“Right.” His eyes searched hers for an eternal moment. Then, unexpectedly, John drew her close and wrapped his arms around her. Crushing her against himself, he buried his face in her hair. “You don’t know how wretched I feel having to leave you here with all this.”
She felt the whisper of his breath ruffle a few stray hairs. Pressing closer, she clasped her arms about him, not daring to breathe, not daring to hope….
Then, just as suddenly, he released her and averted his gaze. “Forgive me…. I must go.” Snatching his rifle from above the door, he hurried out, leaving her bereft of his comforting warmth.
Oh, how she had reveled in that brief embrace, feeling the strong beat of his heart, inhaling the woodsy scent that was his alone, feeling for an instant that her dreams might—
Reality tore away that wayward hope. Awash in a wave of tears, Lily ran blindly to the door and flung it wide for one last glimpse of him, no longer caring if John saw her cry.
But he was already mounted and riding away.
Reaching the MacBride farmyard at the break of dawn, John spied his friend Patrick stepping off the porch of his darkened house.
“It’s started.”
The dreaded news gripped John as he dismounted. “Where? When?”
“A few weeks ago, up New York way. Fifteen hundred—maybe upwards of two thousand—French and Indians attacked Fort William Henry at Lake Champlain.”
The concept of an attack of that magnitude was harrowing.
Patrick caught Smokey’s reins and wrapped them around a fence rail. “They outnumbered the men at William Henry at least five to one.” He eyed John. “Don’t look so down in the mouth. It seems when the French sent Major Eyre an order to surrender, the post commander responded that he and his men would defend the fort to the last man.”
“Good for him. Who wants to be taken prisoner and handed over to be tortured by bloodthirsty Indians?”
“You can’t guess what happened next.” Unaccountably, Patrick cracked a grin. “The French burned all the outbuildings and the fleet of sloops and whaleboats, then turned around and went back home.” He clamped a hand on John’s shoulder. “Can you believe it?”
John tucked his chin in disbelief. “Who told you that?”
“Ham Lister, from up the Swatara, near Fort Lebanon. He stopped here for the night yester’s eve on his way home.”
“Well, if what he said is true, it sounds like the French have been taking lessons in fumbling from General Ambercrombie.”
Patrick hooted. “That’s just what I told Lister last night.”
At his friend’s grin, John felt his own smile break forth. “Who knows? There may be hope for us yet.”
“Ain’t that what we been prayin’ for?”
“Quite.” John shifted his stance. “By the way, speaking of praying, I have a letter in my knapsack to post, and it needs to be well received. It’s going downriver to Susan’s father, asking him to send her the most learned physician in Philadelphia.”
Patrick hiked a brow in understanding. “Didn’t you tell me her pa had a successful brickmakin’ business?”
“Right. Her family is quite prosperous.” He began untying his bedroll from behind the horse’s saddle. “The problem is that all of Susie’s life, her father and older brother dictated her every move. And for her to marry a mere furniture-maker’s apprentice was out of the question. I have to say, though, since having children of my own and knowing the powerful love I have for each one, I can’t help but believe Mr. Gilford must still care for his daughter…enough to send a good doctor.”
“What father wouldn’t?” Patrick tipped his head toward John’s belongings. “Put your stuff on the step with mine till the others get here.”
“Will do.” After setting down his gear, John spoke in all candor. “You know, if it hadn’t been for Susie agreeing to have me send that letter, I doubt I could’ve walked out the door this morning. She’s so weak. Almost helpless. It’s the worst possible time for me to go away…only it can’t be helped.” He grimaced. His leaving had been imperative. Even discounting the prospect of being charged with desertion, a more important reason remained.
Lily.
Somewhere along the way, she’d become far more than just a bond servant…more than a young sister…more than a friend. He loved Susan with his whole heart, and nothing would ever change that. But he could not deny he had developed feelings for Lily, also. Feelings he had no right to have. No matter how hard he prayed for strength, one look into those pleading gray eyes of hers, and he’d caught her to him, held her close, felt her soft body pressed against his. Even now, the very breath he drew retained her warm scent. Coward that he was, he positively could not remain at home any longer. The Bible does instruct us to flee from temptation…and that’s what I’m doing.
