“I do what I must do. It is nothing strange or extraordinary.”
“You are the strength of this place, Sabine Van Der Berg.” He was certain she’d laugh at his serious tone and assessment. His way with words had been scorned by the practical woman back in England.
But this woman before him was different. Sabine did not realize her effect on him. He had borrowed her fearlessness to lessen his own fright from their very first encounter. When the guides came today, she did not wait for them to ask for help. Sabine Van Der Berg cleaved to their mission and offered a capable hand.
How many times had Jacob sat back with skepticism, waiting for a clear sign that it was indeed safe to proceed?
His wife had destroyed his trust. So how could a near stranger be his safe space? What made him want to share his story with her? Self-pity? Perhaps. He’d kept his private life buried so deep for so long that he thought it might be a figment of his imagination—or a skewed perspective of some truth that would point to him as the one at fault for the death of his marriage.
Across from him sat a young woman who grew from hardship yet had been untouched by foiled love. How could he imagine himself becoming anything more to her than a friend? He was not just the man who would impose a permanent disturbance on this peaceful land, but one who had already failed at love and marriage. As he drew in air, his self-pity was burned away by anger at himself. He should not have been so open and tender with Sabine Van Der Berg this night.
She deserved someone standing on the brink of life, not soiled by the muck of it.
“I must retire now.” He rose, and she stood quickly before him. Her eyes were round and questioning. “Forgive my brevity. I am exhausted.”
She reached out a hand to his arm. “Jacob, I do not know what arrangement your daughter might face, but I can tell—” She glanced over her shoulder then back again. Her face shone a pure loveliness in the moonlit evening. “Your daughter is well loved by her father. There is something very special that grows from such a gift. A strength indeed.”
“Sabine!” Her father’s voice rumbled like thunder—low and firm.
She hurried toward him. “I am coming, Papa.”
Jacob watched her father’s lantern bob up and down as the small family headed to their home, and when the light disappeared, he waited until the glow filled the eastern window. Surely that lamp, secure in the refuge of the Van Der Bergs’s home, was the brightest place in this frontier. If only it were bright enough to extinguish the gloom in Jacob’s heart.
Chapter 7
Sabine couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being carefully considered by Jacob. A sudden awareness grew that at any moment she’d find him staring in her direction—or truthfully, she hoped she would. Was this how Apenimon felt around his wife, Talise? Often Sabine admired his loving look for Talise, suspecting it was an outpouring of something deeper felt, something unknown to a tradesman’s daughter in remote America. Sabine was certain the whirl inside her stomach at every encounter with Lieutenant Bennington matched the same adoration she’d seen when her friend looked upon his bride.
A bloom unfurled in her chest, welcoming pursuit by the handsome lieutenant. Sabine often brushed aside her mother’s fairy tales when she would rather run through the grasses and fish for their supper. On this plain, beneath the grand blue sky, she longed for the chance to play a part in her own fairy tale—one forbidden by the very mother who introduced her to such stories.
As she shucked the corn this crisp morning, she was in perfect view of the prince of her fancy. He sat with his shoulders stooped, hovering over a mug he cradled in his lap in the middle of a quiet work site. She wasn’t a lady in need of a handsome knight to save her; rather, the kind soldier was distressed, and Sabine longed to save him.
“We have returned, friend.” Apenimon appeared at the wooded edge beside her fence. Sabine parted the cornstalks and stepped through.
“Ah, did your hunt go well?”
“It did. We will have much to trade. I see those white men have continued with their castle.”
She followed his gaze. The walls were well under way, producing a troubling change in the scenery that Moeder held so dear.
“They hope to have it finished by the first freeze.”
“Their work does not seem solid. Nothing like Niagra.”
Sabine smirked. “Are you favoring the Frenchmen now?”
“No.” His expression was serious. A deep ridge shadowed his dark eyes. “Have any new men arrived for trade?”
“Only a messenger from Albany—”
“No, I mean a tribesman? Perhaps from the northern shore?”
