From This Day Forward (20 page)

Nathan’s eyes widened. “Hurt you?”

She nodded. “You are angry with me.”

“Yes, I am, but that does not mean I will hurt you. I cannot make the same guarantee concerning Mr. Baker, though.”

“He was only trying to help me.”

Nathan snagged her gaze, some of the hardness in his eyes softening. “I promise I will not hurt you. Ever.”

The tense set of her shoulders sagged, and she covered the distance to the bed. Kneeling next to it, she worked on the ropes until the first set slipped away, and Nathan could sit up and finish the job. Then he swung his feet to the floor and rose halfway before sinking back onto the mattress.

“Let me help you.” She laid her hand on his arm.

He shook it off. “I can do this myself.”

Rachel backed away, giving him plenty of room. She still didn’t know he would not come after her. She didn’t think so. Nathan’s word meant a lot to him. He had not wanted to bring her to the farm, and yet he had promised her, so he had brought her in the end against his better judgment.

He sat for a few minutes, clutching the side of the bed. “Who’s that girl?”

“Our thief. I caught her coming out of the barn when John’s dog began to bark.”

“What’s her name? Where does she live?”

“She refuses to say.”

Nathan frowned and slowly pushed himself to his feet. Closing his eyes, he stood for a couple of minutes.

“I can help you.”

His eyes snapped open. “No!”

“You helped me. Why can I not help you?”

“Because I am fine.”

“You are a doctor. I think you know what it means to be fine, and you are not that.”

He peered at her and rubbed his forehead.

“Can I get you more willow bark tea?”

His gaze zeroed in on her face, and for a long moment he didn’t say anything, then he sighed. “All right. Yes, I could use some.”

She whirled around and hurried from the room to prepare his drink. She had the water poured into a cup when Nathan came to the doorway and leaned against it, taking in the young girl still on the stairs, glaring at him.

“Who are you?” he asked the child.

She folded her arms across her chest and averted her head.

He slowly walked farther into the main room and stopped near the stairs. “From the looks of you, does your family live in the swamps?”

Rachel finished making the tea and came to Nathan to give it to him. Now that she could study the child, she saw that she appeared to be about eight or nine, wearing a dress that was badly torn, almost as if she had managed to gather a bunch of rags to wear about herself. Her feet were bare and mud caked. On the part of the legs Rachel could see, the child had sores and cuts.

Suddenly all Rachel’s anger at the wildcat drained away. She needed the eggs more than they did.

“Maddy, prepare supper while I go get the eggs that are hopefully in the nests.” She peered at the girl. “I am bringing the dog up here to make sure you don’t go anywhere tonight. We need answers from you.”

“Ya can beat me. I ain’t talkin’.” The child lifted her chin and wouldn’t meet Rachel’s look.

Nathan turned toward the door. “I will go get the eggs and dog.” But he swayed from the movement and fell back against the staircase, gripping the wood to steady himself.

“No. Between Maddy and me I think we could tie you up again. If you will not lie down, then at least sit. You can keep an eye on our little thief.”

He grumbled and made his way slowly to the chair in front of the fire, near the cradle and the entrance to the house. Rachel doubted he could do anything if the girl tried to run away. He was wobbly on his feet, but she would not say anything to Nathan to disillusion him about protecting them.

Taking her basket, she left the house. The light from the two windows in front and the lantern she held were the only illumination in the darkness. Surveying the black curtain surrounding the house and barn, she sensed eyes on her. Was the girl alone or with someone else? She would feel better with Jasper in the house.

Inside the barn the soft glow from the lantern shone on the path to the stall where the hens were. The huge dog came up, sniffing her hand and waggling his tail. “You did good, Jasper. I wish I could keep you. When Nathan leaves, I would feel better having a watchdog.”

After checking the nests and gathering half a dozen eggs, Rachel closed the stall door and made sure it was latched shut. At the entrance to the barn, she said, “Come, Jasper.”

The dog trotted toward her and out into the night. Halfway to the house, Jasper stopped, a low growl coming from his throat. Rachel halted too and swept around in a full circle, trying to penetrate the darkness that bathed the landscape. She saw nothing but the faint lines of the barn and several large trees. Was someone behind one of them?

Chills snaked up her spine and prodded her forward toward the safety of the house. “Come on, Jasper.” The dog followed but kept looking about him.

Inside, the first thing she did was lock the door, throwing the bolt. She turned away to find Nathan watching her. One eyebrow rose in question. “Clouds are covering the moon,” she said, as though that would reassure her and the others. “I have six eggs and one was broken on the ground.” She threw a look toward the child still sitting on the top step. “We can use them tomorrow when we break our fast.”

Maddy set the food on the table while Nathan covered the short distance and sat to eat. Rachel tore off some bread and passed it to Maddy. The child remained where she was.

After saying the blessing, Rachel peered at the girl. “You can join us if you are hungry.”

The girl angled away and stared at the fire as if the flames were the most fascinating sight she had seen. But Rachel caught her glancing at the food with longing in her eyes before she masked it and returned to her study of the blaze.

“I had better go to the barn.” A smile touched Nathan’s lips as he watched Faith in the cradle in front of the fire.

“No, you should stay here tonight.” Rachel worked on Sarah’s ball gown, using the light from the blaze. “I would feel better in case you have problems with your injury.”

Nathan shot a look at the child, perched now at the bottom of the staircase. “Then I will make a pallet to sleep on out here.”

