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Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

R ory stuck his shovel into the ground with a grunt and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm. Though the ground was cold and hard, there had been few freezes for the past month, and for that he was grateful. He had nearly finished digging the channel that would reroute the creek to the mill. It was a relatively small lade, only twenty feet long and five across, but the mill needed a sluice gate to control the flow of water. After living beside it for so long, Rory knew how erratic the creek could be. A heavy snow up the mountain the week before had flooded the creek by at least two feet. Once they got the mill up and running, they’d want to make sure the paddles of the wheel weren’t ever completely submerged.

“Tired already, Rory?” Cailean called out with a smirk. He was laying the foundation of the millhouse with Rabbie a few yards away.

“Nae, Cailean,” Rory yelled back, pulling the shovel from the ground roughly.

“Aye, Rory.” Cailean grinned and received an oak plank from Rabbie. “Now that we all share a cabin, I know when ye’re up until the wee hours.”

“If that’s so, then I’m sure I can talk Mercy into relocating ye back to the barn,” Rory said, stabbing at the dirt to loosen it.

“When do ye think the honeymoon will be over, Rabbie?” Cailean asked loudly, surely for Rory’s benefit. Rory smiled despite himself, and not just because memories of Mercy’s body tangled with his thrummed in his mind. After finishing the roof on the barn and repairing the cabin, Rory had thrown himself into the mill project with a passion. Though he still worked many nights at the Halfway House for William, his true obsession was here. Luckily, they had been able to buy, barter, or borrow all the tools they’d need, as most of the townspeople were elated at the prospect of a nearby mill.

A frigid December wind ripped down the mountainside and Rory lifted his head to greet it. The rhythm of his digging and his brothers’ hammering was the percussion behind the melody of the bubbling stream, the solo of the cardinal’s song. The cloud cover had finally broken not an hour before, and the sun was beaming down approvingly on their work. Mercy’s white willows, as Rory thought of them affectionately, stood sentry a few yards away. Mercy had had a fit when Rory had told her he’d need to cut down some trees to build the mill, but had been pacified when she realized she’d only lose four hollies and two oaks. The trees would be put to good use, too. The oaks would make up most of the structure, including the wheel itself, and holly made perfect dowels to join the harder woods together.

“Ho, Millers,” Mr. Bell called, weaving through the woods and waving.

“Good day, Mr. Bell,” Cailean called back. Rory stood and dropped his shovel.

“Marvelous,” he said, nodding as he surveyed the site. He had a knit cap pulled down over his ears under his tricorn and the tip of his nose was red. “How is the shovel treating you?” he asked, blowing his breath into his hands and rubbing them together.

“Perfectly,” Rory said, hoisting himself out of the trench.

“This is a very nice lade,” Bell said, pointing to the channel. Rory grinned and shook his hand. “Are ye not cold?” Bell asked, noticing Rory was only in his shirtsleeves. “Ah, of course not. You Highlanders have leather skins.”

“It’s true,” Cailean called as he knocked another plank in place.

“I’ve been thinking about the applewood,” Bell said, turning his attention to Rory. “I’ve decided I can part with five trees.”

“I thank ye sir,” Rory said, taking his hand again and shaking it enthusiastically. “I thank ye very much.” He had desperately wanted to make the mill’s cogs from applewood, but most people in town were unwilling to part with a free source of cider.

“I love my cider,” Bell said, slapping him on the shoulder, “but if my land keeps producing like it has been, wheat and corn will be my new livelihood.” He gazed again at the beginnings of the mill. “Ye’ve no idea what this could do for this town,” he said quietly, his eyes boring into Rory’s. “Ye’ve done a good thing, lad.” Rory nodded and felt the warmth of pride fill him. This, this is what drove him. He loved working hard for something and seeing real results, and he knew that this mill would deliver.

“Did ye happen to see my wife in town?” Rory asked.

“Ah, the lovely Mrs. Miller. I believe I saw her leave Mrs. Vaughn’s house with Miss Amity. They looked like they were headed towards the Clintocks’.” Rory nodded, then noticed Bell was stomping his feet to keep them warm.

“How about a break, lads?” Rory called to Rabbie and Cailean. “I wouldn’t mind heating up some water and bee balm and adding a spot of whiskey. I think ye should join us, Mr. Bell,” and Bell looked more than happy to oblige him.

