The Pursuit of Tamsen Littlejohn (18 page)

Behind them a brawl erupted.

From cabins, smithy, stores, stables, and tavern, men came at the run, dodging wagon ruts and stumps left standing in cleared lots. Jesse recognized faces in the crowd but hoped stranger and acquaintance alike were too set on the melee to pay them any mind. He unhitched the horse, took the reins in hand, and made for the edge of town, Tamsen trotting along on the horse’s other side, clinging to the stirrup. They’d reached the tavern on the track leading out of town when a familiar voice cried above the commotion.

“What’s this? Jesse Bird down out of his holler?” It was Dominic Trimble, sandy headed, blue eyed, slowing his dash for the courthouse,
grabbing at his brother as he did so. “Lookit who’s graced Jonesborough with his presence.”

“Jesse!” Seth Trimble, younger of the two, called. “Where you going? Fun’s this a’way.”

“Not for me.” Jesse turned the horse so it blocked their view of Tamsen, praying she’d stay behind it. “Some other time, boys.”

“You been saying that for how long? Too good for the likes of us!” Dominic waved him off like a lost cause, grinning as he followed his brother and half the town toward the courthouse. Jesse hurried on, sweating in relief. Beyond the last cabin on the outskirts, he slowed the horse.

Tamsen came around to face him, breathless and worried. “Friends of yours?”

“Just a pair of rascals from back in Virginia.”

“They seemed to know you.”

“We’re acquainted, aye. I let them lure me into betting on a horse race once, over in Sycamore Shoals—lost what little coin I had and found out later they likely fixed the race ahead of time. Cade was furious with me for mixing with ’em at all. He’s heard tell they came Overmountain on account of trouble with the law back east.”

“What sort of trouble?”

“No idea, and they aren’t likely to say.” Jesse tried to smile, though his heart had yet to cease its pounding. He didn’t think the Trimbles had taken note of Tamsen. Not even a courthouse brawl would’ve pulled Dominic away had he seen her.

She glanced back the way they’d come. “The clerk … that little judge … Will they be all right?”

“I couldn’t linger to get drawn in.”

“I know.” She met his gaze, knowledge that he’d fled for her sake clear in her eyes. “That’s not what I asked.”

“If it ain’t come to shooting yet, it won’t.” Even the shouting had died
down. “What you saw wasn’t the start of things, and it won’t be the end. It’ll be Franklin men storming Carolina’s courthouse next, or something like it.”

Tamsen’s breathing slowed. He could see her coming to grips with the scuffle they’d narrowly evaded. “I’d hoped you had exaggerated.”

“Wish I had. But I don’t know … It might’ve been for the best.”

That surprised her. “You’ve changed your mind?”

“No.”
Lord, no
, he had to restrain himself from saying. He took out the crumpled bond. “It’s only that our names would’ve gone on record with this. Maybe not the wisest notion, all things reconsidered.” It wasn’t till he glanced again at his half-signed name that it hit him, what she’d called him right before they fled the courthouse. Not Mr. Bird.
Jesse
.

He couldn’t suppress his grin even when she shook her head as if he’d lost his mind, confusion in her searching eyes.

“What do we do now?”

He didn’t have an answer yet, but he was already working on it. “Let’s go.” Putting his back to Jonesborough, he led his horse and his almost-wife toward a new plan taking shape.

It had turned into another wearisome day of traveling. They’d ridden double for a time, but now Mr. Bird led her on the horse, the borrowed petticoat rucked up above her moccasins. He hadn’t said much since leaving Jonesborough, though plainly he was thinking hard. Tamsen had held her peace, chary of asking the questions swirling through her head. How many miles they’d come, heading roughly north, she didn’t know. They were traversing a hilly track that passed an occasional cabin, a plot standing in corn and tree stumps, sometimes a fellow traveler. Mr. Bird trudged on like a man with a destination in mind and precious little time to reach it.

Curiosity at last surmounted Tamsen’s weariness. “Exactly what are we doing?”

He glanced up at her. “We’re going to be married. If that’s still what you want.”

She nodded, bereft of any other course. “A North Carolina court?”

“Same problem there—our names on record.”

“Then where? How? We can’t wait three weeks for a minister.”

“There’s one other way. If I can get him to agree to it.”

“Who?”

“We’re nigh there.” He nodded ahead and pulled in a deep-chested breath.

The homestead they were making for just off the track they’d followed looked like others they’d passed—a cabin, corn scattered through girdled trees, a garden, outbuildings—except for the large log structure at the edge of the skirting forest opposite the cabin. At the garden’s edge a flock of yellow finches darted among tall sunflowers with heads bowed like a congregation at prayer. The sun was in the west, casting the clearing in a green, peaceful light. No outward sign labeled it so, but Tamsen, gazing from the back of the horse as they passed, might almost have guessed the larger structure to be … “Is that a church?”

Jesse nodded. “It is. Mine and Cade’s. It’s a fair piece to travel from our place, though, so we don’t make meetings often.”

Mr. Parrish didn’t go in for religion, so she and her mother hadn’t set foot inside a meetinghouse in years. But when her father was alive, they’d attended Anglican services. She felt an ache of longing. “What sort of church is it?”

“Bible-preaching, deep-water Baptist.” They stopped in the cabin yard, where Mr. Bird hitched the horse to a post. “He might be tending his other flock, over to Doe Creek. I’ll see if he’s about the place.”

Mr. Bird helped her out of the saddle before she could ask a single
question. She was brushing down her rumpled skirts when he spoke, but not to her.

“Reverend.” His tone—an odd mingling of warmth, respect, and apprehension—more than his address made Tamsen look up.

