Chapter 20
Charlotte knew Joshua kept something from her, something about the rebellion that he didn’t think she needed to know.
The injustice of it boiled in her veins, bubbling up with Tuck’s every step.
Simon had secrets, too. So had Papa. Even Fulton.
The more she thought about it, the more she realized how the men in her life pushed her aside, assuming they knew better than she.
Meanwhile, she’d been the one who’d kept food on the table and their home running smoothly.
Joshua’s hedging comments were the last straw.
“You know very well where they’re going and why.” She kicked Tuck into a trot. “But I’m not to be trusted with the truth, is that it?” she spat out as she passed him. “I might fall into hysterics?”
“Charlotte, wait.” Joshua’s voice came from behind her.
She squeezed her legs, willing Tuck to put distance between her and Joshua. She didn’t want to hear his sputtering denials.
The light was good and the trail easy to follow. As Joshua fell behind, she took a breath and let the stillness of the forest calm her anger.
The woods around Edenbrook had always been their refuge from Mama’s melancholy or Papa’s icy rages.
This was beautiful country, too. The trees that had at first seemed as dark and foreboding as a palisade welcomed her now, their delicate branches reaching out like an embrace.
She urged Tuck forward to where the path opened, revealing a broad expanse of meadow.
The remains of the summer grasses stuck up above the snow and sparkled with a fresh coat of frost, glowing pale blue-gold in the morning sun.
A few steps into the clearing, Tuck shied and shook his head as his hooves broke through the delicate crust of ice surrounding the grass tufts.
It was hard going, so she dismounted, tying Tuck to a nearby tree before setting out into the meadow.
The first rays of sun on her skin were glorious.
Mellow heat spread through her, warming her face and lifting her spirits.
A flash of memory came to her. A winter afternoon with Simon, the light dancing off the frost in the gardens outside Edenbrook.
Mama was in bed, ill with the first symptoms of the consumption that would kill her.
Charlotte had tried so hard to pick Mama a bouquet of “frost flowers,” but every time she touched the white film of ice, it melted and disappeared.
Fulton had seen her struggle. It’s all right, Miss Charlotte. Some beautiful things aren’t for grasping. You enjoy them for as long as they last, then you let them go. God’s always making things anew. New ways in the wilderness, the Scripture says.
Was this what had happened between her and Simon? He was the person she loved most in the world. She’d held him tight, kept him close to her. Was it time to let him go?
Simon had already made a new way in the wilderness. What about her? Did her path lead back to Edenbrook or was there a new way before her now? She shied away from the thought. She didn’t want a future without Simon in it. She didn’t want to be alone.
“Charlotte!”
The far-off sound of Joshua’s voice brought her back to the present. In the days they’d spent together, he’d become a fixture in her life. Someone she could turn to. Lean on. She looked behind her, ashamed of her earlier flight. Like a child, she’d lost her temper and stomped off.
“Charlotte!” he called again, and this time there was an edge to his voice. He was likely annoyed that she’d run ahead of him. She spun about to return to the path when she heard an ominous crack. Looking down, she glimpsed the hard, glassy surface beneath the crust of snow.
Ice.
It shifted beneath her, a white line snaking out from her feet. Charlotte froze, fear cramping her stomach. A moment too late, she realized she wasn’t walking across a meadow, but a frozen swamp.
Forcing her feet into motion, she slid across the bumpy ice, spreading her weight, praying she wouldn’t break through.
Joshua’s horse stormed into the clearing and her gaze swung to him, a steady presence.
She raised her arm to wave at the same moment he saw her.
Even from this distance, she could see the fear in every line of his body.
His hands came out in front of him, palms out, as though telling her not to move.
“I’m all right,” she called, continuing her slow slide across the cracking ice. She hoped it would hold. She had no desire to get her boots wet.
Then something shifted beneath her, the solidity under her feet giving way. She cried out as the icy water soaked her boots and the heavy wool of her skirts. Kicking, she sought the solid ground beneath her.
Her feet couldn’t find purchase. She flailed, sinking deeper into water so cold it stole her breath.
Reaching out, she grasped the solid ice to pull herself to safety, but the brittle edge broke away in her hands.
God, help me. Mama, help me. The leaden weight of her skirts seemed to suck her down and it took all her strength to churn her limbs and keep her head above water.
She tried to call out to Joshua, but the act of keeping her head above water sapped her energy and stole her voice.
She thought she heard him call to her, but she couldn’t make out his words. Instead, she heard Fulton’s voice, low and cracked, singing a prayer over the girl she’d been.
When through the deep waters I call thee to go,
the rivers of sorrow shall not overflow;
for I will be near thee, thy troubles to bless,
and sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.
She wasn’t alone. She’d never been alone.
This was his fault. He should have warned her about the pond. He should never have let her get so far ahead of him.
Her arms flailed, grasping at the edge of ice that crumbled under her hands. He wanted to charge across the pond and grab her, but that would only leave them both in the water.
God, please, don’t let me fail. Not this time.
“Kick, Charlotte!” he cried. “Keep your head above the water. I’m coming for you.”
He dug through the saddlebags, scattering tools until his hands felt a rough length of rope.
