The Second Chance Brides Collection Read online

  He wasted no time assisting her with carrying over a large bale and distributing it among the individual stalls. He conversed calmly with the animals, and several nuzzled his hand when he drew close.

  “You do have a way with them.” Gretchen observed. “They don’t even shirk.”

  “They’re godly creatures, helpful and wise in many ways. I had a good mount named Bailey. Raised him in Virginia. Sadly, Bailey was shot in battle by a Hessian. The enemy doesn’t waste any time shooting either an American or his horse.”

  At these comments Gretchen drew back, her hand grabbing the side of the stall to steady herself.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Oh, no,” she lied. But everything. The portrait of battle. Helping an enemy soldier in her father’s barn…a soldier Rolf might have tangled with during the battle of Long Island. Maybe even the very one who had put the bullet in him, leaving him to die on the battlefield. Now she had given the enemy food and a place to stay and even allowed him to tend their horses. Who am I? What have I become?

  An American—she knew. Like all of us. The sooner we realize this, no matter where we all come from or the things we have been through, the quicker we can live and breathe again.

  Chapter 2

  Jake thanked the Lord for this place of refuge. His hand caressed the muzzle of a horse, and he was rewarded with a nicker of appreciation. How he missed caring for the brave animals, thinking of pleasant rides through the woods of Virginia. But home in Virginia was far from here as he glanced down at his haversack containing maps and other communications. At least he was safe at a colonist’s farm rather than spending a frigid night in the snow and cold. He would leave in a day or two after the weather calmed and make haste to report all he had learned of this area called New Jersey. The general and his officers would be waiting anxiously for his report.

  For now Jake settled in the straw, huddled beneath the wool blankets the young woman had provided. If only he could warm the chill in his bones. His face felt hot, his limbs shaky. As he drifted off to sleep, strange dreams assaulted him. He saw armies racing toward each another, the look of fury on the men’s faces, the assault serenaded by the boom of cannon. He saw men ripped apart by shot and shell, their faces white, with eyes glazed over in a picture of death. He shook with fear and awoke in a start to the heat of his body and droplets of sweat beading up on his face. This was no ordinary dream but a nightmare fashioned from some sickness suddenly gripping him.

  No, this can’t be happening, he pleaded. God, help me. Slowly he clambered to his feet, keeping the blanket wrapped tightly around him, and peered through the crack between the barn doors. Horses whinnied from their stalls as he noticed a faint golden glow from the house, like a tiny beacon of hope through the swirl of falling snow. How he wished he had a bed to rest in and the warmth of a roaring fire to ease this unending cold. He sneezed and drew the blanket closer. His body wracked with chills. He dare not be ill. What would become of the army if he failed to deliver the information they needed?

  Jake paced about the barn, even as the illness rapidly turned his arms and legs into a mass of useless flesh. Many in the army were overcome with the pox or camp fever. General Washington had seen to it that as many men as possible were inoculated to keep the pox from infecting the whole army. But other illnesses still plagued the soldiers and sent many home early to heaven. He prayed the latter would not be his lot.

  Soon he became hot and threw away the blankets. Again he gazed longingly at the house in the distance. If only the slight woman with the beautiful blue eyes and giving hands that presented him with tea and biscuits would come check on him. He would tell her his woes and pray she would let him seek warmth in their house.

  Jake turned away and buried himself once more in the hay, wrapped up again in the blankets as chills gripped him. An uneasy sleep filled with nightmarish battles once again drifted over him. Sometime later he heard a soft voice call his name and felt gentle hands try to rouse him. “I—I can’t…” he groaned to the faraway voice.

  “But you must.” A gentle hand caressed his face. “You’re burning up!”

  Jake tried to respond, but the illness robbed him of all strength. He heard strange words then, a foreign tongue like he had entered another world. Different hands now tried to coax him to his feet. He struggled to obey, all the while gripping the arms of a man and woman. They stepped out into the cold that sliced through him like a knife. He cried out.

