Chapter Nineteen
"Its not too late, Martha whispered in Deborah's ear as she tugged on the strings of her sister's boned corset.
"It's too late," Deborah responded numbly. She had laid awake in her bed after seeing Dory off, hoping the sun wouldn't rise. She prayed she would somehow be rescued from her impending marriage to Thomas Hogarth. But Tshingee did not return, she came up with no better solution to save the life of the child that grew within her, and the sun did, indeed rise. With the coming of the first light of dawn, Deborah surrendered to the fact that marrying Thomas was the only way to escape Host's Wealth and her father's hideous threat.
Martha eyed Lady Celia fussing with Deborah's wedding gown near the bed. "I can't understand why you'd give up all you believed in so easily," Martha continued, keeping her voice low. "Be certain you know what you're doing before it's too late. Once you're married, it's until death separates you . . . your death most likely."
Deborah stared at the wall, unable to meet her sister's gaze. "I know what I'm doing," she answered, her voice devoid of any emotion. She couldn't allow herself to think now; all that was necessary was to go through the motions. In a few hours she'd be married to Tom and it would be all over; she just had to endure until then.
Martha sighed, slipping a silky shift over her sister's head. "You tell me that, but what I see is a woman preparing herself for the hangman. There's no joy in your face, no excitement, not even anticipation."
"Would you be excited if you were marrying Tom Hogarth?"
"No. But she would." Martha nodded ever so slightly in the direction of Elizabeth, who stood near the window.
Elizabeth's face was deathly white save for the red circles around her eyes. She sniffed quietly into her handkerchief.
"She fancies herself in love with your Tom, you know," Martha observed.
Deborah smiled sadly, raising her arms so that Martha could tie the strings of her furbelow-trimmed petticoat. "Would that she could have him. I think they'd actually make a good pair. She worships the grass he walks on. Tom's the kind of man who wants to be worshipped."
"So why are you marrying the man meant for your little sister?" Martha led Deborah to a stool, and indicated that she should sit.
Deborah took the seat, hiking up the skirts of her petticoat so that she could roll up her stockings. I told you, I have my reasons. Would you rather see me married to cousin Rufus or whatever his name is, living in Essex?" Her voice was strained, but she remained in control. "Now could we talk about something else? I think you've beaten this subject to death."
Martha began to stroke a brush through Deborah's thick, dark hair. "I just don't want to see you hurt. You've always been so alive and full of life. I don't want to see that dimmed." Pulling a thick mane of hair off her crown, Martha tied it in a twist of blue and rose-colored ribbons that trailed down her back.
Deborah closed her eyes, slumping her shoulders. "I'll be all right. Trust me." She sighed, opening her eyes. "Now, just get me through this, Martha. It's all I ask."
Martha patted Deborah's shoulder soothingly. "All right. If I can live with the Earl of Danforth and his hypocritical ways, I suppose you can live with silly little Tom Hogarth."
"Girls! Girls!" Lady Celia came bustling across the room. "You'll have to hurry. Services will begin precisely at eleven!"
Deborah stood, her face whitely resolute. "So bring me my gown and let's get on with it."
The Christmas Day church service that was to precede the wedding ceremony was long and drawn out. The Reverend Godfrey droned on, lulling his congregation into a pleasant stupor. The doors between the twin parlors at Deliverance had been flung open and wedding guests that had come from miles around were pressed together on narrow benches, straining to catch a peek of the bride-to-be.
Deborah sat stiffly in a high-backed chair, her eyes half closed. She tapped her foot impatiently beneath the skirts of her silk and brocade wedding gown. Occasionally, she inhaled deeply, trying to ease the discomfort of her wedding finery. Her corset was too tight and lace on the sleeves of her new chemise were digging into her skin below her elbow.
Fanning her flushed face with one of Lady Celia's silk fans, Deborah leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the clock on the mantel. It was nearly two o'clock, high time this sham took place. Seeing Tom staring at her, she quickly leaned back in her chair. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't imagine what it was going to be like to be married to him. Worse, she couldn't fathom bedding him. After the love she and Tshingee had shared, how could she bring herself to let Tom touch her that way? It's the price you pay for the safety of your baby, she reminded herself. It's the only way!
The Reverend brought his service to an end and suddenly Deborah found herself being escorted before the crowd to the front and center of the room. A harpsichord played in the background as Thomas stiffly took her arm and led her the few feet to the bulbous-nosed clergyman. The crowd of guests murmured their approval, smiling as Deborah turned to face her betrothed.
Lady Celia had done a superb job overseeing the sewing of Deborah's wedding gown. Only a few months ago Deborah would have been proud to wear it; today it felt like a death shroud. Sewn from panels of pale blue brocade and rose-colored silk, the gown had been styled after a pattern sent from Paris. The décolletage was daringly low, covered by a small modesty piece, the bodice long and pointed. The gathered overskirt of the gown was blue brocade edged with a ruffle the contrasting rose. The new petticoat that peaked fashionably from beneath her skirt was trimmed in a blue furbelow ruffle.
