Goddess Born (19 page)

Dismounting, Henry and I followed the guide toward the largest of the longhouses, where we found the tribe’s chief waiting outside the doorway. A powerfully built man, he looked somewhat intimidating with his hair shaved nearly to the crown and his forehead painted red and black. Grave lines marred his rugged face from the strain of having his son and the tribe’s future leader so greatly afflicted.

He spoke English as well as Teme, and I tensed slightly, not knowing what he would say in front of Henry, or how to stop him from saying too much if need be. When my grandparents arrived in Hopewell more than forty years ago, the Lenape had known at once that they were different from the other settlers. My father thought it was due to an acceptance of shamans, or perhaps a belief that there were spirits everywhere and in everything. Regardless of the reason, they knew of my gift and saw no reason to feign ignorance while in their own village.

“Tenteyuawen,” he addressed me. “My son is dying. Eight days ago he was hunting for deer and cut his hand with a knife. His mother cleaned the wound when he returned, but an evil spirit had already found the way inside his body. Now this spirit rages, and our healers can do nothing to stop it. Only your power is strong enough to make it leave.”

Henry stood at my side listening to every word, and by good fortune nothing had been said that couldn’t be easily dealt with later. If I had been alone, I would have responded more reassuringly. Instead I merely requested to see Teme.

The chief nodded and moved to the door of the longhouse. When I followed, Henry stayed protectively at my side, prepared to enter with me, but it was one thing for him to hear my powers described as great and another altogether to witness what I was about to do. “Henry, it would be best if you stay here,” I said.

A shadow fell across his face, but seeing my earnest expression, he reluctantly agreed.

The chief lifted aside the animal hide that served as a door and motioned me into the house. The lack of windows greatly reduced the light to a dark gloom that immediately closed around us as the hide fell back into place. Women chanted softly toward the far end. The chief guided me to where they were sitting crossed leg in a circle around Teme.

He was lying naked on a deerskin mat, his body arched in painful spasms. The chief said something in his native language and several of the women moved aside to make room for me. With a slow deep breath, I knelt down at Teme’s side, and placed my hands on his chest.

“I’m here, Teme,” I said as the warmth began to swell inside me.

* * *

The sun had passed high noon before I came out to find Henry leaning against the longhouse no more than a step from the doorway, much like my personal sentinel. “Will the Indian live?” he asked.

I stretched my back and squinted into the sunlight. “Yes, I believe he will.” The poison had been completely eradicated from his body, allowing the nervous system to function properly again. The extended fight had left Teme exhausted, but in a day or two he would be up and about, his muscles still a bit sore, though no longer caught in endless spasms. I was also greatly in need of rest and longed to return to Brighmor where I could change into fresh clothing and curl up in my own bed.

As word spread that I had finished, people began to gather. “Let’s go home,” I said, thinking it prudent to be far away when the Sakima proclaimed that his son would live.

Henry helped me onto my horse and then mounted his own. “Would you like to return by ferry?” he asked.

I was touched by his willingness to ride several hours out of the way rather than trying to push me into crossing the river. But my clothes were still uncomfortably damp and I felt anxious to be home. Having successfully forded the river once today, I was less reluctant to do it again. “Let’s go back the way we came.”

In single file we entered the woods, Henry taking the lead to keep us on the trail while I took up the rear, content just to follow. We had gone maybe a quarter of a mile, discussing nothing of consequence, when he started asking more pointed questions about Teme and how one heals a serious case of lockjaw. I immediately explained it away as a case of misdiagnosis. That it had really only been a rotten tooth. For the most part I sounded fairly convincing, faltering only once at the sound of exuberant shouts and cries from the village far behind us.

It was coming on late afternoon when we finally arrived at the river. Determined not to appear weak or scared a second time, I guided my mare directly into the water. My pulse quickened as we approached the middle, but I remained resolute and merely leaned into her neck once the bottom fell away, and I felt her begin to swim beneath me.

