Twin Willows: A Novel (10 page)

“Yes, and all the more reason that those who had need to know about her wishes should already have been told.”

Henry picked up the awl and bridle again and made as if to resume his work, but the slight tremor in his hands assured Anna that her words had hit their mark. He glanced at her with mingled annoyance and concern. “We sent a letter to Uncle Ian, all black-bordered as is fittin’. If he never got it, it’s because he moved around too much for any letter to catch up with him.”

“That may be true, but you certainly knew where I was, and all you wrote me was that Aunt Agnes had died—with no details of her illness, much less any mention of her will.”

“When I first wrote, I didn’t know she’d made a will. When it was found, the news of it went to your father, as is proper since he’s your guardian until you marry. It was up to Uncle Ian to tell you about it, not us.”

I don’t believe that
, Anna thought. Aloud she said, “Legally, perhaps, but don’t you agree that I had a right to know about it? Aunt Agnes would certainly have wanted me to be informed.”

“That’s your opinion,” Henry said stiffly. “Anyway, you know now, so no harm is done.”

Know what
? Anna’s bluff had worked too well; she had convinced Henry that she had knowledge that she didn’t possess, and now she had no idea how to get him to tell her more without betraying her ignorance.

“That’s also a matter of opinion,” she said calmly. “I don’t think your mother would be at all pleased at the way you’ve handled this matter.”

“Oh, really? And just what do you think would please her?”

Anna ignored the heavy sarcasm in Henry’s voice. “Do you have a copy of Aunt Agnes’s will?”

Henry shook his head. “Nay. ’Twas filed in the county court.”

“Then it seems I’ll be making another journey to Bedford. Good day, Cousin Henry.”

Anna half expected Henry to call after her in protest, but he didn’t. She was almost certain that an important part of the document concerned her, but without first verifying it, she dared not make any comment about it to her cousins.

“I could be wrong,” Anna said aloud, but she didn’t really think so. If her suspicions were correct, Aunt Agnes had left the McKnight’s land to her—not outright, maybe, but for use as her dower.

That must be why James proposed to me
, Anna thought. Then a further possibility occurred to her: Henry and Helen might have put James up to asking her to marry him to keep the land in the Barfield family. Should Anna marry anyone else, the Barfield holding would have considerably less value. And now that Henry had a son, he’d want to make sure that his property wouldn’t have to be shared with James.

“So here you are, finally,” Helen said when Anna came in. “The stew needs stirrin’, if you’ve time to spare.”

Unable to trust herself to look directly at Helen, Anna started toward the attic stairs. “I’ll just get my apron,” she said.

Anna wasn’t sure how she’d be able to use the advantage she sensed she held, but for the moment, it was enough merely to know that she, too, had some resources.

B
EDFORD
, P
ENNSYLVANIA

The same Bedford court clerk who had first been employed by the British to record land claims in the years before the Revolution still guarded the ponderous ledger books in which all transactions were recorded.

In a clipped Yorkshire dialect virtually unchanged in the fifty years since he’d left the land of his birth, Master Heath asked Anna what she wanted.

“Here’s the date of death of my aunt, Agnes McKnight Barfield. I wish to see her Last Will and Testament, please.”

The old man squinted and held the scrap of paper at arm’s length, then nodded and turned to a high shelf on which a dozen dusty volumes rested. “Should be about ’ere,” he mumbled to himself.

He climbed on a three-legged stool and pulled down one of the books and brought it to the counter.

“The scrivener that copied these had a fair ’and,” he commented. “The lad went on West just this month past, nothin’ will do these young folk but to move on an’ take their chances in the wilderness. I tole ’im there’d be precious little copyin’ done there for a time, but he said ’e’d ’ad ’is fill o’ quills an’ parchment.”

As the clerk talked, he turned pages and squinted to see the headings. Anna tried to make out the writing, but it was upside down to her and she caught only a few of the words—Articles of Indenture—Cattle Marks—Inventory of Goods and Chattels—before he stopped at one page.

“This be what y’ seek, young miss.” The clerk swiveled the book toward Anna, and instantly she saw that it was, indeed, the Last Will and Testament of Agnes McKnight Barfield, Deceased. It had been witnessed by Judge Winton Waverly and Thomas Gray, Esquire, and bore an official-looking seal. Apparently the document had been executed some four months before her aunt’s death.

“Yes, sir, I think this is it,” Anna said. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears, and she had to apply her handkerchief to her eyes.

Dear Aunt Agnes
, she thought.
No doubt you had some notion that your days on this earth might be numbered when you did this. If only I’d known you were so ill, I’d have come back to see you. You were always so good to me—

The clerk noisily cleared his throat and Anna looked up at him. “Y’ can skip all that first part, young miss. Th’ bequests will all be on th’ next page.”

