Thorns in Eden and the Everlasting Mountains (19 page)

“Over
there’s where they found a man dead few weeks ago beneath the pines. He’d been
robbed. Scalped too. Whoever done it left him sitting against that tree with
his hands and feet hangin’ limp as rags. Nobody ever found out who the man was.
He’s buried up there on the hill in Mount Olivet.” Joab stood stone-still. “What’s
that?” He laid a hand upon Nash’s boot and gripped it until his hand shook.

“Let
go, Joab. It’s nothing but shadows and the wind moving through the trees.”

“It’s
the dead man’s ghost.”

Nash
leaned down. “Dead men cannot walk, Joab.”

He
nudged Meteor with his knees, and the horse stepped forward. It whinnied and halted
again. A twig snapped. The sound echoed through the woods. Nash made out a dark
form moving toward them and drew his pistol. Slowly he pulled back the hammer. Shadows
of swaying trees and flickering moonlight danced upon a man. Cautiously he
stepped forward with his hand on his knife.

“A
shot from your pistol might be swift. A thrown knife can be just as fatal.”

Nash’s
horse shifted under him and he steadied him with a touch. “I’ve no reservations
as to whether or not I should shoot if you pull your knife from your belt. If it’s
money you seek, seeing you lay in wait for a passerby, I’ve none to give. If it
is my horse, men hang for less.”

Raising
his hand, LaRoux pointed his finger. “You’re John Nash. You’re a friend of
Logan and an Indian called Black Hawk. You treat them as your brothers.”

“I
treat any man well who has well within him.”

LaRoux
twitched his mouth. “Little good is found in the heart of the Indian.”

“You
speak against your own people.” Nash set his pistol against his thigh, while keeping
his eyes fixed on LaRoux.

LaRoux
stiffened. “I’m French. The blood of nobles runs through my veins.”

“A
Frenchman is deemed worse than any renegade Indian in these parts. People haven’t
forgotten the last war. Dark memories haunt some minds.”

“A
troubled mind is what they deserve,” seethed LaRoux through clenched teeth.

LaRoux
drew closer to Nash’s restless horse. Nash raised his pistol.

“Stand
aside!”

“Of
course. The path here is too crowded.”

Swift
as a deer, LaRoux plunged into the forest. A horned owl glided from the broad
limb of an oak. Its body and outstretched wings floated like a black kite as it
screeched.

“We
best hurry home, Mr. John,” said Joab.

“Here
climb up.”

Nash
pulled Joab up behind him. Soon they were free of the dark woods, entering upon
a field brightened by moonlight. Purple clouds hung low above dark hills in translucent
veils. Stars stood out bright and fiery to show the way home. 

After a short distance,
Nash turned in his saddle and looked back. The forest was level. Branches bobbed
in the breeze. In a bloodcurdling cry, Jean LaRoux cursed white man, soldier,
and Indian, including the man he just reckoned to his list of enemies. In
revelry and violence his voice rose, fell, and went deathly silent.

Rebecah
closed the book she had been reading.

 “Lady
Margaret is downstairs wanting to see you.” March held out to her another
letter, one sealed in scarlet wax. “It is her wish you read this first.”

Curious,
Rebecah took it in hand, held it near the candlelight, and broke the scarlet
seal. Her heart lurched when she saw it was from John Nash.

Dear
Rebecah,

I’ve
enclosed the lock of hair you bestowed upon me. It is no longer mine to
possess. Yet the memory of it is mine, of its softness and color, and how the
light played within it when I first kissed you. In time, such a remembrance
will fade, just as I shall fade from your mind as quickly as I did from your
heart. I pray you shall be happy in life.

 Your
Servant,

John
A Nash

She
ran her finger over the lock of hair and laid it back inside the letter. The
thought of him so far away hurt. Now she must face Lady Margaret. There was no
telling what she would say. When she stepped inside the room, her ladyship
looked at Rebecah with a quick and friendly smile, and held her hands out for
her to take.

“I’m
so glad to see you. Samuel does not know I’m here. No matter. I would have come
with or without his approval. I tried to come twice, but twice he told me I
could not see you. A wretch of a man is he…Have you been crying?”

