Lord of the Wilderness Read online

  A little farther on, he stopped. When he spoke, it was with difficulty, as if he were having to prise every syllable out and it hurt him. “You have a place…in my heart. You must know that by now.”

  It was the closest he had ever come to telling her that he loved her. For a whole moment, the world stopped.

  His blue eyes dimmed. If there was any identifiable emotion in his drawn features, it was sorrow. “You deserve so much better than I can give you, Juliet. I wish—”

  “Don’t!” She stepped into his space.

  His eyes shuttered. “You are going back to England.”

  He turned and began walking again. She wanted to scream at him, tell him no, she wasn’t going anywhere. But, truth was, what choice did she have…a woman alone in the wilds of the Colonies?

  They climbed a high hill, five furlongs from the village, to a lovely farm with a large home possessing a broad view of the valley below and where every activity of the inhabitants of Blackberry Valley could be observed.

  Shielding the house to the north from winter storms stood barns, bursting with hay. In the farmyard lay plows and harrows, folds of black-faced sheep and cows lowing in regular cadence, their udders full and waiting for evening milking. Under the sheltering eaves of a corn crib brimming with corn, a lordly turkey strutted and, secured in the lofts above, a cock crowed. Wheel ruts cut through the earth, marking a well-worn path up to the house with a horseblock. To the side were an overgrown garden, and a barrier of tall trees.

  They paused on the threshold. Juliet stood behind Joshua, making a study of the tidy porch with carved seats, and farther to the end stood a colorful array of hollyhocks heavy with blossoms, like ladies waiting in line for a summer cotillion. Behind her followed the watchdog, patient, full of importance, waving his bushy tail and nudging her hand with his black nose. Juliet reached out and gave his ears a scratch. The dog whined in appreciation.

  A sharp wind blew from the top of the mountain, wrestling with the trees and chilling her to the bone. To be left with the Bell family…complete strangers? Would they accept her…or treat her like Orpha and Horace Hayes had? She shuddered, smoothed her mud-caked skirts, and then fidgeted with her cuffs, her breathing accelerating. Would the Bells scorn her ragamuffin appearance? She had brought little from the fort. Two dresses and the cross around her neck.

  “Papa, there’s someone on the porch,” said a child from inside the plank house, creating an uproar and peals of laughter. At the click of a latch Juliet straightened. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges. Her stomach churned.

  “Caroline,” the man called over his shoulder. “Look who’s here.”

  An attractive middle-aged woman very swollen with child, and with a two-year old toddler plastered on her hip scooted beside her husband. “Joshua! “This is a surprise for my sorry eyes. Come in.”

  She smiled at Juliet, and then frowned at Joshua for his lack of introduction. “Welcome, I’m Caroline Bell.”

  “I’m Juliet Farrow.” She cringed from the lie.

  She pulled Juliet inside to where she was ushered to a chair by a fire, surrounded by a clamoring host of light-haired children, red-cheeked, and smiling with a chorus of infectious enthusiasm, introducing themselves so quickly she lost count. Eight, wasn’t it? She tried to remember their names from the youngest, Elias, then James, three years with his thumb stuck in his mouth, followed in age by Robin, Mary, Winnie, Suzanne, and Charity, up to the thirteen-year-old Thomas who stood proud like his father.

  “What’s your name?” asked Robin.

  “Can you play Nine Men’s Morris?” asked Thomas.

  “Did you know Joshua is the best shot in the entire Colonies?” asked Suzanne.

  “Where did you get your red hair?” asked Winnie, touching her hair.

  Mary, a little brown-haired girl with crumbs on her face brought Juliet a half-eaten corn pone. “Thank you,” she said, taking a piece.

  “Children, give our visitors space. Pardon all the questions. They are still learning manners.” Caroline grinned as she shooed her brood away.

  “I hope you can stay and visit with us a spell.”

  Joshua spoke up. “That’s why we’re here. I’ve a favor to ask and want to know if Juliet could stay with you here at the farm until I return.”

  His words, so cold and callous…a chill ran up her spine.

  The three-year-old boy, James, fell and bumped his head, delivering thunderous wails. Caroline dropped Elias in Juliet’s arms and picked up the older sibling, kissing and crooning away his hurts.