Anna turned the page and skimmed a list of items that Henry and James were to have, including separate sums of money for each. Then Anna saw her own name, and sucked in her breath as she read the words that followed it.

Anna finished reading and looked at the clerk, who had been watching her with interest. “Master Heath, who sees that the terms of a will are carried out?” she asked.

He blinked at her in surprise. “Why, th’ executor, of course. He’s t’ make sartain that the bequests in the will is all met.”

Anna looked at the end of the document and noted, as she expected, that Henry Barfield had been named as the executor. “And what if he doesn’t?”

The clerk shrugged and pulled at one ear. “Well, young miss, I’d say if that’s th’ case, y’ mought need a lawyer.”

“I think I can settle this on my own,” Anna said.

“Mebbe so, but if y’ ha’e need o’ one later, let me know.”

Anna nodded. “All right. Can I get a copy of this if I need it?”

“Aye, young miss, for a fee. But it might take some while t’ find a willin’ scrivener.”

“Never mind—I doubt if it’ll be necessary.”

The clerk winked at her as if they were conspirators. “Jus’ in case, I’ll leave the book out.”

“Thank you for your help, Master Heath. Good day, sir.”

Anna’s mind whirled as she left the clerk’s office. In the light of her cousins’ failure to carry out their mother’s wishes on her behalf, Anna knew she must act quickly and decisively. She would be their Indian captive no longer—Anna intended to fight back. And this time, she intended to win.

James was working in the barn when Anna rode back in later that afternoon. From the way he looked at her when he helped her from her horse, she was sure that he’d been sent there to find out what Anna intended to do about her inheritance.

“How was your trip?” he asked.

Anna stripped off her gloves. “Very interesting,” she said. “I can scarcely wait to tell Henry all about it.”

James removed the saddle and bridle and began to brush the horse he’d let Anna ride into town. “Tell me now,” he said.

“No—you’ll both hear this together. And Helen, too, of course. I’m sure she’s been part of every plan you and Henry made.”

James compressed his lips and looked uncomfortable. “Anna, you mustn’t think too harshly of Henry. He really took Momma’s death hard—you might say he hasn’t been himself since. And now that he and Helen have the baby—”

“I’m going to the house now,” Anna interrupted. We’ll speak no more of this until after supper.”

Helen’s face told Anna that she, too, feared what Anna might say. For a moment Anna felt pity for her, but her sympathy evaporated when she recalled that this woman would have allowed Anna’s rights to be taken away without a word of protest.

No evening had ever seemed to pass more slowly. For once, the baby went quietly to sleep before the evening meal and allowed the rest of the household to eat without interruption. The meal proceeded in silence, and finally the moment that Anna both dreaded and welcomed arrived. She rose from the table.

“I would have some words with you,” Anna said in a voice that sounded unlike her own.

Glancing uneasily at one another, James, Henry, and Helen took seats in a rough semicircle around Anna, who stood before the mantelpiece. Anna knotted her hands behind her back and forced herself to look into her cousins’ eyes as she spoke.

“I know you’ve never had much use for me,” she began quietly. “I was an intrusion in your lives and you resented me, perhaps with some cause—but that’s not important now. Your mother loved both of you with all her heart. Surely you must know there’s nothing that she wouldn’t do for you when she was on this earth. I’d hope that you loved her enough in return to want to see that her last wishes were respected.”

Henry’s face had grown increasingly red, and when Anna paused for breath, he tried to interrupt her. “Anna Willow—”

“No, Henry, let me finish.” Although her voice was steady, Anna’s nails dug into her clenched fists, and silently she sought the strength to finish what she had to say. “I know all about the McKnight property. I have no use for the land just now, but I reserve the right to claim it later under the terms of Aunt Agnes’s will. She also wanted me to have certain of her things, and those I do have immediate need of. In return for seeing that I get them, I promise to leave this house and never bother any of you again unless it is absolutely necessary.”

“We never meant for you not to have them, Anna Willow,” James said earnestly.

“Oh, really?” Skewered by Anna’s angry stare, James looked down at the floor. “And just when were you planning to tell me about them?”

“We thought you knew and were just bein’ polite because you knew we needed the things ourselves,” Henry said.

Anna felt a momentary urge to laugh and call him the liar she knew him to be, but she had no wish to prolong this painful interview. Her gesture took in the house and its furnishings. “You have much here, Henry. I don’t covet your goods, but I intend to take what Aunt Agnes meant me to have.”

Helen had been silent, but now she glared at Anna before addressing her husband. “Since she’ll be takin’ the very bed from under us, I reckon you’d best be makin’ a pallet on the floor.”

“And don’t forget that the beddin’ is hers, too,” James said.

Henry’s face was a study in frustration as he looked from Helen to Anna. “Surely you can wait a few more days, Cousin Anna. We must have time to get another bedstead, at least.”

