The Cumberland Bride

by Shannon McNear

  Mama turned to consider Kate, and Papa’s gaze followed. Kate winced. The dizziness still came and went, but—“If you wish me to try, I’m willing.”

  Papa gave another sigh and rubbed his face. “Jenkins found another horse to replace that which we lost yesterday. He and I have spoken about purchasing an extra, so you have your own mount for a longer time without borrowing Mr. Bledsoe’s. I would not press you though. We’ve time enough, and money enough, to afford staying an extra night. I think, however, that they’ll insist on seeing you for themselves before deciding either way.”

  She nodded. “Let’s go downstairs and speak with them. But as I said—”

  “And what of your feet?” Papa said, peering downward. “You lost those borrowed moccasins as well.”

  She swallowed. “I suppose, then, I’ll simply have to endure my shoes.” She offered a smile.

  He wagged his head then pushed to his feet. “Very well. For now, let me escort you downstairs.”

  “Wait—Papa.” She glanced about the room, but could not see the item she’d abruptly, and belatedly, remembered. “Where is my haversack?”

  He too looked around, exchanging a glance with Mama, who shook her head. “It will turn up sooner or late,” she said.

  “But—” She cast about for a solid reason to wish it sooner. “My sewing kit. The needles will rust.”

  Mama shrugged, but Papa frowned. He knew. He alone knew. Would he keep her secret?

  “We’ll find it when we find it,” he said at last.

  Thomas had waited as long as he possibly could justify before crossing to the ordinary. The sun was just peeping above the eastern rim of the mountains, and his belly grumbled the delay.

  Best he get over there and claim his share of breakfast, at least. If the Hughes boys hadn’t gotten it all by now.

  He stepped inside the ordinary and found his traveling party and others in the middle of packing up their belongings. Nodding to the few that looked up to acknowledge him, he crossed to the sideboard holding what remained of the morning meal.

  While he loaded bread, sausage, and cheese into a wooden bowl, he glanced around. The Murphys, the Hugheses, and the pack team all more or less clustered in their own areas, bundling belongings and stacking them. Except for Jacob Hughes, standing at a trestle table near the front, poking about in his haversack.

  Looking for something, or unpacking it. He had half its contents lying on the tabletop, and was just pulling out a long roll of what looked like buckskin—wet, at that.

  Curiosity nudged Thomas closer as he dipped into his bowl. “Whatcha doing?”

  Jacob either didn’t hear him, or chose not to answer, but instead gave his attention to working loose the wrappings of the buckskin-covered roll. By the look on his face, and his manner of handling it, this wasn’t Jacob’s haversack after all.

  The buckskin bundle gave up its secret in that moment, and proved to be a tightly rolled stack of parchment, curled at the edges from the wet. As Jacob spread the stack flat, Thomas glimpsed script, in an even hand, blurred at the edges but still mostly legible:

  Kat___ner__, her book

  Was that—Kate Gruener’s?

  “Hey, what’s this?” Jacob’s brother leaned over his other shoulder and plucked the pages out of the younger boy’s hands.

  “Give it back!” Jacob said, but the elder Hughes twitched away and held the first page up.

  “My father used to—to—tell the story,” he read, “of how he and his fellow—ah, I can’t make out the word—sailed down the Hudson with the British, preparing to attack Washington and—” His head came up and his gaze snapped around. “Is that talking about Gruener? Was he a redcoat?”

  In the moment of silence that reigned after, Gruener—and the daughter who doubtlessly had penned those words—stepped into the room, his face guarded and severe. Then the place exploded in questions.

  In one second, Kate was trailing her father down the stairs, and in the next, a rough western Virginia voice echoed those words she’d just heard in her dreams. Her breath caught. Was she yet dreaming, or—

  No. Her haversack had been found.

  Gripping Papa’s arm, suddenly gone rigid, she stared helplessly at Jacob Hughes’s older brother, holding the sheets of her journal in his meaty hands with no more care than if he held a hatchet.

