“Did you tell him to take good care of Beautiful?” she asked.
“Aye. Your mare’s in good hands with Lucky.”
As he hurried toward the pasture, Bear’s heart beat faster than normal with both anticipation and foreboding. Hopefully, nothing would be amiss with the strangers and their trip would just mean he would see his family sooner than planned. Most of all, he couldn’t wait to wrap his arms around his nephew, Little John, and give the lad a huge hug.
Artis hastily closed and latched all the shutters and then locked and barred the front door, since Bear always came in the back door. In no time, she finished packing the bags she’d set on their bearskin covered bed, cramming as many clothes and toiletries into the traveling cases as she could fit. After she dressed in the morning, she would need to remember her brush, comb, and silver hair clasp too. With her long wavy hair, forgetting those would be a disaster.
News of the strangers disturbed her too, but perhaps ‘twas all a misunderstanding and they posed no threat to Sam or his family. She prayed it would be so.
She couldn’t wait to meet Bear’s oldest brother. After all the stories she had heard Bear tell of his brother, a former captain in the Continental Army, she realized how much Sam meant to Bear. And, how much he admired Sam for his bravery and high standards.
Bear described Catherine as an elegant, nearly regal woman who loved fashion and fine things—far different from Artis. She owned only one truly fine article of clothing—her wedding dress—and she wasn’t about to stuff that beautiful gown into the little bag. Generally, she preferred plain gowns and sturdy boots, but she recently purchased a fashionable but simple royal blue gown and matching slippers that she thought would work for Christmas. She added two of her plain everyday gowns. They would just have to do until she found the time to have more new gowns made. For traveling, she laid out her olive green riding habit because it was her most comfortable.
When she could think of nothing else to pack, she sat their bags on the floor against the wall and smoothed out the bearskin blanket covering their bed. Just last night, Bear had made love to her beneath that warm haven for their passion. Her face warmed with the memory of the ecstasy of being wrapped in his strong arms and the way he’d made her cry out in pleasure. He was so gentle, loving, and tender. Yet each time they made love, he released a fury of intense lust and fervent feelings that burst from deep within her.
And, when needed, he could also release an entirely different kind of fury on an enemy. Shortly after they were married, she had witnessed that terrible ferocity first hand.
She hoped she would never have to see it again.
Bear woke Artis with a kiss. “Time to rise my love.”
She opened her eyes to a room still dark, without even a hint of dawn. Excited about their first trip together, Artis didn’t mind the early hour and came instantly awake.
After quickly dressing, Bear left to go saddle both horses.
While he was gone, she washed up, brushed and secured her long hair with her silver clasp, and tugged her woolen hose over her cold toes. After securing the warm stockings with garters, she donned her riding habit over her shift and pulled on her leather boots. Then she attached the sheaths for her dirk and pistol to her wide leather belt, strapped it on, and stuck the weapons in place. She slipped the strap for the bag containing her powder and ball over her head and beneath her hair. Next, she grabbed the gold wool traveling coat that Bear bought for her recently. It would be warm, practical, and durable. And the vented back of the coat allowed movability, always desirable when riding a powerful steed.
She was ready. For what, exactly, she didn’t know. But she guessed it would be an exciting adventure. She loved the thought of that. As long as she was with Bear, she would be happy.
Carrying her traveling coat, brown leather gloves, and her favorite dark green bonnet, Artis hurried to the kitchen. Setting the warm clothing aside, she found a sack to put their food in. She included a miniature pot of butter, four apples, and a half-block of cheese. After wrapping it in a towel, she added a bottle of wine. She didn’t want to arrive empty handed. After all, it was a Christmas celebration. Lastly, she tossed in the two large loaves of bread she had baked yesterday afternoon. She smiled, pleased that she had finally mastered how to make a decent loaf of bread.
The bag was getting full, but she squeezed in the coffee, a small pot, and two pewter cups. After securely tying it closed, she sat it near the back door.
