Sabine sprang toward him, placing her fingers on his lips. Her emerald eyes darted with nothing less than fear itself—a look he’d not seen from this woman before. “Do not say it,” she warned. “You will not bring such ugly ideas to the peaceful day.” Her eyes filled, and before a drop spilled, she made her way back to her tent.
After their fishing expedition, Jacob waited by the garden fence in the cold night. But Sabine did not come. He noticed a rolled parchment threaded through the gate’s hook. Unrolling it, he held up his lamp and read through the puffs of breath in the icy air:
Jacob,
I have been careless not to respect my parents’ wishes. You and I are different in many ways. What might life be like with one of us dedicated to peace and the other siding with the throne at any cost? Perhaps it is best to part ways, if not on each side of the fort’s walls, on matters of the heart.
Sabine
Jacob twisted the parchment in his fists. The brave soul he was falling in love with was scared. And he understood why.
What would change her world more drastically than war?
Chapter 9
Spring 1742
Twas not difficult to avoid the man—what with the harshness of winter delaying any gatherings among the men and traders. If only she had not received a scolding from her father that same first day of ice fishing, she might have enjoyed a shameless distance from Jacob. Yet guilt niggled at her as often as the nipping cold.
“Sabine, you have grown up too strong-headed,” Papa had counseled when he asked her about the argument he’d seen from a distance. “Have I not instilled some reverence for the government by which we live and breathe?”
“But Papa, they do nothing for us—”
“Do they not? What gives you the flour and fabrics and seeds for your garden? We are grateful for the chance to live as we please, with the provisions from Albany and the security of the men at the fort.”
“Security?”
“We have allies. Everyone needs them.”
“Yes, they are Iroquois.”
“And British. You must be more forgiving of our friends. They only wish to protect us.”
Sabine knew it to be true. But her father’s reprimand reminded her of the fact that her secret courtship was far worse than her foolish talk. Could she bear to disappoint her father further? No. This was only a foreshadowing of the devastation her secrecy might bring.
She promised herself that just as they waited on the white flowers to bloom, she would wait on the snow to melt before testing her heart by giving it away to such a loyal soldier as Jacob.
During Christmastide and the rest of the wintry months, she clung to Moeder more. Even sleeping in during fishing days and tending only to the indoor chores when she could. The fort walls were a good barrier after all. Sabine preferred to seek her social company in the village longhouse among her dear friends, especially with the chance to help with Apenimon’s child as his wife battled a lung infection most of the season.
Only in the evening, while she curled up by the fire before bed, did regret threaten to shatter her strength. Her heart sought Jacob at every step outside of the cabin, with every careful glance toward the fort’s entrance, but her mind built up its own defense—he would be sympathetic to destroying the peace here if it meant British presence was threatened.
How could she love a man whose bottom line was at the mercy of his King’s desire?
On this day though, with the snowmelt complete at last, she ran to the garden to see if the time had come.
And it had.
The small purple crocus was in bloom, its sunshiny center identical to the gentle light in the sky warming Sabine’s face. Only one more month, the tulips would be ready, and the trade day of the year would be here.
She worked about the garden, getting rid of the deadened leaves and raking away the mulch that protected the tulip bulbs in the winter. As always, she prayed that God would shield the tiny bulbs from a late spring frost and that she might be aware of its coming so she could cover them if needed. For now though, the bare ground needed any warmth the sun offered.
Sabine stood, tightening the wool shawl around her arms. Might her heart need to shed its own barrier, which she had placed on it? What risk would she take if she allowed herself to love Jacob? Besides having to convince her parents of his worthiness, would she be able to survive the threat of change if he was in full support of it? That type of change was more than just a late frost to her tulips. It would disrupt the only life she’d ever known. It would crush the woman who’d lived and breathed for these white tulips to faithfully grow in remembrance of beauty from ashes. Moeder had weathered the most devastating change of all, yet hadn’t God continued to give them good things—a life of prosperity?
