Blacksmith Brides

by Amanda Barratt

  “You should pick up some herbs to make a medicine bag for each of the lads and your father, as we’d discussed before.”

  “I had forgotten about that.”

  “Purchase herbs for small ills like headaches, cuts and bruises, a sore throat. Things they shan’t want to see an army doctor about.”

  “I bought some when Robbie and I were there. I shan’t need to purchase much more.”

  “We should sew packets of oiled canvas to keep them dry.”

  “I will purchase some canvas at the mercantile.”

  “Then you should be on your way.” Her mother turned and gave her a sad sort of smile. “’Tis good to have something to do. Some small way we can help our men prepare. It keeps our minds off anything else.”

  Mother returned to her spinning wheel.

  The gentle squeak of the treadle followed Meg out of the room. She made her way up to her bedroom, bemused by the conversation. Mother knew that Alexander’s shop was just down the street from Madam Richardson. It was true that she loved the herbal tea Meg had purchased there many weeks ago when she and Robbie had picked up the soldier kits, but Mother wasn’t the persnickety sort. She’d be happy with tea purchased at the herbalist a few blocks over just as well. Was it possible that her mother was reconsidering her objection to Alexander? Or was that simply wishful thinking? More than likely, Mother thought Meg must be over the blacksmith and felt it was safe to send her out on errands now. Meg pulled her new riding habit out of the armoire. It didn’t matter what Mother thought.

  Alexander had given up on her.

  Gulliver picked up his pace as they left Madam Richardson’s, the packets of herbs safely stowed in her saddlebag. Did he miss Alexander too? Meg shook her head. What a silly thought, especially since they’d turned the opposite direction. She was glad they didn’t have to pass by the smithy. She was. And yet, she twisted in the saddle to look back that way. The door was open, as always. Even on a cold day the forge would keep the building warm.

  She turned to face forward and a punch to the middle couldn’t have stolen her breath any quicker. Trotting toward her was a familiar bay horse and a far too familiar rider. He rode with his head down, sitting listlessly in the saddle.

  Whatever was wrong? His broad shoulders sagged beneath his coat. She reined Gulliver over to the other side of the street and halted him directly in Alexander’s path. He’d have to stop or run her over.

  Meg held the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth. What if he didn’t stop, but rode around her? She lifted Gulliver’s reins to move out of the way when Asa snorted and shook his head. Alexander looked up, and their eyes met.

  The surprise in his eyes barely surfaced above the sadness.

  Her throat constricted until she feared for her next breath.

  “Meg.”

  “Mr. Ogilvie.”

  He ran his hand over his face and then around the back of his neck.

  She wanted to run to him and fling her arms around him, right here in the street for the whole world to see. But she couldn’t move. The pain on his face said more than any words. He didn’t want to see her. Not now. Not ever again.

  Despite her teeth holding on, her lip trembled.

  “Oh Meg.” He nudged Asa beside Gulliver and maneuvered both horses into an alley, away from the traffic on the street. He extended his hand, palm upward, and let it stop halfway between them.

  He no longer blocked her path any more than she blocked his. He was giving her the choice to take his hand … or ride on.

  She raised her eyes to his tawny gaze. A soft gasp slipped between her quaking lips. The longing in his eyes matched the one in her soul. She slipped her hand into his.

  He drew in a deep breath. “’Tis been a long time.”

  “Almost four weeks.”

  “Aye.” He stared at their hands. “Your father would not accept me as your suitor.” His fingers tightened around hers. “I do not blame him. I’m not good enough for you.”

  “Never say that.” She wished he’d look up. His eyes, so expressive, would tell her what he was thinking.

  “’Tis true.”

  “I cannot agree.”

  He barked a short laugh without humor. “You are the only one. Even my brother called me daft.”

  “Does my opinion matter not? Even to you?” Her voice wobbled on the last word.

  He jerked up his head, and their eyes locked. “Your opinion matters more to me than I can say.”