Rebecah
wiped her eyes. “I’m composed now. Shall I have March bring tea?”

“The
letter made you sad? I’m sorry I gave it to you. But it would’ve been wrong of
me to have kept it.”

“How
were you to know what he would say, my lady?”

“His
words would not have hurt you so deeply if you did not care.”

An
inner aching surged. Windswept were her hopes and dreams. It was yet too
painful to speak of him.  She gestured for Lady Margaret to sit. Lady Margaret
looked over the room, her mild eyes showing worry. A plate of untouched food
sat on a table near Rebecah’s window.

“You’ve
hardly touched your breakfast. And your bed looks as if no one has slept in it
for days.”

 “No
one has.”

 Her
ladyship looked surprised. “Where have you slept?”

“Over
in the window seat.”

“That
is not healthy, Rebecah.”

“I
have blankets.” A mound of warm flaxen-colored wool lay on the seat.

“Why
do you sit there, sleep there?”

 “I
like to look at the moon and stars. I end up falling asleep.”

“March
tells me Samuel has ordered you to stay in your room.”

Rebecah
nodded. “He has.”

“That
is nonsense. Such a rule is ridiculous. What is there for you to do all day
long?”

“Read.
Write letters.”

Her
ladyship set her lips tight. “I’ve brought some other news…from your cousin.”

Thrilled,
Rebecah looked at Lady Margaret. “Uncle Samuel has disowned her and forbidden
her to come to Endfield. I’ve written, but I believe all my letters have been
intercepted.”

“I
know they have. March told me that too.”

“How
is Lavinia?”

“She
sends her love and is well and happy as you would hope. She is with child.”

Joy
filled Rebecah. “How wonderful for her and David. Too bad my uncle is so
bitter.”

“Ah,
yes, bitterness. It keeps one from many things.”

“How
is David?”

“His
practice is prospering. He too sends his well wishes. Lavinia asked me to give
you this.”

Rebecah
pressed the letter to her heart. “I’m grateful. Thank you.”

“It
is the least I could do. Your cousin would be upset to see how you’ve been
treated.

“Indeed
it would grieve her. She is helpless to do anything about it.”

“But
you are not.”

“I shall
not stay here forever.”

“I’m
glad to hear it. But you will be cut off too.”

“Foolish
as it may seem, I do not care.”

“You
must pray for strength, Rebecah, for surely you are in despair. It does no good
to bury what you feel. If you do, it will rob you of any happiness you might
have. If you love him, forgive him. Then go on for your own good.”

Rebecah
shook her head.  “You make it sound so easy.”

“I
never meant to imply it was.”

 Rebecah
stood and looked at the courtyard through the window. “Has Sir Rodney come with
you?”

“I’m
afraid not. He is away on some kind of venture and will not step foot in the
house. He is angry.”

She
saw a hawk circle above the southern line of trees, and one of the farm cats
pounced across the grass. She desired to go beyond the gates, to see other
people and do other things. To get away from Endfield forever was what she
wanted.  

“Men
always seem to be away.”

Lady
Margaret rose and stood beside her. “Do you wish to be away, to leave
Endfield?”

“Yes,
more than anything.”

 “Come
live at Standforth. You can come and go as you please. See whomever you wish.”

Rebecah
turned to Lady Margaret with wide opened eyes. “You want me to live with you
after breaking off with your son?”

“Yes.
Collect your things. Waste no time.”

“But
your reputation, my lady? Is it not true there has been talk of me, about what
happened with Lanley?”

“I don’t
care what people say,” Lady Margaret replied. “Do not think so long on this,
else you’ll change your mind and disappoint me greatly.”

Rebecah
threw her arms around Lady Margaret’s neck and hugged her. “Thank you. I will
come for a time, until I feel strong enough to go.”

“On
my word, Rebecah, go where?”

“To
Lavinia. I could stay with her until the baby comes. Then I’ll apply for a
governess position.”

Lady
Margaret looked astonished indeed. “There’s no need for you to do that.”

“I
need to make my own way in the world.” 

She
stepped away, but before she reached her armoire, the door swung open and her
uncle appeared in the doorway in his muddy riding clothes. Lady Margaret stood
with a lift of her face, undaunted by his stern demeanor. Rebecah moved next to
her.