He leads me beside quiet waters, He refreshes my soul. Even amid the valleys—and changes.
Sabine Van Der Berg stood among dormant tulips and blooming crocuses yet felt like a selfish weed greedily wanting to keep all the soil for herself. What life did not have change in it? And her God had always provided after change, hadn’t He?
Sabine prayed, “Might the white tulips be for me, Lord? Have I truly been unforgiving and unfair to Jacob?” She hardly considered it for a moment longer before she declared it to be true—God’s provision had also been found in the love that grew for the man.
Jacob stood at the river’s inlet, observing the work he’d come to do. The new fort at Oswego was nearly finished. His foreman, Michael, headed toward him, “See, it is sturdy, and we’re saving a bit of money for the colony.” His smile was broad as he swept his arm across the view.
“The governor will be glad,” he assured his man. Although gladness was nowhere near his own countenance. The completion of this task was supposed to end in the reunion with his daughter.
But no word had come.
And the sure place of comfort and hope—Sabine Van Der Berg—had remained cool and distant. As she should, he continued to tell himself. She was too contrary to British loyalty. Even if they were a world away from Albany—so it seemed—his first priority had to be British interest. And with the French weaving their allegiances in with British allies, he mustn’t let her distract him any longer.
“Jacob!” Sabine’s call shattered the defense around his heart. “Lieutenant Bennington!” she corrected herself.
“What is this?”
She ran alongside the riverbank, waving one arm above her and pressing her cap to her head with the other.
“Does she warn us?” Michael gripped his pistol at his waist.
“I do not know.” Jacob began to jog toward her, trying to keep his senses at the sight of her bright red cheeks and dazzling green eyes. He must question her frantic state for the sake of his post, not the whir of desire this woman so quickly unleashed in his chest.
They nearly collided once they met. Sabine stumbled forward as she slowed down, and Jacob caught her by the hand.
Excitement flared in her lively features, and his senses were indeed overwhelmed—the scent of her sunbaked linen bodice, the feel of her smooth skin in his palm, and the sound of her breath catching as he carefully stepped closer. Oh, how foolish he was to suppress his heart from this woman.
She was the most alive creature on the frontier.
“What is it, my love?” His words spilled out unashamedly.
She slipped her hand away, and his heart deflated. “I come to share great tidings with you.” Her teeth grazed her lip as she eyed his hand. In one swift movement, she gathered it up in both of hers. “Oh Jacob, there is no time for propriety at such a time as this.” Her joy was a contagion.
He couldn’t help but match her smile. “What is it, Sabine?”
“Come.” She tugged and began to walk back along the bank. “They could not keep up with me, so I ran ahead to find you.”
“Who—” A raised canoe bobbed up and down above the black hair of a native man in the distance, and a tall fellow in a British uniform wal
ked alongside Mr. Van Der Berg.
Jacob squinted in the bright daylight. His heart raced as they drew closer. From behind the men, a scarlet cape flapped about. A tiny figure, waist high to the men, skipped around and continued to skip beside them.
Amelia!
“Thank the good Lord!” Jacob grabbed his mouth as he choked back a sob. He released Sabine’s hand and began to run toward his daughter.
“Father!” she squealed and ran up to him as his vision blurred. Amelia leapt into his arms, her dark curls sticking to his moistened cheeks.
“Oh my daughter!” he exclaimed. The nightmare of her mother’s plan fizzled in the heat of this day. “You are safe with me.”
Amelia pulled away, placed her small hands on his cheeks. Her large brown eyes were just as he remembered them. Curious and warm. “No, Father, you are safe with me!”
Sabine tended to the tulip beds while she tried to spy inside the fortress now blocking her view of the river. The men continued work on the bastions, and while they passed by back and forth, she was most interested in catching a glimpse of Jacob’s little girl.
