REBECCA BOONE attacked the surface of her wooden table with all the energy she could muster. It was not just that she loved a thorough spring cleaning but that her pent up frustration and anger need some form of release. Scrubbing the interior of her family cabin seemed a better and kinder choice than being short-tempered with her children.
The winter had been long and difficult. They, and many families in the community, had come to the end of their stores. It was only through consolidating their supplies and the bravery of the men to hunt in the bitter winter chill that they had survived.
The direct result of this hard winter was an immediate need to resupply. As soon as the ice on the rivers began to crack, all the men of the fort disappeared, her own husband included. Although she was grateful for the fresh food and fresh air of spring, she couldn't help but feel a bit lonely. She struggled with a stubborn temper and independent spirit that often got her into trouble. She was not mild-mannered. Why can't women go on hunts, too? She'd voiced this unpopular opinion at more than one sewing circle. The shocked, pinched face of the reverend's wife reminding her that speaking her mind was best done within the safety of her own cabin.
Daniel didn't mind her independence one bit and would often egg her on in public settings, his sideways grin growing into a full blown smile, as the ladies of the settlement clucked their tongues at Rebecca in disapproval.
"You're ten times the shot I am, Becky!" He would say in support. "Lord knows our stores would be full in half the time if we took you and left Asa behind."
It was a simple fact. She did have an uncanny ability to hit with near perfect aim. Early in their days together, Daniel had determined to teach her to shoot - wanting to be sure she could defend herself in troubled times. They had booth been shocked into silence the first time she'd fired his rifle; the bullet flying straight and true and hitting the tree he'd told her to aim for dead center.
"Lord, woman!" He had declared when he'd finally recovered his powers of speech. "Who in heaven taught you to shoot?"
She'd shrugged her shoulders. "You did. Just now."
"No, ma'am!" He shook his head. "I got no aim near that good."
They'd studied one another and the tree in silence, until finally he'd turned from her and lifting a wooden slat from the ground, he'd made a new target.
"Maybe it was chance. Try again, darlin'."
But it hadn't been chance, and he'd spent the afternoon making her smaller and smaller targets. She'd hit every one.
"We're wasting all your ammunition." She'd pointed out.
"I can make more." He stood just to her right. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I don't know what to make of it. You are the most unexpected woman."
"Maybe it comes from watching you all this time." She suggested. They were fairly newly married and she was still learning to read his moods and expression. She was unsure that being unexpected was a good thing.
"Love, if I could shoot like you do, I'd be the finest hunter to ever walk the lands of Kentuck." He pulled her into his arms then. "I ain't never felt such a mix of pride and shame."
"Shame?"
"Well, I can't shoot like that!" And then he'd laughed, a deep, contented laugh that filled her with unexpected happiness. "But I'm so proud to know such a woman. 'Becca darlin' you're so beautiful my heart stops whenever I see you, you cook better than any woman on this earth and you shoot straighter than any man, too." He'd leaned in kissing her as she blushed and blinked back tears of pleasure. "How's that go? Tá sí an tús tsolais.
"Where did you learn that?" He was forever surprising her with tiny phrases in the language of her childhood home.
"I may not be a good shot," He grinned. "But I got talents, too." And still laughing he'd kissed her until the evening shadows spread across the golden fields.
After that, he'd often taken her along on hunting trips. At first she'd struggled to keep up, not because she couldn't match his pace but because her long skirts and petticoats slowed her down. She'd done the unthinkable then, and cut down a pair of his old breeches. The next time they'd gone out, she'd doubled-back to the cabin, much to his annoyance.
"Rebecca!" He'd complained. "What now?"
She'd ignored him completely, dashing into the cabin and mustering her courage had reemerged wearing his breeches. She paused on the front step, suddenly mortified.
He'd said nothing, his mouth forming a perfect circle of surprise, and then he gave her a look that made her blush crimson.
