Chapter 13
Nathaniel sorted through several pieces of twisted limbs and cuttings of small sapling tree trunks, looking for four that would complement each other. The very nature of the spiraling grooves and bulging curves carved into the bark by climbing vines lent a unique flavor to each piece. No two were alike. Nathaniel held one of the twining and gnarled limbs up to the lantern light. His finger sought the path the vine had engraved. If he could recall all the woodworking skills Reverend Danfield had taught him as a youth, surely he could take these God-made works of art and construct them into a piece of furniture.
Jingling harness and clopping hooves announced Quinn’s arrival. The sun had long since set, and Nathaniel knew the blacksmith was tired and hungry. But he needed to tell Quinn about Shadrach’s injury.
Nathaniel took the lantern and met the wagon. Quinn grunted as he descended over the wheel. Nathaniel grasped the near horse’s bridle.
“I’ll see to the team.” Nathaniel patted the horse’s neck.
Quinn mumbled his thanks and turned toward the house.
“Quinn, wait. Something happened today that you should know about.”
“Oh?” The big man turned, his thick eyebrows furrowing together like a fat caterpillar in the flickering lantern light.
Nathaniel told him about Shadrach crashing into the corral fence. “I put cold compresses on it, and Abby made a poultice out of some kind of wildflower.”
Quinn snatched the lantern from Nathaniel and stomped into the barn. At the big black horse’s stall, he held up the light.
Nathaniel followed on his heels. “Let me hold the light so you can examine the wound. It’s his right shoulder.” He took the lantern and held it so Quinn could get a good look.
Quinn peeled back the poultice to reveal the three-inch gash. Cleaned and no longer bleeding, thanks to Abby’s quick work, the wound already looked somewhat better than it had earlier. Quinn ran his hand over Shadrach’s shoulder and down the leg, his probing fingers no doubt searching for other hidden damage.
“Why did he crash into the fence? Something spook him?”
Nathaniel hated to implicate young Beau. The boy hadn’t acted maliciously, and Nathaniel understood better than anyone how it felt to be wrongly accused. “The children were playing, trying to catch butterflies.”
“What’s this stuff?” Quinn picked up a small earthenware bowl from the ledge and sniffed it.
Nathaniel hung the lantern on a peg and took a rag that hung over the stall divider. “It’s some kind of concoction Abby brewed up from leaves she gathered. She said it will help clean the wound and keep it from festering.” He dipped the rag into the bowl and blotted the laceration. “Between this and the cold compresses, the swelling should go down in a couple of days.”
“Hmm.” Quinn’s grunt echoed within the walls of the barn. He bent and ran his fingers over the animal’s shoulder once more. With another noncommittal huff, he stood and gave Nathaniel a short nod. “You done a good job. Couldn’ta done better myself.” He turned and headed toward the house.
Nathaniel reapplied Abby’s poultice to the horse and freshened the cold compress. Shadrach snorted and dipped his head, bumping Nathaniel’s arm.
“You’re welcome, big boy.” He patted the white blaze down the horse’s nose. Stretching his arms over his head, he cast a glance toward the loft ladder. How he’d love to collapse on a mound of hay and fall into blissful sleep.
Instead, he held up the lantern to light his way to the back of the barn and rooted around in the bins until he found what he was after. He pulled out an old canvas—frayed along the edges and torn from too much use—which Quinn had rolled up and tossed into the bin. Taking his knife, Nathaniel cut three long strips of the heavy canvas.
“Perfect.” He dragged the strips back to the stall and improvised a sling to hold the compress in place against Shadrach’s wound. He stepped back and surveyed his handiwork. It wasn’t pretty, but it would do the job.
He strode out to Quinn’s wagon and unhitched the team, brushing down each horse, then feeding and hauling fresh water. After he’d cared for the team, he returned to pour more cold water on Shadrach’s compress.
With a weary groan, he lowered himself to the hay-covered floor in the corner and leaned against the side of the stall, his hands tucked behind his head. Closing his eyes, he listened to the nighttime serenade outside. The crickets and tree frogs provided the background music for the whip-poor-wills.
