The Heart's Stronghold

by Amanda Barratt

  Cupping a white tulip in her palm as she eyed the fort entrance, a swath of crimson in the middle of the tulip patch caught her eye. Apenimon’s covering lay crumpled amid the white flowers. Where was he? She retrieved the covering and looked around. As she called his name, a memory hit her. She’d awakened to a man’s voice calling the same name in her sleep.

  Was it a dream? Or was it—

  Sabine gasped. Flower petals splayed across the ground, headless stems poked up between the untouched tulips. The covering fell from her hands. At least twenty stems had been massacred.

  What had Apenimon done?

  He’d teased her about desiring the white tulips, or she had assumed it was only in jest. Where was he now though? Her lip trembled and she stumbled backward out of the patch, her clog crushing something beneath it.

  “No,” she whimpered as she knelt down and gathered the smashed flower head. “Why would he waste such a gift?” Her peace was ambushed.

  More petals were strewn along the path. Sabine gathered them in her apron, tears streaming down her face. A high-pitched cry cut through the air. The flowers tumbled to the ground again. As she turned the corner, Amelia emerged from the wood. The girl fell to her knees as her body shook with sobs.

  “Amelia!” Sabine called out, running toward the back gate. She crushed another tulip beneath her foot. Panic rattled every bone in her body.

  The child scrambled to her feet, casting a look of desperation in Sabine’s direction.

  “Miss Sabine!” she cried with her arms opened wide. Amelia crashed into her, wrapping her waist in a fierce, trembling hug. “They took him! They took my father!”

  The blood pumping in Sabine’s ears now drained from her face. She gripped Amelia by the shoulders and bent down eye level. “Who took him?”

  “A man hit him over the head and took him off into the wood.”

  “What man?”

  “He–he wore a belt, and paint on his face. Was it your friend?”

  No! Not Apenimon.

  Sabine’s heart plummeted to her stomach, and she stumbled back in the garden. All the fear and skepticism Jacob brought with him now threatened to expose roots of truth.

  “Come, Amelia. We must notify my father. Surely there is some misunderstanding.”

  “Why would he hit him, Miss Sabine? What had he done wrong?”

  “I do not know.”

  When they passed through the garden again, her father was kneeling beside the fallen beauties. Her mother gripped the fence, whimpering.

  “Papa, Apenimon took Jacob.” Sabine’s words shook.

  “Jacob must have caught him defiling Moeder’s garden.” Papa’s face was dark. He clenched a white tulip in his fist. “This will not bode well for our alliance.”

  A wave of anguish drenched Sabine’s soul. Had God sent Jacob, not to borrow her bravery, but to reveal the paper-thin friendship she’d so counted on these many years?

  Amelia tugged at Sabine’s hand, blubbering and twisting back and forth as she looked at the wood then the fort. “Please, my father!”

  “I will alert the men to find him, Papa—”

  “No, do not tell one soul,” Moeder sharply demanded. She carefully stepped closer without letting go of the gatepost. “If Apenimon wants the flowers, give them to him.”

  “Love, what is this?” Papa wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “These are yours to keep, not his to take.”

  “They are not precious enough to cause one to sin.” She pressed her lips together as she considered in silence. “Let us give them all to Apenimon if he wants them. Jacob is worthy of such an offering.”

  “Moeder, you say this now, but you’ve said otherwise about him in the past.”

  “Do you think you are not convincing, Daughter?” Moeder prodded. “I hear the love in your voice. If I had to choose, no man would be worthy of your hand. But I cannot always have control, can I?”

  “But, Wife—”

  “God has forgiven much. And He sacrificed much as well. These flowers have reminded me of that. Now is the time to forgive, no matter the sacrifice. For the sake of peace.”

  Sabine guided Amelia around the fallen flowers and to her mother. “Moeder, this is a great sacrifice, I know it.”

  “I only believe it because of you, Sabine.” Her mother reached out her hand, and Sabine leaned forward, allowing Moeder’s palm to find her cheek. “You are strong and courageous in this land. And loved by all. God has shown us that above all else, love must prevail. This is your time to offer up what is needed.”

