The Heart's Stronghold

by Amanda Barratt

  “Je m’appelle Jacob Bennington.” Jacob removed his hat and gave a curt bow—not too low to this encroaching Frenchman.

  Miss Van Der Berg explained that Jacob was from Albany. The man made a snide remark about the overcrowding of the shores of Ontario. He gave a quick “Au revoir” and followed his friend into the palisade.

  Miss Van Der Berg continued down the terrace and entered the forest again. Jacob hurried after her. “Do the French also trade with this village?”

  “They try to,” she remarked. “They offer expensive wares. We have become close friends to the village. Apenimon considers the French a nuisance.”

  “I see.” Jacob hooked his thumb in the buttonhole of his jacket, his chest rising with satisfaction that they were indeed in an advantageous position on this front.

  “I’d not seem so smug, sir. You are the most foreign of us all.” She eyed his hat and his coat and his boots. “We do not see ourselves as Dutch or British versus French, but friend versus foe. Respect is expected. Those Frenchmen follow the native customs, even if Apenimon has all but cast them off.” She avoided a bramble and skirted around a birch.

  “Then you can teach me their customs.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “You are under the same King as I, are you not?”

  “That means little to me.”

  “You might take care of treasonous words such as those.”

  “Pardon me, but you are the guest here.”

  “And as your guest, I would appreciate your guidance with our neighbors.”

  She studied him with large emerald eyes, vibrant like the young wheat fields back in England. “Perhaps you and I might make a trade of sorts.”

  “A trade?”

  “Aye, sir. I shall teach you the ways of this land and the kindness to its people if you do me one favor in return.”

  “What is that, my lady?”

  “Leave my garden alone.” Sabine flicked her reddish-gold braid behind her shoulder and planted her fists on her hips. “Build your wall elsewhere.”

  Chapter 3

  He was perfect, Moeder.” Sabine hung their linens on a line from the porch pole to the wooden stake at the edge of their cleared ground. “His eyes were as black as coal, and his skin was so soft—but turned the color of a radish when he wailed.” She giggled. “Was I really ever that small?”

  “Aye, child.” Moeder held a winsome smile while her eyes fluttered closed, no doubt peering backward and inward to a long-buried memory. “I do wish that we had made our way here as soon as I found out about your existence. I remember the fear of disease as much as the joy of your arrival.”

  An eagle’s shadow trailed along the ground and skimmed the linen apron hanging from Sabine’s fingers. She thrust her head back and spied the female soaring in a blue sky.

  Lord, You are ever faithful.

  “ ’Twas an eagle that welcomed us here, was it not?”

  “Yes, Papa’s first catch was made after he spied the majestic bird.”

  “We are blessed, Moeder, in this place.”

  “Aye, ’tis why I regret not arriving earlier. Perhaps I would still—”

  “Do not speak such things. His plan is perfect. You have told me that since I could speak.”

  The men beyond their plot were calling out and creating a disturbance. Sabine shook off tension that wormed its way along her shoulders.

  “Speaking of a plan, have you considered Papa’s suggestion?”

  “Of course not.” Sabine could not shake off this ill feeling now. “There is no rush. If God wants a husband for me, He shall provide one.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “Why would I not?”

  “Because if there is one thing I have failed in doing, it is encouraging you to embrace your womanly duty.”

  “You mean my duty to a man? Or my duty to my God? I am a woman, and God is my Master. Why must I be dutiful to anyone else—besides my parents, of course?”

  “Daughter, it is good to marry. If I hadn’t, you would not be here.” She smiled a rare broad grin. Sabine’s chest warmed with affection for her mother. Her smile was perfect acceptance.

  Papa bounded into view with a string of fish hanging from his fist. “The river current gives us plenty this morning.”

  “Papa, we need another Sabine running around, don’t we?” Moeder jested.

  Her father’s sun-kissed brow and turned-up nose seemed forever painted with a jovial pink hue. “I have said that a thousand times. But a grandson would be even better, would it not?”

  “You two have schemed against me.” Sabine gave a playful pout.

  “Daughter, you have seen the masterpiece of newborn life just this morning.” Moeder began to rock in her chair. “I foresee God’s plan for you will be just as full.”

  “Not with those scrawny soldiers sitting idly by at the command of some far-off governor.”

  Papa cast a curious look in Moeder’s direction. He cleared his throat and muttered, “That Lieutenant Bennington seems an interesting fellow.”

  “Papa! Since when do you scout out possible matches?” Her cheeks flushed with heat.

  “Since I cannot see past my lashes,” her mother snapped, and then cocked her head thoughtfully. “From what your father says, he seems a very dependable and handsome man.”

  Papa gave all his attention to cleaning his fish at the far edge of the porch.

  “Funny that Papa would make that observation. I had not given the man’s looks a second thought. He’s a boring soldier. Same as the rest.” A twist of her gut pinched apart the truth from the lie. She hadn’t failed to notice Lieutenant Bennington’s handsome features.

