He withheld a sigh. His self-made vow to not approach Tessa till she first approached him wavered before Hester’s persistence. While he didn’t believe Tessa would lie beside Jasper anytime soon, he was concerned enough that she kept him awake nights.
“I’ll speak with her, aye.” But not take her beyond fort walls, nor try to revive the spark that had once nearly turned him on end and now seemed like it never was.
Hester looked hard at him as if awaiting details. He gave none. With a harrumph she went away, leaving him to ponder this new predicament.
He was at the end of his tether regarding Tessa, soldiering on despite her, hoping something would turn in matters of Ross. Since the recent raiding and murders, he himself felt like a target, not knowing if Tamanen was dead or alive. If alive, he’d best watch his back. If dead, Tamanen’s fellow warriors would surely retaliate, might even now be watching the fort, awaiting his riding out alone.
Within these walls, his head and heart were engaged in full-blown battle. Even if Tessa stayed stone cold toward him, he must make a move. Either regain what was lost between them or make peace with the fact she’d never forgive him, their tie irretrievably severed.
His heart, so guarded, was now almost broken by circumstances beyond his control—a brother he couldn’t bring back, the woman he adored eroding before his eyes. He needed answers.
The night was starlit. Clear. A coolness had crept in, carrying a promise the first frost wasn’t far off. Clay came down from the rifle platform at the change of the watch, the brilliant sunset long since faded. The clarity he’d prayed for had finally come, but would Tessa agree to it?
He approached Hester’s cabin, which was brimming with kin. Had he overlooked something?
Standing outside the open door, Zadock answered his perplexity. “’Tis the date Pa died. And now Jasper lies beside him.”
Clay removed his hat in respect, second-guessing himself. Hester had told him a while back the Swans marked the day by gathering but hadn’t said which day it was. They didn’t make a loud show of it, just assembled for a family meal.
Should he stay his plan till a better time? Nay. There was rarely a better time. No guarantee of the next minute, nor tomorrow.
The cabin quieted as his frame filled the open doorway. He wore his Sabbath-best linen shirt and breeches, buckled shoes, and the clocked stockings Tessa had made for him. In his pocket was the heirloom usually secreted in his trunk. The heart-shaped locket bore a slight crack in its tarnished face, but the entire necklace was still intact, the frail chain a filigree of gold. Once it had hung upon the bodice of the woman he loved best, the queen of his own boyish world. Somehow, miraculously, it survived the firing of the Tygart cabin before finding its way back to him, mayhap meant for Tessa herself.
“Colonel Tygart, do come in.” Rosemary stood, turning toward the hearth as if to fetch him a plate or some coffee, but he shook his head while others murmured greetings.
“I’ve come to speak with Tessa. Walk out with her if she will.” There, he’d said it. Issued the invitation. Would she deny him in front of all? Send him away to return the heirloom to the trunk, and all his hopes with it?
Though alarmingly pale when he’d first come in, she was now a becoming pink as she stood. Clad in her Sabbath best—a dress he hadn’t seen before of pale green cloth, the fichu and apron an unspotted cream, her lace-edged cap with its dangling strings covering her bounty of carefully pinned, upswept hair—she made him unashamedly weak-kneed.
He all but held his breath as she came his way, skirting the full table, every eye on them both. He’d missed her. Her voice. Her unique mannerisms. Her warm presence. Would Ross stand between them now? Or had she come to the place where she’d forgiven him for what he couldn’t rectify, couldn’t control?
They walked out into the night, candles from a few cabins casting yellow squares of light hither and yon. In his skittishness, he’d forgotten a meeting was playing out in the blockhouse with the new command, a great many soldiers rambling about the common. He sought the place between a cabin and the far blockhouse nearest the spring that afforded them a bit of privacy. It smelled of mint, the herb growing wild in this sheltered, shady spot.
The moonlight allowed him just a glimpse of her, but already he felt the droop of her once-steadfast spirit. He’d thought she was beyond a lasting melancholy as she’d been so full of life, but mayhap a father’s loss followed by two brothers was too much to cast off. It emboldened him in his purpose, though he was still unsure of her response. Gently, his hand reached for hers in a first, tentative bid. She didn’t pull away as he thought she might. His thoughts became the simplest sort of prayer.
Lord, please help me get this right. His nerve wavered for a second as emotion knotted his throat. I know what needs saying but don’t know how to say it.
At that instant came a slight squeeze to his hand, the pressure of her fingers heartfelt. Coming on the heels of her indifference, it choked him further. For another long minute filled with the wink of fireflies and the rhythmic croak of frogs, he battled for composure.
“You look awfully handsome, Clay.” Her voice was warm if weary. “I’ve never seen you out of buckskins and plain linen.”
“I feel like a skinned bear,” he admitted, which gained a little laugh from her. But appearance was not on his mind. “Do you forgive me, Tessa, for failing to find Ross?”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Clay. You did what you could. I see that now, though ’tis a hard loss to take.” She touched his cheek. “Forgive me for being cold. My feelings for you never changed, they just got buried beneath the hurt of it.”
He nodded, the feel of her hand so small in his. He wanted the world for her, wanted to recover Ross and see her smile again. But at least he still had her heart. “You need to be away from here. I see it plain, though you’ve told me so from the start.”
“You mean go overmountain?”
“Aye.” Even as he said it he knew what it would cost the Swans. Her brothers had need of her. Her mother too, even Hester. Hester had talked of an outing beyond fort walls, not clear to Philadelphia. But he forged ahead. “Would you be willing to venture to Fort Pitt? Marry me there if we can find a preacher, before making our way east to Philadelphia?”
His gaze never left her face, gauging any shred of resistance. This was not how he’d intended their courtship to play out. But nothing in his life had been framed by sameness, including this deciding moment.
“You truly want me to be your wife?” Her chin was a-quiver. It was the most undone he’d ever seen her, save Ross.
“With all my being.” He brought her hurt hand to his lips, kissing the bandaged fingers, when what he wanted was to take her fully in his arms. Again that knot in his throat nearly forbade speech. “If you’ll have me.”
She nodded, discarding the nay he’d expected. “When do we leave?”