“Good day, Mrs. Miller,” Jane West said as she approached Mercy and Amity in town. She and her servant, a young, pock-faced man who was trying to balance a teetering stack of newspapers, met them just as they were passing in front of the Halfway House. Mrs. West was the young, stunning wife of Thomas West, a wealthy and powerful man from Belhaven. Though Mr. West helped his brother run the main tobacco inspection warehouse in Belhaven, the couple spent most of their summers and many Christmases here at the mineral springs, as they both had said many times before that they were extremely fond of the rugged landscape. In fact, Mr. West had just built the largest home the town had ever seen, and had promised to hold a ball in the summer season.

“Good day, Mrs. West,” Mercy said, bobbing into a curtsy, not a little shocked. She had never properly met Jane West, and if she had ever known of Mercy before, she would have known her as Miss Barnett. Jane pulled her furs tighter around her neck and flashed a smile. “Have you just arrived in town?” Mercy asked when it seemed that Mrs. West meant to stay and speak with them.

“Yes,” she said, “just yesterday. Mr. West is buried in work, so I thought I would bring my man with me to the tavern and deliver these copies of the Gazette.” Her intonation was like cut crystal, as beautiful as it was sharp. “It’s so important, don’t you agree,” Jane said, “to provide the backcountry with reading material.”

“Are they free, ma’am?” Amity asked, and Mercy stiffened.

“They are,” Jane said warmly, pulling two from the top of the servant’s paper tower. “If providing the rural areas with news is my one philanthropy, then so be it.” She handed two papers to Amity, who took them gratefully. “Mrs. Miller,” she said, suddenly turning to Mercy, “in the hours since I’ve arrived, I have heard your name mentioned no less than three times, all in good favor.” She cleared her throat and continued. “It has just been confirmed that I am expecting.” Mercy and Amity both made murmurs of congratulations, which she accepted with a polite smile. “Mr. West and I have agreed that we would like the birth to take place here, in our beloved mountains, and we have also agreed that we would like for you to attend me.”

Mercy’s eyes widened into saucers, and she saw that Amity’s were much the same. That such a fine lady as Mrs. West desired her to midwife was nothing short of astounding.

“I would be honored, Mrs. West,” Mercy sputtered finally, lowering her head in reverence.

“Wonderful,” Jane West said, a relieved smile replacing the proper and practiced one from before. She touched her palm to her midsection absentmindedly.

“You are aware of the new doctor in Frederick Town, Mrs. West, are you not? Doctor Edwards?” Mercy couldn’t help but ask. Though she was sabotaging herself, she wanted Mrs. West to know that there was a man of real physic not too far away. Surely, the woman couldn’t know if she was asking for her help. Mercy was, well…Mercy.

“I am aware of him, yes,” Mrs. West said carefully, her eyes growing dark. Mercy lifted an eyebrow curiously at her rapid change of tone. “I prefer your services, Mrs. Miller,” she said firmly.

“Then I shall be elated to provide them,” Mercy said quickly.

“Have a wonderful day, Mrs. Miller,” Mrs. West said with a flash of perfect white teeth, then she motioned for her servant to follow her into the Halfway House.

Mercy, who was too stunned to move, was surprised when she felt Amity grab her arm and pull her forward.

“I can’t believe it,” she squealed, tugging Mercy along. “Jane West wants you to deliver her child.” Mercy smiled weakly, still unbelieving herself. “I swear. Once you married that respectable convict, the whole town suddenly realized how lovely and accomplished you are.”

“Amity!” Mercy whispered.

“Oh, no one heard me. But don’t you think it’s amusing? We’re just the same as we ever were, but now people ask you to come to them when they’re sick. Why, we’ve been invited to town more in the last month than in the last decade. All because you’re respectable now, with a handsome husband called Miller.”

“It’s not amusing. We spent our whole lives living as respectable women, women who helped the people of this town when they were at their very worst, and we are only now acknowledged in the street because I am owned by a man.” Mercy was surprised that her voice had grown so hard. She didn’t resent Rory, not in the least, but she hated that her skills were only publicly recognized after the sham wedding to her husband, who she was now sure was in love with her. And she still truly did not know how to tread in society. She was constantly uncomfortable. Wary.

“Mrs. Miller,” Jeb Allston called, walking swiftly across the road to meet them. “I must thank you. My daughter’s headaches have much improved since you provided your expert care.” He pulled his tricorn hat off and bowed. Mercy curtsied and smiled.

