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THOMAS’ GUT DROPPED to his toes. He bothered not to go after her. He could offer her no assurances in regards to Meggie and Philippe. Other matters were too pressing, and Hardwin’s hold too great.
It helped not that he could give Elizabeth no solid plan as to their own future. He would not leave her behind, but he had yet to determine how he could bring her along. His family was Catholic. She was still considered a French Acadian.
And just what pressing matters did Hardwin believe Thomas should have been tending?
Fingal whined.
“Go to her.” Thomas was not about to leave her alone when so many questions swirled in the air, and he could tackle none of them until he first spoke with Mac and William about the raid on the camp.
Fifteen minutes later the men sat at an outside dining table of The East and West. Soiled, greasy napkins littered the ground. Cups, mugs, and plates lay haphazardly on tables and chairs.
No one, however, was around to begin cleaning up.
“Indians raided camp last night.”
William pinned him with a black stare. “Ye sure ‘twas Indians.”
“Masterson was scalped.”
“Dear God.” Mac closed his eyes. He threw his head forward into tented fingers. “Watkins?”
“In one piece.”
“That does nae sound right,” William said.
“I agree, but he is whole.” He told of burying the boy, of speaking with his mother, of providing Masterson’s pay and a bit extra. “I told Watkins to keep quiet about it.” But even he held out little hope the man would do so forever.
Mac finally lifted his head. Red fatigue rimmed the man’s eyes. Dark lashes fluttered against the deep exhaustion he must surely be feeling. “How bad is camp?”
“There is little to save. The rain has likely taken the rest.”
And then, he told of the doll.
“We canna keep your mother and Sarah from hearing of the raid. Issy will hear, too,” Mac said. “But we canna speak of the doll to anyone.”
“Good heavens!” William chafed the wrinkles on his forehead. “When Alex hears of this?”
“I dinna envy ye,” Mac whispered.
William lowered his hands to the table. “That price Iron Gun has placed on your head has put us all in danger.”
Mac’s gaze shifted between the men. Finally, he speared a tight look into Thomas. “Are ye going to tell him? Or am I?”
Thomas ground his teeth tight. Why had every decision he made since the typhoid took hold of him turned sour? Why did he feel as if he were on a runaway carriage careening down a steep hill with no end in sight?
“Thomas?” William choked. “Tell me what?”
“Iron Gun has a price on the rest of ye as well.”
William’s face blenched. “Because ye came here and stayed?”
“Nae. The price was already there.”
“And yet ye came?”
“My plan had been to see ye all were safe. Then I was going back to the Indian towns.”
“Ye were leaving us here to fend for ourselves?” he cried.
“Of course not!”
“William,” Mac said. “He was going to Iron Gun to bargain his life for ours.”
The horror stretched his brother’s face. “Gràdach Dia! Why would ye do such a thing? Ye of all people know what Iron Gun will do to ye.” William flung his hand toward Mac. “And ye knew of this?”
“I figured it out not long after he got here. I have been trying to talk him into going home with us and laying ready for a siege.”
“Aye. Certainly.”
Thomas could nae believe the man. “Ye have been angry at me for coming home all this time. Now ye are willing to defend me?”
William frowned. “I am angry ye would nae speak of the raid and what happened. I felt shut out.” He tossed a frustrated glare at Mac. “I really feel shut out now.”
Thomas could shut neither man out any longer, especially since they would now fight together for their lives.
He told them of Blue Hoof’s betrayal. He told them of trying his best to save the woman and her child.
He told them how Fingal pushed and whined until Thomas pulled himself from the ditch where he had hidden after the raid.
He told them of his decision, as he lay flat on his back in the old woman’s cottage, to wage war nae more.
And I will never forgive myself if the worst happens to any of ye.”
On Calvert Street, scattered families headed north toward services at St. Paul’s. Behind him, in the tavern, Alex West’s voice rose and fell. He must be readying the cleanup. They had not much time left before they were in danger of being heard.
He pushed his head forward. “We need to return to the farm.”
Mac and William spoke over and around each other in harsh whispers. The Indians would follow. They could not defend themselves on the trail. Too many women, one with a newborn, and too few men made for terrible odds.
“Wheest!” Thomas slashed his hands in the air.
They silenced.
He had to gain the upper hand on all of it or he would lose himself in the black hopelessness that had swallowed him after Catharine and Dougald’s death. This time, he might never return from it.
“Camp is now too hard to defend, and the town will soon catch wind of the ransacking and clamor for ye to leave. Home is easily defensible once ye get there.”
Mac sighed. “We will have to hire more guns. Men we can trust.”
“That means more money,” William said.
And there was camp to clean up and replacement items to purchase.
