This Side of Heaven Page 2

  “This way.” Daniel, who was slightly in the lead with a trunk balanced on each shoulder, turned off the road to stride down a footpath that led toward the woods. Captain Rowse, carrying the third trunk on his shoulder, followed. Caroline, after one appalled glance told her where the path led, also realized that she had no choice. She trailed after them, clutching the basket closer as she picked her way along the narrow trail.

  Gloomy shadows enveloped her as she took her first tentative steps into the forest; the trees were huge, their foliage entwined like laced fingers overhead to block out the sun. Cool vines reached out to brush her skin; the very air seemed alive with twittering birds and calling animals. But the men were striding briskly ahead. Already they were nearly out of sight. Plucking up her courage—she had not come so far and dared so much to be put off by a mere woods, no matter how daunting she might find it—she hurried after them. Neither man bothered to hold branches out of her way, so Caroline, with one and sometimes both hands holding the basket, ducked and dodged the overhanging limbs as best she could. A supple sapling sprang back in Captain Rowse’s wake to strike her face; with a little cry she clapped a hand to her stinging cheek and glared after the offender, who marched on, oblivious. Then he disappeared around a bend in the path, and she was alone. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as she contemplated the various types of beasts that might at that very moment be watching her hungrily from the undergrowth. Did they have bears in Connecticut Colony, or wolves? Looking around her, she shivered. Catching her skirts up over one arm to free her feet, she almost ran after the men.

  During her lifetime she had, with her father, traveled from town to town over the length and breadth of England, and not often in the lap of luxury, either. But her father had earned his living by the turn of a card or the fall of a pair of dice, and such a profession by its very nature was largely carried out within the environs of civilization. She had much experience of town life, and little practical knowledge of farms or the countryside. This wild, primitive place was totally beyond her ken. Caroline felt her skin crawl as she glanced at the shadowy woodland around her. The conviction that she had been a fool to come had been festering inside her for weeks. Never had it been stronger than it was at this moment. But what other choice had she had? She’d been destitute, with no one to turn to and nowhere to go. The only alternative had been to turn whore, and that she would not do.

  Daniel had paused at the edge of a clearing. Captain Rowse was just catching up to him as Caroline, remembering her modesty, dropped her skirts and emerged from the trees behind them.

  “Here we are. We’ll just leave these here”—Daniel lowered the trunks to the ground with obvious relief—“until Matt decides what’s best to do.”

  “That’s sensible.” Captain Rowse spoke approvingly and set the trunk he’d been carrying down beside the other two. From their unwillingness to tote the heavy load any farther, it was clear to Caroline that they feared they might soon be lugging it back the way they had come. Her stomach churned again; they didn’t think she was welcome, and they might well be right. But surely Elizabeth, her own sister, would want her. Although they hadn’t set eyes on each other since Caroline had been a child of seven—could it really be fifteen years?

  Caroline stopped a pace or so behind the men, surreptitiously straightening her hood and brushing her skirt free of the leaves and twigs that clung to it. Her first view of her destination was at an angle to encompass house, outbuildings, and the surrounding land, and was at least partly reassuring. The town dwellings had been little more than shacks. This establishment looked both comfortable and prosperous.

  The house was two stories tall, with long, narrow windows of leaded glass and a massive front door. The upper story overhung the lower in a design most likely intended to provide shelter from bad weather for the rooms below. It also seemed meant to serve as a lookout and would undoubtedly be a strategic place from which to shoot should the need arise, which, in such an unsettled land, it probably did all too often. The whole house was built of rough-hewn logs, with huge chimneys of native stone rising on both sides. Behind the house was a barn with fencing to contain a number of cows and horses. A small, shirt-sleeved boy fed chickens in the barnyard, and beyond him two men could be seen laboring in the nearest of the vast fields that had been carved out of the forest. On one side of the house a youth stirred a steaming kettle that had been suspended over a fire. A large black-and-white mongrel lay at his feet; it sprang up, barking madly, as it caught sight of Daniel, Captain Rowse, and Caroline.