Not particularly thrilled at being submerged up to my bosom again, I gritted my teeth and concentrated on the tree line ahead when something splashed in the water less than a foot from my horse’s head. Startled, my eyes darted toward the disturbance, only to see the ripples disappear in an instant, carried away by the current. The splash perplexed me, though in truth I was more concerned with keeping my seat. I gave it no more thought until something else whizzed past my head and hit the water well behind me.

“What the...” Henry said.

By now I had made it through the deepest part, and I swayed in the saddle as my horse gained purchase on the rocky bottom and started to ascend. Following a few more awkward steps, her upper torso had just emerged from the water, when she jerked suddenly and with a frightened whinny, started to rear up. Panicked, I tightened my grip on the reins. The rocks shifted precariously beneath her back hooves, and together we tumbled into the river.

As one, we went under the dark water, both thrashing like mad. The fight to be free from the other continued until my boots slipped from the stirrups, and the beast disappeared as my back scraped along the river’s bottom. Twisting around, I pushed up hard, gasping for air when my head broke the surface. Layers of sodden material wrapped around me, stole any chance of kicking to safety. I flailed my arms to keep afloat, but the current grabbed at my clothes and pulled me back under. Water rushed into my nose and mouth, ready to claim me for its own—just like my mother and grandmother, just like I had dreamed so many times.

My arms burned, the muscles cramping beyond use. Unable to fight any longer, death seemed all but inevitable when I was grabbed from behind and yanked upward. An arm clamped around my torso, pulling me unceremoniously through the river as I coughed and spat the dirty water from my lungs. One of my boots hit against a rock beneath me. Making to stand up, I felt myself lifted entirely from the water. Henry carried me the rest of the way to dry ground and then collapsed against a tree with me on his lap

Propped against his chest, I started to shake violently. “It’s all right,” he soothed as he folded his arms around me. “You’re safe now.”

Air shuddered in and out of my lungs, broken only by the occasional sob. Henry continued to hold me to him, his cheek pressed to my temple. “Shh,” he whispered over and over again. “I’ve got you.”

The initial shock began to fade after awhile. Breathing grew easier and a small portion of my strength returned. “What happened?” I asked. “Why did my horse rear?”

“Something spooked her. Luckily she got turned back around and made it out of the river safely. I saw her bolt into the woods.”

“It felt like she had been struck by something.”

“That’s likely, by the way she jerked, but we won’t know any more until we get a look at her.”

Wet and exhausted from head to toe, I was more than ready to be home. “Did your horse bolt?” I asked, dreading the prospect of walking the last few miles.

“No, I saw him in the trees when we came out of the river. Do you mind sharing a mount?”

I shook my head, secretly thankful.

It was a snug fit in the saddle, and I leaned into Henry, comforted by his warmth and the weight of his hand on my waist while he used the other to guide us home. He felt strong and solid behind me, capable of withstanding any storm that may come our way. With a contented sigh, I closed my eyes and nestled my head into the crook of his shoulder. Being near him had a certain rightness about it, and not, I realized, just for today. In the four weeks since our marriage, he had become a constant in my life, and despite my attempts to limit our time together, I looked forward to seeing him at meals and in the parlor each evening. At nighttime, I’d grown accustomed to his sleeping in the room across from mine, and even though two doors separated us, it would have been intolerably lonely without him nearby. So much in fact, it now surprised me how natural his presence had become in my life.

My shoulders stiffened at the thought and I shifted forward as a chill that had nothing to do with wet clothing ran over me. Henry’s hand tensed on my waist, refusing to ease until I forced myself to relax and settled back against him.

What have I done?

Was it not enough that I owned Henry’s labor? Did I really need to possess his very person as well? My behavior was appalling, but even more, that it taken a near death experience for me to see just how unjust our situation had become.

