Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

E dmond drifted into an uneasy sleep in the wee hours, dreaming a bullet nicked his heel. No, that was wrong. That had been General McIntosh. But his ankle alternately ached and shot sharp pains. Then someone dropped their ramrod with a clatter that shot him upright.

He blinked in the lingering darkness—not of the forest, but of Tabitha’s cabin. A dark shape froze near the fireplace.

“Sorry. I dropped the poker.” Tabitha’s tone hinted at a grimace.

Edmond fell back against the pillows with a groan. He’d barely managed to nod off after being awake most of the night, listening to rain on the roof. “What you are doing?” That someone was about this early was not the surprise, but for the past two mornings, it had been Dulcie, coming across the dogtrot around dawn to start their morning meal. The servant had moved into the other room of the cabin with Tabitha, leaving this one to Edmond two days prior, when Dougal came from the fort and departed with Cyrus in Edmond’s stead.

“Letting Dulcie sleep. She has worked much too hard since we have been here.” She retrieved the poker, and the curfew over the embers clunked in the fireplace as she used the tip to move it aside. “I shall warm the hasty pudding. And I thought I would make coffee.”

“Coffee?” Edmond perked up at that. How long had it been since he’d had a cup?

“I brought some with me from River’s Bend.” With a lift of her skirt, she got down on her hands and knees in front of the hearth. “Too bad I did not also bring a bellows.” Tabitha began to blow on the embers, her breath coaxing them to life.

“Have you any idea what a long process it is to make coffee?” He’d seen the officers about the task at the fort. They had always grumbled over the lack of servants to do the chore.

“Yes, which is why I’m up—” Her response terminated in a fit of coughing and choking, and she sat back on her haunches, waving her hand before her.

He leaned up on his elbow. “What happened?”

“The ashes…blew back on me.” Tabitha ran her hands over her face and hair, then brushed them down her bodice, mumbling as she did. “Good for nothing…stupid…useless…”

The bitterness in her voice brought Edmond’s brow down. She was talking not about the ashes, as he’d first thought—but about herself. “’Tis a mistake easy enough to make, even for someone accustomed to the task. What matters is that you’re here to give your servant a break. ’Tis more than most mistresses would do.”

“Well, I cannot be most mistresses anymore, can I?” She rested her hands on her knees, her face turned toward him, though he still could not make out her features. “If we’re going to survive, we’re all going to have to pull our weight. I still think I should have gone with Cyrus. Two men are not enough.”

Edmond scoffed. “And get captured again by the British? Is that what you want?”

“Of course not.” She dropped onto her hands and blew again, more evenly this time. Finally, the embers sparked to life, and she added kindling to encourage the blaze.

“You have done a lot here. Helping Dulcie plant the garden…” Two days ago, they set out peas, beets, beans, cucumbers, and radishes in the drizzle while Edmond had watched from the porch, simmering over his invalidism. Yesterday, they planted corn. “Not to mention all you have done around the cabin.”

The growing light flickered on Tabitha’s homey touches. Of an evening, she’d laid out embroidered linens and adorned the table and shelves with blossoms in pottery mugs. A framed sampler she had stitched leaned on the rough wooden mantel, its precision and brightness a bittersweet reminder of her former life.

Her hand pressed to her back as she rose gave evidence of the more painful result of her labors. “Yes, and it will be another long day getting the flax in. And on not much sleep. At the very least, I need a cup of coffee first.”

Edmond struggled to a seated position. At the sharp pain that darted up his leg, his breath whistled in. “You cannot work in that far field without someone on guard.”

With a grunt, Tabitha lifted the heavy black pot that held the porridge onto the iron arm over the fireplace. “Dulcie says it can wait no longer.” She moved the kettle over the now-crackling flames.

Would she learn to spin the flax into clothing too? Was it truly possible for a woman bred to comfort and exalted station to transform herself into a frontierswoman? Or would her industry flag under tedium and her determination break under trials?

“I’ve had no coffee in weeks.” Tabitha brushed off her petticoat. “’Tis a small comfort, but a comfort, nonetheless.”

Edmond wasn’t letting the previous topic go that easily. “I will go out to the field with you.” The least he could do was sit with his rifle on a log—one without a serpent lurking beneath it this time.

She faced him, shaking her head. “Tis too soon. You shouldn’t be walking.”

“I should make it just fine with the crutch Cyrus cut for me.” He tipped his head toward the heavy branch with a split in the top leaning against the wall.

Tabitha pursed her lips. “How do you feel?”

The ready lie on Edmond’s lips died the moment his gaze swung back to her. He couldn’t help it—he spluttered out a laugh.

“What?” Her hand went to her hip.

“Your face…” He encircled his own with a wave of his hand. “You have ashes…”

Her mouth tightened, and she snatched up a cloth from the table and ran it from forehead to chin. “Better?”

“Well, yes, but your hair…” Edmond rubbed his jaw in an attempt to hide his smile, as his amusement only seemed to irritate her more.

She flung down the cloth and barked out a laugh. “I must look ridiculous.”

“Like a spirit from the netherworld.” How refreshing—a woman capable of laughing at herself. She surely had possessed a vibrant sense of humor in better times.

