Beyond the Valley, page 8
She dipped her fingers into the water. It felt freezing cold, and not only shocked her when she splashed it over her face, but dashed her thoughts of Dr. Hutton ever doing anything of the sort.
Celia stood back, large wooden spoon in hand. “I imagine the water from the well is freezing cold, Sarah.”
“Very. You want some?”
“I will need some for tea. Fill the kettle and put it on.”
Upstairs, Temperance stirred. Sarah did as Celia asked, then lifted the pitcher in her arms. “I used to dream my mother was a woman like Mrs. Woodhouse—one who took care of her looks, but not one lifted up with conceit.”
“There ain’t a proud bone in Mrs. Woodhouse’s body. But her mind is none too good, is it?”
“I like to think she has a vivid imagination.”
“It’s vivid alright. She told me yesterday that I would have to cook a four-course meal because Mr. Patrick Henry and other gentlemen would be coming here to dine.”
Sarah smiled. It would be nice for Temperance to have company. “I am sure that is not so. Mr. Woodhouse would have told you, and Mr. Henry is away, like most of the gentlemen.”
“I did not argue. . . . She gave me a menu. Look here.” Celia drew a slip of paper from her apron pocket. “A green salad.” She looked at Sarah with wide eyes. “Now where would I get greens for a salad this time of year?”
Celia smacked the page with her finger. “And then corn chowder. We have no corn, and it has to be fresh off the stalk to make good chowder. A haunch of roast venison, and molasses dumplings for dessert.”
Sarah smiled. “It sounds delicious. You should save it, just in case Mrs. Woodhouse should ever have dinner guests.”
While Celia returned the menu to her pocket, Sarah stepped out into the hallway and headed for the staircase. Outside a horse neighed, and she hurried over to the window next to the front door and looked out. To her surprise it was Dr. Hutton, and seated in front of him were two little girls.
“Who is that?” Mr. Woodhouse strode from his library, cinching the sash to his robe tighter.
“It is Dr. Hutton, sir.” That drawn-to-him feeling overtook her as she watched him dismount. He reached up to the girls, lifted them down, and carried them toward the door.
“Something has happened.” She turned to Mr. Woodhouse. “I met Dr. Hutton on the road yesterday. He was going to his brother’s house to help his widow and daughters.” She looked back out the window. “But she is not with him.”
“I will go dress. Let him in.”
Mr. Woodhouse took the pitcher from her and proceeded upstairs. Sarah drew back the latch on the door and opened it. Alex anxiously met her eyes.
“Miss Carr? We met yesterday . . . on the road.”
She made a short curtsey. “I remember, sir. Please, come inside. It is too cold for little children to be out of doors.”
“These are my nieces. Lily and Rose.” He ushered them inside, and Sarah shut the door against the chilly air.
The rosy-cheeked girls looked at Sarah with their large brown eyes, and her heart was immediately taken. If custom allowed, she would have lowered herself to their level and embraced them. The gleam in their eyes was forlorn, and if only she could comfort them, she would. A smile would have to do, and a kind greeting.
“I am Sarah,” she said.
“Can you not say hello to the lady?” Alex said, setting the girls down.
“Oh, no, sir. The children need not speak to me. I am but a servant.”
“Politeness has no class boundaries, Sarah,” he said. “But you are right. They are young, and their world has been turned upside down.”
She took his hat. Their fingertips briefly touched, and she drew back. “Forgive me for being so bold, sir, but where is their mother?”
He swallowed, his brow furrowed. “She . . .”
Instantly Sarah understood and her lips parted. “I am sorry. How?”
“Fever. Starvation. They are now alone in the world except for me. That is why I have come to speak to Mr. Woodhouse. Is he at home?”
“I am, sir.” And Mr. Woodhouse came down the staircase.
Alex walked up to him, held out his hand, and gave his name. The two men shook hands as Sarah watched. She wondered what the good doctor had in mind as far as Mr. Woodhouse was concerned. What could he do for two small, orphaned girls? She gazed at them a moment, noticing how thin they were. She wished she could take care of them and keep them safe. She hoped Mr. Woodhouse would at least allow Celia to feed them a huge breakfast.
