Thorns in Eden and the Everlasting Mountains (36 page)

“In
more than one way, last I knew.”

She
lowered her eyes. “I deserved that, I suppose.”

“Why
are you here— Lady Lanley is it? Has he come with you or did you run away from
the over-dressed fool?” 

She
looked at him. “I did not marry him.”

Nash
kicked a loose stone on the dirt floor and it hit the wall. “You swore to wed
Lanley.”

“Yes,
I’ve not forgotten what I said and did.”

“Nor
have I. What are you doing here?”

Her
eyes softened. “Your father…”

Alarm
shot through him. “Has something happened?”

“He
was arrested for aiding privateers. Laban Huet was hung at Standforth. Sir
Rodney has begged you do not return. Your name came into the charges. He wishes
you to stay away.”

He
frowned. “A son cannot stand by and do nothing.”

“That’s
true. But give yourself time to think.”

Nash
shook with grief. He turned away and placed his hands on a table in the corner.
“You saw him before you left?”

“I
visited him, yes, in prison.”

Nash’s
eyes were pained and urgent.  “How was he?”

“He
was bearing up, and he is treated well. David is seeking a reprieve. I’ve no
doubt he will be successful.”

“And
my stepmother?”

“You
know her. She is the strongest of women.”

He
sat on a barrel, hands clasped over his knees. “So, you came all this way to
give me bad news—you that hate me?”

“Hate
you?”

“What
should I call your feelings toward me?”

“I
never have hated you. I repented for ending the love we felt.” She hung her
head. “I repented many times over…”

He
gazed at her with her hair falling about her shoulders, with miniature curls
framing her face, the silk of her bodice, her breast rising and falling.

“Before
I left England,” she went on, “I wrote to the surgeon who attended my father.
He assured me you did not cause the wound that killed him. Must I go on? It
t oaintanccah. t’ came all the way from England and
overland all by herself."t to do. We must allow her time to think this
over."ife.y to the
is complicated and grieves me.”

“Certainly
go on,” he said. “I think I should know.”

 She drew in a long breath and paced. “My father
arrived in England a month before coming home. He stayed in Portsmouth with a
woman. Another man challenged him, a wealthy man who had her for a mistress.
There was a duel, you see, and that is how my father came by his wound, and
ultimately his death.”

Nash reached out to touch her, but dropped his hand to
his side. “Why didn’t he tell you? Why would he have concealed the truth?”

She lowered her head, emotion stirring.  “He was
ashamed I suppose. Forgive me for the hard words I spoke, of my rejection and
suspicions of you.”

 “You
could have believed me from the start. Why didn’t you?”

She
looked up at him with moist eyes. “I was afraid.”

“But
you found out the truth, sailed across the ocean and overland to find me hoping
I would forget everything that happened between us and take you back?”

* * *

It
hurt. But what could she expect?

His
heart has changed toward me. This is my reward—to reap what I had sown.

It
crushed her, and she turned away to wipe the tears from off her face. 

“I
understand. You needn’t say anything more. At least let me give you something
from your father to help your cause,” she said, changing the flow of their
conversation. “I’ve kept it hidden beneath my gown.”

She
turned away, pulled up her skirt and untied the money pouch. Shoving down her
gown, she then turned and handed it to him. 

“There
are several hundred pounds there. Your father hopes it will help.”

Nash
took it from her hand. Their fingers touched.  “Yes, it will. It was brave of
you.”

“There
are letters inside.”

He
opened the bag and drew them out.

Rebecah
moved to the door. “I have done what Sir Rodney asked me to do. So I’ll go.”

Nash
looked at her. “Where are you staying?”

“Mr.
Boyd and his daughter were kind enough to give me lodging.”

“They’re
good people.”

“Yes,
they are.” She looked at his leg. “Does it hurt much?”

An
inkling of an angry smile curved his mouth. “Not much.”

She
hesitated, gripping her hands, wishing he would tell her what had happened,
wishing he would have a change of heart.

Embrace
me. Tell me you still love me.

