Authors: Janet Cooper
He walked around to face her
. "Thou art not being truthful. Thou knowst we must not lie. Pray, tell me." He lifted her chin with his fingers.
This time she allowed the intimacy, for she felt alone, so alone
. She desperately needed a caring word or gesture.
"Thou has not been thyself for many days," Benjamin murmured
. "Has the melancholia returned?"
At his sympathetic tone and gentl
e expression, Sarah's composure, what little she had left, almost fled. She did not want to dissolve into tears, for surely, he would consider her a candidate for the local equivalent of Bedlam. She had no desire to be placed in a mental hospital that would be little more than a medieval dungeon. Gritting her teeth, she pulled on her internal resources and recovered, if only for the moment.
Steel-gray eyes focused on her, but not unkindly
. His pale face, tinted pink from the past few days in the sun helping Daniel and her outside, showed his concern. She sensed his love and, although she had known him only a short time, she respected him and admired his moral courage. Sarah had seen Benjamin's resolve in forcing Wolf to accept the supplies Long Meadow so urgently needed. His tolerance, though he did not approve of the Lenape's funeral ceremony, showed respect for other cultures. Still, she hesitated to tell him about her dilemma. To explain she had come from the future would test even his acceptance of others. Besides, how could he understand or help if she could not?
"No," she said with a sigh
. "Melancholia is not my problem."
"What is?"
Instead of answering, she asked, "What was I like before?"
"Gentle, patient, and meek," he responded, as if understanding exactly what she meant by 'before'
.
"Did I get angry? Did I challenge my life?"
He shook his head. "Nay, thou accepted what came."
"Well, I no longer can
."
Benjamin waited
.
That Quaker training
, she thought with a twinge of anger at his calm acknowledgment of her words. "I want to control my life, not react to it."
"Mayhap, a change of scenery, a different location, new people might help
. Doeth thou wish to leave and visit thy aunt in Philadelphia?"
His suggestion about going to Philadelphia stopped her
. Was this part of the 'plan' some spirit had designed for her? In her own century, she had hoped often for a chance to see the city in its infancy. She reminded herself that was probably how she had gotten here in the first place by wishing. The idea of leaving the gateway to her own century and her passageway home, even if she no longer completely believed in her ability to return, scared her. Her honest nature pressed forward another reason. She did not wish to depart from the only place she had an opportunity to see her dark-haired hero. She could not leave the tavern.
"There thou might find a young man that suits thy needs for a husband," Benjamin said, elaborating on his plans, totally unaware of her thoughts or decision
.
Even if she had to stay, developing a relationship with any European
-style man from this century, whose idea of freedom and emancipation for women was limited to possibly allowing her to select the color of the frock she wore, interested Sarah not at all.
The image of Silver Wolf as he spoke to Bowl Woman flashed through her mind
. He and his people appeared to appreciate and value females, or was what she had observed only what she wanted to see? Needing an excuse, she asked, "Since we are not accepted at meeting, won't my visit cause my aunt a problem?"
"No
. The Society will not hold my transgressions against my sister. And she understands that I fell in love and married thy mother." His face softened as he spoke.
"Why didn't thou confess thy mistake in front of the Society? They would have taken thee back and allowed Mother to join
." She realized her questions might get her into trouble, but her curiosity forced her.
His face looked puzzled
. Then after a brief hesitation, he said, "Her uncle, an Anglican priest, had wed us. She would not shame him by denying that he had the right to join us in marriage. Yet, to be admitted into the Society she would have had to. Surely I have told thee this story often.”
"Yes, but since we were talking about my going to see my aunt, I wanted to be sure that if I decide to go my presence would not cause her a problem
." Sarah hoped that excuse would cover his questioning look.
"Then thou will go?" Benjamin asked
.
"Of course not
. Who would cook?" she joked. For the first time, she voluntarily touched him. His forearm seemed strangely familiar beneath her hand, as if she had done this many times before.
He covered her fingers with his rough, callous palm
. "I could ask Mistress Westcoat. Since her husband and her boy have joined Washington, she has very few resources. With winter coming on, she might appreciate the opportunity to earn a little money."
"Her men folk probably receive better food in the army than what she cooks at home," she retorted, then wondered if her comment was true
.
Her father laughed
. "An unkind, but a true statement."
How had she known that?
To have her assessment of the woman's cooking confirmed by Benjamin increased her concern. Were the old Sarah and the new Sarah somehow becoming one? She recalled her first night and how instinctively she had reached for the vinegar to wash the tables. Other incidents flooded her brain. If she remained, would she lose all of her future self and become the meek, obedient woman Benjamin had described? The notion startled and worried her.
"Thou has not lost thy wit," he chided, but very gently
.
Needing to shake off the uneasiness about losing her own identity, she forced a quip
. "I should not want us to lose all our customers because of Mistress Westcoat's cooking." She smiled with her lips, hoping her eyes would not give her away. "So, I shall sacrifice and stay with you."
Benjamin frowned, but his eyes twinkled
.
"Oops--thee
." She covered her mouth with her hand embarrassed at having again slipped.
His broad grin warmed her
. "Thou reminds me of thy mother. She tried so hard to use thee and thy and when she forgot, she covered her mouth just as thou did."
Hearing his words,
Sarah knew that she cared for him.