“It was my pleasure, Mr. Allston,” she said, and she meant it. Though she didn’t appreciate why the townspeople had changed their minds about her, she very much liked that they had. She had been able to help far more people this way.

“I hope you will check back in on her soon,” he said, his brown eyes searching. “Or perhaps stop by for a meal?” Mercy clamped her mouth shut in surprise.

“Of, of course, Mr. Allston,” she stammered after Amity squeezed her hand hard. “I would be very pleased.” He nodded and left them with a smile. Mercy was momentarily speechless. Amity’s smug grin snapped her back from her shock. “Don’t say a word,” she said, and Amity looked away and whistled a jaunty tune.

They were nearly at the Clintocks’ home. It was a picturesque two-story house with a whitewashed exterior and an expertly manicured garden in front, which was tidy but bare now that winter had blown through. Snow, she was sure, would arrive in the next few days. Mercy, as usual, let Amity lead the way to the front door, where an elderly servant bowed and let them inside.

Mercy was always awed by the inside of Clintock House. Though the Macleods had built them a fine loft in the cabin so that Amity could have her own room, she was rarely invited to a home with two true levels. She peered up the staircase in the hall as she always did when they visited the Clintocks, wondering what it was like to descend them every morning and be greeted by a houseful of servants.

“Mrs. Miller and Miss Barnett,” the servant announced, and they stepped into the pale-yellow parlor where Rose and Theo were enjoying tea next to a roaring fire.

“Oh, dears,” Rose said as she stood, motioning to the pistachio chairs in which Mercy and Amity always sat during these visits. “You both look lovely.” Though it was just past midday, candles flickered on the mantle above the fireplace. Sprigs of holly had been placed festively around the room and as Mercy dropped her shawl and sat, she found herself completely caught up in the spirit of the upcoming holiday.

“Don’t get up, Theo,” Amity said when she saw her rising. “Not on our account.” Theo nodded her thanks and settled back into her chair, adjusting the blanket on her lap. She was looking a bit gray. Mercy wished, for the hundredth time, that she or Rose might confide in her about Theo’s mysterious illness. An orange cat jumped onto the back of the chair and purred, slinking down the armrest onto Mercy’s knees.

“Truly,” Rose said after she had perched on the edge of the sofa. “You both look truly lovely.” She carefully poured tea into two empty cups and handed them to Mercy and Amity, who placed her newspapers on the floor by her feet.

“Marriage agrees with Mercy,” Amity said, and Mercy would have glared if they hadn’t been in the Clintocks’ parlor. “And Mercy’s marriage agrees with me.” Rose laughed genuinely at that, and Mercy relaxed at the sound as she would the gentle tinkling of bells.

“We just saw Jane West,” Amity said.

“Such a lovely woman,” Theo said softly, stroking a gray tabby who’d found his way onto her lap. Rose wrinkled her nose.

“In looks, perhaps. But I’ve never heard her say anything of value.” Mercy shifted on the silk chair and the cat, startled, leapt away. Before, she had never been privy to the depths of finer society, and she was having quite a hard time navigating it now.

“Rose,” Theo said, surprised, pulling the cat that had just abandoned Mercy into her arms. He stretched and yawned, then tucked his head into Theo’s elbow, earning a hiss from the tabby.

“She wants Mercy to deliver her baby,” Amity said conspiratorially, lifting her eyebrows.

“Does she really?” Rose asked, leaning forward. “As I live and breathe.” She fell back into the sofa and clapped her hands. “I just want to remind you both who your first friend was,” she said, giggling. Mercy couldn’t help but remember that Rose was spoiled to distraction. She looked so childlike, with her intricate blond curls mussed by the back of the sofa. Though Rose was, as she had proclaimed, the first to befriend the Barnetts, Mercy couldn’t help but wonder if she had formed the attachment just to shock the rest of the town. She had to admit, however, that Rose had been a steadfast friend regardless of her reasons, and had made their lives easier wherever she could.

“We do so much enjoy your friendship,” Theo said, and Mercy saw that she was staring intently at her.

“As we enjoy yours,” Mercy said carefully, nodding at Theo, who smiled with relief. She was a bit younger than Mercy, and a few years older than Rose. Though Mercy had been told that Theo’s life had been quite fortunate, she couldn’t help but think that, perhaps, she was suffering from more than ill health. Mercy longed for a few private minutes with Theo, though she was truly apprehensive at what she might learn.

