Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

March 30, 1784

T hunder boomed overhead, and lightning flashed across the sky while rivulets of water ran down from the brim of John's hat. For the second night in a row, he pulled the rope taut that anchored the animal hide in place to form their shelter. This had to be the reason why so many travel parties coming west chose to travel in the winter. Despite the occasional snow or winter storm, the weather was much milder and more predictable in winter in Kentucky. Spring, instead, was proving to be the worst possible time for their journey. All around, the storm raged like a lion and he feared, if their shelter were to fail, it would ravage them.

John tested his knot one last time, then frowned as he dipped under the cover of the skin. Though he had done his best not to place them in the path of the streams that formed along the hillside, the ground where they were to bunk down for the night was sodden. There was no escape from the rainwater that rolled downhill, but had he truly chosen the best position? He glanced around, but no one could see through the squall.

Muireall latched onto his arm and urged him to sit beside her on the fur where she and the supplies took refuge from the muck. "Come. Get out of that rain, or ye'll catch yer death."

Though she fussed over him, it was she that shivered, her skin paler than usual. Despite having borrowed his hat, her dark hair was plastered against her chest and shoulders. John withdrew a blanket and fur and wrapped both around her. He tucked her close, then rubbed his thumb over her cold cheek. He had to get her warmed. At least he had managed to collect some wood throughout the day. Now he prayed it would burn in such damp conditions.

After making use of his flint and steel, John held one hand up to protect the fragile flame while he shifted the kindling. Slowly, he coaxed it to life. But even as he resumed his position at Muireall's side, the fire sputtered and spit as the wind tossed rain into the shelter. His wife curled into him as her shivering slowed to a stop. His own chill seemed to have subsided, and a sigh escaped. He pushed his hat back on his head and pressed his cheek against Muireall's hair.

Even with the constant booms overhead and the roar of the torrential rainfall, it felt right to have his wife tucked under his arm. Righter than nearly anything he had experienced in life. But if he wanted to cultivate this union, he would have to be honest with Muireall. About everything.

John closed his eyes and leaned upon the only one who could see them through what had to happen. Lord, please open Muireall's heart to me. When I am honest with her, please allow her to be forgiving. At least in time. Please do not let my mistakes destroy what has been built between us. Please do not let me extinguish this blessing which you have brought to life.

Muireall turned in his arms and tipped her face up to his, drawing his attention. "Our travel seems to be thwarted at every turn."

His heart clenched. If she only knew. Was this the moment? Before he could speak, she placed her delicate hand upon the side of his face.

"All will be well," she whispered, and he felt it to his core. "As long as I am with ye, all will be well."

John closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Muireall's. How did this woman know exactly what his heart craved to hear? Her soft voice whispered to the innermost broken places within him, covering them with her love and acceptance. "Oh, Muireall," he breathed, considering how he would have to break her heart. He hugged her closer, resting his chin atop her head. He should not delay the inevitable, but he could not bring himself to break the moment. To sever the precious bond that had been forged between them. Lord, help me .

March 31, 1784

T he mud made a suctioning noise with each step Muireall took.

"We have to find a path that does not take us through this muck," John grumbled ahead of her.

According to the map, they were to travel alongside the creek to their right. But with the rains and flooding the day before, the land around it had been turned into a mire of mud and debris. After slipping and sliding down the hillside they had camped on, they had struggled through this mess for over an hour. Muireall's lungs burned and her legs ached. Even Sugar puffed out loud breaths through her nostrils.

John stopped and glanced around, then pointed uphill. "We will move up ground but keep the stream in sight."

Muireall nodded. Surely, the ground on up the hillside would be more solid and easier to traverse. They climbed the uneven terrain, taking a looping path to avoid a couple of fallen trees. Large, muddy bundles of root stuck up from the earth, leaving gaping holes which Muireall gave a wide berth. It was clear they were drawing closer to home, for this land twisted and turned and rose and dipped more than anywhere else on earth, it seemed.

She eyed the second tree as they moved past, her heart beating quickly. The damage from the storm the day before did not bode well for their progress. How she wished John would deem this day an unsuitable day for travel. But she held no expertise on the subject, so she would not question the judgement of her husband. Anyway, drawing nearer to Pitman Station meant being closer to finding her sister. Would Margaret be glad she came, or would Muireall arrive only to find that some tragedy had befallen her sister and brother-in-law?

Muireall pushed the thought to the back of her mind and focused on her steps. The farther they went, the steeper the landscape became, and soon, they were on a precipice, overlooking where the stream fed into a river.

"This does not look right," John muttered to himself as he pulled out the map.

Muireall stood several paces away with her back to a tall oak.

After a moment of pondering and turning the paper this way and that, he pointed to a place on the map where two lines connected. "Right. This is where we are. This is the way."

He picked up Sugar's lead and marched on around the bend. The forest enveloped them, and Muireall could not tell one tree from the next. She grunted as she tripped on a dip in the ground.

John turned and reached for her hand. "Here, walk with me."

Muireall slipped her hand into his, into the strength and assurance he offered. How glad she was to have a helpmate to journey through this land with. When travelling with Margaret and her husband, Muireall had felt she was an outsider among the trio. She and Margaret had worked in harmonious union to save Iain when infection had set in following an injury. But as soon as he recovered, the married two had been closer than ever, and Muireall had been pushed to the background again. She could not blame them, but with her deficit, it seemed the way of life—always in the shadows or wings.