A month had passed since she’d arrived, and much to Sabine’s distress, Jacob decided to keep Amelia with him in the fort instead of allowing her to stay with the Van Der Bergs.
Sabine’s throat ached with disappointment. On that day of Amelia’s arrival, she’d reveled in Jacob’s familiar admiration. Even if he carried skepticism and orders from a far-off kingdom aggravating the peace of this place, he was a man who’d leapt into her heart and gave her a taste of what love might be.
“Good morning, Sabine.” Apenimon and Talise entered through the garden gate. In a small sling, the baby slept soundly against his mother’s shoulder blade.
“Good morning.” She stood from kneeling and stepped beside the sprouting rows of white flowers. “Are you ready for the trade tomorrow? I do think the tulips will be some of the best this year. The weather has been perfect.” She ran a finger on the dangling arm of the sleeping child. “In time for this little one’s birthday.”
“Perhaps,” Apenimon said, crouching down and caressing a white tulip. “Have you considered giving one to your love?” He squinted as he looked up at her, then over at Talise, who folded her lips in a knowing smile. “I do believe I’ve rarely seen you so conflicted, friend.”
Sabine huffed. “Our distance is nothing a flower can lessen. We are too different. Part of me wishes they’d never come here.”
“And the other part?” Talise questioned in her soft voice.
“Could I ever forgive him for bringing strife to this place?”
“He hasn’t brought anything but that ugly palisade.” Apenimon chuckled and threw a pebble in the direction of the fort wall.
Sabine smiled. She grabbed the reaching hand of the child who was now awake.
“You feel the same for him as I feel for Talise,” Apenimon continued, winking at his wife. “Differences are sometimes needed to complete the whole.”
Papa came from the back of the cabin. “What do you speak of, Apenimon?”
“You should tell him,” Apenimon whispered.
“There is nothing to tell.” Now. Sabine gritted her teeth.
“Sabine, what is this you whisper about?” Papa towered over her, exchanging looks between the three of them.
“Jacob Bennington. He is a good man,” Apenimon said.
“Aye. The poor soul has dealt with much, or so I’ve learned.” Papa rubbed the back of his neck. “His former wife did not deserve such a man as he.”
“Papa, what is this?” Sabine queried.
He cast a look of sympathy in her direction. “The man who brought his daughter here shed some light on Bennington’s situation, that is all.” He motioned for Apenimon to come to the lean-to. “I have some new baskets to show you.”
Sabine offered the child a pink tulip to play with, her own cheeks no doubt deeper in color while she thought about all that was just said. Talise began to sing a song to the child. Sabine joined in as he fiddled with the flower.
Apenimon returned shortly. “Come, Talise, let us go prepare for tomorrow.”
Moeder called from inside in Dutch, “You tell him he may not have a white one!”
A sly, knowing look flashed on Apenimon’s face. Moeder’s warnings spurted out nearly every time she heard his voice. Apenimon rubbed his hands together, lifting an eyebrow at the swath of pure ivories.
“Moeder, remember, Apenimon means ‘worthy of trust’. After so many years, does he not live up to his name?” Sabine brushed the young child’s ebony locks from his eyes. Her dear friend and his sweet family were worthy of trust. Over the years they had taught her much about the land and friendship and peace. And today they shared a bit about love too.
Sabine’s countenance had given away her heart, according to Apenimon and his wife. She had not been careful. Most of her life, she’d been able to tamp down her weaker emotions with courage and dependability. Her friend had just exposed a side of Sabine Van Der Berg that she did not know herself. A ball rolled in the pit of her stomach as she considered a change she did not expect but one that she might never outrun.
Every moment forward would be measured by her last encounter with Jacob Bennington, and every thought of the past was dim in light of their first kiss by the river.
Life had changed since Jacob arrived, but it wasn’t the change of the landscape or Moeder’s peace, as Sabine had feared. It was a deeper, more insufferable change. One within Sabine. A terrible, delightful shift.