Using sand from the pail she kept by each fireplace, she put out the fires in the hearths, making sure both no longer smoked. With her heart filled with excitement, she raced to the back entrance.
Bear opened the door and nearly ran into her. Grabbing her, he asked, “Ready my love?”
“Ready for what?” she teased with a wink.
“If only we could,” Bear said, “but we dare na take the time.”
“I was only jestin’ with ye my lusty husband,” she said as she tugged her gloves on and then donned her heavy coat. “Our travelin’ bags are packed and sittin’ next to the wall by the bed. I’ve locked up everythin’ too. I think there’s naught left for ye to do but load our bags.”
Bear hurried back to their bedroom to retrieve their baggage.
Artis put the bonnet over her head and tied its ribbon securely under her chin. It was her one concession to fashion. Called a calash, the hat would protect her face and hair from wind and weather. With its whalebone stiffening and ribbons, the calash's silk hood would remain securely on her head, even in a strong wind.
Finished dressing, she tied the food bag onto Glasgow’s saddle with a sturdy rope. “Ready for a ride my big fine lad?” She stroked the horse’s shiny black coat. Bear must have brushed Glasgow well before saddling the stallion. Every one of the well-muscled horse’s movements caught the light from the torch hanging on the outside wall.
She glanced up when Bear came out with their bags, his broad shoulders and brawny arms carrying their traveling cases as if they weighed nothing at all. After he tied their bags securely on the horses, locked up, and put out the torch, they both mounted.
Bear glanced over at her. “Ready?”
“Aye. Let’s be off then,” she said. She smiled at her braw handsome husband and once again thanked the good Lord for bringing Bear to her. Or perhaps, God brought her to Bear. Either way, they were destined to meet.
Destined to spend their lives loving one another.
And, when necessary, protecting each other and their families.
Chapter 6
Cumberland Falls Horse Farm, Kentucky, Monday, 19 December, 1799
“Then everything is fine?” Catherine asked the midwife as she awkwardly sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She gripped the bed covering in one of her fists as she waited for the woman’s answer.
“No my dear, it is not. But all may be well yet. I think the babe’s head may be under your right rib. When he stretches or moves it causes you discomfort.”
“He?”
“The babe takes after the Captain—big and tall. Your child is already so sizeable, I strongly suspect you will bear a son. He’s long and that may be why he is stuck where he is for now.”
“I thought the head was supposed to face down.”
The mid-wife nodded. “It is.” Mrs. Smith tried to smile, but Catherine could see worry clouding the woman’s eyes.
Catherine’s heart pounded in her chest. She could not lose another baby. It would be the death of her. And probably Sam too. His greatest fear—no his only fear—had always been losing her.
She reached out and gripped the midwife’s hand. “Mrs. Smith, what does this mean, exactly?”
“Well, that depends. The babe could still turn in time. But the closer it gets to your time, the less likely it is your babe will flip because there’s just not enough room. If he does turn, then you would have a normal delivery.”
“And if he doesn’t?” She couldn’t keep her voice from tremb
ling.
“Let’s just pray that he does turn. Then all will be well.”
“But what if he comes early and hasn’t turned yet?” She tried to ignore the dread clenching her heart.
“Then your delivery could be…difficult,” the woman replied in a low, flat voice.
A wretchedness filled Catherine’s mind. Tears started to burn her eyes and she swallowed against the tightness in her throat. “Mrs. Smith, do not tell Mr. Wyllie any of this. He’s worried enough as it is. Let’s wait until your next visit and if my baby’s position still poses a problem, I’ll tell him then.”
Mrs. Smith lifted her brows, but nodded her agreement. Grabbing her heavy cloak, she said, “Knowing the Captain, that may be wise. I’ll be back in a couple of days. In the meantime, I want you to drink at least five cups of coffee a day. The stimulant in it will make the babe more active and perhaps cause him to turn. The babe’s movement may cause even more soreness on your side. Just remember, what you’re feeling is just his head pressing into your ribs. Your boy needs to get back where he belongs.”
