Goddess Born (18 page)

Being a true friend, Nora intervened just when I deemed myself capable of real violence. “I’ve been sitting here trying to recall all of God’s commandments from memory,” she started innocently enough, “but I’m having a difficult time with the last one. Listen to me say it. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor anything that is thy neighbor’s. It’s very close, but I just know something’s missing.”

“His ass,” Allison said, not even looking up from her work. “It goes after his ox and before anything that is thy neighbor’s.”

“You’re right,” Nora said, staring straight at Phoebe. “We’ve been commanded not to covet our neighbor’s ass, no matter how fine a beast he may be or how badly we may want to ride him.”

I snorted loudly, and then coughed a few times to cover up my laughter the best I could.

“There’s no good reason for coveting,” Allison agreed, innocent and oblivious. “Gideon Boyle spoke in meeting against it this past Sunday, and how we’re committing sin just by wanting things that other people have.”

“It’s hard to argue with Gideon,” Nora said. “Or with the Lord for that matter. What do you think, Phoebe? Is there ever a reason good enough to justify the sin of coveting?”

Phoebe narrowed her eyes. “I’m no expert on religion,” she said with a nasty sneer that, I was pleased to note, somewhat diminished her perfect beauty.

The room fell quiet as we focused on our knitting. I glanced over to Nora with an appreciative smile before turning my attention to the tangle of gray wool hanging helplessly between my needles. The stocking was a disaster, and I thought it a good time to ring for refreshments when I heard raised voices coming from outside.

“Do you hear something?” Katrina asked.

“It sounds like fighting,” Allison said, her needles frozen in midair.

For a split second, Nora met my eyes. Then we tossed our knitting aside and went running for the front door, the others close behind. I was the first one out and, seeing nothing at first, started over toward the carriage house and the sound of the ruckus. My foot throbbed from the initial sprint, significantly slowing my progress, and I rounded the corner far behind the other ladies, who had stopped several paces from a small group of men. Right off, I saw John Lewis and David Smith, standing with a handful of other farmhands, eagerly watching and cheering two men engaged in a fight.

In a large open space, Henry and Ben each held a sword, lunging and parrying aggressively, the sound of clashing steel ringing out whenever their swords would meet. They had both undressed down to their shirts. Even still they were sweating heavily from the intense physical exertion and the heat of the day. Ben was by no means a bad swordsman, but Henry was clearly the better fighter. Taller and more heavily muscled, he moved with surprising graceful for his size, and within minutes of my arrival he had Ben’s sword knocked to the ground. Both breathing hard, they laughed and shook hands amicably.

“What are they doing?” Katrina whispered.

“Good question,” I mumbled and walked through the crowd into the clearing. “What would the Elders say if they knew good Quaker lads were skirting their work to watch a swordfight?” I stared right at John and David. “And what about the rest of you? Isn’t there enough wheat to keep you busy or do we need to plant more?”

The men started at my reproach, and begging my pardon, trudged guiltily back to work. Experiencing no such guilt, Henry walked over to me, his sword still firmly gripped in one hand. Carelessly brushing the stray hair from his eyes, he could have easily been mistaken for a mythical warrior, reborn from some ancient legend. “Good day, Selah,” he said with an expression of pure exhilaration. “Ben and I have just been practicing at some swordplay.”

“Would this be the defensive farming techniques that disjointed Ben’s finger last week?” I asked wryly.

“Yes,” he said, his smile broadening. “Thankfully there are no injuries to report today.”

After retrieving his sword, Ben came up to join us.

“Is there a reason you two are fighting during the middle of the day and distracting the farmhands from their work?” I asked.

Ben looked embarrassed. “It’s my fault, ma’am. Since we were attacked coming home from Philadelphia, I asked Henry to teach me what he knows of sword fighting so I could be better prepared if it ever happened again.”

His answer surprised me, and I quickly gulped back any further reprimands.

“Don’t be such a hen,” Phoebe chided from close behind me. “Let the men have their fun.”

