The afternoon dragged on as John and Cal Patterson rode their mounts along the Blue Mountain trail. As if sensing John’s heaviness of heart, his friend refrained from needless chatter. But inside, rage and resentment toward a commander who would order them to go miles out of their way at such a pressing time all but consumed John. Only prayer helped him to get beyond the anger.
Oh, God, if my precious Susie is to be taken away from me, please let her passing be a gentle one. She’s been so patient in her suffering, so brave, with thoughts only of me, of the children, and Lily. She told me she didn’t want us to be angry or sad, but to dwell on the happy times. He swallowed, and his shoulders slumped. How I wish there could have been more of the joyous times. She deserved a happy life, but I failed her. Lord, be close to our little ones. Help them to accept Your will quietly and go on as their mother would have wanted. She was so proud of them all.
John had to admit that Busse hadn’t been completely heartless. The man had provided two extra horses for the trip, making it possible for him and Cal to reach Beaver Cove in the same amount of time the more direct route would have taken with only two mounts. A pity the river had too many twists and turns for a swift canoe trip.
His thoughts drifted again to Susan, and he recalled a beautiful bride in filmy lace, her red-gold curls a glorious tumble beneath a crown of field daisies, her turquoise eyes alight with hope. She’d been so filled with dreams. He hoped she’d seen some of them fulfilled along the way. She’d made a wonderful mother, doting on each baby yet never allowing the older children to feel slighted. Oh, Susie-girl. How can I face life without you? He bowed his head once more in prayer.
When darkness descended on the already shadowy forest, they plodded cautiously onward, not chancing the lighting of torches to illuminate the trail, but relying on the horses to carry them along the centuries-old Indian path. According to the captain, the enemy had been spotted a few miles to the north. They could easily be closer.
After several hours, they came to a small clearing bathed in the subtle light of the moon.
Calvin moved alongside John and muttered the first words he’d said in quite a spell. “The horses should get some rest.”
John nodded and veered off into the grassy meadow where their mounts could graze while the two of them caught whatever sleep they could. While they unsaddled, hobbled, and rubbed down the horses, he longed to question his friend about Susan, the children, and Lily. But voices carried easily on the night air.
After laying their saddles beneath the outer edge of a tree’s low-slung branches, they crawled inside the shadowed haven and rolled out their bedding.
A few yards away John’s horse nickered.
Then Cal’s.
John grabbed his musket and lunged forward, snatching his powder horn loose. Cal followed suit, and they uncorked their black powder, pouring a smidgen of the grainy substance into their flashpans. John marveled that his neighbor’s stiff leg hadn’t slowed him down a bit.
Up the wooded trail, a horse returned the greeting of the hobbled mounts, and a lone rider came out of the trees at a slow gait.
John rose to his knees. Shoulders tense, he raised his musket and took aim, cocking an ear for sounds of others approaching. Hearing none, he spoke just loud enough to be heard. “Who goes there?”
The rider jerked on his reins. “Robby Randall, from Beaver Cove.”
“Fool kid,” Cal muttered. “What are you doin’ all the way out here, ridin’ through the night?” He accepted John’s help to get up.
“That you, Mr. Patterson?” Robby asked.
“Aye.”
“Thank the good Lord.” The lad kneed his mount toward them.
John met him halfway across the clearing. “What are you doing this far north all by yourself in the middle of the night?”
“I’m headin’ for Fort Henry.”
Puzzled, John shook his head. “Why would you come this way? Are you being chased?”
“Nope.”
“Don’t tell me the cove was attacked!” Cal piped in.
“Nope. If you two’ll stop askin’ questions, I’ll tell you. Me an’ the other men are after Injuns what took our little girls. We think there’s only three of ’em, but they’ll prob’ly meet up with others, so Grampa Mac sent me to get help.”
“Which of your sisters did the varmints steal?” Cal asked, his voice deadly quiet.
“None of mine.” The lad hesitated, then looked down at Calvin. “I’m real sorry, Mr. Patterson, but your little Mary was one of ’em.”
Cal gasped and grabbed hold of John, his fingers biting into John’s flesh. “My Mary. They took my Mary.”
“She ain’t the only one.” Robby turned to John. “They took Emma, too.”
The news punched into John like a fist. “That can’t be. We live more than a mile downriver from the Pattersons, past several other farms.”
“ ’Fraid it’s true. Lily sent Emma to stay with the Pattersons for the night. She, uh, didn’t want her there, watchin’…you know…your wife takin’ her last breaths.”
His legs starting to give way, John leaned hard on his musket for support. “Susan’s dead, and my baby girl’s been carried off.” He could hardly choke out the words.
Cal’s big hand clamped on to John’s shoulder and shook it. “We gotta saddle up. Go after ’em.”
