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Authors: Suzanne Adair
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yawning, bored with
condolences, perplexed by her choice of company. "The people send well wishes. The journey of Will St. James separates from yours for awhile,
but Creator will again unite your paths."
Hardly the
speech of a murderer or enemy. Intrigue
gleamed in the onyx depths of Runs With Horses's eyes, sending a shiver through
her. On a deep level, she sensed he
wasn't just spouting Indian-speak. "And how do you know this, friend of my house?"
With peripheral
vision Runs With Horses ascertained Barrows' inattention and reined back
disdain. "We saw his spirit pass
through the forest last night."
Yes, they would
have, after all the times her father had visited the village. She bowed her head, by then certain the
Creek weren't involved in Will's death. But unless the murderer was found, they'd be blamed. Sorrow thickened her voice. "You bring me great comfort. Thank you for your kindness."
Barrows
escorted the warrior out. Sophie's
attention wandered all afternoon. Susana drenched her sleeve with tears during her visitation. David kept a tight cover on his grief. Between two visits from Alton's undertaker,
thirty townspeople paid their respects. She kept wondering what secret mission was worth dying for in such a
horrendous manner. The redcoats, the
rebels, the Spaniard: who killed Will? Through her head wove that column of numbers in the cipher.
Back in her
bedroom Sunday evening, she studied the cipher while nudging ham and hominy
around a pewter plate with her fork. With a sigh, she shoved the plate aside and cleaned her teeth. Then she set the supper tray at the top of
the stairs. Jollity from Mary and both
soldiers carried upstairs. Will's death
created little stir in Mary's life, for it was Sophie who managed the
finances. "Mary! Fetch my plate. I'm done with supper."
"Right away,
Mrs. Barton."
In Will's room,
Sophie eased into the rocking chair and thought about rocking Betsy, all full
of squalls, brawls, and life, her dark hair tousled and damp. Five years later, she'd rocked a boy babe,
born too soon, until his hold on the earth slipped away. Then she'd laid him to rest beside his tiny
twin who'd never mewed signs of life.
There'd been no
solace from Richard Barton, her second husband, away on business in North
Carolina when she'd borne the twins in Augusta. He was always away on business, even when he was home. As soon as she could travel, she'd returned
to Alton with little Betsy, where her family had given her the solace she
needed. Not just her family, she
recalled, but friends as well. The
Carey brothers and their wives stammered out platitudes. Newlywed Joshua Hale and his wife were full
of trite little sayings about life and love. Jonah Hale had mumbled out an "I'm sorry," then scurried off
because he was still mourning his wife, who had succumbed to yellow fever
earlier that summer — Jonah, whom she'd never see again. Sorrow clutched the back of her throat and
receded without leaving her the relief of tears.
The visitor who
stood out most in her mind from that time was Mathias Hale. Unmarried after his Creek wife, Stands Tall,
had died in childbirth, he'd sat quietly with her one morning. When she'd asked him why he didn't speak,
he'd said, "I figure by now everyone has said all the words and still not
made it better, so I'll sit with you and not say anything." His stoic presence bolstered her more than
anyone's shallow attempts at cheer. Mathias, she reflected, had always been anything but shallow.
The current of
memories carried her farther back to a summer afternoon eighteen years before,
to one of her earliest memories of Mathias's depth. A scant two weeks before she was to marry Jim Neely, she and the
girls stole clothes from the boys at the swimming hole. On the opposite side of the pond she
discovered and swiped Mathias's clothing. A good sport about it, he traded
condolences, perplexed by her choice of company. "The people send well wishes. The journey of Will St. James separates from yours for awhile,
but Creator will again unite your paths."
Hardly the
speech of a murderer or enemy. Intrigue
gleamed in the onyx depths of Runs With Horses's eyes, sending a shiver through
her. On a deep level, she sensed he
wasn't just spouting Indian-speak. "And how do you know this, friend of my house?"
With peripheral
vision Runs With Horses ascertained Barrows' inattention and reined back
disdain. "We saw his spirit pass
through the forest last night."
Yes, they would
have, after all the times her father had visited the village. She bowed her head, by then certain the
Creek weren't involved in Will's death. But unless the murderer was found, they'd be blamed. Sorrow thickened her voice. "You bring me great comfort. Thank you for your kindness."
Barrows
escorted the warrior out. Sophie's
attention wandered all afternoon. Susana drenched her sleeve with tears during her visitation. David kept a tight cover on his grief. Between two visits from Alton's undertaker,
thirty townspeople paid their respects. She kept wondering what secret mission was worth dying for in such a
horrendous manner. The redcoats, the
rebels, the Spaniard: who killed Will? Through her head wove that column of numbers in the cipher.
Back in her
bedroom Sunday evening, she studied the cipher while nudging ham and hominy
around a pewter plate with her fork. With a sigh, she shoved the plate aside and cleaned her teeth. Then she set the supper tray at the top of
the stairs. Jollity from Mary and both
soldiers carried upstairs. Will's death
created little stir in Mary's life, for it was Sophie who managed the
finances. "Mary! Fetch my plate. I'm done with supper."
"Right away,
Mrs. Barton."
In Will's room,
Sophie eased into the rocking chair and thought about rocking Betsy, all full
of squalls, brawls, and life, her dark hair tousled and damp. Five years later, she'd rocked a boy babe,
born too soon, until his hold on the earth slipped away. Then she'd laid him to rest beside his tiny
twin who'd never mewed signs of life.
There'd been no
solace from Richard Barton, her second husband, away on business in North
Carolina when she'd borne the twins in Augusta. He was always away on business, even when he was home. As soon as she could travel, she'd returned
to Alton with little Betsy, where her family had given her the solace she
needed. Not just her family, she
recalled, but friends as well. The
Carey brothers and their wives stammered out platitudes. Newlywed Joshua Hale and his wife were full
of trite little sayings about life and love. Jonah Hale had mumbled out an "I'm sorry," then scurried off
because he was still mourning his wife, who had succumbed to yellow fever
earlier that summer — Jonah, whom she'd never see again. Sorrow clutched the back of her throat and
receded without leaving her the relief of tears.
The visitor who
stood out most in her mind from that time was Mathias Hale. Unmarried after his Creek wife, Stands Tall,
had died in childbirth, he'd sat quietly with her one morning. When she'd asked him why he didn't speak,
he'd said, "I figure by now everyone has said all the words and still not
made it better, so I'll sit with you and not say anything." His stoic presence bolstered her more than
anyone's shallow attempts at cheer. Mathias, she reflected, had always been anything but shallow.
The current of
memories carried her farther back to a summer afternoon eighteen years before,
to one of her earliest memories of Mathias's depth. A scant two weeks before she was to marry Jim Neely, she and the
girls stole clothes from the boys at the swimming hole. On the opposite side of the pond she
discovered and swiped Mathias's clothing. A good sport about it, he traded
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