13

Daylight stole through the open door into the bedroom and the scent of baking cornmeal roused Joseph and his appetite. He stretched his arm across the empty bed. He’d survived another night without being murdered in his sleep. Small blessing.

After changing his clothes for a clean shirt and pair of knee-length breeches, Joseph sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his long socks. His fingers were sufficient to comb his hair, and he tied it at the nape of his neck before locating his shaving kit. A week’s worth of stubble shadowed his chin. He couldn’t help but steel himself on his way into the main room.

Hannah danced between the fireplace and the table, first removing the kettle from over the flames, and then the skillet. She barely spared him a glance.

“Good morning.” He set the shaving kit on the table and took a basin from where it sat on the flour barrel. He cooled the water from the kettle with some from the pail on the floor.

Hannah set two plates on the table and eyed him.

He gave her a brief smile. With water, a towel, soap and a small mirror at hand, he sat and withdrew his straight razor.

“You never used to shave.”

Not exactly the truth, but he definitely hadn’t bothered with it often before marrying Fannie. She’d preferred him clean shaven, and he’d sort of taken to it over the last few years. “People change.”

Hannah definitely had. He dared a glance at her, and thankfully she looked away to fuss with the dense bread or cake she was sliding from the skillet. Hair in a single braid down her back, nothing obstructed his view of her fine features, long lashes, and honey eyes as they refocused on him.

“Papa always believed it was important for a man to be clean-shaven.” Her lips gained fullness with a hint of a smile. “He’d not bother with soap half the time and used his old whittling knife.”

The strength fled Joseph’s hand, and he lowered it momentarily to the table. Even at Oriskany, Henry Cunningham’s face had only shown a hint of neglect. He’d probably shaved the morning before. Strange to remembered that. Stranger still, to sit across from the man’s daughter and claim her as wife.

“Papa would approve.”

Joseph refused to let his expression change, but approval was something he doubted Cunningham would afford him. What would the man think if he knew Joseph had taken his daughter? Joseph’s hand trembled. If he resumed shaving now, he’d probably accidently slit his own throat. If Henry Cunningham lived, he’d almost certainly do the honors.

But Henry Cunningham was dead.

Razor clenched, Joseph focused away from memories and onto the task at hand. Maybe it was a good thing Sunday had arrived. He needed the soothing balm of Andrew’s sermons to fortify him for another week. Perhaps this was God’s doing, bringing Hannah into his life so he could look after her whether or not they found her brothers. Perhaps it was a way to rectify his sin.

Joseph frowned and scratched the blade from his chin, downward. More likely one thing had led to another, and God sat shaking His head at the absolute mess Joseph had created.

“Here.” A plate clanked against the table in front of him with a half-moon of dense cornbread. “You can eat when you are finished.” Hannah sat down and nibbled on her own half.

Joseph nodded his thanks. After he’d wiped the remaining soap from his face, he took a bite and chewed. And chewed. The consistency wasn’t quite the same as the cornbread he was accustomed too.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” But he had to ask. “What did you put in this? Something is…different.”

“Beans. I soaked them overnight. They make the bread much more filling. It is well-loved among the Kanien’keha:ka. Mama made this for Papa to take on his hunting trips.”

Joseph took another bite. The flavor wasn’t bad, but would require some getting used to. “It’s good. Thank you.” He hurried to finish so he could escape her skeptical stare. He’d be quick with the chores and leave right away instead of waiting until the start of the meeting. The last bite of cornbread clung to the back of his throat, and he scooted back his chair to pour a drink.

Hannah plunked a mug in front of him and beat him to the water.

“Thank you.” He gulped it back and stood. “I need to look after the animals before I go.”

“Go where?”

“Andrew holds Sabbath meetings down at their cabin.” Joseph grabbed his hat and shoved it on his head. “I usually spend most of the day with them.” With a nod, he headed to the door.

“And what am I supposed to do all day?” Hannah’s tone was soft, but edged with the sharpness of the razor he had left out on the table.

“You should rest.” He glanced back, not really wanting to slow his escape. “Your arm needs to finish healing.”

“My arm is almost healed. It’s fine.” A challenge lit her eyes.

He gulped. Whatever happened, he couldn’t afford to let her to come with him to a community gathering. He might not have immediately recognized her, but nobody else seemed to have that difficulty.

~*~

Hannah folded her arms across her stomach. How long did he expect to hide her here? And what were his real reasons for leaving her behind? Was it the connection to her family he feared, or her connection to him? No doubt such an arrangement shamed him—not just to be forced into a marriage, but to be married to her.

