by RITA GERLACH
How could she hide the grief in her eyes? “I do not know.” She looked at Maddie and held her hand out to her, clasped it.
Dr. Pierce turned to Nash. “I need a moment with your wife. Her servant may stay in the room.”
Outside the door, in the sunlit hallway, she knew he leaned against the wall, waiting, praying for her. Pierce timed her pulse, felt her forehead, and looked at her eyes. After gaining her permission, he drew back the bedcovers to examine her. He spoke kindly and asked her questions.
“You will need bed rest for several days to regain your strength. This happens to the majority of women. It was early in your pregnancy.”
“It does not take the heartache away, Dr. Pierce.”
“Indeed not. But you’re able to have more children.”
She turned into Maddie’s arms. How warm they felt surrounding her like a mother cradling her child.
“Hush now.” Maddie stroked her hair. “You cannot undo what has been done. Your little one is in Heaven, and one day you’ll see him.”
No words could end the pain squeezing her heart.
“A boy.” And she turned her face to the wall and wept.
CHAPTER 20
Winter hurried on and soon a golden spring came. Dogwoods bloomed along with mountain laurel. Corn poked through the rich soil and grew tall into summer.
The year 1775 had thus far been a bittersweet one for John and Rebecah Nash. The loss of a child was one eternally in their hearts. Both had wondered what color their son’s eyes would have been. What would it have felt like to have held their own? And then, Gus and Adele were gone far across the ocean to Germany, the likelihood of ever seeing them again was slim.
Letters arrived from England that had taken months to reach them. Lavinia wrote the family was well and missing them. Samuel Brent was the exception, and little was said of him. Lady Margaret had grown weak with the passing of her beloved, yet she kept busy with Mr. Wesley’s ministry. Lavinia birthed a baby boy, named after his father. Dorene’s child was thriving, a girl, but Dorene lacked maternal feelings and hired a nurse to care for the babe. Lanley was disappointed it had not been a son.
It was a shining morning, the leaves on the trees a soft green moving in the breeze. Rebecah and Maddie were washing clothes in the brook that ran at the bottom of the hill between the mountain and the house. With a sigh, Rebecah lifted her face to feel the warmth of the sunshine and the sweet caress of the breeze. Her heart hoped her beloved would come home soon, for she missed him terribly when he was gone for the woods.
She looked with longing at the path he had taken up the mountain, at the quivering leaves on the trees above it, at the shadows.
As much as she tried, Rebecah could not waylay her concerns. It pressed upon her, and the stories that she had heard coming in from the west and from Fort Frederick were enough to cause a restless mind. Then there was news coming in from Boston and Philadelphia. A declaration of independence was on the horizon, and fierce debates raged. In spite of the peace and solitude of the valley, her mind could not rest.
Maddie knelt next to Rebecah. They rubbed lye soap into the clothes making a great lather.
“You miss Mr. John?”
“I do, Maddie,” she answered, wringing the chemise in her hands. “Did you know I’ve never washed clothes in my life until I came here? I was spoiled.”
Maddie chuckled. “Your hands are too pretty and fine to do washing.”
Rebecah smiled and sat on the grassy bank. Done with the wash, she slipped off her shoes and hiked up her skirts above her calves. She dipped her feet into the cool water.
“I’ll carry the washing up to the house,” said Maddie, lifting the basket. “Now, don’t you go catchin’ cold.”
Rebecah shook out her hair until it fell over her shoulders and laughed regardless the heaviness in her heart. “You sound like Margery.”
“Who is she?” Maddie swatted a stonefly away from her face.
“My servant back home. She practically raised me. She watched well over me as you do.”
Maddie chuckled and swished her shoulders. “Praise be. Now I’ve work to do, instead of sittin’ here talkin’ the day away.”
Rebecah stretched out her hand. “Maddie, I’m glad I am with child again.”
Maddie smiled. “Oh, I is happy too. Children are a blessing from the Lord, and you are coming through your time well.”