  “Well then.” She coaxed a smile from her trembling lips. “Alexander …”

  At the use of his name, he rewarded her with a wide smile. Then he sobered and loosened his grip on her hand. “’Tis no use. I’m leaving for Kentucke in six weeks.”

  “Must you?”

  “Aye. I gave my word.”

  She’d been there when he’d shaken Daniel Boone’s hand. A man of honor would not turn away from that. She wouldn’t respect him if he did. But her heart only knew that if he left, a part of her would never be whole again.

  “Come to the house.”

  He shook his head. “Nay. Nothing has changed. I have no more to offer you now than I did the last time.”

  “But Father—”

  “Told me he would not see me again if I returned.” He let her hand fall away from his and gathered his reins. “’Twas plain enough even for a simple blacksmith to understand.”

  “Alexander—”

  “Nay.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Unless I could offer you more—”

  “I shall wait.”

  He looked at her, his jaw slackened. “You would?”

  “Indeed.”

  He looked into the street and then back again. “It could be years before I have something substantial built in Kentucke.”

  “Then I shall wait years.”

  Alexander hardly dared to breathe lest he wake up and find himself in a dream. “Nothing on earth could inspire me to hurry and improve my lot in life more than that.”

  “Come by the house before you leave.”

  He started to shake his head.

  “Please?”

  The pleading in her eyes matched that in her voice, still tremulous despite the smile on her beautiful face. He wasn’t worthy of her. He understood that even if she didn’t, but he’d use every God-given talent he possessed to better his circumstances in Kentucke.

  He took her hand again and raised it to his lips, watching—nay, drowning—in the blue of her eyes while he kissed the inside of her wrist, above the leather of her riding glove. Her quick intake of breath sent his heart pounding. He resisted the urge to pull her off her horse and into his arms, though her eyes told him she wouldn’t object.

  First, he would prove himself worthy.

  “I shall see you home.”

  “I would like that.”

  They rode in silence, not the uncomfortable kind, but still he wished he had William’s way with words. She flashed him a smile, no longer uncertain or trembling, but brilliant and—dare he hope—loving. If only he were leaving for Kentucke today. The quicker he got there, the quicker he would be back to claim Meg as his own.

  They turned onto her street, and she stopped her horse.

  “Nay. I shall see you to the door as a man ought.”

  “But—”

  “Are you ashamed of me?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “That is something I could never be.”

  He nodded, his throat tight, then swallowed and nudged Asa forward.

  Her brother, Jamie, rode down the drive on a gray horse. His eyebrows shot up at the sight of them. As well they might, considering.

  “Ho there, little sister, what is this?”

  “What does it look like? Mr. Ogilvie is seeing me home.” Her chin lifted to an angle that Alexander was coming to recognize as Meg at her feistiest. She was preparing to battle her brother over him. Verbally, at least.

  “Then he is a brave man or a fool.” Jamie’s cheerful grin took any stin
g out of his words. “Or a bit of both.”

  With Meg bristling beside him, Alexander chuckled. “’Tis likely you have put your finger on it.”

  Jamie nodded and touched the brim of his hat as he rode past. “Good luck to you.”

  Meg watched him go, her eyes wide and her mouth a circle of surprise. She looked at Alexander and shrugged. “I know not what to make of that.”

  He did. At least one of her brothers was on his side.

  They rode around behind the house to the stable. He dismounted and helped her off her horse. Standing toe to toe with his hands still at her waist, the last thing he wanted was to let her go.

  “You promised to come and see me before you leave.”

  “Aye.” He pushed a stray lock of her silky hair away from her cheek, where the breeze had teased it. “You promised to wait.”

  Eyes glistening beneath a veil of unshed tears, she summoned a smile. “As long as I must.”

  He stepped back and turned to mount Asa. The fluttering of a lace curtain caught his eye. Someone watched them. Fair enough. He would never sneak around where Meg was concerned. He swung into the saddle and gazed down at her. “I shall come by on my way out of town.”