  And then the entire common room turned upon her, upon Papa, their expressions awash in disbelief and outrage. “Is it true? You fought with the British? Were you a Tory, or—”

  “La, man, that was nearly twenty years ago—”

  “Gruener is a good man, he’d not—”

  His face as angry as she’d ever seen, Papa raised his hand for silence. “That is my daughter’s. I’ll thank you to give it over, please.”

  The parchment crumpled a little more in Hughes’s hands as he shook it for emphasis. “Not until you tell us the truth of this. I’ll not travel with a bloody Tory—”

  Mr. Bledsoe strode up from somewhere off to the left and snatched the bundle out of Hughes’s grasp. “That doesn’t belong to you,” he growled—also as angry as Kate had ever seen.

  Something inside her quailed and shriveled. This was her doing—hers and no one else’s. If she’d not written those words, then no one would be finding them.

  And Papa had sworn her to silence, for this very reason.

  “But it begs the question,” Hughes said. “We’d already talked of going on without them—this just proves that we should.”

  “If you go, it’ll be without me as well,” Mr. Bledsoe said, his voice a quiet but terrible rumble. “I signed on to scout for Gruener and his family. I answer to none of the rest of you.”

  The entire room held its breath, and stepping back, Mr. Bledsoe nodded at Papa—and her.

  Though Kate still stood frozen, Papa nodded back. “I will explain.” He laid his hand over hers, in the crook of his arm, his touch all comfort and gentleness. “In my youth I was a rifleman from Hesse-Cassel, in Germany,” he said, the words clear and precise despite the slight lisp of his accent—which seemed especially pronounced at the moment. “We were in the employ of the British Crown, aye, but I’d hardly had opportunity to fire in the Battle of Trenton before I and my fellow Hessians were captured. They paraded us through the streets of New York before sending us out to the countryside to labor in farms. I was already disenchanted with the British by that time, but there I met Jemima, who would become my wife, and found myself fully won over to the cause of American independence.” He drew a long breath, seeming to grow before Kate’s eyes. “I am as much a patriot as any of you, though I was born across the ocean.”

  A murmur rose like a wave. “I’ve no issue with that,” came Mr. Murphy’s voice, above all. “Many of us, or our fathers, were in like circumstance, one way or another.”

  “I can vouch for Gruener’s trustworthiness,” said one of the pack masters.

  The eldest of the Hughes men—Jacob’s father—spat into the middle of the floor. “I’m not sure I want to be waiting around for his daughter to decide she’s well enough for travel.”

  “I’m fully well enough,” she said, though even to her own ear, her voice sounded thin and weak. Several pairs of eyes swung toward her as if seeing her for the first time, many of them startled and dismayed.

  “See?” Mr. Jenkins said. “Those are some very genuine bruises. She took more than a wetting yesterday.”

  Is that what they were saying had happened to her? Did they think she’d been insensible most of the day simply for the attention it garnered?

  Young Mrs. Murphy stepped near, peering closer. “Ach, it looks a wonder that you’re yet living and breathing.”

  “It is a wonder,” came that deep voice she now knew so well, even without looking this time. “They very nearly lost her, and the young’un. So have a little heart and let the girl rest another day if she needs it.”

  Her chest tightened until she could hardly breathe. She’d caused them such tro
uble—caused him such trouble. Why would he defend her?

  She darted a glance in his direction. He stood at a table, back to her, shoving things into—her haversack.

  Lifting the bag, he wheeled and strode toward her, then held it out without a word. “Thank you,” she managed to murmur, and this time his nod was for her only. His pale gaze skimmed her face, assessing. Warming where it touched.

  “This is nonsense,” Mr. Jenkins said. “Miss Gruener, consider yourself at liberty to return to bed. We ain’t going nowhere today. And Hughes—if you want to leave, then do so, but it’ll be without me and my boys. Or our horses, unless you’re paying a fair price.”

  Mr. Bledsoe’s mouth gave a sharp uptick, and with a glance to the side, he turned and walked away.

  Kate could suddenly breathe again.

