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CHAPTER 11

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Kentucky

It was not yet noon when John pulled the cork out of the first jug of corn whiskey. He took a swig, crossed his eyes and handed it to Sheriff Purdy. With all the buildings finished in record time, and those putting up Emiline’s shop declared the winners, the fun was about to begin.

Emiline and the older women were gathered in the downstairs sitting room listening to Mrs. Watts tell of Mister Montigue, when suddenly a shot rang out—closely followed by another. All of the women were startled and two shrieked. Emiline got up and marched to the window just in time to see feathers drift downward, and then what little was left of a bird dropped to the ground. Not two feet away from the window, nine men with muskets stood in a row.

“Oh my,” the elder Parson Goodall muttered.

“Parson,” Mister Wallburn whispered, “it is not yet your turn.”

“I see.”

Emiline closed the window and retook her seat. “Go on, Mrs. Watts.”

On one side of the backyard, children played drop the kerchief. On the other side, men pitched axes at a tree while women watched. The women applauded, giggled and whispered, and then turned away when foot racing started down the hill.

Taking opposite seats at a long table in the backyard, two men removed jackets and rolled up their sleeves. “Lumber,” one man said, “that’s where the Empire’s fortune is.”

“And I say it’s whiskey,” the other argued, putting his elbow on the table and flexing his fingers.

The first man aligned his elbow, and then, gripping his opponent’s hand, “I’ll wager a wagonload of lumber against three jugs of whiskey.”

“Of course you will. Whiskey is as good as gold in Kentucky, better even,” the second said. He gritted his teeth, waited for the signal and then applied his strength.

Not far away, a young boy of sixteen leaned around a tree and whispered in the ear of a girl his same age, “I’ll make you a fine husband.” The girl giggled and moved away. The boy watched her go, shrugged, and then sheepishly moved closer to another girl. “I’ll make you a fine husband,” he whispered.

Again, a shot rang out, quickly followed by another. Again, the ladies in the sitting room jumped and screeched. “Merciful heavens,” Emiline gasped, laying both hands on her chest. Just outside the window, Mister Wallburn lowered his musket and put his mouth next to the parson’s ear. “It’s not your turn yet, Parson!” he shouted. “There’s no need to shoot a bird twice. We will not have enough left to dress and eat.”

“I see,” the parson said.

Emiline leaned out the open window. “Horace Wallburn, I’ll have your hide if you don’t move those men away from this window.”

“Miss Emiline, this here is the best place to shoot, what with so many birds and the dogs more than willing to flush them out,” Wallburn argued, quickly taking off his hat.

“Must I come out there with my broom?”

“Well...” Wallburn hesitated. “All right, men, move forward.”

“Not until the parson does,” Harry Cross said. “He’s apt to shoot us.”

“Parson, take three paces forward,” Wallburn shouted.

“Right,” Parson Goodall answered, marching three steps, with the other men cautiously moving as well. “Is it my turn?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Wallburn yelled.

“What’d he say?”

“Not yet,” all the men shouted.

The last man in the row leaned closer to the man beside him. “I say we let him have a turn.”

Emiline closed the window and settled back into her chair. “As I was saying, I hardly could believe my eyes when the last of the trees were cleared away and this enormous house appeared. I don’t recall seeing one as large as this, even in Boston.”

“Is the elder Mister Carson married?” a small, gray-haired woman in her fifties asked. She wore a poorly made straw hat and one shoe was unlaced.

“No, and praise be for it,” Emiline answered. “He’s as stern and as cross as a bear just come out of hibernation. Pity’s the woman who beds that one.”

Outside, Mister Wallburn again put his mouth next to the parson’s ear.

“Your turn, Parson.”

“Indeed?” The parson grinned and quickly lifted his musket to his shoulder. As soon as the dogs rousted another, the parson followed the bird’s flight with the barrel of his musket. He squeezed the trigger, loosed the volley and hit his mark. Just as the bird began to pitch downward, eight men pulled their triggers, blowing the bird into a thousand pieces.

Parson Goodall lowered his musket, watched the tiny bits of bird fall to earth and turned to Wallburn. “I quite see your point,” he said.

At the sound of eight muskets firing at once, Emiline jumped up, marched to the kitchen, grabbed the broom, and headed outside.

*

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BY FOUR IN THE AFTERNOON, the men were drinking heavily, so John sent the African women and children upstairs to safety. By five, Uriah and La Rue had taken chairs next to one another on the back porch. Just like old friends, they enjoyed corn cob pipes and corn whiskey.

“I tell you, these men could easily raise an entire town, if they’ve a mind to,” Uriah said.

“Oui, monsieur.”

“You have sailed down the Mississippi, have you not?”

“Oui.” La Rue answered, watching men spread corn meal on the dance floor and stomp their heels in it to knock splinters off and grind the meal into wax. Other men went inside the new bunkhouse to admire their work. He watched the ladies shoo the arm-wrestlers away and begin filling three long tables with food, while the children took turns on a swing that hung from the oak tree.

“What’s it like, the journey, I mean?” Uriah asked.

“Most perilous, monsieur.”

“Yes, but how perilous? If we are to take our goods to market in New Orleans, it would be good to know precisely how perilous.”

“You will farm?”

“Well, no. We intend raising horses just as we did in Virginia. But a man will not buy our horses if he cannot get his crops to market.”

“Oui,” La Rue said, pausing to take a long drink. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “The river moves, monsieur.”

“You mean toward the sea? That much I do know.”

“No, it moves from side to side. Today it goes this way, the next that. Indians build a village on the bank. The next year the river is ten miles away. Today there is an island, tomorrow, gone,” La Rue said.

“I see, I had no idea.” Uriah also took a swig from his jug.

“Trees. They are hidden in the river. Many die when a barge hits the trees.”

“I can well imagine. How long does it take to see New Orleans?”

This time, it was La Rue who took a swig. “Many weeks.”

“My word, a man can sail to England in little more than a month,” Uriah said. He took another drink and frowned. “I still cannot believe the boy forgot the rum. Too late now, I’m afraid. We’ll not likely see a drop until the people have the good sense to build a proper road...or the Shawnee become more tolerant.”

“Tolerant?”

“Forgiving.”

“Forgiving is not the Shawnee way,” La Rue said, drawing smoke through his pipe and then slowly letting it out. “Your son, monsieur? He is still here, no?”

