Too Far to Whisper (24 page)

“Now why did I not think of that?” Grace immediately moved to open the heavy door.

As soon as the task had been completed, Rosalind called out a greeting to Abigail.

“Rosalind!” came the weak response. “’Tis a blessing to hear your voice again!”

For the first time since her return, Rosalind smiled.

The remainder of the afternoon passed quickly, with Rosalind and Abigail exchanging bits of conversation when one or the other was not napping. The topics were kept light, with neither woman broaching the subject of Shadow. Rosalind also was relieved that Abigail made no mention of any wedding plans. Instead, she seemed content to discuss the weather, the latest fashion trends in England, and the local gossip about the new family from Boston that had moved to town during Rosalind’s absence.

During the late afternoon hours, Nathaniel delivered Rosalind’s supper to her. Just the sight of him caused her mood, which had been slightly improved by her chat with Abigail, to once again sink.

“Grace tells me you did well with the broth today,” he said, “so I thought you might want to try something more nourishing. The sooner you build up your strength, the sooner you and my mother can sit outdoors in the sunlight again.”

He helped Rosalind to a sitting position, then placed a second pillow behind her back. Carefully, he set the tray on her lap. It held a bowl of steaming stew and a chunk of thickly buttered bread.

The smell of the stew surprisingly appealed to Rosalind. Grasping the spoon, she eagerly dug in.

Nathaniel, immaculate in a crisp white shirt, white neck cloth, gray breeches and knee-high boots, pulled a stool close to the bed and straddled it, then watched Rosalind eat. “You seem much improved since last I saw you,” he said. “Grace advised me not to disturb you today. Perhaps it was wise of her to make me stay away, even though it was torture for me.”

“Actually, ‘twas your mother who lifted my spirits,” Rosalind said. She took a bite of bread.

Nathaniel’s eyebrows arched. “Mother was up and about?”

“Nay.” She shook her head. “Grace left the door open so we could talk. Although we were unable to set eyes on each other or speak face to face, we still managed to gain comfort from each other’s voice.”

“I am pleased,” he said, his smile displaying his dimples. “I believe both of you soon shall be back to good health, now that you are in the company of each other once again. Mother was beside herself with worry while you were gone.”

Rosalind pushed the bowl of stew aside. “I fear I can eat no more.”

“You did well,” Nathaniel said, rising to remove the tray from her lap. He cleared a space on the bed table and set the tray there, then dropped back onto the stool. Leaning forward, he covered Rosalind’s left hand with his. His hazel eyes were troubled as they searched her face. “We must talk,” he said.

The seriousness of his tone made Rosalind feel uneasy. She had no desire to subject herself to one of Nathaniel’s lengthy discussions.

“It has been a long day and I am weary,” she said, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the pillows. “Can it not wait?”

“Nay,” he said, tightening his fingers over hers. “This matter needs to be settled without further delay.”

Rosalind sighed and opened her eyes. “Pray tell, then. What is so urgent?”

“I wish to know how you feel about me…about us.”

Rosalind suppressed the urge to groan out loud. She wondered how the captain would feel if she told him the truth – that she could not bear the sight of him because he had murdered the only man she had ever loved…ever would love. Although she had no intention of marrying Nathaniel, she knew she could not confess as much to him, especially while convalescing under his very roof…and while he still held the threat of evicting her family against her. She needed sufficient time to devise a plan in which to convince him to call off the wedding. It was imperative that he be the one to make that decision. That way, he would have no reason to seek revenge and make good on his threats. She knew she needed only to say that yes, Shadow had raped her, and Nathaniel would forever be out of her life, but she hoped she would not have to resort to further tarnishing Shadow’s memory by adding to his list of false crimes. She could only pray that given time, another solution would come to her.

“I know not how to answer your question, Nathaniel,” she finally said. “I feel naught but numb inside since my…ordeal.”

“I do understand,” he said, “but I was hoping that now that you have witnessed all I have done…my endless search for you and saving your life, you might feel more…fond of me.”

Rosalind came very close to laughing.
Fond of him?
She could not bear the sight of the murderer…the blackmailer.  He was no better than the ‘savages’ he was so quick to condemn, yet his air led everyone to believe he was the perfect man.

When Rosalind did not respond, Nathaniel looked into her eyes and softly added, “I just want you to know that even if the savage did…have his way with you, Rosalind…it matters not to me.  All I want is to move on from here and forget the past. What is done is done and no one can undo it. Nothing is of concern to me now other than our future together. I need you, my love, just as I feel you need me…whether you realize it or not.”