Turning around, I saw her smiling coyly at Henry. Given a choice, I would have opted to shove a fistful of mud into her pretty little face rather than introduce her to my husband, but manners were manners and propriety had to be observed. “Henry, please let me introduce my friends.” I swallowed back the bitter taste in my mouth. “You’ve already met Nora Goodwin. This is Miss Oswald and Allison Dowling.” I stopped here, thinking maybe no one would notice if I accidentally forgot Phoebe, but Henry gazed admiringly at her. “And Miss Trumble,” I added hastily.

“Pleased to meet you.” Henry bowed graciously. “I hope you’ve had a pleasant day of knitting.”

“Oh, yes,” Phoebe said. “I am so concerned for the less fortunate and often tell Selah that we simply must do more for them.”

“I didn’t know you were such a humanitarian,” Nora said. “I’ll make sure to include you next time we’re asked to scour old Nan’s privy.”

“You are too kind,” Phoebe said dryly before glancing back to Henry. “Mr. Kilbrid, I must confess, the most exciting part of the day was watching you fight. I nearly swooned when you knocked the sword from Ben.”

Henry laughed, but seemed pleased. “Ben was fighting with a sore hand. I wager he won’t be so easily defeated next time.”

Normally Ben would have declined such praise, but he was no longer listening, having turned his attention toward the far road that ran alongside a stretch of woods. Following his gaze, I watched four men emerge from the trees. They rode bareback, dressed in only moccasins and doeskin pants, leaving their torsos entirely exposed except where their long black hair fell down along their backs. Henry saw the men and moved at once in front of me, his sword ready at his side. Well, he really stepped in front of all the women, but he was standing closest to me.

As the Lenape drew nearer, I recognized the chief’s eldest son Teme among the riders and stepped out from behind Henry to limp in their direction.

“What are you doing?” Henry took hold of my arm before I could go any further.

“I’m going to speak with Teme.”

“But, those men are savages,” he protested.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I laughed. “I’ve known Teme since I was a little girl. Our fathers were friends and did business together.”

Refusing to let go of my arm, Henry decided to accompany me, while keeping his sword at the ready.

Teme dismounted from his horse, walking the remaining distance to meet us. He was nearly the same height as Henry and moved with a similar confidence. “Tenteyuawen,” he said, addressing me, “I was saddened by the death of your father. He dealt fairly with the Lenape and was always a friend to my people.” He spoke in accented English and I was reminded once again that it would have been helpful for me to have learned Unami, the tribe’s native language.

“Thank you, Teme,” I said, the usual moisture springing to my eyes whenever anyone spoke of my father.

“Now you are head of Brighmor,” he continued. “I have been sent to ask if you will continue to honor the trade agreement between our fathers or should we seek trade with other farmers?”

“I will honor the agreement,” I said, knowing it would have been my father’s wish in addition to being of great benefit to Brighmor. “Come and speak with Ben. He will act in my stead.”

Ben nodded, most likely expecting the responsibility since he was the only one at Brighmor who spoke Unami with any amount of fluency. He had always had a hand in negotiating how much of our wheat and pork would be traded for their maple syrup, venison and furs.

“Thank you, Tenteyuawen,” Teme said. “May the Great Creator keep you safe.”

Returning to his companions, he began to translate the details of our conversation while I asked Ben to quickly explain to Henry what was happening. I then turned to the ladies to inquire whether they wanted to continue knitting or put it aside for the day in light of all the excitement. Allison and Katrina decided to stay, and I was just waiting for Nora and Phoebe to finish up their rather pointed exchange on the merits of service when I overheard the men speaking.

“What was that name he kept calling Selah?” Henry asked.

“Tenteyuawen,” Ben said, repeating the Lenape name I had learned to associate with my own.

“What does it mean?”

“Translating straight across, it means ‘burning one.’ Selah’s mother and grandmother were both called the same thing when they were alive, sort of like a family name for the Kilbrid women, the best I can figure.”