“Mister La Rue, I cannot think why you worry over him. I assure you, he promised never to put tree sap in your saddle again. Besides, that was years ago. He’s a man now. To your health, Mister La Rue,” he said, starting to raise his jug again.

“You wish to have me healthy?”

“Good heavens, yes. I wouldn’t find the wilderness nearly so challenging if you were not in it. Drink up, sir.”

La Rue studied Uriah suspiciously, and then lifted his jug and took three long swallows.

Uriah watched a tall woman with coal-black hair and green eyes carry a potpie down the steps to the table. “Who might that be? Never have I seen a more beautiful woman.”

At last, La Rue grinned. “She is the sheriff’s wife.”

“Oh my, I’d best warn my son. He is in want of a wife, you know.”

“He forgets Mademoiselle Polly?”

“I believe he has.”

“But he looks for her, no?”

“Well, yes, he has in the past. But it is a hopeless case, and a man is a man after all. How long can he wait? Were I to guess, I’d say he is choosing a wife as we speak. And what woman would not want to be the mistress of Maryridge?”

*

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VIRGINIA

Left alone upstairs to bathe, it wasn’t long before Polly began to fill Mahala with music. Just as John described, her voice was powerful and elegant, and her song was a song of love.

It was Caleb who opened the sitting room doors, and one by one, the Carsons joined the house servants at the foot of Mahala’s grand staircase to listen.

“I like her already,” Elizabeth whispered, wrapping an arm around Rose.

“She looks a bit like Aunt Mary,” Rose whispered back.

“No wonder my brother preferred her,” Caleb said.

Effie and Abby began swaying to the music. “Be quiet, we want to hear.” But the family ignored them.

“When can we see her?” Suzanne asked.

“At dinner,” Rose answered, “but please, all of you, don’t ask about the Indians. She gets an odd look in her eye when she speaks of them.”

*

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KENTUCKY

“And to prosperity,” Uriah was saying. This time he lifted his jug but only pretended to drink.

“Prosperity,” La Rue echoed, taking a mouthful. 

“And to horse thieves. May they die beside the Wilderness Road.”

“To horse thieves.” La Rue drank and leaned forward to watch the ankles as women lifted their skirts to climb the stairs.

Quickly, Uriah grabbed his arm to keep him from falling over. “And to women.”

“Oui, monsieur, to women.”

“To women indeed. We certainly have a lively array of them this day. Now there’s a tempting woman if ever I saw one.”

“Which, monsieur?”

“The one with the very blond hair.”

“But monsieur, she squints.”

“Yes, but when she is not squinting...”

“I prefer that one,” La Rue interrupted, pointing at a brunette in a pink dress.

“Mister La Rue, you surprise me. That’s the most faint-hearted woman of my acquaintance. A man would have his hands full simply protecting her from mice and things. What about the one in blue? She’s perhaps not so very young, but...”

“Madam Puddifoot?”

“Mister La Rue, should you fancy Emiline, I’d...”

“Everyone knows she desires you.”

Uriah looked incredulous. “Everyone?”

“Oui.”

“I see.” This time, Uriah took a very long drink.

With crossed eyes, La Rue watched and waited until Uriah finally lowered his jug. “You will marry her, no?”

“Not if I can avoid it. I have a wife awaiting me in heaven, you see, and I’ve quite a lot of explaining to do without adding another wife.”

La Rue wrinkled his brow, shrugged and began to scan the crowd again. Suddenly, he spotted her. “Is that Mademoiselle Eleanor?”

Uriah squinted to see across the yard. “I do believe it is, and I see my son has joined her. The girl becomes a woman before our very eyes.”

“Oui, monsieur,” La Rue said, sitting up a little straighter. “She is so...”

“Gifted in the bosom? So she is, my good man, so she is. And if I’m not mistaken, my son has taken a fancy to her. See how he watches her every move?”

“He watches to see she does not break things.”

“Break ...why Eleanor hasn’t broken anything in weeks. She’s become charming and quite well mannered. A complete transformation, one might say.”

“And your son prefers her?”

Uriah struggled to get to his feet and just in time, put a hand on the railing to steady himself. “He does. If I am correct, Eleanor will soon begin filling the whole territory with British Carsons.”

La Rue narrowed his eyes. He waited for Uriah to go in the house before he turned a more careful eye on John and Eleanor.

*

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VIRGINIA

The usual time for dinner had come and gone. But still the Carsons patiently waited in Mahala’s assembly room, while Rose helped Polly into a borrowed dress. Finally, the two of them came out of John’s bedchamber.

“Allow me,” Adam said, rushing up the stairs to escort them down.

“She does look like Mary,” Elizabeth whispered, watching her descend the stairs.

“Mama, Papa, allow me to present the Quaker, Polly Lewis, of Maryland,” Adam said.

Elizabeth hugged Polly. “My dear, you are lovely. And if John adores you, you’ll hear no objections from us. You must be starving,” she went on, looping her arm through Polly’s and guiding her into the dining room.

“And we simply cannot wait to hear about the Indians,” Effie said, following.

“Effie,” Rose scolded.

Abby quickly took the chair next to her twin at the table. “Well, we’ve only seen one in our entire lives.”

While Adam held her chair, Rose threw the babies a hostile look and sat down. “Effie and Abby captured Laughing Rain in our barn.”

Polly grinned. “Did they?”

Effie rolled her eyes and threw her hands in the air. “Don’t the lot of you ever tire of telling that old story?”

“No,” all the Carsons said at once.

*

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KENTUCKY

The first three times La Rue checked the time, he struggled to get his gold pocket watch out of his pocket. Then he struggled to put it back in. By the fourth time, he couldn’t find his pocket, so he simply watched the sunset and marveled as a dozen lanterns were lit to take its place. The people ate, the dance began, someone lit a fire and John kept a close eye on Eleanor. Then Uriah took Eleanor on a stroll around the yard, pausing just below the verandah where La Rue sat...so Eleanor’s “gifts” would be in full view. Just as La Rue was about to speak, Uriah whisked her away.

*

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VIRGINIA

“But, Rose, I’m not sure I would have stayed in Kentucky, even if John had been there when Tecumseh brought me home. The only arms I wanted to hold were those of a mother I’d never see again,” Polly said, fluffing the pillows and then slipping beneath the covers on John’s bed.