Pat’s voice cut into his thoughts. “Here come those Duncans, right on time. If anybody was goin’ to be draggin’ his feet this mornin’, I figured it’d be Jackson. That boy’s sure sweet on your Lily.”
My Lily. The memory of Jackson putting his hands on her infuriated John, but he restrained himself from blurting something malicious. Until now he’d always liked the lad. Time to start treating him with his due respect again. Jackson might not be educated, but he was a hard worker. Even with bullets flying all around them, he’d proved to be worth his salt as a soldier. Only last year, when John had been shot, it was Jackson who’d helped him back to the fort. He owed the kid.
All the same, John didn’t want to be fielding questions about Lily. Especially not now. “I’ll take my belongings to the canoe. By the time we float down past the mouth of Beaver Creek, Bob’ll be there waiting.”
Gathering spring greens along the creek, Lily glanced at Emma, noting how the little girl favored Susan, with her huge blue-green eyes, delicate cheekbones, and heart-shaped face. The child somehow seemed older than she’d been herself at that age. “You truly are a big help, do you know that?”
The little redhead smiled. “I like to help, ‘specially on a nice day like this.”
“Me, too.” But Lily couldn’t help observing Emma’s overly fair complexion. The child spent far too much time inside, sitting with her mother.
Emma glanced over Lily’s shoulder and let out a disgusted huff. “Aww, here comes that pest.”
Lily followed her helper’s gaze, to see Davy running pell-mell down the bank. She gasped when he tripped and tumbled to the bottom in a shower of gravel. But undaunted by the new dirt ground into his breeches, he sprang to his feet. “What’cha doin’? Playin’ in the water?”
“No, dummy. We’re pickin’ greens for Mama’s soup.” His sister flared her apron wide, displaying her bounty.
“I wanna help.” He grabbed up a bunch of water grass. “See? Green!” He held up the straggle of blades with a muddy hand.
Lily responded before Emma could deride her brother again. “Why, thank you, Davy. But we’re looking for special green leaves.” She held out a ruffled leaf from her apron’s collection. “See if you can find others like—”
Duke’s barking echoed from the barnyard. Sharp. Ominous.
“Somebody’s comin’!” Davy sprang like a jack-in-the-box to his feet.
Lily caught him by his shirttail before he could bolt and spoke in her no-nonsense tone. “Wait here. And be quiet. I’ll go see what’s wrong.” The approaching supper hour was an odd time for anyone to pay a visit. Leaving the children behind, she climbed the bank and searched toward the house, where the dog remained on alert, still barking toward the wagon trail.
Matt and Luke charged out of the stable, with Matt sprinkling black powder in his musket’s flashpan as he ran.
When the dog’s barking became even more shrill and steady, Lily stopped and pulled out her tin of gunpowder to ready her own weapon. He’d have quieted by now if it were a neighbor approaching. Reluctant to expose herself, she sidled up against the corncrib and peered around it, while the boys sprang up the cabin steps and waite
d in the porch’s late afternoon shadow.
The sound of several horses pricked her ears.
Fear trickled down Lily’s spine. John had been gone less than three weeks. He wouldn’t be coming back so soon—unless a war party was headed this way. Uneasiness spread through her.
Four mounted riders trotted up alongside the cabin and reined in, facing the front. Two wore the familiar attire of frontiersmen, and two had on tailored suits. From her position, Lily couldn’t make out their faces.
She saw her brave Matt step out of the shadow, his weapon crooked in his arm, but not aimed, letting the newcomers know he was armed. “Afternoon.” His brother moved to his side.
One of the frontiersmen hiked his chin. “Afternoon, lad. This the Waldon place?”
“It is.”
“Thank the good Lord.” One of the better-dressed men began to dismount, and the others did the same.
Deciding they seemed genuine and posed no threat, Lily moved into view, her worry escalating as she walked toward the group. “Have you brought bad news? Has something happened to John?”
