Throughout the hard day’s ride out of Reading along the Tulpehocken Creek Trail, the lanky guides spoke scant words to one another, and only then in whispers. Fearing a possible Indian attack, Lily spent so much time peering into the dense brush and trees crowding the path on either side that her head began to throb.
At last they reached a sheltered spot along the trail where they could camp for the night. But as wary as she’d felt earlier that day, matters worsened after a cold supper of jerked beef and biscuits when the men started drinking something that smelled suspiciously like rum. Fortunately neither of them had eyed her suggestively, but her fears doubled nonetheless. The confidence she’d felt three days ago after bringing Nate Kinyon’s name into the conversation dwindled, and for the first time since departing from Philadelphia, she worried about her safety with these supposed protectors. Despite her exhaustion, she remained awake under her oiled canvas tarp until long after she heard snoring coming from both hunters.
Lily felt a smidgen of relief the following morning when the men appeared to have no lingering effects from their drinking, but it took her a number of steps after rising for her legs to lose their stiffness. She wished they could build a fire, since the glow would not be easily seen in the dense forest. But the guides chose not to.
Stewart handed her a biscuit from a grubby canvas sack and whispered into her ear. “The smell of smoke’s a dead giveaway if any hostiles is about.”
Hostiles! In close proximity? The fact that the man resorted to whispering increased her fears. Lily washed down the hard biscuit with cold water, trying not to compare the limited fare with the sumptuous breakfasts she had enjoyed at the Gilford house.
She untied the tarp shelter and folded it, noting that the covering was damp from sprinkles during the night. Her belongings and gear, however, remained dry. She encouraged herself with the reminder that God was with her. Recalling some of the experiences her sister Rose had laughingly related about her life in the wilds, Lily had to admit the Lord had definitely kept His hand on her sister through far worse circumstances than these. Rose was convinced that God always looked after those who belonged to Him. Lily focused on that thought.
She grabbed up the mare’s bridle and blanket and strode through the trees to where the hobbled dun had wandered. She slipped the bridle over the horse’s ears.
Hap Stewart came alongside and spoke again in that worrisome, soft rumble he’d used earlier. “After a spell, we’ll be leavin’ the crick trail and cuttin’ south toward Fort Lebanon. We should git there sometime after high noon. We could stay there for the night, if ya like.”
Lily continued to work, readying her mount for another day of travel. “Thank you, no. I’d rather keep going. I need to get home to the boys.” More than a fortnight had passed since she’d left John and his sons, and she had no idea if any of them was still safe. There seemed no end of things to fret about, and she could only trust the Lord to look after them. Please, Father, look after us all. Take this gnawing worry from me. Help me to feel Your peace.
They broke camp and traveled onward. After a few hours, whenever they happened to break out of a stand of woods, they came upon cleared fields and farmsteads dotting the gentle hills and vales. Lily was especially heartened by the distant sight of a man driving a hay wagon…the first person she’d seen since leaving Reading yesterday morn.
Ahead of her, Reynolds nudged his chestnut gelding into a faster gait, and Lily and Stewart followed with the packhorse.
The wagon driver tipped his head politely when he reached them. “Guten tag.” Obviously one of the German settlers who purchased land in the backcountry along with the English-speaking people, he drew his sturdy farm team to a halt.
Hap Reynolds touched his hat brim. “Folks hereabouts have any trouble with Injuns lately?”
The farmer rattled off something in German, then with a curt nod, slapped the reins over his team’s backs and rumbled by with no more than a quick glance.
Lily had heard the Germans kept to themselves for the most part, though Indians attacked their settlements as often as they did those of the English. She looked over at Reynolds. “Did you understand anything he said?”
“No. We’ll come up on the fort purty soon. If anybody knows anything, the militiamen posted there will.”
The prediction proved to be true. But as Lily rode with her escorts into a large clearing a short time later, the fort’s appearance came as a disappointment. In the center, a stockade of sharpened poles surrounded a blockhouse similar to the one her neighbors had built at Beaver Cove. In comparison to how John had described Fort Henry, this fortification was far less substantial. Fort Henry was built of stone. Still, riding toward the gates, she felt a sense of relief. Unlike their own blockhouse, this one housed militia, at least.
Glancing about, she saw several uniformed men out in the meadow, digging a trench. Another, just outside the gate, worked with a colt on a rope. Short and stocky, with the beginnings of light stubble emphasizing a pronounced underbite, he raised a hand to stop them, then strode in their direction, bringing the young horse along. “Where’d you folks come from? See any sign of a war party?”
Reynolds reined in. “Nope. We’re comin’ from Reading.”
“Along the Tulpehocken Creek?”
“Aye.”
The man shook his head. “A farmer and his wife were killed and scalped up that way four days ago.”
“What about to the west?” Virgil Stewart asked. “Hear tell of any trouble out thataway?”
The soldier shrugged. “Can’t say for sure. Whoever’s still left between here and the Susquehanna ain’t travelin’ much. Leastwise, not in this direction. Some of our men are out rovin’ that way now.”
“No word a’tall? That don’t sound good.” Reynolds met his pal’s gaze then turned to Lily. “Ya sure ya wouldn’t rather stay here where it’s safe, lass?”