“I cannot imagine losing Mama,” Rose said, sitting down on the bed beside her. Both women were wearing dressing gowns and white lace sleeping bonnets.

“I am heartbroken still. The last time we were together, I was short with her, and I have not yet forgiven myself.”

“How dreadful. Can I bring you anything, tea perhaps?”

“No, but I thank thee. I thank thee also for keeping thy family from asking about the Indians. I don’t want them to think unkindly of me,” Polly said.

Rose tucked a strand of hair beneath her bonnet and made herself more comfortable on the bed. “I assure you, they could never have an unkind thought about someone John loves.”

“Thou canst know that. Thou canst know...what I have done.”

“I doubt you’ve done anything that unspeakable. Besides, we are not so proper as we seem. Once, at the age of fourteen, Maralee and I stole Papa’s smoking jacket, his pipe, his finest Virginia tobacco, and set about learning how to smoke in our room.”

Polly giggled.

“And when we heard him coming, we nearly set the house ablaze trying to put it out. But after, Papa loved us just the same. Rachel and Suzanne are wiser, but Effie and Abby are... Well, left in a room with them for very long, you’ll not have a secret to your name.” Rose paused to catch her breath. “Are you tired, or shall I stay for a while?”

“Please stay, I’m much too excited to sleep. Is this truly John’s room?”

“Aye,” Rose answered. “His is the biggest bed, or so it appeared when we were small. He was the only one without a twin taking up all the room. On stormy nights, Maralee and I would climb in beside him for protection. When the other two sets of twins arrived, they did the same. Poor John would wait patiently until we slept and then creep away to find comfort in one of our beds.

One morning, when Mama could find none of us, she let out a bloodcurdling scream, convinced we’d been kidnapped. There we were, all six of us in John’s bed and frightened out of our wits, and Mister John Samuel Carson was nowhere to be found.”

“Thou art the best storyteller I have ever met,” Polly said.

“Yes, well, three sets of twins tend to lend themselves to stories. Wait until you hear the ones John has to tell.”

“I can hardly wait. I have not seen him for so long, is he...has he changed?”

“Not much. Come to think of it, I saved his letters from Kentucky,” she said, leaping to her feet and scurrying from the room. In seconds she was back, handing Polly three letters bound with string. “I’d best look in on Christopher and settle my husband a little. Adam is nearly as excited as you, and we must decide how to break the news of our departure to the family.” Then she was gone again, this time closing the door behind her.

Polly slowly untied the string, unfolded the first letter and gently touched John’s handwriting. At first, she read it word for word. But soon she began skimming until she found her name:

“Oh, Rose,” the letter read, “dare I dream of finding Polly? Dare I think God would allow it, knowing how I’ve hurt her? I tell you even war was not so wretched as this endless ache I have to hold her in my arms.”

Polly closed the letter and tears began to stream down her cheeks.

*

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KENTUCKY

When he entered the kitchen, La Rue had his hat in his hand. His eyes were half closed and his whole body swayed. “Madame Puddifoot, we speak of Eleanor, no?” Blurred faces quickly passed by on both sides, as the other women politely excused themselves and left the room.

“Over here, Mister La Rue,” Emiline said, waving a towel at him from the far corner. “On the other hand, I’d best come to you and you best sit down.”

“Oui, Madame,” La Rue said, allowing her to help him to a chair at the table.

Emiline hung her wet towel on a wall hook and seated herself. “What about Eleanor?”

“She is old enough to marry, no?”

“Well, yes,” Emiline answered, noticing Uriah’s face through the window. Pretending to fan herself with her hand, she tried to shoo him away.

“Why do you ask? Mister La Rue, do you wish to marry her?”

“Oui, Madame. I make a good husband.”

“A wealthy one at least. Do you promise not to harm her?”

“Madame Puddifoot, I love her with such passion, I...”

“Yes, well, the problem is, several other men have asked for her hand and Eleanor has refused them all. She says she doesn’t want a husband.”

“But, Madame, I can live no more without her.”

“I see,” Emiline said, again trying to unsuccessfully shoo Uriah away from the window. “I’ll speak to her then.”

*

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VIRGINIA

Rose quietly opened the door, peeked in and found Polly weeping. “My dear, what’s wrong?”

“He still loves me,” she sobbed. 

She rushed to the bed and wrapped her arms around Polly. “Of course he does.”

“Yes, but he will not. My sins are so very grievous.”

Rose dug a kerchief out of her pocket and handed it to Polly. “My dear, it simply cannot be as bad as all that. Do tell me. If you don’t, I doubt either of us will be able to sleep.”

“I’ve had a husband...an Indian husband.”

“Just as we feared, they forced you,” Rose said, biting her lower lip.

“No, I went willingly.”

“I see.”

Polly took a deep breath, shoved the covers aside and scooted until she sat on the edge of the bed next to Rose. “When I was first taken, I was terrified. The Choctaw smelled of bear grease, did not speak English and I nearly drowned crossing the River Ohio. They sold me to the Shawnee. Tecumseh spoke some English, enough to ease my fear, but then the Illinois attacked us. An Illinois Indian bent down from his horse, put an arm around my waist and carried me away. I screamed and saw the look on Tecumseh’s face, but he couldn’t help. Women were screaming, muskets were firing, and all I could think was, Please God, let me die quickly.

The man held me too tightly as he rode swiftly. My ribs began to hurt and my breath was nearly gone before he noticed. He halted, eased me to the ground and said words I could not understand. I wanted to hate him, but his face was filled with regret. When the others came, he put me astride his horse, climbed on behind and took me north. He held me gently and tried to comfort me with his words, but the next day, my pain grew greater still.”

“He’d broken your ribs?” Rose asked.

“Yes. That night as we camped near a stream, he took me away from the others. He motioned that I should remove my dress. I would not. So he showed me a wide strap of leather and wrapped it around his own ribs. Then I understood, so I turned my back, let down my bodice and he bound me. It greatly eased my pain. We rode for days and each night I let down my bodice so he could adjust my binding. I feared him each time, but he did not take advantage.”

Rose wrinkled her brow. “They are not so savage as I thought.”

“When we reached the village, he set a tent, gathered wood, and made me a warm bed of bear fur, yet, he went to another tent. The others were shy at first, but soon the children came to touch my white skin and gaze into my blue eyes, and I easily came to love them. Then winter came.” Polly stopped to take another deep breath. “The wind was bitter cold and howled night and day. I could not keep the fire lit, and...”

