“Aye, we are, particularly Mr. Stewart, but he has taken on a hand until after the harvesting time.” Her brow furrowed at the reference to Travis Thorpe.
“And the children? They appear to be doing well.”
“Well, the truth is, they miss your family a great deal. They were very happy being with your wee ones. With their father occupied most of the time, I am their sole companion.”
Maggie’s glance was full of empathy as she placed the boiled carrots in a dish.
Heather took the dish to the table. “I fear this has been a bit hard on Mary.”
“Hmm, aye, I can see where she might have a problem.” Maggie nodded as she wiped her chapped hands on her apron. “Have you met your neighbors yet? I am sure their children would be companions for Mary and Mark.”
“Aye, at church services I met the Turners and some other neighbors who live farther away. Oh, and I met the Whitcombs.”
She did not miss how Maggie’s eyebrows lifted when she mentioned the Whitcombs. “Hmm. Better call everyone to dinner.”
The conversation during the meal was amiable. She felt a bit left out but not by anyone’s actions or words. It was her own introspection and her changeable emotions throughout the day— excitement, sadness, shyness, independence, and now confusion. What was ailing her? Was she being overly sensitive of her precarious position in this family? Would she ever get beyond this sense of defeat, this emptiness, this restlessness, this isolation?
Maggie touched her arm, interrupting her introspection. “Would you care for a piece of pie?”
“Nay. I am not very hungry. I will clean the dishes.” She got up and collected the soiled dishes, grateful to escape the group. As she scraped the plates, she listened to their conversation.
Matthew reached for his steaming tankard of coffee. “We saw quite a few ships at the wharf while we were in town. Makes one wonder what the state of our trade is with Britain these days, now that the Townsend Act has been repealed.”
“We still have duty on the importation of tea. That is why we are drinking more coffee these days.” Adam poured some of the hot brew for himself. “Did Maggie tell you the widow MacKenzie married old Harry Walker only a month ago?”
“No, Adam. But I have always tried to avoid that particular subject. How is old Harry? Still doing poorly?”
“Well, when I learned he was marrying Hattie, I was certain the gout had spread to his head, but I saw him last week at Reed’s smithy, and he was as fit as can be, not even limping as bad as usual.” Adam laughed. “Says Hattie treats him like a king. But the Walkers are not as comical as Reed himself since he married that lass he bought from the ship.”
Matthew’s eyes met Heather’s before he glanced at his friend. “How so?”
“Do you remember the lively little wench Thomas Reed bought? Well, I have never seen a more blatant example of—”
“Adam Duncan, stop your gossiping.” Maggie tapped him on the arm.
“That is hard to believe of Reed.” Matthew sounded surprised. “But if she is in any danger, Adam, you should notify the proper authorities.”
“The lass is in no danger, Matt. It is poor Thomas I am worried about. Why, that tiny female has a ring through that big ox’s nose. He is so besotted with her that he has become her slave. He follows her around like a puppy dog, with her shouting orders at him on the street and even in his shop. It is all so amusing.”
Heather continued drying the dishes, but she worked quietly, so she would not miss a word. She wiped the dampness from her hands. Was Millie in duress? She almost dropped the clean dish when Adam roared with laughter.
She glanced at Matthew and caught him studying her. She turned her back, wanting not to appear at all interested in what they were discussing. Millie may have behaved a bit strangely at times, but after all, they had shared a similar fate.
Matthew and Maggie apparently enjoyed Adam’s story, for they laughed right along with him. Were her own situation or mood different, she might also have seen the humor in the reversal of the Reeds’ relationship. But now, she only craved fresh air and a chance to subdue her restlessness. She would go outside, check on the children, and take a short walk.