  “Six weeks.” Her words barely reached him, so softly did she speak.

  He nodded, his heart too full for words, and kicked Asa into a canter.

  Chapter 10

  He should have been happier. Alexander stood beside his new wagon, showing it to Da. A good stout wagon, strong enough to survive the primitive road they’d hack out of the wilderness. It included two extra wheels, a spare axle, and two water barrels mounted on the side. He had room to haul his new forge and anvil and as much scrap iron as he could scrounge in the bed of the wagon. His meager belongings would fit under the built-in cot.

  “The canvas wants a good greasing to keep the weather out.” Da thumped the side of the wagon. “Ethan Scribner has a well-trained pair of oxen to sell. He mentioned it when he was in last week.”

  “Ethan’s a good hand with oxen.”

  “One of the best.”

  Alexander stared at his wagon, keenly aware that he was missing something.

  “What is it, lad?”

  Alexander lifted his shoulders in a shrug, but when his da tipped his head, he let them droop. “’Tis not how I would like to be leaving.”

  “’Tis the girl, I suppose.”

  “Aye.”

  “Some things are not meant to be. But I wish, for your sake, that it could.”

  He hadn’t told Da about Meg’s promise to wait for him. As the days had passed, he thought it less and less likely that she would. Not because she didn’t mean it when she’d said it, but because life had a way of twisting and turning when one least expected it. Who knew what would happen with the coming war? Her circumstances—and his—may change too much to make it possible.

  If only she could come with him now. He hadn’t gone back to the McCrackens’ because he had no argument to make that would sway Callum McCracken, and he knew it. He had nothing to offer a lady like Meg. He would see her before he left. One more time. Then only God knew what would happen from there.

  “Will you deliver the gates to the Samuel Wetherill manor this afternoon? They are ready to go.” Da shook his head. “’Twould not surprise me to get them back in a year or so, to melt down for bullets to help the war effort. He is a true Patriot, Mr. Wetherill. Not like many in that section of the city.”

  Samuel Wetherill lived two streets down from the McCrackens. Even the chance to be that close to Meg made his heart skip a beat. He could detour past her house after the delivery. Not to stop, of course, just to be near for a bit. “I shall take them now. William came back with the buckboard. ’Tis still hitched out front.”

  “Need help loading them?”

  “I can do it, Da.”

  Alexander hefted one of the ornate gates, his muscles straining under the weight as he carried it out to the buckboard. He returned for the other and grabbed a crowbar. He might need to pry the old gates loose. After removing his leather apron, washing his hands, finding his hat and gloves, he untied Da’s team of horses and started down the street. Toward Meg’s house.

  “Do not do it, Robbie. Please do not go.” Meg grabbed her brother’s arm, but he shook her hand off without effort. When had her little brother gotten so strong? He was nearly as tall as David and looked more like Andrew every day. Right now, he was testing her patience.

  “Of course I’m going. I shan’t sit home to be thought a coward.”

  “’Tis not cowardice to know when you are outnumbered.”

  “The lads and I will show those Loyalists who runs this town.” He slapped a cloth cap on his head and jerked open the back door.

  “Robbie!” Meg watched from the open doorway as he took off at a run. She clenched her fists at her sides. This was no lark. He was going to meet a gang of lads from his school who had been issued a challenge from another gang. Patriots against Loyalists. Just like their fathers. This town was ready to split right down the middle. Their neighborhood leaned Loyalist, and it was making life difficult for her youngest brother. For all of them. Hadn’t Mother’s garden club already divided along the same lines? And Father lost another contract just this week to a family who avowed their fealty to the Crown.

  Hoofbeats stopped her from closing the door. Jamie and Andrew rode into the yard. Meg rushed out to meet them.

  “Robbie just left.” She pointed the direction he’d gone. “He has gone to join a fight.”

  “What fight?” Jamie asked.