Still chuckling, Tabitha pulled on the tie that held the end of her braid and shook her dark hair loose. It fell over her shoulders in rippling waves, softening her face, making her look like a girl, and Edmond forgot all about ashes. And humor. As she ran her fingers through the tresses, he averted his gaze.

“You were telling me how you feel.”

“Well enough.” Apart from a quickly increasing need to answer the call of nature—which he could hardly do with her present.

“Truly?” Her nimble fingers worked her hair back into a braid.

Even though he did not sense much change, he could hardly say so if he intended to accompany them to the field. “The swelling seems down this morning.”

“I will check soon as I light the candle.” Another thing she had brought from River’s Bend. Edmond couldn’t say he missed the smoking and stink of the pine knots poor settlers oft-times burned as a cheap source of illumination.

“No need. I’m sure Dulcie will be in soon.” He shifted.

Tabitha stiffened and dropped her hands. “I am just as capable with herbs as Dulcie.”

“You are, but you’re busy.” And Dulcie’s nearness did not make him lose his breath the way Tabitha’s did. The fresh, lemony scent of her hair simultaneously twisted his gut and reminded him that whatever her current circumstances, she was far above him in station.

With a sniff, she caught up a tin candleholder. “I would hardly prioritize the coffee above your health.” She leaned closer to the fire to light the wick, set the candle on the table, and gave the hasty pudding a quick stir. Then she wet a cloth in the basin on the sideboard and hurried to his side. Tabitha opened the shutters over the bed, allowing dawn’s gray light, the twitter of early songbirds, and cool, damp air smelling of the river into the chamber.

Edmond sighed as she sat down beside him, the curve of her hip pressing into his leg.

Holding his foot up, she gently unwound the bandage and extended the candle toward his ankle. “’Tis still discolored, though a bit less swollen, perhaps. It needs a fresh poultice.”

“It can wait until after we break our fast.” Anything to get her off his bed. Did she not even think of the impropriety of them being in here alone?

“No need.” In her hurry, she clunked the candle down on the upturned stump that served as a bedside table. Wax splattered, and the flame flickered.

Edmond caught her arm. “Not now. Pass me that crutch.” When she gave a little huff, he added, “Please.”

She lifted her brows to enhance a pointed look. “You ought not to be walking around.”

Edmond’s patience thinned. “Would you prefer I use the chamber pot?”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “I will step out.”

“No. Hand me the crutch.” He did not mean to sound that brusque, but she wasn’t listening.

Tabitha stood and held out the crutch, gaze averted. And thankfully, this time, she let him get up on his own. But the pain shooting up his leg made him pause and swallow a moan. Her eyes shot to his. “You are not better.”

“I am fine.”

“I’m going to help you to the door. And you will not argue.” Tabitha whisked under his left shoulder, wrapping her arm around his waist.

He hated to rely on her. She only let him go after opening the door into the dogtrot. He made it to the end of the breezeway, but that was far enough, and thankfully, Dulcie did not come out while he was about his personal business.

By the time he returned to the main cabin, green coffee beans roasted on an iron spider over the flames and Tabitha was mashing something in the mortar with the pestle. She jerked her head to the bench, which she had pulled out. “Sit there.”

He did so, leaning the crutch against the table. The thing inflicted as much harm as it helped, gouging out a deeper groove in his armpit.

She brought the mortar around to his side, along with a fresh strip of linen, and bent to unwrap the old bandage.

When she smoothed some of the salve onto his wound, Edmond sucked in his breath and gripped the sides of the bench. “If this was a dry bite, I cannot imagine what a real one would have felt like.”

She shot him a knowing glance. “Mm-hm. I knew it still hurt.”

“I cannot sit about while you women work yourselves to death.” A sizzle accompanied his words.

Tabitha wiped her fingers on the cloth, grabbed a wooden spoon from beside him, and whirled to stir her coffee beans, which were beginning to turn yellow and expand. “Very well. I have a job for you.”

“What is that?” Anything to help—and keep his eyes off her pleasing form as she scurried about, striped bodice laced tight and petticoats swaying.

“You can grind my coffee beans. I have no grinder here, and I am loathe to mash them in that mortar.” She turned back, putting the spoon down and taking up the length of linen.

“Happy to oblige.” Edmond held himself stiff as she wrapped his leg.

She shot him a relieved look. “Thank you. Too bad Mary Musgrove still doesn’t have a trading post just across the road. I have thought of so many things I need, and I can hardly keep going back and taking things from River’s Bend.”

“’Tis no problem. I daresay it will take me half the time it would take you.”

“And will not cost me money I do not have.” She tied off the ends of the linen with a satisfied purse of her lips.

“Cyrus and Dougal should be back soon.”

He prayed they had not run into any British stragglers. But even if they returned today with a dozen head of cattle, Tabitha would need a much larger sum to settle her debt and get the Jacksons out of her life. And then she’d need a steady stream of income if she was to make it on her own.

Edmond rubbed his chin, whiskers rasping beneath his fingers. He needed a shave. He was as bristly—and probably as pungent—as a bear. What he wouldn’t give for a good dunk in the creek.

