Brides of Georgia

by Connie Stevens

  “When I took the cane I made for Leon over to the store, Mercy let me take a few supplies, some jerky and hardtack, dried apples and such. I should only be gone a couple of days.”

  Quinn nodded again. “Take as long as you need.” The blacksmith bent his head to examine the crib more closely. “This is fine work. So’s that bench you made for the young’uns.” He scratched his head. “You ever think about buildin’ and sellin’ pieces like this? You could make a livin’ as a furniture maker.”

  Nathaniel’s hand paused mid-motion. “I never thought about it.” He resumed rubbing. “Don’t know how much I’ll be able to salvage when I go down the trail. Maybe I can make enough furniture to barter for a wagon and team.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Suppose it would take me an awful long time to make that many pieces.”

  Quinn scratched his head and frowned. “You still thinkin’ to take the women on to Raleigh?”

  Nathaniel nodded. “When we set out, I gave my word I’d deliver the ladies to their destination.”

  Quinn sat on an upturned bucket. “I guess you ain’t heard.” He brushed his hand over his forehead. “Miz Cobb says her niece’s husband is comin’ to get her, and Miss Abby says she’s stayin’.”

  “What?” Nathaniel dropped his rag.

  “I just figured the both of you was stayin’.” Quinn lifted his broad shoulders. “It’ll be nice havin’ new citizens of Tucker’s Gap. Y’all’ve already been a real welcome addition to our community, and I know folks’d be right pleased.”

  Nathaniel held both palms upright. “Wait a minute. What are you talking about? What do you mean she’s staying?” He stared, bug-eyed, at Quinn.

  An amused chuckle shook Quinn’s belly. “She told my wife she don’t want to go to Raleigh. She wants to stay right here in Tucker’s Gap.” He slapped both his knees and laughed again. “You mean she ain’t told you?”

  A scowl wiggled through Nathaniel’s face. “I suppose we’ll talk about it.” How was he supposed to keep his word if she refused to go? One way or another, he had to make sure she arrived in Raleigh. He bent to pick up his rag when another thought slammed into him. If Florrie’s family members came to get her, that would leave Abby and him without a traveling chaperone. He couldn’t escort her anywhere, just the two of them on the trail. He’d have no choice but to speak with Florrie about taking Abby with her.

  He heaved a sigh. “Remember, don’t say anything to Abby about my plans to try and retrieve her trunks. I’d rather she didn’t know about it.”

  “She’s gonna wonder where you’ve gone.”

  Nathaniel pursed his lips and shook his head. “No, she won’t. She might notice I’m missing for mealtimes, but it’s unlikely she’ll spend much time worrying over my whereabouts.”

  Quinn rose from the bucket and slapped Nathaniel on the back. “That’s where you’re wrong. Believe me, brother, she’ll notice you’re gone, and not just at suppertime.”

  The eastern sky bore wispy streaks of dawn, as if God’s fingertip brushed the muted colors across the heavens as a token of His blessing on Nathaniel’s mission. There was barely room enough for him in the saddle between the coils of rope, block and tackle, and sack of rations.

  And a gun. Quinn had insisted Nathaniel take his flintlock rifle along in case he couldn’t find the one that went over the edge with the wagon.

  He picked his way down the still-dark trail, humming one of the hymns they’d sung last Sunday. “Guide me, O Thou great Jehovah, pilgrim in this barren land.” A smile tipped his lips at the prophetic words.

  Two months ago, the uphill walk pulling the travois had taken them nearly three days. He anticipated a shorter trek this time now that he was mounted. Once he found the place, much of his success would depend on how far the trunks had fallen and if he’d brought enough rope.

  “Lord, there is nothing that happens in this world that escapes Your knowledge or You don’t allow. All things are in Your hand. You know how much I want to do this for Abby. Please let me find those trunks and haul them to the top of the ridge.”

  As the sky lightened, Nathaniel nudged the horse into a ground-eating trot. Abby’s image tiptoed into Nathaniel’s mind. Her declaration to Beth about not wanting to go to Raleigh really didn’t surprise him, but he wondered if Quinn had understood her correctly about staying in Tucker’s Gap. Nathaniel didn’t think it likely Abby’s father would allow her to stay in the tiny mountain community, but he puzzled over the absence of a letter from the domineering man. Could it be Abby’s fears were correct, and her father had severed ties with her? He hoped not.