Thomas squeezed Deborah's hand, clearing his throat. Sweat beaded across his forehead.
Deborah looked at the Reverend, who was turning through the pages of a tattered leather-bound book. "Get on with it," she whispered, tapping her foot.
Thomas patted her hand. "It's all right, dear," he soothed. "We're all a bit nervous.
Deborah looked from Thomas to the Reverend and back at Thomas again. Her mouth was dry and she was suddenly short of breath. She was certain everyone in the room could hear her heart pounding. Her lower lip trembled as the Reverend Godfrey lifted his hand and began to read slowly from a page in the book.
Moistening her lips, Deborah snatched her hand from Thomas's. She leaned her head against his shoulder. "I . . . I can't do this," she murmured beneath her breath.
Thomas retrieved her hand; his voice was equally hushed. "Nonsense, it will all be over in a minute."
The Reverend continued his monologue.
"No. I mean it, Tom. I can't do it." Deborah's voice was rising in volume. "I can't marry you. I'm not in love with you."
The Reverend looked up in confusion at the young couple standing before him. He stopped in mid-sentence. Lowering his voice so that only Thomas and Deborah could hear him, he spoke. "Have we trouble, my children?"
"I can't marry him," Deborah whispered.
"She says she can't marry me," Thomas said in disbelief.
The crowd of wedding guests began to cough and move about, craning their necks, straining to hear what was being said.
"My children, this is highly irregular."
"I don't want to marry him. I never did."
The Reverend turned to Thomas. "Mr. Hogarth, is this young lady being forced against her will?"
Thomas's eyes widened in horror. "Certainly not, sir. It was she who proposed to me . . . this time."
The Earl of Manchester pushed his way between Thomas and Deborah. "Reverend Godfrey, I demand to know what the delay is! We have guests!" he whispered harshly.
"It's your daughter, sir. She says she does not wish to wed Mister Hogarth. I will not marry a maiden against her will."
The Earl turned on Deborah, his face swelling with engorged blood. "My daughter doesn't know what she's saying. She's recently been through quite an ordeal. Go on with the ceremony!"
Deborah threw her fan to the wooden floor. "I'll not do it," she said stubbornly. "I'll not repeat the vows."
"Reverend Godfrey, I have brought you here at great expense! Need I remind you that if that church of yours is to be built. you'll need my support?"
The Earl took a step forward and Deborah leaned behind her father. "Sweet Jesus, I'm sorry, Thomas. But I just can't do. I don't love you. I never will. I can't do it to you."
Guests were beginning to chuckle. Benches were scraping the floor and whispers were rising to an audible volume.
Thomas took Deborah's hand, raising his voice to be heard above the Earl's ranting. "For the love of God, Deborah, you can't keep doing this." Thomas squeezed her hand. "I've told I loved you. What more do you want?"
"It's not you." She shook her head, disengaging her hand from his. "It's me." She stumbled backward. "I'm so sorry, Tom . . . " Lifting her skirts, Deborah turned and ran through the parlor and out into the hall.
"Deborah Montague, come here this instant," the Earl bellowed from behind. "Damn it, girl. I've signed half of that land over to Hogarth and now you're going to marry the little son of a bitch!"
Deborah raced toward the back of the house with the Earl in pursuit. Just as she reached the door to the winter kitchen, her father caught a handful of her hair.
"Ouch!" Deborah shrieked. "Let go!"
"What ails you, woman?" The Earl bellowed, twisting her hair in his fist. "I've gone to a lot of trouble and expense to get you out of my house and you're going, by God."
Deborah shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "Just let me go. I just want Tshingee. I just want to go back to . . ."
The Earl struck her in the chin so hard that her head went back, slamming against the paneled door.
"Sir!" Thomas shouted, running down the hallway. "That is uncalled for!"
The Earl balled his fist, hitting Deborah square in the eye. "I should have given you a thrashing a long time ago, you little whore!" He twisted her hair viciously. "I knew that redskinned son of a bitch had something to do with all of this!"
"Sir!" Thomas caught the Earl's hand, wrestling it down. Trembling, he slipped his body between Deborah's and the Earl's. "I will not see any woman treated so! You have no right."
"The h . . . hell I don't!" the Earl panted. "As long as she's my daughter, I've the right. It's my duty to knock a little sense into her as will be your duty when you marry the Indian-loving harlot!" The Earl doubled over, leaning on his knees, trying desperately to catch his breath.
Thomas spun around to face Deborah. "Come back in the parlor and marry me now. It's the only way I can protect you." He pulled his handkerchief from his burgundy wedding coat and lifted it to her swelling eye. "Please," he begged. "For once in your life, do something sensible."
