by RITA GERLACH
“Don’t be afraid, little ones.” He crouched and spoke softly. “Give me your hands and I’ll pull you up.”
First, he pulled out the boy. The girl threw her slim white arms around his neck and squeezed. Her warm face nuzzled his neck. He felt her tears. She refused to let go, so he held her close and whispered what words he could find to comfort her. A moment and she grew quiet. Still her face lay nestled against him.
He lifted the boy into his other arm and took great care the children did not see the blood of their mother upon the floor. Outside the sky rolled with slate clouds. He turned aside at the sound of earth being turned.
Thou art the helper of the fatherless.
With sadness, he recalled the portion of Hosea, while a nagging feeling crept into his chest. He put the children on his horse’s back, and looked at the everlasting hills, knowing God had put the children into his hands. But for how long?
CHAPTER 12
“You’re working too hard, Mrs.” Joab picked up a spade and shoved dirt over a row of chrysanthemums.
Rebecah smiled, leaned back on her knees, and wiped her hands across her apron. “It’s well worth it. Next autumn these will be a glorious orange. Do you like gardening, Joab?”
“Don’t know. I haven’t done it much.”
“Tell me a flower you like, and I shall be sure we plant it.”
“I like them yellow flowers I seen growing up on the hills when the warm weather come.”
“Ah, I think you mean daffodils.” Rebecah patted the earth beneath the plant in front of her. “Show me where you saw them and we will dig out some bulbs, and plant them in the fall.”
“Mr. John never paid much mind to flowers and such.”
“Well, now that I’m mistress of Laurel Hill, we shall build a grand garden.”
A whistle came down the hills. With a thrill, Rebecah looked up. She knew that sound, for whenever he was coming home, he’d use it.
She stood and shook the dirt from her skirts. Jack walked down the knoll leading Meteor, his musket over his shoulder. His injured leg had improved under her hand. Nightly she soothed it with a salve made of camphor and herbs.
And who was this in the saddle? A child with long blonde curls, hands firm upon the pommel. And there, a small boy in Maldowney’s arms?
“Look, he has children with him.”
She yanked off her garden gloves, snatched up her skirts and ran up the hillside. Her heart pounded as her boots sunk into the cool grass. Were they harmed, sick, or hungry? What horrible fate had they met out in the wilderness?
She looked up to see her husband’s face. A mix of happiness to see her and concern shadowed it. Oh, how brave he had rescued them.
He put his arm around her and kissed her cheek.
Rebecah looked into the girl’s sweet face. It was the face of an angel, shining in a halo of golden locks. But the expression in her eyes told her of fear and sadness that no child should ever bear.
“Hello. I am Captain Nash’s wife Rebecah.”
“Like the lady in da Bible?” the girl said.
“That’s right. What are your names?”
“Adele. He is Gustav my brother. I call him Gus.”
“I am glad you have come to our house.” Rebecah reached up and helped Adele from the saddle. She did not wish to be put down, and locked her arms around Rebecah.
“Would you and Gus like something to eat—sweet cake and milk?”
Adele nodded, then nuzzled against Rebecah’s neck.
She turned to Nash. “They look so hungry and frightened. What happened?”
Nash twisted his horse’s reins around his fist and pulled. “I’ll tell you after the children are asleep.”
* * *
Darkness came quickly that day. The wind strengthened over the hills, shook the trees. Leaves fell and covered the ground.
Nash stood at his window eyeing the outdoors. He wondered if warriors would come this far down the Potomac toward the Monocacy. He turned away, looked over at his wife. She looked beautiful in the glow of the fire, with Gus on her lap and Adele cuddle up in the crook of her arm.
Maldowney let out a burst of laughter and went on telling his Scottish tale of an old man and a lame dog to the children.
“And so, the old man picked up the wee pup, set him on the chair next to him at the table on a velvet cushion, and gave him an ox bone on a silver plate.”
Adele’s eyes widened and she giggled. Gus yawned.
