No sense all of us crowdin’ together in that blockhouse.” Cal swept a glance over Lily and the others who stood waiting for the Randall family to come out. “We run them red devils off good an’ proper. They won’t tangle with us again anytime soon.” His light brown eyes grew soft as they gravitated to his little, golden-haired Mary. “Let’s take the young’uns back to the cabin so’s they can warm up.”
Ian gave a decisive nod. “Cal’s right. Go on back. I’ll stay here awhile longer.”
One by one, the women trickled inside the blockhouse and gave Edith a hug or an empathetic squeeze to her shoulder. No one seemed able to think of anything to say to comfort their grieving friend. Each neighbor emerged with a kettle or skillet of food that had been cooked earlier. Watching through the doorway, Lily wondered if Edith even noticed their presence.
Lily went in last for the sack of cornmeal. She ran a soothing palm across the heads of Robby’s siblings as they sat in a circle around his body, watching tearfully as their mother worked at bandaging the unfortunate boy’s wound. The lad had been the kind of son and brother any family would have been proud to have.
Backing out of the structure with the sack in one hand and an armful of blankets, Lily knew Robby would have made a wonderful husband, too.
The loaves of bread in the outdoor oven the men had constructed weeks ago had burned to black lumps during the crisis. The women quickly whipped up some less-tasty johnnycakes, and the somber neighbors gathered at two long, makeshift tables stretching almost the length of the cabin’s common room. The air crackled with tension as everyone waited for Ian to fetch the Randalls for supper.
Realizing she was fiddling with her fork, Lily placed it on the table and slid a glance across to Jackson, several seats away.
Flanked by his mother and grandmother, each of whom held one of his big hands, the young man wore a clean linsey-woolsey shirt. Not a speck of blood remained on him, and his hair looked darker than usual, damp and slicked back. His eyes were downcast, but bright blotches on his face bore evidence of recent weeping.
Sudden, loud footsteps pounded on the porch.
Lily’s attention flew to the door.
Edith Randall burst in, auburn curls all askew. She gulped in air as if she’d run all the way from the blockhouse.
Lily’s blood turned cold. Had the Indians come back?
The woman took several gasping breaths, then let the air out in a whoosh. “I want one of you men to go get that shiftless husband of mine. You get him back here so’s he can see what he let happen to my boy.”
Jackson wrenched up from his seat. “I’ll go fetch him right now.” He threw a leg over the bench.
“No, Son,” his father ordered from across the table. “Sit down. It’s too late to go tonight.” Toby turned his sympathetic gaze to the distraught mother. “We’d spend all our time out there just wanderin’ around, Edith, lost in the dark. First light, me an’ my boy’ll start out.” He switched his attention back to his son. “Sit down, Jackson. We’ll make better time in the mornin.’”
Jackson eyed his father momentarily, then cut a glance to Robby’s mother. His shoulders sagged, and he slumped back down, staring right through his trencher as if it wasn’t there.
Lily’s heart ached. Toby was close to sixty years old, and the trip would be hard on him. But she didn’t doubt his wisdom. In Jackson’s present state of mind, he’d probably run his horse near to death.
Edith glared wildly at Toby for a few moments, then as suddenly as she’d come, she charged outside again, bumping past her returning children and Grampa MacBride.
Cissy Dunlap flew to Donald’s side as soon as the lad entered the room. “Come sit with me, Donald.” She took his hand.
He pulled his fingers from her grasp. “Not tonight, Cis. I need to sit with my family.”
“Oh. Of course.” Inching back, Cissy’s sad blue eyes misted as she watched him follow his siblings to vacant seats at the far end of the table…the same lad who’d brought her a carefully selected autumn bouquet just the day before.
At times like these, the comfort of family overshadowed the pangs of young love. Lily was utterly grateful she had Matt and Luke next to her.
If only John were here, too.
Even as that longing surfaced, so did the hope that if Bob actually were to come back, the commander would release John also. Only twelve days remained of his enlistment.
Ian’s voice spoke out from between the two tables. “Let’s ask God’s blessing on this food and pray for Almighty God’s comfort at this sad time.”