  “I’m sorry,” crooned the woman who called herself Gretchen. “Just a few more steps to the house. You can make it.” The soft voice gave him the strength to move as best he could, despite the numbing cold. Soon he stumbled into the warm surroundings and then the softness of a bed.

  “Th–thank you,” he managed to say before falling into the daze of sleep once more.

  When he awoke some time later, he felt like he had been thrown from a horse. Every part of him ached. He tried to sit up, but his head weighed as much as a cannon ball. He saw the young woman scurrying about, bringing a pitcher of fresh water. She wore a simple cotton dress with an apron tied over it. A mop hat hid most of her thick golden hair. When she turned to look at him, she gasped and stepped back.

  “You’re awake!”

  He wiped his face. “My head feels awful. How long have I been asleep?”

  “Nearly two days. I tried to feed you some broth, but you wouldn’t take it. I feared you might die.”

  “Little chance of that,” he said, a bit more confidently than he should considering how ill he had been. For all the ways men could die in the world, it appeared a bout of simple camp fever could rid a man of his born days quicker than anything. “Thank you for watching over me.”

  “Are you hungry now? I just made up some more broth. And I have fresh biscuits.”

  He nodded as she hurried to fetch him food. His gaze now encompassed the simple room—the bed made of feathers where he rested, the sturdy bedstead pieced together with wooden pegs, a dresser with a small mirror hanging above it, and a rocker in the corner. These were not the furnishings of an impoverished family, by any means. They did have some fine possessions. The dresser looked as if it had come from England. He wondered of their ancestry.

  Gretchen hurried in, carrying a bowl of soup and a biscuit. “I’m sure you will feel even stronger after having something to eat.”

  “I hope you aren’t spending all your time nursing me.”

  “Oh, no. I mean, I did what I could. But really, it is our Savior Gott who watches over us and heals our infirmities.”

  Jake could not argue, but he also knew disease robbed many of their lives.

  “But Gott sometimes takes loved ones,” she added, mirroring his thoughts. Her blue eyes took on a faraway look as if shrouded by a memory.

  “You’ve lost someone close?”

  “Yes, in the war.” She again looked away, and her cheeks flushed.

  “I’m sorry. War is cruel but Independence is worth the heavy price we all must pay.”

  She twisted her hands in what looked like a display of discomfort. Her loss must be great. How he wanted to probe her mind and find out who it was. Maybe it was her husband or beau. Or a beloved brother. He had already lost several good friends in skirmishes in the South where he came from. But the army in the North had seen the most action, from Bunker Hill to Long Island as the British slowly marched south toward the capital of Philadelphia. Yet it was the winter they dreaded most, when the cold brought about many more casualties from illness than battle wounds.

  He finished the soup and biscuit. “Have you lived here long?” he asked, handing her the bowl.

  “About five years. We came from…” She paused. “From Europe as did everyone else.” Her cheeks took on a crimson color. “We have the land Papa tends, and we have our horses. Where do you come from?”

  “Virginia, near Charlottesville. Home to our eloquent Thomas Jefferson who penned our famous words of freedom in the Declaration. I must say it makes me proud in many ways to be fighting for such a cause.”

  Gretchen hastened to the door and glanced out. “Please, not too loud!”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “I…” She hesitated. “If you must know, Papa has not sworn allegiance to Independence. He struggles like many do in making a decision.” Her lower lip trembled, and she began rubbing her arms. Watching her, he wanted to soothe her fears in a gentle embrace.

  “Miss Hanson, I do understand. Some think it’s our duty to stand with the mother country, and if we don’t, it’s treason. Others hold fast to Independence. But most don’t know which side to trust.”

  “Please don’t speak of this right now. It’s better for all of us.”