  Tears streamed down Sabine’s face, and Moeder wiped them away with her hand. “Go, Daughter, save your love.”

  Her heart leapt. “I do love him, Moeder,” she whispered.

  “And he loves you, Sabine, greatly,” Papa interjected, a knowing flash in his eyes.

  Sabine gulped in the morning air, turned to Amelia with all the determination she could muster, and focused on her big brown eyes once again. “I will find your father. Do not worry.”

  “Please, Miss Sabine. I—I need him.”

  “I know you do.” Sabine kissed her forehead. “I need him too.”

  Her parents took little Amelia into the cabin. Sabine began to work toward forgiving Apenimon in the very act of cutting down the white beauties to offer him. With each stem she prayed forgiveness and safety for Jacob. While Apenimon spoke often of peace, this morning destroyed her assurance that his words were true.

  She laid out the crimson covering and placed eighty tulips carefully on top then folded the corners and slung the bundle behind one shoulder. As she traipsed past the heads of the defiled tulips along the ground and exchanged her clogs for moccasins beneath the lean-to, she begged for God to accept this offering. Not as a symbol, but as a very real exchange for the man she loved.

  Chapter 12

  Jacob’s wrists burned with the twine cutting his flesh. Sweat dribbled down his temple as he sat in a sunny clearing somewhere in the wood near the Iroquois palisade. If his mouth was free of the gag tied tightly at the back of his head, he could try and reason with these men.

  But he awoke in this position, sitting against a dead tree, bound with his hands behind his back and his legs tied at the ankles. His head throbbed from the blow.

  Three men gathered at a small fire, seemingly collaborating in hushed voices. He recognized two—the Frenchman who’d visited the village when Apenimon’s son was born and the northern shore native. But the third man stood between the seated two, his back to Jacob.

  Behind Jacob, a man breathed heavily, and a low scratching sound continued in rhythm. The man’s shadow on the littered floor proved his existence. The scratching sound grew deep and forceful. Was the man trying to set himself free by cutting through his own bindings?

  Jacob’s pulse froze at the hope of being set free, but then it pounded in double time when Sabine marched through the trees at the far end of the clearing, the early light dappling her cap and shoulders. Jacob squirmed wildly. A fierce urge unleashed within him. He must warn her. He shook his head and groaned.

  “Quiet, man!” The Frenchman, wearing native paint on his face, tossed a stone in Jacob’s direction. The standing man turned around.

  “Michael?” Jacob spoke the garbled word with the gag in his mouth.

  His friend stepped back, a fierce glare upon the Frenchman. “You talked too long. I did not want to be seen.”

  “Does it matter? You’ll find safety behind Fort Niagra’s walls. The money you contributed by building the cheaper clay fortification is as good as spent.”

  Jacob nearly gagged on the cloth in his mouth. His friend had convinced Jacob to use clay. All because of an agreement with the enemy?

  Michael wrung his hands and trod toward him. “I am sorry, Jacob. The French are convincing—and have promised me quite a sum of my own.” He grimaced. “Nonetheless, the governor will be pleased with the fort.” He lowered his head as he pulled his broad-brimmed hat down over his brow. “You hav
e led well. Forgive me—” He clamped his mouth shut, lifted his shoulders, and trudged away, disappearing into the western tree stand without another glance back at Jacob.

  Again Jacob had been betrayed. And again he suffered the repercussions from the deceit of someone near to him.

  Oh Michael, what have you done?

  He laid his eyes on Sabine, praying God’s rod and staff would pull her away from this darkening valley. Yet the brave beauty stepped into the clearing with a large bundle hanging from one shoulder. “Where is Apenimon?” she bellowed.

  The two captors rose to their feet, blocking Jacob’s view. “You must leave, woman,” the Frenchman barked. “There is nobody of your concern here.”

  “Jacob!” Sabine began to run toward him. The man from the northern shore lunged out and caught her by the arm. “Leave me be!” she cried, the bundle falling to the ground. It unfolded and revealed a mass of white tulips.