Rebecah ran her hand over her belly. “It won’t be too long before he is born.” This made thoughts of Indians and war fade. Joy filled her.
“How you know it’s a boy? Could be a little girl.”
Rebecah swished her feet back and forth in the stream, while Maddie glanced up at the hills.
“We best get back. No telling who might be up there in the forest, and I ain’t leavin’ you here by yourself.”
Rebecah gathered up her shoes, and as they neared the house, a carriage pulled by a gray mare arrived.
“I felt bored at home,” Theresa said, drawing to a stop. “May I stay a few days?”
Rebecah kissed her friend’s cheek. “Of course you can. Your visit is a welcomed relief. Come inside.”
She had no idea at that moment British soldiers were fleeing across the Potomac after a bloody confrontation.
* * *
No word had reached Rebecah, but she knew in her heart her beloved would return soon. At least she hoped and prayed, while feeling panic rising in her that she refused to show the others. As the sun was settling over the mountains, she lit a candle and set it in the window casement. If he were to come home during the night, he would see the light and it would lead him home to her arms.
They supped at seven. She moved the roasted sweet potatoes around on her plate and chatted with Theresa. They cleared the dishes, and Maddie set to work washing. Joab went out to get more water from the well. Rebecah set to repairing one of her dresses. A rip ran down the side seam. It should have been cast out long ago, but such things were kept longer in the frontier.
Theresa read by candlelight near the hearth.
“I’m glad you have acquired some books at Laurel Hill, Rebecah.”
“They are precious indeed. What have you chosen?”
Theresa turned to the spine and read, “Robinson Crusoe.”
“Yes, it is one of my favorites.”
“He was a man tested like many here in the frontier.”
“Indeed that is true. He was in solitude until he met Friday, and he grew closer to God, not through hearing sermons or attending church, but in his loneliness with only a Bible to read.”
Theresa sighed. “I can only imagine such a life. He was very ingenious in the ways of survival. Oh, and the natives. Just reading about them gave me the shivers.”
Rapid footsteps approached, and Joab ran inside the room. Looking panicked, he stood before Rebecah trying to catch his breath.
“Joab, what is it?” A chill raced through her seeing the fear in his eyes. “What is wrong?”
“Redcoats coming—four on foot—two on horseback.”
Theresa rushed to the window and drew back. “He’s right.”
Rebecah hurried beside her friend. Two officers on horseback rode side by side. The one horse a dapple-gray that hung its head low as it ambled forward. The other steed was taller than its companion, chestnut brown with a flowing mane and a high step.
The men on foot marched with an effort. Their uniforms were dirty and ragged, the white wool breeches smeared with dirt, the coats dingy russet.
Rebecah unbolted the door and went out on the porch. The riders drew rein. The officer to the left drew off his hat and inclined his head in gentlemanly fashion, while the other stared at her with guile.
“Madam,” said the officer, bowing in the saddle. “Captain Taylor at your service.”
“Welcome to Laurel Hill, Captain.” She could have choked on the word welcome. “I am Mrs. Rebecah Nash. May I present Miss Theresa Boyd?”
“It is an honor, ladies. I ca
n see Miss Boyd is no doubt born to the Colonies. But to find an English lady here in the wilderness is indeed a surprise.”
“No more than to see you upon it, sir.” She pinched her brows a moment, wondering how he could tell the difference between her and Theresa. Theresa had not said a word. “Are you far from your regiment, Captain?”
“Yes, we are far indeed, madam. My men and I have been traveling for days.”
“You are lost?”
“I’ve no cause to explain how we came to be in this part of Maryland. The exploits of military affairs would bore you,” Taylor said. “We are quite weary, and shall need food and lodging, at least for the night.”
“Our barn and stable is adequate, Captain. We’ve oats and hay for your horses.” She knew they’d take them whether she offered them or not.
He looked over at it, shifting in the saddle, then at the officer mounted beside him.
“Search the grounds,” he ordered.
“Is that necessary?” she said, watching the armed soldiers pass her. “Your men will find nothing except hay and livestock.”