"Mrs. Boone, did you steal a pair of my breeches?"
"Aye, I did."
"Well, now." He nodded his head at her. "I reckon you were thinking things might go a might faster if you were free of them skirts."
"I was." She nodded her head, taking a tentative step toward him.
"Wrong." He'd said huskily, and taking her by the hand he'd led her straight back into the cabin, delaying their trip a full day. Later, as they ate a late supper by the firelight, he had said, "You are the most unexpected woman, Rebecca. It seems that God fit thou to be my nighest friend."
He slipped into the language of his childhood from time to time. It always filled her heart with such sweetness; he slipping backwards in time to the carefree world of his boyhood peace.
"Ma?" Her daughter's soft voice broke her thoughtful reverie, and she paused in her work.
"Aye, chuman?"
"I finished beating the rug and left it in the sun." Mima said. "What else do you need?"
"We have a slice of time before we need to start supper. You can go on over and visit with Remembrance, if you'd like."
"Oh! Thank you Ma!" Her daughter threw her arms around her waist. "I won't be late!"
"Don't fret, ah grah, you've been a fine help." She smiled at her warmly. "If you see your brother, ask him if he's finished stacking that kindling, yet."
"He did. He's moping on the porch because Pa went to the fort without him." Mina answered reaching for her shawl. "You want me to send him in?"
"No." She shook her head, turning to set a small pitcher containing their spoons on the table. "Be mindful as you go and I feel a might better if Thomas and Remembrance walked you home later."
"Aye, Ma." Moms winked at her mother, adopting her mother's slightly Irish lilt on the words.
She smiled to herself as Mima fairly danced out the cabin door, delighted for a stolen hour with a dear friend.
This long winter's worn us all. She mused. She reached for the bucket of soapy water she'd been using to wash the table, and followed her daughter outside.
Israel sat just outside the cabin in the simple wooden chair his father had carefully built years ago. Setting the bucket on the porch, she turned to speak to expecting to see his face, but instead found herself eye to toe with his bare feet. He sat with his back flat against the seat, his feet up in the air, and his head hanging down.
"Son?" She asked hand on hip. "What are you doing?"
"Watchin' them clouds." He pointed a small finger at the sky above. "I reckon it might as well rain, so I can't go nowheres today."
"Hmmm." She responding, turning and taking the bucket to the edge of yard, dumping the dirty water into a dry spot at the edge of the garden. "Well," She said as she returned, setting the empty bucket on the edge of the porch. "It's too bad you've set your heart on watching those clouds. I thought I might journey to the fort and see if I can't hunt down your Pa, but I shouldn't travel such a long ways without someone to protect me."
The six year old spun himself around, leaping to his feet. "I could protect ya!"
"I wouldn't want to impose." She smiled at him.
"I'd be right pleased to walk ya, Ma." He said straightening his shirt. She nodded her head and smiling, he reached for her hand.
They walked together in cheerful silence, but as the path narrowed to turn toward the fort, a long shadow stretched across the opposite end of the path. Israel shrieked with joy, and dropping her hand, raced toward the approaching figure at top speed. His father, setting aside his bundle, caught the small boy who leapt up into his arms.
"Well, hullo, there." He laughed. "What you doin' out loose? You ain't run off from your chores?"
"No, sir!" He answered settling in his tall father's arms. He pointed down the path. "Ma and me, were stretching our legs and thought we'd come see ya. I am here to protect her." He beamed proudly.
"You are?" His father turned to face him. "Well, I see her alone and undefended right now." He gestured to his wife who paused just a few yards away, an amused grin on her face. "Ya, feeling defended, Missus Boone?" He called to her.
"Not at the moment, Mr. Boone." She replied. "I seem to have misplaced my protector."
"You're a fair lass," He said, considering her with a wink. He set Israel down. "Fetch my bundle son," He told Israel. He turned his wife, and reaching for her hand, said, "I'll step in to keep and protect yer ma, here. You got yer heart set on somthin' from the fort, love?"
