Juliet had started to include pain among her intimate and constant companions, but what she felt now, on the knife’s edge of his apathy, was an incision in the core of her being and she almost cried out with the sharpness of it.
Joshua was setting her adrift. A wretched province of mind rose with those nearest to her, the ones the ones she had dedicated her heart to, and now abandoned her to wander a trail alone.
If she wasn’t so distressed she would have better appreciated the wondrous town of Blackberry Valley nestled in the bosom of a primeval forest and caressed by murmuring hemlocks, oaks and maples. Her turmoil warred with the tranquil evening of summer’s end when the sunset brightly gilded the sides of mountains, filling the air with a wistful and dreamlike light over a rich pastoral landscape.
In the middle of town was a bucket fastened with iron to a moss-grown well and near it a trough for horses. Juliet drew a bucket of water and from it, scooped a copper cup to drink. A bay-colored Morgan horse with a peculiar flowered bonnet ambled to the trough.
Juliet patted the animal. “You are beautiful,” she crooned and tugged a rosy apple from her pocket and gave it to the horse. The horse nudged her as if it could feel her melancholy, and she leaned her cheek against the horse’s withers, securing a bit of happiness from the animal’s devotion.
“That’s my Maybelle.”
Juliet swung around.
“She sure took a shine to you,” said an older man, his nose, long and pointed, and his face withered like an old apple with a tuft of beard on his chin. “She likes certain people and since she likes you, I like you.
“Good to see you, Crims,” said Joshua, extending his hand.
“Are you staying long?” Crims scanned Juliet from head to toe.
“This is Juliet Farrow.” Joshua said, using the alias they had agreed upon so as not to alert any Loyalists of her whereabouts in case her uncle or Snapes had lingering infiltrators that might report back to them. “She will be staying with the Bell family and is moving on to Albany as soon as arrangements can be made.”
“Too bad,” said Crims. “Blackberry Valley is obliged to have something fresh and pretty to look at. This old widower could dream a lit—”
“She is not available.”
No doubt, Joshua cut him short to disallow the idea of bachelors to call once they received wind a new and available female was in town.
Not to be ignored, Maybelle extended her head over Crims’ shoulder. He dipped in his pocket, retrieved a carrot for the horse who chomped noisily. “What do you think of General Washington and his plan for the Patriot’s on the frontier? Do you think we have a chance?”
Joshua scratched the beard on his chin, as if weighing Crims’ questions and angled his head to Juliet. “Crims is a die-hard Patriot…lost his leg in the Battle of Germantown and crawled away in a dense fog.”
He turned to Crims. “General Washington thinks in terms of grand strategy. In the spring of 1777, I was there when Saratoga fell. The enemy was armed to the teeth like lairds out of Scottish tales. British agents were in touch with the vast numbers of Loyalist sympathizers and probably expected the rest to flock in numbers to the King’s standard. But the British did not grasp the vast moral power animating the high-minded minority of the Continental command. Their folly was not realizing the war in northern New York was taken over by men who knew frontier and forest fighting, who were out to win a war, who would not delude themselves an army the size of Burgoyne’s might be defeated.”
Crims scratched his wooden calf with the toe of his boot. “I hate bowing and scraping to British law. This dratted notion where we must pay for the French and Indian War is ludicrous. It was the Colonists who fought in the war, including me. And then to think we are too far away from England to have representation?” Crims spat. “To hell with them.” He lifted his tricorn and ducked his head. “Pardon me, Miss Juliet.”
Juliet sobered. “Formerly, I stood as a bystander to this war. But my eyes have been opened and I’ve discovered, surprisingly, how the Loyalists hold their views as the moral absolute, refusing to recognize this is a war opposed to a tyrannical injustice.”
Crims pulled on his beard. “The war is far-reaching and brewing a fever, a war to give victory to ideas of right and good, and carried on for an honest purpose.
“Aye,” said Joshua. “Men seeking a new intangible premise where all men will possess the right to life, liberty and property.”
“Amen. Nice meeting you, Miss Juliet. I reckon you are mighty tired from your journey. The Bells are good friends, and if you don’t mind, I’ll come to call.”
“It would be and honor and pleasure,” said Juliet smiling. Maybelle nickered and nosed her in response. Juliet laughed and smoothed the mane on the horse’s head. “I hope to see you, again, too my friend.”
Chapter Thirty
“I don’t believe you…that you would send me away—”
Through the village they walked to the Bells’, passing many homes, some large, some small, denoting the success of the town’s inhabitants. Not once did he turn to look at her. Her heart ached at his withdrawal, his total lack of interest in her as a woman…as his wife…and she yearned to storm the citadels of his merciless apathy.
“My decision is for your own good.”
Words died on her tongue. There was nothing she could say, nothing she could do. His mind was settled. He would leave her, and she would be alone. Again. The silence between them lay sepulchral and Juliet felt the entire load of his longing to be rid of her.
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.