“Where is your husband, Mrs. Nash?”
“He is away on business, but shall return soon.”
“He has left you here unguarded?”
“Not at all. Joab is an excellent shot.” She glanced at Joab. He stood near her, musket in hand.
Taylor laughed. “One old man is not enough to hold off a war party, madam.”
“The warring tribes are to the west, Captain. We’ve nothing to fear here.”
“I hope you’re right, Mrs. Nash, especially seeing you are carrying a child. But I must warn you, we encountered a band of warriors on the other side of the Potomac. Eight of my men were killed. And we heard in Virginia, that several settler families in the frontier have suffered at the hands of savages. They’re closer than you might believe.”
Of course his news caused dread to rise within her. If it were true, her beloved would be returning any time now to protect her. He would know just how close they were.
Taylor dismounted and proceeded up the stairs booted and spurred. “Fortunate for you we are here. I’ll post a guard. But I shall not impose upon your privacy. We are gentlemen, madam. The barn shall suit us.”
“How long do you intend to stay, Captain?”
“We will be gone in the morning. To stay longer would be unwise.”
“Indeed. Unwise and unjust.”
* * *
That night the stars stood out bright as winter frost, innumerable as the sands of the sea against a coal sky. The breeze whispered and stirred through moonlit trees. The air smelled sweet with the aroma of wild grape and ripening blackberries. A man could taste it upon the tongue as he took in a lung-full of air.
By day, the sun had heated the ground. It felt warm to the touch beneath Nash’s blanket. The river murmured below the clefts, a peaceful cadence in a strange world.
He looked up at the stars, his musket in the crook of his arm. A meteor arched across the sky and vanished, a second one followed.
He wished the world were different. He thought of his father, and the arrows of grief returned.
He thought of his beloved. Rebecah was waiting. He should have been home days ago. She must be worried. At sunrise, he would head back. Perhaps this would be the last time he would patrol so far.
Perhaps it was time to remain on his own land, with her beside him.
CHAPTER 21
Captain Taylor and his men were now within the barn snoring away after dining on Laurel Hill’s venison. The sentry Taylor posted outside the house stood armed beneath the sycamore.
Rebecah’s eyes fluttered open after a dream left her heart beating and her soul longing for Nash. She turned her head, reached out and touched the cold pillow beside her. She gathered it into her arms.
Where is he? Why has he not come home?
Days had come and gone, long, lonely days. Missing him, yearning to see him, to hear his voice, to be held by him was a hard thing to carry, and the worry was even worse.
She looked out the window where the moon was shining. Was he looking up at that orb the same moment as she? She felt him, as if he were there with her.
“God,” she whispered. “Keep Jack safe. Bring my beloved home to me.”
An hour before dawn she could sleep no longer, and so she rose and dressed in brown homespun, the bodice laced with faded blue ribbons. At the mirror, she lit a candle and combed out her hair. She would let it hang free today, for he liked it such. Soon the sun would rise, and perhaps then she would see him coming down the mountain path toward home.
She slipped on her boots. Lacing them, her hair fell over her shoulders. She went downstairs and opened the door. The sentry turned, tipped his hat, and returned to his watch.
She scanned the dark line of trees, the gentle slope of the mountain. The sun peeked above the horizon, the light a thread of magenta. She put her head against the post and waited. She must be the first thing he sees.
The call of a woodland bird hung on the breeze, low and ominous in its murmuring. The sound startled her. Shadows moved among the trees. The sentry brought down his musket. He pulled back the hammer and it clicked. Captain Taylor appeared in the doorway of the barn tucking in his shirt.
A form leaped from the trees and ran toward the house, doubling over, disappearing into the darkness. Another moved and sunk to the ground.
The sentry turned and warned her to retreat inside. Taylor, with his flintlock pistol in hand, rushed forward with his men, and shouted to her when he saw her terrified face. She ran back through the door. Joab and Maddie were in the kitchen.