“You went in to him?”

Polly hung her head. “I could think of no other way to survive.”

“And you think John would blame you for that?”

“I was not married, it was a sin.”

“True, but neither God nor John would have wanted you to freeze to death.”

“Thou art very kind, but John...”

Rose folded her arms. “It is clearly John’s own fault. If he had not married a woman he did not love, he would have rescued you long before winter. Better still, he should have married you before he left Kentucky.”

Polly thought for a moment and then lifted her chin. “Thou art right.”

“Indeed I am.”

“Thou makest me hopeful he will not reject me.”

“If he does, I will shoot him.”

“But Rose, there is more.”

*

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KENTUCKY

They stood in a row with their backs to the bonfire, two couples on one side of Uriah and two couples on the other. Uriah leaned around, handed Eleanor a small bouquet of half-wilted flowers and tightened his grip on a swaying Jacque La Rue’s arm. In front of them stood Parson Goodall with his Bible open and his reading glasses slid all the way to the end of his nose.

As the parson searched his Bible for the proper place, John made his way through the crowd until he stood next to Emiline. “Shall we enjoy ourselves a little?” he whispered.

“How so?”

“Go stand next to Papa.”

“You’re more like your father than I thought,” she snapped, darting away.

“Gentlemen, do you take these lovely, most becoming ladies—” Parson Goodall began.

*

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VIRGINIA

“When he’d learned enough English,” Polly was saying, “My...husband told of fine land further west. There are enormous mountains, but before the mountains, there is a wide plain where few trees grow.”

“Do you mean a desert?”

“No, the rains are plentiful and the grass is tall. Thousands of Indians live there, as do great herds of bison, and there are many rivers.”

“Has he seen all this, do you think?” Rose asked, curling her legs up under her on the bed.

“I cannot be sure. But we moved so often, I feared they wouldst take me there.”

“Why did they move often?”

“To hide from other tribes and to find food, but as winter continued, food became more scarce. We went three days without before a warrior trapped a rabbit. I thought they would give it to the children. Instead, they offered it to me.”

“To you, why?”

“I did not know. I attempted to give it back, but the women would not take it. So I smelled the sweet aroma, tasted a bit and then gave it to the children. The next day, two deer came into the village and just stood there waiting to be killed.”

“Sent from God?”

“I believed it and greatly praised Him for it, but the people thought me responsible. Again they offered the first to me. Again, I smelled, tasted and gave it back. And the hunt became still more plentiful.”

“They believed you blessed them?”

“Rose, I have no power to bless.” Polly stopped and closed her eyes for a moment. “In spring, I had a child...a little girl. She did not draw breath.”

“Oh, Polly, how awful.”

“Then came a horrible raid on the village. Twenty-six died, including the man I called husband.”

“Dear God in heaven,” Rose muttered.

“The Illinois saw it as a sign that the Great Father was angry. So as soon as the snow melted, they took me back to Tecumseh.”

“I don’t think I could survive such a thing. Now I have second thoughts about going to Kentucky.”

“So have I,” Polly said.

*

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KENTUCKY

It was nearly the evening of the next day before their neighbors loaded wagons and headed home. Exhausted, Emiline sat down on the front steps, heaved a sigh of relief and rested her head against the railing.

“Are you unwell?” John asked, sitting down beside her.

“Good heavens, no. I’m merely relieved it’s over.”

“As am I,” Uriah said, sitting down in a straight-back chair on the verandah.

“Indeed?” John said. “I thought the two of you were enjoying yourselves immensely. While I, on the other hand, have never been so busy. Our company shot holes in the new slave quarters. Countless times I had to save a woman from being carried off, and there isn’t an inch of land, inside or out, that does not hold an empty whiskey jug. And ... the sheriff was the worst of the lot. He put a full jug in the fire, hoping it would explode.”

“I’d have liked seeing that myself,” Uriah grinned. “He certainly has a most becoming wife.”

“She, I had to rescue five times, while the sheriff was off rolling La Rue down the hill in a barrel.”

Uriah laughed and clapped his hands. “Did you see that, Emiline? The speed at which it rolled down the hill was positively splendid. Had it not hit the tree—”

“Papa, La Rue might have been killed.”

“Nonsense, men like La Rue do not die in a barrel. If they did, we’d see far more barrels aimed at trees. Besides, La Rue deserved it. He drank the last jug of whiskey.”

John took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “Did he? Then how is it you had another to toast his bride?”

“I’d forgotten about that one. And speaking of brides, my dear Emiline, you outdid yourself with Eleanor’s dress.”

“Why, thank you, Uriah. Was she hard to convince?”

“Not nearly as hard as he. I merely explained the lifetime advantages of having a wealthy husband,” Uriah answered.

“Well done,” said Emiline. “I never in my life imagined La Rue would actually marry her.”

“Neither did La Rue.”

John turned to glare at his father. “Papa, what have you done?”

“I simply made La Rue a happy man.”

“But the man was drunk.”

“Aye, drunk with love.”

“No, drunk with whiskey,” John shot back.

“Was he? I had not guessed that,” Uriah said.

Abruptly, John got to his feet, climbed the steps and disappeared inside the house.

“The boy seems somewhat annoyed,” Emiline said.

“Yes, but he will not be as soon as he realizes Eleanor is gone.”

*

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“LISTEN,” URIAH SAID, rising up in his saddle to see over a tall bush.

“What?” John asked, following his father’s gaze to a gathering of settlers wading into the Kentucky River.

“The parson does not yell. He does not shout condemnation and people come to be baptized anyway. Do you see how very peaceful they look...and the parson actually smiles. He is not at all like the parsons in Virginia.”

“I see what you mean.”

Uriah dismounted and began tying his horse to a bush. “It is time then. This day, I will see to my baptism.”

“You’ve not been baptized, not even as a boy?” John asked, getting off his horse.

“Not that I recall. Have you?”

“Aye, Mama saw to it years ago.”

“Then you need not come along,” Uriah said, boldly walking toward the river. But when he neared, he hesitated, and at length, he took a seat on a log.

An hour later he was still sitting there with John right beside him. The last in line baptized, Parson Adlee Sax waded out of the water, gathered his things, sat down on the other side of Uriah, and began to roll down his pant leg.

