Wild Indigo

CHAPTER 1

Salem, North Carolina, June 1780

The lot said nein. No.

Not again, Jacob Blum thought in disbelief, palming the slender wooden reed that held the decisive slip of paper.

Casting the lot had already denied him two possible brides—the one his fellow leaders in the Moravian community had recommended and another he had thought might benefit his children. With this third draw, the lot denied him even the opportunity to travel to Pennsylvania to seek a helpmate there.

Expressionless, he handed the paper across the table to Elder Frederick Marshall.

The senior Moravian’s face fell as he confirmed Jacob’s third rejection. Perhaps we have failed again to ask the proper question, Brother Blum.

Sister Elisabeth Marshall, sitting beside her husband, discreetly cleared her throat. ’Tis not as if you were a Single Brother who could marry at his leisure. You have three children.

Jacob buried his head in his hands and laughed. His four fellow Elders shuffled in their seats, obviously uncomfortable with his outburst. Or perhaps with his awkward situation. Who among them had last sought a wife in vain?

And who had ever needed one more?

Jacob tried to muffle his laughter as Brother Marshall tapped the reed on the table and Sister Marshall coughed. Single Brother Philip Schopp paged noisily through his precious papers. Across the table, Single Sister Rosina Krause set her round face in disapproval.

I cannot think laughter seemly in this matter, Brother Blum, she said in her soft German.

No, of course not.

But better to laugh than to rail against the lot. If this test of his faith or endurance continued, it would drive him mad.

Two months ago, Jacob and his fellow Elders had first cast the lot in the hope of finding him a new wife. For the last hundred years, Moravians had cast lots to seek God’s will in important matters. Jacob had not yet been born when the lot ordained that they embark from Germany for Pennsylvania. He had been a lad when the lot granted them permission to seek a new settlement in the North Carolina wilderness. He had been a young husband and father when the lot approved his move to the new community of Salem.

Once Salem was settled, Moravians continued to rely on the lot to decide where to build a house or store, whether to start a new school, whom to join in marriage. In a simple religious ceremony, an Elder would draw a reed containing a slip of paper marked ja or nein or left blank. The blank slip instructed them to ask the question later or frame it in a different way.

Jacob had witnessed this ceremony many times—too many times of late, he thought. So far, divine wisdom had not guided him to the wife he sorely needed.

The Elders had first put forward Eva Reuter, the comely Single Sister who taught in the fledgling school for girls. She knew something of children. The lot came up nein.

Last month the Elders had begged him to propose someone himself.

The widowed Sister Baumgarten, he had said.

That would put seven children all together under one roof, Jacob. Marshall had raised his objection evenly.

You seem to think that seven under her care would be worse than my three alone with me, Jacob had said. At least hers mind.

Her ability with children had never been put to the test, for the lot said nein again.

So on this hot June afternoon, the Elders had asked whether he should go to the Moravian settlement in Pennsylvania. There were suitable prospects there.

Now the lot had squelched even that thin hope.

Brother Marshall, my children must have a mother.

The two women Elders nodded sagely. Frederick Marshall returned the reed to the deep wooden lot bowl that sat on the hand-rubbed oak table.

True enough, Single Brother Philip Schopp spoke up. After what Nicholas did last week, I may have to ask you to take him from our new school for boys.

Jacob stiffened in his older son’s defense. What has he done?

The schoolmaster sniffed. Nicholas has been…difficult.

Jacob met that accusation head-on. Difficult! How?

Your offspring denounced the little Tatum brothers as Tories and then formed an alliance with the other boys to shun them.

Jacob felt the tension in his neck. But the hothead had done worse. Is that all?

No. He did on one occasion pelt some other boys with pumpkin seeds launched from a spoon.

Not smaller boys! Jacob said, half wanting to thrash his son, but also amused by his antics.

No. Only boys big enough to fight back, Schopp answered, his tone sardonic. I recovered the spoon and told him to take it home.

Jacob could not hide a grin. So that was what had happened to their spoons. No doubt Nicholas had subjected his victims to more than one assault. Jacob would have to confront his mischief maker. It would be hard. His older son was much as he had been at twelve, smart and bored and full of beans. Jacob himself had never been made to mind, and he no longer knew how to control the boy, short of trussing him up and stuffing him in the loft.

Jacob needed a wife’s advice. His son needed a mother’s softer influence.