And what was he to do with Elizabeth?
“Alright.” William sighed. “I will start interviewing men tomorrow. We can leave by Friday morning. Saturday at the latest.”
“All of this is fine and good,” Mac said wearily. “But ye both forget my wife still lies with death at her door.”
Late morning shadows fluttered, then lengthened from the corner of the kitchen. Thomas turned. Elizabeth walked in the wake of one shadow.
“We canna really make a plan until we know when she can be moved.” Mac’s words were thick with fear. “And the only person that can tell us that is Elizabeth.”
And then, Hardwin turned the corner and walked beside Elizabeth in the wake of his own.
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HARDWIN EYED THOMAS.
He spoke quick words to Elizabeth, then stepped through the yard and into Calvert Street.
Fingal stalked the boy. Did Thomas need to hire a round-the-clock guard to be sure the boy stayed away from her until they left?
He stood and made his way to her. She stiffened her grip on a wicker basket.
“What did he want?” Thomas asked.
“I eat breakfast with him every morning. Remember?”
“But the tavern is closed this day.”
“He was making sure I was available in the morning. His uncle is in town and wishes to join us.”
“I hope you said no.”
“I did not.” She twirled around. She made her way along the brick pavement between her cottage and the kitchen.
He came alongside her. “He is dangerous, Elizabeth.”
“Funny.” She picked up her pace. “He told me the same thing of you.”
His toe rammed a lifted brick. The pain shot into his foot. He bit his lip, somehow managed to gain his balance, and then quickened his pace. “Ye know I am not dangerous.”
“To who?”
“Ach!” He would nae let her twist him. “Tell him ye canna eat with him.”
“I cannot do so, and he cannot hurt me in a room full of people.”
She had him there.
She walked around the corner of the fencing, made short work of the sidewalk, and entered the herb house. She set the basket on the center table. She pulled several dried herb bundles from the overhead rack. She turned to the drawers along the back wall.
“When will Sarah be able to travel?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I do not know for sure.”
Not what he wanted to hear. “We are leaving this Friday.”
She spun around. Her arm hit the basket.
It flew from the table. Their hands quarreled for it like drunken birds. Stems rained downward.
The basket crashed to the ground. She and he bent to their knees. Their heads bumped. They both shot to their feet.
Elizabeth’s hand cradled her temple. Waves of pain diced her face.
Thomas’ chuckle, with so much angst pouring through his veins, surprised him. “You got the worst end of that deal no doubt. Mama always said I had the hardest head around.”
He reached for her coming swelling. His fingers tangled with hers. A vein throbbed aside her eye.
His lips ached to taste it.
My wits are leaving me and fast.
He bent to the ground. “Can ye help me set Sarah up in the wagon?”
She lowered to the floor but gave his touch a wide berth. “I will do whatever you say needs to be done, but—”
“’Tis all I ask.”
“Tomas, she will be in quite a bit of pain for some time.”
Thomas grabbed the basket. He reached for her elbow and pulled her upright.
A stress line above her brow nearly cracked in half. “Traveling will only make the pain worse. Not to mention the bleeding may start again. And why the urgent need to return to camp?”
“’Tis not camp.” He let go of her arm. “We go to Fearnought Farms.”
“Fearnought Farms?” She gasped. She yanked the basket from him. “Non, C’est impossible. ‘Tis too far, and I thought you were here because the farm was too dangerous.”
“Things have changed.”
“That makes no sense, especially in the middle of a war.”
“Camp was raided last night by Indians. At the farm, we can fortify ourselves and prepare for a siege. We were hoping to leave by Friday morning, Saturday at the latest.”
“And the other refugees?”
The angst crawled up his spine. “They are not being bothered.”
Her eyes widened with possibilities. He had nae wish to feed any of them.
“Then why not leave Sarah here with me? Mac can come back for her in a month or so.”
“No. No one connected to me is safe at the moment.”
The fear drenched her.
His heart rammed against his throat. She had been through enough terrors to last a lifetime. Now this?
‘Twas a good thing he drowned the doll. The lass would never live over the terror it promised. “If we provided extra blankets to make the wagon soft? If we made frequent stops? Could she go home then?”
“I suppose if she is in that much danger then, oui. But ‘tis risky.”
“We have nae choice.”
“Are there not always choices?”
“Sometimes only bad ones.”
“Could you not wait at least three weeks?”
“No.”
“Two?”
“Nae, Elizabeth. We leave on Friday.” Already, that was too late. He had no idea of the depth of Red Bear’s resources, and his concern for Elizabeth heightened with each minute they stayed.
He backed up a step. “I want ye to stay in West’s house tonight.”
“Why?”
