Exhausted, she walked outside to the water barrel and filled the large pitcher she found in the kitchen. She peered back at the cottage. With the light shining through the windows, the scene was pleasant, and it brought her a modicum of peace. Tomorrow I will explore and see what this farm is all about.
Back inside, there were things still to be put away. When everything was in its place, she wet a washrag and began wiping her face, neck, and arms. Seeing how futile the task was, she threw it down. There had to be a washtub somewhere in the cottage. She began searching every corner, but after a fruitless foray, she gave up. Tomorrow she would find it. Relieved, she sat in what seemed to be a comfortable chair across from the hearth.
Tomorrow. I will have a bath tomorrow and no longer be filthy and smelly. With a newfound hope, she would do her part to make this newly constituted family work out. The movement of the beautiful clock sitting on the mantle over the hearth fascinated her, and the pressures of the past weeks subsided as fatigue brought sleep. Whatever lay ahead, right now she was thankful for water to drink, food to eat, a decent place to sleep—and the promise of being clean tomorrow. How was one day filled with so many changes? And the day was not yet over. There was much to ponder—a new country, a new family, so many new experiences. Sighing, she leaned her head back, bit her lip, and closed her eyes. Aye, and a new husband.
Matthew carried a lantern to the barn and lit another one inside the door. He looked around. With the moonlight shining through the door, there was plenty of light to take care of Honey. “ready for a good rubdown, girl?” He picked up the brush and began. “When we left this morning, would you have ever believed we would be bringing the children home?” He smiled when the horse whinnied. Looking into Honey’s face, he shook his head. “And then there is the woman ... a wife. That was a surprise.” His well-established rhythm of brushing and giving a rubdown invited reflection. “I did pray about it. It was impulsive, and I do not act impulsively ... usually.” Talking to a horse. I have been alone too long. He filled the water trough and used the pitchfork to give the horse some hay.
He strode to the barn’s doorway and gazed up at the sky. The moon was bright and so were the stars. The storm he anticipated must have dissipated. His glance shifted to the house, lit and inviting, and a home again with the children inside. It would take a while for them to get used to a new mother. Heather was a stranger, not even from the colonies. I should have asked her if she has ever been on a farm. She was old enough to know her way around a house. It was not like she was gentry and unfamiliar with housework. The woman carries herself like a lady, despite being so dirty and poorly clothed, but people of means do not indenture themselves.
He picked up a rag as he left the barn and walked to the well to wash. The cool water felt good against his skin. Her reserve was not surprising. She had not expected to get married. What was it Adam said? Give it time? I will give it as much time as it takes. This has to work, Lord.
It was quiet inside the cottage. He looked into the alcove; the children were already asleep. That was to be expected. It had been a day out of the norm, full of unforeseen events. He closed the curtain separating it from the main room and glanced to the door leading to the bedroom. It was open. He took a deep breath. I did not expect an invitation. Barely making a sound, he looked into the room and shook his head. It was empty. Where was she? A glance toward the hearth answered that question. He could see the top of her head over the large, cushioned chair. A closer look explained the silence. She was fast asleep. What now? Do I leave her there? No. Best get her to her bed.
CHAPTER 6
Heather slept fitfully. She dreamed she was back aboard the Providence, being buffeted by the movement of the ship. Sara was slumped over Emily, worry etching her face as she held a damp cloth to her daughter’s forehead to bring down the fever. The two women bathed the girls day and night with the little water they had. Despite the constant attention, the girls’ fever and delirium persisted, and their health continued to deteriorate.
On the third day, Katie died. Sara’s weeping lasted throughout the night, and she could not be consoled. In the hours that followed, Heather and Sara intensified their efforts in nursing Emily, but she succumbed the following evening.
“No! Not my babies! Please, not my babies, too.” Sara collapsed onto her pallet with uncontrollable sobs, her eyes red with exhaustion and tears.
“I am so sorry, Sara. I wish there was something I could say to lessen the pain.”