"No," She smiled up at him feeling her frustration and loneliness dissipate. "I found myself with an empty hour."
"Well, now. That's hard to imagine."
They walked hand in hand, Israel just ahead of them back toward the cabin. In her contentment, she's nearly forgotten the rumors she'd heard earlier in the day when Angelica Dubois had stopped in for tea and gossip. It had been the source of her anger, and the motivation to clean the snug cabin.
"When does Daniel leave?" Angelica asked taking a sip of tea, her grin nearly hidden by the China cup.
"He just got back." Rebecca explained.
"Yes, I know. I heard that a supply wagon is missing and now someone will need to go to Salem for resupply. There was talk of him and that Indian going."
Rebecca had to take in a slow steadying breath; her anger coming from several sources. She despised down to her marrow the way many folks spoke of Mingo, who she thought of as a dear brother, and she hated the smug way Angelica seemed to delight in her sorrow to see Dan leave. She was forever stirring up trouble.
"Is it true a supply wagon is missing?" She asked her husband as they reached their front porch.
"I am sorry to say that is true." He said following her into the cabin. "Why Becky! You must be mighty tired! This cabin fairly glows." He had put his rifle away and considered the stack of firewood and kindling near the hearth. "Israel! Shame on you son, your Ma'll need firewood tonight. Let's go."
Groaning, Israel followed his father back outside the cabin, leaving his bundles on the table. She unwrapped one, finding the flour she'd requested that morning and a small packet of sugar. She opened the second, surprised to find some penny candy and a piece of delicate lace. She was holding it between her fingers. The pattern so familiar that she nearly staggered back from the wave of homesickness that swept over her.
"It came from Ireland. Least that's what Cincinnatus said." Her husband loomed in the doorway, his arms full of logs for the fire. He knelt stacking them. "I couldn't fetch the other things on your list so I thought I could at least give you that."
She folded the lace reverently, and turning from the table where it lay, she turned to the food she was preparing. "It is lovely. I think my mother had something very like it. But you should take it back, Dan. It's an extravagance. And you only bought it to soften the blow of telling me you are leaving again." She was surprised at her own bitter tone. "But it is beautiful and it does remind me of home." She blushed, ashamed, seeing the hurt in his eyes.
"I bought it because it grieves me to think of all that was taken from ya." He said softly, moving to stand beside her. "I want to return it to you."
"I'm sorry." She apologized, looking down in shame. "Angelica was here earlier. You think I'd learn to pay no mind to what she says."
He reached out and lifted her chin. His green eyes were filled with kindness, and she smiled at him. "But you didn't say you liked the lace." He said with a grin.
She wrapped her arms around him. "I love the lace. I behaved so badly. I am sorry, Daniel." She looked up at him. "Thank you."
He leaned down kissing her. "You are forgiven." He squeezed her once more before releasing her to continue her work on the evening meal. "Where's Mima?"
"She's visiting Remembrance. She should be home soon." Rebecca told him.
***DB***
It was a lovely dinner. The children were unusually cooperative and didn't bicker once. No doubt grateful to have had a free afternoon, Mima was quick to help with dishes. They all sat up later than usual, watching the moon rise over the fields from the front porch. They sang together and then, she read them two stories from the Bible before finally shooing the children to bed.
They lingered in front of the fire, she working on a dress for Mima and he thoughtfully watching the flames.
"She wasn't wrong, Becky." He said after a long pause.
"I didn't think she was." She understood immediately what he meant. "Angelica is generally correct about things."
"She spends enough time listening to what folks are saying." He was uncharacteristically critical, a clue he was troubled about something; about telling her something.
