"I'm so glad to have found you," Robin exclaimed. "Everyone was looking for you earlier, but no one seemed to know where you were." She reached out to hug Alanna, and clung to her a moment too long.
"Poor Elliott. Can you tell me how he died? I know that it was Indians, but there's got to be a great deal more to tell. I don't even know why you and he went to New York in the first place! He just rushed off without telling me goodbye."
Sarah and Robin Frederick had been Melissa's playmates. The two vivacious sisters had an elfin charm and the very same enthusiasm for life that had always made Melissa popular. Alanna had watched the three of them grow into beautiful young women, who thrived on the attention that had always embarrassed her. She knew the Frederick sisters better than she knew any of the other young women in Williamsburg, but sadly, that wasn't well at all. Robin had loved Elliott, and deserved to hear the truth, but with Melissa's memory shielded by convenient lies, it was difficult for Alanna to know where to begin.
"Do you remember Hunter, the Indian who visited Byron and Elliott last spring? You came to supper one night when he was there."
Robin's dark eyes were red-rimmed from crying, but her expression brightened slightly as she nodded. "I remember him well. He was the first, and only Indian, Sarah and I have ever met. As I recall, he was quite handsome, but very ill at ease and left before we began dancing."
"Yes, I'm glad that you remember him, because he's the reason Elliott and I went to New York." Alanna gestured toward a stone bench not too far away, and Robin walked over to it with her. Once they were seated, she refrained from mentioning the reason for their visit and simply described how Elliott had been shot from ambush. Then, giving Hunter the credit for their survival when they were again attacked, she attempted to make him sound as heroic as she truly believed him to be.
"We were able to recover Elliott's body and bring it home, but my aunt and uncle blame Hunter for his death, and have refused to have anything more to do with us."
"But that's so unfair," Robin cried. "Hunter wasn't to blame, and even if he had been, why are they angry with you?"
Even with him gone, Alanna found the next revelation the easiest to admit. "Hunter and I were married in New York, so whatever they wish to say or do, it will affect us both."
Robin gasped so sharply she began to cough, and then had to fight to catch her breath. "You've married an Indian?" she was finally able to ask in a hoarse whisper.
Alanna could understand Robin's flustered reaction, for wedding an Indian brave was a most unconventional thing to do. "Not just any Indian—Hunter."
"Well, of course, he saved your life and naturally you were grateful, but couldn't you have found a less personal way to reward him?"
Alanna tried not to laugh, but couldn't suppress her giggles. "I'm so sorry. I'm not laughing at you. It's just that even though Hunter and I love each other, I doubt I could be described as a reward."
Robin stared at her wide-eyed. "I swear I've never understood you, but you've completely baffled me now. Where are you staying, if your aunt and uncle have turned you out?"
"Hunter is on his way to scout for General Braddock, and I'm staying with Randolph O'Neil."
Rather than rise gracefully as she had been carefully taught, Robin simply lurched to her feet. "You've married an Indian, but you're living with another man?" The startled young woman began to back away. "I'm sorry, but this is really too much for me. I don't want to judge you as harshly as your family has, but I've got to go."
It was Robin's horrified expression that discouraged Alanna from defending herself. Clearly the girl thought her daft, or worse—immoral. Alanna doubted anything she said now would change her opinion for the better. With Robin gone, she rose slowly and went back to Elliott's grave. "I'll never tell Robin that you didn't love her," she whispered. "It will be our secret."
She said a prayer for him and asked for his, before pausing for a moment at the foot of Melissa's grave. She hoped her two dear cousins were together, and then turned away, heartbroken to be all alone.
* * *
Striving to impress his taciturn guest, the following afternoon Randolph had Stan hitch the team to the carriage and drive him out to the Barclay plantation. Relieved to find no other callers there, he rapped on the front door and asked to see John. He was shown into the parlor, and in a moment John Barclay joined him.
"You're not welcome here," John announced gruffly, "and even if you've come to offer your sympathy, I'll thank you to leave."
"I'm sorry you feel that way, but this isn't a condolence call, although I am sincerely sorry about Elliott's death," Randolph informed him. "I've come to fetch Alanna's belongings. She needs her clothing and personal items. I thought perhaps you'd prefer to have one of your maids pack her things. If not, I'll see to the chore myself."
"Oh you will, will you?" Not impressed by the silversmith's courtly manners, John approached him with a menacing swagger. "I fail to understand why my niece's wardrobe is any concern of yours. Isn't one husband enough for her?"
John was nearly ten years Randolph's senior, but he was taller, stronger, and in robust good health. He lived a vigorous outdoor life on his plantation, while Randolph's work required him to spend long hours indoors either working with precious metals, or managing his shop. He was trim rather than muscular, and any fight between them would be disastrously one-sided, but Randolph refused to back down.
"Your niece is a fine lady, and I'm happy to help her in any way I can." He reached into his coat pocket to extract the letter she had sent with him, and held it out. "I've a message for you from Alanna, and if you'll just have someone show me to her room, I'll pack up her things."
John snatched the envelope from Randolph's hand, tore it into half a dozen pieces, and threw it back in his face. "The only place I'll show you, sir, is out!"
He reached for Randolph, and while Randolph attempted to fend him off, John grabbed the back of his collar and, with a fierce yank, propelled him toward the front door. He flung it open and sent the silversmith tumbling head over heels down the steps.
"If you still want Alanna's things, wait here," he shouted.
Stanley jumped down from the carriage to come to his master's aid. A small man in his fifties, he was no match for John Barclay either, but he couldn't allow Randolph to lie unattended in the dust. "Come on, sir," he encouraged. "Let's be on our way."
The wind knocked out of him and his wig askew, Randolph needed Stanley's help to rise, but before he had reached the safety of his carriage, John began to hurl Alanna's clothing out her bedroom window. It rained down on the lawn in colorful heaps, and as soon as Randolph had caught his breath, he and Stanley scurried around gathering it up. John laughed at them and aimed Alanna's slippers to strike painful blows, but neither man was discouraged by his rudeness.