Moreover, Marshall interjected, Brother Bonn says your second son is too thin. Is he sickly?

Not sick, Jacob said. But yes, Matthias is thin. That is why I suggested Sister Baumgarten, who cooks for all those children.

Rosina Krause gave Jacob a self-conscious look over her imported spectacles. There is one other problem.

Jacob shook his head, only too aware of what was coming next. My daughter.

Sister Krause lowered her voice. Anna Johanna— Almost involuntarily, she held her hand up to her face. She—

I know. She stinks.

Again the four Elders nodded as one.

Jacob rubbed his neck uneasily. His sons posed problems, he’d admit it. But his four-year-old daughter’s peculiarity had defeated him. He did not understand it. He knew for a fact that the only adversity in her charmed life was the loss of her mother. Was that adversity enough to explain her fear?

She will not let me bathe her. I cannot even get her out of that dress. When I try, she screams. The men grimaced, but the women muttered as if they understood. They couldn’t, Jacob thought. No, I mean screams, then holds her breath till she turns blue.

Sister Krause leaned forward. So what does Brother Bonn—

Our esteemed doctor says naught. Or rather, he suggests naught. He says that in time she will recover from the death of her mother. He says in time she will grow out of it. At this rate, she’ll outgrow that dress first. Meanwhile… Jacob shrugged.

Meanwhile, Brother Blum, you need a wife. Frederick Marshall resumed control of the meeting. Very well. We will consult the lot again next meeting.

Next meeting! Jacob exploded. Two months have passed since we last cast the lot. We lost Christina a year ago.

And you should be in mourning. Marshall pursed his lips in admonition.

Believe me, Jacob said sharply, I’m in mourning every day. Thinking of his sweet wife, his friend from childhood, he softened his tone. His flare of temper sullied her memory. This haste to marry did, too. But without her gentle guidance, his family had gone awry. My children need a mother. I need the lot cast again—now.

We never rush the lot, Marshall reminded him.

We haven’t rushed it. We—I—have been very patient with the lot. All three lots. I will abide by its decision. But my children’s needs are foremost now.

Marshall whispered to his wife and then to Philip Schopp.

Brother Blum, ’tis unprecedented. Marshall spoke in the voice reserved for Sunday service. To seek the lot too often questions the Savior’s will. Waiting may be to a purpose. But if you will stand outside, we will consider your request.

Very well. Jacob knew what that meant. Elders had to stand outside whenever the Board pondered a matter that bore on them. He buttoned his coat and left the Gemein Haus, where the Elders had their meeting room and the Single Sisters also lived.

Stepping into the afternoon heat in Salem Square, Jacob let out a frustrated breath. He could no more stand and wait than raise his hand and part the sea. Passing Brother Schopp’s modest house where the new school for boys was held, he smiled at the thought of Nicholas launching pumpkin-seed artillery. Inventive boy, like his father.

Who should be a more sober father. Christina had kept them all in hand. He repressed pangs of loss and need. He missed her, and had little hope of replacing her sweet company and tender affections with this new bride.

He passed the new cistern, which he had finished just last month. A farmer drew water for placid red oxen, perhaps safe now from the war. A British soldier filled a bucket for his sweat-streaked horse. His small detachment had arrived just this forenoon, part of the ceaseless flow of soldiers from both sides that alternately flooded the town, all but occupying it at times.

Jacob’s hard work had paid off. The town’s water system—his design, his labor—was working. For all concerned, it seemed.

He strode on, across the town’s spacious central Square, past a small structure that doubled as market stand and firehouse. His firehouse. An engine, ordered from England, had been delayed by the war, and he had designed an interim firewagon too.

"Guten Tag," an older neighbor addressed him in German.

Good afternoon, said a younger Married Brother, one of the few men besides himself who had learned much English. At least now some in Salem could mingle with backcountry settlers and not stand out as foreign.

Jacob, Samuel Ernst called out, bearing down on him from his little one-room leather shop. Are not the Elders meeting?

Yes, Samuel. At this very moment.

You are not with them. Samuel backed him up against the split-rail fence that surrounded the Square.

The lot, Jacob said in a private voice. They’re discussing whether to cast the lot for me.

Ah. Again? Mine was answered first time. Samuel, who had married Eva Reuter just last week, gave him a comradely punch in the arm.

Jacob grunted obligingly.

Samuel settled his short, compact body against the fence.

