Part 4, A Forted Frontier Holiday: Preserve My Life From Fear by Elaine Marie Cooper

While harvesting, the German settlement near New Market, Virginia receive warning of an impending attack by French and Indians war parties. They flee to a quickly cobbled refuge, Fort Providence—for they will surely need to rely on God’s Provision. The forted colonials long to celebrate the holidays and await the arrival of visitors. 

Each CQ contributor to this serial will bring their characters into the fort from throughout colonial America. Join us for A Forted Frontier Holiday each Monday on CQ for the next two months!

Part 1 - Inside Fort Providence by Carrie Fancett Pagels
Part 2 - A Providential Proposal by Susan Craft
Part 3 - Landlocked by Carla Olson Gade


Part 4 - Preserve My Life From Fear by Elaine Marie Cooper

Shenandoah Valley, November, 1753

            The crisp snap of dry twigs catching fire alarmed Comfort Grant from her restless dream.

            Without moving from her bed of pine needles, her eyes searched the immediate surroundings for the presence of the Moravians. Her spirits deflated when she remembered they had left the day before. She and her husband, Jonathan, were on their own. Fear nudged at her waking thoughts but she denied its entrance.

Beyond the bright blaze of the early morning fire, Jonathan squatted down, rubbing his hands together. By the light of the flickering flames, her husband’s chiseled features stood out. Despite the constant distress of the last weeks, she still appreciated the handsome curves of his cheekbones and lips. She longed to feel the pressure of those lips, as she remembered how he would hold her close at night. But that was before they fled in terror from Pennsylvania and the Indian threats; before they had become so lost that Jonathan was forced to stand watch for unfriendly natives as well as French militia. Comfort shivered.

Survival took precedence over affection, but she ached to feel his embrace.

Grasping the small swell of her belly, Comfort both rejoiced and despaired at the presence of the new life forming inside her. She did her best to hide this change from Jonathan—no sense in adding to the man’s fears—but she knew it would not be long before he noticed. She bit her lip as she held back her tears. If only we were back home in Massachusetts. She sensed Jonathan’s gaze.

“You’re awake.” It was just a few words, but she heard the concern in his voice.

“Aye.”

“Sleep well?” His eyes riveted upon her.

“Aye.”

Forgive my lie, dear Lord. I heard every howl from the wolves.

As she pushed herself up from the long, soft pine needles, she drew the quilt closer around her shoulders. Wiping her loosened hair back from her face, she attempted a brave smile. “’Tis a fine fire, Jonathan.”

“We needed a bit of warmth before starting on the trail again.” He poked at the embers with a stick before he threw it onto the flames. As he stood up and covered a yawn, Jonathan reached down to grab a leather satchel. Pulling out a cloth, he opened the linen and withdrew two Johnny cakes. “Here, Comfort. You must eat something.”

             The thought of consuming food brought a sour taste into her mouth, but she took the biscuit and forced herself to eat small bites. “Thank you, Jon.”

Please, Lord. Help me keep my food down.

Jonathan bit off large chunks of biscuit, swallowing them while he looked around with vigilant eyes. “Everything seems calm enough. Let’s hasten on the road back toward Williamsburg, like Major Washington said.”

Indeed, had they not run into the young envoy deployed by Governor Dinwiddie to bring an ultimatum to the French in Pennsylvania, they would still be heading south—directly opposite of their goal.

It was also providential that the German-speaking Moravians, who were on their way to start a new settlement, were so helpful in sharing their food and their protective presence. But the language differences between the Grants and the Moravians had prevented Comfort and Jonathan from understanding that the group was going south. The Moravians had no idea where Massachusetts was.

With the constant cloud cover and unfamiliar terrain, Jonathan was unable to discern where they were. Running into Major Washington had at least spared the couple from journeying even farther away from home. But now home seemed so out of reach.

Fear once again knocked at Comfort’s heart. She struggled to recall the Psalm she had memorized as a child. “Hear my voice, O God, in my prayer; preserve my life from fear of the enemy.”

While Jonathan went to prepare the horses, Comfort stooped down to scatter the bed of pine needles.