Edith never left the blockhouse that night, and Lily knew that in the woman’s present state, she’d have been no comfort to her other children. The only time anyone caught a glimpse of her the next day was at dawn, when Toby and Jackson rode their mounts out of the stable. She ran up the path from the creek just as Lily and Millie brought a last cup of tea and food to the men for their trip.
Edith looked like a wild woman, her hair tangled and flying every whichway, her eyes red and swollen, bloodstains spattering the front of her day gown. Vapor clouds spewed from her mouth in the chilly air when she spoke. “Just makin’ sure.” She came to a stop several feet in front of the men. “You get that useless man back here right quick.” Then, whirling around, she marched down the path again.
“Don’t let it get to you.” Millie handed the food up to her husband, then the steaming cup. “She just don’t know where to put all her pain.”
Lily realized Jackson could easily read something extra in her being there, and wondered if it would have been wiser to have his grandmother bring the food to him. Wishing she had awakened Eva, she gave him the cinched bag of leftover johnnycakes and sausage before passing the tea up to him.
But as he took the mug, Jackson didn’t offer his usual over-confident grin. His lips moved into a merely grateful smile. He took a couple of large gulps and handed the cup back. “Tell Mistress Randall we’ll bring Bob back as quick as humanly possible.” Then he reined his mount around and nudged him forward. His father bent down and gave Millie a peck on the top of her head then followed their son.
The ominous, dreadful sound of nails being hammered into a coffin echoed from the workshop. With Ian busy at the chore, Lily sought a task that would take her away from the noise.
Out back in the vegetable garden, digging up potatoes with Ruth, she spied Richard and Cal rumbling away in the Dunlaps’ wagon.
Ruth dropped her shovel and bolted after them. “Where you goin’?” Fear heightened her voice. Aside from Ian, these were the only two grown men left in the valley.
“We’re gonna fetch the sorghum molasses from Toby’s place. We left it there when—” He stopped abruptly. No one needed a reminder about the Indian attack. “Don’t worry. I promise we’ll be back.”
Cal leaned around him. “Might be a little while. We’re gonna look around a bit, too.” Snatching the reins from Richard’s grip, he snapped them over the horses’ backs before Ruth could utter a protest.
Lily could hardly blame the man. Ruth’s tendency to be hysterical was no secret. And now poor Edith. Lily gazed across the barnyard and down toward the creek. How long would she stay inside the blockhouse, secluded like that?
Only after Ian had finished the coffin and taken Donald and Michael with him to get Robby’s remains did Edith leave the blockhouse. Her eyes fixed on the blanket-wrapped body, she followed as they carried the lad to the workshop. As she approached the door, her two youngest ones ran to her, but she pushed them away. Both immediately started wailing.
Gracie and Patience ran to the children and scooped them up. The twins did their best to comfort them, since their mother had nothing to offer.
The sound of more nails being hammered shattered the quiet as Ian fastened the lid in place. There would be no last viewing.
Maggie walked up between Lily and Agnes. “It’s best this way. For her own good, Edith needs to be separated from the boy’s body now.”
But a mere closed coffin did little to deter Edith from her son. The second Ian and the lads left the building, the grieving mother shut herself inside and locked the door.
She did not come out for the rest of the day.
Calvin and Richard returned at midafternoon with the assurance that the Indians had left the area. The news provided Ruth much-needed relief. She’d gone into the house with her brood as soon as the men drove away and kept the little ones on the floor beside her stool while seven-year-old Lizzie helped at the spinning wheel. Ruth sat rigid, working fast, her flintlock pistol in her lap.
That evening, Maggie took a trencher of food and a small pot of tea out to Edith. The woman had remained sequestered in the workshop all day and wouldn’t open the door to anyone, not even Maggie. Ian’s wife finally sighed and left the offering on the doorstep.
Had it not been for the funeral, Lily would have taken the boys that day and left Beaver Cove.
At the close of the supper meal, Grampa MacBride picked up his Bible and motioned for everyone to remain seated. “I was hopin’ Edith would be here for the readin’, but I’m sure the scriptures will edify the rest of us. We all share our neighbors’ great sadness.”
Lily glanced along the table to Donald and the Randall children. Cissy sat beside Donald now with baby Laurie on her lap. That family needed all the comfort and help anyone could give.
“I’ll be readin’ from the first chapter of Philippians.”