  “That’s Matt in yonder field.” Lifting a hand in greeting to the boy stirring the kettle, Daniel started off again with Caroline and Captain Rowse following. The boy waved back while the dog bounded toward them.

  “Mind your manners, Raleigh,” Daniel scolded the dog in an indulgent tone as it darted, growling ferociously, toward Captain Rowse’s legs. The captain pushed it away with his booted foot, his expression completely unperturbed, as if he were well used to being attacked by a dog the size of a small pony. The beast, thwarted, galloped around the three of them, barking all the while. Then, to Caroline’s horror, it turned its attention to her.

  She had never had any dealings with dogs, and this particular specimen, besides being enormous, seemed possessed of an extraordinary number of sharp and glistening teeth. All of which it bared at her in a taunting doggy grin before it charged.

  “Oh!” Despite her best efforts at aplomb, she could not hold back a squeal.

  “ ’Twould be a pity if you were afraid of dogs,” Daniel observed, sounding mildly amused as she clutched her basket closer and whirled, presenting her back to the dreadful beast.

  “Wouldn’t it?” In the normal way of things, her voice was soft, well modulated, quite melodious, in fact. More than once she had been complimented on its beauty. But in her effort to remain nonchalant as the animal caught and worried the edge of her cloak, her tone might best have been described as shrill.

  Neither man made the slightest move to rescue her. Indeed, both grinned widely as they observed the unequal struggle. When the monster next sank its teeth into her flesh, would they still watch so merrily, she wondered, and came to the conclusion that they probably would. Gritting her teeth, trying to keep the lid on both her growing temper and her escalating panic, Caroline yanked cautiously at her cloak. The dog held on. The hem ripped, the dog tugged harder—and then the unthinkable happened. The flimsy catch that fastened her basket gave way as it had threatened to do all morning, the lid lifted, and out popped a furry black head. Caroline saw, knew what was about to happen, and sought to cram the cat safely back inside, but she was too late. Millicent took only an instant to assess the situation. With a yowl she bounded over the side and away.

  “What on earth …?” If there was any more to Daniel’s exclamation, Caroline didn’t hear it. After no more than a heartbeat’s worth of frozen surprise, Raleigh let go of the cloak to tear after the streaking cat. Frenzied barking mixed with Caroline’s shriek as her pet just managed to elude the dog’s teeth. Abandoning all thoughts of dignity and personal safety, Caroline dropped the basket, picked up her skirts, and sped to the rescue. But Millicent clearly had no intention of waiting for succor. She fled under the barnyard fence while Raleigh, no more than a few paces behind, leaped over it.

  “Millicent! Stop!”

  The cat paid no heed to her scream. Squawking chickens scattered as the animals zigzagged wildly through their midst. The boy who’d been feeding them dropped his pan of meal as Millicent darted between his legs; Raleigh swerved just in time to avoid knocking the windmilling child down. Undeterred by the near collision, the dog continued to pursue his prey with earsplitting intensity. With a shout the boy joined the chase.

  “Millicent! Oh, will somebody call off that blasted dog?”

  Caroline caught the top of the fence and propelled herself up and over to land in the middle of the bedlam created by chickens, child, dog, and cat. Behind her Daniel yell
ed for Raleigh to come back between what sounded like fits of laughter. Out in the field the laboring men stopped what they were doing and squinted toward the scene of the commotion. One called out something that was unintelligible to Caroline.

  Millicent bolted under the fence on the opposite side of the barnyard while Raleigh and the boy raced after her. Caroline, her caught-up skirts revealing flashes of white petticoats and slim, thrashing calves, followed suit. The child stopped, apparently content to do no more than hang on the gate and watch as dog and cat dashed across the meadow. He yelled something to Caroline as she swarmed up and over the fence. So intent was she on the chase that the words didn’t register until she was almost halfway across the field. Then the sense of what he had said sank in. The boy had cried, “ ’Ware the bull!”

  Bull?

  Caroline’s step faltered. Her gaze left the dog and cat and swung around in a wide arc. What she saw made her stop dead and drop her skirts. Her mouth opened and her eyes rounded with horror.

