Beyond the Valley, page 12
Temperance flopped down on a step. “And hot, I wager, and prone to all kinds of tropical fevers and pirates raiding every bit of it!”
“It is a paradise there, with orchids and flowers you cannot imagine. You will not have to endure cold winters.”
“The flowers shall make me sneeze, every last one of them.” She wiped her eyes, stood, and came all the way down the stairs. Disturbed by the news she was overhearing, Sarah tried to slip away unseen, but Temperance saw her and called out. “Oh, Sarah. Oh, thank the Lord, you are with me.”
“Let me bring you some tea, ma’am.” She did not know what to do.
Sobbing, Temperance threw her arms around Sarah’s shoulders. “I dearly missed you when you were away. We shan’t be parted ever again.”
Mr. Woodhouse drew Temperance back. “Control yourself, my dear.”
“How can I when you are determined to uproot me?”
“Go sit down and rest a moment.”
“I want Sarah with me.” She took Sarah by the arm and strode into the sitting room. “Oh, it is a very bad day.” After two quick intakes of breath, Temperance wiped her nose. “Did you hear what Mr. Woodhouse plans to do, Sarah?”
“Yes. And forgive me, for I did not intend to.”
“So you heard he wants to sell all that we own and drag me off to some heathen island in the Carri-be-no? Oh, but at least I shall have you and Celia to comfort me. And when we are rich, we can return to Virginia.” She looked back at her husband for assurance on that fact.
Mr. Woodhouse shrugged. “I suppose we might, my dear.”
“And by that time, Sarah’s indenture will be over. Oh, but she will want to stay with us, won’t you, Sarah?”
“She cannot go with us, Temperance.” Mr. Woodhouse spoke as if his wife were a frail piece of crystal that could shatter if his voice went any higher. All at once, Temperance’s face turned as red as the ruby choker about her throat. In spite of her mistress’ distress, Sarah could not help but smile. It could only mean one thing. Mr. Woodhouse intended to give her to Alex. She’d be free to become his wife.
“On this, I demand.” She shook her fists. “You will not deny me Sarah.”
“I have to. I have to sell everything. We are in that poor a state. If I do not, I will go to prison.”
The dam burst, and Temperance fell apart. She collapsed on the floor weeping and wailing, flinging her arms across her face and kicking her legs. Sarah had not a moment to let the plans for her sink in. Only the words she cannot go with us echoed in her mind.
Sarah crouched down and put her arms around Temperance. “Do not cry, mistress.” Then she helped Mr. Woodhouse gather his poor wife up and help her to the settee.
“I will hurry and get Dr. Hutton,” she said.
Temperance refused. “I do not want him knowing why I am so utterly devastated. All because my husband could not manage his affairs.” She gasped between sobs. “I do not want anyone to know. I am so ashamed.”
Mr. Woodhouse looked worried. “I am sorry, Temperance. It will prove a hard day for you no doubt.”
Temperance looked at him. “Do not tell me there is more.”
“Creditors are arriving this afternoon with a buyer.”
Sarah frowned and looked over at Celia when she walked into the room. She seemed impassive to what was happening. “As long as I can stay with Mrs. Woodhouse,” she said to Mr. Woodhouse, “I will be content. But sell me off and I shall pine away to nothing and die within a year.”
Mr. Woodhouse held up his hand. “Not to worry, Celia. You have been with us for many years and will come with us.”
Temperance blew her nose into her handkerchief. “And what about you, Sarah? You stand there not saying a word. Persuade Mr. Woodhouse to bring you, too.”
Sarah did not want to persuade him to do anything, especially to change his mind. She swallowed. “I . . .”
“There is nothing to say,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “It would be prudent to have Sarah pack some of your favorite things—clothing particularly.”
Shock fell over Temperance. She stared forward with a blank expression on her face. Sarah felt sorry for her mistress, and the thought of separating from her now pained her. But not as much as being separated from Alex and the twins.
She followed Mr. Woodhouse out into the hallway, and stood in front of him. “Dr. Hutton will settle my indenture, Mr. Woodhouse. You have only to send him word.”
