Numb, the tears retreated, leaving Anna’s lonely soul exposed. She stared at the fire. The few drops still in her eyes caught the light from the embers and flayed spikes of orange. No Samuel. No ring to give her hope for the future. Lord, I am lost.
“You are married then?”
Anna looked up. What harm was there in sharing this bit of truth? “I am a widow.”
He pulled back, so slight a nod from his head she hardly noticed it. “Forgive me. If I had known I should have addressed you properly.”
She shook her head. “You did no wrong, as I did not tell you.” For truly, what did formalities mean, when the hope of her future had vanished? She stroked the skin where the ring had rested for so many years. What she’d come to America to find—freedom, and the knowledge of Samuel’s death—she might never obtain. Mother had wished happiness for her. ‘Twould not be reality, but merely the dust of her dreams. Easily collected, more easily blown away.
~~~
The rain trickled now, tapping instead of striking the house as it had done for hours. William rested in the chair, the woman having taken to the loft sometime past. He glanced upward, his elbows against his knees. Though he couldn’t see her, he could imagine she slept fitfully. With only her cloak and the floor on which to rest, who wouldn’t? He’d offered for her to sleep near the fire, but not surprisingly, she’d opted for solitude in place of comfort. The fresh memory of the well of tears in her eyes, the hard pinch of her lips, made his chest ache anew. Poor woman. After such an ordeal it was remarkable she was calm as she was. Still, there was an emotion, unrecognizable but clearly painful, that lived ever-present in her eyes.
Fiddling with the handkerchief she’d returned, he sorted the evening’s events, its revelations and secrets. The soft fabric caught on his rough hands. She was a widow. Surprising in some respects, and in others not at all. She presented herself as “Miss”. He understood her need to be cautious in what she shared, but wondered at the deeper secrets that shadowed her pale blue eyes.
William looked up to the loft once again. Whoever her husband had been, she had clearly loved him. The loss of her ring had been her undoing. Instantly, the sad tone of her voice crawled through him. The way she’d spoken the words my ring, was as if the pains of her spouse’s death were still fresh.
Cold memories misted through him. He knew that pain. Knew it far too well. That unyeilding loss that opened a bottomless cavern in the heart. Yet the one he had loved, he had never wed. The one he had loved still lived, still breathed and spoke and smiled. But not with him. The cold within died, replaced by the heat of anger that needed only a spark of memory to kindle a blaze of hatred. Never again, Henry. Never again.
A whimper chirped down from the loft and he looked up. She wept. Helpless, he sat back against the chair, alternately looking up and down, wishing somehow the answer to what he might do to help would materialize and ease both their suffering. He squirmed, straining to hear if she wept again. She did not, or if she did, he could not hear.
William sighed, rubbing his thumb and forefinger against his temples. What was she doing traveling alone? Moreover, who was the man that wished to take her and for what purpose? She hadn’t said, and naturally, he hadn’t inquired. The fear in her eyes, the way her body had trembled against his as they’d hidden in the bushes, told him all he needed to know. Whoever he was, she didn’t wish to see him ever again.
A faraway rumble of thunder drummed the skies. The storm would be passed by morning. He glanced out the window, his old friend fatigue pulling against his eyelids. He wiped a hand down his face, took a deep breath and stood. Pacing the room, he kept clear of the warmth of the radiating embers, knowing the cold would keep him uncomfortable enough to stay awake through the night’s watch.
Hours passed. His head bobbed a time or two, but he kept his eyes on the horizon. The clouds drained their remaining drops and drew back like curtains on a stage, the sun bursting its rays toward heaven.
Resting his shoulder against the window frame, William marveled at the sparkling drops reflecting the brilliant light of morning. A dutiful bucket waited on the porch, full to the brim and begging William to come and partake of some of its contents. He was all too willing.
Once outside, William crouched and cupped his hands, washing the evening’s weariness from his eyes. The chilled water splashed over his face and trailed down his neck. He rubbed his eyes with another handful, even sipped some to relieve the bitter taste from the night past.
He glanced over his shoulder. She would be up soon.
She.
He stood and shook his head, trying to purge the image of her pale blue eyes from his memory, but his mind refused to release its grip. He’d seen eyes like that before, hadn’t he? That striking pale blue, so light they reminded him of sparkling crystal. Nay, no one had eyes so clear. He glanced toward the sun, squinting as it rose ever higher in the sky, forcing away the bewitching thoughts to focus instead on what mattered most. He turned and looked north. They’d best begin their journey. ’Twas possible to travel the distance in a single day, but that meant journeying several hours in darkness. And with his companion no more than a slight-framed woman who would be just as fatigued as he…
He bit his cheek and turned to look behind him again. What a puzzle she was. Her tattered clothing bore witness to the hardships she’d no doubt endured. Hardship was a faithful companion to the colonists. But she was not a colonist, or at least not one of many years. Her accent gave that away. And there were her hands, so delicate, looking soft as rose petals. Those were not the hands of a woman who’d cooked and cleaned, gardened and laundered. His sisters’ hands had been calloused and chapped, as well as Mother’s, from the endless work just to survive.
Again he glanced to the cabin, sure she would arise any moment. The knowledge they must leave without so much as a crumb to calm their hungry bellies made him wince.
A rustle in the trees broke the silence. William spun and scanned the woods like a rabbit waiting for the fox to pounce. He reached for the ready pistol at his side, his finger caressing the trigger. A doe jumped from her hiding spot and William released a rush of air. He dropped his hand to his side, his body humming as the sudden anxieties both drained and filled his limbs. If he hadn’t felt the urgency
before, he surely felt it now.
Paul would return. ’Twas not a matter of if, but when. If William had learned anything from the years serving beside Paul Stockton, ’twas that the man kept his word.
He pivoted to return inside to wake her, but the brush of something hard against the bottom of his boot pulled his attention to his feet. Jutting his head forward, he blinked to be sure he didn’t imagine the sight of the small ring and chain. He bent and picked it up, brushing away the bits of mud with his thumb. How delicate it was. How small. He studied the ring, touched by the simplicity. No stone. Not more than a simple circle of gold. The tiny inscription inside met his eyes before he could avert his gaze to honor their privacy. The loving words scrolled inside found their way to his heart and etched themselves upon it. Forget not he who loveth thee.
“Sir?”
He whirled to see the woman standing just the other side of the threshold.
“Good morning.” Instantly, he thrust out his hand. “Look what I have found.”
She gasped and cupped her mouth. Coming forward, eyes rimmed with moisture, she lifted the ring from his hand. Clutching it to her chest, her gaze met his. And there, in those sparkling depths, he saw an expanse of gratitude that coated away a portion of the anger that lived like a monster within the wounds of his heart. Perhaps a woman could feel gratitude and express it.
Breathlessly, she spoke through a smile. “Where did you find it?”