“It’s time we tuck you in bed, children” Rebecah said.
Their hands and faces washed, the children were clothed in fresh linen shirts. As soon as they were wrapped inside the quilts, Gus fell to sleep. Adele whimpered. Rebecah soothed her by humming a lullaby.
Nash leaned against the doorway and waited. She kissed him, held the sleeves of his shirt.
“They’re alone in the world, Jack.”
“As far as we know. I’ll ride into town tomorrow and make inquiry—see if they have any relatives.”
He put his arm around her and they soberly walked to their room. Rebecah shut the door and leaned her back against it. “Will you miss sleeping under the open sky?”
He laughed short. “I put up with the raw earth under my back and the moon shining in my face long enough.” He gathered her into his arms. “And I was lonely for you.”
He tipped her face up to meet his, kissed her long and soft. Taking her to their bed, he fell back with her against the pillows.
* * *
In an orchard north of Laurel Hill, apples fell from the trees and lay brown and shriveled in the grass beneath the sunshine. Yellow jackets hovered, dipped, and landed to taste the sweet fermented juices. That morning the river ran swift and cool, reflecting the blue sky. Bass surfaced to catch jeweled dragonflies. The elms along the bank were a blaze of gold. Wreathed in morning mist, the leaves turned in the whispering breeze. The sky rose red along the rim of the mountains when dawn broke.
Above the scarlet light, clouds were thick and slate-gray. They overtook the sunlight and it began to rain. Nash dressed in work clothes, in leather breeches, homespun shirt, and boots. He wore his hair back, tied with a leather cord his ponytail hanging past the nap of his neck. In his hand, he held a letter. Although his heart was ripping apart, he had done with crying. To him it was what a man did privately.
Dawn came colder and it felt like winter would come earlier this year. His father was gone—dead of an infectious fever and a jaundice condition.
He saw his stepmother’s hand must have been trembling in her grief as she penned it. These were not her usual fluid lines, but scribbled discernible words broken and ragged. At one point, the quill had dripped the ink. What he was to do he did not know, for grief blinded clear thought and enhanced regret.
Lady Margaret would remain in England with Lavinia and David for the time being. Standforth had been confiscated by the Crown. Lady Margaret was able to keep her choice horses and move them to the Harcourt’s stable. She had her own money to live on, a sum of at least five hundred pounds a year.
You need not worry over me, Jack. Tend your land and prosper. Rejoice with the wife of your youth, raise a family, and be at peace with God.
Nash stared at the letter, drew in quick gasps of air. His heart felt heavy as stone as he placed his hand over his eyes and wept.
Rebecah’s hand closed over his. “What is it, my love?”
He handed her the letter. Tears filled her eyes. “Oh, no.”
“He’s gone, Rebecah…”
“I’m sorry. Do you want to be alone?”
“No, stay with me.”
She curled up beside him in front of the fire. Rain tapped upon roof and wall.
“I cannot bring him back. I don’t know what I’d have done if I had to bear this alone.”
She touched his cheek. He turned his lips to her hand and kissed it.
“Are you cold?”
“A little.” And she drew closer against him.
; “Here.”
He wrapped a quilt around her shoulders. Then he put another log on the fire. It crackled and the flames grew and warmed her.
“You will never forget him. But in time the pain will lessen.”
“I’ve seen death at its worst, but when it’s someone you love, someone close to you, it hurts like a knife turning in the heart.”
“I know this kind of pain, Jack.”
He nodded. “Your father.”
“Yes.”
He took her into his arms. “I cannot lose you, Rebecah. God help me if I ever do.”
She put her finger to his lips to quiet him. “Do not think such things.”
“It’s the thought someday I may not hear your voice and have you here beside me. I pray God takes me first.”
“You mustn’t dwell on that. It is true that as time passes, people pass with it. But we will never be apart.”
“You’re not afraid?”
“Yes, I’m afraid. When I saw you coming out of the woods yesterday, my heart rejoiced. I had fears I might not see you again. But we are together now.”