  He’d lain awake a long time last night thinking about Quinn’s suggestion. After he’d rolled it over and examined the possibility, it didn’t seem so far-fetched. What if he could make a living building furniture? Was Tucker’s Gap the place for him to start over?

  Birdsong filtered through the trees, and the air temperature warmed. Pure blue sky peeked through the canopy of lofty treetops. When his stomach growled, he pulled a piece of jerky from the pouch and dismounted to rest the horse.

  “It can’t be much farther.” He chewed a bite of jerky and studied the landscape. The trail had narrowed, barely wide enough for a horse and rider. He remembered navigating this stretch two months ago and having a bit of difficulty pulling the travois over the exposed tree roots. “We’re getting close, Lord. Please help me find those trunks.”

  He swung back into the saddle and nudged the horse down the trail. Fifteen minutes later, the trail widened. He reined in. Yes, this was the place. He remembered the massive twin oaks beside the ravine, and there were broken saplings where the wagon had rolled over the edge. He dismounted and tethered the horse. Walking carefully, he found the earth along the rim wasn’t as soft as it was the day the wagon toppled. They’d not had rain for almost two weeks, so the ground was solid.

  He removed the coils of rope and knotted the ends together. After securing one end to an oak, he started down the side, lowering himself hand over hand. The underbrush had grown thicker in the two months since they camped here. Beads of sweat popped out from his exertion and the jute rope bit into his hands. Blackberry canes scratched his arms and snagged his britches. Cicadas buzzed their annoyance at being disturbed. More broken branches and crushed underbrush indicated the path the wagon had taken. A wheel with missing spokes lay askew in the thorny vines.

  Crows cawed overhead, their noisy admonishment echoing within the ravine walls. His legs became entangled in the torn wagon canvas caught in the brush. He might be able to use it to hold the cargo on the travois. As he pulled at it, his own satchel came into view from underneath the canvas.

  He paused to look around and assess how far he’d descended. A glimpse of yellow peeked out from the umbrella of sumac fronds. One of the ladies’ dresses. That meant at least one of the trunks had broken open. He pulled it out of its hiding place and tossed it next to the satchel. Several more articles of clothing littered the area. He stacked everything on top of the canvas. He could tie it all in a bundle and drag it up.

  A bit farther down the embankment, his foot found something unyielding—part of the shattered wagon bed and another smashed wheel. To his left was the splintered double-tree. He sighed. The wagon was definitely beyond repair, and if he didn’t come across the trunks soon, he’d run out of rope.

  “Please, Lord, lead me to Abby’s trunk.”

  The steep terrain gentled a little, allowing him to let go of the rope without losing his balance. He stomped down the bushes and kicked at the thick vines. His toe made contact with something solid. He bent to grasp the object. It was a trunk. Nathaniel’s heart soared. He pulled hard and freed it from its thorny prison. Initials were carved into the lid. FRC.

  “Mrs. Cobb’s trunk.” He scanned the area, his eyes piercing into the shadows cast by rocks and underbrush. “Abby’s trunk has to be here. It has to—”

  Late afternoon sun glinted momentarily off something shiny as Nathaniel moved down the slope. T
he reflection sparkled and then disappeared, as though teasing him with an ill-timed game of hide-and-seek. He stamped back long, thick blackberry canes and made his way toward the spot that had caught the sunlight. There, partially covered by weeds and vines, battered and nicked by its journey down the mountainside, was a trunk with brass hardware. Heavy leather straps secured the lid. On the front near the latch, engraved initials proclaimed the trunk belonged to AEL.

  Chapter 16

  But where did he go?” Abby tried to curb her agitation at the secretive expression on Quinn’s face. She felt like grabbing his arm and shaking him.

  Quinn shifted a glance toward his wife before answering Abby’s plea for information. “You’ll have to take that up with him, Miss Abby.” He ducked his head and lumbered out the door.