Anna hadn’t thought of the necessity to place a time limit on receiving the goods, but now she pulled one from the air. “A week,” she said firmly. “I will have what is mine by this time next week.”

“’Tis a good thing Momma isn’t here to see this sad day,” Henry muttered.

“What did you say, Cousin Henry?”

Henry made his mouth a straight line and looked Anna in the eye. “I don’t believe Momma would approve of the way you’re ridin’ roughshod over your own kin. But if that’s the way it is to be, you’ll have the goods, and that in two or three days rather than seven.”

Anna nodded. “Very well. That is all I have to say. It’s been a long day and I intend to go to bed now. You may keep your bedstead for the present,” she added, seeing the alarm that crossed Helen’s face when she realized that Anna might have asked for it immediately.

Henry and Helen turned away without another word, but James followed Anna to the loft stairs, his eyes wary.

“What do you aim to do now, Anna?”

“You needn’t worry—I’ll not stay here and continue to make life miserable for us all.”

“You’ll go to Kentucky?” It was more a statement than a question, and Anna nodded.

“I’ve not seen Father for some time. I trust my welcome there will be a bit warmer than what I got here.”

“I suppose you’ll be wantin’ to sell the goods to pay your way?”

“Yes. I have no choice.”

“I’ll help you get a good price, then.”

Anna looked at James closely and decided that his offer was sincere. “Thank you, James. I wish it hadn’t come to this.”

James shrugged. “So do I. I’ve been thinkin’ of what you said about Momma. She’s gone, but she’d want you to be treated right. I reckon it’s the last thing I can ever do for her on this earth.”

Seeing how speaking of his mother had affected James, Anna gave his shoulder a light touch of sympathy. “Aunt Agnes would be proud of you,” she said softly.

James raised troubled eyes to Anna’s. “Oh, Anna Willow, I wish—”

But Anna cut him off. “Too much has already been said. Good night, James.”

She turned away without another word and quickly climbed the stairs to her close attic room. She went to the window and leaned out, taking a deep breath of the night air, sweet now with the distant scent of honeysuckle. Overhead, the cloudless sky revealed a magnificent display of twinkling stars. Anna turned her head to look to the east. In that direction lay Lancaster and Felicia; farther on were Philadelphia and Miss Martin; and even farther, New Jersey and Stuart Martin.

Stuart.

Amo te. I love you
. Anna whispered the words on the wind and wished he could somehow hear the silent cry of her heart.

It was true. Anna loved Stuart with an intensity that almost frightened her, a fierceness which their days apart had done nothing to diminish.

Do you feel the same way about me
? Anna murmured, but the silence of the night gave no reply.

She hugged her arms to her body and recalled the strength of his arms as he had held her, so close that they had almost been the same person. Closing her eyes, she imagined she could feel his touch in the faint breeze that caressed her eyelids and teased her parted lips. Her head fell back and she trailed her fingertips over the curve of her throat as he had done. Her hand brushed across the bodice of her dress. Her nipples stiffened, but her own touch did nothing to pleasure her breasts, which longed for the caresses his hands had once given.

Anna breathed raggedly as she relived every moment, every detail of their all-too-brief time together. She still sorrowed that he had pulled away from her in the carriage house without giving her the fullness of his love. Yet, although she could imagine him as plainly as if he stood beside her, she could not make her absent lover become flesh and blood. He did not appear by her side to take her into his arms. Until they could physically be together again, her almost palpable yearning would continue, a constant and bittersweet presence in her life.

She shivered, then once more opened her eyes to the night skies. It would still be a few months before she and Stuart Martin could again be together. For the present, the East held nothing for her. The evening star, now advanced halfway up the western horizon, marked the direction in which her life must now turn.

Somewhere to the west is Kentucky, and my father
, Anna thought. And just to the north, on the other side of the Ohio River, lay the land of her birth. Anna was determined to go to Kentucky. There, she would see her father, and this time persuade him to take her across the river. From what Anna could tell, he must now live relatively near her mother’s village. She knew she might never again have such an opportunity to go there.

By the time she had made that journey, Anna hoped that Stuart Martin would be able to join her in Kentucky. He should have no trouble finding employment there as a schoolmaster. They would marry, take full pleasure in each other’s love, and never again have to part . . .

Anna turned away from the window and sighed. Before those dreams could come true, however, she would have to get to Kentucky.

James was as good as his word, serving as go-between to see that his brother and Helen turned over to Anna the things that Agnes Barfield had willed her, then loading them on a wagon and taking them to Bedford to negotiate a good price.

Anna went into town with James, and while he found potential buyers, she visited the clerk who had let her examine Agnes Barfield’s will. He sat on a high stool with his back to the wall, apparently dozing until her footstep brought him to attention.