Thorns in Eden and the Everlasting Mountains (14 page)

The
scent of fresh hay filled the stable. Star snorted and shook his golden mane.
Tears of grief rose in Rebecah’s eyes and she leaned her head against the
horse’s broad neck. She’d been ill all night, sleepless, trying to accept the
fact Nash was not the man she thought him to be. She wanted what she felt for him
removed, replaced with cold repulsion. Perhaps then, it would not hurt so much.

 Nightmares
haunted her during the night. Lanley’s face stood inches from hers, his hot
breath touching her skin. ‘Let us cinch the marriage
,’
he urged. ‘I must
touch you. I must.’ And he would reach toward her. 

In
her dream, Nash stood in her doorway with his back turned, while Lanley spoke
his words of lust. He would walk out, fading into a fog. She’d hear a pistol
fire and her father’s voice calling.

The
intolerable night ended and a new sun prevailed on her to escape the house and
face what promised to be an unbearable day. She waited impatiently, watching
the groom saddle her horse. Once he was finished, she waved him off and he left
for other duties.

A
frisky border collie waved its tail, brushed against her, and whined for a
caress. Rebecah patted the dog. “Hello. Where did you come from?”

“She’s
mine.”

When
she looked up to see Nash, a sharp pain raced through her.

“Come,
Toby. I hope she didn’t frighten you. She followed me.”

He
leaned against the stable door. She could not help but notice the new suit of
clothes he wore. She sensed the brown coat and knee-high riding boots were
meant to impress her. He looked hurt, disappointed, and moved toward her.

“It
would ease my mind if I knew you were delayed.”

What
could she say? She stared at him, her heart thumping. She had to keep her guard
up no matter how smooth he spoke, no matter how handsome he looked.

“I
waited an hour.”

“I don’t
need to explain,” she told him, looking away.

“Yes,
you must. Is it because of Lady Kathryn? You are grieving for her?”

She
hung her head. “Death is never easy to bear. The sting lingers for a long time,
sometimes the rest of your life. You wish somehow to avenge it. But you cannot,
can you? You can never punish what brought it enough.”

“What
is wrong, my love?”

She
knew by his tone, cold dread was rising.

“You
must go and never come back.”

 He
shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why are you saying this?”

“Ask
no more questions of me. Let us part here and now.”

“Part?
We love each other.” 

“You
must accept what I asked of you.”

“What,
that everything has turned to dust and ashes, over and done, without any
explanation?” He reached for her and when she moved, he grabbed her by the hand
and pulled her against him. “What has happened? Tell me.”

“Let
me go.”  She twisted, but his grasp was firm.

“You
know I love you and would not do anything to hurt you.”

At
an inconvenient time, Lanley walked through the stable doors. Or was it? It was
bitter, heartless humor. He appeared washed of color with the gray of day
pouring down upon him. He gave Rebecah a smile, a short bow.

“My
dear.” He took a step forward. “I hoped to find you alone, so we might go riding
together. I’ve come all this way, you see.”

Rebecah
moved away from Nash. “And so you have, Cecil.” She forced a smile, calling him
by his first name for the first time.

A
slow breath slipped from Lanley’s lips. A look of surprise lifted his brows.
“Then you’d be glad to accompany me?”

“The
groom saddled me a horse. I meant to ride alone.”

“Oh,
you cannot do that. A woman ride alone? It’s unheard of. I see Mr. Nash is
here.”

“He
was just leaving.” Lifting her skirts, she walked past him.

“Rebecah,
where are you going? Come back at once.”

She
wanted to turn on her heels and lash back. Instead, she kept walking. To stay
another moment would be unbearable—she did not want Nash to see the tears in
her eyes.

*  *  *

Dumbfounded,
Lanley stared after Rebecah. “I say, Nash. Females are moody creatures.”

“Yes
they are.” Nash, too, stared after her, but with thunder pulsing through his
veins.

“What
are your intentions?” Lanley asked, lifting his nose higher.