I still need a house for the night watch.

We know that, Jacob said, careful not to promise what he could not deliver.

Now more than ever. Samuel furtively inclined his head toward two Redcoats walking up from the Tavern, spurs clicking on the plank walk. Jacob had seen them earlier. Their British detachment had fled a losing action near the South Carolina border and stopped here to replenish supplies. Their presence for days on end, and that of other soldiers, had led the unarmed Moravian community to increase the number of guards posted at night. The new guards needed a place to meet and organize. Alerting two hundred people to danger was no small task.

Although Jacob understood his friend’s concern, he had to caution him. That house is more a matter for my Supervisory Committee, which meets next week.

As town planner and builder, Jacob ran the Supervisory Committee and represented it to the Elders. To his thinking, the Elders represented the soul of their communally run society, and the supervisors its pulse. All business matters, including pricing goods and building structures, came to his supervisors first.

Five years ago, when the town was new, he had relished his duties as leader, builder, dreamer. Now with familiarity and the war, he shouldered them.

All the more reason for you to press for it.

Jacob’s gaze followed the soldiers. I will build you your watch house, Samuel.

A simple log hut will do.

Jacob barely heard his friend. The soldiers had, very inappropriately, fallen in step with a young, pretty Single Sister, burdened with linens from the tavern.

The woman gracefully acknowledged the men, her white collar and apron banners of purity against her modest rose-colored dress. Jacob saw the stouter man take her by the arm. She jerked away.

Samuel, Jacob barked. Come!

In ten strides, he blocked the two men’s way. Samuel caught up and stood behind him.

We will help our Sister, thank you, Jacob said sternly.

He wasn’t about to reveal a Sister’s name, although this one’s escaped him in the tension of the moment. He braced himself to protect her.

Quickly the soldiers stepped back, hands down and palms facing outward. Sometimes he forgot how large a man he was. His anger waned as fast as it had risen. Up close, these men were young, their tired faces drained of color. Their red coats, which looked crisp and ominous from afar, betrayed their recent battle with a ragged rip, a dangling button, a torn epaulet.

We were just adding this. Stepping up smartly, the young corporal held out a wadded-up garment stained with blood. From our lieutenant.

Very well, Jacob said, and took it without looking. It had the feel of fine clothing, finer than he was wont to wear.

The soldiers clicked back down the plank walk. Jacob watched for a moment, then glanced at the young woman, sure he saw alarm flash across her face. As suddenly, she hid it and favored him with gleaming amber eyes. Wild eyes. Wolf’s eyes. They danced, untamed, amused, and his heart pumped an extra beat.

He looked away for modesty’s sake, and looked back for courtesy. Her eyes matched, he noted soberly, an errant wisp of amber hair that strayed from under the crisp white Haube that capped her head.

Then he realized that noticing her hair was not a sober thought. He tried to suppress it, but his gaze swept her bright, framed face. He fought for control. Each and every Sister had to wear the Haube, he reminded himself.

But few wore it to such effect.

I thank you, Brother Blum. Her arresting, throaty voice contradicted her dancing eyes. But they meant no harm.

They had no right to threaten you, Sister Mary— Jacob, caught off guard by his wayward thoughts, cast about for the rest of her name. Magdalena, perhaps. But Mary was all he could remember.

Margaretha, Samuel prodded.

Of course, Jacob thought. Mary Margaretha, the foundling. She had no last name. He remembered the fiery night when he had rescued her, a wild white child in a deerskin Indian shift, hoarding dried pumpkin and sweet potatoes in a stolen sack.

Rescued or, some might say, captured. That night she had struggled wordlessly, clawing him and kicking her heels into his shins. He and his wife had calmed her down. Later the community had taken her in, giving her a home and a Christian name. But no surname. To this day, no one knew who she was, apart from the obvious fact that she was white. Not even she could say.

Well. His little thief had grown into a woman.

…and neither do you, Brother Blum, he heard her saying sweetly as his attention snapped back to the here and now.

Neither do I?

Her bold gaze trapped him, then dropped to her arm where his free hand gripped her sleeve. Her elbow. He let it go as if it were a stick that turned out to be a snake.

