Chapter 27
“I reckon you’d best have a rest now, Miss Charlotte,” Fulton said.
Charlotte had worked at a frantic pace that morning, making bread and doing laundry. Anything to take her mind off the weight of sorrow and the fear of the unknown days ahead.
She was exhausted, but the thought of sitting in the confines of Edenbrook, stewing over the future, left her panicked.
The house felt hollow without Papa’s presence and the hope of Simon’s return.
“I think I’ll take Tuck out for a ride. He’s been cooped up in the stable for days.
” Fulton opened his mouth to argue. “I can’t stay home . . . not yet.”
He nodded. “Very well, but don’t you go far. You heard what the reverend said about those rebels.”
She nodded. “I won’t leave Edenbrook land.”
He followed her to the stable and helped her saddle the gelding, humming the words of his favorite hymn.
The familiar cadence soothed her, even as she saw him with eyes newly attuned to tragedy.
His limping steps were slower and his gnarled fingers fumbled with the girth strap. Oh, Lord, would she lose him, too?
As though he could hear her thoughts, he began to sing.
Fear not, I am with thee, O be not dismayed,
for I am thy God, and will still give thee aid.
I’ll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand,
upheld by my righteous, omnipotent hand.
The words stayed with her as she mounted and led Tuck to the crest of the hill. Was it only last week that she’d stopped here with Scarlett? Her world had changed so much. She scarcely remembered the hopeful, determined girl she’d been then.
Now that she knew Simon had found his father in the bush and joined a rebellion, his return seemed more unlikely than ever.
Where did that leave her? Papa hadn’t had time to change his will.
What would happen to Edenbrook without Simon to inherit?
She had Simon’s letter, of course, but if Cole challenged her, would it hold up in the courts?
Fear not, I am with thee, O be not dismayed.
It was easy to sing these words when she’d seen a path forward. But now . . .
She turned Tuck back to the stable. The ride had done little to settle the tumult of fear and grief raging in her heart.
Fulton didn’t greet her at the stable door. Strange, for he usually waited in the barn when she was out on horseback.
“Fulton?”
Silence.
She moved farther into the stable. His hearing wasn’t as good as it once was. “Fulton?” she repeated, louder. No answer.
She shrugged. Fulton was getting older. Perhaps he was taking a midday nap. She led Tuck into his stall and set about untacking. She’d just carried his saddle to the tack room when she heard a low moan.
“Fulton?” She rushed around the corner and stopped short, horror coursing through her.
Fulton lay on his side on the floor of the stall. Blood trickled from a wound on his forehead. Had he fallen and hit his head? She went to her knees beside him. “What happened? Where are you hurt?”
Another moan was his only answer. She grabbed a rag from the tack room and dunked it in the water bucket before racing back to Fulton’s side to dab at the blood.
His cheek was bruised, and his eye would soon swell shut.
On closer inspection, his injuries didn’t seem the result of a fall.
What on earth had happened while she was out?
The cool water did its work. Fulton’s eyes opened. “Miss Charlotte,” he rasped. “Get into the house and lock the door.”
“Not without you.”
Fulton tried to shake his head but cut off the action with a wince. “Go. What if they’re still here?”
Charlotte’s stomach dipped. Not an accident, then. But who would attack an old man like Fulton, and to what end? “I saw no one when I rode in.”
He steadied himself and sat up with Charlotte’s help. His color was better already. That was some relief. “Help me up, lass.”
“Perhaps you should sit. I’ll fetch a blanket from inside. And some tea.” What else might an injured man need?
“No, I’m all right. I can walk.” Charlotte helped him to stand. He took a few halting steps before stopping at Tuck’s stall. “You got him settled for the night?”
“Fed and watered. Rubbed down and hooves cleaned.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
They made slow but steady progress to the kitchen, where Fulton collapsed in the chair by the hearth. He gestured weakly to his room. “Fetch my pistol.”
A weight settled on Charlotte’s chest. Fulton must think his attackers would return. She brought the pistol and loaded it, placing it on the table within easy reach.
“Fulton, what happened?” Charlotte pushed the kettle over the fire. “Who did this to you?”
“Two big fellows came storming in the barn. Wouldn’t tell me who they were, just asked for you. When I wouldn’t tell them where you’d gone, they roughed me up some.” He shrugged. “Could’ve been worse. They didn’t want me dead.”
