The American Conquest: Christian Western Historical (Window to the Heart Saga Trilogy Book 3)

by Jenna Brandt

  “You astound me, darling.”

  Henry smiled over at her. “Thank you, Mother.”

  Chapter 28

  After pulling the wagon to a halt outside the town grocery, Henry hopped down from the wagon and made his way around to Margaret’s side, then reached up to help his mother down.

  As soon as his mother was safely free of the wagon, Henry begged, “Can I go see Tommy’s frog now?” And as quickly as the young man appeared, the little boy took back over.

  “Yes, of course you can. But make sure you are back here in twenty minutes. You need to help me load the wagon, and if you arrive on time, I will buy you a penny candy.”

  “All right, mother.”

  And with that, he turned around and ran across the street as Margaret yelled after him, “Twenty minutes, Henry.”

  Margaret made her way to the store and headed inside. The shop owner, Missus Plumes, greeted her in her thick Irish brogue. “Hello, Missus Westcott.”

  Margaret bowed her head slightly as she took off her bonnet. “How do you do, Missus Plumes.”

  “Quite well, although Mister Plumes has taken ill with a spring cold and I’m runnin’ the store by myself. But Doctor Dixon says that he should be better by the end of this week, God willing.”

  “Then I hope to see him next time I am in. Give him my regards.”

  “Most certainly, Missus Westcott. And how are you doing today?”

  “Oh, I am doing fairly well. Although, it has been getting harder to get my chores done with this heat spell we are having. Thank goodness I have Cort and Henry to help me.”

  “Yes, they’re both such good ones, those two. I daresay your boy has been springing up like a weed. I scarcely recognize him when he comes in these days. And having such blond hair and that penetrating stare with those brown eyes, why he’s just going to be such a little heartbreaker when he starts thinking about girls.”

  A pang of sadness made Margaret inwardly flinch. She wished Henry could have seen his son grow up. He was the spitting image of his father, down to the Rolantry family eyes, and it would have been something to see them next to each other.

  Changing the subject, Margaret said, “I was thinking, Missus Plumes, that I would like to make some new curtains for the kitchen. The ones we have in there now are so drab. What is the newest light-colored fabric you have in stock?”

  “Well, I just got this sunflower yellow in and I think you might like it. Hold on, let me go and fetch it. You wait right there.”

  Margaret nodded and began to study the different patterns on the table in front of her. She was still getting down the finer points of sewing and depended a great deal on detailed patterns.

  Margaret stiffened as the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She felt a presence she had not felt in a long time, as if someone was watching her. Quickly, Margaret whirled around, but found nothing nearby. Taking in a few shaky breaths, she leaned back against the table and braced herself. She had to get over this unmerited fear she continued to have. Nothing was going to happen to her.

  Slowly, she turned back around and continued to look at the patterns. After a few seconds, Missus Plumes came out with a bundle of beautiful yellow fabric that Margaret knew was perfect for her kitchen.

  “That is it, that is the one. You knew exactly what I would want. I will take eight yards of it.”

  “Eight, Missus Westcott? Are you sure you need that much?”

  Margaret grimaced slightly, then admitted, “I am calculating for mistakes.”

  She nodded in understanding. “Oh, I see. Don’t feel bad, my dear. When I was your age, I wasn’t much good with a thread and needle either. It comes with time though. You can be sure of that. All good things come in time.”

  “I could not agree more,” a familiar ominous voice said.

  Margaret spun around, that time with no mistake as to why the hairs on the nap of her neck were on end. Struck dumbfounded, Margaret stood rooted, staring at the one man she could never forget.

  The duke had found her.

  Margaret took no notice of the store owner’s puzzled look as she approached them.

  “May I help you, Mister—” Missus Plumes waited for a response but got none.

  “I will only be in town for a short time. I came to collect something that belongs to me, and then I will be on my way. I saw something through the window that fetched my eye.”

  “What might that be? I would be more than glad to get it for you.”

  “As it turns out, once I got in here, I realized that I had left my pocketbook in my carriage. I think I may stop by later to get it.”

  Witherton stared at Margaret for several seconds before adding, “It will not be long, I promise.”

  With that, he bowed gracefully and left the store without another word.

  “That was an odd one. Those European aristocrats are such an odd breed. They stick out like a sore thumb around these parts.”

  Margaret did not comment that, if that were true, why had no one mentioned the striking gentleman who had appeared in town.

  “I have to be going, Missus Plumes. I will be by later this week to pick up the fabric and the rest of my items. Please excuse me,” Margaret said as she rushed out of the store, leaving a surprised Missus Plumes in her wake.

  Heading straight for her wagon, Margaret quickly put her hand in her pocket and felt the reassurance of the pistol she had smartly decided to bring along. Witherton was not about to get the best of her again.

  Margaret tried to gauge how long she had been in the store and when Henry would be returning to meet her. As she darted worried glances around her, she contemplated what to do. She had to flee. She had to leave immediately. She had escaped him, outrun him before. She would do it again.

  “So, you came to the Americas. I should have guessed you would. It fits that wild streak of yours.” Nodding to her ring on her finger, he mocked, “It also seems that you wrestled yourself one of those American cowboys, have you?”