“I will pray unceasingly that he does so,” Catherine said. Her eyes traveled over Mrs. Smith’s face, searching for hope or reassurance. But the woman’s gaze dropped, disturbing her even more.
Mrs. Smith turned toward the bedroom door and said, “I must hurry away before your husband has a chance to grill me like an insubordinate soldier under his command.”
Catherine’s hands trembled as she opened the front door for Mrs. Smith and bid her goodbye from the porch. As she watched the woman’s wagon roll away, a cold knot formed in her stomach and tears welled in her eyes. She pressed her fingers against her mouth to keep from crying out. A breech baby meant significant risk for both the mother and the child. She shuddered at the terrifying thought and gave up trying to hold back the tears that flowed down her cheeks. Pulling up her apron, she wiped her tears, but they kept coming, just as fast as her worried thoughts.
Her baby wasn’t even born, yet even now he faced terrible danger.
Little John spent most of the day playing in the nearby creeks, woods, and meadows, collecting treasures like feathers and pretty rocks that he kept in a secret nook inside one of the sheds. He couldn’t wait until summer, when he could climb trees, watch tadpoles wiggle in muddy puddles, admire butterflies as they flittered through the weeds and wildflowers, and discover salamanders hiding under cool rocks in the stream.
It was harder to find interesting things to collect in the winter, but sometimes he got lucky. Today, he even found an arrowhead. When he got cold, he went inside to show it to Mrs. Wrigley and his mother. He often warmed up in the kitchen so Mrs. Wrigley wouldn’t get lonely. He kept her company while he drank warm tea and ate the cookies she’d always give him. He wanted to show his mother the arrowhead, but Mrs. Wrigley told him she was busy with the midwife, so he went out the back door and started down the trail leading away from their house, intending to go hunt rabbits. But as soon as he heard voices on the front porch he stopped.
He watched, hidden behind a large pine tree as the midwife left their house. When her wagon passed by him, Mrs. Smith’s wrinkled face was frowning even more than usual.
The old woman shook her head and muttered loudly, “I’m going to lose sleep over this one.”
That made him think something was wrong.
The midwife snapped the wagon team’s reins harshly and hurried away.
He wasn’t exactly sure what a midwife did, but when he’d asked, his Pa told him that the woman would help his mother with delivering the baby that grew inside of her. Then, he’d asked why the midwife came today, because his mother didn’t act as if she was having a baby now. His Pa said it was to be sure everything was all right.
That meant something might not be right. Judging by the look on the woman’s face, the midwife’s visit must not have gone well.
He shifted his face to the other side of the tree trunk and glanced back at his mother. She still stood on the porch. Her eyes gleamed as though she wanted to cry. Then she clasped her hands to her mouth as if she were trying to hold something in. But it didn’t work. She started crying.
The sight caused him to fret even more and he didn’t feel much like hunting now. His rifle clutched tightly in his hands, he turned into the woods. His lips quivered and his eyes burned. He wanted to get away. Somewhere where he could cry without anyone noticing.
What if she died, just like his first mother did?
Worry squeezed his chest and made him shiver. He began walking faster as scary thoughts built in his mind. Soon he started to run. His boots hit soggy earth, now and then, where the sun’s rays poked through the bare tree branches, melting the snow. In other places, his strides crossed patches of thick snow nestled in the shade of evergreen trees.
He’d known panic only once before, when he’d fallen into that hidden cave. It felt just like this. Like he was falling into something black and terrifying.
A stab of guilt pierced Catherine’s heart. She’d been unable to safely bring her first baby into this world. Would this child suffer the same fate because of her? She closed her eyes, her heart aching with remembered grief for one child and mounting fear for the other.
Because she loved Sam so dearly, she already deeply loved this babe. She didn’t even know it was possible to love as much as she loved this infant still growing inside her. She glanced down and placed a hand on her belly. She could almost feel the child reaching out for his mother’s love—a love that was special and unique—and without a doubt a gift from above.
