Dream Weaver (24 page)

Gwen thought quickly. Strabismus. She remembered one of her friend's children from the twenty-first century....

"Christian, have you thought of putting a patch over his normal eye? The patch will force the child to use the cross eye and strengthen it. Of course, he'd have to wear it every moment he's awake."

"What a good, common sense idea!" Christian said with an appreciative glance her way.

"Let us pray the suggestion works." Daniel's gaze scanned the table. "It appears that everyone has finished the meal, so why don't we open our presents now. The children have already opened their gifts from us. Can't expect young children to wait....”

"Such nice rosewater!" Gwen said minutes later as she removed the bottle stopper and smelled the sweet fragrance. "How did you guess this would please me as much as anything?" She and Christian sat together on the settle, while Daniel and Rebecca sat across the room with Bryony and Robert, watching in fascination as Robert spun his new top.

"And what a pretty shawl," she said as she lovingly fingered the deep blue shawl made of the finest wool, then draped the shawl around her shoulders and tied it in front. "Blue's my favorite color, you know."

"You look good in any color," Christian said in his bedroom voice.

She hugged his waist. "You say the nicest things."

Serious now, she sat back to scrutinize his vest, smoothing her fingers across his chest, checking it from all angles. "Your vest fits okay?"

"Fits me o--perfectly, darling, but I wonder--where did you find it?"

"I made it," she said with a trace of self-righteous satisfaction.

"All by yourself?"

"All by my lonesome." Every spare minute of every day, with Christian on her mind all the time.

"'All by my lonesome'," he repeated, grinning. He traced the crewel embroidery design with his fingers. "Well, thank you for the gift. You're a lady of many talents." He leaned closer to whisper, "I can think of other things you can give me, but we'll talk on that later. D'you know," he said in his low voice, "I haven't seen you for a whole month. You've been on my mind night and day, even when I'm caring for my patients. The sooner we're married, the better. Can't wait much longer."

"You're not the only one." She moved closer, their hips touching, catching his body heat. Placing her hand on his arm--she could do that much--she looked into his eyes. "When do you think the minister will return here?"

He covered her hand, his fingers caressing her skin, sending a fresh rush of heat to the center of her passion. "In the spring, I should hope. Can't be too soon for me." His expression left no doubt of his meaning.

"Do you know what you do to me?" she whispered in his ear.

"I know what I'd like to do to you." He tightened his hand around hers, his fingers caressing hers.

She drew her hand away. They had to stop this now, or soon they'd arouse Rebecca's and Daniel's suspicions. If they were alone, she and Christian would be headed for the bedroom this very minute. In no time they'd toss off their clothes and cuddle under the covers, making mad, passionate love as she'd dreamed of for so long. Too long.

"Let's talk about something else," she said. "Won't do us any good to talk about marriage now, to wish for something we can't have yet." She adjusted her new shawl around her shoulders. "Have you thought any more about a hospital?"

"Indeed. I've thought much on it. Daniel offered a piece of land on the eastern edge of his property, so I hope to start on the hospital in the spring. Enough men around here will help build it, I doubt not. But of course, I'll need beds and clean linens, medicaments, all the things you need in a hospital." He rubbed his jaw. "Procuring those things may take more time."

"You'll need people to help take care of the sick," Gwen added. "That's where I come in. I can help you."

He stiffened, a frown of annoyance on his face. "Now wait a minute, darling. When you become my wife, you'll stay home to tend my house and cook my meals. Have my children in time, too. 'Tis much too busy you'll be to help in a hospital. Others can do that--"

"Now just you wait," Gwen said, prompting an anxious look from Rebecca and Daniel. She lowered her voice. "Do you think I'm going to be some dutiful wife who stays home all the time to answer her husband's every beck and call? No way, Jose!" She ignored his startled expression. "I don't have to stand around the house all day, stirring pots over a hot fireplace. I'll still have plenty of time to--"

"Gwen! I want you to stay at home."

"So that's all I'll be, just a glorified housekeeper?" she snapped, drawing away.

"No, of course not. But as my wife, your place is in the home."

"'Your place is in the home,'" she mimicked. She slid back on the settle. "Let's skip it for now, shall we?" But she could see trouble ahead.

* * *

The icy wind blew hard and fast, piercing Christian's clothes and stinging his eyes. After checking on Simon Fletcher's nose to satisfy himself the graft was still taking, he'd left the Fletcher cabin and headed for home. With his fur-lined leather gloves, he patted the bottle of whiskey Simon had given him as payment for the nose operation. A shot of whiskey sounded pretty good now, he thought as he turned the collar of his woolen cloak up, tucking it closely around his neck. The horse plodded along the frozen dirt trail, where bare trees whipped their branches in the arctic wind as a darkening sky threatened more snow.

What a busy day--up since dawn--and now all he wanted was a drink and a warm meal. And Gwen. Especially Gwen. Images of her raged through his mind, her every facial expression, those endearing smiles and laughter. More than that, he recalled her consideration for others, her tenderness and care for the children of the settlement. No one had asked her to teach these young ones, but it was something she'd decided on her own, a task that benefitted children and parents alike.

Sliding back on the saddle as the horse climbed a steep hill, Christian struggled to maintain his perch while he thrust sharp frozen branches out of his way. Despite the twists and turns of the path, the abrupt climbs and sharp drops, he urged his horse on. He was anxious to reach home before darkness hid the path. Angry gray clouds gathered overhead, the wind increasing, sending the trees thrashing, and icy branches snapping across his face. While one hand gripped the reins, the other shoved branches back as the fierce wind flayed his face and made his eyes water.