“What is it Mrs.?” said Joab, placing the firebrand back in its place.
“Indians! Lock every window and door.”
Joab threw the bolt over the kitchen door. Maddie lifted her hands away from the bread dough. “Lord, have mercy on us.”
“Maddie, hurry and wake Miss Theresa.”
A musket hung above the fireplace. Joab had it down in a flash, and with hurried fingers swung the powder horn and shot pouch over his shoulder.
“Jack. Oh, Jack,” Rebecah whispered. She looked out the window beside the front door. The warriors were smeared with war paint. Beaded belts held their tomahawks, shot and powder pouches.
One man in particular stood out among them. He was their leader, a man of no nation or origin, a man who warred by his own rules, and commanded with bewitching power. He was called murderer and thief, and Rebecah had encountered him once before.
Jean LaRoux raised his musket over his head.
Rebecah threw her hands against her ears to drown out his bloodcurdling cry. She retreated from the window. She could not block the sounds, the blasts of flintlock and musket, the cries and war whoops.
Dim light came through the loopholes in the shutters. She rallied, pulled another musket from the wall and poured gunpowder into the barrel.
Joab turned to Rebecah. “Mrs. I see dead Redcoats out there, and the rest are running away.”
“Cowards,” Rebecah said, thrusting in the ramrod.
“They’re abandoning us. No one will be here to help us.” Theresa stood in the center of the room with Maddie beside her. There were no tears in her eyes, no tremble in her voice. Only she stared at the door locked in fear as footsteps pounded up the steps, onto the porch.
Joab shouted over his shoulder against the noise. “I’ll hold them off as long as I can, but you women get out through the back. Run into the woods and stay low.”
The thuds against the door chilled the blood.
“I can’t leave you, Joab.”
“I’m right behind you, Mrs. You got to get out now.”
Again and again, the Indians rammed their shoulders against the door.
“Run! Run!”
Maddie and Theresa reached out and holding each other, they ran to the back of the house and cautiously went out in the misty air coming down the hills. Rebecah’s heart pounded. Pulsing fear tre
mbled through her. They tried to reach the cover of the trees, tried to escape what could mean their capture or even death.
But the Indians were upon them, pulling at them, dragging them, throwing banded arms around them.
“Be still or die!” shouted LaRoux, yanking Rebecah by the hair.
LaRoux swung her around, trying to control her, but she fought back like a wildcat. She bit his hand and he threw her down. Her hair fell over her eyes. She looked up. He stared at her, his legs spread-eagle across her body.
Rebecah would rather fight and die, than be taken into the wilderness by this horrid creature. And so, she turned upon him, beating at him with her hands. She kicked and shouted. She twisted against him. Maddie and Theresa tried to reach her, but were prevented. Tearful they urged her to stop for fear LaRoux would kill her. Indeed LaRoux would have when he forced her on her knees and jerked her head back by her hair. She cried out. He pulled his knife and laid the blade against her throat.
“Kill me,” she whispered. “I’d rather die than go with you.” Then she remembered she carried a life and regretted what she had said.
“Ah, I know your face,” he said. “You were the woman in the coach. Perhaps I should kill the others instead.” He grabbed her chin, moved her face close to his. His breath was hot and foul.
Rebecah winched and tears pooled in her eyes. He stared at them, for they looked like crystal with sunlight striking them. She was beautiful even now, but he did not let it soften him.
“No,” she whimpered. “Please, do not hurt them. Let them go.”
LaRoux laughed and pulled her up. “You will come with me.”
“Please. I’m with child.”
An Indian stood behind them, and LaRoux pushed her back against him. “Bring her,” he ordered. He then turned and walked ahead.
The Indian held her up and spoke in his native tongue. She moved on with him following her. She glanced back at the house.
Joab. Was he alive?
Shaken and frightened the women walked past the dead. They had been scalped. Rebecah hid her eyes from the gruesome scene of blood and torn flesh. Theresa threw her hands over her eyes, cried. She called for her father and shook within the cruel hands that held her.