A Bride Most Begrudging (25 page)

No sooner had he spurred the remaining men on than he noticed the rain rapidly draining into the trench around the basement walls. He hurried toward it, surprised at the amount of water already accumulating. A fie upon it. Although the trench was needed to do all the exterior work on that lower level, if it filled up with water and sloughed in, the mud avalanche could collapse the bricked-in cellar and, subsequently, everything built on top of it.

Hastening back inside, he bounded down to the basement, chilled and suddenly fatigued. No water had seeped in yet, but if the rain continued with this kind of ferocity, it wouldn’t be long before it did. Standing in the middle of the cool, clammy, soon-to-be kitchen, he pinched the bridge of his nose. There was not enough time to pack full the entire trench, but he had to do something.
Help me, Lord
.

The syncopated drumming of hammers above-stairs provided a bass for the monotonous roar of rain teeming outside the narrow barred windows that lined the top of the room. Moving swiftly from one to the next, Drew put up the shutters. By the time the last was secured, he’d formulated a plan, flimsy though it was.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he nearly collided with Thomas as he reached the first floor. “Collect half the men and help me embank the dig-out and divert the flow of the storm’s runoff. Have the others continue to brace the interior.”

Barely had they begun their labors when, for a moment, he thought he heard Constance call forth. Jerking his head up, he peered through the deluge but saw nothing. The perpetual downpour had not slackened but continued with its merciless assault, punctuated by ripple after ripple of distant thunder.

He waited a moment more, then wiped his face against his shoulder and returned to his task. Pouring a load of excavated dirt from the wheelbarrow, he began to develop a dike around the trench, then paused. There it was again.

Squinting his eyes, he just made out her advancing silhouette, then jumped to his feet and jogged toward her. What the devil was she doing out in this mess? Well, by trow, whatever it was, she’d have to handle it herself, for he could not leave the house.

It took him but a moment to take in her drenched clothing and the sodden shawl weighing her down. It wasn’t until she was within reach, though, that he saw the dismay in her eyes. “What?”

“Sally,” she gasped.

He could see her struggle to breathe, pulling vast amounts of air into her lungs. Saints above, had she
run
the entire way? “What? What of Sally?”

“She’s gone.”

Gone?
Oh, dear God
. Grabbing her arm, he jerked her erect. “What do you mean, gone?”

“I mean
gone
. We were having our midday meal out-of-doors, and I must have fallen into a light slumber. When I awoke, she was gone. I assumed she went home without me, but when I arrived home, she wasn’t there. She wasn’t there, Drew! Have you seen her?”

All too quickly, the flash of alarm he’d experienced turned to anger. He shook her hard. “By my life, Constance.
Gone
means
dead
. Never say to me she’s gone. Do you hear me? Never!”

Tears filled her eyes. “Drew, you’re hurting me. Stop.”

He immediately released her, only to then catch her elbow, steadying her. Panic once again took hold as her words made their full impact. “You’re sure she’s not at the cottage? Never before has she run off.”

Constance swiped at her eyes. “I know. I know. We had a disagreement. She wanted to go to the meadow. She was tired of—”

“I’ll be right back.”

Tearing back to the trench, he quickly found Thomas. “Sally’s lost. Stay here and have the men do what they can to protect the house. Isaac, Samuel! With me!”

The flight back to the cottage with the two men following and Constance sludging along beside him was but a blur. All he could think was,
not Sally
. God wouldn’t be so cruel as to take Sally from him too.

So many little ones. His sister Margaret, only a few months old when their cottage burned during the Massacre of ’22. Drew had just turned seven, Josh was six, and Mama had left them in charge while she collected berries. Since Margaret was asleep, they decided to climb the big elm tree and carve their names into its branches with their new knives. It was from that vantage point they saw the Indians suddenly appear, invade their cottage, then set a torch to it. Flames clothed their thatched roof with a fiery cape in a matter of moments.

Josh mimed his desire to take on the Indians and save Margaret, pointing to his new knife. Drew, however, shook his head, some greater power alerting him to the folly of such an action.

The fire raged, its heat suffocating. Thick, swarthy smoke inundated them, parching their throats, stinging their eyes, and making the act of breathing near impossible. The Indians fled, and Drew wasted no time in shinnying down the tree.

The crackling and roaring of the fire blistered his ears, its scorching breath propelling him back, back, back. Josh grasped his hand and Drew turned, his utter helplessness and horror mirrored in Josh’s eyes.

Mama told him afterward they were living on land the Indians claimed and the natives had only been trying to take back what was theirs. She also said he’d saved both his and Josh’s life, which would have been lost along with the baby’s, but never did his guilt lessen. Margaret had burned to death, and she’d been under his care. He should have left Josh up in that tree and gone after Margaret alone.

His mother never blamed him, never scolded him. Still, he’d heard her cry herself to sleep more times than he could count, and he’d watched as Grandma carried much of the load for the months following the massacre.

Five years later, Nellie was born, followed by Alice. Never would he leave their side when he was placed in charge. As a result, he and Josh taught them to fish, shoot, and swim. The girls taught them to prepare a midday meal, chase butterflies, and pick wild flowers.

When Josh was eighteen and the girls were still in pigtails, they all exchanged poignant embraces before Drew boarded a ship bound for Cambridge University.

By trow, but he missed them. The newness of England and the novelty of university life never quite extinguished the dull ache his longing for home evoked. Then he met Leah.

Everything changed. The landscape came alive, the days passed more quickly, and his desire to lay the world at her feet overwhelmed him. By the time his two-year stint was completed, he’d talked her into going to Virginia to be his wife. She agreed only when he promised to give her a few months to adjust to the colony before they spoke their vows.

