Authors: Juliet Waldron
Angelica unfolded the packet and discovered a lovely swatch of printed calico, a beautiful pink rose surrounded by tendrils of grape ivy. It was beautiful.
“Oh, Jenneke, thank you!” she said with feeling. “Are you sure
you don’t need it?”
As the girl shook her head dumbly, Angelica impulsively hugged her and was rewarded by a scarlet blush. “There is certainly a place for something as grand as this. After all, whenever I look at it, I’ll remember how kind and generous your family has been to us poor strangers. And I will most certainly remember you. It will be our bond.”
Jenneke smiled and nervously smoothed the wrinkles in her skirt. “Do you really like it, Mrs. Church? My—my Mama always said— about quilts, you know—that it’s the sharing that brings folks together, no matter how far they travel, or how many years pass.”
“Your Mama sounds like a wise Mama, and a good one,” Angelica replied. Tears, which lately sprang so easily, gathered in her eyes.
“Mama said it’s mostly what women can do for one another,” Jenneke continued breathlessly. “Outside of birthing babies, I guess. Children grow away, she said. Quilts outlast all. And so, I thought that wherever you go, you’ll always have a piece to remind you of us. Of— of me.”
Angelica took Jenneke’s hands into hers. “What a dear you are,” she whispered, gazing into the girl’s honest green eyes. “You just go on as you are, Mrs. Jenneke van Driessen. Soon this family will have to love you for who and what you really are.”
A smile tugged at the corners of Jenneke’s lips. She looked down at Angelica’s hands, clasped upon hers. “Think of the stories we can tell our children, Mrs. Church,” she murmured. “They’ll think we were very brave and adventurous, won’t they?”
“And they’ll be right. We’re the bravest people we know—and that’s a fact!”
A little later, they sat at a table by a window, sewing together. Angelica had secured her new friend an hour of freedom from the daily chores by asking her hostess if she could have her company.
Her head still ached, but to have the needle in her fingers and fabric beneath her hands was such a relief. Jenneke worked diligently at the fine appliqué stitches of the Broderie Perse with the material trapped, a section at a time, within an embroidery hoop. Angelica worked at piecing her stars.
The room, with its spotless black-and-white tile floor, its mantel decorated with fine china, and all the plain dark furniture, was a comfortable mirror of her Uncle Jacob’s house. At first, she felt warm and completely content, but after little more than an hour of this placid, familiar activity, an ache returned.
This room is like—but, it is not—home! And oh! How I long to be there!
***
Deep in the night, there was a noisy skittering. Jack’s accompanying leap out of the bed summoned her roughly from sleep.
Then Angelica was falling. A high, hysterical squealing and a jolting crash came at the same instant.
From her new position on the floor, past the strong bare legs of her husband, Angelica saw a pair of cats streak past.
Gray blobs streamed from the corn meal basket. In wild haste, several frightened mice raced straight across the blanket covering her legs. Finally, a thump in the darkened hall and a loud, terrible squeak announced that one of the furry intruders had met his end.
“Are you all right?” Jack asked, reaching for her hand.
“I think so,” she replied, accepting his help in getting out of the fallen bed. Apparently, the rickety wooden frame had come unpegged. Under the strain of Jack’s leap, it had given way, dumping Angelica, the slats and the mattress, onto the floor.
“Let’s just lay the mattress out here,” he said, after a survey of the situation.
“But the mice...” she objected, peering suspiciously at the baskets.
“They’ll run over us, I suppose, but maybe the cats—” He gestured at a curious calico still sniffing the basket with interest. “—will make them mind their manners.”
“What happened?” Their discussion was interrupted by a groggy shout from down the hall.
“The bed fell!” Jack shouted back.
Giggles and shushing came from the neighboring rooms. Apparently, their mishap had awakened the household.
“So—now we understand the joke about Gerrit’s bed,” said Angelica.
“So it seems.”
“I hope it wasn’t where they spent their wedding night,” Angelica added.