Nash
gave no reply. He hurried past Lanley to go after her. Toby followed at his
heels, and he turned and ordered her back. He saw Rebecah walk up the hill. The
woods were heavy with the gray sky, and the ground wet from melting snow. He
followed her into them and his boots sunk into layers of rotting leaves.

 “Rebecah!”

 “Go
away,” she called back. “I don’t wish to speak to you.”

He
could tell she was crying.

“Stop,
my love. Tell me why.”

She
turned, her eyes misty. “If you follow me, I’ll scream.”

“I
haven’t a care if you do.”

She
walked on.

He
went after her. 

“What
has turned you against me?” he asked. “Why do you want me to leave and never
come back? Do you think I can? Do you think I can throw away what I feel and
forget you?”

She
tumbled. Nash hurried to her. Although he was angry, he saw beauty in her face
and grew weak. His heart hammered.  “Are you hurt?”

“Go
away.” She moved and moaned.

 “You’re
hurt. I’ll take you back and have March send for the doctor.” He went to lift
her.

She
shoved his hands away. “No. I don’t want your help.” 

“Be
still!”

“Don’t
order me!”

“I
will. You’re being foolish.”

“Yes!
I’m very foolish. If you had told me everything from the beginning concerning
the quarrel you had with my father, I would not have gotten involved with you.
But no, you concealed the truth from me.”

 His
chest tightened. “Rebecah, let me explain.”

“No.
Lies always grow into worse things.”

“And
now you hate me?”

“I
cannot love you.”

“You
will not hear me out?”

 “At
the moment I find it hard to do.”

Lanley
came staggering through the trees. “She is injured badly?”

“A
twisted ankle,” Nash said.

“Dear
me, I cannot lift her. You’ll have to do it,” he said looking at Nash.

Nash
frowned.
Of course he had to show up.

Though
she protested, he lifted her in his arms and carried her through the woods with
Lanley high stepping alongside. He took her to the house. March stood by the
window, and saw them coming up the gravel drive. She hurried and opened the
door.

It
was explained in brief, as Nash lowered Rebecah to a couch. He looked at her a
moment, then turned and left. If he had been alone with her, he could have done
and said more. But with Lanley and March there, it was impossible.

He
went to get his horse with his heart broken and bleeding. A shadow fell by the
stable door and in stepped Dorene. Her hood, lined with rabbit fur, brushed
against her cheeks.

With
a proud lift of her head, she moved closer. “I thought you would be here.”

“I
cannot stay.”  His manner was cold, and he reached for the reins.

“Don’t
go, Jack. I can see she hurt you. It makes me angry, you know.”

When
she took off her cloak and let it fall to the floor, a carnal sensation shot
through him. He did not want it to, but he was hurt and vulnerable.

She
leaned back, her hair falling over her throat as she ran her finger along a
post. “I’ll miss devotions today I think.”

“I
doubt if they would do you any good, Dorene. But perhaps you should try.”

She
caught him in a moment of weakness. The intoxicating sweetness of previous days
when he and Rebecah confessed their love for each other had been poured into a
bitter cup. Dorene touched his face. Her fingers were soft and warm. Raising
herself up, she brushed her lips against his. He gave no response.

“What
is wrong, Jack? Don’t you like to be kissed? Come. The hay is soft and warm.”

“No,
Dorene.” Roughly, he put her back from him.

“I
do care for you. I always have.” She put her hand against the curve of his jaw.
“Again I ask you. Don’t you like being kissed? Is it not comforting when you’re
heartbroken?”

With
her fair speech and seductive gestures, Dorene caused the want to yield build
in him. With flattering words dripping like a honeycomb, she meant to break him.
Her timing had been precise, to catch him in a moment of weakness. He lived the
moment in twilight, in the dark night of the soul, and it was to her advantage.

Dorene
tossed her head back. “You’re not crushed. You’ve been rescued. It’s better for
you to be free than bound. Don’t you agree?”

“If
I went further with you, I’d be like a bird hastening to the snare.”

She
laid her hand against his arm and her smile faded.  “It’s not true what you
say.”

“Isn’t
it?”

“Solace
yourself with my kind of love.”

“How,
when I don’t love you and you are not my wife?”

