Thorns in Eden and the Everlasting Mountains (29 page)

“I
do. Henry and I are willing to help in the right way, and so will your cousin
and Lady Margaret if you let us.”

“Don’t
say another word, Jane!” Dorene covered her ears with her hands. “You’ve no
right to judge me. I’ll do what I wish to do, and no one will stop me.”

“What
is wrong?” Rebecah moved around the table to her cousin, distressed by her
outburst. Now she knew for certain Dorene faced some kind of grave misfortune.
Shame and fear ebbed over her face, shone in her worried eyes. Gone were the
haughty and proud expressions Rebecah was used to seeing.

“We’ve
urgent business, Dorene,” said Lady Margaret. “As you know, Sir Rodney has been
arrested. I must go to him. For once swallow your pride and speak now if you
need help. I’ve a spare room at Standforth if you should need a refuge.”

Dorene
jerked away. “You have no idea what is wrong.”

“It
is obvious.”

Rebecah
touched her hand. Surprisingly her cousin did not pull away. “Tell us what has
happened. What trouble are you in?”

 “I
know you must hate me, Rebecah, for having wished you and Jack parted.”

“You
are wrong. I do not hate you. But you’ve behaved badly.”

 “Only
because I wanted love so much. I wanted Jack, and I was jealous of you. But then,
after you refused Lanley, he wanted me. He wooed me with soft words, words of
love, promises of marriage. Now I’m left to face the consequences alone.”

Dorene
burst into tears and reached for the back of a chair. Quick to reach her,
Rebecah drew her into her arms. Her wayward cousin laid her head upon her
shoulder and wept. Distressed, Rebecah looked over at Lady Margaret.

“Take
Miss Dorene to one of your rooms, Henry.”

“Yes,
my lady.” Immediately Henry lifted Dorene who was too weak to resist.

“And
Jane, bring some salts. You need not tell us why you and Miss Dorene argued. It
would be apparent to any woman she is with child.”

*  *  *

The
Carrow’s bedroom was furnished with the bare necessities, much in conflict with
Dorene’s taste. The bed was small and boxed with cedar. Down quilts covered the
straw-filled mattress. Creamy muslin curtains banked the open windows. Upon the
sill, Jane had placed a jar of wildflowers. Sunlight sparkled upon the glass,
the water within it reflecting on the wall.

Rebecah
freed the strings of Dorene’s bodice, enabling her to breathe easier. Beneath
her nose, she waved the salts and Dorene opened her eyes.

“Are
you feeling better?” Rebecah asked. Dorene nodded. “Here drink this.”  She
handed her a cup and Dorene tasted the homemade gooseberry wine.

“Now,
talk to me without assuming what I might think? You’re in trouble and I want to
help.”

“You
want to help me?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”
Dorene sat up on her elbows. “I want to see Mab Penhurvy.”

Rebecah
drew back. “The woman that lives outside the village in the woods?”

“I
must go to her. Will you take me? I cannot go myself. I’m too afraid.”

“I’ve
heard of her, what she does in secret. Dorene, you cannot do this.”

“You
said you would help.” Dorene fumed tearfully.

“I
did and I will. But I’ll not help you destroy your unborn child.”

Dorene
shoved Rebecah away and got up. “You don’t understand a thing.”

“I
understand very well.” Rebecah argued, her tone growing angry. “Life is worth
saving, even when it’s inconvenient.”

Dorene’s
face stiffened. “I don’t understand such things like you. Will you now preach
at me? Will you tell me how God must condemn me for what I’ve done and what I’m
wanting to do?” Defiant, she tossed her head and swung around to meet Rebecah.
“Well go on, say it. I’m bound for Hell.”

“Be
quiet,” Rebecah demanded. “We will work this out. What you carry inside you is
a part of you. Do not reject the child in your womb. For all you know, that
child could be your saving grace, the one who will love you all your life.”

For
a moment, Dorene’s angry stare softened. She turned and stared out the window. Rebecah
drew up beside her. Jane’s boys were playing in the yard. Dorene reached for
Rebecah’s hand. Her reserve broke as they watched the boys roll on the grass.

“My
father will cast me out,” she said slowly. “I do not want to be like him.”

“Think
of what your mother would tell you.”