The children were playing together in an empty lot next to the house. She made her way along the stone path in front of the dwelling and reflected on her inner distress. Today had truly been a wonderful day, so why was it so difficult to enjoy it? She continued down the street and up the other side. Lord, I have been so wrapped up in myself. I am sorry. When I focus on You, I see the beauty in the world, the way You have protected me, and I have peace. But when I focus inward ... I grow sad. Please help me get beyond this, Father. Show me the way.
The children were disappointed when it came time for the Stewarts to return home. Mary was only quieted after Maggie assured her that very soon they would make a trip out to the country. When the children were in the wagon, Maggie brought out a large package and drew close to Heather standing by the front door.
“I asked Matthew if you might be able to find a use for these, and he allowed that you would. Feel free to enjoy them.”
“Free? I am anything but free.”
Matthew walked by, his brow furrowed as he glanced her way.
Heather took the bundle. “Thank you for being so kind to me. You have a delightful family, including the beautiful babe.”
“I want to help, in any way that I can.” Maggie gave her arm a squeeze. The openness and sincerity of the woman touched her fragile emotions. Tears came, and she trembled. With an arm around her for support, Maggie walked her to the wagon, where Matthew helped her onto her seat. Farewells given, the Stewarts were on their way.
Matthew was eager to get started home; it had been an enjoyable time but also a long day. The trip out of town was quiet except for the cheerful chatter of the children in back. They were headed west and into the sinking sun.
When all was quiet, he glanced over his shoulder. The children were asleep—just what he had hoped for, so he could question Heather. He had imagined she would appreciate a trip to Alexandria, a day to get away from mundane chores and enjoy being around people.
He glanced to his side. She was twisting a tendril of pale golden hair that had escaped her cap, a tendency of hers when she was contemplative. Her lips were closed and turned down. A pity. Her smiles were so engaging. Something was ailing her. “I thought it was a nice day. Did something happen or was something said to trouble you, Heather? You seemed, well, uncomfortable.”
“It was a very pleasant day, Mr. Stewart. If I seemed ill at ease, if I disappointed you, I am sorry. The Duncans are very nice people.” She glanced away.
“You have not disappointed me in any way.” Her mood certainly seemed capricious today. Was she on the verge of tears again? “Do you want to talk about what is distressing you?” How was he to approach her so she would tell him why she was so unhappy? Hers was too pretty a face to be so glum.
“Heather?”
“Nay. Nay, sir, I ... cannot.”
“Perhaps another time.” He would make it his goal to break through her shell. “It appears that you were successful on your errands today. Did you find all you were looking for?” That will surely perk up her spirits. What woman does not like to shop?
“I did. I found fabric for clothes and some notions so that I can help Mary with some sewing skills. Thank you again for allowing me to shop.”
“No need to thank me. It just was the most natural and reasonable thing to do.”
The remainder of the time on their trip home passed quickly, especially when Mary and Mark awakened. He listened to the children’s conversation as they approached the lane that led to the cottage. “We are almost home. Perhaps we could have a light supper once everything is unloaded.”
Heather nodded. “I will put something together.”
“Thank you. I hope Thorpe’s day went well.”
He glanced in Heather’s direction again. She appeared deep in thought. Sh
e sat so straight. What had happened to this lovely woman that made her erect such a wall? It was obvious that below her reserved exterior, she was in turmoil. Patience, man. It would take time to figure this all out.
CHAPTER 14
Why was it so difficult to sleep? Was it the confusing dreams that made her pitch and turn in bed? Their faces were so angry and full of accusations. The disillusionment on her father’s face was unbearable. She rolled and clutched her pillow. Someone was threatening her, but it was impossible to make out who. The sound of a child crying woke her.
“Mark!” Heather climbed out of bed and reached for the cotton shawl. She dashed out of the room, her feet bare and her hair hanging in loose waves around her shoulders. Matthew sat on the children’s pallet, leaning over the crying boy. Mary was curled up in a chair, sleepy and looking annoyed by the disturbance.
“What is wrong with Mark?”
“He has a fever and lost his supper.” Matthew sounded worried as he gently wiped his son’s face with a damp cloth.
