Page 27 of The Scarred Lyon

“I thought I should approach our situation as I did in the army—assess the current conditions and take inventory. I took the bedding the Hansens left behind, put it outside to air, then dried it by the fire. Using the table, I fashioned a tent covering for at least the upper part of our bodies. As you see, I placed the pallet inside. It will trap the warm air, keeping us cozy.”

Augusta was very impressed. “How logical of you. Well done.”

“I also found a root cellar. No smoked hams, I’m afraid, but I did find two dusty jars of pickled carrots and one of beets. There are four chickens in the barn, so we have eggs to break our fast.”

“Chickens? Do they have food? Isn’t it too cold?” she asked, concerned, even though she knew nothing about farm animals. “What about Dawn? Is he well?”

“The barn structure is warm enough, and there is dried corn. Chickens are resilient. I saw one pick up a worm from the dirt floor. As for Dawn, I took some snow and wrapped his leg. There are dried oats in the barn. The mule is gone along with the Hansens.”

“Where could they have gone?”

“To family or friends. Considering the amount of snow, I doubt they will return, at least in the short-term. I was awake when the intruders came because I had heard people on the stairs earlier. Someone tried to enter the room.”

“Perhaps the Hansens wanted to let us know they were leaving.”

“Why sneak about? Why not knock on the door? More likely, they meant to rob us. When they opened the door only to find a trunk blocking it, they vanished. Perhaps they figured I had more money hidden away. Besides, I heard most of the conversation between the two men outside. One of them is Hansen’s cousin. Hansen must have told them of the carriage accident, as they were discussing their spoils.”

Augusta gasped. “Could they come back with reinforcements?”

Duncan shook his head. “No one is going anywhere for the next while.” He pointed to the front door. “The drifts are so deep, I cannot even open the door or peer out the two windows. Luckily, that means the snow at the rear of the cabin is not as deep. I shoveled a narrow path to the privy and to the barn.”

They were trapped. Augusta wrung her hands in worry. “Last winter, I read in a newspaper about a family in upstate New York who were trapped for three months during a particularly harsh storm. Even though they had food, they eventually ran out and were found in the spring. The family of six had died of starvation. Will that be our fate?”

Duncan pulled a wooden chair close to her, sat down, and took her hands. “No. Patrick McGloin won’t let us perish in such dire circumstances. He will move heaven and earth to save us.”

Augusta blinked rapidly, her nerves firing. Although Duncan’s warm, reassuring voice helped to calm her somewhat. “But what if something happened to him? Outside of the Hansens, no one knows we are here.” Augusta’s eyes widened. “Why didn’t Hansen tell his cousin we were here?”

“I assume Hansen didn’t want them to know about the ten guineas. That is a lot of money, especially to those with nothing at all. Regarding Patrick, allow me to reassure you. Patrick was my batman during two wars. Do you know what that is?”

“No. I do not know much about the army.”

“He was my servant, according to the British Army, but he was much more than that. He fought by my side in Spain in ’09 and later in Upper Canada from ’10 to ’13. In Spain, he became our unit’s indispensable runner, carrying messages between the lines. He saved my life twice, and I saved his at least once. Patrick is a superb horseman, and I trust his survival instincts. Beyond all that, he is my good friend. A finer man never lived. He will not leave us to our fate, rest assured.”

“I am glad to hear that,” Augusta sighed, relieved.

“Do you want to use the privy? I can escort you there.”

“Yes. I will need my case.”

Duncan stood. “I’ll fetch it. Afterward, I will move everything down here, and we will take inventory of the food. I only glanced in the hamper, but I believe Mrs. Jemison packed enough to feed a small army. The serving girl must have told her what Briggs, Patrick, and I had for the morning meal yesterday. We made quite a dent in the menu.” Duncan frowned.

“You are thinking of poor Mr. Briggs,” Augusta offered.

“He did not deserve to die that way. Briggs was a highly competent coachman, but the accident was beyond his control. We were lucky we weren’t all killed.”

“If only I had not delayed the trip. If we had left early in the morning as planned, we would not have been caught in the storm.” Her voice trembled on the last few words. “His untimely death will haunt me.”

Duncan nodded. “For me, as well.” He took her hand. “You said earlier that no one was to blame. It was an accident. But you cannot help but feel guilt over the ‘if only’ scenarios. I feel it, most decidedly. For now, we must focus on getting through this. There is some good news.”

“Oh?”

“I also possess a modicum of survival skills. We will come through this.” Duncan turned on his heel and disappeared upstairs.

Augusta exhaled shakily. They must endure, not only for their own sakes, but also for her son. The prospect of never seeing Reese again tore her heart in two.

Augusta and Duncan stood before the table, staring at the food. She was relieved to see more than she had expected. “A daily supply of eggs, two jars of pickled carrots, one of beets, one and a half cottage loaves, half a venison pie, one wheel of cheese, two dozen cold sausages, a dozen jam tarts, ten cheese scones, a bag of tea, dinnerware and cutlery for four, and dried cherries.” Duncan handed her a small sack. “What is this?”

Augusta peered in. “Oats! We can make porridge.”