Thorns in Eden and the Everlasting Mountains (35 page)

The door opened
and a black man appeared.

 “Is Mr. John
Nash at home? I wish to see him, please.”

“Oh, Lord.”
Joab’s eyes widened and he smiled.

“Will you
tell him Miss Rebecah Brent and Miss Boyd is here to see him? I have come a
long way, you see, and…

“Captain John
ain’t here, Miss Rebecah.” 

She sucked in
a breath. “Oh…Where can I find him?”

“He’s gone to
Richfield Manor and won’t be back for a few days.”

“Just like
Papa.” Theresa shook her head. “He said nothing of Captain Nash going with him,
Joab.”

“Is it far?” Rebecah
asked.

“Too far to
travel today,” Theresa said. 

“Yes, and I mustn’t
intrude upon his host.” She gave Joab a kind smile. “Do you know when he may
come home?”

“He did not say.”
Joab opened the door wider. “Come on inside and I’ll bring you ladies something
cool to drink. Mighty warm today despite the rain.”

Rebecah
stepped over the threshold. There was something grand in that action, something
satisfying. At last, she stood in his house. She was speechless, stunned. She
took in a deep breath, as if to take in everything that was a part of him.

The walls
were whitewashed and the fireplace made of mountain stone. Cedar logs stacked
beside it filled the room with their scent. On the wall, hung muskets,
flintlock pistols, and a powder horn. There were no curtains over the windows.
Shutters hung alongside them. The polished walnut floor was bare and clean, and
the furnishings few.

Joab handed the
ladies mugs of cold apple cider.

“I was
stacking firewood next to the kitchen hearth when I heard your knock, Miss
Rebecah. Before opening the door, I peered through the window. To my surprise, I
saw a pair of young ladies climb out of Mr. Boyd’s carriage. I know it were his
cause I recognize his horse Perty.” 

A horse
outside neighed, and footsteps crossed the porch. A breath escaped Rebecah’s
lips and she felt the blood drain from her face.

Jack!
Her
heart raced.

Joab opened
the door and a shadow spread over the floor. 

“We’ve come
to call, Joab.”

Theresa
leaned toward Rebecah. “It’s Mrs. Cottonwood. Her timing is awful. You aren’t
going to like her, Rebecah.”

“She’s the
lady with the lodging in town?”

“Yes. And I
bet she’s brought her daughter Drusilla with her.”

Mrs.
Cottonwood stepped inside in her old-fashioned rust-colored dress, with her
hair piled up under a large hat. Behind her stood a dark-haired beauty—but
still a child.

“I see others
have arrived before us. Good day, Miss Boyd.”

Theresa
inclined her head.  Rebecah wondered why she had ignored her.

“Drusilla and
I have brought a picnic. Roast chicken and apple pie.” She showed Joab the
basket. “We shall save some for you of course.” 

She craned
her plump neck.  “Well, where is he?”

He raised his
hand for her to stop her cackling. “He ain’t at home, Mrs. Cottonwood.”

“Not at home?”
Mrs. Cottonwood drawled. “He must be since he has other guests.”

“Sorry, but
he ain’t here. It’s gonna rain again. So you best hurry home.”

“Mama!” 
Drusilla stamped her foot.

Mrs.
Cottonwood frowned. “There’s no rain coming, Joab, just going. Look what you’ve
done. You’ve upset my poor girl.”

Joab screwed
up his face. “Beg your pardon, Miss Drusilla.”

Mrs.
Cottonwood put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders, and narrowed her eyes. She
looked Rebecah up and down, shifted her eyes to Theresa.

“I know you
Miss Boyd. But who’s this?”

Rebecah stood
and curtseyed short. “I’m Rebecah Brent, madam. It is a pleasure to meet you and
your daughter.”

Mrs.
Cottonwood’s button eyes bore down on her. The prominent round cheeks and wide
mouth gave the town gossip the look of an autumn pumpkin.

 “Brent you
say?”

“Yes.”

“This is my
daughter Drusilla.” Mrs. Cottonwood pulled Drusilla forward.  “John Nash is very
fond of her.” 

Drusilla
blushed, and Rebecah felt a stab. She looked at Drusilla and wondered how fond
Nash was of her. What did she mean to him? Had he pledged his love to her? 

No, it cannot
be true.