“I am sorry, Sarah. But I have already taken care of this. Mr. Thrasher is arriving within the hour. No one said your life would be easy. I can tell how upset you are. I hope you can forgive me.”
She dared to grab his arms and shake him. “Please. Do not sell me to this man. I’m begging you. Let Dr. Hutton have me.”
“No! It will be best for you this way. I know how attached he grew to you. I would not want you used in that way, and then he marry and have a wife, and you be a mistress to him. I cannot be a party to that.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Who is Mr. Thrasher? A plantation owner? A gentleman? Is he an American soldier?”
“He is a wealthy landowner, though he explained he lives a humble existence. Whatever that may mean.” Mr. Woodhouse squared his shoulders. “Not that you have a say, or can ask me such questions, Sarah.”
She lifted her chin. “I think I should have some right to know to whom I will be enslaved, sir.”
“Now, do not speak to me in that harsh tone, Sarah. I did what I felt best for you. You will go with Mr. Thrasher when he arrives, and say nothing more to me about it.”
“Please.” She fell on her knees weeping. “Please undo it.”
Mr. Woodhouse looked aghast. “Good lord. You are in love with the man. Do not deny it, Sarah. I know what I see. Dr. Hutton is above you, and it would be inappropriate for him to have you under his roof with the feelings you have for him.”
She stood back, head down. A gruff voice, carried on the breeze outside, ended their exchange as the sound of a horse and wagon drew up to the house.
“Hi, ho! Mr. Woodhouse. I have come for my property.”
Panic prickled over Sarah’s skin and she broke out into a cold sweat. Please, God. Have I not suffered enough? Do not let this man take me away. Bring Alex back.
“Bring the lass out and let me have a good look at her. I bought her sight unseen, but believe what you say. Bring her out, Mr. Woodhouse. I am waiting.”
The man’s voice, the way his words tripped over his tongue, cut into Sarah like the edge of a razor—slowly, slowly, grating against her skin.
Mr. Woodhouse ordered his wife to dry her tears. “Behave like a lady, Temperance.”
She smoothed her hair and followed Mr. Woodhouse to the door. Sarah and Celia went to the window and looked out. Upon sight of the man, Sarah’s blood ran cold.
“Oh, Lord Almighty,” whispered Celia. “Take this cup from Sarah.”
Sarah turned into Celia’s arms and wept against her shoulder.
17
Sarah’s hopes were dashed to begin with, but the instant she laid eyes on Jebediah Thrasher they were crushed. He was a middle-aged man, barrel-chested, and practically bald save for a few wisps of wiry hair around his forehead. How Mr. Woodhouse could have chosen a grubby backwoodsman over Dr. Hutton confounded her. Apparently she did not know her former master as well as she had thought.
Thrasher tapped her on the shoulder. “You call me Mr. Thrasher, Sarah. Other folks call me Jebediah T, ’cause I have a brother by the same last name. Just so you won’t be confused if some stop by my place.”
“I cannot think of calling you anything else, Mr. Thrasher.” She kept her sad eyes fixed ahead and glanced at him when he let out a high-pitched chuckle. His teeth were as brown as the tobacco he chewed, and he smelled as gamey as the animals he hunted.
“Oh, I imagine you could dream up any number of names for me, Sarah girl.”
Growing annoyed, she scooted as far away from him as possible on the wagon seat. “I am not that kind of person. I will keep other names for you to myself.”
Again he laughed, this time a little lower. “Did you know I’ve made a good living as a trapper? I’m a wealthy man, though you’d not know it to look at me.”
“Mr. Woodhouse did not share your occupation with me, no.”
“Furs, you know, are a lucrative trade,” he told Sarah as he drove his horse and wagon down the river road above the Great Falls. “I’ll teach you how to skin and tan. I might even let you keep a bear fur for a coat.”
She crossed her arms and glared. “I am better as a cook and housekeeper. You should hire a man to do that.”
Thrasher shook his head. “You’re a sassy one. Cooking and housekeeping is what I got you for really, so don’t worry about learning anything else unless you want to. But I warn you. First time you run your hand over a bear fur, you’re gonna want that coat.”
“Are there other people where you live?”