“Forgive me for disturbing you so early in the day, Mr. Woodhouse.”
“Not at all, Dr. Hutton. And who are these fine children?”
“My nieces, Rose and Lily Hutton.” Alex brought them forward. “May I have a word with you?”
“Certainly. We can speak in the dining room. I am about to break my fast. Have you and the girls had your breakfast?”
Alex glanced up and said sheepishly, “I did my best with a little cornmeal.”
Mr. Woodhouse looked at the girls, then at Sarah. “Temperance has sat down to write letters.”
Sarah fixed her eyes on Mr. Woodhouse. “Then she does not want to be disturbed, sir?”
“Not this morning. You may watch these children. Take them to the kitchen and have Celia feed them. And bring an extra plate for Dr. Hutton.”
Alex started to object to being served, but Mr. Woodhouse held up his hand. “You are a guest, sir. No one goes without something to eat in my house.”
Pleased Mr. Woodhouse would be so generous, Sarah glanced at Alex and smiled. Gratitude showed in his eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Woodhouse,” he said. “They ate the mush I made without complaint. But I can assure you it was foul.”
And then, his gaze grew into something more as he looked back at Sarah. It dropped along her face, and then back to her eyes, the kind of look Jamie had given her when they first met. But this time it seemed forged by a deeper emotion that she could not quite understand. Why would he have feelings for someone as lowborn as she?
Mr. Woodhouse stepped away and went through the dining room door. A warm fire burned in the hearth, and a spray of amber light crossed the floor. Alex touched the tops of the girls’ heads and followed. The door shut, and Sarah leaned down to remove Lily and Rose’s cloaks. How slight they seemed, like the children she had known in the orphanage in England.
“Both of you are chilled to the bone, you poor dears,” she cooed. “Come with me and you will have something good to eat.”
Rose’s eyes lit up and Lily clapped her hands. “I am hungry, Sarah,” said Rose.
“Yes, we shall remedy that, dear one.”
Lily placed the palms of her hands on Sarah’s cheeks. Her hands were small and soft like lamb’s fleece. Her eyes bright like her sister’s, she murmured, “Gingerbread.”
Sarah’s heart warmed at hearing their voices and seeing the excitement in their eyes. She grasped the twins’ hands and hurried with them back to the kitchen. Celia turned from her kettle and lifted her brows in surprise. “Oh, who may these little ones be?”
With gentle hands, Sarah moved them in front of her. “This is Rose and Lily Hutton, Celia. And they are hungry. Mr. Woodhouse says we must feed them.”
“Well, set them at the table, Sarah.” Celia piled bright yellow eggs and slices of crisp bacon onto two pewter plates and set them in front of the twins. Neither dove in, but waited with their eyes fixed on Sarah.
With no time to make gingerbread, she mixed sugar with ground ginger and cinnamon. Then, after adding the spices to butter, she sliced hunks of bread from the loaf on the table and slathered it across them. “Shall we thank the Lord for his bounty?”
As the children ate, kicking their legs back and forth beneath the table, Sarah prepared the serving dishes. She was careful to arrange them on the tray and thought how good it felt to feed a man. She carried it out to the dining room and went in. The men were seated and ceased talking when she drew up to the table and placed a china plate in front of Alex, along with silverware and napkin. Feeling the closeness of him as she served, her heart pounded and she wished it would slow. She hoped what she felt did not show on her face.
“Sarah, Dr. Hutton and I have been discussing his situation.” Mr. Woodhouse paused to taste his eggs. “He has made a request—unusual, but nonetheless made sincerely. What would you say to helping him with his nieces? It would only be for a short while until his aunt, a more suitable person to care for them, arrives.”
I am not suitable? I already love them. How she wished she could say the words out loud, but she held her tongue. “I am your servant, Mr. Woodhouse, until I have paid all I owe. According to the rules of masters and servants, I have no say.”
At first, he looked at her perplexed with his brows knit together. Then all of a sudden, a smile spread across his face. “She is bold as she is wise, wouldn’t you say, Dr. Hutton? Do you really think you can handle such a wench?”
