Beyond the Valley, page 16
“I know what you are feeling, child. I hid under the floor with little Darcy, her daughter. I felt so helpless as I worried what they would do to my girl.”
Sarah sat back. “I do not understand why such hard things have happened to me.”
“Life is hard indeed, and there are things we cannot explain. You may tell me about them if it will help.”
“My husband drowned in a cove where we lived in Cornwall. I was with child, and so I went to his sister, and they treated me cruelly. They and another man tricked me. The man said he’d give me a position in his house.”
Fiona’s eyes widened. “You were kidnapped, weren’t you?”
“I was. And I was brought to the Chesapeake and sold to Mr. and Mrs. Woodhouse. I worked for them until debt destroyed his estate and they sold me to another, a trapper. Indians attacked us and killed him and an old woman. They took me captive, and I escaped.”
“Poor girl. Do not worry, for you are safe here.” Fiona stood. “You must be famished. I will bring you a bowl of stew and some bread. Think you can manage such food?”
Sarah could not believe the kindness. “I would dearly welcome it. I haven’t had anything like that in a long time.”
Fiona frowned. “What have you had?”
“Venison, wild turkey, and fish. But mostly maize.”
“Ah, ’tis why you are so thin. Well, that shall be remedied. You stay where you are. I will be back shortly,” and she turned to leave.
Sarah held her hand out to Fiona. “Before you go, have you a brush and something I can wash with?”
“I will bring that, too.”
Sarah waited for Fiona to return. As she sipped the tea, enjoying the warmth of it as it went down her throat, she studied her surroundings. A narrow table stood against the wall. Upon it sat a blue and white pitcher and bowl, and a brass candlestick with a short taper in the socket.
The heavenly scent of stew flowed through the open door, and she grew ravenous for it. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Afraid to touch the floor, to feel the pain it would bring, she slipped back beneath the covers. She wondered, too, what the people in this house would think about her impediment. Would they frown upon her, be shocked, or have sympathy? She decided she would not conceal it. Nor would she try to duplicate Alex’s remedy, as a reminder of what he had done for her, to keep her love for him alive within her heart.
A child poked her curly head around the corner of the door and came into the room. Her eyes were large and bright, her hair chestnut, reminding Sarah of Rose and Lily. She missed them so much. Where were they now? She hoped Mrs. Burnsetter was taking good care of them, and giving them all the love they needed.
Fiona called back into the room. “Darcy, meet Sarah Carr. She is staying with us. Can you not say hello?”
Darcy pulled her finger from her mouth. “Hello, Sarah,” she said, tripping over the pronunciation of the letter S.
Sarah smiled. “Hello, little one. I am pleased to meet you.”
With a skip, Darcy climbed into the ladder-back chair across from Sarah, and gathered her legs upon the seat Indian-style. “Have you a little girl too?” Darcy’s question was innocent, and her eyes searched Sarah’s for an answer.
“Unfortunately, I have not,” Sarah replied. “I could have once had a son, but it was not meant to be. My baby is in Heaven with his father.”
Darcy’s eyes widened. “An angel,” she whispered.
“I am not sure if that is God’s way with people, Miss Darcy. But I do know angels are with us here on earth when we need them, and in Heaven.”
“Mama said angels protected her from the Indians.”
“Your mama is right, little one.”
Fiona squeezed back inside the room with a bowl of steaming stew and hot bread slathered with sweet butter. She set the tray on the table near the washing bowl and pitcher. Then she picked up a horsehair brush and began to untangle Sarah’s hair. “My, my. Your hair needs such a brushing. It is as if you ran through a briar patch. So many knots.” She leaned over. “It needs a washing.”
“They would not let me get it wet when we went down to the river for water or bathing. The Indians thought my locks held some kind of magical power.”
“Oh, well they may be right. I cannot see how any man in his right mind would not be taken by the length and color. You are blessed to have such hair. My mistress’s hair is as dark as a summer’s night.”
Sarah placed her hand over her growling stomach. “May I?” she said, glancing at the tray.