His thoughts swung back to Gwen. He wondered for the hundredth time where she came from. Some day, some way, they'd have to settle that question between them. She'd told him her parents were dead, but if she had any family at all, surely she'd want them to attend the wedding, wouldn't she?

Was she right about the danger from the Indians? More important, how would she know? Christian wondered how long the peace would last or whether the Indians would go on the warpath again with the coming of spring. And who could blame the Indians if they did? Look how the white man continually chased the Indians from their homes.

At any rate, the British had a good, well-trained army, capable of repelling any Indian attack. No worry there, he felt sure.

Christian smiled to himself as his house appeared in the frozen emptiness of the forest, the log structure tight and secure, smoke drifting from its chimney. In only a few months, Gwen would be his wife, and this house their home.

And certainly, the Indians posed no danger.

In the arctic chill of deepest winter,
Pontiac
stood before the Indian braves who huddled in a circle on the frozen ground.

Disdainful of the fierce howling wind, the
Ottawa
chief addressed the braves. "You have lost your old ways." He looked from one man to the next, his voice heavy with sorrow. "You have come to depend too much on the white man. And as for these English--these dogs dressed in red, who have to come to rob you of your hunting grounds and drive away the game--you must lift the hatchet against them. Wipe them from the face of the earth! Burn their houses, destroy their villages! Let us begin by capturing the English forts."

He raised a red tomahawk aloft, then smashed it to the ground. "Kill the white man!" He brandished a wampum belt. "Carry the black wampum belt from tribe to tribe. Let every Indian nation know we will strike back at the white man!"
 

Chapter Sixteen

"'Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God and in the face of this congregation, to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony; which is an honorable estate, instituted of God....'"

Gwen stood next to Christian in the Chamberlains' common room and repeated her vows-- "I, Gwendolyn Ellen, take thee, Christian, to be my lawfully wedded husband...."

Was she actually marrying this man from the eighteenth century? But yes, all this was real--the vases of springtime flowers, the white ribbons tied in bows hanging from the brass candelabrum, the dozens of guests who crowded the room. Christian was her husband now, this man from another time. They'd live in this period for the rest of their lives, if they didn't lose their lives in the coming Indian Rebellion. She tried not to dwell on that possibility, refusing to let such a worry spoil her wedding day.

Their vows completed, she glanced sideways at her husband, realizing once more how much she loved him, loved him so fiercely she couldn't imagine life without him. She wondered how she'd ever lived without him, she, the modern liberated woman who had a job and owned a house in the twenty-first century.

She clasped Christian's hand and mingled with all these kind neighbors who filled the common room, where talk and laughter bounced from wall to wall.

After an eternity, they got away by themselves, in a corner next to the china cupboard. The bright noontime sunlight poured through the open window and added a cheerful glow to the room. A vase of blue hyacinths and yellow freesia adorned an oaken table, scenting the room with a sweet, fresh aroma. She considered having the wedding in this room almost as nice as being married in a church and in some ways better because it seemed cozier, more intimate.

"Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are, Mistress Norgard?" Christian said, his gaze sweeping over the pale green silk gown she and Rebecca had spent hours sewing and hemming. "And your hat," he said, gesturing toward a confection of white straw and pink dahlias. "You're so lovely, sweetheart." He squeezed her hand, his look somber. "My wife."

Noisy laughter swelled around them, but Gwen ignored the sounds--seeing, hearing, wanting only her new husband, nothing and no one else.

With wifely solicitude, she stepped back to adjust his lace-edged cravat. "You're not so bad-looking yourself."

Her fingers itched to unbutton his vest, loosen his white linen shirt so she could touch his bare chest, feel his warm skin. Tempted to untie the ribbon that bound his hair and run her fingers through the thick locks, she contented herself with a quick caress, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

"Be mindful, darling," he whispered, "or I might forget we're not alone."

 
"Come on, you two lovebirds. Let's start the music and dancin'." Simon Fletcher staggered through the crowd, a mug of beer in his hand, the smell of alcohol on his breath. His face was as homely as ever, but his reconstructed nose looked as good as new. "Ye'll have enough time by yourselves tanight," he said with a wink and a crude gesture. Laughing uproariously, Simon looked around to catch the giggles and knowing nods of the others. "And besides," Simon drawled, "you two have to start the dancin'."

Gwen exchanged a wry smile with Christian as a country dance began with the screech of the fiddle and the trilling of the flute. Her thoughts wandered while she performed the steps, tonight uppermost on her mind, when she and Christian would be alone. Did she really know this man? And did he really love her? She knew he wanted her in his bed; he'd made that plain enough. Love and sex aren't the same, she realized, but his look, his kisses, his caresses told her he cared for her very much.

Trust your husband and your heart, she told herself, and never doubt his love. He was her lover, her soulmate, the man she would live with throughout this life and for many lives to come.

Serious thoughts tossed aside, she laughed as the dance ended, and Christian's hand remained in hers. "There, we've done our part. Now can we be by ourselves for awhile?"

He gave her a teasing glance. "Pray don't tell me you want to be alone with me?"

She brushed her arm against his. "What do you think?" As they moved away, she gestured toward Isaac Beam's three year old, who clutched his mother's skirt, his plain brown linsey frock hanging to his bare feet. "I see Billy Beam is wearing his eye patch."

Christian nodded. "With much cajoling and bribery from me. 'Tis not easy to convince his parents the eye patch will do him good. So I must bring the child small treats to persuade him to wear the patch.