Mrs.
Cottonwood raised her brows. “So you’re the traveler that was held up.  I heard
the whole story. It’s the talk of the town.” She bustled over to her like a fat
hen.  “You must’ve been scared out of your wits, Miss Brent. He did not ravish
you, did he?” 

“Brave Mr.
Stone chased them off,” Rebecah said.  “I’m fine. Thank you for your concern.”

“Fortunate
for you, the coachman knew what to do.” Mrs. Cottonwood sighed. “Oh, we poor
women these days. Life is such a danger. And for you to travel across the sea
and land to get here.”

“Mama!”
Drusilla cried, having been forgotten. Mrs. Cottonwood told her to be quiet. 

“We must be
going. Thank you, Joab.” Rebecah walked to the door with Theresa. She turned to
Mrs. Cottonwood. “Would you do me a favor, Mrs. Cottonwood?”

“I shall try.”

“If you
should see Captain Nash, please do not mention you saw me. It is a surprise.”

Mrs.
Cottonwood wrinkled her nose. “Why should I tell him anything, my dear?  You
think me a gossip?”

“Well, no, of
course not. I only meant…”

“I think he
will know soon enough you are here, if he does not know already. He may be glad
for your visit, but I assure you, he is more interested in Drusilla.”

With her head erect, Mrs. Cottonwood took her daughter by
the hand and marched out the door. Their carriage pulled away, and Rebecah felt
things might not go as well as she hoped.

South of town
people gathered on a hill destined to become barracks for Hessian prisoners. Morning
had come, and the day was warm and sunny, the sky blue.

Nash leaned
against the trunk of an oak loading his brace of pistols. He wore buckskins, fringed
along the sleeves, and leggings.

Out on the
grass, townsfolk sat on blankets and chairs brought from the nearby homes. Tables
under the trees were bountiful with food and drink. Pastries tempted children’s
hands. The ladies did not hesitate to fill a plate or offer samples of their
baking.

Nash watched Clarke
take his turn at the tomahawk throw. He swung, missed the bull’s eye by an
inch. Behind Nash, Black Hawk stood grave and quiet in deerskin and beaded
moccasins.

“It’s your
turn, Black Hawk. Let the people see real marksmanship.”

Black Hawk raised
his hand. “No, this is for white men.” The eagle feathers in his hair swayed in
the breeze. Billy Wallens counted them aloud.

Nash laughed
and shook his head. “It’s for all of us to try. No doubt you will win. Go on.
Show us.”

Black Hawk
took a tomahawk from one of the men. The crowd grew silent. Boys ran to the front
to see an Indian’s skill. With one powerful sweep of his arm, Black Hawk threw
the tomahawk, sinking it dead center. People cheered and boys stared with
wonder. 

The bull’s
eye was the size of a gold piece made from a piece of tin, set on an A-frame
piece of clapboard. Black Hawk showed no emotion as he turned around to see his
competitors’ reactions.

“It is now your
chance, my brother. I will catch you another fat turkey if you match my mark.”

“You doubt I
could match it, Black Hawk? Well, we’ll see.”  

Nash stepped
forward, and locked eyes on the target ahead. He lifted his arm and hurled the
tomahawk. It whirled through the air. With a thud, it sunk deep beside Black
Hawk’s.

The target tipped
over on its side and the crowd roared.

* * *

Not far from
the field at the Boyd House, Rebecah met Mr. Boyd in the sitting room. By the
stunned look on his face, Rebecah knew she was not what he expected after his
daughter informed him, upon his arrival home, they had a guest.  When he heard
her story, he stood and guided her to a chair.

“You were
brave to come all this way in such perilous times.”

“My reasons
were stronger ones, Mr. Boyd.”

“Jack has no
idea of your arrival?”

“None, sir.”

He raised
his brows. “I’m astonished.”

She gave
him a quick smile and lowered her eyes. “Many people are. But surely it has
been done before.”

“The world is
rife with love stories of this nature. But

I’ll not pry by asking you why
you did not warn him.”

 “Thank
you, sir.”

 “This
should be quite a surprise for him. I wish I could see his face.”

Theresa
drew up beside Rebecah. “Papa, we must protect Rebecah from gossips like Mrs.
Cottonwood. She arrived after we did at Laurel Hill with her daughter. You know
how set she is on Drusilla marrying Captain Nash.”

“I can
assure you, he has no interest whatsoever in wedding that girl. He told me
himself.”