Henry didn’t rush the horse, which gave me time to mull things over. This had been the second time he’d saved my life, though in both instances it would have been to his advantage to let me die. If he had let the redheaded demon kill me and focused his attention instead on eliminating Dirk Fletcher, there would have been little to stop him from inheriting Brighmor Hall the very day we had been married. Today, if he had hesitated even a minute, I would have drowned, and again Brighmor and all I owned in the world would have been his. In light of how I’d treated him, practically forcing him to serve my own purposes, he had acted most honorably, and I saw only one way to repay him. My lack of courage had stopped me from doing it weeks ago. By the time we reached the front walkway, I’d made up my mind to act regardless of the risk to my personal safety.

He deserves nothing less.

Something pressed unexpectedly against my heart. I frowned and pushed a hand against my chest, which had grown inexplicably tight. Henry swung from the saddle, then turned to help me down. Our eyes met in the flurry of movement, and I caught a glimpse of his deep concern on my way to the ground. Clenching my teeth, I stared hard at the stone walkway. There could be no room for weakness—I must be strong enough to see this through to the end.

It is the right thing to do.

Henry brushed a gentle finger along my cheek. “Why don’t you get into dry clothes while I go see if your horse has returned.”

I nodded, my throat too stiff for words, and walked slowly into the house and up the stairs. Every step weighed heavy from all that had happened and all I still needed to do. Calling Mary to my room, I ordered a bath filled, and then changed into a dressing gown. Evening arrived before I was ready to see Henry. I placed a few things into a cloth bag and crossed the hall to his room.

He responded at once to my knock. “Come in.”

I found him standing by the window, watching the setting sun.

“Do you feel better?” he asked, crossing the room to me.

“Yes, much better. Did you find the horse?”

“Sit first, and we’ll talk about it.”

My body ached from fatigue. I offered no protest as he led me to the chair near the hearth and then took a seat on the footstool.

“Ben and I found her in the woods just beyond the house,” he started. “And you were right. There’s a deep gash in the left breast where she’s been struck.”

“What do you think did it?”

“The best we can figure, it was caused by a rock, probably launched from a sling shot by someone just inside the tree line.”

“So you think it was done purposefully?”

“Oh yes, it was purposeful,” he said, nodding. “But there’s no telling by whom. It might have just been a boy looking to have some fun.” Henry tried to smile reassuringly, though I could tell he didn’t really believe this theory.

“You know, this is the second time you’ve saved my life”

His smile turned genuine. “It’s becoming quite a habit,” he agreed. “I promised you wouldn’t drown.”

His voice sounded so tender, I wanted to crawl onto his lap and have him hold me again, but that would never happen again after what I had to say. Opening the cloth bag, I emptied the contents onto my lap.

The ache returned to my chest at the sight of each item. “Henry,” I said, handing him a roughly folded sheet of parchment. “I release you from your contract. Here is money to buy passage back to England and...” My voice broke as I picked up the last object. “And here is something to remember me by.” I handed him my father’s watch and quickly looked down to hide the tears that welled in my eyes.

He held all of the items in his large hands, considered them for a minute before speaking. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, his own voice faltering.

“Because I owe you my life.” A tear spilled onto my cheek, and I hurriedly brushed it away with my sleeve.

“But Nathan may still accuse you. I can’t leave until he’s no longer a threat. That was the bargain.”

I dug my nails into my sweaty palms, trying to keep control long enough to have this conversation done and leave the room. “I’ll deal with Nathan when the time comes. And William and Nora will never let anything happen to me.”

“I don’t know,” Henry said skeptically. “I had not thought of seeing England again so soon.”

My heart was breaking, and I needed to be away before I gave in and begged him to stay. More tears came into my eyes, ready to betray me, to show Henry how much I needed him despite my insistence otherwise. Not wanting him to see me cry, I pushed up from the chair only to stagger half-blindly toward the door. “You are free to go,” I said, nearly choking on the words.