“I have come to be baptized,” Uriah said.

“So I have noticed,” the parson said. His dark hair was wavy and his eyes were a soft brown.

“Why do you not yell at them?”

The parson rolled down his other pant leg, “I don’t have the constitution for it. Why do you hesitate to be baptized?”

“I cannot say precisely,” Uriah answered, his brow deeply wrinkled.

“Well then, allow me to ask a few simple questions. Were I to baptize you, how long should I hold you under?”

Uriah’s eyes widened. “How long?”

“Uh huh, have you a lot of sins to wash away, or just a few?”

“Well, I...”

The parson quickly interrupted, “Do you lust after women, sir?”

“Never,” Uriah answered, raising his chin a little.

John and the parson exchanged quick glances. “Never?” both asked at the same time.

“Well, perhaps once,” Uriah admitted, turning to glare at John. “But it was before I married your mother. In fact, it was your mother.”

“Papa,” John said, rolling his eyes.

Parson Sax brushed the dirt off his foot and pulled on a sock. “Tell me, do you steal, tell lies, or think to kill other men?”

“I do not steal. I tell lies only when necessary and just now I think to kill only one man.”

“Who?” John asked.

“Thomas Rodes, naturally. And must I make confession in front of my son?”

“Certainly not, sir,” the parson answered.

“Good.”

“And,” the parson went on, “do you harbor ill will against a neighbor?”

“Met the Widow Puddifoot, have you? In that case, I think to kill one man and one woman.”

“Papa, I thought you and Emiline were getting along.”

“We were...until she called me a feeble-minded, short-sighted nanny goat, merely because I declined an invitation to tea at her sister’s in Harrodsburg. I tell you, the woman is intolerable.”

“I believe five minutes should do it,” Parson Sax said, pulling on his other sock.

Uriah’s mouth dropped. “You cannot mean you think to hold me under water for five whole minutes.”

“My dear sir, the idea of baptism is to convince a man he reeks with sin and is in need of a bath. Simply put, you require more convincing than most.”

“But what of the good I have done? Can you not lessen my time for that?”

“If you had a house made of pure white satin, would you allow a man with muddy feet to enter...even if his hands were clean? You would not, sir, and neither would God. What about love?”

“What do you mean, love?” Uriah asked.

Parson Sax worked his feet into his shoes. “Men fill their homes with those who love them and so does God. Baptism not only washes our wretched sins, it announces our love for the Father.”

A perplexed look crossed Uriah’s face. “God is in need of love? I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“Without love, we suffer intolerable loneliness,” the parson went on, “A God who loves us requires our love in return.”

“I see,” Uriah said, thoughtfully rubbing his forehead.

“Now, if I might be excused,” the parson said, standing up. “I have not eaten all day and I mean to catch a few fish.”

Uriah quickly got to their feet. “In that case, my son and I would be pleased if you would dine with us.”

“Am I to believe this is your son?” the parson asked, picking up a fishing pole made of two sticks crudely tied together. Abruptly, he headed up the riverbank.

Uriah stared after him for a long moment before he turned to John. “The man’s not got the wits I thought he had. Can’t he see the resemblance?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“Why indeed,” Uriah said, hurrying after the parson.

Parson Sax stopped, drew his pole back, cast his line into the river, and waited for the Carsons to catch up. Again, he cast his line before he finally turned to Uriah. “I, sir, am the son of a slave.”

“But you cannot be, your skin is as white as mine.”

“Nevertheless, my mother is a slave just as her mother was—each woman’s blood mingling with that of their white masters. But to believe it, you must accept my word. So it is with God. His word is in a book and it is the only proof we have that Jesus was His son. We either believe it or we don’t. But I ask you, would you spend the evening with a man who refused to acknowledge your son?”

“I’d not let him in the house,” Uriah answered.

The parson slowly pulled his fishing line to shore. Again, he drew back the rod and cast his hook into the water. “Nor would God.”

“Parson, you have no bait,” John said. “You’d best dine with us before you starve.”

“I accept,” the parson happily said, quickly hiding his pole in the bushes.

John walked the parson back toward the horses, leaving his father just standing there. “I was wondering. If we build a church, will you stay?”

“I will, but I’ll not deny my mother,” the parson answered. “If they ask, I will tell the truth.”

“Aye, but who would think to ask,” said John, casually glancing back. “In fact, we have a secret or two of our own. I think you’ll find it interesting to know...”

Wait!” Uriah shouted. “You’ve not yet baptized me.”

Parson Sax slowly turned around. “Is he always this slow?”

“He gets worse every day,” John admitted.

*

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FARMING ON A HILLSIDE meant carrying buckets and buckets of water up, pouring the water on the ground and then letting it run down the furrowed rows. Still, three African men familiar only with growing tobacco, and two white men not familiar with growing anything at all, somehow managed. They grew carrots, beans, squash, potatoes, lettuce, tomatoes, and six long rows of tall, healthy corn. Then came the harvest.

Using leather pads to protect her hands, Lilly carried a large pot of hot stew to the long table in the back yard. “Dinner!” she shouted, setting the pot down. Then she turned to the black woman behind her carrying plates and spoons. “Isabelle, you be hum’n dat same tune all day long.”

Isabelle was still much too thin...proof of years of hard work with little food. Yet, even after the hard journey over the mountains with Gideon, Isabelle beamed. “I’s be happy. I’s be free!”

“I’s be happy too. But I’s be happier if’n you’d stop hum’n,” Lilly said, swatting the flies away while Isabelle dished up plates for the children.

Whistler was the first to arrive at the table. “We got’s a good crop,” he grinned, pecking Lilly on the cheek. He grabbed an empty plate and held it out to Isabelle.

Just then, Seth poked his head out of the corn and yelled, “Rider com’n.” Instantly, Whistler handed the plate to his wife and rushed into the house.

He scurried through the kitchen, down the hall and to the front door. Lilly quickly followed, pretending to set the master’s more festive dinner on the dining room table. Staying outside, Isabelle and Harry hushed the children and put on their faces of misery.

Uriah watched from the side of the house as the rider came up the lane, “Well, fancy that, it’s La Rue. We’ve not seen him since the wedding.”

John pulled his work gloves off and headed up the back steps. “He’s no doubt come to hang you, Papa.”

