Dry grass crunched as the girl walked away. Dawn’s heart ached for Mary, who might have lost the only men to ever love her. A fresh wave of tears bubbled up and threatened to spill out. Dawn covered her mouth with her hand. Mrs. Abbott coaxed her from the ground and kept her wrapped in her supportive embrace as she led her to her cabin.
Once inside, she settled Dawn on the edge of the bed. Then she fetched a dishcloth, dipped it in the water in the washbasin, and wrung out the excess. Mrs. Abbott wiped the damp cloth over her face, refreshing Dawn’s spirit slightly. At last, she could take a deep, fortifying breath.
Then the news washed over her again. More than half dead. Her composure crumpled, and she planted her face in her hands.
The straw tick sank as Mrs. Abbott settled next to her and rubbed her back. “Cry what tears need to be shed, for you have taken a shock. But this is not yet the time to grieve, my dear. You do not know what tomorrow will bring. No one does except for God and the men who fought in the battle.”
Dawn sniffed and nodded as tears leaked from her eyes and down her cheeks. But no logic could stop the sobs that shook her body, and Mrs. Abbott sat faithfully by her side, holding her as she cried.
In the three years since her mother had passed, no other person had held Dawn aside from Jacob. And now, it was likely she would never feel his strong embrace again. She cried into the woman’s shoulder.
No matter how she had prepared herself and no matter the strength she had felt the day before, her spirit was shattered. Words and thoughts were wonderful until you were in the deep depths of the dark pit of despair. Then they seemed as futile as a broom in a windstorm.
Finally, after some time, her tears were spent.
Mrs. Abbott stood. She rewet the dishcloth and brought it to Dawn. “Come now, my dear. Mary will be home soon.”
Dawn sucked in a deep breath and accepted the cloth. Dawn wiped down her face and neck. While the other woman wrung out the cloth and laid it over the edge of the washbasin, Dawn stood and ran her hand and stump over her clothing, smoothing it out. Then she reached up and did the same for her hair, attempting to tuck the loose strands back into their pins.
When the door opened, Dawn even mustered up a smile as Mary ran to her. “There you are, my dear.” She wrapped her in a hug and focused on the feel of her little body in her arms.
Mary pulled back and looked at her with her wide eyes, her head tipped to the side. “What wrong?”
Dawn chuckled through the tears that misted her eyes. The child was so astute. “Nothing yet, my dear. Nothing yet.” She wrapped Mary in her arms again as Mrs. Abbott and Rebecca slipped from the room. Together, they would face whatever came tomorrow.
CHAPTER 18
That led them through the deep, as an horse in the wilderness, that they should not stumble?
ISAIAH 63:13
August 20, 1782
Jacob blinked, the edge of the Licking River and the carnage of the battle coming into view. His ears rang, and his body protested as he lifted his torso from the hard earth, but he was alive.
Thank You, God.
Edmund. The events before he blacked out came flooding back to him. He glanced around. There. Several yards away, where he had fallen from his horse and been trampled, lay Edmund’s body. Please, no.
Jacob scrambled over on hands and knees, ignoring the pain that seared through his leather-burnt hands. When he reached Edmund’s body, he flipped him over onto his back. But instead of wide, staring eyes, a pained grunt greeted him. His face split into a grin.
“You are alive!”
Edmund groaned again and nodded, his arm wrapped around his middle. “Barely,” he breathed, his voice raspy. “I think my horse tried to finish the job that arrow started.” Edmund coughed, and Jacob’s eyes widened at the sight of crimson blood on his lips.
“Come on. We need to get you back to the fort.”
“Ah, to Mrs. Brooke, our faithful nurse. She is a beautiful one.” Edmund’s eyes were closed now, but he only seemed to be focusing on breathing and not allowing the pain to take over his senses.
“Yes. And a widow.” At least the man still had his humor. “I need to find us some mounts, then we will leave.”
First, were they still in danger? He glanced up the hill, across the river. He should have thought to do so sooner, but his concern over Edmund had clouded his judgement. The enemy, as well as most of the survivors, must have retreated, for on the hillside across the waters, a handful of men worked to dig what likely would become a mass grave. Still, he would feel better once they were out of this open valley.
Jacob slowly worked himself to standing, where he wavered. His head pounded and his vision swam. Once he steadied, he looked behind them. To his amazement, there at the edge of the tree line, stood Samson. And beside him, the brown horse he had guided from the river. Jacob’s mouth fell open. The good Lord above was certainly looking after them.
As he took a step, pain shot through his left ankle. He hissed out a breath, then continued, focusing on his destination rather than the pain. His body ached as well from his impact with the ground, but his stiffness seemed to ease a mite with movement. When he reached the horses and gathered up their reins, the leather bit into his hands. But nothing would stop him from returning to Edmund’s side.
Once there, he knelt and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Edmund, are you still with me?” The man nodded, his mouth and eyes both pressed shut in agony. “I have to get you up on top of this horse.” Another slow, measured nod.
