Chapter 27
twenty-seven
The defeat of the Americans in Canada and the advantages gained by the British arms in the Jerseys, and indeed for some months in every other quarter, gave to the royal cause an air of triumph.
Mercy Otis Warren
On the next Sabbath, Rhys rode into the valley with James, the short time they’d been apart the longest of Mae’s life.
Suddenly self-conscious, she smoothed her apron and hair while they dismounted and turned their horses to pasture.
She wore her second-best dress, the silk taffeta a pale sage green, an ivory sash about her waist. Hardly the linen and homespun of the wilds of New York.
As the two men approached the porch where they waited, Mae felt as excited as little Phemie, who all but danced atop the planks beside her.
“Uncle James?” she echoed when Mae told her he was coming. “And the giant!”
The giant, of course, was Rhys. With a little shout, Phemie jumped off the porch and into James’s arms. When he tossed her into the air she erupted into giggles. Once they’d gone inside, Mae faced Rhys, who’d removed his hat and eyed her like a long-denied dessert.
Freshly shaven, he’d exchanged his rough trail garb for a respectable pair of breeches, shirt, and frock coat, even boots. He clutched his rifle in his right hand, reminding her of her shooting lesson.
“Walk out with me,” he said.
Her heart leapt as she stepped off the porch. She’d thought they’d join the family and not have a moment to themselves the entire Sabbath.
Once they’d left the yard and moved toward the western edge of trees that hedged the valley, her petticoats swished and caught at the tall grass and brambles. The wind that sent her lace cap fluttering against its pins made her take a deep, steadying breath.
“Where are we going?” she asked as a wood thrush began singing in flutelike tones from a shaggy hemlock.
“Buttermilk Falls.”
Had Jon told him? Or had his reconnaissance outside fort walls led him there?
They took a deer trail, the woods closing green and shadowed about them as they began a slight climb. In minutes Mae grew winded and Rhys swiped at the sweat beading his upper lip with a coat sleeve.
They heard the falls from a distance, their thunder muting the morning birdsong.
When they came through the trees the falls’ mist met them, stirring ferns and foliage as the cascading water poured into a mossy, rocky basin remarkably like an emptied pitcher of buttermilk.
For a few moments they just stood hand in hand, awed.
Letting go of him, Mae discreetly turned her back and slipped off her shoes before removing her garters and stockings, then laid them in a little heap atop a rock at the rim of the pool.
Already damp from the mist, she threw caution to the wind, submerging one pale, slim foot below water as shockingly cold as the day was warm.
His caution to mind her steps on the slippery bottom simply spurred her on, the chill felt clear to her spine.
Holding her skirts to her knees, she took a look over her shoulder.
Now barefooted and bare chested, Rhys waded in after her.
His rifle leaned against a rock, the furthest thing from her mind if not his.
He came toward her at the pool’s center, her breath catching at the strength of him, his shoulders and chest startlingly pale against the deep mahogany of his hands and face. In his shadow, she felt like a wildflower, as fragile as the bits of color clinging to the pool’s rim.
He didn’t touch her, but his tender gaze was full of a thousand caresses that left her lightheaded with longing. Still clutching her skirts above the water, she tipped her head back and took in the top of the falls, her voice barely heard above the water’s rush. “I’ll not forget this place.”
He reached out and brushed her damp cheek with the back of his fingers.
He was near but not near enough. Their linen closet tryst seemed faded as old cloth.
Would he not kiss her again? Instead he removed something from his little finger and held it out to her.
Sun and mist struck gold and turned it glittering.
“Will you marry me, Mae . . . for better or worse, richer or poorer, and all the rest?”
She stared at him, wondering if the waterfall had made a nonsensical mess of his words. He reached for her, sliding the ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. It fit slightly snug, but she didn’t care. The ring, a miniature rosette, reminded her of the cockade she’d made for his hat.
His question hovered in the air between them. Will you marry me?
