Chapter Thirty-Four

Fall arrayed in robes of burnt umber, scarlet and yellow, and lent a blended rhythm of days where Juliet prayed for Joshua’s return. Up came the golden sun, burning a slow fog off the land. She passed a cider press, veiled beneath the eaves of a shed, and past the beehives. With a basket brimming of hickory and black walnuts, Juliet paused with her morning chores to watch the children take turns swinging on an ancient grapevine.

Heat flew to her cheeks as she remembered the last days before Joshua’s departure when they had made endless love, her body responding to his every touch.

She was stronger, wiser, more knowledgeable now. She’d met danger, fear, and pleasure beyond her imaginings, had done things she’d never dreamed she could do. She’d seen violence to freeze the marrow, had appreciated forests so limitless that they absorbed the soul, had glimpsed infinity in a star-filled night. But more than that, she now knew what it was to love and be loved.

The Bells’ two giant russet-colored Percherons, Lancelot and Guinevere, pawed the ground in the dusty paddock, begging for an apple. Juliet produced two from her pocket, the mammoth equines distending their nostrils, inhaling the freshness of the fruit before scooping it between their teeth. Satisfied, they rested their necks on each other. Suzanne, the eight-year-old, stayed behind and doted on them as if they were royalty from a faraway land.

Georgie followed yapping at their heels, then would run off to chase an errant squirrel. Juliet kicked through the fallen leaves, sauntered into the house, her skirt hems skimming her shoetops and swirling round her ankles. She deposited the baskets of nuts on the kitchen floor to later crack, and hung her shawl on a peg. The aroma of a rich beef stew tantalized her senses. The three wheaten loaves she had helped knead earlier in the morning, a crock of honey, fragrant with wildflowers, fresh creamy butter and cheese brought in from the cold cellar…on the gleaming kitchen table.

With James’ departure to Albany, Juliet had picked up the slack in chores. Caroline, her constant tutor, taught her more on running a farm. The children, animals, fields, orchards provided a place of magic, a dwelling separate from the rest of the world, and so enthralling that her heart caught. Juliet claimed it, and knew, deep down with hard work and initiative, she could manage Joshua’s farm. He had told her it was a small log cabin and not so grand as the Bell home or anywhere near the Faulkner estate, her ancestral home in England. But with love and resourcefulness they could make it work and it would be home.

Juliet stood over little Elias sleeping in a cradle. Her hand pressed to her breast, clinging to the hope of someday having her own child. She couldn’t help herself. She wanted that. She’d be a good mother.

They would be a family and the notion filled her with joy because, other than Moira, it meant for the first time in her life, she’d be a part of something wonderful. It meant she would love and be loved for the rest of her life no matter what. Would her dreams include a daughter and granddaughter as Waneek and Ojistah had predicted?

But what if Joshua never returned? What if he met up with a redcoat aware of his spying activities? What if he encountered Snapes? Two Eagles had stayed with his new bride, leaving Joshua to travel alone. What if he were injured and laying in the cold forests with no one to help him? The grim reality slammed into her full force. It wasn’t the first time, and like the last, she forced down her negative thoughts and peeked out the window where red apples bobbed in the wide orchards and the children played hide-and-seek, falling to the earth in ear-splitting giggles.

Betsy spun flax for the loom, the whir of the spinning wheel made a gentle, pleasant hum in harmony with the clap of the loom where Caroline thrust the shuttle cock through. The woman’s deft hands, wove a myriad of warp and weft threads into impressive fabric.

“We had sun on the Saint Eulalie’s Feast Day promising plenty of apples and cider,” said Caroline, over her shoulder. She pushed a fist in her back to ease the strain of her advanced pregnancy.

“Are you having contractions?” Juliet asked. Caroline had dropped and was due any day.

“I’m fine.” She gazed at the great armchair where her husband idled when he was home. Charity read to Mary and Robin in his chair. “They miss their father.”

Juliet was sure Caroline missed him the most.

“You and Joshua should get married,” said Caroline. “The way you two look at each other and carry on…”

“We are married.”

“Thought so,” said Caroline, her feet clapping the foot pedals. “Made a bet with James, and it looks like I won.” She smiled wide.

Hard thumping on the porch tore them from their conversation. Caroline crossed the kitchen, spied out the window, picked up a rifle and opened the door. A heavily-bearded, lean buckskinned man stood in the entry.

Crims hobbled up behind him, breathing hard. “He’s my friend, Moses Bent and you better listen to what he has to say, Caroline.”

Caroline nodded and gestured them to the table. Juliet scooped up plates of steaming stew and served the men.

Moses shoveled potatoes in his mouth, dripping gravy on the table and talked between mouthfuls. “Bad things happening all over. News of the build-up of Tory and Indian forces on the upper Susquehanna, especially at Unadilla and Onipua. They’re also preparing to move against the outlying settlements. Blackberry Valley is a prime target. Despite what Colonel Allerton has done to reinforce your fort,” he spat, “you are weakly defended. I would leave if I were you.”

“My husband has gone to Albany to appeal to Brigadier General Edward Hand, begging for additional troops to protect us.”

Moses pointed a hunk of cheese at her. “Thayendanegea is hot for destroying any Patriots. He holds all of ’em responsible for destroying Tionnontigo and Onaguaga, his villages. He will be swift and merciless and his numbers are growing.”

Tionnontigo had been destroyed? Juliet hoped Ojistah’s second sight warned her away before the attack. She cared for the old woman.

Caroline set a platter of warm rolls on the table, shooing away the children so the men could eat without being interrupted. “Brigadier General Hand said we would be well-protected by the garrison at Fort Stephens under Colonel Elijah Cummings. They are thirteen miles distant and could come quickly if trouble loomed.”

The frontiersman blew a whistle between his two front missing teeth. “The logic is the same as setting your hair on fire and putting it out with a hammer. Ain’t going to happen.”

“What am I to do? The snows will soon be upon us. My husband is gone. I am a lone woman with eight children. Where would we go?”

“I would take my chances and leave if I were you.”