Dream Weaver (5 page)

. After lifting Robert from the high chair, Rebecca wiped his face off and gestured to Molly. "Please take the children outside to play. Be sure to bring them in before it becomes dark."

"Aye, ma'am."

Gwen closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her forehead. God, she prayed, please help me get through this night.

"You must be tired." Her brow wrinkled, Rebecca studied Gwen. "As soon as I put the children to bed later, I'll show you to your room and help you get settled."

Caught off guard, Gwen glanced up to see Rebecca's sympathetic look while she dimly heard the men talking, this time something about the market price for whiskey.

Gwen waved her hand. "Don't worry about me. I've found the discussion quite interesting." Even if she couldn't always follow the conversation.

"Oh, you know how men like to talk," Rebecca said with a fond look Daniel's way. He returned her expression with a warm smile, prompting Gwen to reflect that marriage now must be quite different from connubial bliss in her own time. And here she was, still a virgin at twenty-three and so disillusioned about men--were any good ones left?--she'd probably remain as pure as snow until she died.

Well, you can never tell what might hap--Gwen reached for her earthen mug as a sudden, eerie feeling drove every other thought from her mind. Shivers raced across her arms and legs. Gripping her cup handle, she stared around the table as the conversation went on about her, everyone else seemingly oblivious to her plight.

The French had an apt phrase for this sensation. Deja vu. Somehow, she knew she had sat at this same table and talked with these same people sometime in the past. Her gaze took in each person as she noted facial expressions, dress, and every gesture of her companions. Yes, she'd known all these people before. But why was she here now? Why? Why?

This couldn't be. There went her overactive imagination again. If she gave the feeling any thought she'd go crazy. God knew she had enough to deal with now. She would get back to her own people, Gwen vowed, determined to retrace her steps tomorrow and return to Christian's place, way before he even got up.

Why did she have these recollections from another time? She assumed a casual expression, not wanting anyone to catch her disorientation. She pushed her remaining food around on her plate, trying hard to act as if everything was normal.

Daniel drained his mug and set it on the table. "You'll stay here tonight, will you not?" he asked Christian. "You know you're always welcome."

Christian rested his fork on his plate and leaned back in his chair. "Thank you. I believe 'twould be best."

And I'll get up before anyone else, Gwen resolved. And find my way back home.

Chapter Three

After a restless night of troubling dreams, Gwen sluggishly awoke to silence and the smell of frying bacon. Staring around the room, she tried to get her bearings. She'd overslept--the very thing she'd resolved not to do--and she wanted to get an early start to look for her own house. With renewed determination, she slid out of bed, her bare feet touching the cold wooden floor. Better get a move on.

She slipped her borrowed nightgown off, then scrambled into a linsey dress--also borrowed--all the while struggling with her dilemma. How much longer would she have to stay in this wilderness? That question unanswered, she left the room and quietly closed the door behind her, so everyone would think she still slept.

She felt her way in the dark as she tiptoed down the stairs, running her hand along the smooth finish of the oaken handrail, then reached the first floor where the flickering candles in iron wall sconces provided a dim light down the hallway. Cautiously, she looked around, intending to leave the house unnoticed and head back to Christian's place, back to the oak tree where all her troubles had started. Never mind that Christian's house was miles away. She was in excellent physical shape, a long distance runner, had even climbed the
Appalachian Trail
.

Voices reached her from the room closest to the outside door. A glance into this room yesterday revealed it was Daniel's study, with a wide desk and book shelves. The sound of Christian's deep voice drew her closer, and she stopped short of the slightly open door.

"I don't know!" Christian boomed. "She came from out of nowhere. This strange lady appeared at my door...no horse, no cart, no belongings. I tell you, Daniel, it's as if she dropped from the sky."

"Maybe she did," Daniel said with a laugh. "Your guardian angel."

"I need her for a guardian angel like I need a rattlesnake bite."

Well! Gwen curled her fingers into tight fists. How she wished she could tell Dr. Norgard she didn't need him, either. She leaned closer to the door, afraid she might miss something.

"She had no documents with her?" Daniel asked.

"Documents? She had naught with her. Anyway, how many people carry documents with 'em wherever they go?"

"Aye, that is so, but possibly she's an escaped indentured servant. If she were recently freed, she'd have proof of having served her indenture."

"Daniel! Does she look or sound like a servant?"

"Can't always tell," Daniel said. "You've met Edward Horton, haven't you? He was an aristocrat who came to
America
as an indentured servant to escape his gaming debts in
England
."

"Still..." Christian paused. "Have you considered she might be a French spy?"

"A spy for the frogs? I'll admit her speech is peculiar, but she has no French accent. What makes you think she's a spy?"

"She had a diagram of
Fort
Pitt
on her person, and--"

"A diagram! Surely that is damning evidence, but she doesn't sound French."

"She doesn't have to be French," Christian said. "Look at all the Englishmen--and women--who'd sell their souls for a few pounds."

"Then you must turn her over to the authorities at
Fort
Pitt
," Daniel said. "They'll know how to deal with her."

"I'm willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, for now, at least," Christian said. "Like you, I loathe treason, but you know what her fate will be if she's found guilty...hanged, drawn and quartered, or burned at the stake."

Gwen drew a deep breath, running shaky fingers down her thighs. How could she prove her innocence? She pressed her fist to her dry mouth. God, how?

"Aye, you have a point there," Daniel said. "The British do employ dire punishments for traitors. But let's not forget--the French will do anything to reclaim their holdings in
America
. I wouldn't put it past 'em to use a woman to gain information."

