Shattered Moments (29 page)

Abbie sighed with pleasure as Finn finally rolled off her, his face wreathed in a satisfied smile.  It’d only been a few weeks, but she felt as if they hadn’t seen each other in months despite the fact that the days just flew by, especially with Diana and Nat here, and Sue’s baby coming early.  Abbie hadn’t been parted from Finn for any length of time since her arrest in New York, and she needed him close to feel safe.  It was only now that he was back that she realized how terrified she’d been, and his humorous account of his escape from Savannah only reminded her of how easily one could go from being safe to being executed by the British. He brought her a present as well as a funny little dolly for Diana, which she clutched to her chest dramatically, ecstatic to have a ‘baby’ of her own.  As if presents, although a lovely surprise, could make up for the gnawing worry she felt while he was gone. 
Will this damn war never come to end?
she thought angrily.  It’d been going on for years with no end in sight.  The armies moved around like pieces on a chessboard, but no one seemed any closer to checkmate. 

She just wanted to live a normal, peaceful life; finally build a house of their own and have another child.  She didn’t want there to be too big of an age difference between baby Diana and her future sibling, but she just wasn’t emotionally ready and always reminded Finn to take precautions.  Her mother often looked at her with concern, too polite to ask straight out, but looking at her flat belly with a trained eye.  She’d already had Sam and Martha by the time she was Abbie’s age
.

“That bad?” Finn asked as he traced a finger from her collarbone to her bellybutton.  Abbie just looked at him, confused by the question.

“You’re scowling rather fiercely,” Finn replied, his finger making his way lower.  “Did I fail to satisfy, my lady?”

“No, of course not.  I was just thinking about this blasted war, and about having another baby.”

“Oh?” Finn’s eyebrows shot up, making Abbie giggle. 

“You do want another child, don’t you?” she asked playfully.

“Of course, I want a houseful of children, but for that I require a house.  I love your family, but it would be nice to have a home of our own.” 

“My thoughts exactly,” Abbie said, straddling him and pinning his wrists down on the bed.  “I say we press the issue after the harvest and demand that Pa and Sam help us build our own cabin. What do you say, Finlay Whitfield?”

“I say that’s a splendid idea.  The house will be finished long before you have the baby,” Finn replied, suddenly rolling over and pinning Abbie down with his weight.

“What baby?”

“The baby we are going to make right now,” Finn whispered as he kissed her tenderly, his eyes asking a question.  Abbie just smiled into his eyes, the answer there for him to see.  She took him into her body, and he moved slowly, his eyes never leaving hers.  There were times when they just made love, but this was one of those times when it was a true union of body and soul, an experience that left them both speechless with wonder and aglow with love.  “I love you so much, Abs,” he whispered. Abbie just nodded into his chest, overcome with emotion.  If she ever lost Finn… 

Abbie’s thoughts were interrupted by the ruckus coming from downstairs.  Everyone was up and about now
, and it was time to rejoin the world and go down to start the morning chores.  “By the way, Diana was nowhere to be found this morning,” Abbie informed Finn as she began to dress for the day.  “Nat was here this morning, sleeping on the floor, and he was hungry and wet.  I wonder if she’s turned up yet.”

Finn gave Abbie a strange look as he threw off the blanket and made to rise out of bed.  “I doubt it somehow.”

“What do you mean?”  Abbie stopped in mid-stroke, the hairbrush forgotten in her hand.  “What do you know, Finlay Whitfield?”

“I know that Nathaniel is no more Jonah’s than he is mine, and Diana knows that I know.  Sam is married, so unless she can manage to destroy his marriage, which I’m sure she’s tried
; she’s out of alternatives.  Going back to her old life with a child in tow is paramount to suicide, so I suspect she weighed her options and left in the night.”

“She wouldn’t leave Nat, would she?  I could never just leave our baby,” Abbie added, horrified by what Finn was suggesting.

“You’re not Diana.”

