Chapter 15
“You have no notion of my brother, so I’d rather you kept your opinions to yourself.” Charlotte turned away, pretending to study the passing forest. Joshua’s comments poked a wound that was still fresh. She didn’t understand why Simon left without telling her. Or why he’d never bothered to write.
After several miles, Joshua broke the tense silence between them. “We’re in the Nassagaweya tract now.” He pointed to a rough-hewn post at the side of the trail.
She turned to look at him. “Do you live nearby?”
She pulled the map from her pocket and pointed to the star that marked her father’s allotment. Simon’s homestead now. Joshua glanced down at the paper in her hand and inhaled sharply. “What’s wrong?” She searched his face. “Are we lost?”
He swallowed. “No. Not lost. Just a lot closer than I thought.”
“That’s good, right?”
He looked straight ahead, hands tight on the reins. “Yes, of course.”
Why didn’t he sound happy? She didn’t have time to mull over his strange reaction, for just then the forest gave way to a field, roughly plowed and dotted with tree stumps as large as boulders. Her hesitations left her, all her hopes caught up in this break in the monotony of the woods.
“Who lives here?”
“Judging by your map, it should be your brother’s homestead.”
A cabin came into view. She’d expected a squat, dark hovel, like the Wilkies’ cabin.
Instead, a muddy yard spread before her, dotted with rotting stumps, stacks of wood, and freshly hewn shingles, as though projects were still underway.
At the center was a snug log home, the wood still a fresh golden brown.
Smoke trailed from a rough stone chimney.
A large barn stood behind the cabin, nearly finished.
Next to the cabin, one tree was left standing, a magnificent oak that reminded her of their favorite climbing tree at Edenbrook.
I’ll meet you at Robin Hood’s Oak. How many times had Simon whispered this to her as Papa led him away to Latin lessons in the study? She’d escape her needlework and wait for him in the wide, welcoming branches. No wonder Simon built his cabin near such a tree.
“Are you sure this is the place?”
He nodded to the house. “I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”
Charlotte straightened, eager for her first view of Simon’s mop of brown curls. What she saw instead made her gasp.
The door opened a crack, and a musket barrel slid out. Joshua must have seen it a moment before she did, for he pulled back sharply on the reins, bringing Bess to a sudden halt.
“Hallo,” he called across the clearing. “This is Joshua Robertson, a neighbor to the northwest. I’ve brought you company.”
A second later, a youth’s face replaced the dull shine of the musket. “Company?” His eyes lit on Charlotte, and her presence must have convinced him he was in no danger, for he lowered his weapon. “Not every day we get company here in the bush.”
“I’m afraid we’re at the wrong homestead,” Charlotte said as the boy came toward them. “I’m looking for my brother.”
The boy reached the side of the wagon and peered up into Charlotte’s face.
He had dark curly hair and an endearing smile that reminded Charlotte of Simon at that age.
“You Charlotte?” At Charlotte’s confused nod, a wide smile broke out across his face.
“Mother thought you might come. You must be frozen through, traveling in this weather.” He sent Joshua a curious glance.
“He never said you were married, though.”
“Oh, we’re not—”
“He’s only—”
Charlotte looked at Joshua, wondering if her face was as red as his. He nodded, letting her continue the explanation.
“This is Joshua Robertson.” She cleared her throat. “He’s my guide.”
The boy turned his attention to Joshua. “Robertson, you say?” At Joshua’s nod, he continued. “I reckon I’ve heard that name. Got a place north of here, have you?”
Joshua smiled. “That’s right.” He hesitated. “You don’t mind if I settle my horse in the barn for a bit? She could use a rest, poor girl.”
“’Course.” He gestured to the barn and waited, his expectant gaze on Charlotte. “Come inside.”
Charlotte rose, giving her head a shake.
Why was she reluctant to leave this wagon?
It had given her the most uncomfortable ride of her life.
Joshua clasped her hand as she descended.
Her feet touched the ground, and she looked up into his face, uncertain.
He tugged his arm, and she realized she was still holding tight to his hand.
She released it with a start. What was wrong with her?
He sent her an encouraging smile. She took a breath and turned to the boy. “Where is Simon?”
Behind her, Joshua made a sound, half gasp, half cough.
Charlotte turned around. “Everything all right?”
Joshua’s narrow gaze was focused on the boy. “Is there another homestead west of here?”
The boy shook his head. “Just ours.” He frowned. “Father said all the land past us is clergy reserves.” He grimaced as though the words left a bad taste in his mouth.
“I see.” Joshua snapped the reins and moved to the barn. Charlotte didn’t have time to ponder his strange behavior, for the boy was already halfway to the cabin.
“Clergy reserves?” Charlotte asked, jogging to catch up.