  Jake could clearly see her distress in the way she swiftly exited the room with her head down. It pained him to cause her such anguish. He assumed the people here by the river were of patriotic leanings. He knew of no Tory strongholds, but maybe he had inadvertently stumbled upon such a household. He sighed, hoping he would soon be well enough to ride out before his work was discovered.

  Just then a thought occurred to him. Oh no! He bolted upright in bed and looked wildly around. He threw away the quilt and clambered to his feet. Where can it be? I must have it! The room began to spin. Pain racked his head. His legs buckled. The room’s furnishings began fading from view as he slid to the cold wooden floor.

  Voices erupted around him.

  “Mein Gott!”

  “Oh no!”

  “Nehmen seine arme.”

  Gretchen knelt beside Jake and tried to take his arms to help move him. Her face was so close, he could feel her breath brush his cheek. It carried a scent like cinnamon, as if she had tasted a fine gingerbread cookie. A sting of homesickness swept over him. T
ears filled his eyes with the memories: Mother baking gingerbread on the hearth, and his sister helping her make the sweets that delighted Father and him. Would he ever see them again? Or would they weep at his grave as did so many families?

  The daughter and father struggled to help him to the bed where he collapsed. The bed frame swayed under his weight.

  “You must stay there,” the older man ordered, wagging his gnarled finger “You’re too weak to get up.”

  “I—I was looking for something.” He turned to Gretchen, searching her compassionate blue eyes. “Please. My haversack. It is very important….”

  “We have your musket and other belongings,” she told him. “They are safe.”

  Jake felt little reassurance as the older man glared at him. Nothing was safe, especially if they were a Tory family, as he feared. A lump formed in his throat. “Please, I need it. I—I must make sure…” His voice trailed away as weakness again overcame him, making speech difficult.

  “I will get it. But you can’t get up again.”

  He shrank down beneath the blanket, under Mr. Hanson’s baneful stare. The man’s beard twitched as he shook his head. “Aye, Dummkopf,” the man murmured. “Take care of him, daughter.”

  Jake inhaled a sharp breath when Gretchen returned with his haversack, praying they had not examined the contents. “Thank you. Did you…did you see…”

  “No, I did not,” Gretchen retorted stiffly, striding for the door.

  Jake held out his hand. “Please, I’m sorry. It’s just…I hold precious items inside.”

  “I’m sure you do. I will be back soon. Try to rest.”

  Jake sighed. When the door closed, he opened the haversack. Inside were maps, orders from the general, and scraps of notes. A small scope and his journal. Slowly he took out the journal and opened it to the last entry.

  December 18

  Without my mount, Bailey, I have no choice but to walk on foot. My shoes are barely holding together. I must make it to the river so I can report on enemy movements and strength to General Washington. So much depends on the information I gather. Maybe even the future of our country.

  His fingers trembled at the thought of the enemy finding these notes, which included diagrams of the garrison he had seen in Trenton, of farms and homes, road hazards and such—all the details written down by a scout working for the Continental Army. Jake licked his dry lips. He could envision the great anticipation of his arrival in the army with the notes in hand. The tall, commanding, yet gentle form of General Washington, his coat splattered with mud, would mull over the idea of a winter engagement with his officers through the information Jake provided. Could a battle plan even be feasible in the winter? It seemed unlikely with the army’s badly depleted ranks. They would remain on the opposite shores of the Delaware River and wait to see what the New Year brought.

  He again licked his dry lips before reaching for a tin cup of water resting on the washstand. I need to fulfill my duties. I must leave here as soon as possible. God, make me well! I can’t be the reason for our failure as an army and a nation! Please. He tried to settle the concern but only felt the urgency rise up, draining away any remaining strength. He could no longer hold anything. His arm fell to the bedside as did the haversack, spilling its contents to the ground. Sleep quickly overcame him.

  Sometime later, the sound of footsteps and a soft voice stirred him to consciousness. He opened his eyes to see a dress, covered by an apron, standing close. Again the aroma of gingerbread wafted through the air. Then he heard something else—the sound of hands putting away the contents of his haversack.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, struggling to sit up.