  There was, indeed, a bull.

  It was as black as Satan and as big as a colossus, and it was looking directly at her from no more than a dozen yards away!

  For a moment that seemed suspended forever in time, Caroline and the beast stared at each other. Then, with a nod to the adage that discretion was the better part of valor, Caroline snatched up her skirts, whirled about, and fled back toward the safety of the barnyard, her scarlet cloak streaming out behind her like a banner.

  Behind her, with a fearsome bellow, the behemoth charged.

  “Run!”

  The boy on the fence screamed encouragement, but Caroline scarcely heard him. She was deafened, blinded by fear. Her eyes focused on the fence, and her ears were filled with the heaving, snorting creature that pounded after her.

  “Come on! Come on!”

  The child cheered her on, but it was scarcely necessary. The finest runner in all of London town could not have matched the speed Caroline attained that morning. She sprinted toward the fence like a greyhound. Behind her she could hear the monster’s enraged bawls, the pounding of its hooves.

  Caroline screamed. The boy on the gate yelled. Men and children converged on the barnyard from seemingly every direction.

  She fancied she could feel the creature’s hot breath on her back.

  “Your cloak! Drop your cloak!”

  Still some paces short of the fence, Daniel yelled the advice even as he raced to her assistance.

  Caroline clenched one fist around her skirt—tripping at such a juncture might very well prove fatal—and raised the other hand to jerk at the strings of her cloak. An instant later the garment billowed free.

  “Good girl!”

  Terror gave wings to her feet as she leaped toward the safety of the fence from nearly a yard away. Daniel, vaulting up the other side, grabbed her arm and jerked her up and over. There was a tug as her skirt caught, the sound of ripping cloth, and then she was hurtling through the air to land with an oomph! facedown in the filth of the barnyard.

  As she lay sprawled, aching in every bone and fighting for breath, Millicent appeared from nowhere and rubbed her head against her mistress’s. From the woods beyond the bull’s pasture, Raleigh continued to bark frantically as he sought the cat, which had, in the mysterious manner of its kind, managed to elude him. Caroline didn’t even have the strength to groan as her pet began, very noisily, to purr.

  3

  For what seemed like an eternity Caroline lay unmoving, Millicent’s consoling rumbles echoing in her ears. The fall had knocked the breath from her; the hardscrabble ground had scraped her face and hands, making them sting. Her entire body felt bruised by the force of her landing, and her heart had yet to slow its panicked beat. To make matters worse, she was sure that when she opened her eyes a huge mouth full of giant doggy teeth would be poised to make a meal of her under the eyes of its grinning masters, none of whom had seemed inclined to lift so much as a finger in her defense.

  But finally she could postpone the inevitable no longer. Reaching out an arm, she scooped up Millicent, cradling the cat against her bruised ribcage. With great reluctance, she opened her eyes and rolled cautiously onto an elbow as she looked around. The dog was nowhere in sight. Caroline heaved a sigh of relief. Except for the scowling scrutiny of the small boy who had been feeding the chickens, she was alone. Moving gingerly, she sat up.

  “She’s alive, Pa.”

  The child spoke over his shoulder, then turned wide blue eyes back on Caroline. His black hair, fine as silk, formed a ragged fringe above his eyes; it needed trimming, she saw, and there was a rip in the knee of his breeches that cried out for mending. He had an untended look about him, and his manners certainly left a great deal to be desired. But he was not her concern, and for that she must be thankful.

  Squinting against the sun, Caroline looked past the urchin to find five grown men and the youth who’d been stirring the kettle leaning against the fence she’d just scaled. Beyond them the bull snorted and stomped as it tossed what was left of her cloak into the air with its horns. All five males regarded the malevolent beast with an anxiety that would have been heartwarming had it been directed at her. But focused on the bull, such concern was maddening.

  At the child’s pronouncement they all turned their heads. Six pairs of eyes fixed on Caroline with varying degrees of rebuke. Her attention focused on the oldest of the three men she had not yet met. If she was not mistaken, he was the one whom Daniel had earlier referred to as Matt. Her eyes were more than a little hostile as she watched the approach of Ephraim Mathieson.