No
interest whatsoever.
Relief filled Rebecah. He was still free.

“Now I must
be off to my office. I shall join you ladies later. You will find Captain Nash
on the hill, Miss Brent.”

Theresa
grabbed Rebecah by the hand and drew her out into the hallway. She tied the
ribbon of her hat at least five times, and smoothed the ringlets in her hair
through her fingers more than she could count. Her dress was what she had worn to
Laurel Hill, and the color enhanced the rose in her cheeks. Yet for the light
coming through the windows, sparkling in her eyes, the worry in them she could
not banish. 

Her heart
pounded waiting to leave. Oh, to see him after so long, to hear his voice and
feel his touch. She dreamed through a restless night, tossing and turning in
her sleep, wondering if she should have sent him word at Richfield that she had
come.

Perhaps he
did know. What if he had returned to Laurel Hill that morning and Joab told
him?  If it were true, why hadn’t he come for her?

She wrung her
hands, rehearsed what she would say. The words stumbled from her lips and
nothing seemed to fit.

Walking down
the street, Rebecah looked up at the church spires. The Evangelical Reformed
Church towered in majestic brick, its spire shooting upward to a sharp point,
gray and black against the sky. Beyond it, the spire of Saint John the
Evangelist shone stark white in the sunlight, topped with a gold cross. Their
presence inspired hope. Yet Rebecah could not fight off the growing anxiety of
their meeting again. The mixed emotions were bittersweet. 

As she
hastened on with Theresa’s arm linked in hers, she remembered how he stood
there, his stare darkening, as he denounced her promise. Many months ago in
England, she had made two pledges. At the first, her heart belonged to him
alone. But when circumstances turned, she vowed never to see him again. The
latter was said in the throes of heartache and anger, and for that, she was
sorry. 

Feeling her
pulse race, she stopped. 

“What is it,
Rebecah?” Theresa said.

“I cannot go
on. I do not think I should go to him this way, without any warning. He’ll be
angry, I know it.”  She laid her hand on Theresa’s sleeve. “Let me go back. You
can tell him.”

Theresa
smiled. “There is no need for you to be afraid.  Besides, the festival is ahead
of us. We’ve been spotted.”

She thought
she would die on her feet knowing there was no turning back. Up the hill they
went, Theresa smiling and whirling in her girlish manner, Rebecah following her
at a slower pace. A large crowd of people gathered near a pair of twin oaks.
Rebecah saw men with tomahawks and muskets, dressed in belted hunting shirts
and moccasins. Powder horns were strapped over their shoulders, and fox and
raccoon-skin caps were on their heads.

Joab drew up
beside them on a white mule. He slipped off the bare back, and pulled off his
hat. “Miss Rebecah.”

“Hello, Joab.
Have you spoken to Captain Nash? Did you tell him I came to Laurel Hill?”

“No, ma’am.
He didn’t come home, but come here straight from Richfield. There he is.”

Before
Rebecah could do anything, Joab was gone in a flash. She watched him make his
way through the crowd. She bit her lip until it hurt, squeezed her hands together.
He stepped up to a man. She could not see his face.

He turned.

Their eyes met and held.

People
vanished the moment Nash laid eyes on her. Her face, her coral lips, her jade
eyes, intent upon him, reached out and seized. Tears entered her eyes, beading
upon her dark lashes, and drew him forward.

“Rebecah,”
he breathed out.

When
he reached her, she lifted her eyes to his. His arms ached to embrace her.

Nash
glanced at Theresa. “Miss Boyd.”

She
gave him a quick curtsey. “Good day, Captain Nash. Aren’t you surprised?”

“I
am.” He swallowed hard.

“Miss
Brent is the bravest woman I’ve ever met,” Theresa declared. “She came all the
way from England and overland all by herself.”

“Will
you excuse us?”

He
took Rebecah by the arm and moved her through the crowd. People watched as they
went by.

“Where
are you taking me?”

“Some
place where we can speak in private.”

A
smokehouse stood a few yards away. He pushed open the door, drew her inside,
and shut it. She stood in the center of the floor, hands clasped.

“Is
it possible?”

“You
are… angry?”

“I’m
stunned.” 

“I
should have written first.”

“It
may have helped ease the shock.”

“I’m
sorry. I can explain.”

“I
hope you can…Why are you trembling?” 

“I’m
a little cold.”