A man stood in the cabin doorway. He was of middle height, thick waisted, with a head of dark curls heavily silvered, cropped at the collar of his shirt. His gaze rested on Tamsen before darting with the quickness of the finches to the man beside her. The lines of his face deepened with welcome.

“Jesse. This is a surprise. Aren’t you meant to be shepherding cows back east?”

“Aye sir.” Mr. Bird swallowed. Hard. “Had us a minor set-to with some Chickamaugas, but Cade and I got the cows and the drovers down to market. All but one—cow, I mean. Rhodes, Billy, Jabez, they all made it fine. Cade’s heading back with a passel of settlers, but I—
we
come on ahead.”

Tamsen had never heard Mr. Bird chatter so nervously. He touched her elbow, and she jumped.

“Tamsen, this is Reverend Luther Teague, our preacher.”

Mr. Bird urged her forward as Reverend Teague stepped into the yard, reaching out a hand. Whether by design or instinct, Mr. Bird raised hers and placed it in the reverend’s, who clasped it warmly.

It was the only hand he had. The man’s left sleeve dangled empty from the elbow. Tamsen looked away from it, into a pair of deep-set brown eyes as kind as they were keen.

“This is Tamsen Littlejohn,” Jesse Bird said, his voice dry-sounding at the edges. “She and I aim to be married, Reverend—today, if you’d oblige us.”

“There now. That’s everyone settled, is it?” Molly Teague stood back to survey the table laid with tea, shaved from a brick of pressed black leaf. “Saved for my most special guests,” she said, then brushed her hands down her apron’s ample front, beaming at them seated in the cabin’s homey front room.

Jesse glanced across at Tamsen, who cradled a china cup between her hands as if its contents were too precious to bring to her lips. Finally she took a sip.

“Mrs. Teague, this is—heavenly.” She closed her eyes. Her mouth trembled, and she crumpled into tears.

Jesse half-rose from his chair, uncertain what to do, but neither of the Teagues showed the slightest upset while Tamsen sniffled and gulped and tried to stem the tide of emotion.

The preacher, seated at the table’s head, grasped his wife’s hand. “Thank you, Molly. You’ll join us?”

Molly slid into the last empty chair, giving Tamsen’s shoulder a squeeze and offering a ready handkerchief. “It’ll all work out, my dear, and for the good. You wait and see if it doesn’t.”

The gesture and words brought on a new freshet, but Tamsen put the kerchief to use. “I didn’t mean to spoil such a pretty tea.”

Reverend Teague took a swallow. “Molly’s tea tastes just fine. Nothing’s spoiled that I can tell.” His eyes twinkled at his wife, then at Tamsen, till she returned a watery smile.

Jesse settled back in his chair, too wretched over Tamsen’s misery for tea drinking. Her sudden upset perplexed him. He stared at the delicate,
rose-patterned teacup still cradled in her graceful hands. It was a far cry from canteens and creek water. She wouldn’t have seen a thing so fine since …

Understanding dawned. The kindness of the Teagues, the china, the homey comforts of the cabin—she was thinking of her mother and everything she’d lost, sitting there grieving while he studied on how to talk his preacher into pronouncing them man and wife. He wanted more than ever to go ’round the table and console her, but before he could budge, Luther Teague got down to business.

“Jesse, Tamsen, the two of you wish to marry, do you?”

Jesse bit back a hasty
aye
, waiting for Tamsen to speak.

“We do,” she said, with far less certainty than he’d hoped for.

“Today,” Jesse added, with enough to make up for her lack.

Reverend Teague shared his gaze between them. “Is there some reason for haste?”

Tamsen colored like a ripe strawberry. Jesse was a beat behind in comprehending.

“No sir. Not that. We haven’t …” Face warming, he leaned forward, hands fisted on the table’s checked cloth. “It’s complicated, Reverend. Tamsen’s parents are both passed. Her step—” He glanced at her, then hastily away. “We met in Morganton after Cade and me got the cows to market. Tamsen was in a spot of trouble and needed the protection of a man not bent on using her for his own gain.”

He couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes now. He stared at his hands, sun-browned and clenched. That he’d fallen head over heels for Tamsen at sight of her, had his head filled with notions of the Almighty meaning her for him, didn’t seem a piece of news liable to aid their cause. More likely to color every action he’d taken since—and not in a becoming shade. “Our marrying now is part and parcel of me assuring her safety.” And his own, he might’ve added.

“I see,” said Reverend Teague, leaving Jesse wondering how much the man did see. “Does Cade give his blessing to this union?”

Jesse chose his words carefully. He hadn’t told Cade about the marrying. “Cade knows about Tamsen and the need to keep her safe. He’s in agreement with me on that.”

The preacher seemed to weigh Jesse’s answer with equal care. “Wouldn’t you rather wait, so Cade can be here to stand up with you?”

“With respect, Reverend, I’m well over my majority and don’t need any by-your-leave for this, from Cade or anyone.”

Reverend Teague blinked. “I meant his blessing, Jesse. Not his permission.”

This wasn’t starting well. Jesse knew it by the guarded look stealing over Molly’s pleasant face, the set of the preacher’s mouth. He was digging them a hole he might never climb out of if he didn’t hit on the right words, and quick. He drew breath, hoping they’d be there when he opened his mouth.

“It was me,” Tamsen blurted. “I asked Mr. Bird—Jesse—to marry me.”

Jesse risked a glance at her. The strain on her face was anything but reassuring. “She did, Reverend, for a fact. But it’s my choosing too. And if you’d consider marrying us today, without reading the banns—”

“Jesse?” Reverend Teague stood from the table. “Might I ask you to step outside? If Miss Littlejohn is agreeable, I’d like to speak with her and Molly. Alone.”

Jesse froze, then looked at Tamsen. Her eyes held trepidation, but she nodded. “You sure?” he asked her, not at all certain this turn was for the best.