Cullah said, “The ground will break soon. It’s the only other occupation that will explain the swarthiness of your face. Ressie, how many days until a full moon?”
It was not lost on me that I sat surrounded by villains of a sort, and full of child and nursing another by one of them. Only a handful of people living knew of Cullah’s identity as Eadan Lamont. I was not drawn to him for that. No, I loved Cullah for everything else he was, tender, courageous, a savior in times of terror, a willing bearer of the scars upon my heart. We fit each other like butter in a mold, pressed together; where one lacked the other excelled. My life was filled with learning to be a woodsman’s wife, owner of a farm, watching the moon for times to plant, to break ground, to harvest. I kept goats and geese, chickens and sheep. I raised flax and fruit trees. Most of all, I spent any moment I could at my wheels or my loom, spinning and weaving. The work had left its peculiar scars and calluses upon my hands. “Another five days,” I said.
That evening at our fireside, after Cullah left us to put the horse in the barn, August said, “I still find myself surprised at your house and home, Ressie. Cullah is a good man. I wish I knew what became of Patience.”
“I told you what became of her.”
“I meant I wished I knew whether she was happy. If she is not mistreated, I should be happy for her also.”
“As the wife of an Indian? I think mistreatment is her only lot. She chose it.”
He was silent long enough to make me less sure that he agreed with me and only wished not to argue. “There are women who refuse to marry at all.”
“I considered that.”
“Yet you chose to become a wife.”
“I did. Cullah—I loved him at once—he was honest and bright and steady.”
August smiled. “He reminds me of Pa.”
Tears flooded my eyes. The babe within me wriggled as if awakened by a great noise. “I had planned to marry a planter with a cane field.”
“This is better,” he said. After a long silence he said, “I had planned to marry a duchess with a merry eye.”
“What became of her?”
“Other men caught her eye, too. For all her wealth and charms aplenty, I would not be a pitied cuckold.”
“I will introduce you to a noble, honest woman.”
“You would sentence one of your friends to marriage to a seaman? No. I prefer to find home here with you, leave the sea when I should and the land when I must. I will be the bonniest uncle any children could ever have, and their benefactor when I am dead.”
I gave him blankets to make a bed by our fire. While he was busy, I said, absentmindedly, “One thing I know, our son will learn to read and write, so he can do more than make an X for himself. I will teach him myself, as Ma taught us.”
Cullah had returned and heard it. “Will you have him outreason his father?”
I paused before answering, as I had seen Cullah do at times, when he wanted to be sure to be heard without raising someone’s ire. “His father is intelligent and knows how to calculate things beyond my schooling. That our son could go to school I can only dream. How can one man’s X differ from another’s, without a witness? But a signature, that is your own hand. I can teach you that, and him, more, as well.”
“I’ll not have you teach me it.”
I bridled inside at his words. His pride was hurt by such a simple thing. This was a mere trifle in the fabric of our lives, and I would not have him angry over it if I could. “Then I shall not if you do not wish it. You took dancing lessons to escort me to a country dance. A lesson in signing your name is about contracts and business. Far less important than dancing.”
“Leave it be, Resolute.”
“Well and aye, then.” I would not argue with him over our table, nor did I want to exchange more about it in front of my brother. I put the babe back in his bed, poured the men more cider, and me some ale. Afterward the men laughed and joked while I lit candles then cleaned the trenchers.
*