The urgency in his friend’s voice jerked John into action. He glanced at Robby as he wheeled toward the spot where he’d left his gear. “How far back did you leave the others?”
“A couple a hours back. It’s been real hard, you know, the redskins on foot, cuttin’ through thickets an’ up rocky cliffs. We had to get off our horses an’ drag ’em after us lots of times. Once the Injuns hit this trail, we thought we’d have ’em for sure. But they must’a got wind of us, ’cause they cut off into the woods again, headin’ north. That’s why Grampa Mac sent me to get help. When I left ’em, they was tryin’ to track them sneaky savages by torchlight.”
Calvin yanked Robby’s sleeve. “You sure they still got our girls?”
“Last I seen. The girls ain’t got no shoes on.”
Slinging his saddle onto the back of the nearest horse, John prayed out loud. “I don’t even know what to say, Lord. Those heathen savages are dragging our frightened little barefooted girls through brambles and thorny bushes and across roots and rocks, cutting their feet all up.” He stopped as a more terrifying thought chilled his blood. “If they haven’t already slit their little throats and cast them aside. Please help them, Father. Send Your angels to be with my Emma; be with Mary. Keep them safe. Please, God, it would be more than I could bear to lose my wife and my daughter on the same day.”
Lily jerked awake as a shaft of light hit her eyes. Sitting up, she realized she was in the windowless blockhouse, and the beam came from the square opening in the ceiling. All the horror came rushing back. “Emma!”
She scrambled to her feet. The day must be half gone. Surely the men would’ve been back by now if they’d rescued her darling and Mary.
Her insides tightened around the unthinkable. What if none of them return?
No! She would not dwell on that unspeakable possibility. The men would find the girls and bring them both home, safe and sound.
Looking around, she realized she was alone in the bottom floor of the blockhouse, with its crude dirt floor. Where was everyone? They couldn’t all be up above, or she’d hear them. Climbing the ladder rungs, she reached the opening and searched the deck.
Bob Randall’s petite wife, Edith, stood on one side, frowning as she idly twisted an errant mousy brown curl around a finger. Hearing Lily, she flashed a worried smile. Her son Robby had ridden out with the men. “Did you get any sleep?” she asked in her quiet way, concern softening her light brown eyes.
Lily only grimaced.
“Nancy woke up about half an hour ago. The two of you shouldn’t have taken the entire night watch. You should’a woke me an’ Ruthie up.”
“We couldn’t sleep. Where is everyone?”
“Down there.” Edith nodded below. “They’re havin’ a picnic outside. We told them not to get too noisy.”
Joining her neighbor at the rail, Lily gazed down on the scene. It looked so pastoral with everyone gathered on several quilts in the shade of the structure. The women chatted, and the little ones giggled as they ate from wooden trenchers or tin plates. Her little Davy, being his usual busy self, was using his spoon to sword fight with his friend Joey.
Nancy, however, stood off by herself, looking northward, anguish frozen on her face.
Knowing exactly how her neighbor felt, Lily focused across at the cabin. Susan’s body still lay over there…a day and a half in this relentless summer heat. Something must be done. Now. Today.
Exiting the building, she walked around to its shady east side.
“Lily, girl.” Margaret waved her over. “Come and have something to eat, child. Sit with us a spell.”
Even though she hadn’t eaten since the night before last, Lily had no appetite. She did force herself to swallow a few bites before Davy came running, full of questions.
“Did my mama really go to heaven, like Socks? Where’s Emmy? When’s she comin’ back?” He dropped down on his knees before her.
Before Lily could answer, Matt plucked his little brother up and whisked him away. His own expression hard-set, he carried the child up to the watchtower.
Luke, fighting tears, ran after them.
Not having dealt with her own grief as yet, Lily would have liked nothing more than to collapse and weep until she had no tears left. But she knew if she gave in, she would never stop crying. Better to remain strong for the children. There’d be time enough for sorrow in days to come. She turned back to her meal, picking up the only thing that looked remotely appealing, a cup of tea. As she took a swallow of the hot liquid, she glanced around at the other women. Their expressions were not so much sympathetic as they were wrought with tension. They knew any of the other children could have been taken as easily as Mary and Emma. Any of their homes could have been burned to the ground and the residents massacred by the savages, as had happened at other settlements.
Every woman here had a loved one away, either at Fort Henry, manning a line of defense, or out tracking the kidnapping Indians. Not a wife among them could be certain her husband would come home alive.
But…they were men. Not two helpless little girls.
Lily caught herself before she sank into that pit of despair. Her fears would have to wait. There was something more immediate to tend to. She swept a glance up to the fifteen-year-old Randall lad. “Donald, I need you, Sammy, Jimmy, and Pete to come with me back to the house.”
All eyes turned to her.