Forgive me, Sister Mary, he muttered hastily. Single Brothers and Sisters lived separately—were kept separate—for a reason. To say nothing of overwhelmed Widowers. I meant no—

Everyone calls me Retha, she said lightly, snatching the stained shirt from his hands and spinning on her heel, linens scooped up to her breast. Samuel Ernst bolted after her, opening the separate door to the part of the Gemein Haus where the Single Sisters lived. She disappeared inside, the her-ringboned wooden door banging behind her.

Jacob stood, thunderstruck, in the middle of the Square in the hot June sun. The little wildcat! She had been here all along, through his long wait, through every lot that had been cast. A Single Sister, and available. He should have thought of her himself, but hadn’t because she had lived so quietly among them. Because, to him, she was still that lost child. And because Sister Krause had never mentioned her. She had even denied there were any suitable single women.

He could see for himself that was not so.

How old would Sister Mary—Sister Retha—be by now? They had never been sure of her age. As a child, she had neither known nor said. She had spoken little in those days, struggling to learn German. In time, she told of years spent with the Cherokee, the tribe that found her and took her in when she was too young to keep an account of her age. Today she could be seventeen, nineteen, twenty. Of an age to marry, surely.

Still, what did she know of children? Until her recent marriage, Sister Eva Reuter had taught the girls. Perhaps the Sisters had kept Retha away from children on purpose. Rumors of trouble had stalked her from the first. Rumors that she couldn’t speak, started fires, had been raised by wolves.

Nonsense to all of that, he thought. Especially to the fires. As the town’s planner and builder, he had organized all fire protection after a rash of minor fires. If a chimney so much as clogged, he knew of it.

And clearly, Sister Retha had learned to speak German—with his older son’s spirit and his little daughter’s sass. Jacob had the feeling Retha was either’s equal on their worst day.

The equal of his children! It was a dangerous, powerful thought. He let it rumble around in his head, like thunder from a distant storm. Dangerous. He could fight fire with fire. Powerful. He could manage unruly children with a woman who had lived more wildly than anything in their wildest dreams.

Jacob, Samuel called. They want you back.

Lost in thought, Jacob scowled at his friend’s amused face.

Your Board. The Elders. Samuel pointed to Philip Schopp waving from the door of Unity House. They want you.

Resolutely Jacob crossed the plank walk, for once barely noticing how well his crew had built something. In the meeting room inside Gemein Haus, the Elders arranged themselves along both sides of the long, narrow table. He hung up his flat-brimmed hat and sat among them.

Brother Blum, we have consulted the lot, Marshall began. He turned the wooden bowl reverently in his hands. We must meet at the earliest time next week. You may ask then about a wife.

Beside him, Elisabeth Marshall looked glum. We recommend no one, however. We have come to the end of our tether. The only other widow is too old to take on children.

Jacob felt her unspoken words: children such as yours.

And Sister Reuter, whom the lot denied you, truly was our only candidate, Rosina Krause added, her round face firm. Jacob all but snorted. He knew better. What was the woman trying to hide? The marriageable among us are spoken for or already married. We have always had more men.

Frederick Marshall scanned the Elders’ faces and stopped at Jacob’s face. We can ask at the farm settlements.

Unless you have a better idea, Sister Krause added.

He did. Jacob closed his eyes. Amber eyes dared him, amber hair curled. A slim crooked elbow filled his hand.

There is one other, he said, smiling with relief.

That night, Retha strained to hear the young wolf’s cry. In the dark, close heat of her attic dormitory, she held her breath and listened. Nothing yet. Around her, half a dozen girls rustled under light sheets as they settled down to sleep. Someone whispered, someone answered, but she couldn’t make out their words. Gossip, no doubt. It used to be about her. Someone shushed them, and the attic door shut softly.

Pale moonlight shafted through a deep-set dormer window, but Retha needed little light. She rolled out of bed and crawled to the door, the hem of her simple gown bunched in one hand. The door opened quietly, and she praised her own foresight. Bear grease on hinges had done the trick.

Two flights of steep stairs led to the kitchen in the basement. On the first-floor landing, she paused. Only the sound of someone snoring drifted down the stairs. Old Sarah Holder, already asleep. How many times had Sister Sarah failed to stop her from excursions in the night?

This time, Retha thought, she had good reason to go. She listened again for the wolf. No sound, but she felt its call.

Downstairs, the kitchen’s clay tiles cooled her feet. She could smell supper’s cabbage and burnt ashes from spent fires. Moonlight seeped through high windows, lighting neat rows of tables set for morning. But the great hearth’s black maw revealed nothing. The larder’s door was black too. She knew its contents well. She opened it and took a little bear grease, a knob of forcemeat, a small marrow bone.