"We best return and find out if our guests would like eggs with their ham,"
Sarah said. Locking arms, they strolled back to the inn.
The rest of the morning and early
afternoon, Sarah spent baking, a chore she had always enjoyed and one that soothed her. While her hands were busy, she plotted to find a way to see Silver Wolf again. She thought of several possibilities, but rejected each.
As she placed the last of her pumpkin pies in the beehive oven, she heard shouting in the yard
. Wiping the flour from her hands onto her apron, she went to the door, curious as to the cause of the noise. Before she pulled up the latch, the door sprang open. A burly man, whose red face nearly matched the British redcoat he wore, barged inside.
She stepped back as he ogled her openly
.
Her stomach revolted at the indisputable desire showing on his face as he missed not a detail of her body
. Shivers of icy dread raced up her spine, keeping pace with his shifting eyes.
An ugly scar on his right cheek added another shade of crimson to his paunchy face, increasing his sinister appearance
. "Well, well. What have we here?"
Fear rushed through
Sarah. She stared at the soldier. His burly shape blocked the light and the doorway. She thought of Silver Wolf's plantation. Was this man part of that destruction and murder? Was he one of the raiders who had robbed the Miller's farm? She edged away from him, trying not to show her fear as she sought to regain her composure. The incidents might have no relationship to this man, she reminded herself.
"Are thou looking for my father?" she asked, unsure of what else to say and unwilling to say, 'May I help you', for she sensed what his retort would be
.
"We found the old Quaker in the yard
." The soldier glanced toward the hearth. His twisted smile showed broken and blackened teeth.
Sarah
shivered even as sweat trickled down her back and drenched her underarms. Everything about him stank of evil. She tried to swallow. Terror clogged her throat and threatened to strangle her. "Old Quaker?" she asked, in a less than firm voice.
If
he had hurt Benjamin, she would… She would what? Sarah stared at the gun he carried. She had seen its twin in the museum. These guns were not accurate, but she doubted if he would miss from an arm's length away.
"'Pears we came on the right day
." Swaggering to the oak trestle table, he grabbed a loaf of bread and bit off the end. "I need a mug of ale to wash it down," he called over his shoulder.
A wooden bucket lay near the door
. Sarah considered throwing the water at him and racing out, but she remembered Benjamin and his beliefs about violence. Reluctantly, she admitted the man had not made any overt gesture toward her. The idea did not comfort her. She glanced out the window. The large oak tree blocked her view of the yard. Where were her father and Daniel?
Muttering a curse, she strode to the closed bar, lifted up the side arm, walked inside, and poured the ale into the pewter mug
. Instead of taking the cup, the soldier grabbed her around the waist.
Stupid.
She chided herself for failing to drop and latch the grill when she walked behind the bar. He pulled her out of the enclosure and into a rough embrace. She pushed against his chest, trying to escape. His arm constricted her breathing. Her face pressed against his unwashed, repulsive body. He exhaled. The putrid smell of garlic, onions, and rotting teeth overwhelmed her.
Her stomach rebelled
. Bile rose in her throat. With difficulty, she forced it down. "Let me go!" Sarah tried to shove him away.
He laughed
. A dribble of spit escaped the side of his lip. "Never kissed a Quaker woman before." His eyes and his slobbering mouth spoke of a more terrifying prospect.
She slung the mug
. The pewter cup connected with his head.
"Bitch!" he screamed
.
She shoved him back
. "And you're not going to!" she called as she turned and raced through the door.
"Father! Daniel!"
Sarah screamed. Jumping down the steps, she sped across the yard.
Benjamin grasped her, herding her into his arms
.
"Is thou all right?"
Distress scored his face with lines. Quickly, he searched her from head to toe, his love and concern showing.
Sarah
nodded. "Some roughneck soldier tried to kiss me!"
And would have done that and more,
she thought, but said, "I hit him with a pewter cup." She did not care if Benjamin approved or not. No man could place his hands on her without her permission.
A cow bellowed loudly, drawing
Sarah's attention. "What is going on?" Glancing around the yard, she saw a British soldier leading the milk cows from the barn; another had a lead rope attached around the necks of the four goats; still a third had corralled a large sow.
"They are taking provisions," Benjamin whispered
.
"We need them to feed ourselves and our guests," she retorted, becoming more and more worried
.
"Calm down, daughter
." He eased his hold on her.
"Thou cannot sell our livestock," she said, unable to understand his action
.
"Who said they were buying?" Daniel replied with disgust
. His arms hung at his sides, but his clenched fists proclaimed his anger and frustration. "They're stealing the animals for the army."
"Bloody hell, where is that bitch?" The burly soldier weaved out the door, nearly tripping on the second step
. "When I get my hands on you... " He waved his fists in the air.
Daniel and Benjamin stepped in front of her
. Sarah spied the wooden pitchfork lying against the well. After grabbing it, she squeezed between her two men, raised the fork and pointed the prongs outward.
"Why doeth
thou hold the pitchfork in such a threatening way?" her father asked.
Gesturing with her head toward the burly corporal, she replied, "He is not getting near me again
."
"I'm not a Quaker
. I'll guard you," Daniel said in a disparaging tone aimed at Benjamin.
Sarah
appreciated his offer for two against four were bad odds. She did not want to consider one against four.
Anger etched its mark on the corporal's face
. He lumbered closer. Sarah tightened her hold on the handle.