Stranger in Williamsburg Read online

  His obvious concern only made her cry harder. Finally, when she had cried until there were no more tears, she sat up and wiped her face on the hem of her apron. “Oh, Marcus, I’m not hurt,” she managed to say, “at least, I’m not injured in body.” Her voice caught on a dry sob. “But my heart is broken!”

  “Miss Sarah, what has happened?” he asked again. “Maybe ole Marcus can fix it. You know what I told you that first day, here in these gardens. I’ll sure be trying!”

  She shook her head sadly. “I wish you could fix it, Marcus. Oh, how I wish you could! But there’s nothing anybody can do now. It’s all broken into pieces, like a smashed egg, and nobody can put it back together again.”

  “Well, missy, there’s few broken things that the glue of love can’t fix,” he said soothingly. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong, and let me judge whether it’s hopeless or not.”

  She looked up into the kind, dark face. Suddenly the words came out, haltingly at first, then in a stream of hurt and self-blame that seemed to have no end.

  “Oh, Miss Sarah, I’m so sorry!” Marcus said, when she finally ran out of words and breath to utter them. “I encouraged you to help your friend, but I had no idea it was something like this! I thought it was some game you were caught up in between one of your young friends and your cousins. I’m so sorry I didn’t give you better advice when I had the chance!”

  She shook her head. “It’s not your fault, Marcus. You only encouraged me to do what I wanted to do, anyway. I really believed Gabrielle—that I was saving their lives, and that it wouldn’t hurt Uncle Ethan or anybody else. I let her play me like Abigail plays the harpsichord!” She fell silent, too numb, too exhausted to reason it out anymore.

  Marcus sat by her silently for a while in easy companionship. She could hear the crickets and cicadas tuning up for a concert in the wet grass. Below her, the swans sailed majestically along the canal. And somewhere over by the icehouse, a rain crow called. Hasn’t he had enough rain! She wondered idly.

  Beside her, Marcus stirred and changed position. He plucked a blade of grass and wove it through his fingers. “What you need to do now, Miss Sarah, to my way of thinking,” he said, “is forgive Miss Gabrielle so you can go ask forgiveness from Colonel Armstrong. Then just put it all behind you, and get on with living.”

  “Forgive Gabrielle?” she asked in disbelief. “I could never forgive her! She betrayed our friendship. Don’t you understand, Marcus? She used me like a…a pair of scissors, or a…a dressmaker’s form. She fit her evil plans around me and basted me right up inside. And now I can’t get out of this tangled mess no matter what I do.”

  “Well, the Bible says we have to forgive to be forgiven, Miss Sarah,” he said gravely. “The Lord Jesus, in the prayer He taught His disciples, said, ‘Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.’”

  She heard Marcus, but she had no intention of forgiving Gabrielle, so she said nothing.

  “Now, there’s no doubt in my mind, missy, that you’ve been wronged.” He shifted position again, discarded the shredded blade of grass, and carefully selected another one. “But you’ve done some wronging, too, even if you did it innocently.”

  “I told Uncle Ethan I was sorry,” she muttered.

  “And did he forgive you?”

  “I don’t know. He was in such a hurry to go after the Demon Devon. He didn’t seem quite so angry as he was at first, though.”

  “And what about your aunt? Did she forgive you? You’ve wronged the whole family, you know, even the whole Patriot cause.”

  Sarah stared at him, recalling the cold anger in her aunt’s eyes at the breakfast table before she had run from the room. “Aunt Charity will never forgive me, Marcus. She hates me!”

  “You can’t control what your aunt does, Miss Sarah. Or your uncle, for that matter, though I’d venture to guess that Colonel Armstrong will grant you his pardon. He’s known as a compassionate and understanding man. But all God requires of you is that you go to them, confess your guilt, and ask for their forgiveness. First, though, you must forgive the ones who have wronged you.”

  Sarah stared at him rebelliously, then, surrendering to his steady gaze, she looked down at her hands. “I don’t want to forgive her, Marcus,” she admitted. “I want her to hurt, like I do.”