  “Do you bring us flowers?” The Frenchman guffawed, kicking at the stems.

  “I bring you nothing,” Sabine seethed, attempting to jerk her arm away from the other man. He only tugged harder. The two men escorted Sabine across the clearing, their backs to Jacob.

  “We have a message for the fort.” The Frenchman spoke through gritted teeth as he took Sabine’s other arm. “The treaty is null and void. The British are no longer in alliance with the village yonder, or any other. If they do not leave, the lieutenant will perish by Iroquois hands.”

  “This man is not from the village,” Sabine rebuked, still trying to pull away.

  “Ah, but your friend is—and, as I see, you’ve found the cloak he left behind. Those flowers were a prize he could not resist. And it seems he’s helped us in our plot by leaving it behind. The Iroquois will soon choose the French over your cheap wares and poorly packed goods.”

  Jacob heard a groan from whoever was behind him. “I did not help them.” A scraping whisper crawled around the tree. “They stole my covering when they captured me.” Apenimon’s profile came into view as he leaned around the trunk. His dark eyes stared across the clearing. “Do not make a sound. We will take them. For now, let them squabble.” He began to work on Jacob’s bound wrists.

  Jacob considered their predicament while Apenimon worked. Sabine’s friend had been framed. All along, Lieutenant Wilson had been right that trouble was brewing. Yet ’twas in the actual building of a fort where trouble occurred. Even though their treaty was strong and secure with the Iroquois, peace was threatened from the outside.

  As his wrists and ankles were set free and Apenimon untied the gag in his mouth, Jacob prayed for strength to save Sabine and preservation of the peace at the new Fort Oswego.

  He followed Apenimon, crawling around the far side of the fire. Signaling with a click of his tongue, Apenimon took off in a sprint toward the two men. Jacob ran as best as he could with his pounding head. The men swiveled around and ran toward them. Sabine cried out as Jacob lunged at the Frenchman, grabbing him by the neck and thrusting him to the ground. The man ripped away Jacob’s fingers and then tried to wrestle Jacob beneath him, but the man did not succeed. Everything important to Jacob depended on capturing this troublemaker.

  “You shall not get away with this,” Jacob roared. He secured the man’s wrists behind his back and anchored his knee firmly on the man’s thigh.

  Apenimon held the other man secure with hands tied behind him.

  Sabine wept on her knees beside the fallen flowers.

  They quickly secured the men to the same tree where Jacob and Apenimon had been held captive and then hurried to tend to Sabine.

  “It is over my love, all will be well.” Jacob gathered her in his arms, and she clutched him close. “Do not fear.” He kissed her forehead.

  “Jacob, I am so thankful you are safe.” She pulled away, searching his eyes. “What would have happened—” She shook her head. Her face blanched. A nightmare must have unfolded in her mind.

  “You have a good friend in Apenimon,” he assured her. The man crouched down beside them.

  “They stole my cloak, Sabine.” Apenimon picked up a flower, twirled it about, then handed it to her.

  “I brought these as a treaty of sorts.” She shook her head. “Now they are a bribe for forgiveness. Please, Apenimon, forgive me for not trusting you.”

  “My friend, there is nothing to forgive. Those men have crept about, spying on us. They knew how precious these tulips are and assumed it to be a weakness.” He clapped a hand on Jacob’s shoulder. “I am sorry your friend betrayed you.”

  Jacob’s stomach was like lead. He said, “He is a fool. The governor will be glad that we’ve captured Michael’s accomplices. And I am sure the French would rather turn Michael over than start a larger conflict. Unfortunate for him.” He shook his head but could not linger on the traitor for long. All was not lost. “No matter stone or clay, the fort is secure, regardless of his foolishness.”

  Sabine squeezed his hand.

  Apenimon continued, “He was fooled by darkness. Yet Sabine offered the most powerful weapon of all—a sacrifice of peace.” He smiled widely. “And you even returned my covering. I thank you.” A long hearty laugh burst from the kind man, and both Jacob and Sabine joined in.

