he glanced over at his sister, but she was staring off past the flames, looking for all the world like she’d seen a ghost.
“Mollie?” he asked, concerned. “What is it, lass?”
She didn’t answer. Angus poked Ian with the toe of his boot. “Ian? What’s wrong with wee Mollie?”
Startled, Ian looked at his wife. “I dinna ken. Mollie? What’s wrong?”
Mutely, Mollie raised a finger and pointed. Both men, and Jamie, turned to see. Charlie, the big bull mastiff, leaped to his giant feet, and shot across the clearing, woofing joyfully.
And there, on the other side of the circle, stood a man and a woman, the orange light of the fire lending an almost supernatural glow to their faces. Ian rose slowly to his feet.
“Dear God,” he whispered, crossing himself quickly. Angus couldn’t even speak.
It was Jamie who broke the moment, leaping up and clambering over Angus and several Kerr children in his excitement. “Master Rob! Master Rob! Is it you?”
Rob scooped up Jamie happily. “Aye, tis me indeed! An’ look at ye, lad! You’ve grown near a foot since I’ve seen ye last!” He ruffled the boy’s orange hair happily, and pulled Cam forward out of the shadows. “You’ll remember, of course, Miss Clark?”
“Oh, aye,” said the boy, eyeing her appreciatively. “She looks a wee bit nicer when she’s not crying into a pot o’ rum, aye?”
She smiled at him. “Thank you, Jamie, I think.” Cam looked over, then, to the spot where the boy had been sitting, and saw Ian approaching.
“Are ye alive, then, Robbie?” he asked hoarsely.
“I am,” Rob smiled. “I’m home, aye?” He pulled his brother to him in a warm embrace, and Cam stepped back, watching the sandy hair against the silky black.
“Cameron?” said a tentative voice. Cam turned and saw Mollie, a bundle clutched to her chest.
“Mollie,” she said cautiously. Please don’t let her hate me for leaving.
Almost as if she could read Cam’s thoughts, Mollie burst into tears. “Ye brought him back to us. I’m so very glad to see you, Cameron.”
“It’s good to see yo
u too, Mollie,” Cam smiled with relief. Then, behind Mollie, she saw Angus approaching. His eyes were searching the crowd beyond her, and she swallowed hard and forced herself to say the words she had been dreading.
“Angus, I’m sorry,” she began.
He nodded stiffly, jaw set in grim determination, and for a moment looked just like his sisters. “Where?”
“Pennsylvania. Angus, she wanted me to tell you that it – that she loved you.”
“Aye,” he sighed. “And Peyton Basham? What became of him?”
Cam was surprised. “He’s gone too.”
Angus had a funny look on his face. “Ah. That explains it, then, doesn’t it?”
“Explains what?”
He laughed hollowly. “Johnny Burgoyne was able to take Fort Ticonderoga without having fired a single shot. He met up with Howe in Albany in August, and then moved into Philadelphia earlier this month. If the city hasn’t fallen already, it will shortly, aye?”
Cam stared. But of course Peyton Basham had to die, she thought wildly. If he had lived, and gotten the information passed along about Burgoyne, then it would have changed the course of the Revolution!
“Do you know if he had… a family?” she asked faintly.
“Aye, a wife and several bairns back in Liberty,” Angus muttered.
Good. Then Diana Basham is safe, and so are the letters in her collection at the county archives.
“Angus, I’m very sorry about Wanda,” she repeated. “So is Robert.”
She saw the tears glinting in his eyes then. “And so am I, lass, so am I.”
Cam watched Angus retreating into the darkness, and turned to look for Rob. Mollie took her by the arm.
“Cameron? I wish to show ye something,” she said gently. She handed Cam her bundle, and pulled back the swaddling blanket.
Cam peeked down, and stared in amazement at the tiny round face, long blonde lashes, and fringe of soft pale hair. “Oh, Mollie,” she breathed. “Is this--?”
“Sarah Cameron MacFarlane,” Mollie whispered. “And she has a brother too.”
“Little Hugh,” said Cam absently.
“How did ye know his name?”
“Oh… I must have overheard someone say something when we got here,” Cam stammered, realizing her slip. Cam was marveling at the baby’s warmth when suddenly little Sarah opened her eyes, scrunched up her nose, and belched loudly.
“Er, you’d better take her back,” murmured Cam. “I’m scared I might drop her.”
“You won’t,” said Mollie firmly, “but I’ll take her just the same. She needs to go meet her uncle.”
The ceilidh continued until late into the night, and finally the crowd began to thin as families drifted off back to their campsites on the hillside. Cam sat against Rob, his arms wrapped around her. They were certainly the center of attention, and all of the Kerr boys stopped by to congratulate Rob on his selection of such a fine young lady, causing Cam to blush steadily.
As the group by the fire grew smaller, Cam noticed yet another familiar face coming toward her.
“Rob, look! It’s Gerthe! Gerthe Wagner,” she whispered, elbowing him in the ribs.
“Herr MacFarlane!” she squealed, flinging her beefy arms around him. “And your ---,” the girl looked at Cam doubtfully, “you said she was your sister?”
Rob laughed. “No, I’m sorry, she’s not. She’s to be my wife, aye?”
“Oh!” Gerthe grinned. “I am so happy for you! I am married now too, you know.”
“Congratulations,” smiled Cam. “Who’s the lucky fellow?”
“Over there,” Gerthe pointed. She began to wave at a well-fed gentleman with glasses, and as he turned toward them Cam suddenly felt her head begin to spin. “Over here, liebchen! Herr and Frau MacFarlane, this is my husband, Mr. Troy Adams,” the girl beamed.