“Burning one,” Henry said, repeating the words. “Would it by chance be a reference to Selah’s fiery temper?”

Ben laughed. “You’d think so. But by the way the Lenape use it, I think it means something more like an angel.”

Chapter Eleven

An Eye For An Eye

As our two-week wedding anniversary came and went, Henry and I fell into a routine that best accommodated our domestic situation. We dined together in the mornings, after which Henry and Ben would leave to ride through the wheat fields or tend to other matters of business. This took the better part of the day, and we usually did not meet up again until evening meal. Then following an hour of reading or playing chess in the smaller parlor, I would politely excuse myself for bed. By sticking close to this schedule, most days would find us together for less than three hours. Between eating and discussing the many concerns that surrounded so large an estate, I made sure little time remained for more personal relations.

By no stretch of the imagination did I consider this arrangement to be the height of marital bliss. Instead, it was just enough to keep up a good front for the servants while helping Henry and me to avoid any more problematic encounters. Our relationship could have been very different if I were at liberty to love whoever I wanted without sacrificing my gift, but why wish for something I could never have? So, for the time being I was biding by the old Irish saying “far from the eyes, far from the heart”—or some such nonsense.

A silent tension had sprung up between us since our kiss, and while I tried to forget what had happened, carefully regulating the amount of time we spent together, Henry became withdrawn in his thoughts as though weighed down by some great internal struggle. The issue finally came out one evening while we sat in the parlor reading. We sat opposite each other, me on the sofa and Henry in one of the wingback chairs with a book lying unopened in his lap. Feeling his gaze, I glanced up to find him staring at me.

Ours eyes locked for a brief moment. “It is too much!” he said at last, muttering the words under his breath. Setting his book on the floor, he walked over to a small side table to pour a glass of wine, draining the cup in one shot. He then began to pace back and forth across the length of the room. I nearly suggested he take a walk outside, when he came over to the sofa and sat down next to me, much closer than was comfortable.

Our thighs touched, and his warmth just about stopped my breath. Keeping my eyes pinned to the open book in my lap, I silently willed him to get up, or even just scoot over a bit before I stopped breathing altogether. Instead, he reached out and took my hand.

“Selah, we need to talk about the other night.” He ran his thumb along my palm, sending shivers right up my spine all the way to my hairline.

This was the very moment I’d been dreading since the night we kissed, and as usual when taken in a fit of nerves, I started to babble. “Aren’t you pleased we’ve been able to develop such a lovely friendship?” I asked, to stop him from saying anything further. “It’s a relief we’ve decided not to complicate our relationship with any unnecessary expectations. I mean it isn’t always easy living like we do and having to pretend at being married. Sometimes it seems so real I could nearly believe it myself. But we’re not, and thankfully we’ve enough good sense between us to behave ourselves, even if we’re sorely tempted otherwise.”

He still held my hand, and I wondered if he could feel the blood surging through my veins. While speaking I had kept my eyes down, but now chanced a quick glance to see how my words were being received. His eyes had gone a very dark green, and the muscles in his jaw were clenched tight.

He continued to trace along my hand. “Is that what you want?” he asked.

Not trusting what else might come out of my mouth, I resorted to simply nodding. In truth, it was the last thing I wanted, but there was nothing else I could do.
Far from the eyes
,
far from the heart
, I thought feverishly, staring up at him, into his beautiful green eyes.
The eyes and the heart...

He pressed my hand softly before letting it go. “If that is your wish.” He stood, and left the room.

When the front door closed, I let out a long breath and sank back into the couch. In another minute I would have thrown my arms around his neck and kissed him for all I was worth.

* * *

To my great relief, the next two weeks completely lacked any excitement. There were no more witch bottles to be found, or any open pronouncements from Nathan during Sunday meeting, or even the slightest hint from Henry that anything other than friendship had ever existed between us. I even managed to finish the pair of stockings I had started for the poor, and along with the four pairs completed by the other ladies, passed them to Anne Boyle to be distributed as she thought fit.