“I know.”
“Sara, the sailor said that he would place her body with Katie’s and that the service for them—and the others—would be tomorrow.” She heaved a sigh and moved to Sara’s pallet, where she wrapped her arms around the grieving woman. So much loss, where days before there had been hope.
Sara’s voice was low and filled with grief, her skin pale. “Thank you for all your help and for your friendship, Heather. What would I have done without you?”
“Please do not thank me, Sara.” She held the friend she had come to love and trust.
“First John, and now my girls; I cannot bear it.”
They both cried and prayed for strength and comfort.
In her dream, Heather tried to make sense of it all. Sara took ill the same day the girls’ bodies were committed to the sea. It was a muddle in her mind.
Heather’s stomach clenched as she wiped Sara’s feverish skin with a damp cloth. She was so sick. How much longer would she last?
The day’s meager ration of putrid food had been passed around hours ago. She had grabbed a few of the dry, weevil-infested biscuits for herself and the ailing woman reclining beside her. Their meals lately were only hardtack with a bit of molasses. The brackish, foul smelling water would be given out later.
She sat on the edge of Sara’s pallet and searched for words, hoping to comfort her friend. A low moan drew her attention back to the frail woman. “I am right here, Sara. Please keep fighting.”
“God bless you. What would I have done ... without you ... these past weeks?” Sara gasped or coughed with almost every word.
“Please do not give up, Sara.”
Sara’s voice was barely audible. “So wanted ... to reach John’s family.”
She leaned forward. “You shall, dear. Please do not despair. We both will be far better off in Virginia than we ever were at home ... or on this squalid ship.” Hope. Sara needed some words of hope. “We shall have good, fresh food to eat, and clean water, too. We shall bathe, have clean garments, and comfortable places to sleep. And you shall begin a new life with John’s family. You have everything to live for.” She feared her voice lacked the conviction of her words.
“Do not be sad on my account, Heather. You find happiness there. Put aside your past.” Her voice grew weaker, but she seemed intent on saying what was on her heart. “Do not lose faith or hope. God loves ... He forgives ... He has plans for you.” Now it was only whispers.
“Do not exert yourself, Sara.” She scanned the dark, damp hold. Despite all Sara had lost, she remained hopeful and even gracious. How did she maintain her faith in a loving, forgiving, and generous God? If only that trust would sustain her and give her the will to live.
Heather searched the gaunt faces of her fellow travelers. Cries filled the air. Strangers begged to be released from their torture. Why did these people go to such great risks, endure this deprivation and humiliation, merely to get to the colonies? What promise did that land hold for people willing to sell themselves into years of servitude? Or were some of these sick and weary people just like her, simply running away?
As she struggled to wake up, Heather sank deeper into the folds of the quilt. The ship’s pallet had never been this soft or still before. Her waking dreams were interrupted by the sound of children laughing in the distance. Slowly opening her eyes, she gazed about. Her heart racing, she sat up with a start.
“Where am I?” It took a couple of moments for her to remember the events of the previous day. By tha
t time, there were three other people staring at her from the doorway of the room.
“Do not fret, children.” Mr. Stewart broke the silence. “I fear our noise woke Heather up. Go back to the table and finish your breakfast.”
Now fully awake, she realized she was in the large bed amidst the pillows and the blue-and-white quilt. But she had no recollection of going to bed. The last thing she remembered was sitting in front of the hearth. Although her shoes were off, she was still in the filthy green dress.
The man stood smiling in the doorway, seeming to enjoy her confusion. “When I came in last night you were in a deep sleep. So I carried you in here, removed your shoes, and loosened a few stays. I hope you slept well and were comfortable.”
She glanced down to her bodice where, in fact, the stays and lacing had been loosened.
“Thank you—I am sorry you had to trouble yourself.” Heat rose to her face.
“No trouble at all.” He turned to leave. “There are biscuits from Maggie’s basket out here if you are hungry. I shall be going out to the fields soon.”