“It’s better you stay here,” Joseph reaffirmed. “I don’t have time to hitch the wagon.”

“I can ride a horse as well as you.”

Joseph backed another step to the door. “Perhaps, but…the mare is too near foaling to ride.” He shrugged. “That leaves only one horse.” Another step.

She matched it, circling around the table. “An easy walk might do the mare some good. But never mind that. Hunter did not seem bothered carrying the both of us back here from halfway to Frankfort.” She smiled at Joseph and braced for his next excuse.

“I did not think your family overly religious.”

“You suggest I do not believe in God? Mama taught me of the Great Creator, and I believe her words. Is not your God and the Great Creator of my mother’s people the same being? And how am I to learn of your God if I am not allowed to be taught?”

Joseph’s mouth hung open for a moment. He shook his head. “I’ll invite Andrew to come here and you can ask him any questions you have. He knows the Bible better than any man I’ve met and was an educated clergyman before he left Britain, so I do not doubt he can teach—”

“He’s from England?” But of course, that explained so much. “Why is he here?” Surrounded by war.

Joseph sighed, the severity of his expression fading. “He was an officer when the British—”

“A British officer?”

A nod. “He was wounded at Oriskany.”

“Your sister is married to a British officer and—”

“Ex-British officer.”

She made a face. “He fought with them. And yet everyone has accepted him with wide arms.”

Joseph wiped a hand down his face. “You don’t know how it was.”

“I don’t care how it was. What matters is how it is now.” A British officer had been welcomed into the community, but Joseph didn’t trust them to welcome her. Not because of her own loyalties—she had none—but because of her father’s. Or maybe it was Joseph who didn’t want her accepted. It was easier for him to hide her away here and pretend she didn’t exist. Hannah blinked at a sudden surge of moisture to her eyes. She would not cry. Not in front of Joseph.

“Fine.” He turned away.

“Fine, what?”

“I’ll finish the chores and saddle Hunter. See that you are ready by the time I’m done.” Two more steps and he was at the door. “And get out of those buckskins.”

She hugged herself. “I don’t have anything else.”

Joseph waved toward the bedroom. “There is a whole chest of gowns. No one else has any use for them.”

“But you seemed…unhappy when I wore one before.” And did she really want to remind him of Fannie?

“I wasn’t unhappy about that. It’s just a gown.” He pulled the door closed with too much force.

Hannah looked down at her clothes. She would cause enough of a ruckus without looking so much like those who had been burning homes and killing throughout the valley. But Fannie’s gowns…

She had no choice but to make do.

Hannah was still wrapping up her braid and pinning it in place when Joseph shoved into the cabin.

“I’ll be leaving.” His gruff voice echoed into the second room.

Hannah jabbed the last two pins into place. “I’m ready.” Her pulse sped, but she managed to hold her voice steady and give him a coy smile.

His “good” sounded more like a grunt than a word, and he vanished back outside.

Hannah hitched up the hem to keep her feet from tangling on it as she hastened after him. Fannie had been a good two inches taller and the gowns would have to be altered if she was to make regular use of them. She also hoped to make other changes so she didn’t have to think of Joseph’s late wife every time she dressed. She didn’t want him remembering Fannie every time he looked at her, either. She was his wife now. Though, Hannah still wasn’t sure what she wanted that to mean.

Her groom stood with Hunter’s reins in hand as the stallion ran the side of his nose up and down his coat sleeve. Joseph extended a hand.

Hannah ignored it. She didn’t need help mounting. Pulling the layers of fabric up so her foot could find the stirrup, Hannah hoisted herself aboard. Her second leg jerked to a stop halfway over the saddle, giving her no option but to hang there and fight to free her dress from the back of the saddle, or reverse and try again. No way was she reversing.

Joseph’s chuckle urged her to hurry, but yards of linen stinted her progress unless she forsook all modesty.

“Here.” Joseph braced her waist whilst yanking the skirt free. Up past her knee.

She planted herself in the saddle and jerked down the hem. Gowns were far too difficult, and it had been years since she had spent much time in one.

“It’ll be more comfortable if you shuffle back behind me this time.”

She scooted behind the saddle and waited for him to maneuver his leg over. As soon as he settled, the horse jerked forward, and Hannah grabbed for something to hold on to. The back of the saddle provided little grip. She had no other option but to clutch Joseph’s coat. Even that swayed. Hunter sped to a lope, compelling her to shift her hands to the steadiness of Joseph’s waist. Gradually she let her hands encircle him, and they became one to the rock of Hunter’s stride.