With no more than the usual affairs and patients to keep me busy, the first of July arrived, bringing with it our one-month wedding anniversary. It promised to be just another typical day when Mary came into the dining room to say I had a caller.

“Who could it be at this time of morning?” I asked. “Is it a patient?”

“No, ma’am, it’s one of them Lenape Indians. Should I tell him ye are engaged and make him wait till after breakfast?”

This was highly unusual, and I tried to think what could have brought him all the way to Brighmor this morning.

“Would he be here to talk about the trade agreement?” Henry asked.

“I don’t think so.” I put my napkin on the table and got up from my chair. “Most likely, our pigs have gotten out again and are eating their corn. I’ll see what he needs. It should just take a minute.”

Not fully comfortable with the notion of Indians yet, Henry also stood and accompanied me to the door where we found the young man waiting.

I recognized the Lenape as one of Teme’s friends. “Good morning. What can I do for you?”

“Tenteyuawen, come village,” he said earnestly in halting English.

“Why?” I asked. “Has something happened?”

“Teme hurt. Sakima want Tenteyuawen hurry to village.”

“What’s wrong with Teme?” I asked, panic beginning to rise. The Lenape were very self-sufficient, and having their own skilled healers, only called on me during times of life and death.

The man didn’t say anything, but pointed to his jaw instead.

“He hurt his mouth?” Henry asked, wagering a guess from the gesture.

The man then clenched his teeth and arched his back, simulating what looked like a spasm.

I understood the pantomime at once. “Teme has lockjaw.”

“Tenteyuawen hurry village,” the man repeated, his voice growing desperate.

“Yes, I’ll come with you.” I turned to call for Mary.

“Ma’am?” she answered immediately, having been standing just out of sight.

“Run to the stable and have my horse saddled,” I ordered. “Tell the stable boy that I’m on my way and want the beast ready.”

“And have my horse saddled as well,” Henry said. “I’ll not have you riding off alone with a half-naked man into an entire village of savages.”

There was no time to waste arguing, so I rolled my eyes and ran off to fetch my boots and gloves.

Within minutes, we rode down through the front pastures toward the road. As the crow flies, the village was situated less than eight miles from Brighmor, but this distance had to be tripled at least with the Schuylkill River lying between us, making it necessary to travel well out of our way to the only ferry in service. Quickly doing the calculation in my head, I figured it would take almost two hours to reach the ferry and cross the river. Then another three hours of riding to double back much of the way.

This amount of time troubled me. If the sickness had progressed to the phase of severe spasms then the poison was already well engaged in Teme’s nervous system, putting him at great risk of torn muscles, fractured bones, and possibly even suffocation. Driven by thoughts of Teme’s suffering, I spurred my horse on faster. The steel gray sky promised rain, much of the same from the past month. I offered a silent prayer that the dry weather would hold just long enough for us to get to the village.

We had traveled two miles at the most when the Lenape man suddenly turned from the road and headed into the woods. By no means could the ferry be reached this way, and I called out for him to stop.

“What’s wrong?” Henry reined his horse at my side.

“He went the wrong way. We need to go up the road another twelve miles, unless...” A tight knot formed in my throat and I couldn’t even finish the sentence. The guide stopped about twenty yards ahead, turned his horse and motioned frantically for us to follow.

“Unless what?” Henry asked warily still greatly distrustful of the Indians, and possibly thinking this might be some sort of a trick.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. “Unless he wants us to cross the river without the ferry.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.” Henry visibly relaxed once he understood the Indian’s intentions. “How much time would it save?”

“About four hours.”

Henry considered me for a moment. “Selah, are you worried about crossing the river?”

“My family has a bad history with water,” I told him.

He gave me an expectant look, saying nothing as he waited for more of an explanation.

