Gift Of The Heart - Miranda Jarrett

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it, too, on the floorboards. Perhaps letting him keep the gun was not the wisest thing she’d done, but still she sensed it was in her favor. She would put off changing the dressing until morning. Sleep now would be the best thing for him. At last she drew the coverlet over his shoulders, tucking it protectively around him the same way she had when he’d been so sick.

      The same, yet different, the way everything between them had changed in little more than an hour’s time. There wasn’t any “same” left now, and the Lord only knew what would happen next.

      “Oh, Mama, is he asleep again?” asked Billy mournfully as he leaned over the edge of the loft.

      “Rest’s the one thing now that will help make him well.” She glanced upward, wondering if the boy had been there all along as she’d suspected. “Come down and wash up for supper.”

      But now that Billy had her attention, he was in no hurry to move, instead leaning on his elbows as he stared down at the sleeping man. “You said he had to go, Mama,” he said accusingly. “You said he couldn’t stay.”

      “Oh, Billy, sweetheart, it’s not up to me,” she said unhappily. “I know he’s been very kind to you, but he doesn’t belong here. Once he’s better, he must return to his own family and friends. I’m sure they miss him very much, and they’ll be glad to see he’s well again.”

      “Don’t want him to go,” said Billy, more wistful than stubborn. He hugged Blackie closer, resting his chin on the horse’s worn back. “He made Uncle Alec go away.”

      “Not really, love. Mr. Ryder was watching, but that was all. Uncle Alec left on his own.”

      “Not ‘Mr. Ryder,’ Mama,” corrected Billy patiently. “It’s Jamie. An’ Jamie made Uncle Alec go away.”

      “Well, then, Jamie didn’t make your uncle go home. Uncle Alec didn’t even know anyone else was in our house.”

      Unconvinced, Billy shook his head, and Rachel knew exactly what he meant. She might not trust Jamie Ryder, but she had believed him when he said he’d do all he could to keep her and Billy from harm. Why else would she have put his rifle where he’d find it as soon as he woke?

      “Uncle Alec’s bad,” continued Billy steadfastly, “an’ Jamie’s good, an’ I like him, Mama, an’ I want him to stay here.”

      “Oh, Billy, that’s simply not possible, you see, because he—because we—” She broke off, searching vainly for the words to explain her reasons to a child. She looked back at the man in her bed, his face relaxed and boyish in sleep. How could she hope to explain how she felt about Jamie to Billy when she couldn’t explain it to herself?

      “It’s simply not possible, Billy,” she said wistfully. “Jamie must leave as soon as he can. But I like him, too, Billy. I like him just fine.”

       Chapter Four

      Rachel hurried down the path to the barn, her feet slipping here and there across the packed snow she’d worn slick to ice. With little clumps of ice clinging to the hem of her skirts, she balanced the lantern in one hand and the empty milk bucket in the other, the musket slung on a strap over her shoulders banging against her back. Only the scent and feel of more snow in the icy air, the threat of a new storm, could have brought her out this early at all.

      She hated the dark that closed in around her, the black shadows that swallowed up the feeble light her lantern cast over the snow. This darkness that came when the moon had set and before the sun rose, the darkness of the deepest winter morning, made her heart pound and her imagination race to picture all that could be hiding in the murkiness around her.

      Fiercely she tried to remind herself this was her land, her home. Nothing could harm her here. She knew every inch of this path, just as she knew exactly how many paces lay between her house and her barn. But all the fierce reminders in the world couldn’t brighten this darkness, and by the time she reached the barn she was almost running, the lantern’s light bobbing wildly and the empty bucket thumping against her thigh. With fingers clumsy from the cold, she tore at the latch, flung back the door and slammed it shut after her as if the devil himself were at her heels.

      As crazy shadows from the swinging lantern danced across the walls, the hens flew squawking from their roost, flapping furiously in the air, and the cow lowed and thumped uneasily against the sides of her stall.

      “Hush, now, hush, all of you!” called Rachel, her voice shaking for all she tried to hold it steady. “It’s only me, and I swear there’s nothing to be frightened of!”

      Brave words, those, she thought as she hurriedly hung the lantern from a beam. How could she scold the poor hens for skittering and squawking when she’d been the one seeing demons in the dark? She sighed with exasperation at her own foolishness and tried to calm the frightened animals, murmuring nonsense to the cow, Juno, as she broke the ice in the water trough and replaced the winter straw in the manger.

      She set the bucket on the floor and ran her fingers through the bristly hair between the cow’s ears. This was all Jamie Ryder’s fault, filling her head full of grim warnings and cautions, and Alec’s, too, with all his tales of Tory and Indian raids. Indians, pooh. In the eighteen months since she’d come here she’d seen only two Indians, a pair of Mahicans traveling north with an English trapper.

      And as wild as it had once seemed to her, this land so close to the river was downright civilized. On clear days she could easily make out the smoke from her nearest neighbors’ chimney, and though the journey to Ethan and Mary Bowman’s house took more than an hour through the forest, by the standards of this part of New York that was only as far as the house next door was in Providence. The war that was tearing apart so much of the country was so far away as to seem unreal to her, one more thing she’d left behind in Rhode Island. She was likely safer here than anywhere else in the state.

      Besides, the sun itself would rise in an hour, and banish the dark and the shadows for another day. So why, then, was her heart still pounding, her breathing still as ragged as if she’d run four hundred paces instead of forty?

      Though the rooster and his hens had settled once again with only a few lingering, irritated clucks among them, Juno had not, shifting uneasily in her stall with her eyes white-rimmed.

      “Hush now, my lady,” said Rachel, her own voice finally settling down. “Hush now, you silly old madame cow.”

      Yet still Juno tossed her head, the most defiance a cow can show, and enough to make Rachel wish she could postpone the milking. Once she’d made the mistake of continuing when Juno was feeling out of sorts, and learned the hard way how quickly a cow can kick. She’d had the bruise for a fortnight.

      Instead she pulled the three-legged milking stool back and dropped down onto it with a sigh. She couldn’t wait forever; not only was Juno’s bag heavy with milk, but Rachel herself had to be back in the house before Billy woke and missed her. And Jamie Ryder, too. When she’d left he’d been sleeping soundly enough, but she didn’t want to give him any more time than she had to alone in her home, or alone with Billy, either. Lord, how everything changed with him here!

      She pressed her forehead against the cow’s side and softly began to sing, hoping that would cure Juno’s restlessness. It usually did. The more morose the song, the better, as far as the cow was concerned, and she was particularly partial to the sailors’ laments Rachel had learned long ago from her brothers.

      He has crost the raging seas his Molly for to tease And that is the cause of my grief,

      I sigh, lament and mourn waiting for my love’s return,

      Of whom shall I seek—

      Abruptly Rachel broke off, listening. She thought she’d heard a scuffling sound, almost scratching, but as soon as she fell quiet it stopped. Daft, she thought with disgust, she’d gone daft

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