Dorene
turned to Rebecah. “Oh, how I wish she were here.”

“You
have people around you that care. Perhaps if you tell me what happened, it
would make you feel better.”

Dorene
wiped her face dry. “Father was away on business. I was bored alone at
Endfield. Lanley’s visit was unexpected, but I was glad to see him. We supped
together, talked long into the night, and then the conversation turned to
romance. I ordered March not to disturb us. When I knew she had gone to her
chamber, I took him by the hand and led him to my room. He stayed with me all
night.”

“So
this is Lanley’s child you carry?”

Dorene
nodded. “I did not mean it to happen.”

“You
must tell him.”

Dorene
looked at her with wide eyes. “I cannot, Rebecah. He would deny everything and
reject me. If word gets around, I’ll be unwelcome in all good society. Lanley
will not have me, and my father will send me away.”

“I
believe Lanley is an honorable man.”

“He
will reject me, I tell you. Do you know what happens to women like me? Your
name is dragged through the mud. You become an embarrassment to the family,
left to live out a life as an old maid. And the names people call you.”

“It
doesn’t have to be that way. You must tell Lanley.”

Dorene
shook her head back and forth.  “No. No.”

 “He
will marry you quietly. Besides, he has always wanted an heir.”

“That
is true.” Dorene’s eyes flashed at the idea. “But I am afraid.”

“You
cannot let fear prevent you. You must think of the child instead of yourself. You’ve
been selfish, Dorene. The child should be entitled to his father and his
fortune.”

Dorene
looked at her with a shake of her head. “Why couldn’t I have been more like
you, Rebecah? Lanley wanted you. I feel I was an outlet for his pain of losing
you. Second best. He will not have me. Not like this.”

“You
will not know until you try.”

“You
are so sure.”

“I
cannot say, but it is the right thing to do.”

“I
was wrong to meddle in your affairs. If I had not, you would have run off with
Jack and married him. Lanley would have chosen me in the long run, perhaps.”

“Perhaps
he has chosen you now.”

Dorene’s
expression softened. “I’m sorry, Rebecah, for coming between you and Jack.”

“I
try not to think of John Nash and what could have been.” But it was hard and
she felt the pain of losing him snatch at her heart.

Dorene
leaned her head against Rebecah’s shoulder. “I thought you would have hated me.
You must forgive me for the wicked things I’ve said and done.”

Rebecah
stood. She walked over to the window and opened it wider. “I’m leaving today
with Lady Margaret. We are going to Sir Rodney.” 

Dorene
shot her a worried glance. “Oh, my trouble has delayed you. Here I’m crying
over my situation, while Lady Margaret sits in Jane’s parlor agonizing over her
husband.”

Rebecah’s
skirts whispered across the floor. Sunlight poured through the window and she
felt its warmth. “I shall tell you now what must be done, and for once in your life
you will listen to sense. You’re going to have a baby. You need Lanley. It
would be wrong not to tell him.

“He
will despise me.”

“I
know him well enough to believe he would not.”

“You’re
so sure, Rebecah?’

“To
reject you would cause a scandal and I think he has had enough for one year.
Let me speak to him.”

“You
would do this after the way I’ve treated you?”

A
soft smile lifted Rebecah’s mouth. “If I were in your shoes, I would accept any
help offered to me. Promise you will not do anything until you’ve heard from
him.”

“Alright…I’ll
wait.” Dorene rose and gripping her hands looked into Rebecah’s eyes. “Thank
you. Whatever happens, whatever he may decide, I will cherish this child.”

Rebecah
threw her arms around Dorene and embraced her.

*  *  *

Across
the ocean, a bank of heavy thunderclouds rose over the mountains to the west.
Nash waited beside his horse marveling how the peace of the natural world could
exist alongside the terrors and cruel punishments of mankind. His heart grew
heavy, so much so he wanted to shout aloud and wake the world from the dark
slumber blinding the true mission of man.

It
was beyond comprehension what had happened at the George Folke farm. He could
never describe what horrors he and the others had seen there. Unmistakably
warring Indians had committed the gruesome deeds.

Nash
and his men had been on patrol when they saw smoke rising above the line of
trees at the base of the mountain. He dismounted beside the smoldering cabin.
The porch had burned, but the shell of the cabin remained, for its foundation
was made of stone.