His words rendered Rosalind speechless. He no longer cared about her precious purity? Was this the same Nathaniel who had told her it was imperative that his wife be chaste? She found herself wondering if he also might have endured a head injury during her absence and it somehow had affected his character. The problem now, however, she thought dismally, was that if he truly no longer placed any importance on her virginity, she was left with no means whatsoever in which to cause him to call off the wedding.

A knock at the chamber door postponed any further discussion. Relieved, Rosalind welcomed the interruption.

Elias Corwin, looking thinner and more fatigued than when last she had seen him, entered. He reached the bed in three long strides, then took Rosalind’s hand in his, wrapping his thick fingers around her slender ones.

“My dear girl,” he said, “I am pleased beyond words to see you looking so well. Pray tell, how are you faring?”

“I am still as weak as a newborn babe,” she said, offering him a slight smile. “But I do believe I shall be fine.” 
In body, but never in spirit.

Elias dropped her hand and smiled, but his eyes looked troubled. Rosalind sensed that he was trying to gather the courage to ask her something. Her assumption proved to be correct.

“Mistress Chandler,” he began somewhat uneasily, “I regret that I must broach a most unpleasant subject…but I must take your deposition.”

“Deposition?”

“Aye,” he responded, absently scratching the back of his neck. “Although it is common knowledge that the Indian was a ruthless murderer who deserved to die, the fact remains that Nathaniel is the one who shot him. For the court’s – and my – peace of mind, you must state in writing that your very life was in danger and you would not be alive if Nathaniel had not intervened when he did.”

The small amount of stew she had managed to eat began to rise in her throat. “I remember naught,” she whispered. “I swooned ere Nathaniel came upon us.”

“It matters not,” Elias said. “I am certain that a thorough description of the Indian’s actions from the time he took you hostage until the day he died will be more than sufficient to convince the court he was a bloodthirsty killer who had to be stopped.”

Rosalind could concentrate on naught but the disturbing thought of Shadow lying lifeless on the ground.  “What happened to the bodies?” she asked, purposely avoiding Elias’s expectant gaze.

“I left the savage and your guide where they lay,” Nathaniel said. “My immediate concern was to get you home. I carried you, which slowed me. The journey took just over two days.”

Rosalind was stunned to learn she had been unconscious for so long…and concerned that her care had solely been left to Nathaniel during that time.

“Nathaniel should have taken you to Portsmouth to seek help for you,” Elias said, frowning. “’Twas much closer than Eastwell.”

Nathaniel turned toward his father. “I wanted her to be in a place where she could heal undisturbed. Had I brought her to Portsmouth, she then still would have had to make the long journey back here afterwards, which would not have aided in her recovery.”

“So Roger’s and Shadow’s bodies still lie in the woods where they died?” Rosalind asked, impatient for an answer.

“Nay,” Elias said. “I dispatched several men on horseback to the area. They saw to it that Mr. Beckford was returned to his kin, and that the savage’s body was handed over to Mr. Stoddard to be returned to his people. Nathaniel had informed me that Stoddard was friends with the savages, so I figured ‘twas safer for him to venture into their territory than to risk the lives of my own men.”

Nathaniel frowned. “Although I strongly felt the Indian should be left as food for the wolves, my father warned me that if he was not properly laid to rest in the Indian way, his spirit would be forced to wander the earth…and the savage would haunt me.”

Rosalind was surprised to learn that Elias and Nathaniel were so superstitious in nature. She, however, was pleased that they were. At least Shadow had not been left lying in the woods…and he finally would be back with his people, where she felt he rightfully belonged.

The thought of never being able to see Shadow again suddenly was too overwhelming for Rosalind to bear. The familiar knot in her stomach returned and she quickly realized, with a good deal of embarrassment, that her supper was not going to stay down. She frantically grasped for the bowl of stew Nathaniel had set on the bed table and retched into it.

Nathaniel rushed to hold the bowl beneath Rosalind’s chin just as she retched again. “See what your talk of murder and corpses has accomplished?” he snapped at his father. “I warned you she was not yet strong enough to be subjected to your interrogation! Please, take your leave now.”

Elias hesitated, gazing with concern at the pale child who, having emptied her stomach, collapsed back against her pillows, closed her eyes and moaned.