“He makes you happy,” Troy said, as Cam watched him shovel manure into a large heap. They were standing in front of the small farmhouse on the south slope of the ridge, where Troy and Gerthe made their home.
“He does,” she smiled. “I couldn’t believe it was you when Gerthe introduced you last night. I practically fell over in shock.”
He laughed, and wiped a sleeve across his brow. “Me too. I didn’t know if you’d ever show up here or not, but I figured it was worth a shot. So I came through.”
“Got over your claustrophobia, I see,” she said dryly.
“You don’t understand. I had to see what it was like here,” he said. “I had to see why you needed to come back to these people. The Wagners found me, and took me in, and…” he flushed slightly.
“Mm. Nothing like German hospitality on a cold winter night,” Cam giggled. “She makes you happy, too, doesn’t she?”
He looked at her for a moment. “Happier than I ever imagined.”
“Good.” She leaned up over the fence rail and kissed him on the cheek. “You deserve her. She’s a nice girl.”
“Everyone here is nice. Gerthe’s mother brought us here and walked up to Ian, sweet as you please, and asked if we could lease a part of his land for farming. I think he was too afraid to say no.”
Remembering Gerthe’s mother well, Cam suspected Troy was absolutely right.
“And you’ve met the Kerrs, of course,” she prompted.
“Yeah. Isn’t it kind of weird for you, though? Having them around, I mean?”
Cam frowned. “Why? They’re good people.”
“Yeah, but they’re your --.” He stopped, staring awkwardly at her. “You don’t know?”
“What?” she asked suspiciously. “What do you know, Troy?”
“Nothing,” he said innocently.
“Oh, come on. Wanda used to pull this shit with me all the time. Tell me,” Cam demanded.
Troy rolled his eyes. “I don’t know if I should or not, but I will. Before I deeded your house over to Hal and Alice –“
“You did what?”
“With the stipulation that if either of us ever came back to Haver Springs, they would sell it back to us for a dollar, okay? Anyway, I took all of Granny Emily’s genealogy stuff and put it in a safe deposit box, but I looked through it before I locked it up.”
“Go on,” said Cam, eyes narrowed. A small suspicion was forming in her mind.
“Well, you had gone through all the stuff with the Duncans and the MacFarlanes, but you never got a chance to see how far back the stuff on the Kerrs went.”
“Tell me, for God’s sake,” she snapped.
“Well,” he shrugged, “I guess it’s no big deal, but Tom and Sally Kerr are your great-great-something grandparents. Their son is your great-ancestor,” he said, proud of his detective work.
Oh, no, oh no oh no oh no, she thought desperately. Please, no.
“Which one?” she asked, almost inaudibly.
Troy laughed. “Isn’t it weird? The littlest one. Young Tom.”
Suddenly the soft ground was flying up to meet her, and the last thing Cam heard was Wanda’s voice.
Be nice to the baby.
Epilogue
MacFarlane’s Ridge
One Year Later
Angus Duncan was dressed in his finest broadcloth coat and breeches. He combed his fair hair back and tied it with a blue ribbon, and adjusted his stockings and his shoes with their shiny new buckles. He peered into the looking glass for the tenth or eleventh time, and took a deep breath.
His adopted son, Jamie, came up behind him. “Ye look fine, Da.”
“You’re sure?”
“Aye.” Jamie chuckled. His voice cracked occasionally, the onset of puberty looming near. “You look very respectable.”
“Has the rain stopped?”
“It has. Come, Da. ‘Tis a fine day for a wedding.”
Cam stood in the soft grass in front of Mollie’s house. She absently toyed with the small silver band on her finger. Engraved inside the circle were five words.
Forever, or not at all.
She saw her husband, tall a
nd dark, approaching, and slipped her hands into his.
“Are ye well, Cameron Clark?” he murmured into her ear.
“I am,” she sighed. “I’m happy for Angus.”
“Aye. Wee Morag is a fine lass. She’ll make him a good wife,” he agreed.
“And she’s fond of Jamie,” Cam whispered.
“D’ye suppose they’ll have bairns of their own?”
Three boys and a girl, she thought fleetingly, but she didn’t speak. Morag Kerr, then, had been the Unknown on Granny Emily’s genealogy sheet.
Her mind flitted back to the day a year ago when Troy Adams had innocently blurted out that she was descended from Young Tom Kerr.
The child of Wayne Sinclair’s blood.
She wondered about Young Tom often. If Wanda had killed Wayne the first time she had the chance, preventing him from raping Betsy Kerr and fathering the child, would she, Cam, have simply ceased to exist? Or would she simply have a different set of great-something grandparents? It made her shake every time she thought about it, and sometimes she even woke in the night, gasping for air, dreaming that Wayne had come back for her, or that Wanda had killed him after all.
In her dreams, sometimes, Cam didn’t die. She just no longer was.
September 26, 1778-
It has been near a year since I wrote anything, but so much has been happening that I have simply been unable to find the time. Robert and Cam have returned to us, and were married nearly ten months ago, at Christmas last. I know in my heart that they will be happy – I can see it every time they look at each other that their marriage is meant to be. How terrifying it must have been for her to leave her home and come back here. We have all faced our demons these past few years. Rob once told me that without fear there is no courage. How right he was.
Angus, it would appear, now has a chance for happiness too. Morag is a good girl, and she does not appear to be prone to wandering off into the wilderness, so perhaps he will have better luck this time around.
Sarah and Hugh are into simply everything, and they follow their brother Hamish about like a pair of fat puppies. Thankfully, they have a plethora of aunts and uncles and friends to play with them when they become bothersome.
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