He
and the others stepped inside. The stone fireplace jutted skyward through the
rafters, blackened and stripped. Nash picked up the remains of a quilt. He
turned the red and white patchwork over and saw the blood upon it. A doll lay
broken beneath it. Dropping the quilt back in place, he stood and stomped
outside.

The
pigpen stood at the edge of the forest beneath the shade of the trees. The
swine within it grunted and wiggled their noses between the slates in the
stall. Mud and mire covered their tough skin.

“They
burned everything but that.” He strode off. Maldowney dashed ahead. When he reached
the pen, he stopped short, stiffened, and spun around. “Stay back!” he shouted.

Nash
hurried forward.  “Robert!  What is it?”

Maldowney
wiped his mouth with his sleeve and held his arm out to prevent Nash from
looking. Nash shoved his arm away and looked over the stile. The man within him
tore and the want for revenge exploded. Folke, his wife and children, had been
murdered, their bodies hacked and thrown to the pigs for fodder. Bits of
bloodstained clothing soaked up the mud among broken bone.

Slamming
his fist into one of the stiles, he let out a cry. Then he drew out his
flintlock pistol and shot one of the pigs. He reloaded and shot another. His
men stood stark still watching him reload, looking on with compassion and
dismay.

Then
Maldowney set his large hand over Nash’s. “Stop, Jack. ‘Tis not the fault of
these creatures.”

Slowly,
Nash lowered his weapon. The men gathered around, and one by one they followed
Robert Maldowney’s lead and went down on bended knee. Nash stared at the ground
with his jaw clenched, while his friend prayed.

He rubbed
his eyes as if to wipe away the memory of the massacre. With his hand over his
hunting knife, he headed for his horse.

“Black
Hawk.”  The Indian raised his face. His eyes were proud and Nash saw in them warrior
courage. “Can you track the men that did this?”

“Can
the wolf find the wounded bear, my brother?”

Nash
nodded.  “You’re that wolf. You tell me.”

Black
Hawk looked up at the hills and pointed. “They are above that line of elms,
above the cleft in the rocks.”

“You
lead, Black Hawk.” He climbed into the saddle and dragged the reins through his
hands. “When we catch them, we will be walking into a hornet’s nest.”

Nash
could see it troubled the Scot to see him full of vengeance. “No murder shall I
do, Jack. Israel stood against the armies of the Philistines and the prophets
blessed them before they went into battle. And so, I do the same. Let us try to
capture these men and bring them to trial.”

Nash
shrugged. “They’ll hardly give themselves the chance, Robert. For when they
meet with us, they will try to kill us.”

Shadows
lengthened across the forest. The air grew cool, and pockets of mist rose
through the trees to the heights of the mountains. The sky turned hard blue to
the south, granite to the north.

Nash
watched Black Hawk steal silently through the trees. The feathers in his hair
blended with the darker shades of the woods. He bent low, stopped and raised
his hand. And when Nash lifted his in reply, the Indian prince stepped forward
and halted in front of him.

Nash’s
heart had been pounding, for what Black Hawk had found he was anxious to know. Beads
of sweat rippled down his temple and he wiped them away. “What can you tell us,
my brother?”

Black
Hawk pointed to a place in the hills where two mountains met. Mist lay thick
and deep within the crevice. “Twenty shots from where the arrow flies. From the
bridge in the rock, I’ve seen them.”

With
a creased brow, Nash stared up the hillside from where Black Hawk had come. The
woods were thick and the undergrowth heavy. How any man could trek through it
without making a single sound seemed impossible.

Taking
up the reins of his horse, he turned to his men. “We have to leave the horses
behind. One neigh, a hoof breaking a twig, will give us away.”

“Over
there are hemlocks.” Andrew Clarke jerked his head in that direction.

Nash
went on. When they reached the grove, he pulled Meteor inside, rubbed his nose,
and tethered him there alongside Clarke’s horse. He stepped away with the others,
Black Hawk in the lead. They mounted the hill to a deer trail swept clear of
leaves.

Halfway,
a covey of quail erupted from the ground, took flight and scattered. Nash saw
Black Hawk squeeze the hilt of his tomahawk. The men instantly crouched behind
the brush. He locked his eyes on the ridge. Had the enemy found them instead?