  Caroline smiled genuinely at Juliet. “We would love to have you. It has been a long time without visitors and news, and I crave female companionship.”

  Juliet’s heart stopped. To be welcomed after her horrible treatment at the Hayes’ home…and Joshua’s cold indifference…sent a wave of relief through her. Caroline’s immediate and friendly response laid her worst fears to rest. If she was to stay with someone, it would be the Bells. Their irresistible affection, acceptance and warmth overwhelmed Juliet. This precious family was love, smiles, joys, kisses and hugs.

  Everything Juliet dreamed of.

  A servant girl named Betsy served tankards of spiced cider. Warmed by the wide-mouthed fireplace, Juliet sat idly, Joshua next to her while the smaller Bell children regrouped and crawled up him, and rode on his knee.

  Mr. Bell or James, she had learned sat in his elbow chair nonplussed by his brood’s noisy commotion. Juliet tightened her hold and pressed her cheek against the two-year-old boy’s soft blond curls. Sucking his thumb and making smacking noises, he peeked up at her with trusting eyes. He nestled his head against her neck until his head drooped with little pants of milk breath, asleep.

  “Do you promise to go nutting with us tomorrow?” begged Suzanne.

  “I’d be delighted,” Juliet laughed. “Once I get some rest.”

  “Children, Mr. Hansford and Miss Farrow are tired. Off to bed with you.” Beneath a myriad of moans and protests, the children climbed the stairs with assurances by Caroline to listen to their prayers and to tuck them in.

  Joshua took off his boots and stretched his stockinged feet before the fire. Content while the men talked, she watched how the flames and smoke-wreaths struggled together like foes in a burning city. Behind her, the flickering light caught on pewter plates and reflected the flame as sunshine. She nuzzled her cheek to the snoring child’s downy head filled with a rare serenity.

  Joshua took a piece of corn pone from Caroline. “Juliet has had a tough time.” And so, Joshua confided her story to the curious Bells from her kidnapping in England, the Hayes’ and subsequent massacre, imprisoned by Onontio and delivering the chief’s child. Of her forced marriage to Joshua, he said nothing, skipping to their flight down the rivers, and her helping them escape from Fort Oswego and saving their lives.

  “You are a remarkable and brave woman,” Caroline said and Juliet knew that Joshua had cemented the Bells’ esteem, if not their affection, for her.

  “Come,” said Caroline, lifting the sleeping child from her and she escorted Juliet through the house. There were large well-appointed rooms, impressive chestnut beams, a secret staircase in full sight. Eight paintings of landscapes adorned the stark plank walls, Smollett in four volumes, six volumes Edward Gibbon’s, The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire in bookcases with cheval glass. The house was filled with the finest of Queen Anne furniture, linen and drapes.

  Exhausted, Juliet was led to an upper bedroom and cried out in glee. A copper tub filled with water and a fresh cake of rose-scented soap was laid out for her use. “How thankful—”

  “Any friend of Joshua’s is a friend of ours. He saved my husband’s life at Saratoga…carried him two miles on his back, away from British troops after he’d been critically wounded.”

  Caroline shifted the babe on her other shoulder. “There’s a clean muslin gown for you to wear. And in the morn, I’ll lend you one of my dresses until we can clean
your garments. Now I have to put this little one in his bed.”

  Caroline departed and her leaving left a void. Juliet couldn’t help but think how this remarkable woman was the backbone of her family, and—how she envied her.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Juliet slept deeply, a deliciously real bed pressed to her back. In the morning, she dressed in the gown Caroline had laid out for her, and gazed out the window of her room, taken with a commanding view of the town below. An isolated patch of blue mist floated lightly on the glare of the horizon, revealing the church but not yet its spire. A rooster crowed in tandem with the clangor of bells, heralding a new day. A horse and wagon filled with bags of grain rumbled.

  Maybelle drank at the trough, lifted her head and whinnied when Crims approached. A woman dropped wooden milk pails and talked to another woman sweeping her porch. Cows followed a path up a hill to green pasture. A row of gabled roofs over square smug houses represented a tidy world of sincerity and progress.