Despite the fatigue, a smile found its way to his face. The boy was unhurt, Shadrach was going to be all right, and Quinn seemed pleased with how Nathaniel had handled things. But the way Abby’s eyes had shone when she’d spoken to him made his heart smile. Working side by side with her as they tended the horse generated a rush of emotion within him that was hard to define. His chest grew tight when she’d looked at him. His breath caught when their hands touched. When their task was done and she left the barn, an ache made his stomach roll over with loneliness.
The whip-poor-wills sounded farther away now. He rose and added more cold water to Shadrach’s compress. The animal displayed no signs of discomfort for which Nathaniel was grateful.
He fluffed up the hay and settled down in the corner again where he could keep watch over Shadrach and tend him during the night. As he stretched his legs out, his thoughts drifted back to Abby. She’d mentioned feeling badly that the two children had to share a small stool at mealtime because the family only had four places to sit. Nathaniel hoped the bench he was making—large enough to seat two—would be happily received, not only by the children but by Abby, too. Sam Wise told him he could come and pick up scrap pieces of wood at the sawmill. The twisted limbs he’d selected would become the legs, and uniquely shaped branches would form the stretchers. Bent willow pieces, curved and intertwined, would create the back. He pictured the piece coming together and hoped it would turn out as well as he imagined.
Throughout the night, Nathaniel kept Shadrach’s compress cold with fresh spring water. By the time dawn’s first light appeared in the eastern sky, he removed the cold pack and ran his hand over the horse’s shoulder. The swelling was down considerably. He blotted the wound with more of Abby’s brew.
Footsteps sounded behind him and Nathaniel turned. Quinn stood, scratching his head.
“I seen the light out here durin’ the night. You been settin’ up with the horse the whole time?”
Nathaniel shrugged and sidestepped the question. “Look here.” He patted Shadrach’s side. “He’s better this morning.”
Quinn leaned forward and examined the animal, running his meaty hand over the injured shoulder. Giving Shadrach a pat, he straightened. He stood with his arms akimbo, studying Nathaniel.
“Miss Abby and my wife told me what you done.” Quinn’s jaw muscles twitched. “My boy coulda been hurt bad or even killed if you hadn’t acted when you did. There ain’t no way to thank a man for doin’ somethin’ like that.”
Nathaniel gave a quiet nod of thanks for Quinn’s acknowledgement. “Glad I was there.”
Quinn shuffled his feet and brushed his hand over his stubbly beard. “That ain’t all. I guess you know I been pretty suspicious of you ever since you showed up here in Tucker’s Gap. Them army duds with the stripes torn off—it ain’t hard to figure out you were dishonorably discharged.”
Nathaniel pulled in a breath and straightened his spine. He’d waited weeks for Quinn to speak what Nathaniel knew was on his mind.
The blacksmith stared at the floor and pushed hay around with his foot.
“I didn’t have no respect for you, and I didn’t trust you ‘cause I figured you didn’t deserve respect or trust.” He raised his eyes to look straight at Nathaniel. “I was wrong. In this case, I’m glad to be proved wrong.” He extended his hand.
They shook, and Quinn slapped Nathaniel’s shoulder.
“Thanks. That means a lot.”
A small smile twitched Quinn’s beard. “If you’re still wa
ntin’ to borrow a horse and a block and tackle, you’re welcome to do that.”
Joy rose in Nathaniel’s chest, and he couldn’t keep a smile from stretching across his face. He gripped Quinn’s hand again. “I’d be much obliged. But if you don’t mind, don’t say anything to Abby about it. I don’t want to get her hopes up in case it doesn’t work. No need for her to be more disappointed than she already is.”
Abby enjoyed the energetic singing that filled the small church but kept casting worried glances at Beth. Nearly every day, the expectant mother spent less time out of bed. By the time the singing and prayer time drew to a close, Abby was grateful Quinn had insisted on bringing Beth in the wagon so she didn’t have to walk the short distance to the church.
Once back at the house, Abby fussed over her friend. “You’re going to bed. I’ll make some lunch for you and Quinn, and then I’m taking the children on a picnic so you can rest.”
