EIGHT
Leaving the shack behind on Samson, Maggie was in no mood to talk, and she could tell Henry didn’t feel up to battling her.
They focused on getting as far as possible while the sun allowed and kept conversing to a minimum.
After their last experience at the river, they didn’t linger long at water sources, either.
Henry never complained, but she caught him holding his side several times.
They tried to rest in the dark quiet of the night. But they tensed at every little sound, ready to flee should they have to.
Each day repeated in a similar blur. Unable to ride hard due to Henry’s injury, it was costing them more time. Traveling miles on end with little relief would’ve brought the strongest man down, but the prospect of food, security, and warmth pushed Maggie on.
Five days of miserable travel passed before they stumbled into the clearing. Instead of following the wagon trail up, Henry
had opted to approach from the southwest. The dense forest had suddenly opened and Maggie blinked rapidly in the sunlight. She slid off first and barely kept herself from falling from exhaustion.
Henry jumped down after her and, through cracked lips, exhaled, “Abigail.”
Maggie followed his gaze. In the distance, a woman was busy hanging wash on a line to dry. As if the woman could hear her name, she turned. Alarm first creased her face, but was quickly replaced with recognition. The garment she held fell to the ground.
“Henry? Henry!” Lifting her skirts, she ran to him.
Henry let go of Samson’s reins and hurried to meet her, crushing her in an embrace. One arm enveloped his sister, and the other he kept pressed to his side. The only clue of injury.
Joyful sobs and muffled cries reached Maggie’s ears. She watched the reunion from afar, having not moved from the edge of the woods. Tears in her eyes blurred the scene. Despite herself, she was truly happy for him. But it also opened up the raw wound of grief inside her. Envy seared her.
Before Maggie could compose herself, the woman spotted her over Henry’s shoulder. “And who accompanies thee?” Her tone held only surprise, no contempt.
Henry let go of his sister and turned his tear-streaked face towards Maggie. “This is Margaret.” Taken aback by the Quaker plain speak and the formal use of her name, Maggie kept silent. “Margaret, this is Abigail Howard. My sister.”
The sister approached Maggie and Maggie tensed. But her worries subsided when Abigail only clasped her hands.
“Thee is most welcome, Margaret. Come, let’s get thee inside.
” Abigail took the reins from Henry and led the way.
“Elijah can tend your bourse later. He’ll be fine grazing while thee both settle in.
” When they reached the yard in front of the house, she removed Samson’s bridle and patted his rump, sending him in the direction of the barn.
It was a cozy but plain house. They walked into a small kitchen with a ladder leading to a loft.
The front windows were open, allowing a breeze to flow through.
A simple wooden cross hung on the wall as the only decoration.
The wooden planks on the floor and clapboard walls amplified its tidiness.
Through another doorway, Maggie could see a separate area she assumed was the living space.
An empty loom stood in the corner. On the opposite wall was a closed door, maybe a bedroom.
Windows lined the back wall, showing the forest behind the house.
Abigail was stoking the stove fire when a teenage boy came running through the door.
“Uncle Henry!” The young face exclaimed with elation.
Henry hugged him and held him out by the shoulders. “Elijah, look at you. You’ll soon be taller than me.”
“Thee can greet thine uncle later. Go and fetch Father, please. He would like to see our guests as well.” Despite the motherly authority with which Abigail spoke, her face shone with delight.
Elijah immediately obeyed. “Yes, ma’am.”
Maggie was shocked by Elijah’s appearance. The boy had to be close to Joel’s age. How did he avoid the draft?
Henry watched his nephew race through the field. “He is liable to outrun a horse.”
“Yes, I believe he takes after thee. Silent as a fox, too. A few times that I have been caught unaware by his presence have reminded me of thee giving Mother a fright.” A teasing grin crossed Abigail’s face.
She seemed to suddenly remember Maggie. “Margaret, thee is done in. Come and have a seat at the table.”
“Thank you,” Maggie whispered. She’d ask Henry questions later.
It felt surreal to be in a home once again. The cleanliness bespoke of the pride Abigail took in her family. And it made Maggie all too aware of her own appearance. She was sure there was dirt covering her face and twigs in her hair.
She noticed Abigail watched her with concern.
Her eyes were hazel, the same color as her brother’s.
But that’s where the similarities ended.
Unlike her brother, her statue was of a shorter nature, with dark straight hair on the top of her head.
And much older. Although the plain Quaker clothes did little to bestow youth.