“Oh, yes, of course. What was I thinking?” Fiona set the brush down and lifted the tray to Sarah’s lap. Digging into the meat and vegetables, she savored every bite of the rich stew. The bread melted in her mouth.
“This is so good. ’Tis like manna from Heaven. Thank you.”
Eliza stepped through the door. She wore a brown homespun dress with a simple kerchief over her shoulders. And in her arms were clothes.
“It is late.” Eliza smiled down at her daughter, then at Fiona. “Darcy should be asleep by now.” Eliza spoke softly and lovingly to the child. Sarah watched them with her heart aching. If only things had been different, I might be holding my son.
Darcy looked over at Sarah. “Mama, is she an angel?”
“I do not think so, my love. She is a young woman God has brought to us for as long as she wishes to stay.”
The word stay rang clearer in her mind than any other.
With a little shake of her head Darcy said, “I heard angel’s wings, Mama, me, and Fonna.”
“It must have been wonderful, my darling, for they kept you safe. Now, come. Fiona will tuck you in. I will stay here a while.”
“The girl’s name is Sarah. Let her eat, Eliza, and do not wear her out with too much conversation.”
Eliza smiled with a nod and Fiona left with Darcy. She set the clothes down on the foot of the bed. “These are for you. I am Eliza Morgan, mistress of River Run.” She pulled the chair up to the bedside and sat down. “Are you feeling better?”
Sarah nodded with relief, the bedding a comfort over her legs and Fiona’s stew warm in her belly. She thanked Eliza for the food and shelter, and promised to repay her through hard work. She told her she had no family, and begged her not to send her away. She had been indentured to a man who was cruel, and although she no longer belonged to him, she worried he would claim her if he knew where she was.
Eliza closed the curtains over the window. “Do not worry. If you like, you may stay with us . . .”
As Sarah ate the last of the bread, she listened to Eliza explain who Halston was—her nearest neighbor, not her husband. Hayward was away fighting. It caused her to think of Alex again. More than likely he had returned to his regiment, to help the sick, wounded, and dying. Her greatest fear rose within her, a weight that pressed heavy upon her chest. He could die in this war.
Please protect him. Shield him from all harm. Bring me back to him.
Eliza blew out the candle and left Sarah alone. Content for the moment, she lay back and stared up at the ceiling. It felt good to sleep in a bed, to have a down-filled pillow tucked beneath her head, to feel safe. But the idea that she had not told Eliza the whole truth, pricked at her. Mr. Woodhouse had been relatively kind, but pitiless when it came to selling her to Mr. Thrasher. And Thrasher had not mistreated her—yet there was no telling if he would have in the long run. Dead, he could not claim her. Mr. Woodhouse, gone to Jamaica, had given her up and had no claim. But the fear Eliza would send her back to the auctioneers gripped her.
She asked God to forgive her for not speaking the truth. She should have told her about Mr. Thrasher, about Black Fox and what she had lived through—and about Alex. Perhaps Eliza would find a way to help her find him.
Convinced she must eventually tell Eliza everything as she had done with Fiona, she shut her eyes. For tonight, she had to let things be as they were.
24
Morning broke sunny and warm. Sarah washed the grime from her body and hair. The water in the blue and white china bowl foamed with the cake of lye soap Fiona had given her and smelled of lavender. She hoped that in time she would fill out the dress now covering her thin frame.
She went out to the garden with Eliza, where early vegetables sprouted and sparrows flitted across the grass in search of insects. She stood beside Eliza. “I did not tell you everything last night. I hope to today.”
“I did not expect you to, Sarah. But I will listen to anything you now want to tell me. Only I will not press you to reveal things you wish to keep to yourself.”
Sarah paused in her steps. “I was kidnapped—after Jamie died. I went to his family and they did not want me. So I was taken against my will and brought to the Colonies. I lost a baby aboard ship.” She went on, explaining her situation in greater detail, and with her emotions stirring in her like a coming storm.
Eliza looked stunned—speechless, as if Sarah’s pain had become her own.
“They sold me to Mr. Woodhouse of Virginia. I met a man, Dr. Alex Hutton, and fell in love with him.”