Deborah clutched the handkerchief. "I can't," she sobbed. "I can't do it to you, Thomas. I'll ruin your life."
At that moment Lady Celia pushed her way between Deborah and Thomas. "Thomas, take her to our carriage and have one of your boys drive her back to Host's Wealth before he kills her. I'll send one of her sisters out to ride with her."
"If I could only talk to her, Lady Manchester," Tom pleaded.
"There will be no wedding today. Now hurry." Lady Celia turned away, grasping her husband's heaving shoulders. "Are you ill, sir?" She glanced up at the crowd of wedding guests gathering in the hallway. "Someone! Get a chair!"
Grasping Deborah by the shoulders, Thomas ushered her down the hall, shouting for a doorman.
Martha entered Deborah's bedchamber in a flurry of rustling petticoats, locking the door behind her. "I'm sorry it took me so long but I had to send Gabby to the ice house."
Deborah lay stretched out on her bed, her arm flung over her face. Her wedding dress and petticoats were heaped on the floor. "I'm all right, Martha. If that's the worst I get, I'll consider myself lucky."
"Lucky!" Martha pulled up a chair beside the bed and sat down. "I thought he was going to kill you. I've never seen him so angry!"
"It's John Wolf's land," Deborah answered warily. "He signed it over to Tom yesterday. The poor Earl's lost half of his precious plot and he's still stuck with me."
"How can the Earl sign over the land? Aren't the man's wife and child still living there?"
"Apparently that's just a minor inconvenience. He and Tom's father were hoping Bridget would just give up on her husband and go. Now I suppose they'll burn her out or accuse her of murder as well."
"You sound as if you know the red man didn't kill the Earl's bondman."
"I know John Wolf. He wouldn't kill a rat in his grain barrel."
Martha pushed a lock of damp hair off Deborah's cheek. "So why has Tom gone along with all of this?"
"Because he trusts our father and his own. The truth is, I don't think he wants to know the truth. Tom detests upset."
"Well, I have to tell you, Thomas Hogarth certainly surprised me. Here, put this over your eye." She handed Deborah a chunk of ice wrapped in a linen towel. "Who'd have thought Tom had it in him, defending you from the Earl like that? He really does care for you, doesn't he?"
Deborah lowered the ice pack to her eye, wincing when it made contact. "Gallant to the last, isn't he?"
"That's unfair. He kept Father from really injuring you. Maybe you were right. Maybe you should have married him." Martha smiled. "But I'm glad you didn't."
Deborah sat up, leaning against the headboard. She tossed the ice pack into a bowl on the table next to the bed. "But what am I going to do now?"
The doorknob of her bedchamber door turned. "Deborah! Let me in here," the Earl boomed. "Let me in this minute."
"F—father—" Martha leaped to her feet-"Deborah's resting right now."
The Earl pounded his fist on the door. "Martha? That you? Open this damned door before I have Lester open it for me!"
Martha trembled, looking down at Deborah.
"Let him in," Deborah said quietly. "What can he do to me? He'll not kill me here in my own bedchamber. He's not man enough. It's more likely he'd have me thrown in the bay after dark."
Martha brought her hands to her face. "Deborah! How could you say such a thing?" She grasped her sister's hand. "He wouldn't, would he?"
"Open this God damned door, Martha! I'll have your husband up here!"
"Go on, before he breaks down my door," Deborah urged, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
Hesitantly, Martha slid back the bolt on the door. The Earl swung open the door with such force that it hit the plastered wall behind it. "Get out of here!" He ordered, pointing a thick finger at Martha. "Out of here before I thrash you as well!"
Martha backed up, glancing at Deborah across the room.
"Go on," Deborah said quietly.
The moment Martha stepped into the hallway, the Earl slammed the door shut behind her. He approached Deborah, waving his fist in the air. "How dare you! How dare you embarrass me like that in front of half the county!" His thinning gray hair was disheveled, his coat unbuttoned, his linen shirt tucked only partway into his breeches.
Deborah's face remained impassive. "I apologize, sir."
"You're goddamned right, you apologize! And you'd better keep apologizing." He snatched her wedding gown off the floor and threw it at her. "Now put it on and get your ass downstairs. Thomas and the Reverend Godfrey have agreed to go through the ceremony in our parlor."
Deborah pushed the gown aside, her eyes meeting her father's. "I can't," she said steadily.
"You can't!" the Earl exclaimed in disbelief. "What do you mean you can't!"
"The Reverend said he wouldn't marry us unless I was in agreement. I'm not in agreement. I'm not marrying Tom and that's final."
William Montague balled his meaty fists in rage. "All right, all right, Miss Indian whore. You sit there and refuse, but you'll not leave this chamber until you put on that wedding dress and agree to exchange vows with the Honorable Thomas Hogarth. I don't care if you rot here for fifty years, you do not leave this chamber, do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir."