She set aside the dress, and went to him kneeling at his chair. Blinking back tears that threatened to spill out, she mustered all of her inner resolve. "It's fine, Daniel. I can manage." Here she had to suck in a shuddering breath. "I'm trying . . . You only just got back is all. It was such a hard and dangerous winter. I understand it. I just like having you nearby. And four trips in one spring. . ." Her voice trailed off. "I'm sorry. I know what it meant, you being a long hunter and head of this settlement. It just tests my strength sometimes."
He hadn't looked at her while she spoke, his eyes locked on the fire in the hearth. She could only see the side of his face and watched as his jaw tightening as she spoke. He rested a hand in her shoulder and squeezed it gently as he listened.
His voice held a dangerous growl as he turned to face her, a gruffness that revealed his inner wildness that was never tamed. "I'm head of this house first. You are first, Rebecca. And it isn't nagging. I don't feel that way about it. I always want to be with you - even when you are stormy." He grinned at her, his hand brushing over her cheek. "Maybe especially when you are stormy." He sighed. "This spring has been difficult for me too. I don't want to go and yet here we are again - the two people who want nothing more to be left in each other's arms being pulled apart. It ought to be Peter. Seems like he don't cotton his wife at all." He ran his hand through her hair and leaning down kissed her lips.
"Maybe you like me so much because you are often gone." She offered. "Maybe it's absence that makes it dear."
"No." He growled. He took her hand and pulled her up and forward so she settled on his lap, her head resting against his shoulder. "No such talk, Mrs. Boone. I can't seem to gather enough days to be with you. So many things get in between us." He rested his cheek against the top of her head. "This winter haunts me some. Everyone so thin and so cold. I can't forget the look in your eyes when we left on that last hunt, right after little Paul had died. Seems like everytime I close my eyes I see you, standing alone, the snow falling all around you - your eyes giant with waiting." He shuddered. "It's only the grace of God that we got back in time and Mima got better."
"That was near two months ago." She said soothingly. "We are all well now."
"And still you are standing there alone and waiting." He sat up suddenly and pushing back, his hands on her shoulders he burst out, "Come with me 'Becca."
She laughed aloud, but her eyes widened when he didn't join in her laughter.
"You can't be serious!" She admonished. "Daniel, it isn't done. We have children and women don't . . ."
"Oh that's all hogwash! You can hike as fast me, shoot better than me and you're a million times braver!"
She rose from the chair and moved to stand beside the fire. "What about the children?"
He rose and stood across from her. "Grace will be happy to have them! She'd do anything for you and you know it. It'll only be for two or three weeks!" He stepped closer to her, his hands gripping her arms. "Ah, darlin' don't you want to tag along? We are such a fit team! I know you aren't frightened. I ain't never seen you scared. Come along, ah grah, please!"
She could see the hope and pleading in his green eyes. His eyes were the problem; she'd recognized it the first time she'd met his eyes. They revealed such an honest kindness that she'd actually take a step back, her knees weak at the raw honesty he revealed. She'd never seen eyes like his. She never could resist eyes like his.
"You are just feeling homesick." She told him trying to push it aside, not wanting to reveal how very, very much she wanted to say yes. "It's late. We ought to bed."
"It's not homesickness. It's not that I am tired. Or maybe it is. I am tired! I am tired of saying goodbye to you and leaving you behind. I won't do it this time. I'm not leaving you and filling those blue eyes of yours with patient sorrow, and tears you hide from me. It's settled. You and I will go to Salem and fetch those missing supplies."
"Daniel . . ."
"You better see if you can't dig up those breeches of yours, Rebecca." He crossed to her and wrapped his long arms around her, pulling her in tight against his broad chest. "I won't leave you! You are my cara óg. Siúl againn le chéile."
"Enough with the Irish." She managed her throat tight. "You know I long to go with thee! And those eyes of yours are more than enough to persuade me. Why you should bother with . . ."
"It's the language of your heart, love. And nothing is dearer to me."
"Rá I yes míle uair!" She stood on tiptoes and kissed him, her heart as bright as the moon shining above their cabin.