As she put on her second shoe, a thought flew into her mind. She must not let him get away without telling her where there was a tub or someplace to wash.
She dashed out the bedroom door to find the man before he left, only to see him sitting at the table with the children. He had removed his shirt and was shaving. Startled by his half dressed appearance, she backed into the doorframe, hitting her head.
“See, Father, I told you she was strange.”
“Quiet, Mary. Finish eating and go get dressed.” Mr. Stewart’s focus was still fixed on her. “Is something wrong?”
“Nay. Nay. I, ah, came for the biscuits.” She raised her eyebrows and smoothed her skirt.
His quizzical smirk was as annoying as his familiar and casual demeanor.
Seating herself at the table with the rest of them, she finally settled into a more reserved manner. She picked up a biscuit and focused on the bowl of water in front of him on the table. “Mr. Stewart, what would you have me do today?”
His eyes followed hers to the dish. “Well, to begin with, you can call me Matthew.”
“I mean, would you care to list my duties, so I shall not have to continually disturb you?” The biscuit crumbled in her hand. This was not going as she had hoped.
“I see. Well, Mary and Mark need supervision, and the regular household chores, cooking, cleaning, wash—”
Quickly leaning across the table, she nearly tipped the bowl of water into his lap. “Have you a tub for washing? I mean for clothes and bathing?”
They all looked astonished.
He wiped his face, put his shirt on, and settled back in the chair. “Yes. There is a tub on the side of the house.” He looked her over. “Large enough to bathe in. Wait, I think I still have—” He got up and went into the bedroom. Within minutes, he was back, carrying a small parcel.
“I had forgotten we had this. This soap is from England. I gave it to my wife on her birthday.” A momentary frown passed across the strong face as he opened the wrapper and held the soap to his nose. “She loved sweet-smelling things.” He carefully rewrapped the treasure. Very deliberately, he reached across the table and placed it in front of her.
The fragrance of violets permeated the air. Her throat tightened at his tender expression and gesture. Swallowing, she took a moment to respond.
“Thank you. I—I shall use it for the wee ones, also.”
The corners of his eyes lifted in a smile. Kindness lingered in his expression. He is attractive, no denying that. Her pulse increased.
Mary broke the spell. “We had baths two days ago, Papa. Tell her we do not need to bathe today.”
Matthew glanced at his children. “Mary, Mark, Heather is here to take care of you and assist me with chores around the farm. Please try to be helpful. Though we do not know her well yet, she seems to be, well, a reasonable sort. Mary, do you understand what I am saying?”
“Yes, Papa. But, she is not my real mama, and she never will be.” Visibly upset, Mary ran from the table to the small alcove.
A worried frown formed as he got up and followed his distraught daughter, leaving Mark shaking his head.
The boy resumed eating, and Heather returned to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. She had no intention of taking the place of the girl’s mother. Opening her satchel, she set about emptying it onto the bed. They can have all the time they need to get used to me.
The few items were but a meager reminder of what her previous life had been. The Douglas men had certainly made an adequate living. In her twenty-eight years, she had acquired many nice things, all left behind by her sudden departure. Studying her few remaining possessions, she shook her head. How little she missed what she had abandoned. What she did regret were the illusions, now shattered, and the desires, never to be fulfilled.
She shook out the blue muslin and calico dress. Ah, the wrinkles in it and the petticoat would be remedied simply enough by letting it hang out in the sultry weather. The shift would do as nightclothes. She would wash all of these garments later, as they were barely cleaner than what she wore. Thankfully, she had brought another pair of shoes and stockings. She had been foolish not to bring more.
She clutched a soft blue and green tartan shawl to her. No longer a Douglas; now a Stewart. Nay, she would always be a Douglas and wear the tartan. She was a Stewart in name only, certainly not in her heart. After placing her worn Bible, hair comb, and cap in one of the dresser drawers, she went back to the main room to see about locating the tub.