  Back upstairs, while Kate unpacked the sodden haversack and laid it all to dry on the hearth, Papa drew Mama out of the room with a quiet word, shutting the door.

  Hoping to contain the storm of her disapproval for as long as possible, no doubt. Kate vented a sigh. The entirety of their traveling party knew—what matter was it now, what Mama thought? Oh, she’d be upset enough, but it was naught compared to what had happened below. To Papa being faced with it, like this.

  Her haversack lay crumpled beside all its contents. She smoothed it flat, then reached for the sheaf of parchment pages, which she’d left until last. The buckskin cover had done an astonishing job of preserving it, all things considered, but it was not without a wrench of her heart to see where ink had blurred. Still, it could have been a complete ruin.

  Dulsey knelt beside her. “I came down. Heard what happened.”

  Kate tucked her chin and choked back the rising thickness in her throat. “It was…most foolish of me to write it.”

  “Mm.” Dulsey lifted the first page and angled it so she could read for herself. “Foolish, perhaps. But perhaps you are only proud of your papa.”

  The tears overflowed. That, for certain. But it mattered little—if at all—when Papa had been humiliated before everyone because of it.

  “Come, child.” Dulsey rose to her feet and tugged at Kate. “You need sleep more than aught else right now.”

  She was only too happy to let herself be tucked back into bed.

  Thomas finished the food in his bowl, watching the rest of the traveling party stash their bundles against the walls instead of packing them outside, all the while ignoring the still-bickering Hughes boys. Frankly, he wasn’t sure how he felt about the delay. But he sure would do everything he could to make sure the Gruener girl had at least a day to recover.

  He returned to the sideboard to fill his bowl for the second time and caught the whisper of voices in the stairwell.

  “A completely foolish thing to do! And I’ll march right down there and tell them all I think so—”

  “Do not be so hasty, Jemima.” Thomas could recognize the odd cadence of Karl Gruener’s voice, even without his mention of his wife’s name. “Think—would you cast your own daughter to the wolves? She is chastened enough by what has happened. Do not add misery to it.”

  Thomas finished heaping his bowl and hesitated.

  “You spoil her, Karl—”

  “No, but she understands the gravity of what she has done. Give her time, see what comes of it…”

  The voices dropped to a murmur he could not distinguish, and having no more reason to linger, he went and tucked himself into a corner.

  With a chunk of bread, he scooped bacon-flavored mush into his mouth. As he chewed, Gruener reentered the common room, his wife at his heels.

  Gruener crossed the room to speak with Jenkins first, while Mrs. Gruener made a beeline for Mrs. Murphy. Then looking around, the older man spied Thomas and weaved his way between the tables toward him. “You did not have to speak up for us,” Gruener said. “Thank you.”

  Thomas thought for a minute before he spoke. “My brother-in-law was a loyalist fresh from King’s Mountain when he came to us. But he was a good man. Helped our family when he didn’t have to.”

  Understanding shone in Gruener’s gaze. “As Murphy said, many were in a similar condition.”

  Thomas snorted, chewed another bite, then swallowed. “Just some are less forgiving than others. Our over-the-mountain folk, now, they were already tetchy about ignoring Crown law, then to have such a one as Ferguson threaten to come over and burn us out—” He shook his head. “That’s all some remember. Or that their kin got tarred and feathered. But both sides did that, especially in the backcountry.”

  Thomas remembered the stories Micah would tell, some of them terrible enough to curl a man’s hair.

  Gruener was nodding. “Yes, we saw it as well. ’Tis why I’ve tried so to keep quiet about—this.” His blue eyes narrowed. “Foolish though it might have been, Kate meant no harm.”

  Thomas stilled and narrowed his eyes right back. In truth, he wasn’t sure what he thought about that either. But—“And why would that matter to me?”

  The older man folded his arms over his beefy chest. “No reason, I suppose. Besides wondering precisely what your intentions are toward my daughter.”