“Well, I think you’re wrong,” Abbie retorted as she picked up the hairbrush again, yanking at her hair as if it was at fault somehow.  “We’ll just go downstairs and see what’s what, shall we?” 

She didn’t wait for an answer as she pulled her cap over her now brushed and coiled hair and made her way down the stairs.  Finn was in no rush to join her.  He wasn’t sure what he hoped to find.  If Diana had truly decamped during the night, it would certainly be better for the Mallory family, but he felt sorry for poor Nat, and even more so for Susanna.  She would find out the reason for Diana’s abrupt departure sooner or later, and it was bound to have an effect on her marriage to Sam.  Of course, Nat had been conceived before Sam even met Sue, but that knowledge would do little to take the sting out of the fact that her husband’s bastard was now living a stone’s throw away.  Finn sighed and pulled on his breeches.  He hoped he hadn’t done wrong by telling everyone he’d seen Jonah, but that was the only way he could let Diana know that he now knew her secret.

Finn came downstairs to find everyone strangely subdued.  Mrs. Mallory was setting breakfast on the table while Sarah and Annie saw to Nat
, who was gnawing on a piece of bread.  Abbie was holding a crying Diana, and Mr. Mallory just stared into space as if he were alone in the room. 

“Finn, join me outside for a moment, would you?” Mr. Mallory suddenly asked, rising from the table and reaching for his hat.  Finn just followed outside, shrugging noncommittally at Abbie’s inquiring glance.  Mr. Mallory walked for a few moments until they were clear of the house before finally turning to speak to Finn. 

“She’s gone,” he announced as he fiddled with his pipe.  It took him three tries to light it, during which time Finn remained silent, waiting to see where this conversation was going.  “I gave her money,” Mr. Mallory continued.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Mallory, but I don’t follow,” Finn replied, confused by what was expected of him in this situation.  Was Mr. Mallory seeking his approval or advice, or did he
simply need to unburden himself?

“I knew Nathaniel wasn’t Jonah’s as soon as Diana came here, but I couldn’t say anything until I was absolutely sure.  You confirmed my suspicions yesterday when you returned.”
  Mr. Mallory finally seemed satisfied with the pipe and took a deep drag, letting out a cloud of pungent smoke and sighing with contentment.

“But I didn’t say anything,” Finn countered, suddenly feeling guilty for his part in Diana’s departure.

“You didn’t need to.  Diana was here for Sam, not for Jonah, that much was clear.  It was decent of her to lie to spare Susanna’s feelings, but I wasn’t sure how long the lie could go on.  I saw her outside last night; she was in a vulnerable state, and I’m ashamed to admit that I took advantage of it.”

“So, you paid her off to leave?” Finn asked, surprised by Mr. Mallory’s cunning.  The man never missed an opportunity when he saw one.

“I did.  I promised her that Hannah and I will look after Nat, and give him all the love and care a little boy needs in exchange for her leaving and never returning to claim him.”  Mr. Mallory threw Finn a defiant look.  “What was I to do?” he asked.  “As long as Susanna believes that Nat is Jonah’s, she and Sam should be fine.”

Finn just clapped the older man on the back in a silent offer of support.  What was there to say?  Mr. Mallory did what he thought was right to protect his son
; no, both his sons, and his grandchild.  Diana could have refused if she wished, but she wanted to be away from here as much as the Mallorys wanted her gone.  Nat would be better off growing up in a loving family rather than belowstairs in some brothel where he might be ill-treated or ignored.  Finn sighed and followed Mr. Mallory back to the house, but he’d suddenly lost his appetite.

September 1626

Virginia

The house was eerily still, the only sounds being the creaking of the wooden bed frames and light snoring coming from down the hall.  It was still at least an hour before dawn, that dark hour when the night is still battling to maintain its dominion as the sun slowly but surely begins its ascent, chasing away shadows and eventually dispelling the darkness and plunging the world into brilliant light.  Genevieve crept down the stairs and into the kitchen where she grabbed half a loaf of bread, a hunk of cheese, and filled a burlap pouch with raw oats. 