“Oh,
please!” She stomped her foot.  “Must love always be the issue? Why not enjoy
the pleasures without the chains?”

He
put the reins over his horse’s head. “I want neither pleasures nor chains. I’m
leaving. Most likely you and this Brent bunch will never see me again.” He put
his foot into the stirrup and swung into the saddle.

“Expending
yourself in a revolution will not help you forget.”

“Perhaps
not.” He dragged the reins through his hands and steadied the horse.

“I’ll
never forgive you for this, Jack. You’ve been cold to me. While you’re away, I’ll
make life miserable for Rebecah, just to get back at you. I’ll tell her how you
kissed me a moment ago.”

“Ever
the liar.” He frowned. “But what does it matter now what you tell her?”

 He
nudged the sides of his horse and it moved out the stable doors. His dog ran
ahead. He followed the high road with vinegar in his heart. He wrestled against
the pain clawing at his soul, tried to suppress it as cold wind hit his face. He
mulled over Rebecah’s words again and again, and soon felt sorry for her. She
was hurt.

His
heart sank deeper, as his horse galloped on. Could he blame her for being hurt?
Yes, he had met up with her father while escorting a patriot to the
Pennsylvania boarder. Yes, they engaged, and he fired his gun. But whether it
was his bullet that caused his death, he questioned. Regretting he had withheld
the event from her, he wondered who had told her, and in what manner was it
revealed.

Who
then was his accuser?

*  *  *

Rebecah
managed to get upstairs to her room after refusing Lanley’s feeble attempt to help
her. Her body ached, but she did not care. Her heart ached more.

“Do
you believe this slander?”

Lavinia
pushed the door closed and leaned against it. Rebecah could see how troubled
she was by the frown on her face.

“How
can it be true, Rebecah? How could Jack be held responsible for your father’s
death?”

“They
confronted each other in Maryland…”

“I
heard from my father about the letter and its contents. It doesn’t add up.”

Frustrated
Lavinia took Nash’s side, Rebecah turned away. “My father would never lie about
a thing like this. When he came home he was dying. I saw the wound…I saw… heard
them remove his arm.”

“We
should make inquiry to the physician.”

“What
good would it do? The only thing he can tell you is my father’s arm became
gangrene, and he removed it. But it did not save his life.” Then she recalled
Dr. Harvey’s words.

I’ve
been asked not to divulge the details.

What
were these details? If only he had revealed them to her.

 Lavinia
sat next to Rebecah. “There was a man in the village five years ago who cut off
his finger and died of an infection in less than a week. There must be more to
this than what you’ve been told. How could he have lingered so long, crossing
the ocean with a wound like that and then traveling home? You must think,
Rebecah.”

Rebecah
made no reply.

“I’m
sorry you’re hurt,” Lavinia went on. “But you must listen to sense.”

“I don’t
wish to speak of it anymore.”

“Oh
shame, cousin. Are we God that we should condemn Jack? He must be heard out. Speak
to him again and let him explain. How else will you know the truth unless you
seek it?”

Rebecah’s
eyes filled with bitter tears. “Say no more, Lavinia. What is my pain compared
to yours?”

“Your
pain is greater.”

 Rebecah
looked at her cousin. The room had grown dark. Outside the sky thickened with
clouds and sleet fell. She listened to it pricking against her window.

“I
still love him. And that is the greatest burden of all.”

For
Nash the journey to Standforth grew agonizing. He rode for miles, blind and
brooding, watching the sky grow thick and heavy with clouds. He mulled over the
events of the day, tried to recall each thing she said, each look, each action.
 

He
tightened his grip on the reins, stressed and baffled by the accusation laid
upon him. He caused the death of Sir Richard Brent?

Impossible.
But she blames me.

His
mind drifted back to the day of the skirmish. Could a bullet wound fester so
long before it would kill a man?
No.

In
a fair wind, it would take weeks to cross the ocean. Surely the British field
surgeons would have cared for Sir Richard and gotten him well before making
such a journey.

Perhaps
the infection returned, and I am the cause.

His
mind wrestled back and forth in a flood of questions. Then the guilt settled
deeper. If he had caused this…”