“Did he love you?”
“Yes, he told me he did. And he wanted to pay my debt, but then Mr. Woodhouse went bankrupt and sold me to Mr. Thrasher.”
“Thrasher? Who was he?”
“A trapper. I wasn’t long with him when the Indians attacked and killed him. That is how I came to be with them.”
Eliza shook her head in dismay. “You have suffered so much. Where is Dr. Hutton now?”
“I am not sure, but I suspect he is with his regiment.”
“You must write to him and tell him where you are.”
“I do not know the regiment he is with. But I can send a letter to the trading post close by the house he inherited.”
“I will give you paper and ink. There is a post rider who comes through here.” Eliza looped her arm through Sarah’s and they walked on to the patch of tilled earth. “You will find your doctor again.”
The sun felt warm and Sarah lifted her face to drink it in as they conversed. Kneeling beside Eliza, she pulled a spring onion out of the earth and dusted it off. Then she set it in the basket beside her.
“You are fortunate to be married and live in such a fine house,” she said. “Your husband is a good provider.”
Eliza pushed a spade into the ground. “Your husband? Did he provide well for you?”
“He did his best. But we were poor.”
“Do you miss him terribly?”
“My heart does not ache like it did in the beginning. He was more like a close friend than a lover. It is different with Alex. What I feel for him causes me great pain.”
“I understand the feeling. I cannot wait for this war to be over.” Eliza stood, straightened her back, and gathered up the basket. “I miss Hayward so much. How I wish he would come home.”
Sarah stood and brushed off her hands. “I wonder sometimes if I shall ever see Alex again. I worry he could be killed.”
“We have a common worry, you and I. Perhaps that is why God brought us together, to comfort each other.”
Growing more and more at ease with Eliza, Sarah took the basket from her, feeling she should be doing the hard tasks. Darcy skipped across the grass toward them, dandelions in her fist. Every time Sarah looked at her she thought of Rose and Lily, and the baby boy she had lost.
She turned to Eliza. “Darcy is such a sweet child. You are blessed to have her. It is painful to lose one before they can ever call you mother.”
“I am sorry for you, Sarah. But have faith. God will bless you with many children one day.” Smiling at her daughter, Eliza accepted the rustic bouquet from her petite hand and turned to Sarah. “Set the basket by the kitchen door. I have something to show you.”
Curious as to what it could be, Sarah followed Eliza down a narrow brick walk to a cabin situated near the line of woods at the rear of the house. It took some time, for Darcy paused to pluck every dandelion in the grass, to blow each puffball into the wind.
On either side were majestic trees, the boughs of which shaded a porch. On one side, a stone chimney covered with wild ivy jutted out from the logs. Sunshine fell warm upon the windows and turned the mortared chinking from stark white to pale yellow.
“This was the first house built at River Run.” Eliza walked up the steps and opened the door. “It is warm in winter and cool in the summer, and it has more space than the sickroom.”
Eliza walked inside with Darcy, and Sarah, lifting her skirts, followed. “You mean I am to stay here?” she asked.
“Yes. You can fix it up any way you wish. Fiona has kept it swept and dusted.”
Sunshine poured through the windows. Sarah breathed in the musty smell of the hewn logs, the fireplace ash, the hint of tobacco, the old scent of life. Light struck across a cast iron pot, upon the copper kettle on the hob in the fireplace. Overhead the beams and rafters were blackened with age, and the puncheon floor was marred from years of wear.
Beside the fireplace, a shelf held a few cooking utensils, two pewter plates, several cups, and a wooden trencher. A small table and two crude chairs sat beneath one of the windows. Against the wall stood a bed that sat low to the floor.
Sarah’s eyes filled and she blinked back tears. “Why are you so kind to me?”
Eliza smiled. “I am kind to everyone.”
“To this degree, that you would give them a home? Fiona should live here. Surely she deserves it more than I.”
“Oh, no. Fiona is settled in the house, and would never live apart from Darcy and me.”
“It seems too much. My house in Bassets Cove was nowhere near this large, and I had a small room at the Woodhouses half this size. The worst I’ve ever lived in was Mr. Thrasher’s cabin. All three of us shared it and it was very dirty.”
