Thorns in Eden and the Everlasting Mountains (38 page)

“Jonas? Jonas
where are you?”

As she spoke
the last word, she saw her husband running toward the cabin. He stopped, knelt,
and fired his musket, felling one Indian. Another ran toward him and swung his
tomahawk. He fell back, and Karien saw blood pour out onto his hunting jacket.

She wanted to
cry out, scream his name. But for the children’s sake, she threw her hand
across her mouth and pushed the words back. Terror beat through her heart. Fear
seized every fiber of her body. They were at the door, ramming against it. What
power did she have to stand against this pack of wolves? She was a woman, a
mother, a wife who saw her husband killed.

Tears pooled
in her eyes as the door broke in. She stood back and raised the musket. She
fired. She gasped. Fear surged through her, for her life, for her children when
she saw she had missed. She uttered a prayer and they seized her arms. Her
heart stopped with terror. Indians were near the bed, stepping over the floor
above the heads of her babes. She fought back like a mother bear, sunk her
teeth into the Indian’s arm that held her. He knocked her down, gathered up the
length of Karien’s golden hair in his fist. She struggled and wept—knowing what
was to come. 

The Indian
blazed his knife, ran it through her skin. Blood poured down her face. With her
children’s names upon her lips, Karien Muller fell back and died. 

* * *

Nash drew
rein and looked down the hillside. An Indian emerged from the cabin, his chest
smeared with war paint. With one quick thrust, he raised the golden trophy in
his grasp and yelped. Nash’s blood curdled. Beads of sweat gathered on his
forehead and his hands shook.

The warrior
bounded down the cabin step, joined the others. With cries of victory, they were
gone, with sacks of goods, with scalps upon their belts.

A chill raced
through Nash as silence descended. His eyes remained fixed on the cabin door.
It moved slightly in the breeze. He looked away toward the barn, saw a man upon
the ground, his hand outstretched.

Nash’s men
gathered round, and without a word, he nudged Meteor forward and walked him
down the hill. The others followed, their muskets poised, their long knives in
their fists.

Inside the
hapless cabin, the dusky haze of the sun streamed through the loopholes in the
windows. Bread dough lay in a wooden bowl, and there upon the floor lay the
body of a woman, her face and dress splattered with blood, her eyes open,
searching for the meaning of her death. The golden hair, that had been her
glory, was no more.

Sorrowful at
the sight, Robert Maldowney knelt beside her and picked up her hand. “Poor lass.”
He closed her eyes with the palm of his hand.  “Andrew and I will bury them. I’ll
speak a word over their graves.”

“Prayer in
life would have done them more good. What does it matter now?”

Angry, Nash
picked up the red and white patchwork from off the bed. With care, her body was
laid within it. Beneath Nash’s boots came a whimper. He looked down, heard it
again. He moved the bed and lifted the floorboards. Two sweet but frightened
faces stared up at him, eyes glistening with tears.

“Don’t be
afraid, little ones.” He crouched and spoke softly. “Give me your hands and I’ll
pull you up.”

First, he pulled
out the boy. The girl threw her slim white arms around his neck and squeezed.
Her warm face nuzzled his neck. He felt her tears. She refused to let go, so he
held her close and whispered what words he could find to comfort her. A moment
and she grew quiet. Still her face lay nestled against him.

He lifted the
boy into his other arm and took great care the children did not see the blood
of their mother upon the floor. Outside the sky rolled with slate clouds. He
turned aside at the sound of earth being turned.

Thou art the helper of the fatherless.

With sadness, he recalled the portion of Hosea, while a
nagging feeling crept into his chest. He put the children on his horse’s back,
and looked at the everlasting hills, knowing God had put the children into his
hands. But for how long?

 “You’re
working too hard, Mrs.” Joab picked up a spade and shoved dirt over a row of
chrysanthemums.

Rebecah
smiled, leaned back on her knees, and wiped her hands across her apron. “It’s
well worth it. Next autumn these will be a glorious orange. Do you like
gardening, Joab?”

“Don’t
know. I haven’t done it much.”

“Tell
me a flower you like, and I shall be sure we plant it.”