“Be sure to move what ye need to Sarah’s room or another nearby.”
Her mouth dropped open.
“And if ye need help with that hand, come find me.”
He turned.
“Tomas?”
Something in her voice caused him to freeze.
“If no one who knows you is safe, does that include me?”
He dared not look at her, for he had nae wish for her to see how close to the surface his own fears lay.
“Ye will be fine, Lass.” He tossed the words over his shoulder. “Dinna fash yerself .”
He clenched his fist. He banged it against the doorframe and stalked outside.
––––––––
ELIZABETH SAT AT THE table beside Matthew and across from Campbell Davis. Smells of bacon, eggs, and pastries fogged the tavern air.
She thought she was going to throw up.
She had not seen Thomas again yesterday after their encounter in the shed. On the way to her cottage last night, William intercepted her.
“Thomas told me to get your things and move ye to the house.”
If she had not been so tired, she would have refused to move. Instead, she let the man do as he needed. She slept, however, not at all.
Ever since that first day at Fearnought Farms, Thomas had been coming to his family to leave them. The plan had never changed. So why was he now going home and with them?
And she was almost certain, by the tight clench of his fist and the set of his jaw, that he had not told the truth of her own danger.
Her spine numbed.
She would not have thought he would have left her alone. The idea was not in his kiss in the meadow in the lupines. ‘Twas not in his long looks at her the past few days since his return to town, nor in his care of her hand.
Matthew’s fingers encased her knee.
The fire shot to her head.
‘Twas the third time he had taken such liberties. He would not take them again.
She grabbed his arm and dug her nails into his wrist.
“Ouch!” he cried.
“I said stop.” She reared to her feet.
The tavern quieted. Heads turned.
Her face reddened.
“Nephew, perhaps you should leave us a moment.”
Matthew threw his napkin on the table, tossed Elizabeth a wary look, then stood and stomped around her and outside.
The chaos inside the tavern rolled back to its usual level.
“Please. Do sit.” Campbell Davis pointed at her chair.
She lowered back to the seat.
“My nephew makes you uncomfortable.”
The man’s smooth, measured voice matched his fine fabrics. His eyes were open and kind, and the smile was easy.
“He takes liberties,” she said.
The man pressed his plate to the side and leaned forward. “Liberties as in beyond what is allowed and expected, or liberties that you are not used to.”
“Probably the latter.” Her face fired hot. “May I be frank, sir?”
“Please.”
“A letter was sent to my father at Fort Oswego. He will be coming for me, and we will be going home.”
“Word is the Acadians may not be allowed back home.”
“My father is a surgeon with the British army. I am half English. My home will be with him.”
“And yet, my nephew thinks he can persuade you to stay here.”
“He cannot.”
“In the meantime, do you like working here at the tavern?”
She lowered her gaze to her hands in her lap. The burn was giving her quite a bit of pain that day. Pressing the fingers onto a small board to keep them flat had made the aching worse.
“I have a proposal for you, Miss Johns. You come work for me in my kitchen. I will pay you double what you are making here. My hours are easier. You will eat and sleep well. I will see that nothing is done formally in regards to an arrangement for marriage to my nephew until after your father arrives.” His hand came up. “When he does, if you wish to leave, you are free to do so. If, however, you have developed an affection for my nephew at that point, then he can ask your father for your hand as is proper.”
“But what about the fact I am Acadian? And you, sir, are Catholic.”
“I can take care of that, and knowing you are English makes it a bit easier.”
To be able to work for more money with a lighter load? Already, the idea of working another whole week at Mistress Swain’s pace was disheartening.
She frowned.
‘Twas not so much the woman’s pace, as the fact she did little work and the rest of them had to do more.
But could she trust Monsieur Davis to check Matthew’s behavior? And what of Meggie and Philippe? Could she bargain to bring them along?
“May I think about it?” she asked.
“How long do you need?”
“Miller Mackintosh’s wife just had a difficult delivery.”
His forehead crinkled. “I understand you performed a cutting that saved the life of her and the child.”
She nodded. “I am seeing to her this week, so I could not leave here before the McQueens do so on Friday. Perhaps you will come that morning for breakfast and I will let you know?”
“Very well,” he smiled. “I look forward to seeing you again.”
The man came dangerously close to reminding her of her father.
She stood. “I need to get back to work.” She reached for her plate.
“I heard about the attack on the McQueen camp,” he said. “I understand why you are not leaving with the McQueens at the end of the week.”
She lifted Matthew’s plate upward and set it atop hers.
“Finding the doll that looked like you but that had been scalped must have been frightening.”
Doll? Like her?
Her hands shook.
Scalped?
The plates fell from her hands and crashed to the floor.