  And contrary to the other men, the lieutenant was not boring at all. If she could strip away the differences of a king’s command and her heart for this land, she and the lieutenant were alike in a way. Much like Sabine’s own passion, Lieutenant Bennington had a determination to continue his work. Dutiful, proud, and willing to learn—honoring her request to keep away from her own land and desiring to dig deep in the treasures of what he could learn from this place. Sabine lifted her chest with a full, glorious breath. She plucked a cloth from the line to offer Papa as he plunged his hands into a washbasin.

  He took it with a grateful nod, then walked over to Moeder. “Tonight is the night for the white ones.” Papa tenderly helped her from the chair.

  “Is the raft ready?”

  “Aye.” He kissed her cheek. “Let us go prepare dinner.” They disappeared inside.

  Sabine craned her neck around to look past the cabin toward the small fort. Men moseyed about the land, setting stakes and unloading canoes. She could not find the lieutenant this bright shiny day.

  But he had found her in Oswego.

  What might come from God’s plan for a soldier to discover a new way of life at the guidance of a Dutchman’s daughter?

  “We’ve got but five hundred pounds, Michael. Let us be wise in our efforts,” Jacob urged.

  “It would be wisest to stake out this stretch for the western wall.” Michael pointed toward the Van Der Bergs’s garden.

  “That will not be necessary.”

  “What do you propose then?”

  “What say you about a sort of triangular enclosure?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Perhaps we can avoid disturbing what already exists.”

  “Preposterous.”

  “I do believe I am the officer to answer to the governor.” Jacob diverted his eyes away from Michael’s gawking to the near-glowing tulips. “This is the best way.”

  Michael folded his lips together and scratched the back of his head. He spoke quietly. “And quickest, right, sir?”

  Sir? They had been friends for quite some time. But Jacob had just implied his higher rank, hadn’t he? Jacob cleared his throat. “There is nothing wrong with efficiency alongside duty.” The earlier they completed this task, the quicker he would unite with his daughter at long last.
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  “Of course not.” Michael sighed and landed his hand on Jacob’s shoulder. “But I do wonder if your hurry has to do with obligations in Albany more than the hopes of a secure fortification.”

  He ground his teeth. The man knew him too well, and their rank difference was now cast aside for the truth of the matter. Although Michael knew about Jacob’s daughter, he was unaware of the promise Jacob had made to the Dutchman’s daughter. Jacob’s heart longed for the reunion with the child who’d suffered much, but his heart beat a new rhythm for Sabine Van Der Berg. One of admiration and slight fear. How could the girl be so confident in this wild place and so resistant to his protection?

  The one time he failed to protect another’s heart ended in destruction. He mustn’t grow attached to this daring Sabine. He was too weary from the last time he tried to offer his loyalty to a woman.

  “It will do you good to remember that once this is complete, my obligation will carry me elsewhere.” Jacob placed his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. “But only if my assignment is done well. These next several weeks, I guarantee my diligence in making this fort nothing less than dutifully secure.”

  After dinner, Jacob made sure the stakes were set in the exact placement they had discussed. He was taken aback when he saw Mr. Van Der Berg carrying two large baskets of the white tulips that had adorned the eastern side of their garden.

  “Good evening, sir.” Jacob approached the man, eyeing the now completely barren corner of the garden. “Are the natives coming this evening?”

  “What?” Mr. Van Der Berg looked back toward the lakeshore and then scanned the woods.

  “To trade for the tulips, sir.” Jacob nodded toward the basket. The flowers were stacked upon each other like plump sheep sleeping tightly together in a shepherd’s care.

  “Ah,” he exclaimed. His rounded belly lifted and dropped with a deep, hearty laugh. “I can see why you’d think so. These would be a fine trade indeed. However, we never trade the white ones. They are an offering. We take them on the lake and—” He hesitated, smacked his lips together, then said, “Would you like to come with us, Lieutenant? It is a beautiful tradition.”

  “Where do you go?”

  “Not far. You’ll see.” He’d already continued to head toward the shore. Sabine and her mother waited beside a large flat raft. Sabine held two oars upright in one hand and a lantern in the other. Her mother’s arms were wrapped around a wool blanket. He followed close behind Mr. Van Der Berg.

  “The lieutenant will join us this evening,” Mr. Van Der Berg announced.

  “Papa, what do you mean?” Although Sabine spoke in a hushed tone, probably not wanting Jacob to hear, her words were clear in the quiet evening.

  Jacob took a step back. “Sir, I do not need to intrude—”

  “Not intruding at all. I’ll put you to work.” Mr. Van Der Berg set the baskets on the raft then relieved Sabine of the oars, handing one to Jacob. “You take starboard.”

  Sabine gave him a weak smile and helped her mother onto the raft. The two women sat on two barrels in the very center, beneath a sail. Jacob positioned himself on the starboard side, and her father untied the raft and hopped aboard before pushing away from the pebbled beach.

  Mr. Van Der Berg went to the portside and began to row. “Lieutenant, my daughter thanks you for taking up the oar.”

  Sabine nodded, then fired a glare at her father. “ ’Tis kind of you, but I can manage the oar just fine.”