“I like
them yellow flowers I seen growing up on the hills when the warm weather come.”

“Ah,
I think you mean daffodils.” Rebecah patted the earth beneath the plant in front
of her. “Show me where you saw them and we will dig out some bulbs, and plant
them in the fall.”

 “Mr.
John never paid much mind to flowers and such.”

“Well,
now that I’m mistress of Laurel Hill, we shall build a grand garden.”

A
whistle came down the hills. With a thrill, Rebecah looked up. She knew that
sound, for whenever he was coming home, he’d use it.

She
stood and shook the dirt from her skirts. Jack walked down the knoll leading
Meteor, his musket over his shoulder. His injured leg had improved under her
hand. Nightly she soothed it with a salve made of camphor and herbs.

And
who was this in the saddle? A child with long blonde curls, hands firm upon the
pommel. And there, a small boy in Maldowney’s arms?

“Look,
he has children with him.”

She
yanked off her garden gloves, snatched up her skirts and ran up the hillside.
Her heart pounded as her boots sunk into the cool grass. Were they harmed,
sick, or hungry? What horrible fate had they met out in the wilderness?

She
looked up to see her husband’s face. A mix of happiness to see her and concern
shadowed it. Oh, how brave he had rescued them.

He
put his arm around her and kissed her cheek.

Rebecah
looked into the girl’s sweet face. It was the face of an angel, shining in a
halo of golden locks. But the expression in her eyes told her of fear and
sadness that no child should ever bear.

“Hello.
I am Captain Nash’s wife Rebecah.”

“Like
the lady in da Bible?” the girl said.

“That’s
right. What are your names?”

“Adele.
He is Gustav my brother. I call him Gus.”

“I
am glad you have come to our house.” Rebecah reached up and helped Adele from
the saddle. She did not wish to be put down, and locked her arms around
Rebecah.

“Would
you and Gus like something to eat—sweet cake and milk?”

Adele
nodded, then nuzzled against Rebecah’s neck.

She
turned to Nash. “They look so hungry and frightened. What happened?”

Nash
twisted his horse’s reins around his fist and pulled.  “I’ll tell you after the
children are asleep.”

* * *

Darkness
came quickly that day. The wind strengthened over the hills, shook the trees. Leaves
fell and covered the ground.

Nash
stood at his window eyeing the outdoors. He wondered if warriors would come
this far down the Potomac toward the Monocacy. He turned away, looked over at
his wife. She looked beautiful in the glow of the fire, with Gus on her lap and
Adele cuddle up in the crook of her arm.

Maldowney
let out a burst of laughter and went on telling his Scottish tale of an old man
and a lame dog to the children.

“And
so, the old man picked up the wee pup, set him on the chair next to him at the
table on a velvet cushion, and gave him an ox bone on a silver plate.”

Adele’s
eyes widened and she giggled. Gus yawned.

“It’s
time we tuck you in bed, children” Rebecah said.

Their
hands and faces washed, the children were clothed in fresh linen shirts. As
soon as they were wrapped inside the quilts, Gus fell to sleep. Adele
whimpered. Rebecah soothed her by humming a lullaby.

Nash
leaned against the doorway and waited. She kissed him, held the sleeves of his
shirt. 

“They’re
alone in the world, Jack.”

“As
far as we know. I’ll ride into town tomorrow and make inquiry—see if they have
any relatives.”

He
put his arm around her and they soberly walked to their room. Rebecah shut the
door and leaned her back against it. “Will you miss sleeping under the open
sky?”

He
laughed short. “I put up with the raw earth under my back and the moon shining
in my face long enough.” He gathered her into his arms. “And I was lonely for
you.”

He
tipped her face up to meet his, kissed her long and soft.  Taking her to their
bed, he fell back with her against the pillows. 

* * *

In
an orchard north of Laurel Hill, apples fell from the trees and lay brown and
shriveled in the grass beneath the sunshine. Yellow jackets hovered, dipped,
and landed to taste the sweet fermented juices. That morning the river ran
swift and cool, reflecting the blue sky. Bass surfaced to catch jeweled
dragonflies. The elms along the bank were a blaze of gold. Wreathed in morning
mist, the leaves turned in the whispering breeze. The sky rose red along the
rim of the mountains when dawn broke.