Her eyes traveled back and forth between the two children and their father. It appeared they all had experienced a rough night.
“Mary, you go sleep in my bed. I will dress and watch over Mark.”
Without any argument, the little girl allowed herself to be guided to the bedroom and into the large comfortable bed, where she quickly drifted off to sleep.
Heather dressed and returned to Matthew and Mark. “You must be tired, Mr. Stewart. Try to get some sleep. I can watch Mark and bathe him down.”
He sighed, rubbing his hand over a full day’s growth of beard. “Perhaps I will sleep for a while, but if he continues to get sick, or if the fever gets worse, wake me, and I will go for the doctor.”
She reached out and touched his hand. “It may have been something he ate that disagreed with him, or perhaps the excitement of the day.” She hoped to convince herself as well as him. “I promise to wake you if there is any change. Please do not worry. He is a strong laddie.”
“I should not wait too long to get the doctor if he worsens.” He sounded exhausted as he climbed the wooden ladder to the loft and his bed.
She continued to sponge off the restless and whimpering child. Mark had been a bit flushed when they led the children into the house after the trip. Travis had helped Matthew unload the wagon while Mary sliced some bread and poured cider. Why had she not noticed that Mark was unusually quiet when she set out the bread, fruit, and cheese? Aye, she should have realized that he was more than tired when he ate only a few bites and sat so quiet at the table.
She studied the lad, now resting so still, cheeks too pink. Fear filled her as her thoughts turned to Katie and Emily. Please, Lord, let his sleep bring the fever down. Save him and heal him. For the next hour, she kept a vigil, continually changing the damp cloths. But the child grew fitful and perspired more. The clock on the table showed it was not even three o’clock. It would be hours until daylight.
She hated to disturb Matthew, but she had made a promise to wake him. Thunder rumbled in the distance. She climbed the ladder to see into the loft. It was a shame to wake Matthew, but she nudged his arm.
Dazed at first from his sound sleep, his eyes met hers.
“Mark’s fever feels higher.”
He grabbed his shirt and followed her down the ladder.
He placed his hand on Mark’s brow. “He is hot. It may mean that the fever will break, but we cannot take a chance. I will go for Doctor Edwards. I should be back within an hour or two. Thank you for seeing to him.” He rested his hand lightly on her shoulder.
“Be careful, sir. It sounds like another storm is coming.”
She moved the chair over next to the pallet and continued putting the cool damp cloths on the boy’s brow.
“Thirsty.” Mark’s voice was no more than a whisper.
She gave him small sips of water, fearing he would not keep it down. There was not much more to do for him. He was not lucid enough for her to read to or even tell him a story, as her mother had done with her when she was small. She would sit and wait.
She leaned back in the chair, thinking of another time, another place, and another one she took care of. From the time her father was first stricken, until his death over seven years later, she had assumed total charge of his care. Aye, she had grown weary of being his nurse, thinking that would be all life had in store for her. Who would marry her when so much of her life was consumed with taking care of her father? Waves of guilt engulfed her. He was her father, and she truly loved him. It was not his fault he was unable to care for himself. Would he not have taken care of her if she had fallen ill? Ashamed of her selfishness, she resolved to try harder to give of herself with a cheerful heart.
For the first four years, Father was still able to take care of most of his physical needs. It was his lapse in memory that would cause problems, or his incessant chatter, or demands that would drive her to the point of losing patience. Then came that day when Angus Douglas suffered his most severe attack. This time, the paralysis did not all disappear, and his speech became practically nonexistent. Over time, he made only minor improvements.
Sitting in the chair beside Mark’s pallet, she put her head back and closed her eyes. She remembered the hurt on her father’s face when he accused her of bringing shame on the family. If only he had lived long enough to learn the truth.
