April 1757
Urgent barking pierced the breezy solitude of the April afternoon.
Dropping corn seed into the freshly plowed trench, Lily Harwood sprang to her full height and whirled toward the sound, her heart pounding. Please don’t let it be Indians.
Duke, the Waldons’ big shaggy dog, stood poised at the edge of the porch, his huge brown eyes fixed on the path leading through the woods behind the squat four-room log cabin to the wagon road. A growl rumbled from his chest, and he barked in the direction of the forest—a kaleidoscope of spring greens and pine so thick the sunlight barely penetrated the foliage to dapple the mossy, fern-covered ground.
Lily slung the strapped seed bag to one side and pulled out the pistol weighting down the pocket of her work apron. She shrugged at the Waldon boys guiding the horse and plow. “A neighbor, most likely.” Nevertheless, she positioned herself behind the workhorse.
Eleven-year-old Matthew laid their long musket across Smokey’s back, its flintlock cocked and ready, while Luke, nine years old, capped the horn of black powder dangling from the gray gelding’s harness.
Lily drew a nervous breath. In the three years since the invasion from the north, no French or hostile Indians had raided farmsteads along Beaver Creek. But other families a mere twenty miles away had been brutally murdered or carried off captive. One could never be too cautious in this area of Pennsylvania.
Still barking, Duke leaped from the porch and headed toward the path.
Motion at the log dwelling caught Lily’s attention as towheaded Davy, the family’s irresistible four-year-old bundle of energy, bolted out the door with his sister Emma hot on his heels. The redheaded girl latched on to her little brother’s collar and yanked him back inside.
Matt wagged his head, muttering under his breath. “The kid’s been told a hundred times not to come outside when the dog’s barkin’ like that.”
Dragging her gaze from the path along the far side of the house, Lily glanced at her brave young helpers, both of whom had unruly hair the same light brown as their father. Freckle-faced Luke had a white-knuckled grip on his hunting knife as he peered beneath the horse’s neck, while Matt stared through the sites of the musket, his finger steady on the trigger. Lily’s heart crimped as she studied the lanky boy. Matt had a lot of his father in him…the same speculative blue eyes, the same heart-wrenching smile. Both lads looked older than their years. With their father away with the militia, they’d been forced to grow up fast.
“Remember, you only have one shot,” she reminded Matt. “Don’t shoot unless you absolutely must.”
A grimace tweaked the older boy’s mouth as he cut a shrewd glance her way.
His brother gave a huff. “Wish I had a gun ‘stead o’ just a dumb knife. I can shoot good as he can.”
Lily slanted him a half smile. “I wish you did, too.” Even more, she wished the cabin wasn’t blocking her view of the path.
Suddenly Duke’s barking ceased. Tail wagging, he loped up the path out of sight.
He must recognize whoever is coming. Releasing a pent-up sigh, she nodded to the boys, and they left the protection of the gelding to cut across the plowed field and greet the visitor.
A familiar figure came into view with Duke jumping playfully on him.
Lily’s heart stilled. “ ’Tis your father!” Her whole being warmed with relief and joy.
But the boys had already sprinted toward him, kicking up clods of dirt in their wake. “Pa! Pa!”
The cabin door slammed open. Out flew Emma and Davy, screaming their delight. All four children crashed into their papa and were swamped in a huge hug, laughing at once as the dog yipped and leaped in circles around them.
John has come home again. Drinking in the glorious reunion from some distance away, Lily feasted her eyes on the man of the house, tall and muscular in the sturdy clothing he wore for military duty. Her heart contracted. If only she could run to him and be pulled into those strong arms, too…feel safe and warm and deeply loved, have those penetrating blue eyes filling her with delicious shivers. But knowing it could never be stole the joy of the moment. She was not his wife. His beloved Susan, of delicate health and quiet manner, waited inside.
Just then, John looked across the field to Lily. He flashed a grand smile and raised a hand in a wave.
For one heartbeat she held his gaze. Then she forced an answering smile and wave and turned before her longing eyes betrayed her. She trudged to the horse to unhitch the gelding from the plow. The Waldons would be too excited over John’s safe return to plant more seed today. As she led Smokey back to the stable, she watched the happy family go inside the cabin…to Susan. Without a doubt the sweet, bedridden woman of the house had heard the joyous racket and knew that her John had come home. Had his wife strength enough, she’d have run outside with their children to welcome her husband home with the same loving fervor as they had.
Closing her eyes against an ache of sadness as she entered the rough-hewn stable, Lily felt her neck and shoulders sag. She rested her cheek against Smokey’s warmth. “Father, I’m in dire need of an extra measure of grace—and a proper love for each member of the Wald on family.”
So many times over the past year she had prayed that same prayer. So many times she’d endured the same gnawing ache of hollow hope.
A rumbling neigh from the gelding reminded her she had yet to remove his harness.
Lily patted his muscled neck. “Yes, my mighty steed. You have needs that must be met, too.” Filling her lungs with a deep breath laced with a hefty blend of animals and hay, she reached for a buckle and unfastened it as an ironic thought surfaced.