Remember what you told Little John, suddenly came into her head. Bowing her head, she promptly did as she’d bid the boy. She simply asked God to keep her and her baby safe and give her courage. Feeling better, she stood there a moment, letting the cool air soothe her face and calm her heated emotions. She dried her eyes with the corner of her apron, took a few deep breaths of the pine scented air, and let them out slowly. With each new breath, her heart felt more at ease.
As the noisy wagon disappeared down the road, Catherine composed herself and wiped her face in time to hide her tears before Sam sprinted up to the porch.
“Damn that ornery old woman. She left without speaking to me. Well? What did she have to say?”
Catherine hesitated not wanting to lie to Sam. “She thinks I will bear a big healthy son.”
Sam’s eyes widened and his face lit with joy. “A son?”
“Yes, Sam. She thinks it’s a boy because he’s so big. She thinks he’ll be tall, like you. Speaking of tall boys, where’s Little John?”
“He asked permission earlier to hunt rabbit and I told him to be back before dark. I should have made him stay close to the house after what happened this morning.”
“I’m sure those men are well on their way back to New Hampshire. They could hardly have mistaken your refusal to sell.”
“Catherine, what about the ache in your side? Did she have any idea what was causing it?”
“Well, he’s so big he’s putting pressure on my right ribs.” It was the truth, just not all of it.
Sam put his strong arms around her and hugged her. He gently pulled her against his broad chest and kissed the top of her head.
She listened to his heart pound in his chest and breathed in his soothing scent. He smelled of horses, wood, and a hint of the tobacco from the pipe he occasionally smoked. His arms tightened around her and, feeling wrapped in the cocoon of her husband’s love, she relaxed. His touch was so comforting it almost made her want to cry again. “I love you Sam.”
“And I love you, Catherine. You’re my treasure.”
Sam had first called her his treasure when she’d finally revealed that she was a wealthy woman—very wealthy in fact. She’d kept it a secret, wanting to be sure he was marrying her for the right reasons. After their wedding, and their first night together, his tenderness and passion for pleasing her convinced Catherine that he truly loved her. He was so unlike her cold first husband who ha
d married her for prestige and gain, certainly not love. The way Sam made love to her on their honeymoon at Cumberland Falls, and ever since then, conveyed that he truly treasured her. As she did him.
If only they could always be this happy together.
He pressed his mouth to hers. The warmth of his lips and the feel of his strong arms removed the chill she’d buried within her heart and filled her with renewed hope.
Little John swiped at the tears streaming down his cheeks. He couldn’t let anyone see him like this, especially his Pa. He believed a man should strive to be strong and brave—always.
But right now, he didn’t feel brave and he certainly didn’t feel like a man. Ashamed, he admitted to himself that he was merely a frightened boy.
He was scared stiff that his mother would die.
What did she say he should do when he was worried? Talk to God. He’d never talked to the Lord about anything important before. Just silly boy stuff and prayers at the table to say thanks for his food and family.
He tried to decide what he should tell God. He never felt much for his first mother, except maybe sadness that he never got a chance to know her. He remembered her name—Diana—although he knew little else about her. And, while he felt affection whenever he thought about Diana, he never actually felt love for her.
He loved Catherine. She was his mother now and always would be…unless she died. He wanted God to let her stay with him. He didn’t want her to go live in heaven. She needed to live here with him and Pa. His Pa loved her. A whole lot. He could tell. She couldn’t die. That’s what he would pray for!
Please don’t let her die. My Pa and I need her. Please. Amen.
But would God listen? Would she die anyway? Angered, at the thought, he stopped abruptly, his heart pounding. “No!” he screamed into the forest. “Let her stay!”
He leaned over and tried to catch his breath. His heaving chest felt as if it would burst. How long had he been running? He leaned his back and head against a big tree, breathing hard.
Frontier Gift of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 5) Page 6