“Ah,
Samuel.” Lady Margaret gave him a proud look. “You’re back.”

Brent
looked at the women suspiciously. “Business is none concluded, Margaret. War
comes, and with war there is profit to be made.”

 “I
assume if His Majesty sends his troop and fleet to the Colonies, your stock in
the iron mine shall not suffer for it. It should bring a good profit I should
think.” She swept forward, her skirts making a soft rustle along the floor. 

“You’re
too outspoken for your gender, Margaret, and wiser in business than most men.” For
a quick moment, Brent stared at Lady Margaret. “What a beautiful woman you are
for your mature years,” he was bold to say.

“It
isn’t often I receive a compliment from you. But I’ll forgo accepting it.”

He
shrugged. “Why?”

“Strong
drink inflames your emotions and makes a mockery of a man.”

“So,
what has brought you to Endfield?” he said ignoring her comment. “March said
you were up here.”

“Rebecah
is coming to live with me.” She looked him straight in the eye. More and more
Rebecah grew to admire Lady Margaret’s courage. “Do you understand what I’m
saying, Samuel?”

He
swung around to meet Rebecah. “Is this true?”

“It
is.” She spoke with an air of respect, but not lacking confidence.

“She
is of age, Samuel.” Lady Margaret stepped forward. “You must yield your desire to
control her. What you’ve done is outrageous and cruel. These are not the Middle
Ages when men kept women under lock and key.”

He
threw out his arms. “I don’t care if she goes. It’s one less burden for me, one
less mouth to feed. You’ve ruined your reputation, Rebecah. You’ll never be
able to show yourself in society. You’ve shocked the world by throwing off Lanley.”

“Hardly
the world, Uncle.”

Brent
frowned. “I’ve endured glances and whispers everywhere I’ve gone. With you
leaving, perhaps people will think the better of me for it. Soon they will
forget.”

“Perhaps,
but I will not.”

His
mouth fell open. “I took you under my roof when you were orphaned. The least
you can do is thank me.”

“You
took her in out of duty, not love, Samuel,” Lady Margaret said.

He
looked at her troubled, and Rebecah saw he was broken and lonely without Lady Kathryn.

“It’s
good to let her go.”

“Do
not instruct me, Margaret.”

“Lanley
was not for her and you’re disappointed. But she must live her life and be the
only one accountable for it.”

He
slammed his fist on the table. “When have I not thought of what was best for
her?”

Margaret
frowned. “Hardly ever, I’m sure. Sometimes we demand what we think is best for
the young without considering their feelings or the outcome.”

He
stiffened, unable to usurp the truth of her reproof. “She will regret not
having Lanley when she has no money.”

“She
must find her own path and not follow the one you wish her to tread.” Lady
Margaret matched his words as well as his emotion.

“And
what about your stepson? Shall you sway her mind concerning him?”

“He
is innocent and you know it.”

“The
fact he shot a British officer, is enough,” he stormed.  “Whether or not it did
Richard any injury to bring on his death, I admit I don’t know. Yet he deserves
some kind of punishment.”

Rebecah’s
limbs trembled. He did not know? He now confessed his uncertainty after
accusing Jack, after tearing them from each other?

“You succeeded in that, Samuel.”

Brent
raised his hand to his forehead. “It gives me a headache to think about it,
madam.”

“You
deserve more than a headache. You were not compassionate toward Rebecah, or
toward Lavinia your own daughter. It is coldhearted to force a woman to wed
where she does not love, and then to separate her from the man she does by some
unfounded accusation. For shame.” 

When
Rebecah took a step toward him, a burst of sunlight streamed through the
window. She stood in the shower of it, her cheeks burning and her eyes set
without fear upon her uncle.

“Wish
me well, Uncle Samuel. I’ve nothing else to say, except I pray you fare well in
life.”

She
held out her hand. He looked at it and turned away.

“Forget
you ever had a family at Endfield.” He moved his hands behind his back and
faced the window, so not to look at her. “You’ve chosen to be rebellious and disobedient,
shirking your duty to marry where you should. You’re an unfaithful daughter to
the wishes of your father.”