“No. But I did notice a man watching Moeder’s tulip offering. He sat in a canoe at the bend.”
Apenimon’s eyes simmered as he examined the far-off spot that Sabine mentioned.
“That was over a month ago. Is anything the matter?” She stepped closer.
“We are making sure that the peace is kept by all—even strangers.” He ran his hand along his belt adorned with wampum. The pearly shells were sewn close together, as if they were a pebbled shore organized in tightly knit rows. All tension left him and he grinned. “Tell the men to be ready for a plentiful trade tomorrow.” He bade her farewell and ran down the tree line, disappearing toward the bank of the river.
She returned to her basket of corn and began shucking the next ear. Now Jacob was nowhere to be seen. Men began to emerge from beneath the shadow of the existing fort and the many canvas tents dotted about the place.
After she finished, she lugged the corn across the garden and over to the fire pit. She left her produce to be boiled for the noon meal. Voices carried from the dock at the river’s mouth. Both lieutenants stood with their backs to her, their attention toward the glassy waters of Lake Ontario.
“You cannot leave your post, Jacob.” Lieutenant Wilson’s words were punctuated with authority.
Jacob slid his fingers around the back of his neck, his curls flipped up against his whitened knuckles. “I might lose her forever.”
The long profile of the older lieutenant was outlined against the shimmering waters beyond. He laid a heavy hand on Jacob’s shoulder. “I do not think the King’s men will pardon that excuse. I am sorry, son.” He hung his head as if commiserating with Jacob. A lump formed in Sabine’s throat. “Do you not believe the bastions will be finished in time?”
“I do not know whether she has minutes or months left on this continent.” Jacob spoke through his teeth.
“Then send for her.”
Jacob surveyed the land to the east then the west. Sabine stepped back, fearing he might notice her listening. “An unfinished fort is not secure for a young girl.”
“What about the Dutchman’s—” Both men turned and caught her staring.
“Speak of the—” The older man hissed then tipped his hat. “Miss Sabine, good morning to you.”
She curtsied, then spoke directly to Jacob. “Sir, your daughter would be safe here.” Sabine considered the blind woman who sat far off in the distance, rocking on the porch of their square cabin. “A child would be a welcome change, even for Moeder. She may stay with us until quarters are built.” Perhaps the young child would soften her parents’ impression of Jacob. The arrival of Apenimon’s child had sparked their initial matchmaking scheme. This morning Sabine’s prayers had been first for the safety of the little girl and second for her parents’ to have a favorable impression of Jacob once again. Sabine was hopeful that both prayers would be answered—and she was willing to help them along.
“That is kind of you.” Jacob’s brow was drawn upward with creases of worry, and his eyes were pink, as if he’d sat in the smoky cloud around the fire much too long. Had he slept at all?
“Well then, that would be a fine solution.” The old lieutenant’s happy declaration surprised Sabine. The man’s usual forlorn demeanor was only matched by Moeder’s. “Tomorrow is trade day. We will find a trader heading back to Albany and send
a summons for her to journey—”
“I had hoped to be the one to go for her—to take leave after the job was done and bring her myself.”
“That is not possible though, is it?” The usual leeriness eclipsed the old officer’s expression. A jolt stabbed Sabine’s stomach as she recalled his past discontentment. Lieutenant Wilson didn’t see the fort as an unsightly disruption to their home but as a secure addition.
Jacob abandoned the man and approached Sabine. “Are you certain that your parents would not mind?”
She smiled wide, plunging into the warmth of Jacob’s attention. “Surely she’d not take up too much room?”
His lips quirked up and his brown eyes danced at her humor. “Just waist high,” he mused.
“Ah, that is nothing. My friends in the village have twice as many bodies in half the size of our cabin. She will make it cozy in the winter.”
He cupped his palm beneath her elbow and stepped closer, blocking all view of the other lieutenant, the lake, and any control of her senses.
“I am forever grateful for you Miss … Sabine.”