  He was a tall man, taller even than Daniel who had stood beside him at the fence, with broad shoulders and a wide chest that tapered down to narrow hips and long, powerful legs. Like the two boys, he wore no coat or waistcoat. His shirt was long-sleeved, white, and collarless, his breeches black and full, ending just below the knee. His stockings were of gray wool, his shoes simple square-toed leather. He was hatless, and his hair was so black that it glinted blue in the bright sunlight, as rare and fine a shade of black as her own. Like Daniel’s, it was cut short in the Roundhead style, but the curls and deep waves it fell into seemed determined to defy that modest fashion.

  Even before she got a good look at his face, Caroline decided that her sister’s husband was a most attractive man.

  It was only as he drew closer that she realized that he limped. His left leg, apparently unable to bend at the knee, swung awkwardly as he moved. A small amount of hostility faded from her gaze. It must be galling for such an obviously vigorous man to be hampered by such an affliction.

  When he was but a few paces from her, he stopped, fists on hips, as he studied her, frowning. Self-consciously her gaze followed the same path as his. As she inventoried her own shortcomings, it was all she could do to suppress a wince. She was naturally tall and slender, but once she had been round in all the places where women were meant to be round. The rigors of the voyage and the soul-destroying months that had preceded it had leached the feminine roundness from her, leaving her almost painfully thin. Unfortunately, her gown—it was her best, a once-lovely creation of ruched emerald silk—had been made when her contours were more womanly. Now it hung on her, the neckline far lower than it should be, the elbow-length sleeves and waist drooping, the skirt inches too long. In fact, the garment looked as if it had been made for a much larger person. It was also torn and filthy from her fall. With her hair tumbling from its once-tidy knot at her nape so that thick black strands straggled indecorously around her neck and down her back, and her petticoat hiked to expose her legs almost to the knee, she was, she realized with chagrin, quite a sight to behold.

  He was eyeing her bare legs disapprovingly. All her earlier hostility returned in full force.

  “Ephraim Mathieson?”

  Her tone was frosty. He nodded once in confirmation as, despite her protesting muscles, she scrambled to her feet, trying without much success to brush the grime from her skirt while at the same time
keeping a tight grip on Millicent. The cat glared at the man; Caroline barely controlled an urge to do likewise as she strove to set her appearance to rights.

  The square neckline of her bodice had slipped off one shoulder, exposing the top of her chemise and far more of her creamy skin than she would have liked. With angry jerks she tugged at her offending corsage until it was at least minimally decent. There was nothing she could do about the rip in her skirt that revealed glimpses of ruffled white petticoat to the waist. As for her hair, with Millicent in her arms she was forced to let it hang where it would. Lifting her chin—she tried not to dwell on the thought that her face was very likely as dirty as her dress—she met his eyes. Never in her life had she felt at such a disadvantage, but she’d be hanged before she’d let it show!

  “You may count yourself lucky,” he said in a deep, brusque tone, “that you’ve not caused harm to my bull.”

  After all she had endured, that statement was too much. Caroline drew in a long, ragged breath, trying without much success to catch the tail end of her runaway self-control.

  “I harm your bull!” she sputtered, her eyes snapping with indignation. “Yon beast was almost the death of me! To hell with your bloody bull, is what I say!”

  “Shut your foul mouth, woman!” The roar from behind her made Caroline jump and almost lose her grip on Millicent. Catching the squirming cat just as it would have leaped for freedom, Caroline swung around to discover the dominie not a dozen paces away, stopped in his tracks by her hasty words. Outrage was writ plain upon his sharp features. Beneath the tight, white curls of his wig, his face was very red.

  “Oh, my land,” Caroline muttered, put out of countenance by the pastor’s unexpected presence. What had emerged from her mouth mortified her nearly as much as it horrified the dominie. She had thought the hardships she had learned to endure had permanently snuffed her inclination toward quick-temperedness and outspokenness. Why did both the blasted dominie and her proposed new family have to be present to witness her newly reawakened delinquency?