Forcing his steps to slow, he slid out onto the ice, first through the marsh, then toward the center, where Charlotte still thrashed, every sound a comfort.
She hadn’t succumbed to the lull of the freezing water yet. He still had time to reach her.
“I’m coming, Charlotte.” His voice sounded calm, clear, level.
Surprising, considering the panic that threatened to choke off his breath.
“Face me and put your hands on the edge of the ice. Kick out your legs so you’re horizontal.
” She followed his instructions, her movements frantic. “Don’t panic. I can get you out.”
Can I? Please, God, help me get her out before it’s too late.
She renewed her battle, her feet emerging from the dark water, skirts billowing around her. As he drew closer, he saw the pallor of her face, a sure sign of the relentless, debilitating cold that could rob a person of the will to fight in minutes.
No. It wouldn’t happen to her. He hadn’t been able to save Da, nor his sister, but he would save Charlotte. He had to.
Ice cracked under his feet, making him halt. A warning. He’d gone as far as he could.
“Joshua?” Her voice, tremulous and terror-filled, hit him like a punch to the solar plexus. “Don’t leave me.”
“Never.” Lowering his body, he stretched out along the snow-covered pond, spreading his weight and edging ever closer, until he could hear her panting, terrified breaths and see the panic in her eyes.
“Look at me, Charlotte.” She hadn’t taken her gaze from his approaching form, but now her eyes met his.
“I’m going to throw you the rope. Hold on to it with all your strength. Do you understand?”
She nodded. Her arms stretched out across the ice, but her legs sank under the water. She was tiring. He didn’t have much time.
“Now, Charlotte.” He raised his voice to rouse her, infusing command into his tone. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the rope slithering to her across the snow and ice.
Her hand reached to grasp the end of the rope. He tugged. The rope slipped out of her numb fingers. He coiled the rope back to his side and tried again, this time with a hastily tied loop at the end. “Just put your hand through the loop,” he said.
Once more, the rope came within reach. She pushed her hand through the loop and twisted it once, holding on as he pulled, her body slowly emerging from the water. She got to her knees as though she would try to stand.
“No, stay down. Let me pull you,” he instructed.
She flattened, allowing him to pull her closer, inch by inch, arms outstretched in a way that was no doubt painful.
He forced himself to pull in slow, steady tugs, though he wanted nothing more than to rush to her side and yank her out of danger.
He kept his eyes on her face, white with cold, as she edged closer, pulling her forward as he slid back until they reached the shallow marsh.
By then, she was almost insensible from the cold, her eyes wide and distant.
“Stay with me,” he said, his voice sharp. “We have to get you warm and dry, and I’m going to need your help.”
She gave a weak nod and attempted to rise.
He slipped an arm around her back and tugged her to stand, her body leaning against his as he half dragged her to the edge of the woods and solid ground.
The immediate danger had passed, but the cold was as great a threat. She had to get dry and warm. Quickly.
As soon as they reached the shelter of the trees, he turned her to face him and began to undo the wide buttons of her coat.
“Wh-what are you doing?” She waved an arm as though she would bat his hands away.
“You must get into dry things.” How much time did they have before the cold took over? He stripped off her coat and soggy hat. She didn’t protest, which told him more clearly than words that she wasn’t herself.
He pulled a blanket and his old fur cap from his saddlebag and stuffed her wet things in their place.
His gaze swept the landscape, looking for signs of shelter.
Nothing like the thicket of brambles they’d hidden in earlier.
And even if he found a sheltered corner, how long would it take before he could build a fire with enough strength to warm her and dry her things?
“Joshua?” Her voice was a near whisper. “What are we going to do?”
It was another sign that the cold had taken a toll on her, for the Charlotte he knew never asked him for advice. The weight of his past failure threatened to crush him. When people depended on him most, he couldn’t keep them safe.
Enough. Get her warm and dry. He’d focus on that first. He thanked God he’d spent so many days in these woods, gathering fuel and hunting turkeys and hares. He knew every shortcut.
He moved toward Tuck, and she sent him a startled glance. “Where are you going?” The fear in her voice made him want to scoop her up in his arms. Assure her everything was going to be all right. The only thing was, he wasn’t at all sure it would be all right. What if she took ill?
“Just fetching Tuck,” he said. “We need to get you somewhere warm.”
She looked around. “Is there a cabin n-near here?” she asked through chattering teeth.
“No. I’m taking you to Mrs. Norris.” It was a dangerous gamble. He’d agreed to meet Deacon Cole at Mrs. Norris’s tomorrow. The thought left him with a sick feeling of dread in his stomach, but he pushed it aside. Deacon Cole was a problem for later. Once Charlotte was well.
He led Tuck up to her side, then slipped off his jacket and wrapped it around her before lifting her onto the horse. Instead of riding Bess, he mounted behind Charlotte, crowding her close to his body and leaving his mare to follow behind.
“What are you . . .” She didn’t finish her protest as he guided her head onto his shoulder and wrapped the blanket more securely about her. It spoke to her trust in him that she didn’t hesitate to curl into the warmth of his body.
“Hush. We’ll be there soon.”