“Miss Rose,” the servant from the front door said after suddenly appearing in the doorway. “I beg your pardon, but there seems to be a disagreement in the kitchens.” Rose grinned at Mercy and Amity.

“Call me incorrigible, but I do so love when I’m needed to settle a dispute.” She sprang up from the sofa and followed the servant out into the hall.

“Where is your companion?” Mercy asked after Rose had gone.

“Oh, she is resting,” Theo said, averting her eyes. “Sometimes,” she said, leaning forward suddenly and locking eyes with Mercy, “I wish that I had been born a Barnett. Then I could live up in the mountains with you instead of Clara.” Mercy was taken aback. Why would anyone want to be a Barnett?

“Oh, no,” Amity said easily. “Because then your name would be Charity or Verity or Felicity or...God, Prosperity. Imagine being as poor as we are and being named that. ” Theo laughed softly and the cats in her arms opened their eyes sleepily.

“Theo,” Mercy said suddenly, as she hadn’t realized before that the thought was bothering her, but it was, “does Doctor Edwards attend you?” She watched carefully as Theo’s face became withdrawn. When it seemed as though she was going to reply, Rose returned with flourish.

“Cook wanted to make turkey for dinner, but Clara said she is tired of turkey,” Rose announced as she came back into the parlor. “And Clara says that Cook owns too many cats, and that she found a hair in her porridge this morning. I do believe that Clara will be the death of Cook one day. It’s a good thing Uncle John will be back in a few days to mitigate.”

“Oh, you must be so pleased,” Amity said, setting her tea down on a side table. Mercy chewed on her lip at the news.

“We should be going,” she said suddenly, rising from her chair, and Amity did the same. She immediately knew it wasn’t the right time to announce their departure, but she hadn’t quite got the hang of society’s rhythm yet.

“Already?” Rose asked, her smooth forehead puckering. “Oh, very well. You have a handsome husband to attend to, I suppose,” she said, with a devilish grin. “Please come back tomorrow,” Rose said as she grasped Amity’s hands. “We miss you so every day that you don’t visit, isn’t that right, Theo?” she asked, turning. Theo smiled tiredly and nodded.

“Yours is the only company I look forward to,” Theo said, and Mercy believed her. Just as they were walking out, Rose stopped them.

“Didn’t you say you were in need of a barn cat?” she asked.

“Yes,” Amity said, “the mice have moved inside from the cold. We had asked around and…”

“What luck!” Rose exclaimed, glancing at Theo, who smiled indulgently at her. “Mr. Purr here,” she said, pointing at the gray tabby in Theo’s arms, “has sired a litter born not three months ago.”

“Then we shall trade you a newspaper for a kitten,” Amity exclaimed, shoving one copy of the Virginia Gazette into Rose’s hands.

“How about a newspaper for two, for Clara’s sake?”

Mercy and Amity left the Clintocks with two pumpkin tarts, a packet of tea leaves, and two kittens, one gray and one black, which had snuggled into the girls’ warm new cloaks that Rory had forced them to buy the week before with his earnings from the Halfway House.

“May we stop at the spring, Mercy?” Amity asked as they made their way up the carriage road. “We haven’t been in ages.”

“Due to our good fortune,” Mercy said, thinking of how miraculously healthy they’d all remained during the perilous change of the season. It had seemed that the majority of the town fell ill when the western winds blew through.

“Oh, just for fun,” Amity pleaded, kissing the gray kitten on the forehead and nestling her into the crook of her neck.

“Alright,” Mercy said, grinning. What with the black kitten’s rumbling purr against her chest and the handful of sweet tarts in her bag and the luxurious weight of her fine cloak, Mercy was in quite a favorable mood. She had been paid handsomely by Mrs. Vaughn earlier in the day for an herbal tea to ease her hot spells, and if she was going to be honest herself, she was very pleased indeed that Jane West had asked for her assistance with her birth.

As a child, Mercy had been awed by Granny and her career. Having been to town every now and then, she understood at a young age that women simply did not work, not in the way that Granny did. Of course, Mercy had always recognized that women worked as hard if not harder than their men in their homes and on the farms, but Granny was different. She used her skills to ease pain, heal injuries, save lives, and then she held out her wrinkled hand and men dropped coins into it. Men! Had Mercy been born a man, she was sure that she could have had all the recognition and respect that the mysterious Doctor Edwards had, as she was just as good as Granny had been but kinder. And suddenly, Mercy was in high demand—higher than Doctor Edwards, if Jane West was to be believed.