“Why?” Jimmy Patterson’s youthful face contorted with puzzlement, then smoothed out again. “Sure ‘nough, Lily. Whatever needs doin’, we’ll help you with it.”
All the lads were having to take up their manhood too soon. When would this madness come to an end? She set down her empty cup and rose to her feet. “Shall we go?”
“We lay this dear young woman’s body to rest,” Grandma Margaret droned in a sympathetic tone, her back to the grave as she faced Lily and the other women and children clustered in a semicircle about her. Rays from the slanting sun filtered through the trees on the knoll, casting long shadows over the scene. “And we thank Thee, Lord, that our Susan is free of her pain and suffering and is now basking in the light of Thy glory. We ask Thee to comfort each of her children and fill them with the assurance that they are loved as much as ever.”
She paused and centered her attention on Lily, who stood with Davy tucked against her to keep him still as the older boys flanked her, all huddled together. Then she resumed speaking, this time with force. “And Father, we beseech Thee to bring our precious baby girls home safe and sound…our girls and our men.”
“Amen” resounded from every woman and child in the circle.
“Most gracious God,” Margaret continued, her tone gentle once more, “we look forward to the day when we will see Susan again in heaven, see her wonderful smile, hear her sweet laugh. We express our deepest thanks that our sister is now at peace in Thy loving arms. We praise and worship Thee for Thy goodness and care, and we beseech Thee most fervently to keep little Emma and Mary safe, in the name of our blessed Lord Jesus. Amen.”
As everyone looked up at the close of the prayer, Margaret turned to the grave. “We commit the body of Susan Gilford Waldon to the earth from whence it came, to await the glorious day when we will all be raised to meet our blessed Jesus in the sky. Ashes to ashes…dust to dust.” She reached for the shovel in the waiting pile of dirt and emptied its contents atop the wooden casket.
Lily’s heart thudded at the hollow sound of clods falling atop the few little wildflowers the children had picked and laid along the lid. She’d thought she’d be ready to face this moment, but the depth of emptiness that filled her stole her very breath.
The older woman handed the shovel to Matt.
He stared at it, then turned his swollen, red-rimmed eyes up to Lily.
She gave him a nod, barely holding back her own tears as he filled the shovel and emptied it in the grave, then handed the tool past her and Davy to Luke.
The nine-year-old wiped his sleeve across his eyes and followed suit, but as he attempted to hand the shovel on to the next person, Davy jerked free. “Me, too. Mama needs my dirt, too.”
Reluctantly, Lily nodded her assent, hoping the child understood enough to carry out the task with respect.
The tyke jammed his foot down on the iron edge of the shovel’s scoop, and with his hands halfway down the handle, he brought up the dirt and let it trickle into the grave. He looked up at the sky with a triumphant smile. “See, Mama? I help real good.” Then the little big man handed the shovel to Lily. “Your turn.”
Despite her sadness, Lily’s heart swelled with joy. Davy understood. He knew his mother wasn’t lying in that grave, but in heaven with God. She drew a steadying breath and added her own shovelful of earth.
Moments later, as the others took turns filling in the grave, Agnes MacBride moved alongside and wrapped an arm around her. “I’m sure John would’ve been here by now, if he could’ve.”
Lily barely managed a nod as her fury at the fort’s commander flared again. And though she knew it was irrational, her anger at John resurfaced. And at Mr. Gilford. Most of all, she condemned herself for sending Emma to the Patterson farm. She’d known Calvin was leaving to go fetch John home, that no man would be on the place to guard the family.
She glanced across the gathering to where Nancy Patterson had been standing with her toddler.
Nancy was gone.
Turning on her heel, Lily spotted her. Carrying little Sally, her neighbor had left the wooded knoll and started across the footbridge on her way back to the blockhouse. No doubt Nancy would climb up to the watchtower and continue searching the forest beyond—not for Indians, but for the return of the men…her Cal and John. She’d be watching even more intently for those who’d gone after their girls.
It would be dark soon. The little ones had already been out there one night. Please, dear God, bring our children home to us. Please.
“Lily.”
She pulled her gaze back to the knoll, to Matt. “Yes?”
“Me an’ the rest of the boys are gonna tend to the animals.”
Lily glanced toward the pasture, filled now with the extra livestock brought in from the other farms.
“You women need to take the young’uns back to the blockhouse while we’re gone.”
“Quite right.” She laid a palm alongside his smooth cheek, tipping her head as she let her eyes roam her young man’s face. “I hadn’t noticed. You’re almost as tall as I am now.”
Matt gave her hand a squeeze. “I know.” A half-smile tweaked his mouth. “Better go along.”
Lily turned away before he could see the tears she could no longer restrain. Matt. Matt, who’d been only seven when she first arrived to look after the children, was now looking after her.