The midday sun beat on his tired shoulders. Dragging his feet to the back door, he opened it only to hear a baby’s cry. He stopped to check his surroundings. “Do I have the correct house?”
Sarah came running, but stopped short, more than an arm’s reach away. “Joseph. Yer home.” She picked at her apron.
“It appears that way.” He smiled. “I wasn’t sure at first. Who is crying?”
“Da.” Wee Joseph ran to him.
Joseph dropped his bag and picked his boy up over his head, swinging him around. The child laughed with glee. Lowering him back to the floor, Wee Joseph grabbed his father’s hand. “Da. Come see. Come see Wee John.”
“Wee John?” Joseph peered at Sarah for understanding as his son pulled him up the stairs.
Sarah followed behind while Wee Joseph mounted each step, never letting go of Joseph’s hand. “Him is a babe and I want him. I want him to be my brodder.”
Did he hear that right? Sarah wouldn’t use Wee Joseph to press her side, would she? Who was this baby? Where had he come from?
“Show me your friend, Wee Joseph.”
The lad reached the top of the steps and stared back as if his father were quite dense. “Him’s not my friend. I want him for my brodder.” And then he continued to pull Joseph down the hall.
The room had been altered in his absence to look more like a nursery. The cradle lay at the foot of his son’s bed, and Bridget rocked a small baby while holding a horn of some kind to his mouth.
“Him’s Wee John. Can we keep him, Da?”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Joseph stared into Wee Joseph’s pleading eyes searching for something logical to say. “Son, I need to speak with your mother about this. Would you help Bridget while we go talk?”
Wee Joseph took on a serious expression and nodded.
Joseph held the door for Sarah and followed her into the hall.
Now he faced a quandary. Did they go to her room? Could he even again enter it? He surely couldn’t take her to his room. She might see it as if he’d changed his mind.
“Shall we go downstairs to yer study?” Sarah felt his discomfort. Just as always. His heart clenched at her beauty, and he forced himself to not reach for her hand.
“Aye. After you.” He directed toward the front stairs.
She led the way. Stepping further into the room, she seemed intent on keeping space between them, for which he was grateful.
“I’m supposing ye want an explanation.” She tucked her hands behind her back and rocked onto her toes.
He sat on the edge of his desk. “That might help. Do you want me to ask questions or do you just want to tell me?”
“I’ll just tell ye.” She took the chair behind the desk.
The hair on the back of his head tingled, but he ignored it. This was Sarah. He would listen to what she had to say. He changed his seat to the other chair.
“I found the wain on our doorstep. Anne investigated while Bridget and I cared for him. Oh, Joseph, he couldn’t have been more than a day old. And so hungry and angry. Anne taught us how to make the feeder horn and later found his mother.”
Was that a tear in her eye? She took a breath and blinked quickly. “Wee John’s mother was an abused young lass. If it had been discovered she was with child, there’s no telling what would have happened. A friend helped her…”
“You mean no one even knew she carried a child? No one cared for her?” He could not fathom such apathy and neglect. Yet, hadn’t he neglected his family by leaving? No, he protected his wife.
“Aye. She had a friend who did what she could though the mother died. The friend placed the babe in a basket on our step, hoping we might raise her son as one of our own.”
“And you said ‘aye’ without consulting me?” The irritation grew. This was his study. Why again did someone control him from behind a desk—his own desk?
“Nay, Joseph. Of course, I would not do that. I told Wee Joseph we would need to pray about it and ask ye first.”
“You didn’t tell him this was his brother and to ask me if you could keep him?”
“Joseph.” The hurt in her eyes stabbed him. She didn’t lie.
“I’m sorry. I should never have accused.” He started to reach out but remembered and pulled his hand back. “Why John? Who chose his name?”