  For the last time, Jacob relinquished his skepticism of this place. He may never be able to avoid trials, but he could remain strong and courageous to face hardship when it came. No matter the discord around them, he’d follow Sabine’s persistent desire to courageously follow peace.

  “Moeder gave these flowers to me,” Sabine said. “I believe that they’ve transformed from forgiveness to peace.”

  “A treaty of tulips.” Apenimon winked.

  “Yes. A gift you’ve longed for,” she teased.

  He began to gather up the corners of his covering, careful that no flower would escape. “But friend, I want you to have them.”

  “Moeder will not want them back.” Her mother might not always like change, but once she’d decided on something, she was determined to follow through. Sabine’s strength was an inherited trait. “What would you have me do with them, Apenimon?”

  “I have an idea,” Jacob interjected. He gathered Sabine’s hands and helped her up to standing. She gave him a curious look.

  Apenimon handed Jacob the bundle and nodded in the direction of the captives. “My men and I will take care of these fools. “You go ahead.”

  Jacob held the bundle with one arm and twined his fingers in Sabine’s hand. Her arms prickled with gooseflesh, and thanksgiving poured from her heart as they moved beneath the shade of the trees.

  “What is your idea, Jacob?” Sabine nudged him with her elbow.

  He turned and faced her. His moistened hair clung to his temple, and his disheveled shirt was loose around his tanned skin. He appeared to be more a frontiersman than a soldier. Sabine melted into his firm embrace. He did not speak. His searching brown pools swam with such familiarity, she could hardly remember life without him.

  “You must tell me your idea, Jacob,” she insisted, overcome with the same love he so clearly beamed with in this moment.

  “Well it is up to you to make it come true.” He slowly leaned in, his lips positioned just above hers, but with a catch of his breath, he kissed her cheek instead. She reveled in his playfulness but longed for something more than a simple kiss on the cheek.

  “How can I make it true?” she whispered. The same glorious stampede must be racing within him. She could feel his wild rhythm against her chest.

  He stepped back, placed the flower bundle between them, and lowered to his knee. “I believe these flowers would be best used at a wedding feast. Don’t you?”

  Her smile grew wide as tears spilled down her cheeks.

  “Your father was kind and gave us his blessing. And, I believe, your mother’s blessing is here, in her offering.” He patted the bundle. “But the only person I care to receive a blessing from is you, Sabine Van Der Berg. And I’d be mightily blessed if you’d beco
me my wife.”

  Sabine sank down in front of him, drinking in his excited gaze. She locked away this happily-ever-after in her heart. The fairy tales she’d been told were nothing compared to this.

  “I will happily become your wife, Jacob Bennington,” she affirmed in the strongest of voices, leaning in and receiving her lieutenant’s kiss.

  With a treaty of tulips between them and a bright future promised on the shore of Lake Ontario, Sabine Van Der Berg was certain—together they had found middle ground, rooted in peace, abounding in love.

  Angie Dicken credits her love of story to reading British literature during her time as a military kid in England. Now living in the US heartland, she is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers, sharing about author life with her fellow Alley Cats on The Writer’s Alley blog and Facebook page. Besides writing, she is a busy mom of four and works in adult ministry. Angie enjoys eclectic new restaurants, authentic conversation with friends, and date nights with her Texas Aggie husband. Connect with her online at www.angiedicken.com.

  A Promise for Tomorrow

  by Amanda Barratt

  Dedication

  To my frontier-loving sis. You encouraged me to write this story, and your excitement for this project buoyed me every step of the way. Thanks for talking all things Boone and fangirling over Silas. I love you more every day!

  And to the One whose unfailing love carries us through all storms.

  Chapter 1

  Kentucke Territory

  July 1778

  Peace was a thing too fragile to be left unbroken.

  A shudder heaved through Rosina Whiting’s body as her gaze took in the scene. Smoke rose from the desecrated remains of the once-proud cabin, ashes floating downward as if tossed from the sky by God Himself. The acrid stench of smoke mingled with the metallic odor of … blood.

  Her stomach churned. She clamped a sweaty palm against her mouth in an attempt to stave off rising bile.