  He patted her on the shoulder. “Of course, you do, honey. That’s human nature. We want to pay back pain with pain. But the Good Book says, ‘”Vengeance is mine; I will repay,” saith the Lord.’ All we have to do—and sometimes it’s very hard—is truly forgive and trust God to work things out in His own way. I’ve found, more times than not, that people most always reap what they sow, and, thereby, get a chance to regret and repent.”

  She looked up at him doubtfully. “Have you forgiven, Marcus?”

  “Have I forgiven what, Miss Sarah?” She could tell by the puzzled look in his dark eyes that he really had no idea what she meant. He had forgotten! She could never forget what Gabrielle had done to her!

  “Have you forgiven what people did to you—putting you in the stocks just because they thought you were ‘uppity’?”

  “Oh, that!” He dismissed the stocks with a wave of one hand. “After the king’s governor and his household fled back to England, some folks around here thought I was a Tory, just because I had worked for them, belonged to them until the governor’s lady gave me my papers. But ole Marcus has found it best just to do his work, keep his nose clean, and not meddle in politics!” He chuckled.

  “Sometimes I remember it,” he said then, “but I don’t dwell on it. The Lord Jesus forgave the people who nailed Him to that cross, Miss Sarah, and He hadn’t done anything wrong. Ole Marcus has done some regrettable things in his time, honey.”

  “And have you forgiven the man who sold your family?” she blurted cruelly, then regretted her question as she saw him flinch with pain.

  “Well, I haven’t forgotten it,” he answered slowly, staring off over the canal. He cleared his throat, then went on. “But when I remember and bitter thoughts come, I just start to pray for his immortal soul, and pretty soon I’m at peace again.”

  He sat there lost in thought for a moment, then he said, “Anyway, I’ve never had anything done to me like what the Lord Jesus had to suffer, Miss Sarah, and neither have you. And, yet, He just went right on loving them, about like a mother loves her child, no matter what.”

  “You talk like you know Him personally, Marcus. You sound just like my pa.”

  “When a man gives his life for you, Miss Sarah, you have to feel something special for that man,” he said thoughtfully. “And when the Son of God Himself leaves the throne of glory and lays Himself down on this old dirt just like a bridge for you to walk on back to God, you have to open yourself up to a special relationship with Him.”

  He sighed, patted her on the shoulder again, and stood up. “Once you really understand how much He loves you, Miss Sarah, the things other people do to you don’t seem to matter very much. At least not once they’re over.”

  “But, Marcus, He can’t love me. I’ve done such terrible things!” she almost whispered.

  “The Good Book says, ‘He that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.’ There’s nothing there that says, ‘Everybody except Miss Sarah Moore, who has done such terrible things!’”

  She laughed with him, a little shakily.

  “That invitation even has my name on it, and only God and I know what a pitiful person ole Marcus has been! The Lord Jesus has paid the price for our sins, Miss Sarah, past, present, and future. Once we accept that payment in our stead, all we have to do is ask, and the good Lord forgives us. And I’ve got a feeling that’s all you’ll have to do with Colonel Armstrong. But, remember, it all hinges on you forgiving Miss Gabrielle and the little things she did to you.”

  “Little?” Sarah echoed. “You call what Gabrielle did to me little? The woman has ruined my life! Because of her, I have done terrible things. My family hates me. I
can’t stay here. Which means I can’t get an education and become a teacher. I will just have to crawl back to Kentucky like a whipped dog, and live like an ignorant backwoodsman for the rest of my life! And you call that little?”

  She glared at him, but he gave her a sassy grin. “It’s not much compared to being nailed to a cross,” he said.

  “Oh, Marcus you’re impossible!” Sarah jumped up from the ground, brushing at her bedraggled clothes. “Yes, I will go to Uncle Ethan and Aunt Charity—and Tabitha and Abigail and Megan, and even old Hester Starkey—and humbly beg their forgiveness,” she said then. “I know I have wronged them. I owe them that much. I could even forgive Alistair Devon, for I never invested any love in him in the first place. But don’t ask me to forgive Gabrielle Gordon, Marcus, because I simply cannot do it!”

  “Honey, ole Marcus is not asking you to do anything. It’s the Lord Jesus who’s asking. And I think, just like ole Marcus was once, you’re going to be mighty miserable till you get things straightened out with Him.”