She could be released from her own bonds almost as easily. She only needed to contact her sister, and Mariah’s generous husband would dispatch a man at once with money to buy her freedom and escort her away from the constant threat of Indian attack, away from the tiresome care of an invalid and her children, away from looking after this frontier farmstead. She could return to her family’s loving bosom that quickly. The offer had been waiting for her acceptance for the past three years.
But how could she leave? She’d been a mere fourteen years of age when John Waldon had purchased her indenturement papers nearly four years ago and brought her to this cove. In that time she’d set the house to rights, harvested many a crop, and raised these children. Little Davy was but a babe in arms when she’d first arrived. As much as she struggled against feeling entitled, Lily couldn’t help thinking the children and this farm belonged as much to her as they did to Susan. More, in fact. Hadn’t she earned it all?
And John…
Her vision blurred behind hot tears. Angrily she sniffed and swiped them away as she hefted the heavy halter collar and hooked it onto the wall. All her life she’d been taught that coveting was a gross sin, and here she was, coveting Susan’s family yet again. “Forgive me, Father. You know I struggle against these feelings whenever John gets leave from Fort Henry. I cannot seem to help myself.”
How strange that when he was away she managed splendidly. She loved Susan Waldon like a beloved sister. Throughout the woman’s lingering illness, Susan was so appreciative and long-suffering, who could fail to love her? She needs me here desperately. Yet I betray her kindness and trust whenever John walks in the door. A twinge of guilt snaked up Lily’s spine, and she closed her eyes. Please, please, dear Lord. Take this vile, sinful desire from me. Or find a way for me to leave this place without hurting them. Or me.
John reveled in the sound of the children’s voices, their laughter, their hugs, though those very hugs were making it nearly impossible to crowd through the doorway into the bedroom. He ached to see his dear Susan. The gaggle of youngsters, all talking at once, burst past the doorjamb as one.
His wife’s faint voice penetrated the bedlam. “Welcome home, my love.”
John’s heart lurched at the sight that met his eyes. Susan sat propped up in bed, the colorful quilt surrounding her in marked contrast to the pallor of her skin. Had her cheeks been so sunken the last time he’d gotten furlough? Had there been dark circles underscoring those once vivid blue-green eyes? She looked so thin against the puffy pillows. Had she stopped eating entirely? His beautiful redheaded bride was a mere ghost of herself. But the sweet smile…that was all his beloved Susan.
Davy broke free of his siblings. “Mama! Look who’s here!” His words vibrated loud as he ran to her bed and flung himself against it.
She winced as if the sudden jolt caused pain, but her smile never wavered. “Yes. I see.” She reached out a frail hand to the child. “Your papa is home…. My Johnny.”
Her use of his childhood name reminded him that he’d loved her since he was ten years old and the two of them were studying catechism at their local Anglican church. He gently pried himself free of the children and moved toward her. “Kids, would you mind leaving your mama and me alone for a few minutes?”
Davy’s lips protruded in a pout. “But you just—”
Emma grabbed her little brother’s arm and pulled him to the door. “Mama needs a hug from Papa, too. Without us crowding in.”
John gazed after his seven-year-old daughter. The only one of the children who had a fair complexion and hair the same glorious shade of red as Susan’s sounded so grown-up.
As the boys elbowed and shoved their way out of the room, Emma lagged behind long enough to bestow a treasured smile as she closed the door behind them, a long copper braid falling forward with her movement. She’d been as young as Davy when John had first signed on with the militia, and she was growing up so quickly. The children were all changing so between his leaves from the fort. He released a ragged breath.
“It’s so good to have you home,” Susan whispered.
“Oh, yes.” He gazed lovingly at her. “I’ve missed you more than I can say.” Easing down beside her, he carefully drew her into his arms, but instead of the comforting softness of her womanly curves, he felt the fragility of her frame in his embrace. The unthinkable could no longer be denied. Barring an outright miracle from God, if something wasn’t done soon, she would die. “Oh, Susie-girl, my brave sweetheart,” he murmured against hair once shiny and silky, now limp and dull. To think she’d given up the comforts of a privileged life to elope with him when he was not yet twenty. If only he could provide some of those childhood comforts for her now.
And he would!
“You’ve been gone too long.” Her breathy whisper held little strength.
He drew her closer and kissed her temple. “I’m glad I’m here now, to hold you.” One way or the other, he’d convince her to go to her family in Philadelphia. She must know it was vital for her to go. A physician there might know more about her life-draining malady than the doctors who’d examined her before they left Baltimore. This time he’d compel her to go—escort her himself, if he had to. If he was late returning to duty at Fort Henry, Captain Busse would understand.
Easing his hold on her, John looked into her eyes. “Sweetheart, we’ve—”
The door banged open. Pint-sized Davy burst into the room and stopped short of the bed, a frown scrunching his freckled nose. “Ain’t you through huggin’ yet?”
John couldn’t help laughing as he gently settled Susan back against her pillows. He reached for the boy. “Come here, my boy. It’ll be a long time before I’m through hugging any of you.”