A sudden burning scent made him straighten. “I think your coffee beans are ready.”

Tabitha turned from packing up her herbs to check the contents of the spider. “You have a nose for coffee, Sergeant Lassiter. They are just right.” She wrapped a rag around the handle of the flat skillet and raked the crackling, steaming beans, now a golden brown, into a wooden bowl. “I will let you transfer the proper portions.” She wiped off the mortar and pestle and placed them in front of him, then slid him the wooden bowl.

While Tabitha set the board, Edmond crushed the beans, but he’d barely cracked the shells before he wrinkled his nose. “I still smell something.”

“Oh no!” Tabitha’s hand flew to her mouth. “The porridge!”

She leapt over to the hearth and reached for the iron arm that held the pot. With a small scream, she jerked her hand to her chest.

“Tabitha! Did you burn yourself?” Edmond lifted himself off the bench. Ignoring the fire shooting up his leg, he hobbled to her side and encircled her wrist, drawing her hand toward him. Indeed, angry red slashed across her palm. “What were you thinking? You need to slow down.” Even the simplest injury could quickly turn fatal this far out in the country. Did she not know that?

Tears filled her eyes, and she jerked her hand away. “I was thinking of you—and c-coffee.” She darted for the basin on the sideboard and immersed her hand in the water. “I just wanted something that actually tasted good .”

Compassion squeezed his chest. “I understand, but you must stop going like a house afire. It’s too much. You’re doing too much.”

Rather than conceding as Edmond expected, Tabitha straightened with an indignant breath. “Too much, am I?”

“I said?—”

“Yes, I suppose you would think so. After all, if I had not been where I ought not to be in the first place, you would not be saddled with me now with aught but injury to show for it.”

He blinked, and his step faltered at her acidic tone. “That is not what I think at all. I just meant that you are unaccustomed to this type of life. It will take some time to get used to.”

“No need to remind me that I’m spoiled and pampered and useless, thank you. I’m well aware.” Snatching her hand from the water, she strode past, nearly upsetting his precarious balance on her way to the fireplace. “Otherwise, I might be able to do something right.”

What was going on? Everything he said to mollify only inflamed her more. “Tabitha, please just stop a minute. You’re not hearing me.”

As it was, she jerked the pot forward—thankfully, using the cloth this time—and uncovered the hasty pudding. A horrible stench filled the cabin.

Tabitha wailed. “I’ve ruined it!” Batting her lashes, she reached for the spoon, but Edmond caught her hand. She gasped and flinched back.

“I’m sorry.” He’d grabbed the one with the hurt palm. With a grimace, he released her. “I did not mean to hurt you, only to stop you from stirring it. ’Twill make it inedible.”

Tears poured down her face. “You must think me a bumbling idiot.”

“Not at all.” Edmond touched her elbow. “Sit down. The porridge matters not.”

“It does matter. What else are we to eat?” She waved her hand at the fireplace. “’Tis not as though Annabelle is here to bake us a loaf of her delicious bread. Even if she were, we can hardly bake without an oven.” She spluttered out a bitter scoffing sound.

“We can probably salvage enough of the pudding.” He’d eaten worse on campaign.

Tabitha wiped her face with her sleeve and sniffled. “I cannot believe I let it burn. All I had to do was warm it.”

Edmond braced himself on the table and redirected her to the more pressing matter. “Have you any honey?”

She raised an incredulous expression to him. “You want honey now?”

“For your hand.” He tipped his head to her fingers curled in her lap.

“Oh.” Her face slackened. “No. Only molasses, and not much of that.” Then her back straightened. “But Dulcie has herbs for burns.”

“I will get them. Use this for now.” Edmond step-hobbled over the sideboard and brought back the basin without sloshing quite all the water out. He plunked it down in front of her.

“Thank you.” She lowered her hand into it again and pressed her trembling lips together.

“First…” Biting back a wince, Edmond eased himself down next to her, his leg extended toward the fireplace. When she still did not look at him, fighting another round of tears, he touched her chin, gently turning it toward him. Her gaze reluctantly followed. “You are not spoiled. Or useless. Or a bumbling idiot. You should not be so hard on yourself.”

“You say so only because I’m crying.” Another tear trembled on the edge of her dark lashes before spilling over.

Edmond was quick enough to halt its descent with his thumb. He brushed it away, then tucked a strand of ashy hair behind her ear. “I’m saying that because you are brave and hardworking and compassionate.” He owed her that much, did he not? After his humor at her expense, followed by his own ill humor? Though the way she was looking at him set his insides aquiver. He sought to relieve the awareness that suddenly hummed between them with a chuckle. “Besides, if anyone is useless, ’tis me.”

Tabitha laughed, but then she did something completely unexpected—she dove her cheek into his hand, nestling against it. “Thank you.”

She had soaked up his stingy bit of praise like tallow on a dry hide. And her cheek was the softest thing he’d felt in over a year. He couldn’t help but caress it. When her lips pressed a kiss onto his palm, he sucked in his breath. She turned her head toward him, gaze alight with…fear? Hope? What did she see on his face?

He had no time to find out, for the door opened, and Dulcie entered.