In answer she let go of her skirts. They pillowed atop the water before sinking as she studied the ring. Wonder turned to teasing. “I feel like I’ve passed some sort of test and been rewarded with a ring.”
“Mae . . .” he began, his tone riven with regret.
Her voice shook with emotion. “You well know my answer, Rhys.”
“Asking you was a long time coming.” He swallowed, clearly as moved as she. “Not because I had any doubts . . . only because I wanted your best.”
“I never doubted you. And waiting made me realize how impatient I am.” Surely the Lord was teaching her in the waiting and making something more of her than she was.
She needn’t even ask the question that burned the tip of her tongue, for he said, “There’s a chaplain at Fort Montgomery, Israel Evans, who’ll wed us at the farm or fort. I want it to be memorable for you, the way you want it. When you want it.”
So she was to decide? Tongue-tied, she looked down at her soaked dress. She was up to her knees in water, the silk dark green now, as weighted as her spirits were soaring.
Taking her ringed hand, he tugged her toward the thundering torrent as it flowed over the rock face, only to take her in his arms and finally kiss her. So many kisses she lost count, the water running in rivulets off their skin.
She held on to him, her words half drowned in the deluge. “’Tis the sweetest moment of my life, even if I had to risk my life getting here.”
Slowly she became aware that the sun, at high noon when they’d arrived, now slanted west. They’d missed Sabbath dinner and would have to answer for their absence and wet garments. Or would they? He seemed to read her thoughts.
“We need to make the most of the hour given us,” Rhys said above the water’s roar. “And we don’t owe an answer to anyone.”
Mae all but tiptoed into the clearing, aware of James and Jon smoking their pipes on the porch. The half-mile walk from the falls hadn’t dried their clothes nor made them look any less bedraggled. Rhys seemed unconcerned, but Mae’s embarrassment mingled with her joy.
“Here come the lovebirds now.” James leaned forward with a grin, pipe in hand. “We did wonder what other reason would have you two fly the coop and miss such a fine Sabbath dinner.”
“Buttermilk Falls always wins,” Jon remarked with a knowing smile. “And on such a fine day one can’t help but enjoy the water.”
Mae stopped just shy of the porch, Rhys coming up behind. She held out her ringed hand, then pressed it to her bodice as words lodged in her throat.
Rhys came to a stop by her side. “I’ve asked Mae to marry me, and she’s said . . .”
She slipped her hand in his and squeezed his calloused fingers. “Yes—I do.”
“Such glad news!” Jon called for Joanna. “You’re welcome to hold the wedding here. We can have a small celebration—or a large one if you like, and invite all your riflemen.”
Joanna appeared, Phemie on her hip. Smiling, she seemed to sum up the situation in a glance. “I knew there was something between you the moment I first saw you together, and I couldn’t be happier.”
James winked. “Better start baking a wedding cake.”
“Not till I feed them. One can’t live on love alone,” she said, motioning Rhys and Mae toward the open door. “There’s plenty of fried fish and garden sass left over, even pepper cake.”
Mae started up the steps, her wet skirts dragging, and bumped into an open-mouthed Coralie.
Aghast, she stared at Mae’s gown. “What on earth? Your lovely dress—”
“I’ll change once I eat.”
“After you eat?” She stepped aside as if not wanting to get wet. “What’s this about a wedding?”
Not even Coralie could dim the moment. “We’re to be married here at the farm.”
“When?”
Mae looked to Rhys, then said, “As soon as Fort Montgomery’s chaplain is free to perform the ceremony.”
Speechless, Coralie turned and disappeared upstairs while Mae and Rhys took a place at the empty table. Joanna came in with two full plates, smiling and calling for Cassandra to fetch cider as Jon and James resumed their conversation on the porch and the children played outside.
With a wink, Rhys leaned across the table and took Mae’s hand to say grace. “For what we’re about to receive we give Thee thanks. Bless this meal’s preparer, and please save us from our sins—and quarrelsome sisters. In Your name we pray. Amen.”