  Margaret felt Witherton’s body against the back of her own. Just as Margaret started to move away, he grabbed her roughly around her chest and pulled her back against him.

  “Ah, ah, ah, not so fast. You would not want to draw attention to our little meeting, now would you?”

  “What do you want? Why can you not just let me be?”

  “My, my, are we not self-absorbed these days. You think this is all about you? Well, let me enlighten you. It is not. Once I found you, I wanted to know what I was up against. Was I ever surprised to find out that you married my bastard brother.”

  Happily, he glared as the shock registered on her face at the mention of her husband. Margaret inhaled sharply and gasped as he cruelly tightened his grip.

  “Did you think I did not know about him? You silly girl, you should know by now, I always thoroughly check out my targets. I figured, two birds one stone. He’s been a thorn in my flesh for all my life. I can take care of him once-and-for-all and then I can take you back to England with me. I mean, by now, I have become an expert at getting rid of your husbands.”

  Margaret roughly pulled away, not being able to bare his touch any longer. Turning on him, she whispered fiercely, “Do not dare threaten my family. I swear upon my last breath, if you so much as come near him, I will kill you.”

  “If you were to be worrying about anyone’s neck, my dear Margaret, it would be your own. If I cannot have you, no one will.”

  Pulling out her revolver, Margaret aimed it directly at his heart. “If you come near my family, I will have no qualms about killing you right out in the open. I don’t care what happens to me.”

  “There are worse things that can happen to you than being arrested or hanged,” he said, pointedly.

  “You make me sick. I cannot believe I ever trusted you or believed any of your lies.”

  “Yes, well, you did. And it served me well. I was able to end Henry’s pathetic life. Once I rid the world of my imbecile of a bastard brother and t
ake you for my own, I will have everything I want.”

  Margaret, without thinking, slapped Witherton across his smug face with her free hand. “You will never get the chance.”

  Witherton narrowed his eyes. “I let you hit me once before without repercussions, you were unwise to try it again.”

  He raised his hand to hit her back, but was halted quickly when Henry came bursting in from the side, catching both of them by surprise. Margaret quickly dropped the gun to her side as Henry stated, “Mother, Tommy’s a liar. His frog doesn’t jump nearly as high as he said it did.”

  “Henry, help me into the wagon. We need to be on our way.”

  “But you said we were going to buy me some candy,” he said in a whine, still not realizing the unnatural tension between the two people in front of him.

  “Now, Henry, and I mean it. Remember what I said about it always being better to be overprepared than under?”

  Henry, finally noticing the gun in his mother’s hand, quickly jumped up onto the wagon bench and reached behind the flap, pulling out the rifle.

  “Sir, I would appreciate it if you would step away from my mother.”

  The duke’s callous smile could only be described as sadistic amusement. Leave it to Witherton to enjoy a boy pulling a gun on a stranger.

  “Well done. I see you have far more spirit than your father ever did. With the right guidance, you might become a man not to cross.”

  Henry’s grip faltered as he said, “You knew my birth father?”

  “Knew him? I—”

  Margaret interrupted him. “Don’t listen to anything he says, Henry. He is a liar. We need to leave, now.”

  Henry helped his mother into the wagon, continuing to keep his eyes on the threatening stranger, and handed her the rifle once she was situated. Then he took the revolver from her and circled in front of the wagon while keeping the gun pointed at the unknown assailant.

  As Henry hopped up into the wagon, he said to Witherton, “Mister, I suggest you leave my mother alone, or you will have to answer to my father, Cort Westcott. You won’t like a confrontation with him.”

  “We will see about that, boy.”

  Henry picked up the reins to the horses and pulled on them, making the wagon go as fast as possible without risking injury.

  “Why was that man bothering you, Mother?”

  “I will explain everything later. Right now, we need to get home and get our stuff packed. We have to be on the road by nightfall.”

  Chapter 29

  Despite Margaret explaining to Cort what had happened in town, her husband seemed unnaturally calm. When he made no comment to tell her how they were going to handle it, she realized he had no plans to run with her. In that moment, she decided she had to run on her own with the children. When it was safe, if it ever became safe again, they would come back.

  Cort walked in to find Margaret packing her trunk with clothes for her, Henry, and Susan.

  This whole scenario felt so familiar to Margaret. She could remember both a time in England and in France when she found herself in a panic, hurrying to pack what little she could take with her.

  Margaret only gave a momentary glance up, saying nothing to her husband for she knew there was nothing she could say to make this easy on either of them.

  “We are not running.”

  Margaret glanced up quickly and then replied as she continued packing. “I know. You need to stay and take care of the horses. There is too much at stake here for you. I understand. That is why the children and I will be—” She choked back a sob. “—going away for a while, and when things are safe again, we can come home.”

  He moved toward her and Margaret shrank back, her confused emotions dictating her body.

  Cort did not let it deter him. He grabbed Margaret firmly, showing his resolve. “We are not running. Do you hear me? We, as in you and me, are going to stand our ground as a family. We are not running from him again.”

  Margaret looked up at her husband sharply. “You do not understand. If we stay here, he will kill both of us and who knows what will happen to the children.”