Upon their arrival, he discovered little Alice had died some six months earlier. He’d never received Father’s letter nor the news that he had twin siblings, Sally and Sister.

Still, he’d yet to hear the worst. The week before his ship docked in Jamestown, his beloved mother had been bitten by a snake, right there in the clearing. She’d died in a matter of days.

Leah nursed him through his grief, only to have pneumonia strip her of life three months later, a mere week before they were to wed. That left Grandma, Father, Josh, Nellie, and the twins.

Ah, the twins. So rambunctious were they, the family hadn’t been given but a moment to consider their losses. Sally babbled nonstop, while Sister followed her like a shadow, never uttering a sound. Then the inevitable occurred. He lost Father and Sister to burning fevers, and now, Grandma and Nellie to his brother-in-law.

A crack of thunder pealed through the heavens. They’d just made it to the cottage, but with no sign of Sally.

chapter
S
IXTEEN
   

SLIPPING A COILED rope over his head and shoulder, Drew perused her sodden clothes, drenched hair, and shivering body. “You’re not going.”

Constance straightened. “I am going—with or without you. So make up your mind. Do we leave separately to search for Sally or together?”

He sighed. If he let her go, she’d surely catch her death. If he didn’t, she’d most likely do precisely what she claimed, and then he’d have two lost females to find.

Whirling around, she grabbed one of his jerkins from the peg. “Enough! I am away. Do as you will.”

With that, she slipped the jerkin on and stomped out the door. He slammed his eyes shut, prayed for patience, then nodded to his men. “Let us away.”

The wind, rain, and cold blasted him, immediately causing him to withdraw into his deerskin jacket. He hesitated only a moment before following Constance. His jerkin looked ridiculous on her, riding clear down to the backs of her knees, causing her skirt to bunch and billow out at the bottom. The sleeves of the jerkin weren’t attached to it, but its heavy leather should at least keep her torso somewhat warm and dry. It was clear she was heading in the direction of the meadow.

He jogged to her, the men close behind. “Are you going this way a’purpose or are you just storming off for the sake of storming?”

She gave him no glance. “Sally wanted to make daisy chains, so I’m checking the meadow first.”

“There are no daisies this time of year!”

That earned him a glance, searing though it was.

They trekked through the dark, wet forest, tripping on roots, loose stones, and slippery rocks while the crash and reverberation of thunder brawled above their heads. The trees protected them somewhat from the downpour, but not from the lashing of wet branches writhing in fury. Try as he would, he couldn’t shield her from their vicious bombardment. There was nothing to do but forge ahead.

Somehow, he should have made her stay home. He’d just about decided to send her back anyway when they arrived. The meadow stretched before them, its dead browned blades flattened by the torrent hurtling ever downward while surrounded by trees whose tops twisted and whipped in the howling wind. He stopped and scanned the meadow, squinting against the darkness in hopes of finding a trace of Sally huddled in its barren expanse.

Constance did not stop, but waded right into its midst. Cupping her mouth, she called for Sally, the wind swallowing her cries. Her silhouette took on a desperate edge, her attempts to run to every corner of the patch thwarted by the greedy mud sucking her feet into its sticky muck.

Lightning seared the sky. He watched, his chest squeezing his lungs, as she turned 360 degrees, searching, searching, before covering her face and sinking slowly to her knees.

The oppressive rain exploded in his ears and onto his body before he even realized he was plunging toward her, desperate to pull her out of the mire. He grasped her arms, but she shrunk from him, shaking a vehement denial with her head. Falling to his knees before her, he tried again. “Come, Constance! We needs must get beneath shelter, for surely we are testing the fates to boldly sit here just daring the lightning to strike us!”

She raised her head. The desolation and despair he saw in her eyes frightened him with more intensity than he’d ever imagined.

“You were right! You were right, Drew! I never should have been educated. If I hadn’t defied convention and Father and everyone else, I’d be home now, safely married. And you would be warm and dry and content in your home. Josh wouldn’t be chasing all over a war-infested country, you wouldn’t have a wife you never wanted, and Sally—” She choked, closing her eyes, and then forced them back open. “And Sally wouldn’t be lost in this godforsaken forest. It’s all my fault and I’m … so … so … soooooorry!”

He gathered her against him, not trusting the feelings rioting through his person.
Dear God, let Sally be safe. Let this woman in my arms not be forced
to endure any misplaced guilt
.

Then, there in the midst of the storm, the cold, the blistering wind and the turbid muck sloshing against their legs, he experienced a quiet, calming, overwhelming peace. As sure as he knew that rain fell from the sky, he knew that, for now, Sally was all right.

Resting his lips against Constance’s sodden hair, he closed his eyes, knowing, yet still not quite able to believe, what else had just been revealed to him. Raising his face to the heavens, he allowed the rain to beat against him.
Surely I can’t be … in love with Constance? Can I?

No confirmation nor denial from the omnipotent tranquillity flowing through him, only a suggestion of immense satisfaction.

Drew shook his head.
But she has red hair!

The thought came to him,
And who do you think
made
that red hair?
Well, fie. There was no arguing that. Pursing his lips, Drew nodded once.
Your pardon
. A pause.
And Sally? Where is she? Where?

Nothing. No response. The sound of the rain returned, the cold seeped into his limbs once again.

He opened his eyes, not to find some parting of the heavens or the miraculous cessation of the storm, but to find something even better—Constance’s warrior friend, standing not ten feet away and gesturing to him. Drew smiled.