Sarah smiled. “Our son. I had been telling him Bible stories before bed. He remembered about John the Beloved and decided Jesus loved the babe so he must be named John. Oh, and do not try to call him Johnny. Wee Joseph will correct you. However, you may call him Wee John since our sons carry that title.” Her smile faltered, but she quickly recovered. “Do you have any other questions?”
Carefully watching her face, he realized she was still as beautiful as ever. Yet she glowed with something he’d missed for some time. “Are you sure?”
“Aye, that I am. If yer sure. God supplies my needs. Even to again filling my arms.” She crossed her arms and leaned forward, resting them on the desk. “Joseph, I ken how ye believe. I don’t agree, but if ye won’t…” Her cheeks grew pink and she averted her eyes.
He waited. Perhaps she was right. Maybe God was supplying the family she wanted. As the idea took shape, he smiled. Yes, this could be a blessing in disguise.
“Would ye be willing to give him yer name?”
That came as a shock. Her eyes, those enticing emerald orbs, seemed to beg him. He’d denied her enough. Perhaps he could consider it.
“Might I think on it, Sarah?”
“Aye, of course.” She relaxed, even chuckled slightly.
“Then shall we go back? I’d like to officially meet Wee John.”
He stood and held the door for her, following her back up the stairs to Wee Joseph’s room.
His son had crawled up on Bridget’s lap. Letting the baby hold onto his finger, he sang the lullaby Sarah often sang to him.
Joseph’s heart caught in his throat.
How could he deny this to his family? And this babe would obviously receive more love here than anywhere else.
He reached out to take Wee John from Bridget. “Let me see this laddie.”
“Be careful, Da. Him’s little.”
After adjusting the baby in the crook of his arm, he ruffled Wee Joseph’s dark curls. “I will, son.” He caught Sarah’s gaze and nodded. Her smile said everything he’d hoped.
This could be an answer to his prayer.
If he had prayed.
* * *
“Why must ye again leave? Ye’ve only been home a few weeks.” Sarah stood in the doorway and watched Joseph pack his bag. At least this time he explained first.
“Now that Jacques is a justice of the peace, he cannot leave as easily as before. He’s too busy sending the pirate spies to Dublin. I need to do the traveling for our business. It will not be as long as the last trip.” He never glanced up but kept putting things into his bag.
The trips were a convenient escape. She knew it as sure as she knew her name. He didn’t trust himself with her for long. And that was a good sign. Maybe.
Wee John slept in her arms, finally resting after she’d paced the floor a good hour. She still swayed from side to side, hoping the motion kept him asleep. “Do ye need me to fetch anything for ye?
“No. Thank you. It looks like your hands are full.” He peeked up at that and smiled.
It stabbed her heart.
How could he believe everything would be fixed because they adopted a baby? Aye, God had filled a part of her that had been empty. But a baby didn’t replace a missing husband.
“Why are ye running away again? I’ve done as ye asked.” Why did she say that? She didn’t want to argue, and she didn’t want him to leave on an angry note.
She didn’t want him to leave at all.
“I am not running away. I’ve explained. Sarah, please understand.”
Her temper was getting the best of her, and she felt too tired to fight it. She flipped back a loose tendril with her wrist.
“And why is it that I am the one who must always understand? When are ye going to ken I need a husband?”
Hot tears started down her cheeks. She swiped her arm across her face, disturbing Wee John who began to howl.
“Och. I am tired and hurting and angry and not wanting this conversation right now. Ye promised in yer letter we would talk when ye came home, but ye have yet to keep yer promise.” She put Wee John to her shoulder. “Unlike ye, this babe needs me.” She turned on her heel. Storming into the nursery, she plopped into the rocker.
“Shh, wee one, shh.”
She funneled her temper in rocking, but Wee John would not be pacified.
Putting him in the crook of her arm, she kissed his head. “Then cry, love. Cry for both of us.
* * *
He should have seen that coming. And Sarah was right. He hadn’t kept his promise to talk about things when he came home. But now with the baby, Joseph had hoped they wouldn’t need to talk.