  Abby spun to face Beth who sat at the table with a cup in her hands. “I didn’t think too much of it when Nathaniel was absent yesterday at mealtime. Quinn sometimes sends him on errands.” Abby clasped her hands at her waist. “When he wasn’t here for breakfast this morning I became concerned. Now the noon meal has passed and he’s still gone. Beth, where is Nathaniel? Why won’t anybody tell me?”

  Beth shook her head. “I don’t know where he is, either. It’s not like Quinn to keep things from me, but I do suspect he knows more than he’s telling.” She struggled to get to her feet, and Abby hastened to help Beth get her balance. Her friend gave a soft groan and placed one hand on her lower back as she waddled to the bed.

  Abby plumped the pillows and helped Beth lie down before sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m afraid, Beth. Has he left for good? What if he isn’t coming back? Why didn’t he tell me where he was going?” She covered her soft gasp with her fingertips. “Do you suppose he told Florrie?”

  Beth squeezed her hand. “I don’t know the answer to any of those questions, my friend, but I know who does.”

  Abby nodded, remembering the shame she felt when Florrie asked her if she’d prayed about staying and working for the Rutledges. She’d not stopped to pray then, and guilt stung her afterward when she realized she’d left God out of the decision. Her inclination toward impulsiveness was one of the reasons she’d locked horns with her father so often. But disappointing her earthly father didn’t fill her with as much grief as disappointing God.

  “I’ve been praying all morning.” She didn’t add that she’d also been worrying all morning, but she couldn’t fool Beth.

  “Praying is good. Have you been trusting as well?”

  Regret slumped her shoulders. How many times would God remain faithful when she continued to try His long-suffering? “It’s hard to trust when you don’t understand what’s happening nor can you see around the bend in the road.”

  Beth laughed. “That’s why it’s called trusting instead of knowing.”

  She knew Beth wouldn’t be intentionally hurtful, but the admonition still smarted. Before she could pull her hand away from Beth’s grasp, her friend caught her fingers and hung on.

  “Abby, my husband is a blacksmith. He can shoe a horse blindfolded because he’s done it so many times. Prayer is like that, too. When you constantly take burdens and questions to the Lord, you learn to trust because you’re walking a familiar path. As you take more and more things to God in prayer, you find it becomes easier to trust Him because He has proven Himself worthy of your trust.”

  Beth leaned forward and slipped both arms around Abby’s neck, hugging her as closely as her swollen belly would allow. “Let’s pray right now.”

  “Did Nathaniel tell you he was leaving?”

  Florrie shook her head. “I didn’t know he was gone. He didn’t say a word to me. Abby, he wouldn’t go off and leave us without telling us his plans.”

  “But that’s exactly what he’s done.” Abby tried to control her misgiving without success.

  “Surely Quinn must know where he is.” Florrie’s frown reflected her confusion.

  “If he does, he’s not saying.” Abby’s memory of her earlier irritation with the man rankled her once more. Something about Nathaniel’s absence and Quinn’s refusal to talk about it struck a strange chord. Did the two of them have a disagreement?

  Florrie plunked her hands on her hips. “None of this makes sense. Maybe he’s helping out one of the farmers who lives away from town. I know Quinn sometimes does that.”

  “That’s different.” Abby crossed her arms and hugged herself. “Beth told me Quinn helps a couple of the farmers bring in their hay crop in exchange for a portion of the hay. If Nathaniel was doing something like that, why wouldn’t Quinn say so?” She paced to the window and stared out across from the store where Dulcie and Beau chased each other. Beyond the shady canopy and the open space between the trees and livery was the spot where Nathaniel had kissed her. Even now, three weeks later, her lips tingled with the memory. She ran her fingers over her mouth and tried to push away the nagging questions that plagued her.

  “Well then, I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see.” Florrie’s voice pulled her out of her reverie. “In the meantime, Mercy wanted me to give you this.” She handed Abby a small crock. “It’s her crabapple jelly. She said Beth and the children love it.”

  Abby took the crock. “Thank her for me.”

  She started toward the door but paused. Did she dare hope, or was that a futile exercise? “Is there any mail?”

  The older woman shook her head. “I’m sorry. Maybe your father didn’t get your letter.”

  Abby shrugged. “Maybe.” Or maybe she’d defied him one too many times and he’d had enough. Either way, disappointment stung like a sharp rebuke.