She hadn’t taken a thing in years, she thought, justifying herself. And tonight her cause was a good one. Half-healed, her young wolf was far from independent. Its wild golden eyes, trusting and wary all at once, stirred her soul. One day on a woodland search for dyes, she had seen a flash in the corner of her vision. A gray shape had dived into the dark recesses of a nearby cave. She had followed, coaxing it to her with a small piece of salt bacon she had brought for a meal.

Tonight she wrapped its food in a length of muslin, knotted the cloth around her wrist, and left the house. The air was hot, heavy with rain that would not fall. She slipped across the Square, crouching along the fence line, one eye out for watchman Samuel Ernst. Sure enough, he turned the corner, a great conch shell in one hand. Off and on all spring, soldiers being everywhere, he would sound it to alert the town. But never because he sighted her. Unafraid, she knelt behind a newly planted linden tree.

She watched Brother Ernst peer down a narrow alley between two half-timbered homes before looking straight at the little tree that hid her. Or at her. She stilled herself. For the longest time, he stared, then started toward her. She gripped her package tighter. A raucous burst of voices stopped him in midstride. He hurried toward the Tavern.

Safe again. Her fingers eased their grip, and she scooted across the dusty street, flattening herself against the rough brick-and-timber wall of one of the homes.

Brother Blum’s home, she thought, with unaccustomed pleasure. He had been odd today, a great golden bear rushing to her rescue when she needed none. How his square-jawed handsome face had flushed when she pointed to his hand holding her arm fast.

Samuel Ernst disappeared into the Tavern. She slipped past Brother Blum’s house and onto the sloping field that led to Tanner’s Run, the creek that fed the Red Tannery. She passed the bark sheds, the scouring building, and the vats.

Tonight at Singstunde, the evening song service, Brother Blum had made up for his earlier awkwardness. As his rich baritone lofted through the oak-beamed ceilings of the Saal, his gaze had riveted her to her bench. Why look at her now? she wondered. Always before, he gazed off into the air when he sang, rapt, enraptured. For years she had watched him, listening with hushed admiration, wishing she could learn German faster, wishing she could sing like that.

Wishing a man like him would take her from the Single Sisters into a home of her own.

Not Brother Blum himself, of course. Until just last year, he had had that plump, happy wife, the first Moravian woman to soothe her fears. The one who died in the smallpox epidemic, leaving him in sole charge of their dreadful children. Everyone was talking about Jacob Blum’s problems with them. Carefully, because he was an Elder. Even kindly, because he was well liked. But talking all the same.

Barefoot, she welcomed the creek’s lukewarm water as she crossed it. A dwindling flow glinted in the moonlight. Whimpers greeted her as the young wolf propped on its front legs and dragged itself toward her.

Cautious, it slurped bear grease off her palm. When she teased it with the forcemeat, it growled.

You’re getting stronger, girl, she said, pleased with its show of spirit. One hugely swollen hind leg grazing the ground, it lurched onto three rangy legs, struggling to wag its tail and balance on three huge feet all at once.

So brave, she thought, with a catch in her throat. And like her, a foundling.

Downstream, she had come across its pack, mangled by some farmer scared of wolves, and left for buzzard bait. The cruelty and waste tore at her heart.

Still wary, the young wolf let her stroke its plush fur.

Leaving it to gnaw a marrow bone, she lifted her gown to clear the creek. She was so glad to be outside. Down here the air was almost cool. She had never understood why white men slept in houses. On hot nights the Cherokee would lift bark flaps to the evening breeze. They had been her family, and she missed them, even though she had never truly been one of them.

Life had been simple, and she had been free, before the soldiers had massacred the clan that had adopted her.

Where the meadow leveled out and the grass had been grazed short, she spun in place. She hadn’t been old enough to join the ball-play dance of the Indians who had raised her. Perhaps they wouldn’t have taught it to her, a white child. But they had let her watch. She remembered its stately rhythm, their hypnotic chants, all day and through the night. And tonight she danced as women danced, advancing toward men who weren’t there for her, and whirling and dancing away.

In her mind she heard the tribe’s soft, insistent drum and their gourd shakers’ happy rattle. Her body moved to memory.

Sister Mary Margaretha!

Rosina Krause’s harsh whisper stunned Retha to a stop.