  “Meddling old man!” she muttered under her breath as she gathered her damp cloak around her and stalked toward the gates.

  Again, her anger carried her out of the gardens, down Nicholson Street, and to the Armstrongs’ front gate.

  Sarah stopped and looked up at the brick house before her. Inside were all the people she had wronged in her blind love for Gabrielle. Well, not all, she thought honestly. If Uncle Ethan had not caught Alistair, many Patriot lives might have been endangered. Perhaps even Nathan, wherever he was!

  Guilt settled over her, as heavy and uncomfortable as the soggy cloak around her shoulders. She trudged down the walk, dreading the confrontation ahead.

  Chapter 18

  They were all seated at the dining table, just as she had left them at breakfast, except that Uncle Ethan had taken his place at the head of the table now for the noon meal.

  Aunt Charity looked up as Sarah entered the room. Her blue eyes turned cold, and her mouth set in a thin, hard line.

  Tabitha kept her eyes lowered, looking at her plate as she moved her fork aimlessly over her food.

  Abigail threw her a spiteful look, then went on buttering a piece of Sally Lund bread.

  Megan looked up and saw her. Sarah noticed that her eyes were red, as though she had been crying. She pushed back her chair, and ran to throw her arms around Sarah’s waist. “Oh, Sarah, I thought you were never coming back! I thought you had gone back to Kentucky, for sure! And I….”

  “Sit down, Megan,” Uncle Ethan ordered. “She’s here. Now, stop crying and eat your stew. Sarah, come have something to eat,” he said kindly, motioning toward her customary place at the table.

  Sarah stared at the plate that had been set for her beside Megan, just as though nothing had happened. The flowers on her ma’s china were exactly the color of her pa’s Irish blue eyes, and her longing to be back in Kentucky with people who loved her, no matter what, completely enveloped her.

  “I’ll tell Hester to bring another bowl of stew,” Tabitha offered, getting up to go to the kitchen.

  Megan smiled at Sarah. “I love you!” she mouthed silently.

  Their kindness was too much for Sarah. “I’m so sorry!” she blurted through a new flood of tears. “I did not mean to hurt any of you, but I know now that I did a terrible thing. And I ask all of you to forgive me. Especially you, Uncle Ethan!” She knelt at his feet and looked up into his face, but her tears blurred his expression and made it impossible to know his reaction to her words.

  “I will go back to Kentucky, of course,” she went on, “as soon as it can be arranged. I hate to ask, Uncle Ethan, but can you help me? If there’s not enough of Pa’s money left to hire someone to take me, I…I’ll get a job at one of the taverns until I have enough. I can even stay there, if you don’t want me here until then.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Sarah!” Aunt Charity broke in indignantly. “The very idea! My own sister’s child working in a tavern!” She shuddered. “Of course, I will require you to write Della and Hiram and tell them just what their little girl has been up to lately!”

  Sarah dropped her gaze from her aunt’s eyes, wishing again that she were back in Kentucky where she could explain, face-to-face, to Ma and Pa. She felt sure they would understand, though she knew they would not approve of what she had done. But there would be love and understanding in their eyes, instead of coldness.

  “Now, go change those awful clothes!” Aunt Charity continued. “I certainly hope no one saw you in the street looking like that!”

  Her uncle reached down and squeezed her hand. “It’s all right, Sarah,” he assured her. “Your remorse is evident. You are forgiven. The Demon Devon is caught, with his copies of my papers still on him, and all is well that ends well. Go quickly now, and freshen up. Then come have something to eat.” He smiled down at her, and she felt her chest fill with grateful warmth.

  Sarah wiped her eyes with the hem of her muddy apron, and stood up. She looked at each of them in turn. Megan beamed at her. Tabitha smiled kindly as she came back to her seat.

  “Sarah, would you please end this melodrama and let us eat before the stew is cold beyond bearing?” Abigail said crossly. “And there’s blackberry pie waiting in the kitchen!”

  Without another word, Sarah turned and obeyed. When she came back, wearing the only clean thing she had, her blue Sunday dress, she was grateful to find that the meal went on as though nothing had happened.

  As Hester carried in the pie, though, Sarah’s thoughts again went to Gabrielle’s statement about the rats coming to eat the rotten food the prisoners could not swallow. She recalled the French pastries the milliner had served her pupils as a special treat, the special teas and breads they had sampled.