Cook wouldn’t be pleased to see things missing from her domain, but she would just assume that Lord Sheridan was hungry during the night and helped himself to some bread and cheese.  She hadn’t taken enough oats for Cook to notice, or so she hoped. 
She tiptoed out the door and closed it quietly behind her, before racing across the yard and toward the line of trees in the distance.  The hem of her dress was soaked by dew within moments, and her shoes were sliding on the damp grass nearly making her lose her balance, but she kept running, hoping to make it to cover before anyone woke up. 

The darkness in the woods was still nearly
impenetrable; the clouds obscuring moon and stars, but Genevieve knew the way and inched carefully in the direction of the cave.  It was several hours’ walk, and she hoped to be well away from the house by the time the sun came up.  She gasped as something ran just in front of her, but it was probably a chipmunk or a squirrel startled by her presence.  Genevieve stopped for a moment to catch her breath and calm herself before continuing.  Her thin-soled shoes weren’t meant for this type of terrain, and she felt every pine cone and branch she stepped on, the discomfort slowing her down and forcing her to tread more carefully. 

She was well away from the house by the time the sky finally faded from an inky black to
charcoal; a sure sign that dawn wasn’t far off.  The woods around her were coming to life as creatures big and small began to stir and climb out of their holes and nests to begin the new day.  Genevieve breathed a sigh of relief as the blood-red rays of the rising sun lit up the clouds and finally dispelled some of the darkness beneath the canopy of the trees.  Birds erupted in song, and the tips of the trees turned a brilliant orange as the sun began to rise above the horizon at last. 

Genevieve meant to bring all the food to Cameron, but she realized that she’d hardly eaten anything since midday of the previous day.  She didn’t bother to stop walking as she tore off a chunk of bread and broke off a pi
ece of cheese, chewing slowly as she tried to avoid stepping on anything that might be painful.  She wished she’d thought to bring some cider, but carrying a stone bottle along with the other provisions would be heavy and cumbersome.  She’d just have to do without or find a stream to drink from.  Her mouth was unusually dry from the bread and the exertion of walking.

The sun was warm on her back and shoulders
by the time she finally walked out of the woods and into the glade.  The waterfall cascaded over the hidden face of the cave, the spray reflecting the rays of the sun; a dazzling rainbow just visible over the crystal-clear water that foamed as it met the calm waters of the lake below.  The glade was quiet and still, no sign of life other than the animals that darted to and fro and the birds that sang all around her.  Genevieve sat down on a rock and lowered her bundle to the ground. 

Had she misinterpreted the message?  Maybe it had been something that Evie wrote with a muddy stick and had nothing to do with Cameron at all.  She looked around again, but she was quite alone
; the clearing deserted.  Genevieve walked to the edge of the pool and took a drink, enjoying the cold, sweet water after hours of walking.  She’d just rest for a little while and head back, she told herself as tears slid down her cheeks.  She’d really believed Cameron would be there waiting for her, but she’d been wrong.  He was long gone, and she’d never see him again; never feel his strong arms around her, or hear that Scottish brogue that turned her knees to water. 

Genevieve sank down to the grassy bank and took off her shoes, shaking out the tiny pebbles and giving her stockings a chance to dry in the warm sun. 
There was no reason to rush back to face the reality of her barren existence.  The grass was soft and fragrant beneath her head as she reclined, closing her eyes and sighing with bitter disappointment before suddenly bolting upright.  She was a white woman, alone, and very close to Indian Territory.  This was no time to sit and sulk; she had to leave, and quickly, before anyone realized she was there.  She’d heard of the atrocities the natives committed against white people and her skin prickled with fear, especially when she heard the sound of a breaking twig somewhere not too far away.  She nearly screamed as she saw someone lurking in the shadows and coming closer with every step.