As one, they turned to her. “No, miss.” A distinguished, older man of medium height, with fading auburn hair and a thin mustache, tipped his hat. “Actually, we fully expected him to be here.”
“I’m afraid he’s not. May I be of service?”
“Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Brandon Gilford. Susan Waldon’s father.”
Susan’s father? Lily couldn’t believe her ears. He’d come! “Is the gentleman with you a physician?”
Mr. Gilford’s companion, equally well dressed but more thickly built, bowed slightly. “Dr. Harold Shelby, at your service, miss.”
“Praise God!” Rushing forward, she threw her arms about Mr. Gilford’s neck. “Thank you! I prayed you’d come.”
Clearing his throat, the man gently extracted her arms. But his mouth spread into a jovial smile. “I’d prefer it if you’d turn that pistol the other way.”
“Oh. Of course.” As Lily blushed in embarrassment, Matt and Luke jumped off the porch and shook hands with the visitors.
The two little ones came running out of the trees, with Davy in the lead. “How do. How do,” the towhead called out on the way. “I’m Davy. What’s your name?”
Lily snagged him before he slammed into the men. “Mr. Gilford, I’d like you to meet your youngest grandson, David. Right behind him is our sweet Emma, and I believe Matthew and Luke have already introduced themselves. Children, this is your grandfather.”
“You mean like Grampa Mac?” Davy scrunched up his nose.
“No.” Matt came to his brother’s side. “This is our real grandpa. Mama’s papa. He’s brought a doctor to help her get better.”
Mr. Gilford’s smile vanished, and lines of worry furrowed his brow as he met Lily’s gaze. “How is my daughter, Miss—”
Lily blanched. “Oh. Forgive me. I’m Lily Harwood. Your son-in-law hired me to take care of Susan.”
He gave a nod. “The letter I received merely stated that she had a prolonged ailment which Baltimore physicians could not diagnose and that she was in dire need.”
Lily endeavored to convey the situation without using words that might overly alarm the younger children. “Suffice it to say her health is most tenuous. Do come in, gentlemen. Matt and Luke, would you please see to the horses?”
As the group started inside, Davy latched on to Mr. Gilford’s hand. “I like grampas.”
“And I love grandsons, my boy.” He chuckled.
Watching the exchange, Lily’s relief was so palpable at knowing the men had come to help, she wanted to cry, but there was no time for tears. Four guests had just arrived for supper.
She only wished it could be a more joyous occasion.
Chapter 7
This is our house.” Davy puffed out his chest, jabbering with boyish pride as he led his grandfather and the other guest inside. “Our pa built it. And we have the bestest table in the whole cove. Pa made it before he went off to kill Injuns.”
Preceding Lily into the cabin, Mr. Gilford shot a frown back at her.
Obviously the man had no idea that John had gone away. Afraid of what he might say, Lily squeezed Emma’s hand. “Sweetheart, our guests must be awfully thirsty after their trip. Would you please run down to the springhouse for the pitcher of buttermilk?”
The child opened her mouth as if to protest, then closed it. “Yes, ma’am.” She turned with a swirl of her muslin skirt and raced down the steps in an obvious rush to get back before she missed too much.
“And Davy, go out to the cellar and get four more big carrots—so we can fix supper for our company.” The explanation squelched the imp’s inclination to balk. With his lower lip protruding, he scampered off.
Lily gestured toward the parlor. “Do have a seat, gentlemen.” Having heard from Susan about her father’s finely appointed mansion, she couldn’t help casting an assessing look around the simple room with its sturdy, pillowed chairs—all John and Susan’s handiwork. The only embellishments were a pair of framed proverbs Susan had embroidered in her better days and hung on the walls. Even the window curtains had faded over time and showed wear. Surely a prosperous city dweller would find the abode crude indeed. But that could not be helped. Either the man would approve of his daughter’s circumstances or he would not. Nothing could be done about it.
Despite her misgivings, Lily saw only deep concern on the gentleman’s face as he paused in the middle of the long room. “May I see my daughter?”
“I’ll take you to her, sir.” But as she neared Susan’s chamber, she added a warning whisper. “Please prepare yourself. Susan is extremely thin and frail. Very weak.”
