| |
ACH! THOMAS WOULD NAE hear the end of her questions until he had her settled in Baltimore Town.
He turned to the Indian woman. “Match-squa-thi Wabethe,” he whispered.
Little Swan. Iron Gun’s most precious and beautiful daughter. And what was she doing here and so far from home? Was Red Bear with her?
The child coughed till his face reddened and he was nearly out of air. Then, he set up a howl against the girl’s shoulder.
The Shawanese words flew from her mouth. “My brother knew it was you.” A disgusted look crossed her lips.
“Are there others with you?”
“Yes.” She nodded her head. “And more come.”
Gràdhach Dia ann air nèamh!
“Tomas,” Elizabeth said. “Tell me what she says.”
“She recognizes me.”
A deep frown wrinkled the lass’ forehead.
Thomas turned back to Little Swan. “Why are you here?”
“Skillewaythetha Kesathathwa, Boy Sun, my brother, coughs. Keeps awake others. Father says Little Swan angers Wishemenetoo with belief in White Man’s God. Father sends Little Swan away until cough gone or Little Swan believe again in Wishemenetoo.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth again.
Thomas waved his hand to cut her off, his gaze still on Little Swan. “You did not come all this way because of the child’s cough.”
“Little Swan follow Ou-thow-o-qu-quah Muga.”
Red Bear.
Thomas’ mouth dried into old cotton. “So he is here?”
“East of the valley.”
The sweat rushed to Thomas’ palms. His gut sickened. Had it been Red Bear that Thomas felt in the trees?
He turned to the dead brave. Or had it been he or others that had rankled Thomas’ spine?
“Blue Hoof trick Black Fox. Little Swan hide in trees and see Black Fox try to save family of Iron Gun.”
Thomas looked away. Why could he not be free of that day? Nor of the afternoon in the meadow the year before?
The maiden twisted her mouth. “Red Bear not listen to Little Swan. Red Bear send Little Swan back to brother and home.”
“And how will you get back now?”
“Two others camp north of here. Little Swan goes to them. Black Fox worry about Red Bear. Red Bear not give up till find Black Fox.”
The child set to another round of deep, lung shattering coughs.
“Tomas,” Elizabeth cried. “Please, the child’s cough needs tending.”
He turned on her. “Lass, we dinna have time to fash ourselves over such a one.”
“We do not have time to ease a child’s suffering?”
“’Tis not just any child. ‘Tis a child that will grow up to be a warrior capable of trying to kill ye as that one just did.”
“So you would have it die?” Elizabeth recoiled from the horror. “Because it surely will if its lungs are not opened.”
He groused his hand over his chin. Was that what he had said?
‘Twas certainly what ye were thinking, and ye have done worse.
Nae. He had never warred on women nor children, and he had not done so that last time.
Elizabeth faked a gut-wrenching cough. She made a fist with her left hand and scraped her right over the top. Was she miming grating a root?
Aye, for then she cupped her hands, swirled them around, and lifted them to her lips as if she were drinking.
Little Swan turned to him. “What does woman say?”
The ire rattled him. If he did not let Elizabeth help, she would never forgive him. And then what would she think when she found out what kind of man he truly was?
“Tomas,” she begged. “Tell her I can help.”
He turned to Little Swan. “She is a healer, and she can ease the child’s cough.”
Relief flooded the girl’s face. She turned to Elizabeth. “Thank you.”
Elizabeth gasped. “She knows English?”
“Most of the Natives know a smattering of French and English.” He turned to Little Swan. “Go with her. She will help the babe. In the meantime, I will put your brother back on that horse.” He grabbed her arm and pressed his lips to her ear. “But do not tell her of those coming for me, or you will not make it back to your people.”
She paled.
His remark hit her just as he wished. He had nae intention of killing her, but he was desperate to stave off the arrival of the other braves. ‘Twould be bad enough riding toward Red Bear. Thomas had nae wish to battle the enemy at his back, too.
The women walked to the cave. Fingal followed close behind. Once they were behind the root curtain, the dog lay down at the entrance. Thomas turned back to the brave. Blood flowed into the water and thinned downstream.
“I vowed I would kill nae more and now this,” he whispered. But he could not have let the warrior take Elizabeth. “Please forgive me.”
And he wondered, not for the first time since the typhoid laid him low, why he sought to speak with the Almighty even as had turned from Him the past two years.
He pulled a blanket from the back of the brave’s saddle. He wrapped the Indian and lifted him upward and over the back of the horse. He found a rope and tied the brave down so Little Swan would not have to worry about him slipping off. He turned back for the plaid that still lay on the ground. He picked it up and made his way to the cave.
He pulled aside the roots. The women sat on the dirt floor. The child clapped his hands and played between them. Elizabeth handed a knobby, gnarly ginger root to Little Swan. With shared gestures and broken English and French, Elizabeth managed to tell the woman how to plant it when she returned home.