“Shh,
‘tis only me, lass,” Cameron said as he lowered himself to the ground next to her.  “I saw ye come, but had to make sure ye weren’t followed, aye?”  He looked tired and pale, but the smile in his eyes was unmistakable.  “So, little Miss Evangeline gave ye my message?”

“Not exactly,”
Genevieve replied, putting her hand over Cameron’s.  “What have you done, Cameron?  They’re searching for you.”

“
Aye, I ken that, Jenny, but I had to go,” he stated, not going into further explanations.

“Why?”

Cameron didn’t reply right away, but looked at her with a mixture of hope and apprehension, his eyes sliding away and gazing out over the shimmering pool of water and the waterfall.  “We can’t stay here in plain sight.  Come with me.”  He pulled her to her feet and led her into a thicket of trees, the space within shady and cool.  The grass in the middle was flattened, and the remnants of a small fire were still smoldering nearby.  Cameron had spent the night there in the hope that she would come to him in the morning rather than getting away as far as he could.

“Why did you run away?” Genevieve asked again, needing to hear his answer
to understand what prompted this rebellion.  Why had he left her?  Were things so bad at the plantation?

Cameron refused to meet her gaze, his body tense and
unyielding beside her.  “Genevieve, there’s something I want ye to do for me,” he said quietly.  “Will ye hear my confession?”

“I’m not a priest,” she answered bitterly, angry with his avoidance of her question.

“I ken that well enough, but ye’re the only Catholic within miles, and I need to confess.  Will ye hear it?”

Genevieve nodded, feeling
strangely uncomfortable with his request.  She supposed in times of need a Catholic could confess to another Catholic, or maybe just directly to God, but she had no right to hear his confession or any means of offering forgiveness.

“I can’t give you absolution.”

“Nae, ye canna, but I’d like to confess all the same.  Can I start then?”  Genevieve just nodded, unsure of whether she should be looking at him, or turn her back to give him a sense of anonymity that you’d get in a church.  She started to turn, but he took her arm, gently turning her to face him. 

Cameron took a deep breath as he clasped his hands in front of his chest, looking ridiculously pious in the middle of a forest.  “Forgive me
, Father, for I have sinned, it’s been nearly two years since my last confession.”  He grew silent then, his face tense with emotion.  Cameron opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again in an effort to compose his words.  “I ken the Bible teaches us to forgive and love our fellow man, but I’ve been consumed by a terrible anger and an all-consuming need for vengeance, o’ which I’m deeply ashamed.  Day and night I’ve dreamed of punishing the man who took my Mary from me and stole what was left of my life; day and night I’ve envisioned meting out justice I had nae right to mete.  They wrongly called me a murderer, but now I truly am one, for I’ve finally righted the wrong that was done to me, and punished the man responsible.  A life for a life, except ‘tis two lives for a life, since my life is now forfeit if I stay here.”  Cameron paused for a moment before continuing. 

“
Forgive me, Father, for my arrogance and lack o’ faith, but most of all, forgive me for my lack o’ remorse.  Amen.”

Cameron’s eyes never left Genevieve’s face as he finished his monologue, his expression contrite and nervous.  Had he really been confessing to God or to her, Genevieve wondered as she broke eye contact and looked away.  What was she to do now?  What was she to say?

“Jenny,” he began, but she turned away, shocked by what she’d heard. 

“So, you killed Deverell
?” she asked, wishing that he would deny it and say he’d been referring to someone else, but he just nodded slowly.

“Aye, I killed him.”

“And you would have allowed Lord Sheridan to take the blame for his death?” Genevieve asked in disgust, stunned that Cameron was capable of such deception.

“Na
e, lass, I wouldna have.  That’s why I waited till the trial was over.  Had Lord Sheridan been sentenced to hang, I’d have come forward.  I swear on the memory of Mary that I’d have done the honorable thing.”