“Well, all I ask is that you keep the cabin neat, and do the chores I give you.”
“I will. I owe you so much.”
“In that drawer, you will find some paper and an inkwell. I will leave you to write your letter.”
Eliza stepped back outside with Darcy. She left the door ajar and the breeze passed inside. Encouraged, Sarah sat down and over the next hour penned a lengthy letter to Alex. Each day the wait for the post rider grew excruciating, but when he finally arrived and she handed him her post, she watched him with hope in her heart as he galloped off.
The beat of a galloping horse drove Sarah to the window. She could see the rider in the distance as he rode toward the house. “It is a post rider!” she called out to Eliza and Fiona.
Together they dashed out onto the front porch. The post rider halted his horse and dismounted. His boots were covered in dust, as were his breeches and brown coat.
“Have you come far?” Eliza asked.
“All the way from the mouth of the Chesapeake, ma’am.”
Eliza turned to Fiona. “Fiona, please fix this man a plate of food. You are no doubt famished, sir?”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s been a long ride—been months since I rode this far west. Got a sack full of letters and messages to deliver on this side of the river and then across to Twin Oaks. I happen to have one for Sarah Carr, River Run. Is that you, ma’am?”
A thrill shot through Sarah. Could it be from Alex?
Eliza took the letter and handed it back to Sarah with a hopeful look in her eyes. “Perhaps it is from Dr. Hutton,” she said without looking at it.
Poor Eliza, thought Sarah. She looked disappointed she had not gotten a letter from Hayward. It had been so long since she last had word from him.
Her hand trembling, Sarah shoved the letter into her apron pocket and walked back to the cabin with her heart pounding. She sat down on the top step of the porch in the sunshine, the breeze sighing through the trees, bees humming over the trumpet vine. She took the letter out and saw it was the letter she had sent to Alex. Mr. Pippins at the trading post had returned it. He had scribbled on the back in a poor hand:
Currioman Bay Trading Post. Dr. Hutton gone to do his duty. Hutton House closed up. Return to River Run on the Potomac.
Her heart sank. “He has gone back. The house is empty.” She looked up at the flashes of sunlight between branch and leaf. “That means he sent the girls away with their great-aunt. But to where?”
She refused to weep. Instead, she stood and went inside the cabin, grabbed the broom next to the fireplace, and swept the floor with all the vigor in her.
25
The Queen Ann’s lace in the fields had not wilted in the early summer heat. Having filled her basket with the beautiful wildflowers, Sarah placed them in a glass jar beneath the window by the front door. The lace blooms spilled over the lip in a cluster of deep green leaves. On the sill, a small blue jar of bachelor buttons drank in the sunshine.
Alex had been on her mind, and the melancholy that fell over her could not be cheered by the array of flowers, the sunshine, or the blue skies above. She prayed. She read from the Bible kept in the study. She took long walks after her chores were finished and sat on the riverbank listening to the tumble and whirl of water, to the songs of birds. She watched the herons perch on the rocks and the mallards skim along the surface near the shore. But nothing helped. Perhaps loving him, hoping to be with him, was nothing more than an unrealistic dream—a forlorn hope.
She lifted her eyes and gazed out the window. Eliza had her arm linked through Reverend Hopewell’s, a man of gentle nature who ministered to both poor and rich in the area. Sarah fixed her eyes on him as he and Eliza strolled toward the house, and thought of speaking to him about the sadness she felt, but delayed.
Darcy sat on the bottom step of the staircase playing with her rag doll. Sarah turned to her and handed her down a bloom. “Reverend Hopewell has come to visit, Darcy. I hope he has brought your mama good news about your papa.”
Darcy sprang to the window and stood on her tiptoes to look out. “Hurrah! He brings me sugar candy, Sarah.”
“Let us hope he has a pocketful, little one. We shall wait in the kitchen and see.”
Fiona kneaded the day’s bread dough and looked up at Sarah as she came through the door. “Oh, let me help, Fiona. You work so hard.”