Lily dried her hands at the washstand by the cabin door. It would look suspicious if she stayed out in the stable any longer. Besides, John would most likely be hungry. She plastered on a welcoming smile and strode inside.
The family sat clustered around the finely crafted dining table that John, a journeyman furniture maker, had made the first year Lily came to live with them in Beaver Cove. Before the war. Davy perched on his father’s lap, his wiggly hands ever in motion, and Susan sat wrapped and pillowed in the rocking chair at the warm end near the hearth.
John and Susan both wore happy smiles as they looked Lily’s way.
“Come in. Come sit with us.” John patted the vacant chair at the table.
“How about I get you something to eat and drink first? You must be hungry.” She forced a brightness into her demeanor as she moved past the table to the fireplace. “We’ve beans and carrots left over from nooning.”
He spoke around Davy’s head. “Sounds mighty good. I haven’t eaten since we left Harris’s Ferry this morning.”
“We?” Across from his father, Matt leaned forward. “Did the other fellas from Beaver Cove come home, too?”
“That they did. All five of us. We floated down the Susquehanna from Henry’s Fort yesterday, then this morning we borrowed a canoe and paddled up the Swatara as far as Beaver Creek. Our stream was running too fast, so we walked in from there.”
Davy swiveled toward him. “Did ya see any Injuns out there?”
More than interested in the answer, Lily straightened from stirring the coals under the suspended bean pot and turned.
John’s jovial expression had vanished. “No, Son. Has there been sign of them in the cove?”
“Uh-huh. Last Sunday.” Luke’s eyes twinkled. “Micky MacBride said Pete Dunlap saw moccasin tracks in the woods behind the Bakers’ old place.”
“You don’t say.” John’s worried brow matched Lily’s alarm.
Matt jabbed his brother in the ribs. “Don’t listen to him, Pa. Pete likes to stir things up, is all. He prob’ly was nowhere near that far upstream.”
Somewhat relieved, Lily poked life into the glowing embers beneath the water kettle. “I’m sure Matt’s right. Even so, we tie Duke to the porch post at night so he can’t go chasing off after some raccoon.”
Luke nodded. “That way Duke can warn us before any Injuns can sneak up an’ shoot arrows at him. They do that, ya know, to keep dogs from warnin’ folks.”
Susan’s plaintive voice cut in. “Boys. Please.” She drew a labored breath. “Enough unpleasantness. Let’s be happy your father is home—and the rest of our fine militiamen.”
Poor, helpless Susan. It must be hard to be brave when one is in too much pain even to walk. Lily had watched the young woman getting weaker with each passing month, while she herself seemed powerless to do anything about it.
John leaned over and kissed his wife’s cheek. “Since there hasn’t been any trace of the French or Indians around the fort, Captain Busse released half the militia to come home and get our crops in. He gave us two weeks. When we return, he’ll let the others go.”
“Only two weeks?” Susan asked the question Lily wanted to ask. “When will this horror ever end?”
As Lily poured steaming water into the teapot, John moved closer to Susan and wrapped an arm around her. “I can’t say, my love. But rather than take this time to plant, I plan to see you and the children on your way to Philadelphia. You’ll all be much safer with your family, and you’ll finally be under the care of a much more learned doctor.”
“But we’d never see you then.” Susan’s voice became stronger than Lily had heard in weeks. “It’s quite safe here. Truly. Folks are only a gunshot away.” She swung her gaze to Lily. “Tell John how we celebrate Sundays now.”
“Of course.” Lily smiled and set the teapot on the table. “But first, Emma, would you please get your papa a cup and fork while I dish up his food?” Considering the fragile rein she had on her emotions, the last thing Lily wanted to do was look at John while she spoke. “The other families along the creek road have been coming here for church services for a while now. No one wants to travel more than a mile or so, since spring is so rainy.”
“Roads get slick as snot after a good rain,” Luke piped in.
“Slick as snot,” Davy echoed, flashing a baby-toothed grin up to his father.
“Davy.” Frowning, Emma beat Lily to the reprimand. “You know you’re not supposed to say that. And neither are you.” Hands on her hips, she glared at Luke.
Lily saw John rub a hand across his mouth, but his laughing eyes couldn’t hide his mirth. She continued explaining the Sabbath happenings. “We push the furniture back and set up benches. Grandfather MacBride reads from the Bible—”
“An’ we sing lots an’ lots of songs.” Davy gave an emphatic nod. “Then we all eat till our bellies pooch out, an’ I get to go out an’ wrestle with Charlie an’ Joseph.”
After Lily set a plate heaped with beans, carrots, and bread, John picked up a fork and wolfed down a couple of bites. “That does sound like fun, and real nice for you, Susie-love.” He bestowed another adoring look on his wife. “But I still want you to go to Philadelphia. There has to be a doctor there who can help you.”
She shook her head. “Please, darling, don’t waste this wonderful homecoming on that subject. We’re all here together. Let’s enjoy the moment.”
“I agree. You need to eat.” Lily poured John a cup of tea and met his gaze. “You’re much too thin, and I’ve only two weeks to put some weight back on you.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and her face flamed with embarrassment. She knew she should have said we have, not I have. She really must be more careful.