With John, it felt as though she was being coaxed forth from hiding, to bloom in the sunshine. But she could not do so with her secret still hanging between them. Muireall longed for the air to be cleared. For them to truly start their life together. Despite how they leaned upon one another and grew closer each day, it seemed an impenetrable stone wall stood between them, keeping them from truly becoming husband and wife. Lord, please break down the barriers between us, an' allow us to experience the union that Ye planned for us . Even as she prayed the prayer, she feared it would mean difficult conversations and even some dark times before they came out on the other side. But God could get them there, could He not?

Slowly, the ground began to slope downhill. But again, they seemed to be in the wash path of the rainwater, for the dead leaves that littered the forest floor were mired in mud. Their steps squished the leaves down into the ground.

After a few minutes of more rough going, John stopped and sighed. "Perhaps we should find a good place to camp for the night and call today a loss."

"I would be amenable to that." Muireall did her best to conceal her smile so as not to appear too eager. But a weight eased from her chest.

John glanced back the way they had come. "We will not attempt returning to the stream. Instead, we will stop at the next place we find that will provide shelter and has water near enough by for us and the horse."

Though that could still mean a great deal of travel, at least there was a silver lining as they moved forward. To their right, the hillside opened up to what appeared to be a massive hole in the earth. Muireall swallowed and kept her feet moving forward, eyes averted from the gaping black pit. But John did not move away. He moved closer. "Is that a cave?"

He approached what appeared to be the edge and peered down into the darkness. Then he knelt, hand on the ground, and leaned farther over the edge to gain a better view. Muireall's fingers tapped along her arm where she hugged herself, and the seconds ticked slowly by as she waited for her husband to return to her side.

At last, John pulled himself upright, and Muireall had only just taken a half step toward him, when suddenly, he was falling. His arms flew into the air as he dropped out of sight. Muireall gasped and darted toward him but was helpless to do anything besides watch as her husband fell into the void. "Nay!"

Muireall dropped to her knees and scrambled to the edge. John's light clothing contrasted with the dark earth below, but there was no movement. Was he unconscious? Or did he lie there with open, unseeing eyes and she simply could not tell? "John!"

When he did not answer, she tried again. This time, her voice came out in a hysterical scream. What would she do if she lost him? How would she ever find her way in the wilderness?

A groan sounded below and her heart leapt. "John?"

"Yeah. I am here." His voice was strained, barely audible. How much pain must he be in?

"Are ye hurt?" Muireall bit her lip while she waited.

"I feel as though someone barreled me over with a wagon, but with the ground as soft as it is, I do not believe anything is broken." John sounded stronger, surer.

Muireall let out a breath of relief. "Are ye certain?"

"Yeah."

Another grunt came from below, and Muireall frowned. But she did not let on that she did not entirely believe John. They could assess his injuries once he was back on higher ground. "Good. Now we just need to figure out how to get ye out of there."

Another bit of silence. "These walls are awfully steep, and there is a cave below. I am not sure that I can climb out."

Muireall glanced around. "Perhaps I can use Sugar to draw ye out with the rope."

"Yes. That should work. Lower one end down, and I will make a loop about my waist. You can tie the other end to the saddle, and she can pull me up. You will just have to coax her to put out the effort."

Muireall eyed the mare next to her. As old and tired as the animal might be, at least she usually did as they asked. This would be different than any request they had made of her, though.

Muireall lowered the rope down and then moved toward the animal. "Can you talk me through this?" She called the question down to John. She could tie off a thread with her eyes closed, but she had never handled a rope.

John did not question her lack of skill and talked her through the steps. Soon, she was positioned next to Sugar's head, asking her to walk on. The horse moved forward until the rope became taut. Then she threw her head in the air and lifted her hind leg where the rope rubbed against it.

"Come on." Muireall put her weight against the lead, but Sugar did not budge. Her leg remained cocked in the air, away from the threat of the rope. Muireall located a tree branch and waved it up and down, but the mare simply eyed her warily. As though she had lost her mind. Muireall sighed.

"John, she will not budge!"

"Do your best." His voice came out strained.

Muireall groaned but turned back to the horse. Doing the only other course of action she could think of, she climbed into the saddle. What had John told her about how to maneuver the animal? She squeezed her legs against Sugar's sides. The mare plodded forward until a cry came from John's direction. Muireall and the mare both froze. "John?"

"I am well," he replied, but it sounded as though it was through gritted teeth.

"Are ye sure?"

"Yeah." Still more of a grunt.

Muireall had to see for herself. What if he was masking an injury to spare her nerves? Or if her inept attempts at pulling him up the side of the ravine were making it worse? She dismounted, scurried around the front of the horse, and made for the ravine. A couple of feet away, her foot caught on a root. As she toppled forward, all she could see was the deep, dark void of the ravine. Over the edge she went, headfirst. A garbled cry from John mixed with hers as she put her hands out in an attempt not to break her neck. Pain shot through her right arm as it took the brunt of the impact.

"Muireall!"

All she could do was lay and whimper as her body absorbed the excruciating sensation. She could not even tell if she was injured besides her arm as she hugged it to herself.

"Muireall. Is it your arm? Are you hurt anywhere else?" A twig crunched underfoot, and John's voice drifted closer.

She did not open her eyes but managed to squeak out an answer. "I dinnae think so."

"Very well. Do not move, but I need to check your arm and see if the bone must be set."

A groan escaped, but Muireall nodded, lips rolled inward in an attempt to restrain any further sound. She had shown enough weakness as it was. She should have seen the root or other hazard that tripped her. Should have saved her husband instead of landing herself in this pit alongside him. Now what were they to do?