He pulled her closer, his cheek against hers. “I love you, Rebecah. I will until the day I die.”
CHAPTER 13
Rebecah wore her best day dress and gray cloak. Their wagon rolled along the notched road, and with a sad gaze, Rebecah looked out across the fields at a group of men and women walking from the slave quarters of a plantation toward a crude whitewashed church on the opposite side of the road. Nash pulled to a halt.
Rebecah’s eyes could not leave the scene as the slaves crossed the road in front of them. Her heart ached to see the thin overworked bodies. Yet it was evident within those weary vessels, vivacious souls swelled with the joy of the Lord and the hope of eternal freedom. It shined in their eyes, in their smiles as they passed by. The men pulled off their hats and nodded to the Nash’s with the women strolling along in their calico dresses singing.
“Oh, but I love their singing.” Rebecah sighed.
“Those are happy songs,” said Joab.
“Indeed they are, Joab. But there is more behind the words and melody that make them happy. In spite of their bondage, the slaves sing with joy.”
Nash shifted the reins in his hands.
“I’m glad you believe slavery to be wrong, Jack,” Rebecah said.
He smiled from one corner of his mouth. “My darling, it is unfortunate not everyone in this world loves their neighbor.”
“That is true. Greed and prejudice drives men to enslave others.”
“Well, let us pray the minds of our leaders will trouble them so deep on the subject, all people will be free in our new country.”
“Look at that overseer standing over there watching them as they go to church. The vulture. Put him in shackles and sell him off. I bet he wouldn’t like it.”
“If the authorities get wind those men and women are made to work on Sunday, their owner will be fined.”
She looked startled and angry. “Do they work them on Sunday, Jack? You’ve seen this? Then you must say something.” She grabbed his sleeve. “Look! The overseer is abusing that poor woman.”
Without thinking, she climbed down, hurried forward, and called to the overseer. Nash handed the reins over to Joab and told the children to be still until he got back. He then went after his headstrong wife.
On the edge of a fallowed field, a slave sat with heaving breath after the overseer had released her. She stared up at him with large frightened eyes. She was an elder woman, with long ebony tresses streaked gray. Her body looked thin as a reed under her clothing, and likely to break with the first hard wind. Her dress was torn at the sleeve and worn, once having been fine now a castoff from the master’s household.
Rebecah stopped in front of the overseer and he dragged off his hat. “Morning, ma’am.” His teeth were black with rot and his face leathery.
“I saw how you were treating this unfortunate woman. Must you handle her so roughly?”
He shifted on his feet. “Well, I don’t mean…”
“Does your master approve?”
“I see you’re English, ma’am…”
“That matters not. What you are doing is wrong.”
“You don’t know our ways well enough to judge, meaning no disrespect since you are obviously English. Sometimes I have to use a heavy hand.”
Rebecah turned to the woman. “Is there anything I can do to help? Are you sick?”
The slave shook her head. “I’ll be right as rain, mistress.”
The overseer slapped his riding crop in his hand. “Ain’t proper for you to speak to the lady,” he said with an angry look. The woman shrunk back.
Rebecah dared to lay her hand on the woman’s boney shoulder. “Could she not rest awhile under the trees in the shade and have some water?”
The overseer was aghast at her audacious behavior. “No, she can’t. And I’ll be glad if you get back to your wagon and not poke your nose in my business.” He nudged the slave woman. “Go on, Maddie. Get to your churching with the others.”
Maddie ambled away with her hands clenched at her breast. Rebecah watched her. Nash put his hand on his wife’s shoulder and spoke to the overseer.
“It would be wise to have a doctor look at these people from time to time.”
“My employer does his best. Tell you something though. He intends to sell, including that one, if you want her.”
“I do not own slaves.”
“You got one there,” the overseer said, pointing his crop at Joab.
“He’s a freeman,” Nash told him.
“That so? Well, you could use a serving woman for your lady. Maddie won’t cost much.”