“Match-squa-thi Wabethe,” Thomas said. “Wepethehe.”
Little Swan nodded. She shoved the ginger root into her pocket, then gathered the child in her arms and stood.
Elizabeth rose as well. “Tomas? What did you tell her?”
“’Tis time for her to go.”
“Go? You cannot mean to send her out alone. ‘Tis nearly dark.”
“She will be fine.”
“But ‘tis turning cold, and I am certain she is hungry.”
Little Swan turned to him. “What does woman say?”
“She wishes you to stay. She is afraid for you.”
Her eyes widened. She knew what was at stake if she was found
with him.
She reached inside the neckline of her shirt and tugged at a chain. She pulled it over her head and stretched out her arm to Elizabeth. She opened her palm.
Gràdhach Dia!
The pearl rood? After all this time?
His lungs knotted. The cave blurred and tilted.
How had Little Swan come to it?
She lowered the chain over Elizabeth’s head. “Ne-kah-noh.”
“Tomas? What did she say?”
He curled his fists into balls of heavy pain. “You are my friend.” The mother of pearl crucifix with a tarnished, bronze Christ weighed down the folds of the lass’ chemise.
The bile heaved upward. His chest burned.
“Merci,” Elizabeth whispered. Tears sprang to her eyes. She lifted her own crude wooden crucifix from her neck and placed it around Little Swan’s. “Ne-ka-noh.” The words tumbled from her lips.
Little Swan grabbed Elizabeth in a quick hug, then turned to Thomas. “God go with Black Fox.” She hurried past the roots.
“No!” Elizabeth rushed after her.
Thomas grabbed her waist and pulled her against his chest.
She pushed at his arm. “You are not supposed to touch me without letting me know!”
“Nae time, Lass.” He pressed his lips to her ear. “Besides, we are way past that.”
She stilled. Her arms loosened.
He peered between the roots. Little Swan grabbed the reins of the horse. She hastened upstream even as she managed the child in her arms.
Thomas let the lass go.
“Why was she afraid to stay?”
“I am a white trader. The Shawanese are no longer a friend of the English. They now work with the French, and if ‘tis found out she said nothing about seeing me she will be in trouble. If she is caught with me . . .”
Please God, no more questions. Let that satisfy her.
“Will she not lose her way?”
“Her people are not far away to the north.” Probably at the head of the valley. “She will be with them soon enough.” Too soon. He hoped his threat and Elizabeth’s goodwill would give the girl a reason to wander for a bit and bide them some time.
He reached his fingers forward. He lifted the rood. His thumb bumped over the Christ. That day, he had shifted grass along the base of every tree in his sight. He had scoured the three and a half mile trail between the cabin and Catharine’s body.
He had asked every trader since, and quite a few Natives, if they had seen it.
To find it now? Here?
He closed his fingers around it. He should take it from her. After all, it had first belonged to another.
Elizabeth’s eyes stirred with questions. He dropped his fingers. The rood plummeted to her chemise.
He whirled to the rooted entrance. He shot the words over his shoulder. “We are a British colony, and Catholics are feared. Be sure it is tucked into your person and no seen.” Most especially by him. “Tend your hands. Daylight is near gone. We will eat, but ‘twill have to be cold.”
“So there is to be no fire?” she cried.
“We canna risk being seen.” He slung the roots aside and staggered into the twilight.
––––––––
ELIZABETH COULD NOT move.
She did not mind cold food, and she was not particularly hungry.
But no fire meant no light.
What little courage she had left was draining from her. The nagging ache which had set up in her head as they had made their way into the valley now heated her frame.
She sneezed.
Since her tenth birthday, she had worked hard to always have light. It mattered not how small, and they all – her father, her grandparents, and Josué – had helped to see she never had to face the shadow people again.
She had not even been entirely without light the night Josué died, nor the first night Thomas had come to Fearnought Farms. Granted, she had only slivers to look upon, but she did have that.
She peered through the root curtain. Clouds, billowing and floating like a rich man’s pillow, smothered the weak light of a waning quarter moon. The valley walls would obliterate the rest.
She would have no slivers of light this night. Indeed, the cave would be mind-numbingly dark.
And Elizabeth hated the dark.
Non, hate was too mild.
She was downright terrified of it.
––––––––
THOMAS SAT BEFORE THE cave, the root curtains hanging at his back. He scraped his knife over the gray whetstone, then stopped.
He lifted his gaze to Elizabeth sitting at the river’s edge.
She thrust the soap into a bowl of water before her crossed legs. She set to scrubbing her palm with a violence he had nae seen in her in the few days they had been together. The tears coursed down her face.
She sneezed.
Ach! She seemed to be struggling against more than one fear. He was not certain, but he suspected his comment about the lack of a fire may have made matters worse, although why he knew not.
