falling to the floor over a stool, and as he fell, she cried out, “You dog! I ought to cut you to ribbons!”
But he was struggling to his feet, and though the blood was running through the fingers he had clapped to his cheek, he was strong and dangerous. She struck at him once more. Then as he reeled backward, she threw the snuffer at him and with one sure motion, opened the door and fled so quickly down the stairs and across the broad taproom that Spelling’s jaw dropped with amazement as she disappeared through the door.
He mounted the stairs swiftly and found Winslow cursing and raving. When Spelling looked at the cut, he said quietly, “You’ll have to have a doctor stitch that up, Winslow—and even then, you’re going to have a nasty scar.” He stared at the young man, distaste in his eyes, and added, “I hope it heals badly! Maybe you’ll learn to leave decent girls alone!”
CHAPTER FIVE
CHRISTMAS COMES TO VALLEY FORGE
Giant flakes of snow swirled earthward as the heavily loaded sled drawn by a matched set of roan geldings pulled over the rise. Dr. Aaron Bergen’s head jolted as Charity yanked the team to an abrupt halt, and his nearsighted eyes peered around the frozen wasteland in confusion. “What’s this?”
“Valley Forge,” Charity said stiffly through frozen lips. “We made it.” The strain of the hard journey was revealed by the lines around her eyes and mouth, and she had to force herself to keep her shoulders square. They had pulled out of Boston with the threat of a howling blizzard lurking in the lowering clouds, but by hard driving they had made the journey in record time.
As they continued down the slope, Dr. Bergen peered through the whirling flakes at the scarecrow-like men who were making some effort at marching their posts, staggering stiffly through the deep drifts. He shook his head, saying sadly, “Guess I’ve had the wrong idea about the Army, Charity.”
“I know.” She did not try to tell him that her own impressions had been the same, for the bitter cold made it necessary to limit words. Nothing had changed, she saw, as they passed along the rows of tents and shacks—except that the steadily falling snow had sculptured the rough, ill-built shacks into beautifully shaped, smooth structures. The leaning fieldstonechimneys breathed reluctant blue-white vapors that tried to rise but were immediately swept away by the moaning wind.
“This is it.” Charity pulled the tired team to a stop in front of the Winslow hut, climbed down and stamped her feet to restore circulation. Dr. Bergen groaned slightly and staggered stiffly toward the cabin.
The door had opened as soon as the horses stopped and two men rushed out. “What’d I tell you, Father?” Nathan’s face was split in a wide grin as he came forward to steady Charity, who was stumbling in the drifts lying in high ridges around the cabin. “This is Charity Alden—and I’d lay a wager this is some doctor she forced to come at gunpoint!”
The older Winslow stepped forward, and although he was shorter and darker, Charity saw at once that this man had the same strong face and calm assurance as his son. Charity was struck by the long scar that ran along one side of his face—it reminded her, with an agonizing stab, of her experience with Paul Winslow.
But Adam Winslow’s manner soon put Charity at ease and helped her forget that frightening encounter. “My son puts a high value on you, Miss Alden,” he said with a smile. “I tried to tell him it wouldn’t be possible to get back in this weather, but he never doubted.”
“Good heavens, Charity!” Nathan had lifted the tarpaulin, and his face was filled with astonishment as he stared at her. “Looks like you brought the whole store!”
“All we could pile on,” Charity grinned. “Most of it is food, with as much warm clothing as we could carry—and Dr. Bergen brought all the medicine he could lay his hands on.” She smiled and stepped toward the
But he was struggling to his feet, and though the blood was running through the fingers he had clapped to his cheek, he was strong and dangerous. She struck at him once more. Then as he reeled backward, she threw the snuffer at him and with one sure motion, opened the door and fled so quickly down the stairs and across the broad taproom that Spelling’s jaw dropped with amazement as she disappeared through the door.
He mounted the stairs swiftly and found Winslow cursing and raving. When Spelling looked at the cut, he said quietly, “You’ll have to have a doctor stitch that up, Winslow—and even then, you’re going to have a nasty scar.” He stared at the young man, distaste in his eyes, and added, “I hope it heals badly! Maybe you’ll learn to leave decent girls alone!”
CHAPTER FIVE
CHRISTMAS COMES TO VALLEY FORGE
Giant flakes of snow swirled earthward as the heavily loaded sled drawn by a matched set of roan geldings pulled over the rise. Dr. Aaron Bergen’s head jolted as Charity yanked the team to an abrupt halt, and his nearsighted eyes peered around the frozen wasteland in confusion. “What’s this?”
“Valley Forge,” Charity said stiffly through frozen lips. “We made it.” The strain of the hard journey was revealed by the lines around her eyes and mouth, and she had to force herself to keep her shoulders square. They had pulled out of Boston with the threat of a howling blizzard lurking in the lowering clouds, but by hard driving they had made the journey in record time.
As they continued down the slope, Dr. Bergen peered through the whirling flakes at the scarecrow-like men who were making some effort at marching their posts, staggering stiffly through the deep drifts. He shook his head, saying sadly, “Guess I’ve had the wrong idea about the Army, Charity.”
“I know.” She did not try to tell him that her own impressions had been the same, for the bitter cold made it necessary to limit words. Nothing had changed, she saw, as they passed along the rows of tents and shacks—except that the steadily falling snow had sculptured the rough, ill-built shacks into beautifully shaped, smooth structures. The leaning fieldstonechimneys breathed reluctant blue-white vapors that tried to rise but were immediately swept away by the moaning wind.
“This is it.” Charity pulled the tired team to a stop in front of the Winslow hut, climbed down and stamped her feet to restore circulation. Dr. Bergen groaned slightly and staggered stiffly toward the cabin.
The door had opened as soon as the horses stopped and two men rushed out. “What’d I tell you, Father?” Nathan’s face was split in a wide grin as he came forward to steady Charity, who was stumbling in the drifts lying in high ridges around the cabin. “This is Charity Alden—and I’d lay a wager this is some doctor she forced to come at gunpoint!”
The older Winslow stepped forward, and although he was shorter and darker, Charity saw at once that this man had the same strong face and calm assurance as his son. Charity was struck by the long scar that ran along one side of his face—it reminded her, with an agonizing stab, of her experience with Paul Winslow.
But Adam Winslow’s manner soon put Charity at ease and helped her forget that frightening encounter. “My son puts a high value on you, Miss Alden,” he said with a smile. “I tried to tell him it wouldn’t be possible to get back in this weather, but he never doubted.”
“Good heavens, Charity!” Nathan had lifted the tarpaulin, and his face was filled with astonishment as he stared at her. “Looks like you brought the whole store!”
“All we could pile on,” Charity grinned. “Most of it is food, with as much warm clothing as we could carry—and Dr. Bergen brought all the medicine he could lay his hands on.” She smiled and stepped toward the
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