“I’m
glad it wasn’t more serious. If you…”

“It’s
nothing.”

She
looked away, his cold abruptness pricking her. “Goodbye, Jack.” 

Pulling open the door,
she left. The sky was deep now, and the shadows heavy like her heart. She
hurried across a field toward the spires, down the hill that lead back to the
Boyd house.

She pressed a fist
against her heart, her hopes dashed, the road ahead promising to be an
unpredictable one.

After reading
his father’s letter, having been told everything, Nash sat with his hands over his
eyes pleading with the Almighty. The King’s law was firm—harsh and lacking
compassion. Even children were hung in the squares of English town’s for
stealing bread. How much more heinous did Sir Rodney’s crime seem in
comparison?

Food
smuggled aboard a privateer for the Bostonians. How could a man be condemned
for sending aid to the starving?

He thought a
thousand thoughts with his back against the wall. At least his father had not
met the same fate as Laban Huet. As much as his father railed against the
injustice, judges took no action to bring charges against Captain Donely. He
was the son of a powerful aristocratic family, many of which were favorites of
the King.

Poor Mrs.
Huet and the children.
Nash thought about the day he met them on the road on
the way to church.

Dear
Mother
. He had some comfort in knowing she was staying with the Hartcourts
through this ordeal. At least she was not alone. Still, anguish raked over his
soul. He wanted to go to them. Defend them both. Get them out of England.

If
I had stayed longer, perhaps I could have saved him. How my emotions ruled me! 
And he slammed his fist into his thigh.

He
looked up at the ceiling, at the slim shaft of light bleeding from it. Then he
drew out another letter—this one from David, urging him to be rational and stay
in America.  It would be grief enough if Lady Margaret were to lose his father,
but oh how double the pain would be if she were to lose him as well.

David
wrote:

I’m
confident I shall clear Sir Rodney. There is no solid proof to keep him in
prison, or to sentence him. I shall see to it your dear stepmother is cared for
through this trouble. But for you, Sir Samuel’s bitterness is overwhelming, and
he will stop at nothing to destroy you if you should return.

He
is outraged that Rebecah has come to you.
Revolutionaries on every
quarter are being arrested, thrown in prison and some have hung.  

When
this is all over, I promise to set your parents aboard ship and get them to
America. Perhaps my dear wife and I shall accompany them.

Next,
he opened Lady Margaret’s letter. She warned him to stay away, to
think of
Rebecah
and keep her with him.

Do
not fear for us, my son. God shall send us all the aid we need. David and
Lavinia are looking after me. Your father is treated kindly. Soon this trial,
and your revolution, shall be over and we shall leave home and build a new life
with you and Rebecah in America.

Rebecah.
How beautiful she looked standing there in the shade with her large-brimmed
hat darkening the color of her eyes. Yes, he loved her, and he sat there brooding
over all that had happened. He knew he had to swallow his pride.

* * *

Slander
and gossip ran deeper than truth that year of 1774.  Certain people refused to
bridle their wagging tongues in Fredericktown, and when Nash stepped forth from
the smokehouse and made his way back, a group of women huddled together. They
made slight, deliberate gestures, and spoke between themselves. 

Mrs.
Matilda Cottonwood, Mrs. Roberta Smith, Mrs. Lettice Tinburgen, the spinster
Derwood, and the Widow Watson kept an eye on him. Nash knew they were talking
about him and the lady.  One corner of his mouth curved into a grin that said he
did not care what they thought. Ignoring their stares he moved on, walking
under the shady trees looking for Rebecah. 

Mrs.
Cottonwood called out to him. He turned at the scratchy sound of her voice. Her
face looked flushed like a strawberry. Her narrow gray eyes blinked as if a
gnat flew before them.  “May we speak to you, Captain Nash?”

“If
it’s about the dance, tell Drusilla I will not be there. I have business to
attend to. There are other single men in this town.”

She
puckered her lips and mustered her breath. “It’s no place of mine to meddle in
other peoples’ affairs…”

Nash
leaned toward her.  “Then I suggest, ma’am, you do not.”