What was certain was that daylight was fading, and if she dinna gentle her hands she would deepen the wounds.
He stood. He slipped the knife to the hidden sheath on the inner shin of his deerskin leggings. He turned. He made his way into the cave and to his saddlebag. He shoved the whetstone inside and pulled out an old and thinning linsey-woolsey shirt. He stepped back outside and grabbed his rifle. He made his way to her.
“I am fine.” The words rolled between slushy tears. Another sneeze rattled her nose.
“Are ye getting sick?”
“No. I am just tired.”
He was not so sure. Now that he looked, her face was pale, and her voice had a nasal quality to it.
He haunched before her. He set the rifle to the ground and slung the shirt over his right shoulder. “Ye canna wipe so hard or ye will set them to bleeding again. Ye might even widen and deepen the cuts.”
“I am running out of time.” The words groaned through gritted teeth. “It darkens even now.”
If she was so worried about the dark, why had she sat here for at least ten minutes before starting? Not to mention the fact her wild, erratic movements were making little progress toward a cleaning. And ‘twas a sure thing she could not see through the tears.
“Let me help.”
She froze. “Do not touch me.”
“But, Elizabeth. Ye tire and ye cry.”
“I have had a difficult day. I will dry in a minute.”
“But the day wanes.”
She threw her nose into a bent elbow and sneezed again.
If she was getting ill, then reaching Baltimore Town was all the more important. He knew a bit about healing, no son of Colina McQueen’s did not. Out here though, and with limited resources, he would be of little use to her.
He held out his right hand. “Hand me the soap.”
Her fingers tightened into the bar.
“Elizabeth, I will nae hurt ye. Have I not proven so all this day?”
Only her eyes lifted.
“Please, Lass. The darkness deepens.”
She thrust the soap forward. It fell from her fingers. Thomas grappled for it.
‘Twas that was she was afraid of? The dark? And if so, why had she chosen to stay in the bedroom alone that first night at Fearnought Farms?
He plunged the soap in the bowl of water. He rotated the bar in his hand. The whish-whish gentled his ears even as the cold bit into his fingers.
He turned her right palm over. He set the bar to it and rubbed. She winced and jerked.
His fingers tightened. “I know it hurts, but it has to be done.” His gaze caught hers.
She sucked in a quick breath, then nodded red, tense cheeks.
She is trying to trust me.
And he was more than trying to trust himself.
He set the soap to the side. He rubbed his hand over hers. He circled to the left and then to the right.
An aching throb set up in his fingers.
God help him, he had not even started to work the dirt free and already his body was reacting to her in ways he wished not. Nor could he give his feet wings and flee. Was it the lack of female companionship the past two years? Was if the desire for something soft and tender after two brutal years of war? Was it because, despite her gnattiness, she was a damsel in distress?
Or, heaven help him, was it her?
“I made a friend today,” she whispered. “And now she is gone as well.”
His chest ached at her loneliness. “Lass, she could nae stay. ‘Twas dangerous.”
She sniffed. “I know, but the hurt is still there.”
“And ‘twas a brave thing to help the child.”
He had loved Catharine with all his young heart, but she would have never found the courage to help an Indian, nor to insist Thomas help instead of harm.
“I dinna know anyone, besides me ain maither, who would have done so.”
“Children are children, Tomas. And there are a lot of innocents in this war.”
He lowered the hand to the bowl of water. Her arm jolted.
“Still, Lass,” he whispered, “and I will at least be finished with this one.”
He swished the hand free of the soap, pulled it upward, and grabbed the shirt at his shoulder. He dried the hand well, then reached for the other one.
“Tomas, I have never been so scared in my life.” Her voice, thick and deep and dark as old chocolate, lowered into his chest.
Dangerously, he let it sit there.
“I would never have outrun him. You saved my life.”
He lowered her hand into the bowl. “I have nae intention of writing to your father to tell him of your death. Or worse.” He worked the water over and around her palm till the soap was gone. He dried it as thoroughly as he had the other. He tore two strips of dry fabric from the shirt. He wrapped her right hand and tied a knot atop her knuckles. He then did the same with the left.
“Your fingers I left free so ye can have the use of them.”
“Merci, Tomas. For all of it.”
He lifted his gaze.
The lass’ eyes glistened with the last of her unshed tears. His thumb wicked the moisture free. His hand fired hot.
I should nae be doing this.
He snatched the bowl and slung the water into the river. He tossed the bowl to the rocks before her. It rolled and whirled with a clumsy clatter. He waited not for its rest, but seized the rifle with one hand and with the other lugged her to her feet. He reeled around and started for the cave.
This is a lass that could help me forget Catharine.
But she awaited her father, and fate had written his future with a different pen.
And he could not get to Baltimore Town fast enough.