Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

J ohn tied the last corner of the skin in place, effectively erecting a shelter against the relentless wind.

Muireall let out a sigh and rubbed her upper arms. "That should make it a bit easier to make a fire." She offered him a tired smile with her reassuring words.

He moved closer and gave her arm a gentle squeeze. Her clothes were still damp from the river crossing, as his were. "Have a seat," he urged her. "I will start the fire."

While she had been brave, it was evident the days' events had been taxing on Muireall. John had to admit that even he was drained, though. The Rolling Fork River, coupled with the recent rains and persistent wind, had not been easy to overcome.

He knelt and stacked the logs, weaving in the kindling. He had not let Muireall on as to how difficult the crossing had been. It would have only heightened her fears and wounded her trust in him to know that for a moment, he was not sure he and Sugar were going to successfully make it to the far side. The river had pulled him and the horse downriver with such force, it had been overwhelming. But knowing Muireall waited for him to see her across had kept him pushing on.

As the fire sprang to life, he stood and dusted his hands on his breeches. John turned and busied himself with rearranging their packs. Anything to distance himself, and his heart, from Muireall. Somehow, he had to shift his focus back to the original task at hand—finding his father. Once John knew who he was, perhaps then he could settle down with his wife and make a life. He had become so engrossed with her safety, he had lost sight of his goal. But maybe a shift in focus could help keep him from falling?

The object of his thoughts appeared at his side, capturing his attention once again. "I thought a nice stew might do us well tonight," she said as she dug into their food packs.

"Uh, yes. Yes, that would be good." He nodded as she retreated with a grin. John hung his head.

Muireall gave of herself each day, putting visible effort into their marriage, while he fought to keep his distance. It was not right, but what could he do? He could not give this version of himself to his wife. And he could not tell her the truth.

March 28, 1784

T he brilliant red splashed across the sky marked the drawing to an end of a most pleasant day. Bright rays had graced their journey from dawn until the sun dropped behind the trees. Warmth seeped through their clothing and bathed the world in light. It was the kind of day which Muireall favored, on which she could see the best. On such days as this, the lights seemed lighter and the darks darker, more distinct. And the sunshine infused joy into her soul. Even the mare seemed to have more energy, her brown head bobbing as she eagerly followed John uphill and down. Muireall had forgotten how the Kentucky landscape was ever-changing, rising and lowering at every turn. At the moment, they approached a tree line after cutting through a small meadow.

A flash of brown darted across in front of them. The old mare jerked her head into the air and halted abruptly. Muireall's heart lurched into her throat. "John?" Apprehension filled her voice.

John turned toward her. Was he smiling? "'Twas only a bobcat. More afraid of us than us of him."

"Oh." Muireall nodded while mentally giving herself a swift kick. Though there were dangerous animals in the Kentucky wilderness that required a measure of caution, she should have hidden her fear better. "I dinnae get a good glimpse of him."

"He was quick," John agreed before he led Sugar on.

Muireall released her breath, her shoulders sagging. She should not have to lie and make excuses to her husband, should she? It did not seem right, but Ma had kept the secret of her eyesight from her father. Perhaps it was the way of the world, men thinking less of women with a weakness. After all, her mither had been quite convinced that no one would want her should they know the truth. Would Pa not have wanted her as his child if he had been privy to the situation? Would John cast her aside if he learned the truth? Her mouth twisted at the thought, and a cold chill swept over her.

She tried to shake the gloom as John led them over the next rise and down another, but no matter how the countryside around them greened with the coming spring, discomfort and fear still swirled inside.

"That rock wall should make for a decent place to camp for the night." John guided them to a place where it seemed the Lord had taken a giant knife and cut away a piece of the earth as He had formed it. Layers of pale stone formed a wall that stretched higher than her head. A mound of tree-covered earth rested at its top, and the terrain sloped down on each side.

When she dismounted, John was there with his hand at the small of her back. Though she no longer needed his assistance after the past few days of mounting and dismounting, she did relish the warmth of his touch and the nearness of him. The world did not seem so frightening with him around. Muireall smiled up at him. "I believe I am learnin'."

"That you are," he concurred with a lift of his own lips. His smile eased the hard edges of his face and brought a light to his left eye.

Muireall raised her hand and gently brushed her thumb along his cheek below his eyepatch. He stilled. "Does it hurt?" She breathed the words.