 
"Let us wait and see," Christian said. "There may be a perfectly innocent explanation for her possession of the diagram. I'll admit I'm having trouble understanding her interest in the fort. Believe me, I'll not wait forever to find out. 'Tis difficult to realize she may be serving the French."

"Women have oftimes served as spies," Daniel said. "I'll keep a close watch on her. You, too. Now, if I'm not mistaken, breakfast is about ready. We'll talk on this again soon."

Gwen spun away from the door and scooted back up the stairs, then slowly descended, as if she'd just risen. She'd have to leave for her search after breakfast and make sure no one followed her. So the good doctor thought she was a French spy. After today, he wouldn't have to think about her at all, because she'd be out of his life forever...if she were lucky.

And luck had better be with her. Otherwise...she refused to consider the consequences.

* * *

"The little 'uns is sick, too," Simon Fletcher told Christian several hours later, "and my wife," he added.

Christian glanced across the cramped room of Simon's log house. In the corner, a woman lay on the floor with three young children on a worn, dirty blanket. His gaze swung back to the settler, noting the dark blotches on the man's bony frame, the rotting teeth, all the while trying to ignore the man's fetid breath.

The smell of rancid bacon clung to the walls. The place reeked of rotten food and spoiled milk. Rats must be a problem, too, Christian thought as he observed a crudely-printed note in a corner telling the rats to leave the house and go bother the Beams.

"Didn't I tell you on my last visit you should feed your family green vegetables?" Christian asked.

"Vegetables! We eat potatoes and turnips, and that's all the vegetables I have room to grow."

"I said green vegetables. That's what you need to cure your scurvy. Strawberries do well in this soil, too. Why don't you grow 'em?"

"Now you're talkin' silly, Doctor. Ain't got no room on my land for such foolish things as strawberries. I need all the space for crops that make money, like rye. Soon's I get the chance, I'm gonna turn my rye crop into whiskey, and look at the money I'll get on the market for that." He snorted. "Strawberries!”

"You and your family will never get better unless you eat a proper diet. You need--"

"Meat! We gets meat from all the animals in the woods." Simon swayed on his feet and slumped against the wall as he grabbed a chairback for balance.

"Meat won't cure the affliction you and your family suffer from," Christian said, keeping a careful eye on the farmer, afraid he'd fall. "If you won't help yourself, won't you at least think of your wife and children? I can't perform miracles."

 
"This sickness has somethin' ta do with what we eat?"

"What have I been saying!" Christian retreated a few paces to escape the man's spittle. He threw another sympathetic glance at the wife and children who moaned listlessly on the blanket. "I can bring you kale from my own garden on my next visit here. Mayhap I can get you lemons or oranges whenever I go to the trading post, although they are oftimes difficult to come by."

"Ain't got no money for such foolishness."

Christian slammed his fist on the table, rattling a week's accumulation of dirty dishes. "This so-called foolishness will cure you and your family. I never saw such pig-headed obstinance or willful ignorance in my life. Good God, man, what does it take to make you understand?"

He pointed a finger at him. "If you don't care about your own health, that's your business. But I'll be damned if I'll see your wife and children suffer. When I return in a few days, I want to see an improvement in your family's diet." He paused, turning to leave. "And if you decide to follow my advice for your own sake, so much the better."

He strode toward the door and flung it open, then stepped outside, blinking his eyes in the bright sunshine. The weather had turned warmer within the past few hours, the trees and fields rich with springtime growth. Wasting no time, Christian mounted his horse and headed along the narrow forest path.

After a ride of several miles through the dark trees and undergrowth, he came to another log house, larger and more substantial than most, the surrounding acres well-cultivated with a large variety of newly-planted crops. He tied the reins to an oak branch, then strode toward the front door.

A pretty girl of about eighteen with golden skin and raven hair greeted him. "Christian! This is a pleasant surprise. What brings you here today? Come in, come in!"

Stepping inside, Christian smiled at Leah in her trim gray dress. "A man likes to visit a pretty lady now and then." A lady who has remained unmarried, his confused thoughts continued, asking himself why some fortunate man hadn't claimed her. His glance took in the neat common room, the well-ordered fireplace, the handsome oaken table and chairs. The aroma of baking bread rose from the oven, blending with the rich scent of roasting turkey.

Blushing, Leah swept a lock of hair back from her forehead. "Would you like tea?" She indicated for him to sit at a long trestle table while she spoke in a rush. "Pa went to the woods to shoot game, and Ma took a loaf of fresh bread to Agnes Morrell. Poor woman. She needs help since her husband died, and suffering from the ague, too."

"I shall be sure to see her on my way back." He rested his elbow on the table, then stretched his booted feet out, thankful to sit in a chair after hours in the saddle. "Possibly I can help cure her ague. And that reminds me. The Fletchers all suffer from the scurvy. Do you suppose you could spare your servant girl to help them clean up and such? Only for a day or two." "Yes, of course." Leah brushed her hand across her apron. "Did you say you'd like tea?"

"I didn't say, but yes, I would, Leah." He took a long look at the young woman, wondering why she didn't hold the same attraction for him she once did. Why did a young lady with tawny hair and blue-green eyes intrude on his thoughts? Gwen Emrys meant nothing to him. He didn't even know where she came from. And he wondered if she knew where she came from.

"Here we are." Leah set two earthenware cups of hot tea on the table and took a chair opposite him. Fingering a lappet of her mobcap, she gave him a hesitant look. "Heard you had a visitor t'other day," she said in a low voice.