There had been little time to have such a discussion. Wee John claimed Sarah’s attention all through the day and night.
Buckling his portmanteau closed, Joseph decided he would write her from Dublin. He could tell her things in writing that his voice wouldn’t say. Couldn’t say.
But he didn’t want to leave without good-bye. Tiptoeing to the boys’ room, he watched as she rocked and crooned. The poor little one seemed to be wearing himself out.
Sarah raised her gaze. He could see she still cried. Why did he have to hurt her like that?
“Ye can go. God will keep us safe.”
Joseph could feel the angry response start to rise. She baited him, and he wanted to snap back.
Her eyes, boring into his heart, stopped the ugly retort. She had told him the truth. She was tired and hurt. It would do no good to hurt her more.
He swallowed his pride. “God be with you then.”
And he left.
* * *
At dawn, a few days later, Sarah stood in her kitchen heating Wee John’s milk and bouncing him on her hip when someone pounded at her back door.
She hesitated, not knowing whether to open it or not. Leaning to the side of the door, she called out, “Who is it? I have a pistol and I’m not afraid to shoot.” She inspected her empty hands and hoped God would forgive her ruse.
“It’s James Fontaine. My father sent me to bring you and the children to our house.”
Sarah unlatched the door and swung it open. He closed it, quickly re-latching it.
“French corsairs have just pulled into the harbor, and my father has a bad feeling about it. You will be safer with us.”
James, a skinny young man of twenty years, appeared to be a younger version of his father. His brown hair was windblown, and his brown eyes shone in earnest.
She didn’t take the time to thoroughly question him. An urgency in her heart spurred her on.
Bridget, possibly from hearing the noise, came into the kitchen area, tying on an apron and sporting a wide yawn.
“Take Wee John for me, please, Bridget. His milk should be about ready. I will go wake Wee Joseph and dress him. What should we take with us?”
“Where are we going, Mistress Sarah?”
“To our house,” James said. “And bring only what is most necessary for now.”
“Aye, then. Come with me.” Sarah motioned for him to follow her. She led him to her sons’ room. “I will take the rocker and the cradle. And we will need nappies for Wee John. Do ye know how long I should plan for?”
Young master Fontaine shook his head. “There is no way to know. It looks to be retaliation for my father sending the spies off to Dublin.”
She took a moment to think.
I will supply your needs, Sarah.
She nodded and bent over to wake Wee Joseph. “Son, we’re going to go visit Elizabeth, yer friend. Shall we get dressed?”
He nodded his sleepy head, rubbing his fists at his eyes.
“Faster, now, son.” She helped him into his clothes and sent him down to Bridget.
James picked up the rocker, and Sarah put the nappies and changes of clothes in a bag and added it to the cradle before hoisting it to her hip.
“Wait.” Sarah thought of something and thanked God for reminding her. Setting the cradle down, she ran to Joseph’s room.
She felt guilty entering without his invitation, but she knew he would want her to do this. It was nestled in a box on his table. Leaving the box, she grabbed the Huguenot cross pin from his father and sped to her room. There she took her Bible from its place and carried both back to where James waited. Sarah pinned the cross to the blanket lying in the cradle and added her Bible to the bag. “Now I am ready.”
She followed him down the steps.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Sarah locked her house, carrying the cradle full of necessary items. They trudged to the Fontaine fortress, like gypsy refugees Sarah thought. James led the way, carrying the rocker and holding a pistol Sarah hadn’t noticed until they stepped out her door. Bridget followed, holding Wee John in one arm and Wee Joseph’s hand with her free one. Sarah brought up the rear.
They made good time up the bluff where the sturdy stone house with slate roofing stood proud over the harbor. The French privateer could easily be seen from that vantage point.
They arrived minutes before Jacques, who had mustered neighbors into helping with a ruse. He returned, and after Anne found refreshment for his men, he briefly told her and Sarah what had happened.