  What his—

  Thomas went hot all over. Surely the man did not think—but aye, the man surely did. Or he’d not be asking. Thomas sat back, slowly and carefully, and laid his hands flat on the table. “To see her and her family safely to western Kentucky. Naught else, of course.”

  Gruener let out a long breath and finally glanced away, but only for a second. “You will forgive me for being clumsy at this. She is my eldest, and I’ve never had cause to face such a situation before. But many years ago I had a question posed me, much like that one, and I gave a response much like yours. I did not want to admit to this girl’s father that I felt a far deeper attachment than I’d a right to under the circumstances.” He hesitated, still taking Thomas apart with his eyes, then continued, more softly, “Her father was most unhappy when shortly thereafter my actions gave lie to my words. I am very aware that I could also be made unhappy in a similar circumstance.”

  Thomas measured the weathering of the man’s features. He was not old by any means—both face and frame were yet hale and strong. Much like Pa when he rode off to help wreak havoc upon Ferguson. And what might Pa’s reaction have been had he been the one to come back and find Truth and Micah carrying on as they did?

  For that matter, what was Thomas’s own gut feeling, especially once he knew who Micah was and where he’d been?

  “Then I hold you no blame for asking,” Thomas said, as evenly as he could. “And I promise you, I mean no dishonor toward her.”

  There was more, on the tip of his tongue—she’s a winsome girl, and would do any man proud, even if she is a little cotton-headed—but he bit the words back. The situation didn’t call for that much honesty.

  “Very well,” Gruener said. “See that it remains so.”

  The man walked away, and Thomas blinked at the remainder of his breakfast. What kind of a fool answer had he just given? I mean no dishonor toward her. Like he’d ever let it come even close to that.

  Kate slept most of that day, but toward evening, she rose and felt well enough to venture downstairs for supper. Besides, she needed the necessary as well, and the room felt close and stuffy, even with the rest of the family away and occupied with other things, and only Mama there to help her dress.

  They were contemplating the difficulty of her shoes, which still felt uncomfortably tight. “I could simply go barefoot again,” Kate said.

  Mama sighed and looked thoughtful. She’d already surrendered on the point of Kate braiding her hair rather than pinning it up, or the need to wear a cap. “I suppose,” she began when Papa entered, one hand behind his back.

  The expression on his face caught her attention—half expectant, half abashed. He hesitated with both Kate’s and Mama’s eyes upon him, then with a wry smile, brought his arm around to reveal a pair of moccasins. More delicate than the ones Ja
cob had lent her, they were beaded and quilled in a beautiful flower pattern across the top of the toe. “Here, Daughter. Try these on.”

  She unlaced them and slid the supple buckskin over her feet. “Perfect,” she breathed, “or as near to perfect as you could get. Wherever did you find them?”

  “Well.” He rubbed the back of his neck, under the thick but mussed blond tail. It must have been a day, for his hair to look so. His sudden outrush of breath seemed to confirm this. “The trading post had several pairs for sale,” he said finally. “We—I—thought them more suitable for the time being than your shoes.”

  “Thank you so much, Papa.” She rose and with an arm about his neck to draw him down, lightly kissed his cheek. “My shoes are still very much chafing.”

  He smiled into her eyes and nodded. “Now then, are you ready for supper?”

  Downstairs, the other women greeted her immediately—Mrs. Murphy with especial warmth, and Mrs. Hughes slightly less so, but surprisingly cordial. Papa muttered his astonishment that the Hughes family was still present. Kate admitted to a goodly share of that herself.

  Mr. Bledsoe was nowhere in sight. Not that she was looking for him. Kate sat with her family and applied herself to her food, head down, her cheeks and neck still burning from the morning’s events. Afterward, Mama sent her outside with Betsy to take a turn around the yard, insisting that the fresh air would do her good.

  Kate stepped out the back door and stopped, craning her neck at the hills rimming the settlement. It seemed they’d turned green—or greener—overnight. Betsy tugged at her elbow. “Let’s walk down to the ford. The river is lovely.”

  “I think I’ve quite enough of creeks and rivers,” Kate said, laughing, but went along willingly enough.