His golden brows shelved over his eyes in concern. “Just take me to her, Miss Harwood.”
Lily hoped that after all the years that had passed, the man didn’t still harbor anger toward her dear friend. “This way, please.”
Reaching the bedroom door, he rushed past Lily and strode in, then stopped so suddenly, she nearly bumped into him.
“I thought I heard visitors.” Lying in bed, Susan had expended the effort to sound cheery as she attempted to raise her head. “Lily, dear, would you help me sit up?”
Lily sidestepped Mr. Gilford and hurried to the bedside. Plucking an extra pillow from a nearby chair, she reached under Susan’s shoulder and brought her up with very little assistance from her mistress.
Mr. Gilford, lingering near the doorway, released an audible breath and spoke in a hoarse murmur. “Susan, it’s your papa. I’m here, honeybee.” With a watery smile, he crossed to the bed.
“Papa? Is it really you?” Reality gave Susan’s voice strength. “Papa!” She stretched out her hands to him.
With a moan, the loving father knelt beside his daughter’s bed and drew her gently into his embrace, and the two wept in each other’s arms.
Lily’s eyes flooded at the joyous reunion she’d hardly dared hope to see. The good Lord had brought the man here, had provided a father and a daughter with a chance to erase silent years that had separated them, before it was too late. Knowing she was no longer needed, Lily slipped quietly from the bedchamber, swiping away her tears with both hands.
“Miss?” The doctor looked up as Lily closed the door behind her. “May I speak with you?” Seated in the parlor with the two bearded frontiersmen, who looked ill at ease dressed in heavy garb in the warm room, he stood to his feet. He smoothed his brocade waistcoat over the curve of his belly.
“Of course, Dr. Shelby.” She sniffed, trying to regain her composure. “Please join me near the hearth, if you would. I need to check the stew.” She was loath to speak of Susan’s personal ailments in front of the backwoods strangers. Reaching the fireplace, she unhooked her big wooden spoon and potholder and lifted the lid from the footed kettle, giving the mixture a few stirs.
The physician stopped beside her. “Miss Harwood, the letter you wrote to Mr. Gilford was quite vague. Would you describe in detail t
he nature of your mistress’s ailment?”
Gathering her thoughts, Lily replaced the spoon and moved past him to take a seat at the table.
He did as well, never taking his eyes from her. “Is the invalid contagious?”
Elevating her brows, Lily stared into his wide-set eyes. “No, sir. When I first entered into service for the Waldons, Mr. Gilford’s daughter had recently given birth to Davy. Her joints had started to swell, causing her a good deal of pain. The physician in Baltimore suspected it was some sort of rheumatism and gave her a tonic, along with salves he felt might help. They did not.”
He pursed his lips. “So. Might I ask why the Waldons left Baltimore for this remote settlement if she was unwell?” The man glanced around the rustic room, his disdain more than obvious.
Offended by his superior attitude, Lily felt her hackles rise. “They’d already purchased the land here, and since the doctor didn’t know anything else to do for Susan, she insisted they not alter their plans to move here and put down their roots. Sometime later, when a skin rash developed, her husband wrote to the physician for advice.”
“What was the doctor’s name? Perhaps I know of him.”
“A Dr. Whetsler, I believe.”
He nodded. “Yes. He’s considered competent enough.”
“Indeed. Well, he suggested the rash might be due to something she ate. He sent more salve, which helped somewhat. After that, Susan had good days and bad as the swelling and rashes would come and go…up until this year, that is. Now it’s as if her condition has moved deeper inside her. We’ve become very concerned about her breathing of late…and her heart.”
She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “And I don’t think Susan is”—hesitant to speak of such private matters, Lily searched for more delicate words—“expelling her fluids as she should.”
Dr. Shelby rubbed a hand across his stubbly jaw. “I was afraid of this. So, I might add, was her father.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some years ago, an older aunt of Susan’s suffered from the same ailment. And its onset also came after the birth of a child.”
Daughters of Harwood House Trilogy : Three Romances Tell the Saga of Sisters Sold into Indentured Service (9781630586140) Page 68