“
Now!”
Nathaniel glared at his father.

Still hesitating, Elias finally turned on his heel and, muttering an apology, strode out the door.

“I am so sorry,” Nathaniel whispered, setting the bowl on the floor. He wet a cloth and wiped Rosalind’s face and lips with it. Smoothing her hair from her forehead, he asked, “Feeling a bit better?”

She nodded, not opening her eyes.

“My father can be very inconsiderate at times,” Nathaniel said. “He oft allows his duties as magistrate to take priority over all else, including compassion for the victim.”

“I shall be all right,” Rosalind said, finally meeting his concerned gaze. “The only thing I crave is a good night’s rest. It has been a long and trying day.”

“Then I shall delay your sleep no longer,” Nathaniel obliged. He leaned to kiss her forehead. “Sweet dreams, my love, until the morrow.”

The moment the door closed behind him, Rosalind pulled the quilt over her head and sobbed.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Grace tiptoed into Rosalind’s chamber the next morn and quietly set about her duties, careful not to wake the sleeping girl. The housekeeper placed a clean pitcher of water, a fresh basin and a tray of biscuits and dried fruits on the bed table, then flitted about the chamber, giving it a light dusting. Before departing, she opened the door to Abigail’s chamber, thinking that when Rosalind awoke she might appreciate the opportunity to share some conversation with Abigail again, as she had the day before. Both women had so enjoyed and benefited from their chat, Grace felt certain no physician’s medicine could possess as much healing power.

It was late morning when Rosalind awoke. Despite a fairly sound night’s sleep brought on by exhaustion, she did not feel rested. Sitting up, she reached for one of the biscuits Grace had set out, and nibbled absently on it. She then drank half a mug of water. Although the morning sun warmed her chamber, a cold, numb feeling still held her in its grasp.

“Enter, Grace,” Rosalind called out in response to the light rapping on her door.

“’Tis not Grace,” a familiar voice responded. “May I still enter?”

“Ben!” Rosalind cried, just as he opened the door and peeked inside. With tears in her eyes, she extended her arms toward her brother.

He rushed to embrace her. “Dear sister, I have been beside myself with worry! You cannot imagine how much I have missed you!”

“Not nearly as much as I have missed you!” she answered, fiercely clinging to him.

Ben gently extricated himself from her grasp and studied her face. “So, pray tell, how are you feeling?”

“Weak, but mending,” she said, sighing. She paused to allow her gaze to sweep over him. “How is Mother? And Nellie and Elizabeth?”

“They are fine…now. The news of your return came as a great relief to us…to the entire town. We wanted to rush over to be by your side the moment you were returned, but the Corwins advised against it, saying you were too ill. Today, I finally was sent word I would be allowed to visit. I hastened right over.”

“I am so pleased you did.  I cannot even begin to describe how much so.”

“We were so worried about you, especially considering the grim circumstances surrounding your disappearance. And truth be known, despite our strong belief in the power of prayer, there were times when we nearly gave up hope.”

“I am so sorry I caused you such needless worry.” Rosalind’s eyes met her brother’s and pleaded for forgiveness. “But truth be told, I never was in any danger.”

Ben looked confused. “No danger? You were taken hostage at knifepoint by a murderer!”

Rosalind leaned back against her pillow and sighed. “Ben, get comfortable.” She waved a hand in the direction of the stool at her bedside. “If I do not tell someone what really happened, I am likely to go mad.”

Ben dropped onto the stool, his blue eyes never leaving his sister’s.

“Promise me,” Rosalind said, “that what I am about to tell you shall never go beyond this chamber.”

“You have my word on our father’s grave,” he answered without hesitation.

Rosalind lowered her eyes and fiddled nervously with the edge of her quilt. “Shadow did not murder Jonathan…
I
did.”

Ben stared at her, his eyes wide.

“I killed Jonathan,” she repeated. “By no means intentionally, but it was by my hand that he died.” She took a deep breath. “He was sotted and tried to force himself upon me, so I struck him. When he fell, he hit his head on a rock.”

Ben winced. “Then his death truly was an accident?”

She nodded.

“I-I do not understand, Rosalind. Why have you told no one of this?”