She thought, then, of Rory and his mill. His eyes were always alight with a fire whenever he spoke of the gears and the cogs and the pit wheel and the wallower. Though she knew not what any of them were, she couldn’t help but share his infectious enthusiasm. Was she the same way, when she spoke of foxglove and witch hazel and slippery elm and mayapple?

“How lovely,” Amity murmured as they approached the spring pool. In green summers and gray winters, orange autumns and yellow springs, the water was a constant shade of ethereal blue. “The Shawnee have been here,” Amity said, pointing at footprints in the dirt by the pool.

“The turkeys abound,” Mercy said and settled down against a tree by the pool, “so that’s no surprise.” She leaned back and closed her eyes, soaking in the twilight hour. She sighed in pleasure and heard the shuffling of paper.

“Did you know that Mrs. Strauss comes from Boston?” Amity asked absentmindedly. “Oh, here’s an article about a ball that will be held at Mount Vernon on Twelfth Night.” Mercy opened her eyes and peered over at Amity, who was huddled over the Gazette nearby.

“What else does it say?” Mercy murmured, letting her lids close once more. The kitten on her chest licked at her neck with a rough tongue and she shuddered with pleasure at the tickling sensation.

“A lord in London seems quite convinced that the colonies are…”

“What?” Mercy asked when Amity grew silent. “What?” Mercy said, pushing up to look at Amity, and the look of horror on her sister’s face sent cold pangs of panic through her body. “What is it?” Mercy yelped. She’d never wished she’d learned to read more in her life. “Amity!”

Amity’s eyes were filled with tears when she finally looked up.

Belhaven, Virginia, December 15 1748

Runaway, August 26, from the subscriber, a convict servant fellow, nam’d Rory Macleod, born in the Isles of Scotland, and bred in the clan Macleod, disloyal to the throne. He is about 29 years old, of a fair complection and black hair, active and strong, and very tall; he is very handy at any thing, so that he may pretend to be a groom, coachman, gardiner, lawyer, shoemaker, &c. His apparel was paltry. He took with him two brothers of similar size and visage, though one is red-haired. He is quarrelsome and abusive to others, in whose company he will brag, fight, curse, swear, &c. He has a scar on his left wrist from an attack during his escape. All persons, especially women, are cautioned to beware of him, for he is a great cheat, and a notorious villain. Whoever secures him in any prison, &c so that he may be had again, shall be paid Seventy Shillings, Virginia currency. Should his corpse be found, any person that will bring him home shall be paid half of that sum by me, his master, George Crawley.

N.B. All masters of vessels are forbid to carry him off.

When Amity read the last word and a tear spilled down her cheek, Mercy felt the world around her fall apart. Trees collapsed about her, the sky crushed down upon her, the ground rumbled and an acrid stench filled the air. She was drowned and suspended. Her anchor, her sanctuary, the only man who had ever truly seen her, needed to be gone at once.

“Mercy,” Amity said fervently again, and she was vaguely aware that her sister had been repeating her name for some time. Her vision cleared and she saw that the paper was shaking between her trembling hands.

“Oh, God,” Mercy finally murmured. “You just gave a copy to the Clintocks. Oh, God,” she repeated, dropping her face into her hands. “Their uncle will return soon.”

“Everyone in town will have a copy,” Amity said with a sob. She didn’t need to voice the rest: that everyone in town knew that there are three giant Scots living on Black Knob, and that one was called Rory.

It was getting dark there on their side of the mountain, as if the sun was leaving and taking with it her one great happiness.

“Do you think that Mrs. West…” Amity began to ask with a trembling voice.

“No,” Mercy said firmly, shaking her head. “She couldn’t have known.”

“Couldn’t she? Was it just bad luck?” Amity asked incredulously. “Impossible.”

“We’ve been plagued with bad luck our entire lives,” Mercy snapped, rising. The kitten mewled in protest at being so roughly woken. “Don’t ever be surprised when the world turns on you, Amity,” Mercy said severely, and the image of Amity’s broken face as she spun and stalked away would forever be imprinted in her mind.

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