Whistler waited, but La Rue did not come to the front door. Instead, he rode around the house and halted his horse just short of the back verandah.

“I say, Mister La Rue, you look positively splendid,” Uriah said, climbing the steps to join his son. “Are those new clothing? Or is it marriage to our beloved Eleanor that puts a twinkle in your eyes?”

La Rue glared at Uriah for a moment and then turned a critical eye on each of the slaves. “Madame Eleanor demands I buy for her Gideon,” he said finally.

John rolled his eyes. “You cannot be serious.”

“Monsieur, I am most serious,” La Rue said, watching Whistler quietly come out and stand in front of the backdoor.

“Tell Eleanor Gideon is not for sale.”

La Rue turned in his saddle and looked Whistler over carefully. “Then you will sell another, no?”

“I’m afraid not,” Uriah said.

“I pay thirty pounds sterling.”

“Thirty pounds? I’d not sell the dog for...”

“Maryridge has no slaves for sale,” John interrupted.

“Forty, Monsieur John.”

John’s eyes turned cold and unfeeling. “No.”

“What he means is,” Uriah quickly put in, “we simply cannot spare them. We’ve a harvest, you see.”

La Rue shifted in his saddle. “Fifty pounds for Gideon.”

“Mister La Rue, Gideon is not here,” Uriah said.

“Even if he were, he is not for sale at any price,” John added. “Nor are the rest of them.”

“Monsieur, be reasonable, Madam Eleanor is...how you say...”

“Insistent?” Uriah asked.

“Oui, most insistent.”

“Has she taken to throwing things?” Uriah asked. When La Rue hesitated, Uriah went on. “I once had an acquaintance, whose wife threw things, and he handled the situation quite eloquently – he handed her more to break. When she had destroyed all she owned, he then refused to replace even the simplest item. After three months without a plate to eat from, she begged his forgiveness.”

“Can this be so, monsieur?”

“I was witness to it myself. In the wilderness, a man cannot easily replace things even if he is tempted. Besides, I am not inclined to indulge Eleanor, now that she has...you know.”

“She has what?” John asked.

“John, do go in to dinner. Mister La Rue, we have plenty, will you join us?” La Rue looked at Uriah suspiciously. “I’ve a wife, no?”

“Indeed you do. The most handsome wife in the whole territory, I sadly say. Another time perhaps.”

La Rue tipped his hat, turned his horse and rode away. As soon as he was out of sight, Whistler went back to his dinner. Lilly came back out, Harry and Isabelle smiled, the children renewed their laughter and Uriah tossed his hat at a nail. He missed.

“Papa, is there something you’ve not told me?” John asked, picking up his father’s hat and handing it back to him. “What has Eleanor done?”

Uriah took the short round hat and carefully examined the inside rim. “I cannot think what you mean.”

“Papa?”

“Oh well, if you must know. La Rue somehow thinks you...well, you fancied Eleanor.”

“What? Papa, you did not?”

“Why do you always assume I have done something wrong?” Uriah asked, tossing his hat at the nail, watching it catch, swing back and forth and then fall off.

John swooped up the hat, hung it on the nail and opened the back door. “You need a wife.”

“Whatever for?”

“To keep you under careful regulation.”

Suddenly, Whistler drew in a sharp breath, “Massah John, Indians!

“Where?”

“On de ridge,” Whistler answered, pointing above the bunkhouse.

The Indians were clothed in nothing more than deer skin flaps over their loins and beaded bands around their heads. Long black streaks of charcoal marked their bare chests, and all three rode bareback on horses with feathers woven into the manes.

“Laughing Rain?” Uriah muttered, a look of concern on his face. He watched John run across the backyard and head up the path. Then he walked down the steps until he stood next to Whistler. “It’s Laughing Rain... Something is very wrong. He would never come this near the settlements dressed like that. It is too dangerous.”

John hurried up the hillside, burst through the last of the trees and searched Laughing Rain’s expressionless face. “Shining Woman?”

“She hides in the forest. The baby has not yet come.”

“And Brave Hunter?”

Laughing Rain looked away, seeking instead the eyes of Uriah, who stood watching from below. He nudged his horse forward, went around John and started down the path. “Brave Hunter is dead. We are forty-seven Cherokee.”

Stunned, John froze for a second and then finally moved aside to let the others pass. “Only forty-seven?”

By the time the Cherokee descended the ridge, Uriah had closed the shutters in the sitting room and stood waiting. Outside, Whistler was ready to cut the feathers out of the manes and put the horses in the corral. Seth and Harry were upstairs foraging for spare clothing and Lilly had carried the pot back in the kitchen and started three more plates. Isabelle took the children to the bunkhouse.

Uriah had just finished lighting two candles when Laughing Rain and John came in the room. Laughing Rain quickly walked to Uriah and grasped both of his arms. Then, unable to fight back the tears, he slumped to his knees.

“They have murdered my son.”

“Dear God in heaven,” Uriah muttered. He helped Laughing Rain to the davenport and sat down beside him. John hurried to the desk, yanked open a lower door and pulled out a jug of whiskey.

Laughing Rain drew in huge breaths and tried to blink away his pain. “My parents are dead.”

“But your parents live in Virginia,” Uriah said.

“Whites mocked them, so I burned their house and took them to the village. I took them to their deaths.”

Uriah bowed his head. “I cannot think what to say,” he whispered.

“Here,” John said, handing Laughing Rain a cup. He waited until the Cherokee drank and then refilled the cup.

“Is Shining Woman alive?” Uriah asked.

“Yes, but the village is burned. We have no food and nothing to trade.”

“Then you did well coming to us,” John said. “The Spanish have closed the Mississippi river, and our Kentucky crops are destined to rot in the fields. Is there nothing left of the village?”

“They came in the night with torches. They burned everything, even the church.”

John set the jug down on a nearby table and hung his head. “I must know, is Gideon dead?”

“He went south three days before.”

*

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“I’LL BE BACK BEFORE the full moon, Papa,” John said, tipping his hat. Seated on his horse, he followed the Cherokee and six fully loaded packhorses up the path to the ridge. When he reached the top, he paused to look back. Then he turned south and disappeared into the forest.

“God speed, my son,” Uriah muttered.

In silence, John and the others followed the narrow warrior’s path, winding their way through trees and bushes, up one side of the foothills and down the other. At night, they slept in bedrolls and then continued on the next day, until they came to the place where the mountains spew forth their thousands on the Wilderness Road.