He swung around in anger, pounding a fist into the palm of his hand. "Celia was right," he muttered as much to himself as to his daughter. "I should have married you off to my cousin Rufus when you were thirteen. You've been nothing but trouble since the day your poor mother died, God rest her soul." He turned back to face her, pointing a finger accusingly. "You think I don't know the things you've done? You cause an uproar among my slaves and bonded servants telling them they ought to know how to read. You steal my money from my cash box, you take food from the larder to give to half the poor no-accounts in the county, and you encourage your sisters to go against my word."
Deborah's gaze remained fixed on her father's red, swollen face. I'm getting out of here, she thought. I don't know how, but I'm going. If Dory can work a tavern, I can do the same. Somehow my baby is going to be safe from this raving lunatic.
The Earl's pigeyes narrowed as a thought struck him. "And just this morning Cook informs me the new negra kitchen wench is gone. I'd lay a gold piece you had something to do with that as well! You know where she is, don't you?"
Deborah was tempted to leap up and tell her father what she'd seen in the cellar a few nights ago, but she held her tongue for fear of putting Dory at risk. "I know nothing of the sort."
Burying his face in his hands, the Earl was silent for a moment. "Very well," he said, letting his hands fall to his sides. "I've said what I have to say. You are to remain in this room until you come to your senses and marry Tom Hogarth." He lifted a fat finger. "But I warn you, if you try to run away, I'll hunt you to the ends of the earth!" He laid his hand on the door knob. "I don't like to be bested, Deborah, not by anyone," he said venomously. "And especially not by my daughter. You've had your way too long, but this time you lose. You do as I say." He nodded. "Or you'll die in this room."
Three days later Deborah sat near the fireplace in her room, her feet propped up on the warm brick. In her lap rested an old copy of the Bible. It was not so much that she was interested in reading from the Old Testament, as it was she was bored senseless. After remaining in her chamber a full day, she had asked Lady Celia for something to read from her father's less-than-adequate library. Deborah's step-mother promptly produced a copy of the Bible, suggesting she begin with reading the Ten Commandments. "I would pay particular attention to the fifth, were I you," she had commented.
Deborah sighed, getting to her feet. She paced the room, first from east to west, then north to south. She knew exactly how many steps it took to reach any point in her room, from any point. The game had helped to pass the time as she had mulled over her situation.
Deborah knew she must take her leave of Host's Wealth and soon, but so far, she didn't know where she was going. She had to have a well-thought-out plan, because once she left the house she could never come back. And she could never allow the Earl to find her.
Her first thought was to travel north to the New England Colonies and pass herself off as a maid looking for service, but with the babe growing within her, she knew that was no longer an option. She knew too well that those Colonists who lived to the north were not cut of the same cloth as those of the Tidewater. Religious fervor reigned over the New England Colonies and she would likely be publicly whipped for giving birth out of wedlock. A better choice was to go the Virginia Colony, or perhaps even the Carolinas.
Then, of course, there was the option of returning to the Lenni Lenape village. That was what Deborah longed to do. She missed Snow Blanket and Bee. There among the Wolf clan she had felt so secure . . . loved even. But would Tshingee allow her to join the village or would he demand that she be cast out? And what of the baby? She would have to tell him eventually. Would his opinion of her change then? Would he offer to marry her out of guilt? Or would he pack his bags and ride west as he had told her he yearned to do?
Deborah exhaled in exasperation. Nothing seemed like a good choice. But she knew she had done the right thing in not going through the wedding with Tom. His taking up for her with the Earl had served only to solidify her confidence in her decision. It would have been wrong for her to marry him under such false pretenses. No matter what her opinion of Tom was, he didn't deserve to be deceived. She had no right to go to him carrying another man's child. She had fallen in love with Tshingee. She had bedded him. She had known what the consequences might be. Her child was her responsibility, not Tom's.
A loud commotion outside brought Deborah out of her reverie. Running to the window, she pushed it open. A icy breeze hit her square in the face, blowing her hair back off her shoulders.
"Injuns!" A lone rider declared racing up the snowy drive. "Redskins on the loose!"
The Earl's hounds bounded through the snow, barking and nipping at the horse's heels. "Yo! You in the house!" the man shouted, flailing a musket.
The front door below swung open and James stepped out onto the brick stoop. "What is this?" he demanded. "We're dining!"
The rider leaped off his horse, pulling his hat off his head as he ran toward James. "Burt Lutton, sir. Mr. Hogarth sent me from Deliverance. There's been an attack!"
"Attack? God's teeth, man! Get ahold of yourself! What are you talking about?" James shivered, clutching the silk material of his caftan.
The man panted, leaning forward and clutching his chest to catch his breath. "Injuns, sir. They's on the warpath!"