  “It had fallen. I was putting it back together.” Gretchen paused. “So are you a scout?”

  “I work at the pleasure of the general, yes.”

  “I don’t understand. Why are you scouting this far west? I thought General Washington was still in New York.”

  Jake opened his mouth then shut it before anything vital slipped out. He considered carefully his words. “I can’t say. I’m only to look over the lay of the land and report what I see.” He dare not divulge any further details, not knowing their stand in this conflict. For all he knew, as a German family they could be loyal to the Hessians occupying Trenton. His work for the Continentals was far too important to risk discovering their whereabouts. Though, with Gretchen’s soft blue eyes staring questioningly into his, he couldn’t help but waver.

  “You must have seen so much,” she noted. “Surely you couldn’t have traveled around on foot.”

  He looked away to the frosted window to see winter’s fury in full force with the swirling snow. “With my horse shot from underneath me, there was no other mount available. I walked a good part of the land. As you’ve probably seen, my shoes have fallen apart.”

  “Yes. How dreadful.”

  “Which is why I need help. I was hoping if I could assist in tending your fine horses, I might be allowed to borrow a mount for a brief time. Just until I fulfill my duty and report back to the general. I would return it, of course.”

  Gretchen stared and then her hands flew to her hips. “I think you’re far too ill to consider such things now, Mr. Rawlings. But when the time comes, I shall speak to Papa.”

  Her words were a comfort. At least she was not against his duty, as he feared she might be. “Thank you.” He reached out to take her unsuspecting hand from her hip and draw it toward himself. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without your help. You may have saved us all.”

  Gretchen slowly disengaged herself from his grasp. “You give me far too much credit, sir.”

  “If only you knew. I can’t begin to say…”

  “I–I’ll bring you more soup and biscuits. Maybe tomorrow you can try getting out of bed and hopefully not fall on the floor.”

  Jake thanked her for everything. He knew he’d revealed far too much of his business and his position in the war to Gretchen. But somehow he felt he could trust her. The touch of her soft hand in his, her gentle eyes, the way she tended to his needs, and the questions that didn’t betray an aversion to the cause but revealed understanding, all gave him confidence. But right now, he had little choice. He must entrust his life, and maybe the fate of the Continental Army, to her hands.

  Chapter 3

  Why did I ever allow him to take my hand?

  Gretchen tried to concentrate on other things as she moved about the house, tending to the list of daily chores. Sweeping the floor. Washing the breakfast dishes. Filling the firewood box from the woodpile. But in everything she did, she saw the dark eyes of Jacob Rawlings staring at her, and his hand folding over hers, drawing her close to his heart. She shuddered at the memory. How could she have allowed such contact? What was it about him that drew her? Especially so soon after hearing Rolf’s fate and trying to understand where her heart lay in the cause.

  She came to the open door of Jake’s room, watching him propped up on feather pillows, reading a book. He appeared to be reading the Holy Bible. She had seen a copy of it fall out of his haversack, along with the journal and several documents. One of the parchments on the floor revealed his work with the Continentals, and his mission to review the land of New Jersey and all it contained. She had seen in the writings the list of farms, categorized in a way to identify which could provide food, lodging, or assist with the wounded. Were these the documents of an enemy? Or a patriot?

  Staring at him recovering in bed, engaged in the Bible, he looked like no enemy she had ever seen. Rather he appeared quite peaceful, as if the holy words imparted strength to his weakened flesh. She thought about it and went to find her mother’s Bible. She, too, needed words that gave peace in the midst of confusion, and more importantly, wisdom to discover what she should do with this stranger in her midst. Was she right in allowing him to take her hand like he did? Was it right to have him stay here and help, then secure a horse to do the bidding of the army he served?

  She opened to Luke 6:30–31: “Give to every man that asketh of thee; and of him that taketh away thy goods ask them not again. And as ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise.”