Leaving, not marrying, was most on her mind then. “As soon as you like. With reinforcements here, we’re free to go.” He’d considered resigning his post more than a time or two, though this was not how he’d considered doing it. Now the hour had come to take her away, restore her fractured spirits. He’d nearly lost her. He’d not chance that again.
“Let’s tell them then,” she said softly.
They made their way back to Hester’s cabin to find the group ringing the table as they’d left them. Clay took the lead when Tessa didn’t speak. He still had hold of her hand, their fingers intertwined. “We’ve decided to marry, and we’d covet your blessing.”
A short gasp from Hester and then Rosemary’s face broke into a joyous smile. Rising, Westfall clapped him on the back while Tessa’s brothers hooted their glee.
Hester spoke for him, laying out the dilemma of why they couldn’t be present for the occasion. “You’ll not wed here, with no one to officiate.”
“We’ll likely wed at Fort Pitt on our way to Philadelphia. Our hope is to leave out tomorrow if there’s no further trouble reported.”
Affirming nods went around, though they all seemed surprised by the suddenness of the plan. Tessa said not a word, just continued holding tight to his hand as if her life depended on his laying things out. She was hardly the blushing bride-to-be. No smile graced her face. No hint of expectation.
“With Major Jennings in charge, the valley should be in good hands,” Westfall said.
“Plenty of men to hold,” Clay agreed. “And if I resign my command there’s always another posthaste.” A great many wanted to make a name for themselves, rise in the ranks. What better way to do it than tread west where the danger was the thickest?
“We’ll begin packing then,” Rosemary said with a glance at Hester. “I’ve set some fancy things aside over the years. Needs be they go east with you.”
Hester nodded, turning toward a trunk. “We’ll try not to weigh you down, just give you a fine send-off.”
“How many days’ ride to Philadelphia from Pitt?” Westfall asked, taking out his pipe.
“If we go hard, four sleeps—days.” Clay righted himself after lapsing into the Lenape mind-set as he was prone to do when worn down. “But we’ll take our time through the backcountry. Shouldn’t be much trouble that way, given the heavy military presence.”
“You know the best routes, the trails to be chary of.”
“We’ll see Philadelphia before the first frost.” He looked to Tessa, who gave him a small smile. God help him, he’d be a good husband from the outset. Get her safely to Pitt and then Philly.
He’d not yet given her the locket. The time wasn’t right. Best wait till she was more wholehearted about things, mayhap their wedding day.
33
Morning dawned. Tessa lay on Hester’s loft bed, the old ropes sagging beneath her weight. The key was lost to tighten them, so she slept swaybacked atop the feather tick, which was flattened with age and repeated washings. She rolled onto her side, and thoughts of Ross rushed in—and Jasper—hollowing out her middle till she felt empty as a gourd.
It was nearly her wedding day. Her wedding journey. That alone should spark some joy. Yet it did not. That deep hopelessness she’d felt along the riverbank when Ross had gone the other way with the Indians still weighted her here in the dark rafters smelling of herbs and smoke. Below, Ma and Hester made the usual noises of redding up and preparing breakfast. Her stomach, always a rumble of anticipation, turned.
Closing her eyes, she drifted. Snatches of time flashed through her mind. The hair-raising instant she’d heard the tomahawks cleave the logs. Ross’s stunned features as he came into the cabin clearing. The moment she realized Jasper was gone. The breathless second when the Indian took the ball and fell, coming down on top of her. Clay grappling for his life in the leaf mold with another Indian. Jude’s jest about her serving mush to the savages.
She slept again. The smell of turnips and apples roused her, then more voices. Westfall’s . . . Clay’s. Someone began climbing the loft ladder. Hester. Her great-aunt lay a hand across her forehead as if checking for fever before going below again. Someone had left a piggin of water by her bed. Slowly, she swung her bare feet to the floor, leaned forward, and drank till her stomach felt overfull.
As she dressed, tying her stays and raising her arms to settle her petticoats into place, her brothers came into the cabin. Three brothers when there’d been five. They were discussing raising the toll of the ferry crossing next spring.
She came down the ladder like an old woman, one rung at a time, sore hand still tender. Zadock, Cyrus, and Lemuel stared at her. Though they were not given to emotion, their eyes were nonetheless damp. She sat woodenly at the table as Ma poured her a cup of dittany tea.
“Brought some of your belongings from home early this morn,” Zadock told her quietly. “Suspect you’ll want to pack your hand fan and such.”
Tessa smiled her thanks, feeling their sore-heartedness. Any happiness they felt about her coming marriage was overshadowed by their new grief and impending goodbyes.
In time Maddie poked her head in the doorway, her steady presence bringing a sense of normalcy to the hushed cabin. She sat down by Tessa, eyes alight. “Guess you get to go to town and see those fancy folk yourself.”
“Guess I do.” Tessa swallowed a bite of toasted bread smeared with butter and Hester’s quince preserves. “Can’t go back to the cabin.”
“I understand.” Maddie sipped her own tea. “You been through an ordeal. Might be good to get away. Just have time alone, you and Clay.” A slight chuckle. “Suppose I’ll have to start calling you Mistress Tygart.”
Tessa Swan Tygart.
Why did this, something she’d dreamed about, only leave her benumbed?