  The final button fastened on her dress, she smoothed the soft blue skirts and followed the pandemonium. She paused on the steps above a massive kitchen caught with the morning sun shining through glass windows, and brightening the dim interior. The radiance rested on a great spinning wheel and cantilevered loom in the corner, and then illuminated iron kettles dangling from rafters of oak. The beams lingered on somber homespun, dyed yellow with the bark of sassafras, and soft deerskin clothing slung on wooden pegs. It dawdled over the blue, green and red yarns hanging from the ceiling, and gleamed spotty patches on the polished wooden floor before mingling with the shooting flickers of the fire from a massive stone hearth.

  But it was the light spread upon the deafening cacophony of family that drew her. She smiled as little Elias laughed and careened, arms out around the kitchen with his ability to totter; his older sisters, Robin and Mary, babes themselves, taking on the role of mother, following him and keeping him safe. James sat at the head of a long table, the rest of the children clamoring for his attention. The smell of fresh baked corn pone lay tilted up on a board and caused her stomach to gnaw with hunger. Betsy, the serving girl flipped the popping bacon onto a serving plate and the harried Caroline whipped eggs in a bowl.

  Everything spoke of love and home. A real home.

  Juliet stepped into the kitchen. “What can I do to help?”

  “I’ll take all the help I can get!” Caroline pointed to the hearth. “Scoop some porridge into the bowls and serve the children, please.”

  Joshua entered with a load of wood in his arms and she found herself facing him, her breath coming quickly and her heart in her eyes, she was sure. When he turned in her direction, Juliet quickly looked away. If he’d seen her watching him, he said nothing of it and stacked the wood by the fireplace. He picked up the squealing five-year-old, Mary, and sat her on his shoulders, the girl’s skinny legs hooked beneath Joshua’s arms, hands tangled in his hair.

  As Joshua dipped forward to Juliet in an exaggerated courtly bow, Mary shrieked with delight. The three of them sat at the table, laughing, Juliet next to Joshua. He smelled clean…of warm spice. His arm brushed hers, Startled he gazed at her. The hunger darting out from his eyes devoured her from a whisper away. With the hunger, there remained the stubborn denial shouting through him, but deep inside she knew he cared for her.

  When the fresh loaves of baked bread were sliced by Thomas, everyone grew quiet and bowed their heads in prayer.

  A moment later, Crims knocked at the door and sauntered in. “I’m just in time.”

  “You old rascal. You know you are always welcome at our table,” said Caroline. Through the open door, Juliet saw Maybelle, his horse, like a forlorn puppy, head down, ears flicked forward, stunned she had to be left outside.

  “Children, eat well and after your chores and book learning, I’m sure we can convince Joshua, Juliet and Crims to play Nine Men’s Morris,” said Caroline and they all dug in.

  Crims hooked his wooden leg over the bench and sat next to Suzanne. He reached for warm bread and lathered it with sweet butter. “There will be a cold and early winter. The fur is thick on the foxes, and the newts are already migrating to their hibernation grounds.”

  “I saw the first flock of geese heading south,” said Charity.

  A smile tipped up one corner of Joshua’s mouth. “Soon Hó-thó will come.”

  “Who is Hó-thó?” asked the children, their eyes growing as wide as dinner plates.

  “Hó-thó is the Iroquois god, Cold Weather. Every winter, he seizes his hatchet from his belt, flourishes it in the air and strikes the trees. That’s what makes the trees crack with such a thunderous noise. The Indians have learned to outwit Hó-thó by building fires, sipping hot teas, and keeping warm under furs.”

  The “whoa” of a driver halting a team of horses and a dog’s rousing barking came from the outside.

  Caroline peeked out the window. “Oh, dear. It’s Bethany Powers. I can count on one hand the times she’s condescended to come here the past ten years.”

  Crims wiped his wrist across his face, smearing crumbs and gooseberry jam. “That ferocious, hatchet-faced dragon is here to hook Joshua for one of her girls. She got word of her red-haired competition.”

  Caroline pointed a ladle at Crims. “No doubt you fed the rumor.”

  “It gladdens my heart to see Bethany sweat in her stays. Makes Maybelle happy, too.”

  James and the children laughed.

  “Silent, children,” Caroline commanded them with a well-meaning glance. “We give our guests respect.”

  The children and her husband pasted on proper angelic expressions.