No sense in announcing our presence to the natives.

She shivered as she thought of Jonathan’s brother, who had settled in Pennsylvania only to be found by their father in the woods. He had been savagely slaughtered and scalped.

And now Jonathan’s parents are gone as well.

When Jonathan determined to leave their home in Deer Run to bring their then-living parents back to Massachusetts from the frontier, Comfort had insisted on going. She would not stay behind to wonder where he was or fear for his safety. Now, she realized, Jonathan feared for hers. Had she made the right choice? Placing her hand gently over her womb, she smiled despite her concerns.

If I’d not come, this child would not be here.

She cleaned up the rest of their blankets and cups, then took a moment to enjoy the stunning beauty of the valley. The birches and poplars were shedding the last of their golden foliage onto the earth.

It must have been splendid not long ago. She sighed.

“Are you ready, Comfort?” Jonathan threw damp earth onto the fire and the blaze slowly sizzled and died. Drawing near to the bridled horses, he startled, grabbed his loaded musket and yelled at his wife. “Get down, behind the tree!”

Someone approached from the Old Wagon Road. Comfort pulled her wool cloak close to her neck, and tried not to make a sound. Surely her rapid breathing would betray her presence.

Preserve our lives, O Lord. Tears stung her eyes. Preserve our child’s life, O Lord. Trails of moisture rolled down her chilled cheeks.

The voice of the stranger pierced through the tension. “Ho, are you friend or foe of His Majesty the king?”

He speaks English!

“Friend. And who might you be, sir?” Jonathan lowered his musket with ease but kept it at the ready.

“I am Shadrach Clark, scout from Fort Providence.”

“Fort Providence?”

“Aye. Where ya headin’?”

“Massachusetts.”

Shadrach Clark’s eyes narrowed and he removed a fur hat and scratched his head. Long strands of dark blond hair flowed across his shoulders and back like an Indian headdress full of feathers. “Aren’t you a bit far from home?”

“Aye. We barely escaped the Ohio Valley, what with the unrest from the natives. Then the weather turned. We ran into a dozen or so men from Pennsylvania—Moravians, they called themselves. But we had difficulty understanding their language and before we knew it, we’d traveled too far south. We ran into an envoy from the militia yesterday who explained where we were. Now the weather’s turnin’…” Jonathan shook his head slowly, concern etched in his face.

The scout replaced his cap and stared up at the graying sky. “Snow’s comin’.”

“Aye.” Jonathan’s lips tightened into a thin line.

Comfort gripped the edges of her cloak. Snow?

The scout looked at Comfort for a moment, then back at Jonathan. “Ya might consider followin’ me to the fort. Word has it, things could get unpleasant around here.” A quick glance at Comfort again sent fear coursing through her already chilled veins.

Unpleasant? More Indians?

Jonathan threw a concerned look at Comfort then met Shadrach’s eyes. “Aye. We’ll go with you.”

Shadrach dismounted and walked toward Comfort. Taking her by the arm, he led her to the mare that Jonathan had saddled for her. The scout began to lift Comfort onto the side saddle, but Jonathan reached him and grabbed his arm. Comfort felt heat rise in her cheeks.

“I’ll help my wife.” There was more than an edge of irritation in his voice.

“Just tryin’ to help. No offense intended.”

Jonathan lifted her with care onto the saddle, his hands secure around waist. He looked up at her with eyes that seemed to say so much. Sometimes he did not even need to tell her he loved her—but she thrilled to those words whenever she heard them.

            After Jonathan mounted his gelding, the three started off with Comfort riding in the middle. Both men kept their muskets at the ready and frequently glanced around the thickly forested trail. The scout kept a running conversation going.

“So why were ya in Pennsylvania?”

“I went to get my parents and bring them back to Massachusetts. They moved to the frontier with my brother but he was killed by Indians. By the time my wife and I got there, my mother had died of the fever. And grief, I think.” Jonathan paused and cleared his throat. After a moment, he resumed. “My father took ill. We’d intended to get back home before fall, but he was too sick to move. We waited for him to get better—but he never did. Come late October, he died, too.”