As the elder’s voice filled the room, Lily put her arms around Matt and Luke. They’d done their chores without any reminders today and then found extra work to keep busy, just as she had. She hoped they’d be tired enough to get a good night’s sleep.
“ ‘I am in a strait betwixt two,’ ” Ian read, “ ‘having a desire to depart, and to be with Christ; which is far better: Nevertheless to abide in the flesh is more needful for you.’ ”
A sense of peace infused Lily, that the moment Robby’s soul left his body, he’d received the answer to his final question. The young man knew instantly that he’d been forgiven by God and deeply loved. He was now in the very presence of the Lord.
Ian’s voice drew her back to the present. “ ‘And in nothing terrified by your adversaries: which is to them an evident token of perdition, but to you of salvation and that of God. For unto you it is given in the behalf of Christ, not only to believe on him, but also to suffer for his sake.’ ”
That last statement struck Lily. Was God calling her or any of these people to suffer here for the sake of Christ? Or should she and everyone else in the cove stop acting like fools and leave? Cal and Richard may not have found any sign of the Indians, but war parties were noted for hitting and running, attacking anywhere, anytime, at will. Any day they could all be killed. Had Robby’s death furthered the kingdom of God?
She folded her arms. She would stay two more days, no more. Long enough for Bob to get here and Robby to be laid to rest. And should John return with Bob, she prayed he’d allow the boys to leave with her. She couldn’t pray for anything more than that…not even for John.
No matter what else occupied her thoughts, they always came back to her desire for John Waldon, her dearest friend’s husband. Most likely that was why she had yet to receive assurance from the Lord regarding Jackson’s proposal of marriage. She’d left the poor young man dangling.
The sight of the half-moon-shaped fort came as a relief to John after the long, hard march from Tolihaio Gap. His feet felt raw and could use a few days’ rest within the safety of those stone walls.
Again, as during the last ranging, all the moccasin tracks not washed away by the recent rains were days or weeks old. And all pointed eastward. The Indians always managed to slip past the patrols. John wrapped his knitted scarf tighter against the cold breeze. Would they never leave for the winter?
Walking a few feet from him as their roving party crossed the clearing in a wide spread, Pat gestured with his head. “Ain’t that Jackson Dunlap comin’ this way?” He immediately raced toward Dunlap, spurring John and Bob to follow suit. By the time they converged, John had imagined all manner of horrors. Had his family left, like he’d asked them to? Or had they stayed, been murdered, or carried off?
Pat grabbed hold of Jackson. “What happened, son? Is it my family?”
Jackson’s terrible gaze slid past Pat and John, stopping at Bob.
Bob latched on to John’s arm.
“It’s Robby,” Jackson blurted. “He’s been killed. Indians.”
John felt a surge of relief that it hadn’t been Lily or the boys. May God forgive me.
“No. Please, God. No.” Bob would have collapsed in grief had John and Pat not been supporting him. “I should’a stayed home.” He shook his head over and over as they turned and headed back to the fort, bringing him along. “Edith’s been wantin’ me an’ him to trade places, an’ I was gonna do it. I was. A couple a more weeks, an’ he would’a been here. Safe. This fort ain’t once been attacked. I’d a had them make him a cook’s helper or somethin’ that would keep him inside. Oh, Robby, Robby.” He rambled on in a flat tone the entire way back to the fort.
As they neared the gates, Toby Dunlap came out and strode up to Bob. “We’re all real sorry. Just want you to know your boy weren’t no coward. He shot one of them murderers before they got him.”
While Toby administered comforting thumps on the grieving man’s back, John sidled over to Jackson. “I need to know, lad. Are Lily and my boys still at the cove?”
He nodded. “Aye. But they’re fine. All the families have been stayin’ at your place for weeks. Us men took the Injuns by surprise whilst they was torchin’ the old Thornton place.”
“Was my pa with you?” Pat asked, leaving Bob with Toby.
“An’ your Michael. We was at our place boilin’ down sorghum cane.”
John’s breath caught. “What about my sons?”
“They was there, too. You got a real steady boy, in Matt. He shot and loaded that musket of his ‘most as good as the rest of us.”
John’s head almost exploded with rage. His little twelve-year-old son, having to fight off Indians like a man! “I’m going home with you. And I dare Captain Busse to try and stop me this time.”