  “I saw Gabrielle,” she said, playing with her fork, unable to swallow the bite of pie she had on it. She looked up and found all their eyes upon her. “She’s in gaol. Mr. Pelham let me talk with her a few minutes.”

  Uncle Ethan’s brown eyes narrowed. “And has our little spy had time to repent?” he asked. Sarah was surprised to find no sympathy in his expression.

  “I don’t know about that. She’s cold, though, in that damp, foul-smelling place. She had a thin, dirty blanket around her. I don’t think she’s had any food.” Sarah shuddered. “There were rats in her cell.”

  “Oh, Sarah!” Tabitha breathed. Abigail, for once, was silent, a look of horror on her face, and Megan threw both hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.

  Aunt Charity arose from her chair. “Ethan, you know that gaol is no fit place for a woman, no matter how vile she may be. Can’t you do something?”

  He looked around the table at all their faces. Megan began to cry again. Finally, he crumpled his napkin and threw it on the table. “I’ll see what I can do,” he promised wearily, pushing back his chair and standing up.

  “Wait!” Aunt Charity said. “I’ll have Hester fix her a basket of food and find a warm cover for her.” She headed briskly for the kitchen.

  “I have a shawl she can have,” Tabitha offered. “I’ll get it.”

  “I could send her my…my new kitten!” Megan put in. Then tears welled again as she thought of giving up her pet.

  “That won’t be necessary, Megan,” Uncle Ethan said. “Mr. Pelham would not let her bring a pet into the gaol, I am sure.”

  Sarah sat there with mixed emotions. She still was angry with Gabrielle, and hurt by her actions. She hadn’t meant to help her. The words had just tumbled out, from some well of compassion fed by happier times. Truthfully, though, she didn’t want Gabrielle to be cold and hungry. She would do the same for her as she would for any stray dog. But her sympathy stopped there, she told herself. She could never give Gabrielle what she had begged of her—forgiveness.

  Marcus’s words echoed through her mind. “It’s not much compared to being nailed to a cross.”

  “Leave me alone, Marcus!” she muttered, grabbing her plate with its uneaten pie and carryin
g it to the kitchen. “I will not forgive her! I have seen to it that she will be fed and have warm cover, and that’s more than she deserves!” Furiously, she began to wash the tub full of dirty dishes, while Hester stared at her in amazement.

  The afternoon stretched on and seemed to be the longest she had ever spent. She tried to read, but the book was one Gabrielle had assigned, and she could not concentrate on it. Gabrielle kept intruding.

  The sun had given up trying to break through the gray clouds, and another miserable drizzling rain had begun to fall. Sarah could hear Abigail in the parlor practicing her music and found herself drawn to it.

  Tabitha was seated on the stool in front of the fireplace. She looked up with a sympathetic smile. “Come help me cut out pieces for my quilt, Sarah,” she invited, holding up a piece of the blue material from Sarah’s Sunday dress and a pair of scissors. “I have some material from each of our new dresses, and some from one of Ma’s old ones,” she chattered on, as Sarah sat on the love seat and took the pattern and material she handed her.

  Suddenly, Sarah remembered what Betsy had told her about Seth. “I have to tell you something, Tabitha,” she said reluctantly.

  Tabitha looked up eagerly, then her face paled and her hands grew still. “It’s Seth, isn’t it?” she whispered.

  Sarah nodded. “Betsy says he left Chowning’s. They don’t know where he’s gone.”

  Tabitha looked down at the quilt piece in her hand. “he’s gone to war,” she said quietly. “I think I knew before you told me. I’ve had this uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. He hasn’t been out to slop the pigs lately.”

  Sarah wanted to comfort Tabitha, but “He’ll be back,” was all she could think of to say.

  Tabitha nodded, her face bleak. “Help me pray for him, Sarah,” she begged. Then she went back to her quilt making, as though it were the only thing she could do for her missing loved one.

  Sarah cut pieces for her until, just as the clock on the mantel struck four, she heard the front door open. She stopped cutting, with the scissors in one hand and the material in the other, and listened to the heavy footsteps coming down the hall.