Dulcie and Beau jumped up and down.
“I love picnics!”
“Me, too!”
“Can I bring my butterfly net?”
“Me, too?”
Abby hushed them and made them scoot up to the sleeping loft to change into their playclothes. Her hands flew through the task of making sandwiches—thinly sliced boiled tongue for the adults and jelly for the children. She added some hard-cooked eggs and peaches to round out the meal.
The children clambered down the loft ladder and ran to fetch their nets. Abby instructed Beth to stay put and get some sleep after she ate and then picked up the collecting basket Wren had given her on her way out the door.
“Beau, you carry both nets. Dulcie, you carry the blanket, and I’ll carry our lunch.” The children followed her like ducklings. “We’re going to stop at the store first. Miss Florrie is coming with us.” More happy cries from the siblings accompanied the news.
They clomped up the steps of Tucker’s General Store, and Florrie met them coming out the door. “Looks like somebody is going on a picnic.”
“We are, and you’re going, too.” Beau confided the information to her like he was divulging a great secret. The lad cocked his head. “Are you bringin’ licorice to the picnic, Miss Florrie?”
She patted his head and leaned down so she was eye to eye with him. “Don’t I always have licorice in my pocket for you young’uns?”
Abby shook her head. “You’re going to spoil them.” She looped her arm through Florrie’s. “I thought we’d go just to the edge of the woods. There are plenty of shady spots under those trees.”
The children led the way. Florrie gave a curious look at the V-shaped basket hanging on Abby’s back. “That’s an odd-looking basket. Where did you get it?”
“Wren gave it to me. It makes hunting for leaves and roots easier because I can have both hands free and toss what I find over my shoulder into the basket.” She grinned. “Wren said she needed a bigger one.”
Abby spread the quilt in the shade of the massive oaks. While the children looked for butterflies, the women set out their picnic.
“Beth looked a bit pale in church this morning.”
Abby nodded. “I know. At least Quinn drove her in the wagon so she didn’t have to walk. You should have heard her fussing about riding such a short distance. I left lunch on the table for her and Quinn. I hope she’s resting.”
“How much longer does she have?”
Abby cocked her head. Having no experience with such things, she could only take Beth’s word for it. “She thinks about one more month. Mercy told me that Mrs. Sizemore generally attends the births. Her husband works at the sawmill.”
“Ah, yes, I’ve met Eva Sizemore. They have six children. All of them are grown.”
Abby called the children to come and eat. After their prayer, the youngsters gobbled their jelly sandwiches and hard-cooked eggs. Abby admonished them to slow down or they’d have bellyaches.
“It was good to see Mr. Tucker at church. Those crutches Nathaniel made sure put a smile on his face.”
Florrie nodded. “He was so pleased, and Mercy nearly cried. He can get around without putting weight on the leg.”
“Nathaniel is working on a cane for him. He said he should have it finished by next week.”
The children begged to run and play, and Abby instructed them to stay close by.
Florrie began cleaning up the leftovers. “You still haven’t heard from your father.”
It wasn’t a question. Florrie knew as well as Abby that no letter had arrived from Fort New Echota. “No.” Abby shrugged, hoping the nonchalant gesture hid the turmoil in her stomach. “But remember, I didn’t mail Father’s letter at the same time I mailed Aunt Charlotte’s.”
“I received a letter from my niece, Virginia. She and her husband are distressed over what happened with the outlaws and the wagon, but they are glad we’re safe, and they understand that I’ll be helping Leon and Mercy for a few more weeks.” She tucked the napkins into the picnic basket. “Virginia said her husband will come for me around the middle of next month.”
“Will Mr. Tucker be up and around by then?”
“Should be. Mercy is having a hard time keeping him down now.”
They leaned back on the blanket and watched the children play. Abby slid her gaze sideways to her friend. “Florrie, would you think I was touched in the head if I told you I truly like Tucker’s Gap?”
The older woman’s laughter blended with the singing of the birds overhead. “Of course not. I like Tucker’s Gap, too. We’ve met some fine people here and—” Florrie turned to face Abby. “Just how much do you like Tucker’s Gap?”