Chapter Twelve

Be True to Thyself

I closed the door to my own chamber and leaned back against the thick wood panels for support. Tears spilled from my eyes as I slid to the floor in a heap of silk and linen skirts. It felt like something heavy had pounced on my chest, compressing my lungs while squeezing the blood from my heart. Scarcely able to breathe, I reached around to the many laces binding my ribcage. One by one the knots came loose, and I drew in several deep breaths to clear the dizziness from my head.

You are free to go.

These last words had exposed my true feelings so clearly there was no sense trying to pretend any longer. No matter how much I wanted to believe otherwise, Henry’s release had not been prompted by some overwhelming sense of honor. Instead, I had acted from basic self-preservation. During the past month, he had filled my heart, and now I would send him thousands of miles away, back to England and a life without me.

It was a matter of convenience that he had saved my life twice and deserved to be rewarded with his freedom. That offered reason enough to surrender his contract, which was probably illegal from the start. Releasing him was the right thing to do—at this point, the only thing I could do.

Grief clawed at my heart and I pounded my fists hard against the floor. I had never meant to love him or to want him more than my gift. For one last night we would sleep in our separate rooms as husband and wife, but come morning, he would be gone. Only a fool would stay to engage in a fight that was neither of his making, nor really any of his concern.

Darkness had long since fallen when I finally dried my tears and stood, my back aching and my legs cramped from sitting on the hard wood floor. Without bothering to light a candle, I let my clothes fall to the ground and trudged numbly into bed.

The hours passed slowly, one undistinguishable from the next, as I slipped in and out of sleep. Near dawn, the sound of Henry’s door brought me fully awake. I had no doubt of his leaving, only whether he would say goodbye first. The farewell came in the form of a letter pushed under my door before he went down the stairs, his shoes thudding softly.

When the front door opened, I darted from bed and ran over to the window. Peeking around the drapes, I watched him turn toward the barn with a knapsack thrown over one shoulder. Ten minutes passed before he came back into view astride a horse.

My heart constricted painfully, bringing new tears into my eyes. “Goodbye, Henry,” I whispered into the darkness. “
Go dté tú fd bhrat Bhrighde.
”

May you travel safely under Brigid’s mantle.

* * *

I stayed in bed all day, speaking only to Mary when she came upstairs to check on me around noon. Even this one visit would have been ignored if she hadn’t been so persistent, knocking softly until I finally bid her to enter.

“Good day, Mistress,” she said, peering into the darkened room.

It wasn’t her custom to disturb me without first being summoned except when a patient needed care.
Oh
,
not today
, I thought miserably, doubting if I possessed adequate strength to even pull a splinter. “Is someone waiting downstairs?” I asked from beneath a pile of covers.

“No, ma’am, I was just checking if ye would like some food or tea,” she said, stepping further into the room.

“Tea only, please.” My head pounded something awful, which I assumed to be the natural side effect of nearly drowning, coupled with a night of excessive crying.

“It’s a pretty day outside. Would ye like the drapes drawn back?”

“No, thank you, Mary.”

From her sudden ungainly steps, I guessed she had stumbled upon the rather large pile of clothing on the floor. Scooping the many layers into her arms, she walked over to the armoire to put them away. “Mr. Kilbrid also missed breakfast this morning,” she said. “Karta wasn’t sure if he would be home in time for evening meal.” Not so subtly, she had gotten to the real point of her visit.

“Mr. Kilbrid is traveling,” I said coolly.

“That’s what John Lewis told Mrs. Ryan this morning. He said the Master left before sunrise and looked to be going on a trip. John guessed it was to Philadelphia for some business, but David Smith said it might be a trip to Virginia to find out about different crops with how hard the rain has been on the wheat this summer.”

I heard the dry rustle of silk as Mary shook out my gown before hanging it up. In full light she would never have returned it to the armoire in such a state. The sleeves looked awful, spattered with tears and what not, but I wasn’t about to call this to her attention now.