“I’ll consider it.”
“You do that.” The overseer tipped his hat. “Enjoy your Sunday.”
He strode off smacking his crop against his thigh.
Rebecah bore her stare into him, until Nash drew her away.
* * *
Fredericktown was full of people. Horses, wagons, and carriages lined the streets. Townsfolk were attired in their Sunday best. On Church Street the Nash’s were met outside All Saints Church by a cluster of people. They were in time for the service. Joab brought the children inside, and was sent up to the balcony. Slaves, freed blacks, and orphans sat in low wooden benches.
The interior of the sanctuary was aglow with candles. Hymns were sung, and a baptism preformed, followed by the sermon of Jesus and the fishes and loaves. The church was quiet, and Rebecah felt the eyes of certain people glancing over at her from time to time. She moved closer to her husband, slipped her arm through his.
Soon the parishioners were sent home. Nash introduced her to those lingering behind. Congratulations and handshakes were plentiful.
One of the deacons wives approach Rebecah and introduced herself. Mrs. Jacob Finch was her name, a well-liked and well-respected woman in her late sixties.
“We gave up English cloth long ago, Mrs. Nash. But I must say your gown is quite lovely, a beautiful color as I’ve ever seen.”
Rebecah felt her cheeks redden. “How was I to know, Mrs. Finch? I hope I’ve not offended anyone.”
“No offense. You see, we have not seen cloth like that in a long time. It is truly a treat. We hold a spinning school in the church each Saturday afternoon in order to make our own cloth,” the gray-haired woman said. “It’s homespun, but we wear it as a symbol.”
“A symbol?”
“Yes, of our determination to be independent. It is a way of fighting for our rights. Some people call it freedom cloth.”
“Do slaves also spin and weave it as well?” Rebecah asked innocently.
With a smile of sincerity, she leaned closer and whispered, “I’m afraid not. We must pray to God the slaves have their freedom cloth someday.”
Rebecah nodded. “I hope so, Mrs. Finch.”
“Your husband holds the same opinion?”
“Yes, and if you will excuse me, I must join him.”
>
While she walked away, the younger women looked on with noticeable glances of envy. Nash was a handsome man, and no longer available. Rebecah’s attire was nothing they had ever owned.
Outside on the cobbled sidewalk he said to Rebecah, “Boyd tells me Adele and Gus have a bachelor uncle in Annapolis. Apparently, he is a rich man. No doubt he’ll see his duty and want the children home with him.”
Rebecah’s heart sunk. “I don’t want them to go, but I shall accept whatever is right for them. Perhaps this gentleman would see how well they do and will allow them to stay with us.”
Nash tipped his tricorn hat to passing ladies. “Boyd thinks the uncle may not want the children to live with him. He may separate Adele and Gus by sending them away to school.”
Rebecah looked at him grieved. “Why? That would be cruel.”
“Some people favor their social standing above their own family.”
“If that is the case, we must do what we can to convince him to leave the children with us.”
Through the church doors stepped Theresa, dressed in a sage-colored dress and brimmed hat. She made her way through the people to the Nash’s. Nash turned and helped her down the last step.
“Come to the house for supper. Our cook has made a fine roast.”
“We’d be glad to. I’ve business with your father at his office. I’ll join you both later.” He kissed his wife’s hand and headed off.
Gus stretched his fingers out to Rebecah, tossed his arms around her neck and squeezed. She kissed his cheek, and he put his chubby hands against her face. He was hers—hers to love and care for, as was Adele, even if it were only for a while.
Joab moved the wagon on, and she watched it until they turned onto Market Street and were out of view. She sighed and Theresa looped her arm through hers. Together they strolled toward the Boyd house.
By virtue of her beauty and sprightliness, that she was English born and married to one of Frederick County’s most prominent men, people stared as she walked by. The men tipped their hats and smiled. Mrs. Cottonwood and her clutch of daughters, walked passed her with heads held high.