“Come and sit, too, brother. Then thee can tell me how badly thee is hurt so we can tend it.” She pulled out a chair for him, and Henry gratefully sat.
A wry grin spread on his face. “Abigail inherited our mother’s healing capabilities. And her intuition, too, it would seem,” he told Maggie.
Elijah burst in, accompanied by another man with a short-trimmed, greying beard. Assuming he was Abigail’s husband, Levi, Maggie noted his height and build were similar to his son’s. An unexpected limp was also detected as he came to the table.
“For once, Elijah wasn’t telling a tall tale. Good to see you, Henry.” Levi clasped him on the shoulder.
Showing nothing but joy, Henry greeted his brother-in-law. He was either feeling much better or a wonderful actor at hiding the pain he felt from being jarred.
Not one to let a moment linger, it seemed, Abigail quickly directed the attention to Maggie and introduced her.
“A friend of Henry’s is a friend of ours,” Levi warmly welcomed her.
Sitting down beside Henry at the table, Levi instructed Elijah to bring in more chairs and a fresh pitcher of milk. Maggie couldn’t remember the last time she’d had milk. The thought of a glass made this out-of-body experience even more surreal.
Over a hastily made dinner of eggs and fresh bread, Henry recounted their travels and spoke of the body Maggie had stumbled upon and how she’d patched him up after the brush with the patrol of soldiers.
Elijah was especially enthralled with that part of the tale. “Thee really saved Uncle Henry? How’d thee know what to do? How many soldiers were after thee?” He asked endless questions, eyes wide with excitement.
Levi chided him. “Son, ever the curious one. Let our guests relax. There will be time later for such questions.”
Maggie didn’t mind. His bright mind and boyish grin reminded her of Joel. They looked to be about the same age, she realized with a pang. Blushing at the attention, she tried her best to answer his questions and to leave her emotions out of it.
As the hour grew late, Abigail stood and cleared away the plates.
Maggie moved to help her, but Abigail stopped her.
“No need. Thee has had enough troubles these past few weeks.” Abigail turned to Elijah.
“Margaret will take the loft. Thee can sleep in the hay loft with Uncle Henry, once I’ve checked him over.
I believe thee just pitched fresh hay, yes? ”
“Yes, Mother. I’ll move my things right now and bring an extra blanket for thee, Uncle Henry.”
Henry ruffled his hair. “Thank you, Elijah.”
Levi stood. “I’ll heat some water for thine medicinal needs and turn in.”
Abigail pulled Maggie to her feet and led her to the ladder. Hoisting her skirt, Maggie awkwardly climbed up after her into the loft.
Like the rest of the house, the loft was simple but tidy with one single bed and a washstand with a basin on top.
The hooks on the wall that likely hung Elijah’s set of spare clothes and nightclothes were bare.
Maggie stretched out her hand and felt the homemade quilt that covered the bed.
So much like the quilts that Mama used to make for her and the boys.
“Rest as long as thee would like. There is water in the pitcher, and I will be just downstairs if thee needs anything.” Abigail spoke softly, but before Maggie could thank her, she’d disappeared back down the ladder.
Maggie lay down and felt the weight of the past few weeks lift from her shoulders as she sank into the hay-filled mattress.
She should wash, but she could barely lift a hand in front of her face.
Voices drifted up just as she was about to give in to the heavy slumber.
Hearing her name, she sat up. Curiosity got the best of her, and she crept closer to the edge.
Cautious of staying in the shadows, she watched and listened.
Henry and Abigail were alone in the kitchen, speaking quietly. He’d taken his shirt off, and Abigail was closely examining his healing wound. Thankfully, his back was to the loft, and Maggie was mostly obscured from Abigail’s view by his height.
“Margaret appears to be handy with a needle. It’s as straight as I would have done it,” Abigail complimented.
A smile tugged at Maggie’s lips, proud of her handiwork.
“Ribs still a bit tender?” Abigail lightly pressed on his side.
Maggie could see the muscles in Henry’s back tense, even from the loft. “Yes.”
Abigail continued her thorough examination, sitting only when she seemed satisfied.
“Thee will need to be careful until it’s fully healed.
No more wild escapades. Thee can stay and let us take care of thee.
” Flitting her eyes to the loft, Maggie nearly leapt back, fearing she’d been caught eavesdropping.
“Both of thee. Have I forgotten thee mentioning exactly how thee met Margaret?”