“I knew that ship could not stay where she was and our house withstand the cannonade. Only twenty men were available, so I handed out the muskets, and we pretended to hide ourselves so they would see us but think we didn’t want notice. Once we reached the top of the bluff directly over the cove, I placed the men behind that large rock there and stood alone on top of it, knowing they could see me. Then I had the men peek out from one side and made a pretense of being angry at their showing themselves. When I turned my head, the men peeked out the other side and I did the same thing. I hoped our enemy would think we had twice the number of supporters as are truly here.” Jacques rubbed his hands together and chuckled. “And it worked dear wife, praise God. We truly hid ourselves well on the way back as soon as we saw them move their ship. They are still out there, but in not so dangerous a position.”
He scrutinized the windows. “We’ll need to shore up the openings and make sure we have our high ground well manned.”
While Jacques set about placing his men, of which only seven of the original remained, Anne and Sarah began pulling beds apart and filling in the exposed areas with mattresses. Bridget took Wee Joseph and John along with Anne’s Elizabeth and Moses to the study, away from the outer walls of the house.
Sarah watched Jacques climb to one of the towers over the door. He called down. “The lieutenant is advancing with several of his men. Their pistols are drawn.” The reverberation of the blunderbuss followed by a pistol’s shot made her jump. “The lieutenant is down. He tried to shoot at me, but God’s hand protected. I need another firearm.”
The lieutenant’s men removed his body while Jacques searched for another ready weapon. The quiet ended all too quickly, though, as another band of men were dispatched from the ships, and two small cannons began firing from the north.
Sarah heard the small children scream, and her own terror grew with each burst of powder.
Jacques’s voice rang. “Courage my dear children, their cannon balls have no more effect on our stone walls than if they were so many apples.”
Very noisy apples, but somehow that eased her fear. Some.
One of the men, John McLiney, fired from his window overlooking the cannon on the shore. “I tell ye, I’m not hitting a thing.” He reloaded, adding a double charge of powder into his musket and fired. “There. Ye’ll not be doing that again.” The death of the one who manned that cannon caused the enemy to move the big guns to a more sheltered spot. It also made the cannon less able to do as much harm.
One more prayer answered. God continued to provide.
Another one of Jacques’s men, Paul Roussier, constructed a type of rampart of sheep’s fleeces. He was a soldier by trade and had one of his young officers keeping his muskets loaded, though it was obvious to Sarah the young officer had as much experience in battle as she had. She helped Ann distribute more powder and ammunition to the rooms. Overhead, the recruit cried out to Anne, “Alas. My dear lady, we are undone. It would be the height of folly to attempt to resist any longer when our arms are in bad order; here are no less than three useless muskets.”
But Anne’s response was clear. “We are in the hands of the Almighty, and nothing can befall us without His permission. I trust He will not suffer us to fall into the hands of these wicked men. We must not lose our courage but try if we cannot repair what is defective.”
Once she left the room, Anne pulled Sarah aside. “Please continue to see that the men have what they need. I will report the malfunction to my husband and return shortly.”
Sarah continued on and a while later overheard Jacque laugh from Roussier’s room. “There is no problem which cannot be quickly remedied. This one is in want of a flint. This contains some dirt in the touch hole and this third has two cartridges in it, one on top of the other with a ball below both next to the touch hole. I will make these right immediately. You continue to help Monsieur Roussier.” Jacques brought the three muskets out with him and asked Anne for a sewing needle to help with the repairs.
Anne went straight for her kit near an open window.
Sarah’s heart jumped to her throat. “Get down, Anne!”
Anne immediately stooped, turning back with a silly grin. “God has protected so well, I did not think to get low.”
She took the needle to her husband before going to check on the children. Sarah followed her to the study. Bridget sat on the floor in the corner, Wee John held tightly in her arms. The other children crowded around her, their faces buried in her skirts.
The Crockett Chronicles- The Complete Collection Page 54