“Land set aside for the Church of England,” the boy explained.
“Father says it’s a waste. No one can settle the land.
No one tends the roads through it, and they don’t intend to build churches on it, that’s for certain.
It’s all around us. That’s why we were so happy when Simon came,” he said.
“Right nice to have a neighbor so close.”
“Where is Simon?” Charlotte bit her lip, half afraid to hear his answer.
He’s out in the west field with Father right now,” he said, swinging open the cabin door. “Clearing land. I was with them, but they said I ought to come back and check on the cabin in case . . .” He bit his lip. “They’ll be back soon for dinner, I reckon.”
Charlotte’s stomach growled at the mention of dinner, making her flush and the boy grin.
“Don’t you worry. Mother sent supper with us. There’s lots.” He shifted the musket to his shoulder and caught Charlotte staring at the battered weapon. “You can’t be too safe these days. Never know who is on the road.”
Charlotte shivered. Like those boys at Mrs. Norris’s. She glanced at the boy walking beside her. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”
“Sam. Sam Foster.” He looked at Charlotte as though the name might mean something to her.
It didn’t. “How do you do?” Charlotte smiled weakly.
They reached the cabin, and Sam opened the heavy wooden door. “We’ve heard so much about you.”
Charlotte entered and stood still, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim light. “You have?”
“Aye.”
She took a moment to scan her surroundings.
The cabin was small but tidy, dominated by a large stone hearth.
There was a bedstead, a table, and two chairs, simple yet sturdy and so new the room smelled of fresh wood.
One of Simon’s pen-and-ink drawings hung on the wall.
His horse Tuck, she thought, grazing in an unfamiliar pasture bordered by a rough log fence.
A shelf held a few leather-bound volumes she recognized from Edenbrook.
The only other comfort was a dry sink and a narrow counter holding a few tin dishes and a teapot.
A cup of tea. The thought steadied her, a bit of normalcy in a topsy-turvy world. She moved to the hearth and pushed the kettle over the flame. “Is there tea in the house?”
Sam nodded. “I reckon so.” He rummaged through the tins in the kitchen and held one aloft. “Found it.”
Charlotte measured a small amount into the pot and fetched the cups.
“Look what else he has.” Sam brought a cloth-covered plate to the table. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled back the cloth to reveal a fragrant pile of biscuits. “Bush tea cakes is all,” he said with a shrug. “I reckon you’re used to fine pastries and such in the city.”
“Thank you.” Charlotte bit into the flat round biscuit. Crunchy and pleasantly sweet, it was no stretch to smile at Sam and declare it delicious. “Did your mother make them?”
He shook his head. “Not a bit. Simon does some of his own cooking now. Mother showed him.”
Charlotte swallowed carefully. “Do you mean to say that Simon made these biscuits?”
Sam grinned. “Aye. Didn’t even burn them this time.”
She took a sip of tea. Simon cooked for himself? Made biscuits? “He never spent much time in the kitchen.”
Sam snorted. “It showed. Mother still makes his bread, and he eats with us a fair bit, too. Only makes sense, especially during the harvest.”
“You said you are neighbors?”
Sam looked at her strangely. “Of course. Didn’t you know?”
“No.” Charlotte swallowed back a rush of hurt. “I didn’t.” A hundred questions bubbled inside her. Who were the Fosters, and how had Simon met them? Why did he want to live here with them instead of at Edenbrook? “I don’t think I knew much of anything at all.”
Joshua must have driven the wagon to the barn, unhitched Bess, and led her into the empty stall, but later he had no recollection of it. One name pounded through his mind, making his heart race and his movements short and jerky.
Simon. She’d called her brother Simon.
Of course, there could be more than one man named Simon living on Line 5. The Simon Carruthers he’d been sent to find might have no connection to Simon Fulton.
But there was that hesitation in Charlotte’s voice when she’d first introduced herself. The careful way she avoided referring to her family by name. He’d known she had secrets.
Yes, they could be two different men. But it was most unlikely.
Cole sent him to check on an employee, or so he’d said. If Simon Fulton was Simon Carruthers, then Cole had lied. But to what purpose?
The longer he mulled it over, the less sense it made.
Was Simon Carruthers the villain . . . or the victim?
Of course, Charlotte would think her brother was the innocent party, but life was rarely that simple.
Bad company could lead a good man astray.
He’d seen proof of that time and again among the men who’d passed through Mrs. Norris’s.
Joshua jammed the pitchfork into the hay with unnecessary force.
What was he supposed to do now? Mr. Cole waited in Toronto with the last of the money Joshua needed to free Henry.
Cole expected Joshua to report to him in two days.
Yet what if Deacon Cole planned to harm Simon in some way?
How could he save his brother at the cost of hers?