Who’d have imagined that all her daydreaming about saving this prince would become reality by an offer of hospitality? And who’d have believed how quickly God changed her heart from resenting this man’s mission to helping him secure it? She had also prayed for him continuously this morning.
When Jacob left her side and joined Lieutenant Wilson to inspect the building efforts, Sabine cradled her elbow as she crossed the plain, unable to stop smiling.
“Sabine?” Papa crossed the ground with long strides.
“Yes?” Her smile faded.
His cheeks were red, his nose was red, his brow, beaded with sweat, was red. “You do not need to spend so much time with that lieutenant. He is not for you.”
“Papa, I was just offering him some help.”
“With what?”
“His daughter needs a safe place to stay.” Her stomach flipped. “She can stay here.”
“Here?” Moeder screeched.
“It is the least we can do for a child in such a horrible predicament.” Sabine tried to push aside the thought of a young girl betrothed to an older man. The horror of it sent ice through her veins. She reached out and took her father’s hand, tears welling in her eyes. “I cannot imagine such a thing, Papa. Let us be good neighbors—and friends. He needs a safe place for his daughter.”
“And as your father, it is my duty to protect you also, Sabine.” He squeezed her hand. “You deserve someone untarnished by lovers’ quarrels.”
“It is not his fault—”
“Sabine,” Moeder warned.
Papa kissed her forehead and brushed past her. “Daughter, our home is open to the girl. But remember that Bennington is no match for you, and you mustn’t give him reason to believe otherwise.”
Jacob’s hope kindled after Sabine’s generous offer. He had a hard time imagining his child in this place, but now he could see her in the tender care of the Van Der Bergs.
The sun was a distraction this day, burning down on his neck and forearms while they constructed the forms of the fortification. By the midday meal, two traders arrived by way of the river, and as some men helped them unload their wares, the rest filled their bellies.
Jacob retrieved his satchel from his quarters and stole away down the riverbank to find a secluded spot to pen his letter to his uncle. His fingers shook with the anticipation of securing a safe escape for Amelia. Had her mother arrived early? Where was she when she wrote the letter to his uncle? Last Jacob knew, his former wife had returned to England this past October. He’d never thought she’d succumb to such a horrific practice of giving her daughter for servitude then for marriage to a man three times her age. What sum of money had been offered for such a scheme? What man would agree to such a bride? Tears blurred Jacob’s vision, and he curled his fist so tight that the parchment beneath it creased under the pressure.
“Lord, be swift with Your protection. Bring my daughter here safely.” He spoke the prayer along a choppy breath. Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he filled his lungs with air and continued with his quill. Despite the peaceful rustle of leaves above and the gentle flow of the river ahead of him, anxiety coursed through his fingertips as he attempted controlled strokes. As the holler of men signaled a return to work, Jacob finished the letter.
Now to find that messenger.
At the turn of the river, Sabine was bent over scrubbing pots, with her dress sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her skirt was tied in a knot at her shins, and water flowed around her ankles. Wild strands of reddish-gold hair whipped through the breeze from beneath her cap, and her braid snaked down her back. She hummed a pretty tune that outmatched any nearby fowl, and for the first time this day, Jacob found some joy.
“Hallo!” He made his presence known so as not to startle her.
She popped up from her chore and raised her hand to shade her eyes. “Lieutenant, I did not see you at the meal.”
He jogged along the bank and approached the water’s edge. Slightly out of breath, he said, “Jacob, remember?” He allowed himself to smile, even if he’d try to resist the admiration stirred up by this young woman.
“Yes, of course.” Her cheeks’ pink shade deepened and she gave him a shy grin. “Jacob, you must be famished.”
“Do not worry over me, I have had some dried beef and ale this day. Besides, the heat steals away my appetite.”
“I see.” She lifted her foot from the water, her toes grazing the surface as she found dry ground. With careful steps she slipped on her clogs then unknotted her skirt. Her attention fell on the letter in his hand. “Will you send for your daughter then?”
“I shall.”
“That is good.” Sabine gathered up her pots and placed them in a basket. She then tucked it on her hip and turned, her brow furrowed as if she was perplexed. “I must return home.”