She shivered. “It doesn’t seem like anything was stolen. Do you . . . do you suppose it was rebels?”
“That’s what they want us to think. But I know the truth of it. It were Cole’s men, Miss Charlotte.”
“But they didn’t tell you who they were or who sent them. How can you be certain?”
Fulton reached down to remove his peg leg and rub his aching limb. “Because they knew your name. They knew you’d be alone here, except for me. And they told me you’d best head to the city where you’d be safe.”
Charlotte’s mind raced. Cole wanted to scare her off? If she abandoned Edenbrook and Simon never returned, she might have no choice but to sell. No, the plan was too abominable, even for Deacon Cole. “Did they say anything else?” she asked, not certain if she wanted to know the answer.
Fulton stared into the fire, deep creases of worry on his brow.
“They said they’d be back.”
Joshua spent the next day wandering the streets.
There was a new tension in the air. Servants rushed about their errands, heads down.
Men conferred in small groups on every street corner.
Something was afoot, but he couldn’t believe it would really erupt into violence.
He thought of the desperate men at Montgomery’s Tavern.
They didn’t want to fight. They wanted change.
Hope for the future. Why wouldn’t the governor listen to their concerns?
Joshua kept his eyes peeled for a redheaded boy in a wool stocking cap, but that didn’t explain why his heart stuttered every time he glimpsed the sway of a skirt or saw the slender form of a woman.
He shook his head at his foolishness. Little chance she’d be here. But there was every chance she was struggling and alone right now. And he was powerless to help her.
Icy water seeped through the cracks in his boots.
He looked down, realizing he’d been so lost in his thoughts, he’d walked straight into a puddle that could double as a pond.
Toronto’s muddy, uneven streets were infamous in early December.
He grimaced. Enough of this madness. Tomorrow morning he’d saddle Bess and return to his homestead.
He’d find peace in the woods again. He always did.
He headed back to Cooper’s and made his way to the stable to check on Bess.
The stalls were full. A mare caught his eye, the sweep of her neck, delicate yet strong, reminding him of another horse in another place.
She pawed the ground and tossed her head as though she’d try to break through her stall door.
He saw the white star on her head and stopped mid-stride.
If he didn’t know better, he’d think that was . . .
“Scarlett?”
At the sound of her name, the horse stilled and snorted. “It is you, isn’t it?” She turned in his direction as though answering him.
Ogden must be in the city. Joshua felt an unwelcome spurt of worry.
He’d thought the man would stay close to Mrs. Norris until the unrest settled.
Unless . . . His stomach dropped. Ogden was as changeable as the wind.
Had he lost Scarlett already in an unlucky wager or sold her to cover a debt?
A pang went through him. It was his fault Charlotte had sold her beloved horse.
If Scarlett fell into bad hands, he’d never forgive himself.
He hurried inside and scanned the common room, dismissing the older men at the bar and the group of youths swilling ale at the nearest table. In the corner sat Ogden, a pint in front of him, his attention absorbed by a paper in his hands.
Joshua ordered an ale and went to Ogden’s table. He owed it to Charlotte to ensure Scarlett was well, even if he never got the chance to tell her so.
“Good day,” Joshua said.
Ogden looked up, a crease of confusion on his brow. “Robertson? What brings you to the city?”
Joshua ignored his question. “Mind if I sit down?”
Ogden nodded his agreement.
“Saw your new mare in the stable. How’s she coming along?”
Ogden’s mouth turned down in a fierce frown. “Bad investment that turned out to be.”
Joshua studied the man. “Bad investment? How so?”
“Dashed horse won’t follow my commands at all.” His lip curled like a petulant child’s. “Been spoiled, I expect. Lady-trained,” he added.
Charlotte would be hopping mad to hear this explanation. The image made him smile until he thought of the dire consequences for Scarlett if she had a master without the skill or patience to manage her. “She looks well enough.”
Ogden snorted. “Ought to be, dash it. Eats her head off, that one does.” Ogden raised his hands in a gesture of innocence. “I’ve always been one who pampers my mounts. Don’t make a bit of difference with her, though.”