Matthew Stewart was near the door, ready to leave. “I will be in the south field.” He pointed in the direction of the door. “The henhouse backs up to the barn. You might get the eggs and feed the chickens. Kindly has been milked, so you need not bother about that.”
His directions made little sense.
A slow smile crept over his face. “Kindly is our milk cow. I will be back mid-afternoon for dinner. Oh, and about Mary.” His embarrassment was evident. “I told her she is to show you the same respect she would any adult. If she is rude again, I want you to tell me. I think she is out of sorts with all the changes.”
“I understand, Mr. Stewart. I will do my best to calm her fears.”
He studied her for a moment, nodded his head, and walked out the door.
He was an unnerving individual, but there was no use fretting about it. He was gone. Now, to find the tub and finally bathe. But first, she would see that the youngsters were occupied.
They were sitting in the alcove on their pallet, playing a game.
“I will be outside for a bit, children. I need to do some wash.” With a clear conscience, she went to the side of the cottage and searched under the porch. Not there. She soon found it on the other side of the well. She pulled the large, pitch-coated wooden tub to the stairs. How was she to get it up the steps and into the house? It was a warm day, so she decided to bathe outside. To fill the tub faster, she dragged it to where the water barrel was located, near the well.
With cool water in the tub, she added some steaming water from the hearth. Everything she needed was assembled nearby. She gazed in each direction, assuring herself no one was around. Peeling her clothes off, she lowered herself into the tub, moaning in utter delight. Aye, an answer to prayer. She smiled and completely submersed herself. With the soap Matthew had given her, she began lathering and scrubbing from head to foot with a vengeance. No lingering when the job was done. She did not want to be caught by the children in her immodest state.
Once dry, she put on the blue muslin dress, feeling more invigorated than she had in weeks. As she hummed an old Scottish melody and began lacing up her shoes, she glanced up to see Mary watching.
“You surprised me. I was unaware you were there.” She pointed to a basket. “Please bring over that pile of soiled clothes. I will wash them with my own.”
“You look different.” Mary gathered the items to be washed.
“I imagine I do.” She laughed and wrapped a cloth around her long, wet hair. “When I finish the wash, would you like to help me with the chickens?”
“No, I think not.” Mary pointed down the hill. “There is a pond over there that I have not been to in a long time. It used to have ducks on it.”
Heather shaded her eyes from the morning sun and glanced in the direction the child indicated. It was inviting and beautiful, particularly the way the large trees draped their long thin stems of lacy leaves down to the water. Delicate trees with creamy white blossoms grew amidst tall oaks and pines. Three deer stood sheltered at the edge of the woods. She smiled at Mary. It might be an opportunity to become better acquainted with the child.
“Mary, the three of us can go down to the pond after the chickens are taken care of. We can take some bread along in case we do find some ducks.”
“No. I want to go down there now.” Mary stamped her foot on the ground, staring straight at her. “I shall take Mark and watch him. You do not need to come.”
This was not going well. “I, too, would like to see the pond, and I will be happy to go with both of you when I am finished with the chores. It would be dangerous for the two of you to go alone, so please wait.”
The angry child turned and stomped back to the cottage.
Heather soaked the soiled garments, unconvinced she had won the battle. Discouraged, she sat on a stump and combed out her hair so it would dry in the sun while she finished the wash. Befriending the child would take time. Both of them would need to make adjustments.
Once the laundry was washed, she draped everything over the nearby boxwood hedge. The chickens needed addressing. “What do I know about live chickens?” She marched toward the henhouse. “Nothing. All I have ever done is cook them. Well, how difficult can gathering eggs be?” Inside the small dwelling, she looked around at all the cubicles. Most animals sense when you are tentative, so act like you know what you are doing. She reached under a hen and felt with her fingertips until she located the egg but jumped when the chicken started clucking. Several other hens began to voice their concerns. Ten minutes later, when she left the henhouse, she spotted Mary not ten feet away. “Look.” She grinned and held out the basket to show her bounty.
A Heart Set Free Page 6