Heather opened her eyes with a start when Mark called out to her. He was lying very still on the pallet but looked much improved. She changed the damp cloth on his head and noticed that he was much cooler now. The fever had finally broken. “Thank you, Lord.” She pulled the thin blanket up and covered him. “You are going to be fine now, Mark.” She got up and stretched, still watching the child as he fell back asleep. The tension gradually left her weary body. She needed some fresh air, and Mark was well enough for her to step outside for a few minutes. Dawn would soon be here.
She sat on the stoop, enjoying the tranquility of the early morning. It was still dark, too early for the birds and animals to herald in the dawn, but the cool breeze was refreshing against her damp dress, face, and hair. The heat and anxiety of the last few hours had left her spent, but now a peace filled her heart.
She walked to the well to refill the water pitcher and took a drink from the gourd.
“The boy doin’ any better? Mr. Stewart said he was ailin’ when he took off for the doctor.”
She gasped, dropped the gourd, and turned. Travis Thorpe was standing directly behind her. “You startled me, Mr. Thorpe. I had no idea you would be up yet. Aye, Mark is much better. Now, if you would excuse me, I had better take this in—”
“I am sure his papa will be relieved to hear that when he gets back.” Travis stepped in front of her.
A growing sense of alarm robbed her of the peace she had finally found after the long night. She stood back and glared at the large man, dressed only in breeches, blocking her path.
“I expect him back any minute, as he did not have far to go.” She hoped he did not discern the uneasiness in her voice.
“He may be gone longer than you think, little lady.” He was leering at her again as he stepped closer.
“Why?” Had something happened to Matthew? Had he done something to Matthew?
As she backed away, her concern for Matthew’s whereabouts and safety was overshadowed by fear for her own. She was backing in the direction of the barn, with fewer options for easy escape. She attempted to dart to his right. Not fast enough. Travis reached out and grabbed her arm.
“Leave me alone!” She began beating wildly at him and kicking all the while. But his grip on her grew stronger. Her efforts to free herself only appeared to incite him more. As he picked her up and carried her toward the barn, the bitter taste of fear rose in her throat. Her head hit the frame of the barn door, which stunned her. Oh, the throbbing. What was he saying?
Inside, the barn was dark, and the smell of the hay and animals was almost obscured by his odor. He dropped her dow
n onto the hay.
“Let me go!”
“Now, little lady, do not make me hurt you. You should be a little sweeter to me. I see the way you sneer at me, always trying to avoid me. You think you are better’n me, but I know the truth about you. Your services are bought and paid for, just like mine.”
She tried swallowing the bile rising in her throat. He reeked of ale and sweat. How do I get my footing and escape this madman?
“Here, a little something to drink will loosen you up and make you friendlier.” He handed her a jug.
She forced a smile to her lips and a shaky hand out to reach the jug. It was the only weapon available. “Aye, perhaps that would help.”
His breathing became deeper and more uneven.
With all her strength, she took the jug and threw it toward his face, launching herself in the direction of the open door. He grabbed her around the middle, knocking the wind from her. By the time she got her breath back, she was down on the pile of hay again.
“You should not have done that. Now be still, or I will have to get rough with you.” He reached for the jug. He dropped down beside her and drank from it, one large hand holding tightly onto her wrists.
“Here, you have some.”
“Nay. I do not want it.”
“Do not fight me.” He became more enraged and grabbed her hair, forcing some of the burning liquid down her throat.
She choked as she reached out and grabbed Travis’ face, scratching him.
He made a guttural sound, threw the bottle against the wall, and dropped onto her squirming body. She flinched as his mouth came down on hers. One hand played with her hair while the other was at her throat.
“Please let me go.” She gasped for air when he finally took his mouth off hers.
He frowned as he wiped a tear from her cheek. “I do not want to hurt you, really. You should talk nice to me.”
“You are frightening me.” Tears flowed into her tangled hair. Please, Lord God, help me escape.
He continued wiping the tears from her face. His caresses, though more gentle, did nothing to subdue her fears.
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