“Mrs. Ryan thought it strange that Mr. Kilbrid would leave without notice,” Mary continued, giving no heed to my prolonged silence. “Especially with the two of ye being so recently married. She said it was a real pity he had to go. I told her not to fret about it, that ye had enough to keep busy while he was gone.”

Good gracious!
Mary’s thoughts were so obvious, I could practically hear them turning inside her head.
Poor girl
,
married just a month before yer husband packs up and leaves
. Well, she was greatly mistaken to think I would dignify her shameless digging with any sort of answer.

“Leave me be and go fetch the tea.” I spoke harshly, unable to bear another second of her senseless prattle.

“Yes, ma’am,” she said, startled, no doubt, by my brusque manner. In hurt silence, she put away the last of the garments, and hustled from the room.

Although it couldn’t have been more than eight hours since Henry’s departure, clearly the servants knew something was amiss and were busy speculating about what had happened. Gauging by how fast my personal affairs were spreading through Hopewell this summer, the entire town would know of my predicament by sundown. If Nathan Crowley had been waiting for the right opportunity to accuse me, reports that I had been abandoned would be all that was needed to spur him into action.

To quiet the rumors, I needed to get my own story circulating how Henry had left for Ireland to visit his ailing father, and would be arriving back at Brighmor sometime this fall. In a few months Ben would travel to Philadelphia, only to return with sad news of rough seas and Henry Kilbrid’s untimely death. No later than winter, I would be a widow without having the benefit of ever being married.

Considering what was at stake, I should have told Mary a bit more to keep the servants from speculating further. But my heart felt too raw, and I could say no more other than Mr. Kilbrid was traveling. This sounded less final, less like we would never see each other again.

Turning onto my other side, I felt Henry’s letter crumple beneath my shoulder. Earlier this morning I had retrieved it from the floor in the hopes that his words would offer some comfort. With trembling fingers, I had broken the wax seal and unfolded the parchment, holding it close to the window for enough light to read.

Thank you
,
Selah.

Three measly words! It was unbelievable, as if this could even begin to sum up our time together. Last night while I had been busy sobbing in a pathetic heap, he really should have taken an extra minute to thank me properly. Misery washed over me anew, and I buried myself further beneath the covers, intending to sleep until the end of the summer.

* * *

This plan lasted until the next morning when I was summoned downstairs to remove a rock from Ollie Trumble’s nose. It took no more than five minutes and a long pair of tweezers before the boy left in search of more trouble. Alone in my apothecary, I sat down in the wooden chair to decide what to do next.

In truth, after spending thirty-six hours buried under blankets in a darkened room, my original notion began to wear thin. With little more to occupy myself other than sleeping, crying, or staring at the canopy above my bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about Henry. And it didn’t take long before I began second-guessing my decision to send him away.

Not that it mattered anymore. He was probably in Philadelphia by now, awaiting the next ship to England, while I gained nothing but heartache from this continual rehashing of past events. I needed a new course of action to chase these thoughts away, something distracting that would keep me busy. My determination renewed, I pushed up from the chair, resolved to clean my apothecary from top to bottom.

The afternoon was spent when I put the last of the jars back on the shelf and wiped my hands on a clean towel. For five hours I had washed and sorted, until there was not a speck of dust to be found or a single strip of linen out of place. Now, if only the same thing could be done with my own head. But regardless of how hard I worked, Henry had stayed constantly in my thoughts.

Well, if pure physical labor failed to dull my mind, then mental strain might prove more effective. Fed up with crying and feeling miserable, I set off for the study to tackle the mound of invoices and correspondence that had accumulated since my father’s death. It should have been done much sooner, but one reason or another always kept me away—like how much I despised balancing ledgers or composing letters of business.