“But
I must just this once,” she said, shutting her eyes. “It’s for the good of our
community.”

“I
don’t understand. Excuse me.” He went to leave, but she stepped in front of him
like a jackrabbit. The other women hovered around, and Nash frowned. 

“What
is on your minds, ladies?”

“Well,
there’s talk,” said Mrs. Smith, drawing up her shoulders.

Mrs.
Cottonwood took a step in front of her. “The lady who you met with, Captain,
everyone knows she was at Laurel Hill when Drusilla and I rode out there to see
you.  How long is this woman to stay at Laurel Hill, and without a chaperone?”

“Is
it against the law for a woman to visit my house?”

“No,
but we hope she is not staying with you.”

“Indeed,
where would the lady sleep?  No other place but your own bed,” Mrs. Smith
whispered. 

“The
Captain is a gentleman, Mrs. Smith,” said the Widow Watson. “You’d take the
floor now wouldn’t you, Captain? Or you’d tie yourself up in a bundle bag.”

 “That
courtship custom may be acceptable to some,” said Mrs. Smith, “but it gives way
to temptation. Is the lady staying with you?”

“Madams,
I was unaware she visited my house in the first place,” he said. “There’s no
breech in morals here. That is what you’re insinuating, is it not?”

“But
I saw her with my own eyes,” Mrs. Cottonwood said.

“No
doubt you did,” he replied.

“She’s
from England, we hear,” said the Widow Watson.

“That’s
right.” Nash smiled at the old woman. She was the least annoying of the
group—eighty and two, her shoulders hunched over, her statue small as a
twelve-year-old child. And she had a playful glint in her aged eyes as well as
in her laugh. 

“An
English lass, was I when I first come here to Mary’s land, Captain Jack,” she
said. “Eighteen was I—eighteen and pretty as a spring rose. I had me beaus too,
I did. Then I married Benjamin Watson. That girl, she’s pretty too. You should
marry her.”

The
slim spinster Derwood stepped forward.  “She’s the lady the whole town is
talking about.  Her coach was held up, you know. No one knows what happened.
One can only imagine.”

“I
had not heard about that, ma’am,” he said. 

“She
must be terribly in love with you, Captain Jack, to have left home and faced
such troubles to find you,” said the widow. “More reason to wed her.”

“Don’t
tell him that,” Mrs. Cottonwood said. “She’s probably a British sympathizer—or
a hussy.”

Again
Nash frowned. “She’s not, I can assure you.”

“Then
what
is she to you?” said Mrs. Cottonwood.

He
knew his response would set their heads spinning. He leaned closer.  “Miss
Rebecah Brent is the woman I love,” he whispered.

The
widow cackled joyously. The other ladies gasped. Mrs. Cottonwood’s mouth fell
open. “Love her? What about my poor Drusilla?”

Nash bowed
and walked on. He thought of going to the Boyds’ to inquire after Rebecah, and the
dangers she had faced to reach him. A pit grew in his stomach, for he had
treated her badly.

With an
uneasy tread, he mounted his horse. When he opened the door to his house, all
was silent and dark. He ascended the stairs and went to his room, slamming the
door. He stared at the empty bed, the cold white sheets, the light coming
through the window. Why couldn’t he have been more understanding? He should
have shown her gratitude for enduring a long journey to bring him news of his
father, letters, and money for the Patriots.

He sat in a chair, still clothed and booted, his hand
covering his mouth, hours passing, until night fell and stars lightened the
sky.

At sunrise,
Nash saddled Meteor, rode up the mountain, and followed the ridgeline to an
outcropping where he could see down into the valley. The spires of the churches
pierced a clear blue sky. He dismounted and sat on the ledge, where he could
talk to God, mull over recent events, reasoned what to do.

Still
agonizing over his father, he thought of Rebecah. His eyes traveled north from
one spire to another, to where the Boyd house stood. He pictured her there…or
had she found a way to leave on this morn?

The thought
of her going caused his heart to ache. He regretted how he had treated her. He
should have pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He should have said how
much he loved her, how happy he was she had come to him.