  Crims did not. Rebellion shone in his sparkling blue eyes. “Mischief, thou are afoot. Take thou what course thou wilt.”

  Caroline plunked her hands on her hips. “Don’t quote Shakespeare to me, Crims. Curb your tongue in my house.”

  “You have asked the impossible,” Crims complained. “It is like curling the Mohawk River back to its source.” He angled his head low and, confidingly, spoke to Juliet. “Bethany likes to throw herself around because her husband is rich. He’s a swindler.”

  Joshua, chuckled accustomed to Crim’s contentiousness. Juliet suppressed a smile, and straightened as Bethany Powers burst across the kitchen threshold. Mrs. Powers was a woman of robust frame, round-shouldered and stout; she had a large face with sharp angles, the under-jaw, much developed, her brow low. There was a spiteful attitude in her dark eyes flashing over Juliet.

  A servant girl of approximately thirteen summers, head bent low, her brown hair tucked in her mob cap, shifted behind Bethany. Thin as a rail, looking starved and exhausted, she was with certainty, an indentured servant, and Juliet’s heart went out to the child.

  Bethany settled on a chair, fluffed out her skirts like a chicken ready to lay an egg.

  “I shan’t be long. Grace, you must stand behind me.” Bethany ordered, her chin raised.

  “I have an important announcement to make. As the matron of the town’s leading family, I feel it incumbent upon me to host a dance for the harvest. And most importantly—” She smiled at Joshua, “—in honor of Mr. Hansford’s return. My daughters are anxious to dance with you,” she trilled.

  “You see, I feel compelled—” she fluttered her deep blue-veined fingers over her massive chest, “even dictated by my esteemed lineage…Sir Eagleton, you must all know…is a distinguished knight in England.”

  Crims tilted his head back and scratched his neck. “I heard told Sir Eagleton was beheaded for posing as the King, shouting grand speeches, collecting crowds and huge amounts of taxes.”

  Bethany put her nose in the air and sniffed as if she were smelling the stink of a London sewer. “And your ancestry, Mr. Crims, probably comes from that horse you crow about.”

  Crims slapped his wooden leg and chortled. “Maybelle forgives your insult because she knows your condescending attitude comes from someone that has bad luck when it comes to thinking.”


  “How are you, Mr. Hansford?” Bethany crooned, darting a disapproving glance to Juliet.

  Little Mary offered Grace fresh corn pone.

  Bethany held her hand up. “Grace is not allowed to eat and should know better.” She turned to the servant girl. “Wait ’til we get home.”

  Images of Orpha flashed through Juliet’s mind. Poor Eldon Stevens whipped to death against the post. Hot blood rushed through Juliet’s veins. She clenched her jaws. Only the flex in Joshua’s arms beside her told his annoyance.

  Bethany carried on. “You are all invited…that is, if you have proper dress. Do you Miss—?”

  Juliet swallowed. Bethany’s hubris was a developed art.

  “Juliet Farrow,” Joshua provided. “Everyone else will pale in comparison at the dance.”

  She fingered the humble linen dress Caroline had loaned her, nothing compared to the fineness of Bethany’s day clothes, and certainly nothing to wear to such an occasion.

  Thomas strode to the door. With a benevolent wink, he slipped corn pone into Grace’s pocket. Oh, there was something between the two of them and hidden beneath Bethany’s oblivious nose. Grace was so taken with his kindness when he went out the door, she stumbled and fell onto Bethany. The woman turned and slapped the girl across the face.

  Grace cried out and held her hand to the swelling curve of an Irish cheekbone. A single tear rolled like a drop of quicksilver.

  Juliet took two quick steps and stood to her full height in front of Bethany. Keeping her voice low and even, she said, “She is mere a girl. If I ever hear of you striking her again, you’ll have me to deal with.”

  Juliet met icy eyes glittering with retribution, and then everything happened all at once. Caroline gasped. Chest lifting, Bethany sputtered and tromped to the door. James opened it. Crims applauded and whistled. Like a sheep dog marshaling sheep, Maybelle cut in front of Bethany, repeatedly blocking her passage to the carriage. The dog circled her, barking and nipping at her heels. In a flurry of skirts, Bethany screamed every time Maybelle pitched and turned, obstructing her path. She kicked at the dog but the canine was too swift.