Alex set his fork down on the plate and sighed. “Oh, I would not call her that, sir. I do not know Sarah, but she seems too refined for her position.”
“How refined can she be? She’s from Cornwall.”
“I hear Cornish women are forthright, and she has the lilt of a lady of quality.”
“A little, yes.” Mr. Woodhouse turned to Sarah with his brows pinched. “How did you come to have such a smooth way of speaking, Sarah? The few Cornish folk I have known have had rough speech.”
She wiggled her head, not liking his comment. “They forced me to speak clearly and distinctly in good English, sir.”
“They?”
“The teachers at the orphanage where I grew up.”
Alex’s eyes shifted to hers. “I trust you will understand the twins better than anyone.”
“It is a sad thing to be without father or mother—unless they were cruel and neglectful.” She picked up an empty covered dish and set it on the tray. “But I imagine, sir, your brother and sister-in-law were good parents. I can tell by the twins’ manner. They are very sweet and polite for their age.”
“But too young to understand they have lost both parents.”
“At least they have you, sir.”
He looked reflective. “I am no expert on the care of little girls, and I refuse to send them away, not with the war and the fact that those places are deplorable.”
“You say you have an aunt. Are there no other relatives but she?”
“None at all. So you see the fix I am in until I hear from her. She may decline to come, being a much older person set in her ways.”
She drew in her lower lip and thought. “If Mrs. Woodhouse can spare me, I shall do my best.”
“Of course Temperance can spare you. Celia will take your place while you are gone. Have her fix a basket of food to take along.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Woodhouse turned to face Alex. “I will loan Sarah out to you, sir, until your aunt arrives. If you will permit me, I know of a lady who will suit your particular set of circumstances perfectly. She is a very capable woman, having brought up twelve of her own children and helped with many more. I shall write to her right away and see if she is interested in . . . being employed by you.”
“Mr. Woodhouse, I am grateful. But I must wait to hear from my aunt. God bless you for your kindness.”
He wants me. Not anyone Mr. Woodhouse knows. Her heart warmed toward him all the more.
“ ’Tis bread upon the waters, sir.” Mr. Woodhouse resumed his meal, and for a moment Sarah stared at the floor taking in the task she had been ordered to do. Sold, bought, owned, loaned. How she despised these words.
Turning out of the room, she walked back to the kitchen and told Celia to pack what the Woodhouses could spare in the way of food. Lily laid her head upon her folded arms on the table. Rose reached out to her and Sarah lifted her from the chair.
Like a songbird bursting from a tree, Temperance came downstairs singing loudly, then stood out in the hallway. She would not step foot in the kitchen, and so Sarah set Rose down and hurried to the dining room door before her mistress could reach it.
“I am looking for more writing paper, Sarah. Have you seen any?”
“Yes, it is in your writing desk drawer in your room. Shall I get it for you?”
Temperance had her eyes fixed on the column of sunlight coming through the window. “That is not necessary. Oh, I do wish for spring, for then I can go out and sit in the garden. Where is Mr. Woodhouse this morning?”
“In the dining room, ma’am.”
Temperance went through, pulling Sarah behind her. Her husband introduced Alex, who stood upon her entrance. “Do you know Mr. Patrick Henry, sir?”
“I am afraid I do not, madam.”
Temperance screwed up her face. “Oh, that is a pity. I was hoping you would.”
Mr. Woodhouse came around the table and took her hand. “Temperance, my dear. Dr. Hutton is in a desperate situation. I am sending Sarah with him to help with his small nieces until his aunt arrives. Celia will serve you until Sarah returns.”
With a look most anxious, Temperance turned and threw her arm across Sarah’s shoulders and drew her close. “This is your will, my husband, that you send Sarah away from me?”
“Only for a short time. Dr. Hutton will see her back to us safe and sound.”
“Indeed I shall, Mrs. Woodhouse.” Alex’s eyes moved to the doorway. “There, behind you, are Rose and Lily now.”