“Running away isn’t honorable,” she countered, feeling angry more with herself than with him.

“Nae, it isna, but I had to do it – for ye, for us.”

“I don’t understand you, Cameron.  What are you talking about?”

“Genevieve, when Mary died and I was sent to the Colonies, I thought my life was over.  My desire for vengeance was the only thing that kept me alive on that crossing, and the only thing that put a fire in my belly.  I had to live to see justice done.  I had to live, for dying would have been exactly what those men wanted of me.  I tried to direct my anger into my work, and it helped for a time.  I was alive, I was putting one foot in front of the other, but then I met you, and suddenly it wasna just hatred that kept me going.  I love ye, Jenny, and I want to live my life with ye, honorably, no’ like a dog, coupling behind bushes with his bitch.  I kept trying to think of a way to buy my freedom back, to start a new life for myself when fate intervened.”

“You saw Deverell?”

“One o’ the men had stepped on a scythe while out in the field and cut his foot badly.  Mr. Worthing sent me to Mr. Taylor’s cottage to get some o’ that ointment he makes, ye know the one.”

“Yes,” Genevieve replied.  Mr. Taylor had become their resident physician, making poultices and tisanes with the help of Genevieve who knew something of herbs and plants as well.

“I wasna even meant to be there, but there I was, coming out o’ the cottage when I saw Deverell talking to Lord Sheridan.  I couldna hear what they said, but it seemed heated, and Deverell stormed off, leaving Lord Sheridan fuming in his wake.”

“So what did you do?”
Genevieve asked, strangely curious as to how Deverell’s death actually came about.

“I
delivered the bandages and ointment to Worthing and went back out into the field to work, but my mind was afire.  I couldna believe that the very man who’d ruined my life was right here in Virginia.  I had to get to him.”

“But he was killed a few days later,” Genevieve said, needing to understand exactly what happened.

“Aye.  I was trying to think o’ a way to find him when he crossed my path again.  I saw him leaving the plantation a few days later.  He seemed very pleased with himself when he left, riding back to Jamestown and whistling a tune as he passed the section o’ field where I was working.  I told one o’ the men I had stomach gripes and ran into the woods.  There’s a stretch of road that runs through the woods, and I waited for him there; bloodlust pounding through my veins, hatred burning in my gut.  I dragged him off his horse and threw him to the ground.  He did no’ even remember who I was or what he’d done to Mary.  We were nothing more than maggots to him, not even worthy o’ remembering.”

“How did he end up in the river?” Genevieve asked.

“I left him in the woods to be devoured by animals and went back to the field.  The men made crude jokes about my loose bowels, but I dinna care; I was too busy trying to hide my bloodied knuckles.  My heart was pounding with the knowledge of what I’d done.  I wasna sorry I’d killed him, but I felt no joy or sense of completion; I felt numb.” 

Cameron looked away for a moment, a look of bitterness on his handsome face.  “
As the day wore on I began to think more rationally and it seemed wrong to leave his wife to wonder what happened to her husband and deny him a Christian burial, so I came back during the night and took his body to Jamestown.  If anyone saw us, they might have thought I was supporting a drunken friend on his way home from the tavern.  I couldna just dump him on the quay, so I pushed him into the river, knowing the body wouldna get far with all the boats moored there.  He was sure to be found.  I just never expected Lord Sheridan to get accused o’ the murder.  I had no idea what transpired between them, or that he’d threatened to kill Deverell.”

Genevieve just shook her head.  She wanted to rage at Cameron, to accuse him of murder, to report him to the authorities, but she knew she wouldn’t. 
Deverell had killed an innocent girl and nearly sent Cameron to the gallows for a crime he didn’t commit; he deserved his fate.  It might have been unchristian to think so, but it was the truth.  She couldn’t fault Cameron for doing what he’d done.  The law had failed him, so he meted out his own justice, a justice that was long overdue.  But why had he run away?