Not only have you no permission to be out— Rosina continued.

—but there are soldiers everywhere, dear. Sarah Holder shakily took her arm. Redcoats, Tories, deserters.

Their persuasion wouldn’t matter a jot if they laid their hands on a pretty young thing like you, Rosina scolded.

Retha’s joy from the dance curdled. What if the Sisters had seen her wolf? She stole a glance at the creek. No sign of it now. Breathing in little gasps, she lowered her head.

On her shoulder, she felt Sarah Holder’s trembly hand. Old age, Retha thought, hoping she had not frightened that sweet old woman and wishing she had been more discreet.

I didn’t mean to alarm you. She had not meant to anger them either. But she would leave the house again for her wolf. She willed it to hide, be safe, be well until she could come back with more morsels from the pantry.

Slowly, deferring to Sister Sarah’s arthritic tread, she walked up the field toward Brother Blum’s house.

You have gone too far this time, Mary Margaretha, Rosina Krause said softly. What were we thinking to let you roam the woods for dyes? The measured scolding raked Retha’s nerves.

Even that is far too dangerous now, Sarah added solemnly.

Retha bit back words. It was not dangerous for her. They could never know how safe she was, her feet silent on secret paths as Singing Stones had taught her.

My thought exactly, Rosina said, brisk with authority. You have worried me all spring. You take too many chances, Mary Margaretha. Traugott Bagge’s store has no need of so many dyes.

And the rest of us, we can do without, Sarah added.

Sarah’s hand on her shoulder, Retha plodded up the slope.

Out in the backcountry, people have been killed while sitting at their own hearths, Rosina said ominously. We are fortunate neither side has occupied our town. It may yet come to that.

Sarah nodded her nervous agreement. ’Twill be safer for you here, dear, and we will feel so much better.

Rosina went on, ignoring Sarah’s concern. I will not even ask what you were doing out at this late hour!

Good, Retha thought. Because she had no intention of telling. But her mind raced. How would she care for her wolf?

As they squeezed through the alley, a door slammed shut. Sarah shrieked, Rosina jumped, and Retha’s heart pounded.

Caught, and caught again.

I came to help, a deep melodic baritone sounded around the corner. Jacob Blum’s voice! His large body loomed over Retha and her keepers. Her eyes well adjusted to the night, Retha peered at the massive shape to make sure it was him.

It was. Inspecting the alley, he held up his torch. The older women moved into its light, closing ranks in front of Retha.

Sisters, he began, with a note of surprise on seeing women out after dark. Is aught the matter? He identified them one by one. Sister Krause. Sister Holder. And Sister—?

He lifted his torch higher but obviously couldn’t see past them to her. Retha didn’t want him to. Lowering her head to hide her face, she saw a waterfall of white. Her shift. It shone in the torch’s light. Brother Blum would think her brazen as a nanny goat. This afternoon she had taken a certain delight in embarrassing him. He didn’t look embarrassed now.

She was in a fine pickle. Best to own up.

She lifted her eyes to his. I fear ’tis I, Brother Blum.

Jacob suppressed a laugh with difficulty. His prospective bride sounded contrite, but her eyes weren’t.

Sister Retha, he nodded courteously, marshaling his amusement as the Sisters tried to hide her thin summer shift behind their outspread skirts. Too little and too late. He had glimpsed her dancing, and the sight had propelled him into the night. For her safety, he told himself. I trust that you are quite all right.

I am very well, thank you.

Ah. I was thinking of the soldiers this afternoon.

What soldiers? the older women asked in unison.

Jacob noticed Retha move from one bare foot to the other. Two soldiers blocked Sister Retha’s way across the Square this afternoon and I—

No, they didn’t. Retha cut him off. I was safe as safe could be. They only brought more laundry—

—and I sent them on their way, Jacob concluded.

The two older women stepped aside with her, and all three whispered violently. Jacob couldn’t make out their words, but he knew trouble when he saw it, Retha’s—and his.

Lantern light gilded her hair, which flowed unbound over her shoulders and down her back. Lush, beautiful hair. It was a sight for her husband and no one else. He looked away, but not soon enough. How it had fanned in the moonlight as she danced. His insides twisted with longing to touch it.

A man should have a woman. He needed one. This one.

He had no idea why Sister Retha would have crossed the creek, but he had seen it all, wakeful and restless, thinking about the complaints made