“When I was hurt, you gave me your bed. I will return the favor. You should sleep in my bedchamber while we girls stay out here.”

As expected, he scowled. “I cannot allow that.”

“Why not?”

He rose to his feet, his hand going to the back of the chair. “Because…” He closed his eyes for a moment then, when he opened them, murmured, “Very well. But if you have any trouble”—he slid his glance toward the young girl—“call me.”

“I doubt we will.” She, too, peered pointedly at the child. “Jasper is capable of taking care of any intruder. Don’t you think?”

The girl snorted. “He tooks me by surprise.”

Rachel put her sewing down in the large basket she kept it in and stood. “Don’t worry about us. Maddy and I caught her with Jasper’s help. We are not going to let her go until we get answers.”

Nathan gave her a nod then headed for the bedchamber. His slow pace and occasional hand on a piece of furniture attested to how he felt, but what really emphasized the toll his injury had on him was the fact he had not argued much at all about staying in her bedchamber.

After Nathan shut the door, Rachel shifted toward the child. “I have left some bread and cheese out for you if you decide you are hungry after all.”

“I would rather—”

“You have a choice. You can sleep in here with us or in the other bedchamber by yourself.”

The girl’s wide gaze swung to the closed door of that room. Fear flittered in and out of her expression so quickly that Rachel wasn’t sure that was the emotion the child experienced. But it was the second time she had reacted to the bedchamber. Did she have something to do with the man who was killed?

“What is the matter? Scared to be by yourself?” Rachel hoped the taunt would produce some kind of reaction that would tell her something about the child.

“Me?” The girl bolted to her feet and glared at her. “I ain’t scared of nobody. Certainly not you or being alone.”

“Well then, Maddy, why don’t you give her a blanket?” Rachel changed Faith’s nappy then scooped up her daughter to nurse her before putting her in her cradle.

Maddy handed the child a blanket from the trunk, and she trudged toward the bedchamber. At the entrance she inched the door open and glanced back before moving into the room. With Faith in her arms, Rachel crossed to the chamber and peered inside. The child stood only a foot inside, clutching the blanket to her, staring at the place where the man had been.

“Is there something you need to tell me? Have you been in this room before?”

The girl whirled around, anger welling to the surface, her eyes slits, her body rigid. “No! I likes to sleep outside.”

“See you tomorrow morning then.” Rachel gave her a smile that did nothing to thaw the fierce expression on the child’s face.

She waited a moment to allow her to find a place to sleep while the light from the fire illuminated the room. The girl went to the opposite side from where the man had been and curled up on the floor, pulling the blanket over her. Since the small bedchamber was windowless, Rachel didn’t fear the child would escape. Rachel quietly shut the door then resumed sitting in her chair by the fireplace to nurse Faith.

A whimper penetrated Rachel’s dreamless sleep. As exhausted as she was, she couldn’t surrender to the black void when a sob followed the first sound. She came awake and stared at the ceiling for a moment to get her bearings in the faint glow of the fire. In the main room. Maddy sleeping by the door near Jasper. Faith in her cradle.

Another cry echoed through the quiet. Coming from the other end of the room. Nathan? No. It was coming from the bedchamber the girl was in. Rachel sat up on her pallet and scanned the area to make sure all was well, then she clambered to her feet as yet another sob drifted to her. A sound of such sorrow that her heart twisted.

At the door she listened, wondering if the child was laying a trap for her. But as the cries continued, cries that tightened a grip about her chest, cutting off her next breath, Rachel pushed into the bedchamber. The light from the fire barely touched the room, and it took her a moment to locate the girl in the far corner, curled in a ball. Rachel rushed to her and knelt next to her.

“What’s wrong?” She laid a hand on the child’s back.

The sounds coming from the girl wrenched Rachel. The same sounds of agony had come from herself only months before. Remembering the time on the ship when Tom had beaten her so badly she thought she might have lost her baby, she stroked the girl, trying to impart as much comfort as she could. When Tom had left her, she had poured her sorrow out to the Lord. The next night Tom had fallen overboard in a drunken stupor. Was she the reason Tom was dead? She never wanted to feel responsible for someone dying. For nights after that, she had not been able to sleep.

“You are safe here,” Rachel whispered, wanting to take away whatever hurt enveloped the girl.

“No, I ain’t.” The child threw herself against Rachel, clutching her as though she were a safe harbor after a long, perilous journey.

When Rachel embraced her, the girl wept even more, her tears soaking the front of Rachel’s gown. “Nothing is so bad the Lord cannot help. You are not alone.” She did not even know if the child heard her.

“Ma’am, are you all right?” In the doorway, Maddy stood framed in the glow of the blaze.

“Yes, add a few logs to the fire and go back to bed.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very.” When the girl was through, she would be emotionally exhausted and would seek sleep. Rachel knew this from experience.

Minutes ticked away and slowly the child calmed down. By the increased illumination Rachel saw that she had fallen asleep. She laid the girl down and covered her with a blanket, smoothing the hair away from her dirty face, streaked with her sorrow. What had caused those tears in the girl?

When Rachel left the bedchamber, she kept the door wide open. From her pallet she could see into the room where the child slept. After checking on Faith, Rachel stretched out on the pallet and tried to sleep. But images of her own anguish taunted her peace of mind. She was twenty-one. This child could only be eight or nine. What had she gone through?