Above
the scarlet light, clouds were thick and slate-gray. They overtook the sunlight
and it began to rain. Nash dressed in work clothes, in leather breeches,
homespun shirt, and boots. He wore his hair back, tied with a leather cord his
ponytail hanging past the nap of his neck. In his hand, he held a letter.
Although his heart was ripping apart, he had done with crying. To him it was
what a man did privately. 

Dawn
came colder and it felt like winter would come earlier this year. His father
was gone—dead of an infectious fever and a jaundice condition.

He
saw his stepmother’s hand must have been trembling in her grief as she penned
it. These were not her usual fluid lines, but scribbled discernible words
broken and ragged. At one point, the quill had dripped the ink. What he was to
do he did not know, for grief blinded clear thought and enhanced regret.

Lady
Margaret would remain in England with Lavinia and David for the time being. Standforth
had been confiscated by the Crown. Lady Margaret was able to keep her choice
horses and move them to the Harcourt’s stable. She had her own money to live
on, a sum of at least five hundred pounds a year.

You
need not worry over me, Jack. Tend your land and prosper. Rejoice with the wife
of your youth, raise a family, and be at peace with God
.  

Nash
stared at the letter, drew in quick gasps of air. His heart felt heavy as stone
as he placed his hand over his eyes and wept.

Rebecah’s
hand closed over his. “What is it, my love?”

He
handed her the letter. Tears filled her eyes.  “Oh, no.”

“He’s
gone, Rebecah…”

“I’m
sorry. Do you want to be alone?”

“No,
stay with me.”

She
curled up beside him in front of the fire. Rain tapped upon roof and wall.

“I
cannot bring him back. I don’t know what I’d have done if I had to bear this
alone.”

She
touched his cheek.  He turned his lips to her hand and kissed it.

“Are
you cold?”

“A
little.”  And she drew closer against him.

“Here.” 

He
wrapped a quilt around her shoulders. Then he put another log on the fire. It
crackled and the flames grew and warmed her. 

“You
will never forget him. But in time the pain will lessen.”

“I’ve
seen death at its worst, but when it’s someone you love, someone close to you,
it hurts like a knife turning in the heart.”

“I
know this kind of pain, Jack.”

He
nodded. “Your father.”

“Yes.”

He
took her into his arms. “I cannot lose you, Rebecah. God help me if I ever do.”

She
put her finger to his lips to quiet him. “Do not think such things.”

“It’s
the thought someday I may not hear your voice and have you here beside me. I
pray God takes me first.”

“You
mustn’t dwell on that. It is true that as time passes, people pass with it. But
we will never be apart.”

“You’re
not afraid?”

“Yes,
I’m afraid. When I saw you coming out of the woods yesterday, my heart
rejoiced. I had fears I might not see you again. But we are together now.”

He pulled her
closer, his cheek against hers. “I love you, Rebecah. I will until the day I
die.”

Rebecah
wore her best day dress and gray cloak. Their wagon rolled along the notched
road, and with a sad gaze, Rebecah looked out across the fields at a group of
men and women walking from the slave quarters of a plantation toward a crude
whitewashed church on the opposite side of the road.  Nash pulled to a halt.

Rebecah’s
eyes could not leave the scene as the slaves crossed the road in front of them.
Her heart ached to see the thin overworked bodies. Yet it was evident within
those weary vessels, vivacious souls swelled with the joy of the Lord and the
hope of eternal freedom. It shined in their eyes, in their smiles as they
passed by. The men pulled off their hats and nodded to the Nash’s with the
women strolling along in their calico dresses singing.

“Oh,
but I love their singing.” Rebecah sighed.

“Those
are happy songs,” said Joab.

“Indeed
they are, Joab. But there is more behind the words and melody that make them
happy. In spite of their bondage, the slaves sing with joy.”

Nash
shifted the reins in his hands.

“I’m
glad you believe slavery to be wrong, Jack,” Rebecah said.

He
smiled from one corner of his mouth. “My darling, it is unfortunate not
everyone in this world loves their neighbor.”