Shadrach glanced back at the rider, concern filling his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Aye.” Jonathan’s throat sounded thick.

The rest of the ride to the fort was spent in silence. It seemed like they would never get there, but soon, Comfort startled from her sleepy state when Shadrach shouted.

“Ho, the fort!”

The tall wooden doors creaked open with the assistance of two militiamen in red uniforms. The soldiers hurried the three riders into the open area of the fort. There was so much activity inside. Comfort gaped at the strangers, some in unfamiliar clothing. A cacophony of voices speaking different languages filled her head with confusion. Her head swam as she felt her husband grab her hand. She stared at him, feeling weaker by the minute.
            Lifting her off the mare, Jonathan held her in his arms. “Comfort, are you all right?” His blue eyes glistened.

A petite and extremely pregnant woman approached the twosome. “Is she ill, monsieur?” The woman smoothed her hand across Comfort’s cheeks.

“I don’t know.” Comfort saw Jonathan swallow with difficulty when she opened her eyes.

“No, I’m well. Please, put me down, Jon.” She stroked his cheek and tried to smile.

He set her on the ground but kept his arm around her waist. Comfort could feel the pregnant woman’s gaze.
            “Come with me, mon amie.” The woman waddled closer to Comfort and placed her arm in a motherly fashion around her shoulders, leading her towards a cabin. “I am Madame Rousch, but you may call me Suzanne.” Turning toward Jonathan, Suzanne smiled at him. “She will be fine, monsieur.”

As the two women walked toward a sturdy looking cabin, a gray-haired man, full of spit and fire, stepped abruptly into their path. “And where do you think you’re taking her, Madame Rousch?” He crossed his arms and pulled himself up to his full height, his chin set in determination. “You know the cabins are for the families with little ones, do you not?”

As intimidating as he tried to appear, Suzanne drew her own slight frame up to its full elevation, placed her free hand on her waist and threw her head back. “Colonel Christy, and who are you to fight with a woman in my condition? And how do you know that this woman does not have an enfant?” Her glare appeared to bore through the man.

He stuttered, then stomped away.

“That will take care of Monsieur ‘Badger.’” She huffed then drew Comfort toward the door, and led her inside the cabin. The room was filled with the soothing scent of woodsmoke. And there was a bed near the fire.

It looks like home.
            "Thank you, Suzanne.” Exhausted and overwhelmed, Comfort’s voice whispered.
            “You are more than welcome, Madame…”

“Grant. Comfort Grant.”

The French woman’s eyes lit up with joy. “Ah, ‘Comfort.’ Perhaps you will be a comfort to me when my time comes, oui?” She patted her enormous belly.

Comfort’s eyes widened. “I don’t know…” She clutched her own abdomen without thinking.

Suzanne looked at her. “So, when might we expect your little one?” Her expression twinkled with mischief.

“How…how did you know?”

Suzanne squeezed her arm. “A mother just knows these things. Here, you rest on this bed. You need to sleep. Bonne nuit.”

Comfort did not argue with the demure yet insistent woman.

Crawling beneath the soft quilt, Comfort closed her eyes yet her mind panicked. Help a woman in travail? I’ve no experience with the pains of birth. How can I help her—when I know not how to help myself?

  The End of Part 4

Look for Part 5 on Monday, December 3

GIVEAWAY: One of Elaine Marie Cooper's books will be drawn from among the commenters on this post.

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Elaine Marie Cooper is the author of The Road to Deer Run (Finalist in Next Generation Indie Book Awards for Religious Fiction), The Promise of Deer Run (Romance Winner for 2012 Los Angeles Book Festival, Finalist in Religious Fiction for ForeWord Review Book of the Year) and The Legacy of Deer Run. Her upcoming short romance story appears in the Christmas anthology, I Choose You (Dec. 2012). Cooper is also a contributing writer for Fighting Fear: Winning the War at Home by Edie Melson. 

"Preserve My Life From Fear" is based on characters that appeared in the The Road to Deer Run.