“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 Empirein 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.