Under the circumstances, I decided it best to be more forthcoming so he would understand my strange reaction. “My mother and grandmother,” I said reluctantly. “They both drowned.” My throat constricted painfully, making the next words difficult. “The magistrate found no sign of foul play and ruled both deaths accidental, though we’ve no idea what happened. My mother was discovered in one of Brighmor’s ponds. My grandmother drowned in the Schuylkill River while attempting to cross over to one of the Lenape Villages during an outbreak of yellow fever.” The first accident had occurred years before I was born, but my mother died when I was fourteen. I shuddered from the memory and the vivid nightmares that had haunted me ever since her death.

“I see,” Henry said quietly. “I’ve not much experience with lockjaw and don’t know what difference a few hours will make. If you don’t want to cross here, we can keep on going to the ferry. It’s your decision.”

I thought again of Teme suffering with his jaw clamped shut and his back arched in painful spasms. Unfortunately, a few hours could mean everything. “We’ll cross the river here.” I set my shoulders and spurred my horse into the woods.

The Schuylkill River measured approximately 50 yards wide where my guide intended to cross. Following weeks of rain, this normally slow-moving river had swollen beyond its banks. The water had turned from clear to a murky brown from runoff and the stronger current. Though my horse could keep her footing most of the way, the river grew deeper toward the middle, especially with the raised water level, and would require some swimming to get across.

I stared out at the river and tried to remind myself that people crossed on horseback all the time. The ferry was primarily used for wagons and those traveling on foot, or the occasional dandy who didn’t want to get his clothes wet. I didn’t fall into any of these categories.

“Can you swim?” Henry asked as the Lenape man urged his horse into the water.

“Not so well.”

“Well, I can swim for the both of us. You go ahead. I’ll keep close behind.”

Faced with one of my worst fears, I began to doubt if I possessed the necessary courage. By now my guide had reached the middle of the river. The blood drained from my face when he leaned into the horse’s neck once the beast lost its footing and started to swim. For a short time all I could see was the horse’s head as the murky water flowed unhindered over its back, soaking the man to his chest. Finding solid ground again beneath its hooves, the horse jerked forward several times, rising up from the water and continued wading toward the other bank.

Just watching had turned my breath thin. “I can’t do it,” I whispered, ashamed to expose such weakness.

Henry reached over and placed a firm hand on my arm. “I’ll not let you drown,” he said gently.

I looked at him, saw the truth in his eyes.

“I promise, Selah...”

His voice penetrated my fear, gave me the courage to urge my horse forward. The Lenape had cleared the far bank, and I concentrated solely on him in an attempt to ignore the chasm of deep water that currently separated me from dry ground. When the river bottom disappeared, the cool, dark water swirled up around my waist. I grasped my horse’s neck, burying my face in her mane and holding on for dear life.

“You’re doing just fine,” Henry said encouragingly from right behind me. “Only a few more feet and you’ll be through.”

My horse rocked forward when its hooves came into contact again with the rocky bottom. I held on even tighter, not daring to look until I had been lifted entirely out of the water.

“Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Henry came up alongside me once we had made it into the shallows.

“No, it wasn’t,” I said entirely surprised and more than a little pleased. “But I couldn’t have done it without your help.” Only his reassurance had gotten me off the bank.

When we reached dry ground, the Lenape gave me a minute to pour the water from my boots and wring my skirts before turning his horse into the woods. I disliked riding in layers of wet clothing, soaked up to my bosom, but there was nothing to be done other than ride on and let the air dry me out. Luckily for all of us it was a decently warm day, which eliminated the risk of taking chill and falling sick.

The vegetation grew denser the deeper we went into the woods, and it took me a while to realize that we were following some sort of game trail. Even so, I hoped Henry was paying attention, and would be able to lead the way back to the river when the time came. More than an hour passed before the trail finally gave way into a wide clearing.

I had been to the village twice before and recognized the bark covered longhouses and wigwams. At first sight it appeared like any other day—Indians moved about, engaged in various tasks—but an unnatural quiet persisted. I heard no sound of laughter or talking. Even the children, who were usually rambunctious and full of energy, had been affected by the somber mood and were either huddled in small groups or staying close to their mothers.