“Can we cross, do you think?” John whispered, crouching next to Laughing Rain. He carefully parted a thick fern and peeked through. Several yards away, scores of settlers had begun making camp for the night. The men were building fires and laying out thin blankets, while the women prepared what little food they had.

“Once I pitied them,” Laughing Rain said, “now, my heart cries out with hate.”

John let go of the fern and sat down on the ground. “In the war, I hated the British. When whole American families were needlessly tortured and killed, I hated the Tories. And when Hester died, I found my heart filled with hatred for a cold, unfeeling river. But in England, I found the British delightful, the Tories remarkably common and I cannot imagine a world without rivers. Besides, just now, we have no time for hate, we have forty seven Cherokee to feed. Tell me, how do we get fresh food through hungry settlers without them noticing?”

Long after midnight, John and Laughing Rain were still slipping through the forest looking for a break in the endless string of campfires and bedrolls. Finally, they found a gap of nearly fifty feet with only one man on guard. The Cherokee covered the horses’ hooves with buckskin and watched as John crept to the edge of the road with a full sack of food thrown over his shoulder. He waited until the man, dressed in ragged clothing, turned his direction.

Slowly, John stood up and raised his hands. “Don’t shoot,” he whispered.

“What are you sneaking round for, Mister?” the guard asked, quickly pointing his musket at John.

“Shhhh,” John cautioned. He stepped out and then paused as a woman stirred, turned over, and went back to sleep. “I mean you no harm, I’ve come to make a trade,” he went on, cautiously moving closer.

“What sort of trade?” he asked too loudly.

“Safe passage for my friends in exchange for breakfast and dinner for your family.”

“Food?” the man whispered, finally becoming worried that others might hear.

“Aye, potatoes, carrots and corn.”

The man slowly gulped and lowered his musket. “We have not seen corn in four months. I’ll trade, mister, I’ll trade anything you want.”

“All I want is safe passage and your pledge that you will not wake the others.”

“You have my solemn vow. Quiet as a mouse.”

John opened the sack just enough to let the man peak in, “Quiet as...”

“...a mouse,” the man said, licking his lips.

“Good.” Before the man could react, John grabbed the barrel of his musket. “I’ll give it back once they’re away.”

Reluctantly, the man yielded the gun and watched as John motioned toward the bushes. Suddenly, his eyes grew large and his mouth dropped. “Indians?”

“Peaceful Indians, they’ll not harm you,” John said, quickly handing him the sack of food. He watched as Laughing Rain led the others across the road and into the forest on the other side. As soon as they were safely across, John handed back the musket, tipped his hat and hurried after them.

“Well, I’ll be,” the man muttered.

*

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THE MOUNTAINS SEEMED endless, the nights too short and the days too long. Their bodies ached from riding, but still, the Cherokee pushed on until at last, they crested the final mountain, descended into the valley and crossed the Tennessee River. Slowly and reverently, they made their way through the charred rubble. Not far from where the Quaker church once stood, freshly dug graves were marked with make-do Christian crosses. They turned east, passed the place where Laughing Rain’s house had been, and did not stop until they reached the edge of the partially burned forest.

Laughing Rain held his musket high in the air and waited. One by one, whites, Cherokee and Africans stepped out, but Shining Woman was not among them. Then, somewhere in the forest – a baby cried. Laughing Rain slid off his horse and raced toward the sound. Then, for a long moment, there was only silence until Laughing Rain’s shout finally echoed through the trees. “I have a son!”

*

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ON SUNDAY EVENING, Emiline Puddifoot did not stop halfway up the hill to admire the view. Nor did she knock before bursting through the front door and into the Carson sitting room.

“La Rue has killed a man!” she said, gasping for air.

Sound asleep in a chair, Uriah’s eyes shot wide open. “For pity sakes, are you going to make a habit of startling me?”

“Well, I had no idea you were so old you required a daily nap. Go back to sleep,” she snapped, turning to go.

“Wait!” he said, struggling to his feet. “You cannot go now.”

She marched back into the foyer and reached for the doorknob. “Oh, can’t I?”

Just in time, Uriah stopped the door with his hand. “Emiline, please.”

“Please? I did not know you were familiar with that word.”

“I am familiar with a good many words. It’s just that you rarely allow me to speak. Now come, sit. You’ve not yet had your tea, and I’m getting too old to chase after you.”

“How old are you?” she asked.

“If you must know, I am fifty-two.”

“Good heavens, that is old. I’m surprised you can manage at all.”

Uriah rolled his eyes, took hold of her elbow and guided her back into the sitting room. “I believe you were telling of La Rue.”

“I’ll have my tea first.”

“Naturally,” he said, flashing a forced grin, and then leaving the room. In the kitchen, Uriah found the teakettle still hot, tossed a spoonful of tea leaves in a cup, added her usual amount of honey and rushed to pour the water. When he returned, Emiline was studying the base of the clock on the mantel.

“What on earth is in here? It must weigh twenty pounds,” she said.

“Never mind that, have your tea and tell me about La Rue.”

Emiline shrugged, sat down near the window, accepted the cup and saucer from Uriah and slowly sipped. “Have you shot all your slaves?”

“No, they’re tending their baths. Emiline, must you postpone me further?” he asked, moving a tall-back chair directly in front of her and sitting down.

“Oh, very well, let me think... Oh, well, it being Sunday with decent folks in church where they should be, Sheriff Purdy was nowhere to be found, you see. Off gallivanting with his pretty wife, no doubt, and she already having so many children the Good Book’s run out of names. That’s when it happened.”

“What happened?”

“Simon Chester, that’s what happened. He’s a fine man with the good sense to allow his wife only seven children. He kindly waited until Parson Goodall passed the plate... Poor Parson Goodall got but one shilling for the Lord’s work, and he’d not have gotten that without me.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Emiline, get on with it.”

“What for? Have you something to do at last?” she asked. When he only glared, she went on, “As I was about to say, Simon Chester waited until the last Amen, shouted something about forgiveness, drew his pistol, and headed out the door. I’d have gotten there sooner, but everyone else got in my way. By the time I passed the cobbler shop, I heard a bang. And that was the end of it,” she said, lifting the cup to her lips and slowly taking a sip.

“Emiline, would you be so kind as to give me a few more details?”