With a heavy sigh, I tackled the correspondence first. A score of letters needed to be answered, covering a variety of issues from purchasing wheat seed and new equipment for next spring’s planting to various men seeking employment at Brighmor. I found a fresh stack of parchment in one of the desk drawers, and choosing a new quill, started to write.

It took hours to answer them all properly. My fingers were cramped and stained with ink by the time I had finished the last one to a Mr. Smyth, explaining that we were not presently in need of a new stable master, but would keep him in mind if a position opened up in the following year. I pressed Brighmor’s official seal into a pool of red wax to close the letter when Mary came in with a supper tray. She must have forgiven my rudeness, for her sweet disposition had returned and she smiled kindly at my mumbled appreciation.

Not yet ready to eat, I poured a glass of wine and opened the large leather bound ledger that contained all of Brighmor’s expenses. Flipping through page after page of my father’s neat handwriting, I came to the final entries dating to the middle of May about two weeks before I had left for Philadelphia. A thick stack of invoices needed to be entered, and I started to record each merchant and the amount paid.

I had only completed the first two when my mind began to drift. Composing business letters had required significant attention, but simple transposing left my thoughts free to roam, which they did, and straight to Henry. Since he had left, two rather large concerns remained unresolved: If it had been the right thing to do, then why was I so unhappy? And why, if given half a chance, would I have changed everything that had happened the night we returned from the Lenape village? While mulling over these issues, I temporarily forgot the quill suspended in my hand over the ledger. A large drop of black ink collected at the tip and dripped onto the page right in the middle of my two entries.

“Blasted!” I cursed, snatching up a linen napkin from the supper tray to mop up the mess. Carefully alternating between dabbing and wiping, the final result was even worse than when I started. Several entries had been mucked up, and a decently good napkin ruined to boot. Frustrated, I started to cry, the tears slipping down my checks to the page below, making an even bigger mess of the ledger. Giving up altogether, I folded my arms over the book and rested my head, heedless of how many tears might wet the paper.

Try as I might, the facts were undisputable: I was a terrible accountant and I had made a serious error by sending Henry away. Footsteps sounded in the hallway as one of the servants approached the study. I hated to be discovered in such a manner, but lacked the fortitude to even lift my head from off the ledger. Whoever it was had stopped at the doorway to watch me.
Oh
,
just go away!
I thought angrily.

“Ben told me how much you hated bookkeeping.” Henry’s deep voice resonated in my ears, bringing my head up with a snap. “But I never thought it enough to make you cry.”

For two days I had wanted him back so desperately, I feared his presence nothing more than a hallucination.

“Or may I flatter myself to think those tears are for another reason?” He leaned against the doorframe, smiling.

The delusion turned to real flesh and blood. “You left,” I said, my voice a hoarse whisper. “I watched you ride away.” I had thought never to see him again, yet here he stood less than ten feet from me.

And even this distance soon disappeared. He crossed the room to sit on the corner of the desk next to me. Retrieving a handkerchief from his coat pocket, he tilted my face up and began drying the tears. “I only left for a couple of days.”

His broad shoulders and handsome face filled my view. “Why did you come back?” I asked, still dazed by his sudden reappearance.

He shrugged. “We made a deal. And I don’t care what you say about Nora and William, you still need me.”

“But, your contract is finished. I thought you were going back to England.”

“When you released me the other night, I never intended to leave for good. I just needed some time to think and to write another letter to my father.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid that seeing you again before I left would influence my decision. I wanted to clear my head, so I rode to the inn where we stayed the first night we were married.” He dipped a corner of the handkerchief into my glass of wine. “You have ink on your face,” he said, rubbing at a spot on my forehead.

“Then you should have written it in your letter,” I protested, pulling my face away.
Thank you
,
Selah
,
I
am going away to think
,
but will return in a few days...
“Would it have killed you to add another line explaining your intentions?” As the depression from the past two days wore off, I was experiencing an odd combination of sheer joy mixed with a dash of anger.