“Let me carry that for you.” He rushed over to her, placing the folded letter in his front pocket and trying to lift the basket from her arms. But her grip was like a vise.
“That is not necessary. I can manage just fine.”
“Sabine, it is customary for a gentleman to give assistance to a woman.”
“Is it?” She cocked an eyebrow and her lips wobbled with an audacious smirk. “Customs are different here in Oswego.”
He clasped the basket’s rim and tugged, but she gave nothing, only a petite step toward him. “It is my duty,” he muttered, now mesmerized by her determined glare, her ruby lips, and the sprinkle of light freckles along her nose.
“And my duty is to carry this home.” Her emerald eyes rounded and searched his face. What did she see? A man who was weak among these strong men of Oswego, knowing little about living off the land and weathering the elements? Or perhaps a broken fellow defiled by a loveless marriage, unworthy of a woman as pure and strong as Sabine?
“Jacob, you do not need to prove yourself to me.” Her gentle retaliation vibrated the current around his heart. Had she read his thoughts?
He pulled at the basket again, and she took another step closer to him. Now her arm rested against his, and his nose skimmed the lace brim of her cap. “Do you mean that?”
She turned her face up to him, a mixture of wonder and uncertainty watering her pretty eyes. “Of course. I do not care for the bounds of society if they are lost in etiquette. That does not make a man—” Her breath caught, and her teeth rested on her glistening lip. He swallowed hard, mustering up words to fill this space that he so wanted to obliterate with a final tug and a delicate kiss.
“Sabine?”
“Yes?” Her grip on the basket lessened, and he felt the weight of it in his hands. Her shoulders slumped. Was she retreating? No, not in this moment, not when he savored her words, her scent of wildflowers, and her glowing beauty amid the even wilder land.
Before she could leave him alone, he leaned forward and whispered, “Please, tell me what makes a man?”
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The weight of the basket was fully in his grip now, and her hand reached up and cupped his jaw. “His heart. I see yours—for your daughter, in your attempt to save our property, in your care that harm stays far away.” She spoke into his soul like no other human. How did she see him this way?
“Sabine, you are too kind.” He set the basket down, his eyes stayed on her gaze. Her eyes were steady, wide, piercing, radiating the fullness of an abundant life. He wanted that—he wanted her to show him how to live so fearlessly.
One curtsy of her lashes and her attention fell on his mouth, welcoming him to lean in. His lips grazed hers, and her eyes closed, hiding the glorious green.
“Jacob,” she sighed as he pulled away, her hand clutching at his chest. She was bright, her cheeks as red as her lips, and her eyes intense with the thrill of a new adventure. “I have never—” Her fingertips brushed along her mouth. She dropped her hand quickly. “I hope it wasn’t—”
What was this? The courageous woman seemed to teeter with doubt. If he could reveal the fierce storm lashing about in his heart, she’d have no doubt in herself.
He brushed his finger along her cheek. “I have never been so overcome with … with …” Awe? Intrigue? Completeness? “Certainty. That I am exactly where I should be.”
She held him in a sort of trance, her sparkling wonder filling his confidence like a waterfall spills with unstoppable force.
Her father shouted from beyond the bend.
“Papa calls.” She dropped down and snatched up the basket. “We must ready for the trade tomorrow.” She turned to him with a shy smile, and he beamed.
Only when Sabine left him did he remember the letter at his heart.
Could this remote assignment be used by God not only to become a safe haven for his kin but to provide an opportunity for him to love a woman like Sabine Van Der Berg?
Chapter 8
Autumn 1741
The flaming colors of autumn were dull in comparison to the fire ever present in Sabine’s heart. She prepared the soil to replant the dormant bulbs. Her eyes and hands focused on her duties, but her mind whirred with anticipation. She could not help but hope for the next encounter with Jacob. She tried to honor her parents and stay clear of moments alone with the man—at first, anyway. But they only saw him for his circumstance, and she was certain that she’d glimpsed his heart.
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