"No. I…" He cleared his throat. "I still have the eye. Only, it was injured and I cannot see out of it. This…this is easier for people to understand."

Muireall nodded, but her heart clenched. If only it were easier for people to understand her deficit, then maybe they would accept her as they did John. But he still had one working eye. Neither of hers worked proficiently. Perhaps that was the difference. "What…what happened?"

John's gaze slid away from hers, and his jaw worked. "I would rather not say." His voice was tight, pained. Most likely, the memories were too haunting to revisit.

She could not blame him for not wanting to relive such an experience. She took his face into her hands, drawing his focus back to her. "Whatever it is, it does not matter. Ye are a handsome an' wonderful man, exactly as ye are." Conviction filled her words. While she may have only known him eight short days, she believed with all her heart that he was a good man. One she was glad to call her husband.

John's adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. Then the corners of his mouth turned down.

Muireall's brow furrowed. Had she said something wrong or crossed a line?

"Thank you, Muireall," he finally said as he stepped away from her. "I…need to go water the horse."

Though she dipped her chin in assent, her face remained taut with confusion.

John walked down the slope in search of a creek with the mare still laden with their supplies. They always removed the saddle and packs before taking her to find water.

Muireall turned and took a deep breath as she flopped her arms at her sides. She supposed all that was left for her to do was to collect firewood. She gathered the small twigs and branches closest to her, as well as some dead leaves for kindling. Then, leaving them at camp, she broadened her search for substantial logs that would sustain the fire. She approached the base of a tall oak and knelt where, beyond a patch of green moss, dead leaves were hidden under blades of grass and tiny pinkish flowers. She reached under the flowers for a thick piece of branch that was nestled there.

Suddenly, it was as though the back of her hand was on fire. Muireall let out a scream, dropping what little wood she had gathered as she jerked her hand back. She cradled it to her chest as pain seared across it. The skin was not broken, but a long red line marred the flesh as though tiny flames were trapped inside and trying to burn their way out.

John crashed through the underbrush and knelt by her side, his breathing heavy. His touch was gentle as he took her hand into his to examine it. Then he surveyed the plants which she had reached into. "There." John used a stick to push one of the flower stems back. But Muireall could not make out whatever insect he revealed, nor did she much care. It did not matter what the tiny foe appeared like, for it did not make it any less painful. "The spines on that caterpillar will eat you alive. Are there any still stuck in your hand?"

"I dinnae think so."

John turned his attention back to her hand. "I do not see any. Here, come to the creek. The cool water might help."

He slipped an arm around her as she rose and guided her down to the creek, her arm still cradled in his hand. When he dipped her hand into the cold liquid, she barely contained a whimper, tears springing into her eyes. But after the initial shock, a bit of the intensity did slip away.

"Is that better?" John looked from her hand to her face. Muireall nodded. "Good. I have some salve that might be of use. Come."

He held her uninjured hand in his as he guided her back to camp. He led Sugar along on his other side, the patient mare having waited in place for his return. Once she was settled on the ground, he dug a tin from one of the saddle packs. "It is old, so I am not sure how well it will work now. But it used to."

Something in his voice whispered of days past. Could this have been the very salve that helped heal the injuries to his face? She longed to have him open up to her and share the details of his background with her, but of course, she did not want to force him to recall the memories if they were too painful. So, instead, she whispered a soft, "Thank you," as he rubbed the soothing salve over the back of her hand.

"You rest here. I will gather some wood and start the fire." He paused and gave her a coy smile. "I might even prepare supper for you."

Muireall laughed. "Perhaps I should injure meself more often."

She sighed, her pain nearly forgotten as she watched his broad shoulders retreat down the hill. This kind of care and camaraderie was certainly easy to become accustomed to. Marriage with John seemed to suit her quite well. Though she had always known she was complete and whole with the Holy Spirit in her heart, that she needed no more than God, it was still as though a missing piece had been restored. A piece that she did not realize had been missing to begin with. It was much the same as when a dress was complete and whole, but then one added embroidery and adornment. Though the dress was perfect before, it could truly shine with the new additions.

Was that how God intended marriage? Aye, it was right there in Ecclesiastes. Two are better than one…and a threefold cord is not quickly broken. There was a strength in a marriage built upon the Lord. Though she had prayed before allowing herself to be united with John, it was still astounding to consider that God had planned their sudden, strange marriage of convenience all along.

Muireall grinned. If God designed their meeting and union, He must have a plan for their future as well.