“Miles apart maybe. Anyway, as I was saying earlier, I had my fill fighting in the last war against the French and Indians. The patriots can fight their revolution with men younger than me. I prefer otters, muskrats, and beavers for my killing.”
Feeling as if she would go mad, Sarah shut her eyes. She wondered if Mr. Woodhouse realized the fate he had consigned her to. She had loved him and his wife, but now resentment replaced the affection she once felt.
Thrasher pulled to a stop. He jumped from his seat and walked into the woods. Sarah was alone. She knew he’d gone off to relieve himself and this might be a good time to run away. Whatever the consequences, she would accept them over a life with him.
She drew her cloak around her knees and turned to jump down. But he stepped out of the woods, noiseless as an Indian.
“You need a womanly moment, Sarah? I’d have to stand near to be sure you don’t run off.”
“No.”
“Have you stopped weeping?”
“I stopped miles ago.”
“You’ll grow accustomed to me. I ain’t so bad. Under this rough hide is a gentleman. I’ll do right by you. Be kind, and not lay a hand upon you. So don’t worry.”
“I cannot help it. I have been deceived before.”
His tough looks suddenly softened with a furrowed brow. Perhaps he meant what he said. “I’m no different than Mr. Woodhouse. I just don’t have a big house like him—hmm, like he had. Do you know how to cook deer liver?”
Sarah cringed. “I do not.”
“It’s what I like most.” A pause followed. Thrasher glanced at her with a contemplative expression. “Were you thinking of running away when I went into the woods?” He climbed back into his seat and picked up the reins. “ ’Cause if you did, you’d regret it. I’d not hurt you, but there are other things in this wilderness that would.”
She made no reply. Melancholy sealed her tongue and she shut her eyes.
“I’m not kidding when I tell you there are dangers. Venomous snakes. Cougars and bears. Come across one of them, and you’ll meet your end.”
“I do not care anymore.”
“Oh, don’t say that. Life is a gift from God.”
She frowned. “Even a hard one? How can it be a gift?”
“Well, I don’t really know. But it is just the same. Move on there, Bernie.” He snapped the reins, and then turned to Sarah. “Want to know why I call my mare a boy’s name?”
“Not really.” She looked at the aging gray horse. “But I suppose you will anyway.”
“I had a sweetheart when I was a young man and Bernie was her pet name. She was Bernice McGreevy—prettiest girl for miles around. Want to know what happened to her?”
“I have no other choice but to . . .”
“She ran off with an officer. That red coat and gold braid won her over. Not my buckskins and wilderness living.”
“I cannot say I blame her, Mr. Thrasher. Most women would choose a comfortable life in a town to an isolated one fraught with hardship.”
“Smart you are, Sarah. But you’d be surprised.”
With a sigh, she glanced through the woods from her side of the wagon. She had no reason to care about his love life, or hear anything more about the wilderness existence he was leading her to. But it made her think of Alex. What she felt for him intensified with each passing mile. She had not forgotten Jamie, only realized what she felt for him was a friendly love—far from being in love, the longing and missing.
What made her despair even worse? Alex would forget her. Lily and Rose, too. Still she wondered if he had heard the news that the Woodhouses were selling everything and leaving Virginia and that she had been sold to the first man who offered good money. If he had, how did he feel now that Mr. Woodhouse sent her away with a middle-aged backwoodsman?
Thrasher nudged her on the arm. “Did you hear what I said, Sarah? I ain’t interested in you in no wifely way. Don’t fear on that account. I just want someone to cook and keep house for me. My porridge is like paste and my meat like leather.”
What am I doing? I could jump down this minute and walk off. I can run faster now, more than he could with his short bowlegs.
Her hand gripped the edge of her seat and she felt the rough wood scrape against her skin. She thought of what Thrasher had said about dangerous animals, and that when it grew dark and cold, she could die from exposure.
She then decided to tell him her story. Perhaps he would feel sympathy for her and let her go. Maybe he would turn the wagon around and head for the Hutton House and bargain with Alex.
Quietly, Thrasher listened to her woeful tale. He paused at times to scratch his head. “Oh, that is sad, Sarah.”