Abby sat up and took Florrie’s hand. “I don’t want to go to Raleigh. I never did. But I didn’t have a choice. Florrie, I really like it here. I want to find a way to stay here permanently.” She leaned back on her elbows and heaved a sigh of resignation. “That is if Father will allow it.”
The sound of horses’ hooves halted further conversation. Abby leaned forward and craned her neck. A squad of soldiers rode in, appearing to be headed toward the store.
Abby’s breath caught, but taking a harder look, she recognized the uniforms. They weren’t federal troops, like her father. They were Georgia Guard soldiers.
Florrie snorted. “On a Sunday? I hope they don’t expect Mercy to open up and wait on them.”
But the patrol didn’t stop at the store. They reined up and appeared to be discussing something. Four of them dismounted, and one of the men took the reins and led all four mounts to water. Two others remained mounted and trotted in opposite directions, one toward the mill and the other directly toward where Abby and Florrie sat watching the children play.
“You there.” The soldier, a lieutenant, reined his horse directly in front of the women. “We’re patrolling this area looking for strays.”
Abby didn’t have to ask what he meant by the term. She was well aware of the unorthodox, sometimes brutal, tactics used by the Georgia Guard rounding up the Cherokee.
“You know where they’re hiding?”
The children came running back to the blanket, looking up at the soldier with wide, fearful eyes. Dulcie’s hand trembled as the little girl clung to Abby’s arm.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.” The lieutenant pointed to Wren’s basket lying on the blanket beside them. “That’s an Injun basket. Where’d you get that?”
Chapter 14
Wariness piqued Nathaniel’s senses as he strode up to the Georgia Guard soldier who confronted the women. “Is there trouble here?” Nathaniel controlled his tone, but his gut twisted. He flexed his fingers to keep them loose.
The lieutenant pulled his big sorrel around to a forty-five-degree angle and squinted at Nathaniel. “No trouble if I can get this woman to answer my question.”
Nathaniel ground his teeth at the way the officer said this woman and moved to stand between him and the ladies. “And what question is that?”
The lieutenant
pulled his face into a sneer as he looked Nathaniel up and down. Nathaniel felt the man’s gaze land on the darkened places on his shoulders where stripes once resided. Of all days to wear his old army blouse instead of one of his chambray shirts.
The officer’s tone rang with self-importance. “It’s none of your business, mister, unless of course, you’re hiding renegade Cherokees.”
Nathaniel chose to ignore the belligerent challenge in the man’s voice. “It’s the Lord’s day, sir. These ladies are enjoying a relaxing time after worship. I suggest you do the same and not disturb the quiet Sabbath afternoon in this community.”
“I’ve asked this woman a question about that Injun basket, and I’m waiting for an answer.” The lieutenant’s voice rose in intensity. “If she’s helping to hide Cherokees, I have the authority to arrest her.”
Nathaniel heard Abby’s soft gasp behind him, but he didn’t let his gaze waver. From the corner of his eye, he saw a handful of townsfolk gather. Beyond the lieutenant, three of his soldiers moved in behind their leader. He heard one of the children whimper and Abby’s responding shhh, but he didn’t flinch. He’d not allow this arrogant cad to detect the slightest inkling of the way his heart squeezed at the sound of Abby’s distress.
The officer cast a quick glance over his shoulder and made a hand gesture. Nathaniel recognized the signal directing the soldiers to flank him. Now with reinforcements at his side, the lieutenant lifted his chin at a cocky angle and smirked.
Another soldier, a sergeant with long, scraggly hair and an unkempt beard, tugged on the brim of his hat. Nathaniel had the distinct impression showing respect to the ladies was not the man’s intent. Between the shadows cast by the trees and the man’s hat brim pulled low, Nathaniel couldn’t get a good look at his face, but something about the man was hauntingly familiar.
Some of the men from the town moved closer. Sam Wise and his oldest son, Hiram Sizemore, and Eli Pruitt all walked toward the soldiers. Leon Tucker stood on his porch, propped up by his crutches, with Mercy at his side. Teague Jackson strode across the grassy area in front of the store and stood several yards to one side with his hands on his hips.
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