“Are you and Stewart going on?”
“Aye. But we got orders.”
“Well, so have I.” The Lord did want her to keep going, didn’t He?
The afternoon waned as the trail grew perceptively more narrow. Lily again rode single file between Reynolds and Stewart, while the packhorse brought up the rear. They’d passed the last cutoff to a farmstead a quarter hour ago, and an uneasy feeling began gnawing at her. She tried to fix her mind on more pleasant subjects.
When a cool breeze found its way through the thick undergrowth, Lily gladly turned her damp, sticky face into it, recalling the glorious, lavender-scented bath she’d had at the travelers’ inn. The first thing she’d do when she reached home was fill the tub with tepid water and soak away her tired muscles.
“Hold up!” Stewart’s order came from behind…and not in a whisper.
Hap Reynolds whipped his horse around and eased past Lily to reach his partner.
Lily’s heart pounded as a strong, acrid smell assaulted her nostrils. Smoke. She searched forward through the tree growth to where thick clouds of smoke billowed upward—much more than would issue from a chimney.
“Stay here with the gal.” Without another word, Reynolds circled his pal and the packhorse. Within seconds the dense forest swallowed him up.
“Might as well rest the horses,” Stewart muttered, dismounting.
Grateful for the chance to rest her backside as well, Lily swung to the ground. When she saw Virgil Stewart pull his musket from its scabbard, she did the same and stepped back into the brush. The two of them stood on alert, waiting, listening, expecting Hap Reynolds to return with news. Minutes stretched like hours, but peering up at the sky, Lily saw that the sun had moved very little.
The clatter of fast-moving hoofbeats announced Reynolds’s return back up the forest trail. He pulled hard on the reins, bringing his panting, lathered horse to a stop. “Got there too late. The man an’ his wife are dead.” He grimaced and wagged his head. “Them murderin’ savages took off on foot with what looked like the tracks of two young’uns. No more’n four or five years old, I’d say.”
Davy’s age. Lily gulped past a lump in her throat.
“They must’a just left. The corpses was still warm an’ seepin’.” He shot a look to his partner. “Hand off that packhorse to the gal, Virge. We can catch ’em easy a’fore it gets too dark.”
Lily’s blood turned cold. They were leaving her here? Alone?
Stewart untied the packhorse from his saddle. “How many is there, ya ‘spect?”
“Four, near as I could figger.” He turned to Lily. “Take them horses off the trail far ‘nough so’s you can’t be seen. Unload ’em best ya can.”
Her insides trembling, she wanted to beg them to stay with her. But…little ones. How could they not try to save innocent children?
“If we ain’t back by mornin’, head on into the Palmyra settlement. It’s only a couple a miles ahead.” He pointed in the direction they’d been traveling.
Lily had no choice but to tamp down her panic and tug her dun and the packhorse between two matted spreads of berry bushes.
The longhunters snatched up fallen fir limbs and brushed over her tracks, then mounted and rode farther down the trail a short distance before cutting off on the other side.
Watching after them through the branches of her haven, Lily appreciated their having taken that small precaution on her behalf. She did her best to ignore her fear and stripped the gear and supplies from both animals then hobbled them. In all likelihood, the men wouldn’t return for hours. She decided it might be prudent to find a safer, more secluded spot to hide, some distance away from the horses. No matter how well hidden the animals were from the trail, they could easily give away her position by making rustling noises or whinnying.
After filling her pockets with hard buns and dried meat, she slung a blanket over her shoulders and strapped on her water flask, cartridge pouch, and powder horn. Then, hefting the tall, awkward musket to one shoulder, she plucked a fallen fir branch from nearby and began the painstaking job of wiping clean any footprints she’d made backing away from the horses.
By the time she came upon a hemlock with low-hanging limbs skirting the ground, her whole body ached from trying to keep the musket aloft while sweeping away the traces of her presence. She swished debris back across the bared earth and stretched to loosen the kinks from her spine. With a backward glance in the fading light, she was fairly sure she’d left no readable sign.
She hunkered down into a crawl and backed herself and the six-foot-long weapon beneath the limbs, brushing away the last of the evidence. When she bumped into the tree trunk, a nervous giggle erupted. She slapped a grimy hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. If Mistress Gilford could see her now. The woman had been so adamant that she have just the perfect bonnet to go with her fancy riding costume…and here she sat in dirty homespun on old, dusty pine needles with cobwebs in her hair.
Her mirth vanished when the reason she’d been left here hit her full force. Two people lay dead among the ashes of their home, and their little ones had been kidnapped. What horrors had those dear children witnessed before the savages hauled them away? Dear Lord, look after those babies. Take care of them. They must be so frightened, like my sweet Emmy was. And please bring Mr. Reynolds and Mr. Stewart back safely. I cannot imagine traveling on without them.
Hours dragged by. Lily had long since eaten from the food in her pockets and watched darkness descend until she could no longer see her hand before her face. She’d never felt so alone in her life. Where were her guides?
A distant gunshot echoed through the woods. And another. Three more followed in close succession. The frontiersmen had only a single-shot weapon apiece. Had they been wounded? Killed?
Please, dear God, don’t leave me out here alone….