“There’s little more to tell. The man’s dead, shot through the heart.”

“Mister Chester?”

“No, Sheriff Purdy.”

Uriah let his head sharply drop and closed his eyes, “But you just said Sheriff Purdy was nowhere to be found.”

“Well, he never is, you know, not on Sunday. Most folks tend to be more respectful on Sundays.”

“Then La Rue shot Sheriff Purdy?”

“He did not mean to. Mister Chester called La Rue out, claiming La Rue took his land. He drew his pistol, La Rue drew, and Sheriff Purdy stepped in between.”

“Did they both shoot him?”

Emiline rolled her eyes and set her tea down, “No, Mister Chester held his shot.”

“I see.”

“Poor Mrs. Purdy, a widow with all those children. Well, I best be on my way,” she said, getting up, pulling her shawl tight and starting for the foyer. “I’ve a pot pie to make. The widow Purdy will not feel up to cooking, and children get hungry no matter what happens.”

Uriah puffed his cheeks and hurried after her. “Do extend our deepest sympathies. I don’t suppose you have news of another duel between Mister Chester and La Rue?”

“No, but I doubt Mister Chester has forgotten the matter. Perhaps you might come to church Sunday next and see for yourself.”

“Perhaps I might.”

Emiline instantly turned her glare on him. “Is that so? As I recall, you said you’d sooner pull a plow than hear a belly yell’n, mule-faced circuit rider.”

“My dear, Mrs. Puddifoot, I’ve read the Good Book, and nowhere does it say the road to heaven is lined with uncivil circuit riders, particularly those such as you’ve taken a fancy to.”

“You’ve read the Good Book? I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, I have just the same.”

“What does it say, then?”

Uriah stared at her. “The whole thing?”

“I have not time for the whole thing, I’ve a potpie to make. Just tell me this, is there a hell?” she asked, opening the door herself.

“I don’t intend to find out – I’m going to heaven.”

“And how do you intend to get there?”

“How?”

“Yes, how?” she asked. “If you’ve read the Book, you must know how.”

“If it pleases you to know, the Book says the angels will escort me there. Naturally, as I am passing hell, I will pause to tip my hat to those I expect to see there.”

Emiline narrowed her eyes and put a hand on her hip. “Like me?”

“I did not say you. But you must admit heaven will not be so very heavenly with the both of us there.”

“I completely agree. You know, I’ve grown fond of you. But not so fond as to go to hell so you can keep heaven for yourself. And another thing, you need to read the Book again. It says to love thy neighbor.”

Total shock crossed Uriah’s face. He watched her leave, closed the door and walked back to his chair. Thoughtfully, he put on his reading glasses and picked up his Bible. “Surely, it doesn’t say that.”

*

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FOR DAYS, THE CHEROKEE concentrated on cutting timber, sifting through the remains of homes and recovering all they could. At night, they slept in a circle in the forest with the children in the center, the women surrounding them and the men keeping watch. In a small clearing, John sat Indian style next to Laughing Rain near a campfire.

“Have you ever scalped a man?” John asked.

“Only a dead one,” Laughing Rain answered, drawing smoke through a long pipe, and then handing it to John.

John took the pipe and puffed on it to keep it lit. Drawing in the smoke, he handed it back. “I cannot imagine such a thing.”

“The British pay well for white scalps. All Indians take them.”

“Did you scalp the white men who attacked you?”

“We did,” Laughing Rain answered. “It is the Indian way.”

John slowly took in the quiet scene of sleeping people. At length, he leaned closer. “But half your people are white.”

“In your war, did you take money, guns, and boots off of redcoats?”

“Of course we did, we needed them.”

“We need what the British pays for scalps.”

“It’s not the same. Boots can be replaced, scalps cannot.”

At that, Laughing drew on the pipe and slowly let the smoke escape his mouth. “Dead men replace neither boots nor scalps. The British need proof of victory. They do not pay for boots.”

“Blame the British, you mean?”

“We do not scalp for pleasure.”

“But some do, don’t they?”

“Some. Some men find pleasure in raping a woman or hurting a child. Some men are evil; it is the way of all nations.”

Just then, a dog quickly sat up and perked her ears. Instantly, both Laughing Rain and John reached for their muskets and got up. For several minutes, they scanned the darkness. Then the dog settled back down and at length, they returned to the warmth of the fire.

The pipe had gone out and Laughing Rain did not bother to relight it. Instead, he toyed with a twig. “We send our chief to General Washington. We ask for peace.”

“Good.”

“Will he give it? Will he send protection?”

“My friend, he doesn’t have the troops to protect himself. Still, a treaty should have some measure of usefulness. On the other hand, I don’t imagine settlers yet know the difference between a Cherokee with a treaty and a Muskhogean without one. Perhaps we might put up a rather large sign – This way to peaceful Indians.”

At last, Laughing Rain smiled.

*

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MORE THAN A MONTH HAD passed when Laughing Rain put several apples in John’s saddlebag and fastened the buckle. He checked the saddle cinch, tightened it a little, and held the reins while John mounted his horse. “Then you’ve decided to marry?”

“Aye. There is a woman in Lexington I find pleasing. If she’ll have me, I’ll take her to wife,” John answered, wrapping the reins of a second horse around his hand.

“And Polly?”

“Polly is lost to me.”

“Will your father accept another?” Laughing Rain asked.

“He will once I’ve given him a grandchild. God be with you, my friend. I’ll be back soon with more supplies. Tell Shining Woman Papa desires another sand painting for the study.” With that, John tipped his hat, kicked the side of his horse and set out across the valley. Behind him stood four new cabins, three teepees, the beginning of a smoke-house, and Shining Woman with the newborn baby in her arms.

Three days later, he began to shiver, the dreaded malaria headache came, and as the pounding increased, the fever started. Then the familiar images of war crept into his mind, yet, he struggled to stay in the saddle. The horses wandered, stopping to graze, and then moving on...in a direction he couldn’t seem to control or understand. At last, he eased himself off the horse, labored to unroll his bedding and collapsed. All around, images of redcoats marched toward him. Fire streaked from their muskets, dead men’s eyes stared, Rebels shouted, horses screamed, and pistols fired.

Hour melted into hour, then one day became another and another - until he felt himself suddenly bolt upright. His eyes were filled with terror and he heard his own voice scream, “Polly!”