“Will you have pity on me and send me back? Dr. Hutton will pay you well for me. You spoke of love. You must know how it feels to be apart from the one who holds your heart. He and I love each other, and I grieve thinking I might not ever see him again. He does not know where I have gone.”
“Where’s this doctor?”
“He lives near the Woodhouse farm.”
“Hmm, well, we are close to home now and it’s too late to turn around. I’ll think about it. Maybe when I’ve got to go back to sell my furs, I’ll consider paying him a visit. He’ll have to make me a very good offer, ’cause I’ll have to go back across the river and get someone new.”
“You mean it, sir?”
He shrugged. “Sure, why not?”
Though slight, a smile finally made its way across Sarah’s mouth. She had the urge to throw her arms around him and give him a hug, but he smelled too bad for that, and he might get the wrong idea. “Thank you, Mr. Thrasher. God will bless you if you do this good deed.”
“Well, I hope so, Sarah. Just let me think on it.”
Above the river rose great hills clad in thick forests and limestone cliffs. Soon, across the span of water, she saw a gristmill along a creek in the blue haze. The sun set, and Sarah gathered her cloak tighter about her shivering frame as darkness fell.
“Climb to the back, Sarah,” Thrasher said. “You’ll find a blanket there among my stuff to keep you warm. There’ll be a full moon tonight as big as an October pumpkin. We won’t reach the cabin for a while, so go to sleep.”
The hoot of an owl startled Sarah. She looked up into the trees. Black tentacles reached out across a spangled night sky. The moon, large and brilliant, illuminated all around her. No wind, not even the slightest breeze, blew. But the winter’s air seeped through her cloak in a chilling frost.
Another hoot echoed through the woods, and she saw Mr. Thrasher sit straight up and draw his musket across his lap. Then he lifted a jug to his lips and drank. She could smell its woody scent, the ale within it, on his breath. She had seen what a few mugs could do to a man—inflame his emotions and bring out the beast in him, or cause him to retreat into giddy laughter and fall asleep.
Brave to confront him, she said, “You are not drunk, are you?”
“No,” he grunted back over his shoulder. “Just a nip to keep me warm.” His eyes in the moonlight were glassy onyx. “Want some?”
“No, thank you. The Bible says it makes a man a fool to drink too much.”
“Does it now? Well, I guess I am a fool, then. Go to sleep.”
She crawled under the blanket and stared up at the moon and the stars that twinkled above. So cold and desolate they seemed against the inky sky. Her heart trembled within her breast, and she flung her arms across her eyes in an attempt to sleep. But the sway of the wagon and the crunch of the wagon wheels made her restless.
In the woods, a dark shape stole among the trees, and fear rushed over her as if the wind had passed through her body. Bernie whinnied and Sarah looked up with a start. The horse halted, pawed the ground, and snorted. Thrasher shook the reins and urged her on, but she would not move. Through the moonlight shambled a mountain cat. Its fur bristled across its back as it growled and slunk forward.
“Gad, it’s a big ’un,” whispered Thrasher over his shoulder to Sarah. The cat stopped directly in front of Bernie and snarled.
Thrasher held the reins tighter. “Stay still, Sarah. He’ll not spring at us unless maddened. Most of the time they are cowardly creatures.”
“He looks mad already. Do something,” she said, peeking over the back of the seat.
The cat whipped its tail from side to side, and slowly paced. Sarah widened her eyes and fixed them on the cougar.
Thrasher cocked his musket. “He’s got a nice pelt on him.”
With a ferocious cry, the cougar sprang before Thrasher could fire. His horse plunged back and forth to avoid the razorsharp claws and flesh-tearing fangs. Thrasher struggled to hold onto the reins with one hand, while balancing his musket with the other.
Although frightened out of her wits, Sarah snatched the musket out of Thrasher’s hand and raised it to her shoulder. And just as the cat pounced up to the wagon to attack Thrasher, she fired before it could sink its claws into him. The blast echoed through the forest. The cougar screamed, twisted, and fell to the ground near the front wheel. From its throat came a low, prolonged cry. If only it had avoided them and gone off into the woods, it would have lived to hunt another day.