Joshua breathed easier. At least Scarlett was well cared for. “I thought you were off to a race?” That conversation around Mrs. Norris’s breakfast table seemed a lifetime ago now. He’d only half heard Ogden’s excited ramble at the time, his attention already distracted by Charlotte.
“A race? No, not a bit. This is what brought me to the city.” He flapped the paper in his hand. “I’m buying land. Chance of a lifetime.”
Joshua set down his mug, curiosity piqued. “Land?” Ogden had never seemed the sort to farm. “You plan to clear it?”
Ogden leaned forward, eyes gleaming with excitement. “It’s ready for spring planting.” He cleared his throat and color stained his cheeks. “I’m going to prove to Agnes that I can stay in one place. Settle down, take on some hired hands. And next time I ask her, she’ll say yes.”
Joshua smothered his grin with his hand. “She refused you again, did she?”
“Thinks I’ll gamble away all her savings, but I’ve changed.
” Joshua cocked a skeptical brow and Ogden rushed to defend himself.
“I have, I tell you. And I’ll prove it, too.
” Ogden paused, the paper in midair. “Say, you’re from Nassagaweya.
” Joshua nodded reluctantly. Whatever new scheme Ogden brewed, he didn’t want to be part of it.
“Perhaps you can confirm what this good man tells me.” Ogden gestured toward the table in the corner.
Joshua grimaced. None of the occupants of that table had the look of particularly good men. “I’ll tell you what I can.” He looked over the proposed bill of sale, his heart sinking. “This isn’t a wise investment,” he said finally. “If it’s the tract I’m thinking of, it’s mostly swamp.”
Ogden’s face fell. “You’re certain?”
“Have I any reason to lie to you?” Joshua countered, raising a brow.
“Too good to be true, I guess.” Ogden sighed, defeat settling over his features.
“I’m too old to buy a tract in the bush.
It must be an established farm, but I haven’t the money for that.
And now I’ve gone and bought an overpriced mare that isn’t properly trained.
” He dropped his head in his hands. “I’ll never learn. ”
Joshua wished he could comfort the man, but he was the last person to advise on finances.
He felt eyes on him and turned to look at the men in the corner.
They’d stopped their conversation to stare menacingly at Joshua.
The tallest among them rose and sauntered over to Ogden’s table. “You ready to sign?”
Ogden cleared his throat. “Ah, well, you see, I’ve decided not to purchase.”
“Why not?” The man’s voice turned hard.
Ogden blanched. “My friend here advised me against it. Swamp, he says.”
“He says that, does he?” The man turned to study Joshua.
Joshua inhaled. He had no desire to pick a fight. All he wanted to do was return to his homestead and lick his wounds in peace. The man reached down and grabbed Joshua by the lapels and hauled him to his feet.
Joshua braced himself and gave his upper body a mighty twist that sent the man stumbling backward. His cronies rose as one. Joshua swallowed. Years of hard work had made him strong, yet he wouldn’t hold out long against four grown men.
“No fights in this inn,” a shrill voice called out from the door. “You want to brawl, go find yourself a tavern at the docks. Frank, show these men the door, if you please.”
“No need for that,” the man said, lazily making his way back to his table. “You know we have business here tonight, Mrs. C. Just waiting for the boss to show up.”
“Very well,” she said with a narrow glance at Joshua. “But Frank here will have you out on your ear if I hear another word.”
Joshua nodded and took his seat, earning a grateful glance from Ogden.
“Sorry to put you in a tight spot there,” Ogden said. “I reckon I owe you supper at least. Join me?”
Joshua nodded absently, his eyes on the table in the corner. He didn’t relish the thought of another meal on his own. Besides, something about those men struck him as familiar . . . and dangerous.
He was halfway through his beef pie when he realized where he’d seen them before.
Boss. That man sounded just like one of the ruffians they’d met on the road.
The ones who worked for Deacon Cole. Covertly, he studied the men while nodding along to Ogden’s story of the time he’d won a fortune in Montreal and then lost it the next day.
It was them. He was almost certain. His heart pounded. Boss was coming, they’d said. If his suspicions were right, then Deacon Cole would soon be here. Maybe their meeting tonight had nothing to do with Charlotte. Perhaps Cole had forgotten the Carruthers family and was in search of new prey.
But what if he hadn’t?