Temperance turned and when she laid eyes on the curly moppets, she sighed with a thrill of delight. “They are precious! I should like to adopt them. May we, husband?”
“They have their uncle, my dear, and a great aunt.”
“Oh, well, if he should ever change his mind . . .” She leaned down and kissed the tops of the twin’s heads, and then swept from the room. Sarah felt a bit embarrassed by the way Temperance behaved. Instead of acting like a well-bred lady, she acted childlike and impetuous, on the border of insanity. But her husband adored her, and Sarah loved her as well with a compassionate heart.
Dismissed from the room, Sarah fetched a change of clothes, stuffed them in a sack, and hurried back downstairs. As her feet reached the last step, the awareness she was about to leave washed over her. Her nerves grew taut, and her hands trembled a bit as she tied the tassel of her cloak. After she put the girl’s cloaks on them, she met Alex by his horse.
“I shall walk. You ride with the girls.” And without delay, he placed his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the back of his mount. It had been a long time since a man had touched her.
10
Sarah had never been this far inland from the Potomac before. The road they traveled narrowed and grew overshadowed by rows of elms and oaks. Even though the branches were stripped bare of leaves, bark blackened by wintry weather, beauty lingered about the woodlands and struck her deeply. It spoke of hearth fires and heavy quilts, warm stews and hot cider. Spears of hazy sunlight pierced through the trees, and bird song echoed from near and far.
She shook back her hood, wanting to feel the breeze ripple through her hair and the northern frost to brush across her cheeks. Banked on each side of the road lay heaps of autumn leaves—reds and golds, blotched and curled, mingled with patches of snow. As the clouds thickened above, she reflected on the beauty and diversity of the Lord’s creation—how each thing had a purpose, and how the seasons moved from one to the other year after year.
The loud jeers of jays echoed in the forest. Alex drew Charger to the side of the road and raised his hand to Sarah and the girls to be silent. Again the same cries, followed by clicks and toolool and wheedlee. Captivated by the ruckus the birds made, Sarah looked up into the trees to see them flit among the branches. Flashes of blue and grey, they flew from limb to limb, and then the woods grew silent.
Sarah’s blood turned to ice and she drew the children closer, and when she saw Alex draw his pistol from inside his greatcoat, her hands trembled as she grasped the girls tighter. Her breath held, she was scared at the sight of Indians passing between the trees, dressed in their winter hunting clothes of deerskin and bear fur, bows and quivers strapped over their shoulders. Were they there to hunt this far south of the tribal villages, or were they scouting for the British?
Alex cocked the hammer of his flintlock and bent his arm so that the weapon would be ready to fire. A twig snapped and Sarah jerked her head to the left to see four other Indians stalking toward them. Outnumbered, Alex lifted the children and Sarah down from Charger and put them between his body and the gelding’s.
“Do not cry out,” he said, as the Indians walked closer and surrounded them.
Fear rippled through Sarah. “I am afraid. The children . . .” she whispered.
He warned her quietly yet firmly, “Be quiet.”
Rose and Lily buried their faces in the folds of Sarah’s cloak. The Indian leader, a strongly built warrior, wore the mask of the wolf across his eyes, and turkey feathers dressed his sleek black hair. He was a fearsome sight to behold, one that struck terror into her heart. Sarah kept the girls from seeing him.
“British?” he grunted.
“No,” Alex replied. “Americans. I am a doctor.”
The Indian quickly glanced at Sarah and the girls. “Your woman, children?”
“They are. And I will protect them.” She knew he said it to guard her and the twins. And for a fraction of a moment she thought how wonderful it would be if it were true. The Indian cocked his head and looked down at the girls.
“I have daughter. We will not harm yours.” He placed his hand over his heart. Sarah stared at him, and marveled at the fatherly pride in his dark eyes at the mention of his child.
“Our wives and children are sick,” the Indian continued.
Alex nodded. “We, too, have had sickness, and death has visited our houses.”
“The British do not help us. The deer run from their guns and we have left the redcoat devils to starve.”
“You do not fight with them?”
The Indian’s lip curled. “We are done with them. We are going back to our village beyond the mountains.”