  Jacob wondered why he’d agreed to come on this—journey. This rite? He’d no idea what this was about. The sun was low in the west, bleeding its final color across the horizon. Pink glitter scattered on the surface of the vast water ahead. He did his part and worked his oar in rhythm with Mr. Van Der Berg’s. The slap of the wood on the water was the only sound for several minutes.

  “That’s enough.” Mrs. Van Der Berg spoke for the first time since they had left shore. Mr. Van Der Berg gave Jacob a signal to stop with his oar up and out ahead of him. “Begin, Sabine.”

  Sabine stood from her barrel, steadying herself with the tips of her fingers on the seat. Jacob offered his hand to help her, but she either didn’t see it or chose to ignore him. She shuffled over to one of the large baskets and gathered up an armful of tulips then placed them on her mother’s lap.

  The woman was beautiful like her daughter. Her age showed in the deep crease between her eyebrows. Although, it might not be from age but trial. Around her face the reddish-blond hair grayed.

  She brushed her fingertips along the whole length of the flowers, caressing the tulips. “Lieutenant, this is our tradition since the fourth spring after we arrived on this land.” She reached out a hand to Sabine, who helped her mother stand. “We all have valleys in which we walk. Mine was dark and desolate—a stubborn journey with my back to the Lord. These blooms were my comfort, my reminder that forgiveness is near.”

  With her stems in one arm and her hand clutching her daughter’s, she sang a psalm:

  “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

  He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.

  He restoreth my soul.”

  Her voice chimed over the waters like birdsong. Jacob allowed his heart to be moved. He’d not been in church in many weeks. Life had its way with him in his own trials of an abandoned marriage and neglected child. But with the breeze off the water and the solemn company, his soul was quieter than ever before.

  Daughter and mother alike took the blooms and tossed them out into the water. Her mother continued to sing:

  “He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.

  Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of …”

  Jacob turned his attention to the tulips—floating sheep now, bobbing up against the raft’s edge. The two women carefully rounded the barrels where they sat. When Sabine passed him, she glanced at him with flushed cheeks and a scrunched nose. Her father led her mother to the next basket, while Sabine whispered to Jacob, “This might be strange to you, but it’s comforting to her. I am not sure why my father invited you.”

  “I am glad he did.” He held her gaze, hoping she believed him.

  She tilted her head, studied him for a moment, then slipped past, clutching at her mother’s elbow. They neared the edge of the other side of the raft, and the song continued. This time, Jacob joined in,

  “I will fear no evil,

  for thou are with me;

  thy rod and thy staff,

  they comfort me.”

  The tulips splattered into the water, and every Van Der Berg kept their head bowed. Mr. Van Der Berg began a prayer of thanksgiving for the valleys left behind and God’s faithfulness on the other side of those valleys. Jacob bowed his head as well, praying that this was the last of his own valley.

  He was still praying when the raft shifted beneath him. His head shot up. The women were coming back around to their seats.

  “Did you fall asleep?” Sabine smirked as she passed him.

  “Of course not.” He straightened his shoulders and offered a hand to them. Sabine was no longer paying him attention but staring across the water toward the land. He followed her gaze. Along the shore, a canoe dipped up and down beneath budding trees. He could just make out a person with dark hair and bare skin.

  “Is that your friend?” Jacob asked.

  “Nay.” She waved her hand at the man, and he returned the gesture. “I do not recognize him.”

  Her mother questioned her, and she explained that they had an audience along the lake’s edge.

  “He doesn’t know not to touch these flowers, Sabine.” Her mother lowered to her barrel.

  “I am sure he is concerned more with fishing than flowers, Moeder.”

  “That Apenimon jests often about them though—”

  “Is he with others?” Sabine narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. Jacob quickly took her arm for fear she would fall in. “Do you see?” />
  At first Jacob could see only one man in the canoe, but as he stared, a movement in the wood behind the man caught his attention. “There, I just saw something move.”

  She stared a moment longer and then pulled away from him. “Perhaps they are hunting this evening. Strange. I’ve never seen those carvings on a canoe before.”

  “Do you think he wants my flowers?”

  “Oh Moeder, that is ridiculous.”

  “Well, they’ve been offered. He may not touch them. You should let him know that.”

  “Moeder, do not worry.”

  When Sabine settled on her seat and her father directed them to start back to shore, Jacob continued to watch the canoe. As they drew closer to the shore by the cabin, the canoe disappeared around the western bend.

  They tied up the raft. Mr. Van Der Berg took his wife and led her home while Sabine gathered up the empty baskets.

  A commotion from the other side of Fort Burnet melted away any unease stirred up by the watching man across the water. Men swarmed from the banks of the river.

  “It seems the rest of our crew has arrived to build.” He smiled. But Sabine’s scowl dampened his jolt of excitement. “Pardon me, but this is why I am here. And I am anxious to be reunited with my daughter.”

  Her face softened. “Daughter? Is she young?” She took long strides up through the grasses. He stayed beside her.

  “She is. Only eight. I’ve been apart from her more than I have been near to her.”

  “Is she with her mother?”

  “Nay, her mother left us two years ago.” He did not want to speak further on this. “I must go settle the men. We have a long day ahead.” He did not look back at the woman when he left her behind. Just like the wife who’d done the same to him—leaving without a backward glance.