  “A gang of Loyalist lads from school has issued a challenge.”

  Andrew dismounted. “’Tis just the way with lads at school.”

  She gripped his sleeve. “I think not this time. If you had seen him …”

  “Come on, Andrew. I think I know where they will meet.” Jamie looked down at her. “Do not worry yourself. We shall look out for him.”

  “Thank you.”

  Andrew grumbled but mounted on his horse. Jamie touched the brim of his hat and winked at her. Satisfied she’d done the right thing, she turned back to the house. She wouldn’t tell Mother now. Not with Jamie and Andrew taking care of things. No sense getting her youngest brother into even more trouble.

  The noise reached Alexander above the clip-clop of the team’s hooves and the jingle of their harnesses. It sounded like the screech of a flock of crows in the distance, but then voices emerged above the din. Several young men crossed the street in front of him, another ran past his wagon. He kept the team at a slow trot but tightened his grip on the reins.

  When he turned down the same street the young men had run to, two streets short of the McCrackens’ house, bedlam spread out before him. His team pranced and tossed their heads at the noise and commotion. He pulled them to a halt.

  A mob swarmed the street, lads who couldn’t be more than twelve years old fought beside—and against—men his age and more. Clubs, branches, even broken bottles were swung as weapons. The mob surged toward him.

  Da’s horses danced in place until Alexander backed them up, intending to drive around another way to the Wetherills’. He managed to get the animals back to the crossroad when a lad came pelting across the street, his cap flying from his brown mop of hair and landing in front of the team.

  Robbie McCracken.

  With a growl in his throat, Alexander set the brake and tied the reins to the handle. The team wouldn’t get far trying to drag the wagon with its heavy load. He glanced in the back and grabbed the crowbar.

  “Robbie, wait!” He leaped free of the buckboard, but the lad was already too far away to hear him above the noise. Alexander ran after him, the boy’s hair waving like a flag for him to follow into the crowd.

  Pushing his way through, Alexander grunted when someone planted a fist in his side. He shoved the offender, nearly tall enough to look him in the eye, into another man who rushed toward him with a club in his hand. He caught the club, twisted
it away from the man, and tossed it aside.

  What was this madness?

  He caught sight of Robbie again, leaping into the fray with a half circle of lads his own age. The line of men facing them were both older and greater in number. No good could come of that. Another fist collided with Alexander’s jaw and half spun him around. He jabbed back with the rounded end of his crowbar and heard the gasp as it drove the air from whoever had hit him.

  He stayed focused on reaching Robbie’s side. Already several of the young lads had fallen and lay writhing on the ground. Before Alexander could reach him, someone brought a club down on Robbie’s bare head. He went down like a bag of wet sand.

  “No!” Alexander shoved his way to the lad and stood over the top of him, wielding his crowbar like a scythe. He couldn’t stop to check on the lad, but he could keep these hooligans from running him over or hitting him again.

  “Robbie? Can you hear me?”

  Nothing. Sweat broke across Alexander’s brow and trickled down his back. He swung the crowbar and knocked a club from an attacker’s hand. When the small man rushed him, Alexander grabbed him by the front of his coat and heaved him into the crowd. A space opened up around Alexander and Robbie.

  “Robbie!”

  Alexander whirled at the person calling Robbie’s name and raised his crowbar, only to lower it slightly when he recognized Jamie leaping from his horse. The frightened animal bolted away.

  Jamie skidded to a halt. “You are the blacksmith, are you not?”

  “I am.”

  “Stand aside while I check on Robbie. And keep these fellows off my back, if you would.”

  “Gladly.”

  Another man pushed through the crowd toward them. Alexander stepped in front of Jamie as he knelt beside Robbie, and twirled his crowbar in readiness.

  “He is my brother,” the man shouted.

  Jamie lifted his head. “That’s Andrew.”

  “Who is the Viking with the crowbar?” Andrew took a hesitant step toward them.