“More likely,” her husband responded with a grin, “it was the tattle-tale which hastened them to the altar.”
“Jack Carter!” Angelica scolded. At the same time she recognized that, considering the youth of the bride, the size of her belly, and the attitude of the mother-in-law, his assumption was probably correct.
The fine beeswax candle cast a vacillating light as they dragged
their mattress into the middle of the room. Then, again, they lay down again.
Angelica adjusted herself again and again. She couldn’t seem to fall asleep. The mattress suddenly seemed lumpy. Legs, hips, back— something was either uncomfortably cramped or uncomfortably stretched.
After a time, courting sleep seemed hopeless. Jack didn’t complain, although she was certain her inability to lie quietly bothered him. The fact was he seemed restless, too.
“Blow out the candle,” Angelica finally suggested. “Maybe it’s the light.”
Obligingly, Jack got up, but instead of doing that, he closed the door.
“Jack—um—the mice...” She began to protest, for she’d caught his drift immediately. The look on his face as he returned—all desire and mischief—was sufficient.
“Shh,” he whispered, getting down and pulling away the covers. “I shouldn’t let you,” she breathed. He rolled her onto her back, his muscular body coming to unceremoniously cover hers.
“Why not, sweet little wife?”
“Because you’re a wicked liar. Because you’re my enemy. Because you’ve tricked me and mocked me and told stories about everything.”
He didn’t answer. With one firm tug he lifted her shift, bringing it so high that not only was her flat belly bared but one breast as well.
“Jack!” she said with a gasp, hoping no one would hear their struggles. “Stop! You—you can’t really love me!”
“Oh, can’t I?” he whispered. “We’ll just see about that.”
A soft-handed tussle began as she tried to stop him, but he kept on, pressing hot, sweet kisses upon her. His lips grazed her throat, seized and suckled the aching tenderness of a breast. There was an overwhelming feel of hard muscle and taut flesh.
Oh, ‘Bram had been a beautiful young buck, but this is the king of the forest, broad of chest and powerful of limb!
She could feel the melting begin, the growing blush of her flesh beneath his hands. Her body was flowing, hot as metal in a blacksmith’s fire.
“This will put us to sleep,” he whispered, breath warm against her ear. He kissed her sweet and deep, as his muscular body moved to take possession.
***
Angelica plunged her
fair hands into the basin and splashed cold water on her face.
In the light of day it seemed incredible to her—the thing she’d done in the night, the eager participation of which she was guilty.
At the kitchen table, she ate their host’s bread and cheese, and drank the last of the sassafras tea, trying not to meet anyone’s eyes. She thought she would die if she caught so much as a flicker of a knowing look.
It was another beautiful day. After helping with the dishes, she joined Jenneke beneath the ancient maple that shaded one side of the house.
As she settled into a chair, the day, all breeze and sun, felt wonderful. Jenneke had apparently finished the last of the peas, and a bowl full of dimpled green globes sat by her feet.
Now she had taken up mending. Her agile fingers were already at work, neatly fixing a long run in a baggy man’s stocking. An overflowing basket of clothing in need of repair sat beside Jenneke.
Out of Angelica’s pocket came her own, treasured needle, and soon she was helping with the van Driessen mending as well.
It was soothing, sitting, sewing, and listening to the children chatter. So far, to them, this war was like a family gathering, an endless picnic, with all the cousins sharing meals, beds, chores and fun.
“That bed is a danger,” Jenneke suddenly said. Her round, fair cheeks flushed.
As she did so, Angelica, who had colored, too, became certain Gerrit had got his wife exactly as Jack guessed.
“I wonder at my mother-in-law insisting you sleep upon it.”
“
Well, it did surprise us,” Angelica replied. “Mr. Church jumped up when the cats began to chase mice and it just came tumbling down. After our troubles,” she added, “he’s primed for danger.”