  “I told you, I will defend all of you unto my dying breath.”

  “And I told you that is what I am afraid of, Cort. I cannot live knowing you died because of me. If it means I have to leave you to keep you alive, then I will.”

  “You have to have faith, Margaret. God is going to protect us. Witherton is a man of no faith, and he does not have the protection God offers His children. If we stay and fight, we will be victorious through the Lord.”

  “I want to believe you, to believe God can keep us safe, but I am so scared.”

  “Then I know what we must do.”

  “What is that?”

  “We must pray.”

  Margaret was returning from delivering Henry and Susan to her brother for protection. She knew it was only a matter of time before Witherton showed up as he threatened. Cort had stayed behind to prepare for the upcoming confrontation, and in case the duke showed up while Margaret was gone.

  As she made her way toward the house, she felt a shiver crawl up her spine as she had earlier in the day at the store in town. Margaret quickly pulled out the pistol she had been carrying since her encounter with Witherton in town.

  Clutching it tightly in a fist, Margaret walked over to the corner of the porch. With her free hand, she leaned forward on the railing and looked toward the front of the house.

  Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she let out a sigh. But the relief was short-lived, for from the opposite way she looked, a hand snaked out and grabbed her arm.

  Margaret yelped in surprise and quickly brought the pistol up in defense. But she was not ready for what she saw.

  “Catherine?” she whispered in disbelief.

  With a boastful smirk, Margaret’s one time close friend and sister-in-law asked, “Surprised to see me?”

  “I would be lying if I said I was not. How… how did you find us?”

  Taking the gun from Margaret’s hand, Catherine stated, “We will get to that later. But first, where is my nephew?”

  “He is out helping his father.”

  “You mean your new husband.”

  “I mean exactly what I said, his father.”

  “Cort Westcott is not Henry’s father. I know he is the spitting image of my brother.”

  “How did you find us? How did you get here?”

  Coldly, Catherine stated, “I had help.”

  “What are you talking about? Who helped you?”

  “My husband.”

  “Wha-what?” Margaret’s voice faltered as she tried to put the unimaginable pieces together. “You cannot mean that you married Witherton,” she said in disbelief.

  “Yes, that is exactly what it means,” Witherton said as he stepped out from behind the shadows of the nearby trees.

  Margaret tried to step back in shock but was held tight by Catherine’s grip.

  What sort of nightmare was Margaret having for this inconceivable state of affairs to be occurring? How could her most bitter enemies join together like this?

  “What, Margaret? Let me guess, you did not see this coming. Some say that hate is the opposite of love. So if love is strong enough to bind two people together for the rest of their lives, then the same must be true of hate. And we both truly do hate you.”

  “Catherine, you know how your brother felt about him,” Margaret cried out. “How could you possibly marry the one man your brother despised?”

  Catherine smiled wickedly. “Easily. We have a mutual understanding that this is, at every level, simply a business partnership. I have already produced a legitimate heir for the Witherton title. After we destroy you and take my brother’s son, the duke will provide for me handsomely in addition to allowing me to run the Rolantry estate. This will allow us to part company, with only the need to make the occasional appearances to keep up our position.”

  Who was this cold creature that stood before her? Apparently
living with Witherton had had a significantly appalling effect on Catherine. The shy, sweet girl was now gone, and even the hurt, angry young woman who had replaced her had disappeared. All that seemed to be left was this shell of a woman filled with a seething hate. And sadly, Margaret knew that she was the target.

  “Catherine, go find the boy. Once you have him, do what you must to secure him. I will deal with his mother.”

  So he thought of her only as an instrument he used to hurt. He would see that she was far more than that. She was no longer the simple young girl he had faced back in England, nor the fearful young woman who ran scared from France to the Americas.

  He would soon see that standing before him was a mature, strong woman who was not only a fiercely protective mother but also a devoted, loving wife. And whether he knew it or not, love always conquered hate. Her father had taught her that. His lessons would not fail her now. All the important men in her life looked to God, and today, she prayed he would guide her path.

  She knew now, in that moment as she faced her deepest fear, that trusting in God completely would be the only way she would survive. She was going to let God win the war for her and use His strength to get through it.

  Catherine released Margaret’s hand, nodded toward Witherton, and headed off toward the barn.

  Slowly, Witherton walked around the side of the porch to the entryway, making his way up the stairs and then over to where Margaret stood, stopping only inches from her.

  “Now that we are alone, I think I need to make a few things completely clear. First, what Catherine says is what Catherine needs to believe. She, as you, will be disposed of once both of you have ceased your usefulness. Intriguingly, you have managed to evade me quite cleverly up until now. Getting married was very smart on your part and made you quite a bit more difficult to track down. But I always win in the end, as both you and your husband well know.”

  “I still cannot believe after all the men in the world, you managed to not only find, but marry, my father’s bastard.”

  “Do not ever call him that again! He is three times the man you could ever dream of being, despite the circumstances into which he was born. He overcame his hardships to become the greatest man I have ever known, while you—who were given everything—stole, killed, and ruined everything you touched. You are nothing compared to my husband.”