Papa passed through the garden again.
“What did you hear about the lieutenant?” she asked.
“Only good things, Sabine.” He pushed his chin up. “The man has suffered more than anyone should.” He wagged his head and disappeared around the corner.
Were her prayers being answered, even amid her stubborn separation from Jacob? Was Papa’s opinion about Jacob softening and Apenimon’s wisdom ringing true for a providence she’d longed for?
Sabine Van Der Berg was certain of one thing. Regardless of what happened next, life would never be the same—and she was hopeful for the change. She brushed her hands along the white tulips once more. She would dream up a peace treaty of her own—one that offered Jacob Bennington her heart in full.
Chapter 10
Sleep escaped Jacob most of the night. He’d watched Sabine with her friends for a good long while yesterday. His heart twisted at the sight of her gentle way with Apenimon’s little child, and he wondered if he was being foolish in keeping his daughter here, among gruff men, when she could be in the tender care of the Van Der Bergs. But he wasn’t certain he could maintain the distance his heart needed from Sabine to insure his outward loyalty to his post.
Did he have to choose one over the other though?
Last night the Iroquois joined the Van Der Bergs for a feast. The dancing and music and laughter were nothing short of peace. The Van Der Bergs were aligned with these people, and Sabine grounded herself firmly in that assurance.
But Jacob heard the concerns from the older officer and his men. They had encountered the French finding ways to poke about this place. Jacob had encountered the French in the Iroquois village his first days here. Their trade items had been revered by that Iroquois man from the northern shore.
Jacob had been trained to stay alert, bury trust for safety, and protect his post at all costs. This training applied not only to his service to the throne, but also to the protection of his daughter from a woman who’d destroyed most of his heart. Nevertheless, Sabine was proof that something of that beating vessel remained. She’d shown him a strength in courage and purity unlike the bullish force of deceit he’d wrestled with in his marriage.
Jacob climbed up the newly finished stairs to take watch above the fort. Another man was assigned such a position, but Jacob enjoyed the calm of sitting in silence, looking out on the dawning day. The lake was a silvery plane against a rounding horizon. Below his line of sight perche
d the Dutchman’s cabin, with the sleeping Sabine.
Her tulips were waiting gems, and her mother’s white tulips nearly glowed in the graying light. He bent his head and prayed the same psalm from their day on the lake, begging God to bring him the comfort of a sheep well guarded by his Shepherd, and asking for assurance that beneath that roof, sleeping soundly, was the goodness he’d been given for the rest of his life.
Jacob did not want. Not now. Everything he treasured was right here.
In Oswego.
“I can only count on these. Perfect jewels from home.” Moeder lowered to her knees and buried her face in the abundant blooms. “So much has changed, Sabine.”
Sabine’s stomach flipped at the thought of all that had changed for the better. A year ago she’d never have imagined falling in love. “It has, Moeder, but much is the same.”
Papa carried several baskets from the lean-to to the front porch.
“Papa, please come here.” She must share what had changed the most. Now, before one more day apart from Jacob. She would not reconcile with him until she had been forthcoming with her parents. “There is something I must tell you—and I beg you to listen.”
Papa leaned an elbow on the windowsill. “Don’t we always?”
“Yes, you do.” Sabine reached over and gathered her mother’s hand in her own. “Much has changed, you are right, Moeder. Not just the fort or the British garrison. But something I believe you’ve always wanted.”
“What is that, Daughter?”
“I have fallen in love.”
“What?” Moeder squeezed her hand, and Father pushed himself upright. “As much as we’ve spoken about marriage … you’ve found someone?” Glee spread across her face as bright and sunny as the garden.
Papa only stared at her—waiting. “Sabine, there is only one man that I have seen you spend time with.”
Moeder’s smile faded.
“I know, Papa. I am in love with Jacob Bennington.”
Moeder gasped, and Papa’s jaw twitched.
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