“When I realized Jonathan was dead, I panicked, knowing not what to do or where to turn. ‘Twas the Indian, Shadow, who came to my aid. He convinced me to return to my chamber and assured me ‘twould be best if everyone believed Jonathan died from a drunken fall. That way, there would be no scandal to deal with…or so he thought.” She shook her head. “Unfortunately, Matthew spied Shadow near the body and leapt to the wrong conclusion. He and Elias beat him, then bound him and tossed him into the stables. They planned to bring him to the gaol the next morn and then see him hang for murder.”

“But the Indian escaped,” Ben said.

Rosalind closed her eyes. “Aye, but not until
I
freed him.” When she heard Ben’s sharp intake of breath, her eyes flew open. “I could not allow him to die, Ben!”

“And the savage showed his gratitude by taking you hostage at knifepoint?” Ben snapped.

“Nay.” Rosalind felt her cheeks grow hot. “I went with him of my own free will.”

Her brother stared incredulously at her.

“Someone was approaching,” she quickly explained. “Had I not run off with Shadow, my presence in the stables in the middle of the night would have confirmed I had helped him escape.”

Ben silently studied her as he struggled to digest all that she had told him. It seemed like hours to her before he finally spoke. “So, by running off with the Indian, you were made to appear the victim rather than the accomplice,” he concluded.

“Exactly,” Rosalind answered. “Shadow and I journeyed to Portsmouth together, where we stayed with a friend of his.” Her gaze locked with her brother’s. “During my time with Shadow, I…I came to…love him.”

Ben looked as though someone had just struck him in the stomach. “Dear Lord,” he whispered.

“Shadow confessed that he loved me, too,” she hastily added. “I was
so
happy, Ben. Shadow and I even made plans to build a new life together.”

Ben groaned and shook his head. “I do not believe what I am hearing! A
savage,
Rosalind? You fell for a savage?”

When his sister offered no response, Ben sighed and asked, “So, pray tell, why did you not stay with this beloved Indian of yours?”

“Shadow and I had a disagreement,” she said, swallowing the lump of guilt that rose in her throat as she was forced to recall the night she forever would regret. “I was so angry, I left him.”

“Oh?” Ben’s brows rose. “And what did he do to incite such anger and destroy this great love of which you speak?” A fleeting look of panic crossed his face. “He did not try to force himself upon you, did he?”

Rosalind laughed bitterly. “Not nearly as much as I would have liked him to.”

Her brother’s mouth fell open.

“Yes, Ben,” she said evenly. “I
wanted
him…more than I ever imagined possible.”

“Lord in Heaven!” Ben clearly was appalled. He rose to his feet and turned to face the wall. “Tell me I am not hearing this! Have you cast aside your morals, your beliefs?” He flung his arms into the air, as if surrendering, and turned back toward her. “How could you so easily have allowed that heathen to drag you down to his level?”

“That
heathen
had the good sense to refuse me!” she shot back. “Though Lord knows, I would have allowed him anything he wished, my love for him was so strong! And I already believed I was impure and thought I had nothing to lose.” She slowly shook her head. “How could I possibly have known how very wrong I was?”

Ben, his eyes not leaving her face, plunked back down on the stool.

“The Indian,” she explained, “the one who rescued me in the blizzard six years ago…’twas Shadow.” Paying no mind to Ben’s look of astonishment, she added, “It appears I have spent all these years worrying for naught. Shadow assured me that he never violated me in any way…that my ‘rape’ had occurred only in my childish imaginings.”

Ben’s eyes looked heavenward, as if he were praying for strength. “I am finding all of this most difficult to believe,” he said.

“I swear on all that is holy that I speak the truth.”

“But the savage…I was informed that Nathaniel…”

“Killed him?” Rosalind’s eyes instantly filled with tears. “Aye, ‘tis true.  I loathe Nathaniel for what he has done. I cannot bear the sight of him.”

“But the word in town is that Nathaniel is a hero because he saved you from within seconds of dying by the savage’s hand.  If that is not the truth, how did you come to be injured?”

“My guide, Mr. Beckford, died – his heart gave out during our journey. I attempted to find my way back to Adam’s on my own, but succeeded only in walking in circles. When I came upon Mr. Beckford’s body again, I swooned and hit my head. There was no savage involved. Nathaniel is no hero.”

Ben’s expression softened slightly. “Then how can you still bear to be under the same roof with the man? Surely, you cannot still mean to wed him after all that has occurred?”

“No…never.” She shook her head emphatically. “But there still is Mother’s and our sisters’ futures to consider.”