There was a moment’s silence. Then, Jenneke asked a question she had probably been dying to ask. “Um, Mrs. Church, I hope you don’t think me bold, but—but had you ever met Mr. Church before your wedding?”
“Only a week before, Mrs. van Driessen,” Angelica replied. It is astonishing how this tale spinning works, she thought. Somehow, in spite of the rest of the lies, this part is nothing less than the truth.
She paused, amazed at herself. Tall tales—and—what I keep doing with handsome Jack Church!
“Goodness me!” exclaimed Jenneke, her green eyes widening. “They said Gerrit and me was sudden, but...”
“Of course,” Angelica went on primly, suddenly discovering a perverse enjoyment in the pretend, “I had no choice in the matter. My marriage was arranged.”
Jenneke flushed darkly. “What has Mrs. van Driessen been sayin’ about me?” she cried, gripping the socks she had been mending as if she wanted to strangle them.
“Not a word of ill,” Angelica replied.
Finally, Jenneke muttered, “My mother-in-law and I don’t get along too well. I guess that’s plain to see.”
“She’s got you working pretty hard, that’s for certain,” Angelica replied. She’d been surprised to see the girl, as far gone as she was, bent over the wash tub beside the servants.
“I was indentured here, Mrs. Church,” Jenneke replied. Her fair face shone red as she waved a water-roughened hand. “I was just a servant, but my Gerrit is a good, dear man. Yes, he is! Quite the kindest, sweetest man in this whole country.”
All exactly as Jack had suggested. The discovery brought Angelica a smile. “I think you’ve only done what’s natural, Mrs. van Driessen,” Angelica said, patting her companion’s hand. “I congratulate you. Your mother-in-law will surely sweeten after the baby comes.”
It was easy to be kind. Gerrit and Jenneke, so young, with their round, fair Dutch faces and their impetuous love, were a distant echo of herself and ‘Bram.
“And you’ve had good luck too, haven’t you, Mrs. Church?” Jenneke smiled now, her upset borne away on the cool breeze. “To get such a handsome, brave husband, and to escape unharmed from those wicked brigands.”
“I’ve had quite an adventure,” Angelica replied.
Yes, I am lucky. But, oh, this Jack Church! He is a comet shooting across my sky—unexpected, rare.
And, just like a comet, she mused, heaven knows what fortune he will bring.
“Oh, but I can’t imagine marrying someone I’d never met.”
“We met in New York City and some days later, we were married.”
“You must have been nervous.”
“My aunt in England assured my father that her son was an honest, upstanding gentleman,” Angelica said, slipping with shameful ease back into the part she’d assumed. “And, so, it seems, he is,” she added, though she didn’t know whether she entirely believed it herself.
“When this war is done,” Jenneke said, “Gerrit and I plan to go
west. No one will care I was an indentured girl out there.”
“How else can it end but happily, when you have a man who loves you by your side?” Angelica asked. She squeezed Jenneke’s little hand and her own heart warmed with the rush of sympathy flowing between them.
The ladies sewed on. Angelica sat straight, feeling the wind sweep at a lock of gold, which had slipped from beneath her cap. Her fingers went on working automatically, but her thoughts drifted.
Soon, I will be home. I wonder if Mrs. De Keys was able to get Uncle Jacob’s peas shelled and all the rest of the spring garden chores done without my help?
There was Jack, coming around the house. She decided it was no use ever putting him into any kind of poor man’s disguise.
Even in Dutch farmer’s clothes, he was obviously a gentleman— and a soldier. His every movement shouted of purpose and pride.
As soon as she’d caught sight of Jack, Jenneke got up.
“You don’t have to go,” Angelica said.
“Never mind, ma’am. They’ll be calling for me in a minute,” the girl replied. “It’s near dinner time.”
She clambered to her feet. Lifting her plain homespun skirts, her great belly like a swollen sail, she walked slowly toward the kitchen. Jack, seeing her, first tipped his hat then changed directions in order to open the kitchen door for her. Even at a distance, Angelica could see the blush his politeness raised.