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WHEN CATHERINE OPENED her eyes the next morning, the bed beside her was empty. Apparently Noah had arisen early and already left the house, giving her no idea where he’d gone or when he would return. As the memory of their heated argument rushed back to her, she realized again that trying to talk sense to him was useless. However wrong his actions were, she should never have brought up the matter of the pelts or what he traded for them. All she truly cared about now was the safety of the babe in her belly.
She rose hesitantly to her feet, fearing that some damage may have already befallen her unborn child last night, when Noah sent her reeling to the floor and into the wall. Spotting no blood on her gown or the bedclothes beneath her, she thanked God that overall she felt well and healthy, except for the bruises on her arms where his fingers had roughly grasped her.
Upon entering the common room, she saw Lydia already seated at the board table busily stitching on the blue worsted skirt she was making for herself.
“Have you eaten something, Lydia?”
No answer.
A wave of irritation washed over Catherine, and suddenly feeling weary of trying to make a proper home for herself, her foul-tempered husband, and a non-responsive servant, she snatched up a piece of cold flatbread, dug out a handful of the strawberries from the pipkin on the table and, without uttering another word to Lydia, exited the house.
The day was bright and sunny, the sky overhead cornflower blue. Not looking toward the shed, in case Noah might be there, Catherine headed straight for the woods and her Secret Place.
Tramping through the forest, she munched on the bread and berries, thanking the Lord over and over again that she felt good and strong and had no pains in her middle . . . although her ribs and rump felt somewhat sore.
Once she’d reached her Secret Place, she sank onto the soft carpet of lush green moss before her favorite oak tree. Hugging her knees, she gazed out over the glassy water. Feeling tears began to pool in her eyes, she pressed her forehead to her knees and wept.
Dear Lord, what would happen once Noah’s thievery came to light?
Would he be hanged, or at the very least, locked in the pillory that stood at the far end of the church green? Though infrequently used, its very presence loomed as an ever-present warning to the citizens of Jamestown. Surely the missing muskets and gunpowder would soon be noticed and commented upon.
Dear Lord, please, please tell me what to do.
She did not hear the soft footfalls as someone entered the clearing. But hearing the snap of a twig nearby caused her head to jerk up.
“Lanneika!” Fresh tears pooled in Catherine’s eyes. “Oh, Lanneika, I am so happy to see you.”
The petite Indian girl lowered herself to sit cross-legged on the ground before Catherine. “Not look happy.”
A shaky smile flitted across Catherine’s face as she sniffed back her tears. “I’ve missed you terribly.”
“Trader-man hurt you?”
Catherine didn’t know how to answer. Yes, Noah had hurt her, but perhaps she deserved it. On the other hand . . . so far as she knew, both she and her babe were safe, so, no, he hadn’t hurt her.
Lanneika’s black eyes were gentle. “Cat-e-wren come home with me. Trader-man no hurt you there.”
Catherine smiled.
“I take care of you . . . and babe when it come.”
Catherine’s face registered surprise. “You know I am with child?”
Lanneika nodded. “You . . .”she held both hands up, palms outward and made a sweeping motion that encompassed Catherine’s entire form, “shine more. Like sun.”
Unable to contain the emotions welling within her, a sob caught in Catherine’s throat.
Lanneika wrapped both arms around her friend and began to slowly rock back and forth. The motion had the effect of stilling the turmoil roiling inside Catherine. In moments, her tears subsided. When Lanneika’s arms fell away, Catherine saw teardrops glistening on the Indian’s girl’s straight black lashes.
“I’ve missed you so much, Lanneika.”
“Come to my home now, yes?”
Catherine was tempted. Oh, she was tempted. How easy it would be to run away, to simply disappear into the forest, to have her baby and to raise him in peace and harmony, to never again have to endure another loud, irrational argument with Noah. But . . . she couldn’t. Gazing into Lanneika’s eyes, she shook her head sadly. “I cannot. I must return to my own home.”
When she rose to her feet, Lanneika did likewise. Catherine moved one step away from the pretty Indian girl, then stopped and turned around. “I love you, Lanneika.”
The small Indian’s girls chin quivered. Curling her brown fingers into a ball, she placed it over her heart. “I . . . love . . . you, Cat-e-wren.”
On her way back through the forest, Catherine felt comforted not only by Lanneika’s gentle presence but also by her words, which confirmed that she was indeed still with child, and her baby had not been harmed.
Although Noah’s admission that he’d made love to her not because she was his wife and he loved her but because she was there, still stung, she realized it did not really matter. Perhaps Noah had never loved her, certainly not as she loved him. She had heard that love often abandoned a marriage, but she wondered if it often vanished so quickly. And was she being selfish to wish that something tolerable remained to take its place? Shared purpose, respect, or at the very least, friendship? Now it seemed that her only hope lay with their child. To have a dear little babe to love and care for would, indeed, make her life with Noah bearable. Therefore, the important thing was the safety of her baby. Having seen more of Noah’s dark side last night, she knew now that when provoked, he not only became angry, he turned violent. Henceforth, it was imperative she not say anything to him that would arouse his anger. Whatever the cost to her own feelings, she had to protect her baby.
* * * *
CATHERINE KEPT HER resolve for close on a fortnight. Noah made several trips into the woods, telling both Catherine and Lydia that, if anyone asked, they should say he was in the forest checking his traps. Always he returned in a day or two with another pile of shiny beaver pelts or other plush animal fur.
Lydia finished the garments she was making and, after much coaxing, agreed again to return to the loft when Catherine asked it of her. Catherine began to relax a bit, thinking that by not saying anything to Noah about his fur-trading business, they’d settled into a truce of sorts. She still worried that his scheme would come crashing down upon them, but for the nonce, all seemed well.
Until the afternoon he returned home from one of his trading trips and burst into the house in a full-blown rage.