  She tried to straighten her shoulders, but a heavy weight pulled them into a slump. Perhaps changing the subject…“How’s Leon getting along?”

  A smile deepened the lines around Florrie’s eyes. “Much better. He says he’s coming to church this Sunday. Pastor Winslow will be here, and Leon wants to show him the cane Nathaniel made for him.”

  The mention of Nathaniel’s name swelled the ache that already reigned deep within. She wanted to be angry with him for leaving, but she couldn’t. Instead of acrimony and resentment settling into the secret place where she hid her most private emotions, a painful bruise pointed an accusing finger. Why did the people she cared about most in this world desert her? Despite the bright sunshine outside, a dismal gray mood cast gloom over her soul. She rubbed one palm over her middle, but the ache didn’t go away. A sigh escaped, and she turned away from the window.

  “I’ll look forward to hearing Pastor Winslow again.” She smoothed her skirt. “I think I’ll take Wren’s basket and see if I can find some more partridgeberries and purple trillium.”

  “Do you think that’s wise?” Florrie supported her right elbow on her left palm and tapped her fingers on her chin. “Nathaniel doesn’t want you going into the woods with the Georgia Guard soldiers roaming about, especially after they confronted you about Wren’s basket.”

  “I’ll have the children with me, so I won’t go far. Besides, Beth thinks the baby could come in the next two or three weeks, and I want to have the partridgeberries and trillium on hand. Wren says they will make Beth’s time easier.”

  “But Nathaniel said—”

  “I never told you what Wren told me that day I met her in the woods.”

  Florrie cocked her head. “You mean about the flowers and leaves and things?”

  Abby turned to face the window again. “No, about Nathaniel.”

  As she related the chilling story of the officer-in-charge’s order to open fire and Nathaniel’s heroic attempt to save Wren’s sister and the others, tears burned her eyes. “He was wrongly convicted, Florrie.”

  “You don’t suppose he went back to Fort New Echota, do you? He might be trying to clear his name.”

  Abby pondered the possibility for a moment. “According to my father, Nathaniel’s court-martial took place at Fort Reed. Father happened to be at Fort Reed at the time on another matter. That’s how he
knew who Nathaniel was.” She nibbled on her lip. “Do you remember the way Nathaniel looked at Wren on the trail? It was as if she looked familiar to him, but he couldn’t place her. But Wren knew who he was all along.”

  She spun to face Florrie. “He doesn’t know that Wren told me the truth about that day. I want to tell him that I admire what he did, that I believe he is a man of honor, but now I may never get the chance.”

  Florrie slipped her arm around Abby’s shoulders. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

  Her composure crumpled, and silent tears slipped down her cheeks.

  Florrie lifted the corner of her apron and blotted the moisture from Abby’s face. “There, there. Don’t you fret. You just told me you believe Nathaniel is a man of honor.” She took hold of Abby’s shoulders and gave her a little shake. “He’ll be back.”

  Nathaniel paused in his upward climb to wipe sweat from his eyes and catch his breath. The midday sun beat down with tenacity in the belly of the ravine. The quicker he could transport Abby’s trunk to the top of the ridge, the sooner he could enjoy the shade and cooling breeze. He lifted his gaze and squinted at the treetops waving to and fro above him. The saplings and brush down the side of the ravine weren’t moving an inch. No wind currents stirred below the ridge.

  Many of the saplings up and down the ravine bore the unique twisted trunks carved by twining vines. Once he’d raised all the salvaged items safely to the top, he planned to make one more descent for as many cuttings as he could carry. The more he thought about Quinn’s suggestion, the better it sounded. If he could homestead a small parcel and make furniture as well, he could build a future in Tucker’s Gap.

  His fingers tightened around the rope, and he pulled slowly and steadily, raising the trunk a few more feet. The block and tackle he’d borrowed from Quinn hadn’t worked well for the trunks, so he simply slipped the rope around a smooth-barked beech tree and used pure muscle. As a result, each of the three loads he’d already raised had taken longer than expected. The anticipation of fulfilling Abby’s wish was worth every drop of sweat, every aching muscle, and every gouge inflicted by the thorny blackberry vines.