“And mine,” Ben reminded her, frowning. He looked thoughtful for a moment. “But how do you intend to get out of this marriage?”

“I shall think of something…I must. Meanwhile, I shall use my injury to delay any wedding plans for as long as possible. Nathaniel is by no means a patient man. Perhaps, given time, he might even give up on me and go searching for another bride…one who is more fit.”

“We could not be that fortunate,” Ben muttered. “The man seems obsessed with you. Did he not risk his life to search for you?”

“Aye, and then he wanted to be rewarded for finding me.” She closed her eyes, to shut out the memory of her reunion with the captain at Adam Stoddard’s. “In all honesty, at present, I cannot even think beyond today.” The tears she had been struggling to hold back spilled from her eyes. “When Shadow died, Ben, I died with him. My wounds, though not visible, were just as mortal as his.”

Ben moved to sit on the edge of the bed, then wrapped his sister in a comforting embrace. “My dear, dear sister,” he whispered, “you do seem to have a knack for getting yourself into trouble. Nevertheless, I have every faith you will make it through this nightmare –
if
you remain strong.”

Ben’s words forced Rosalind to recall the night Shadow also had told her to be strong…the night he had left to board the ship.

“I shall try,” she promised, pressing her cheek against Ben’s chest. “But tell me, brother, when will this pain within me ease? ‘Tis a thousand times worse than any injury or illness ever could cause.”

“In time, it will lessen.” He stroked her hair. “In time, little sister.”

In the adjoining chamber, Abigail Corwin pressed the back of her hand to her mouth.

She had heard every word.

* * * * *

For a long while, Abigail lay silent and unmoving in her bed, her head reeling as she recounted every detail of the conversation she had overheard. Her emotions ranged from anger over Rosalind’s deception, which had endangered the welfare of Abigail’s sons and husband, to sympathy over the girl’s plight. It was indeed a pity that Shadow, an innocent man, had lost his life, Abigail lamented, especially at the hand of her own son, but there was nothing anyone could now say or do to reverse the tragedy. The future was all that mattered, and Abigail was even more determined than ever to see Rosalind and Nathaniel wed. The two youngsters needed each other, she reasoned. Rosalind was in need of a strong shoulder to lean on, and Nathaniel…well, Nathaniel needed a woman like Rosalind to tame his wild ways and transform him into a respectable family man. Ben’s advice to his sister had been correct. Time would lessen her pain. And when it did, Rosalind would come to realize that a life with Nathaniel was preferable to one filled with naught but empty nights and barren years. Abigail already considered Rosalind to be her daughter, and she was determined not to lose the girl again. It had been her good fortune to overhear Rosalind’s plans, for now she would see to it that those plans were thwarted at every turn.

Ben had taken his leave more than two hours previously, and the silence from within Rosalind’s chamber led Abigail to suspect the girl had fallen asleep. With great effort, she slid her frail body to the edge of her bed and then struggled to her feet. Carefully placing one foot in front of the other, she inched her way toward the door that connected her chamber with Rosalind’s. She was breathless and lightheaded by the time she reached her destination. Silently, she eased the door closed.

“There!” Abigail breathed in relief, closing her eyes and sagging against the door’s cool wood for support. “Now Rosalind shall never suspect I know the truth.”

* * * * *

After Rosalind had supped on soup and bread that evening and was lying in her bed, Elias, accompanied by Nathaniel, visited her in her chamber. With quill and parchment in hand, the magistrate settled himself on a chair facing the bed and informed her in a tone that invited no argument, “I have come to take your deposition.”

Rosalind cast a pleading glance at Nathaniel, who stood leaning against the wall, his arms folded, his expression revealing nothing.

“I shall sit here until morning, if necessary,” Elias said. “The sooner you tell me all I require, the sooner I shall leave you to your rest.” His tiny gray eyes displayed not even a flicker of compassion.

Inhaling deeply, Rosalind clenched her hands into fists and prayed for strength. The moment she had been dreading – the moment when she would be forced to perjure herself – had arrived, and she saw no immediate means in which to avoid it.  She knew that if she wished to protect her family’s reputation and spare them from being the victims of Nathaniel’s wrath, she must desecrate Shadow’s memory and paint him as the savage everyone believed him to be. But, she frantically wondered, did she have the ability to do so?  Every word she was about to say would be put down in writing, witnessed and filed with the courts, so she knew she had to speak carefully and convincingly.