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I JUST GAVE UP MY CHANCE to escape and come back with a party to rescue her.
But he had seen her fear of the rock and the dark, and he had not the heart to let her go up alone.
He followed the skinniest brave he had ever seen, aptly named Young Corn. At the top, he climbed onto a small plateau. He turned and pulled Elizabeth up alongside him.
Young Corn tossed Thomas a poor excuse for a blanket and a bag of what was probably pemmican. Then, he was gone.
Thomas turned to face the valley. Every time he had come west along this trail, he had climbed this rock. He had always thought the view breathtaking.
Now, he could hardly stand the sight of it.
A gust of wind washed them. Elizabeth swayed.
He pulled her against his side. “Ye can open your eyes. I will nae let ye fall.”
She crept first one lid upward and then the other. The last of the sun flashed over the horizon, and then ‘twas dark.
The cold bit into them.
Thomas pulled her down to the stone. She pulled off her shoes and sank against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her.
“My feet have blistered,” she whispered. “And I tried to remember my way in case I had to escape on my own, but I got lost once we came into the rocks.”
His gut cinched tight.
If she had to escape on her own and in the next few days, and if she managed to stay ahead of the war party, she could perhaps find a settler that would help her. Once they passed Fort Cumberland, in less than four days, they would be so deep in the backcountry she would find no help.
“Tomas, you seemed to know the big Indian.”
“His name is Ou-thow-o-qu-quah Muga. Red Bear. He will be a war chief someday.”
“He is larger than the others and has blue eyes. His skin is fair and burns easily.”
“He is a white man,” Thomas sighed. “He was captured just west of Fearnought Farms when he was about seven years old. He was brought home when he was twelve, but he returned to the Indians.”
“Why?”
Thomas shrugged. “’Tis his world now. ‘Tis what he knows.”
“But he wages war on his own people?”
“The Indians are his people. Not the white man.”
“And he takes us because he wishes to marry Iron Gun’s daughter?”
“Aye.”
“Do you think he somehow stole the doll and painted it?”
Thomas sighed. “He is a canny beast being a white man raised among Indians. But I am nae certain.” And he was not. Other braves could well have lurked in the woods. He had no evidence to point to Red Bear as the responsible party.
He grabbed the blanket. “At any rate, ye dinna wish to anger him.” He lay the blanket around her shoulders.
“No,” she whispered. “We will share.”
He ought not. The rock would be warm for a time from the day’s sun. His need to be close to her, however, after the past few days of anger, outweighed his good sense. He repositioned the blanket and scooted closer.
“I wish this was the plaid,” she whispered.
He did as well.
He grabbed the greasy, dirty bag. Below them, the Indians spoke among themselves but without the usual laughter or merrymaking. He had seen no rum of any kind, and except for the occasional jokes of the large moderately overweight one they called Psai-wai Wishekuanwe, Big Wind, this party of warriors seemed serious in regards to their mission.
And nervous.
He opened the bag and pulled out a patty. “You have to eat.” He bit into it, chewed, and swallowed. He grabbed another and held it out to her. “’Tis pemmican. ‘Tis made with dried meat, fat, and some berries. The Indians take it along when they travel fast and far. Right now they wish to put as much distance between us and anyone who might be coming to our rescue.”
“Will they come for us?”
“If they were home, they would. But they have to get the women to Fearnought Farms, and then there is the danger of leaving them.” He chewed and swallowed another bite. “I told everyone to get across the river. What happened with ye?”
“Issy panicked and ran back up the trail.”
Ach! Why had she done that?
“I ran after her. I shoved her and Fingal into a cave. I knew he would have followed me.”
“Ye did well. Issy, as spirited as she is, could never make this journey, and they would tire of her whining. Fingal would have been killed.”
“And you?”
He sighed. He held up another patty. He stared at it.
“Tomas?”
“I saw the others across and then came for ye.”
“Oh, Tomas,” she whispered. “You should not have. The price on your head?”
“I was nae going to abandon ye, Elizabeth. Now eat. Whatever they give ye and whenever. The time for a rescue or escape will come. Ye need your strength.”
She took it and bit into the patty. She made a funny sound, but Thomas could find no laugh. If he did not get them free of the Indians before they passed Fort Cumberland, she may well have to eat things far worse.
She swallowed. “They did not give you any food all day.”
“’Tis their way of weakening me without killing me. I will not likely get anything beyond an evening meal.”
“I will sneak you part of mine.”
“Ye will not. If they catch ye doing so, they will anger. I will find something in the woods, or I will ration what they give me.”
“And what did you tell him when I refused to come up here? Red Bear did not seem happy about that either.”
“I told him that if ye came up alone ye were likely to jump off.”
“Tomas,” she cried.
He frowned. “I was nae certain ye would not have.” The idea she might snap while all alone had frightened him deep into his bones.
She refused another patty of the pemmican. “I promise I will eat what is given me tomorrow, but you put that piece and another somewhere on your person.”
He tucked one patty in his shirt and another below the rawhide string below his knee that kept his right legging up. He lay on his back. The hard rock ground into him. It mattered not. He would sleep this night. He was that tired, and he knew he could not do what he needed to do tomorrow without rest.
He pulled Elizabeth down and pressed her head to his chest. Getting her to sleep would be hard. She was not use to forcing her body to do what it needed to do in order to survive another day.
“Tomas? Did you go to confession while you were at Doughoregan Manor?”
“I did, Lass.”
“I am glad.” She twisted. She lay her chin on his chest. “I am sorry for saying what I did about not wanting anything to do with you. I did not mean it.”
He fleeced his fingertips across her head. He grabbed the single frayed braid at her back. She had lost the cap a while back. “Ye were scared. I was, too.”
“I did not know what scared was. This is truly frightening. If it were not for you being here, I think I would have died already.”
Her lips quivered. He pressed his thumb against them. “I promise I will do everything I can to get us back home.”
She frowned. “The Thomas McQueen I met at Fearnought Farms would have promised we would be back and soon.”
He wound his arms around her back and rolled sideways. His shoulder and hip took the brunt of the stone. “I am not that Thomas anymore. I can only do so much. The rest is up to the Almighty.”
Water teased the edges of her eyes. “If we do get back to Fearnought Farms, is it alright if I stay?”
His heart slammed into his chest. “What about your father?”
“Will he be welcome at the farm?”
“Of course, Lass.”
“I would very much like that.”
Thomas would, too.
His lips fell onto hers. He pressed deep and long. The fire lit along his frame.
She sighed. Her fingers, to either side of his neck, trembled.
He wanted to hold the lass forever. He wanted to love her every night and deep into each day. He wanted to smother her so full and real that she would never feel alone again.
He eased back. He had been telling her not to cry, but he was very near it himself. “Elizabeth, dinna be surprised if ye wake up one day and I am gone, but I will bring back others to rescue ye.”
The fear wrenched across her face. “What if you do not come back?”
“I will.”
“What if you are killed trying to escape?”
“I will not be.”
She pushed herself back. She sat up.
“Elizabeth, they intend to give ye to Iron Gun. If that happens, ye will marry him. Ye will bear his children. And they will kill me.” He hoped to God it was not by fire. “And so we must escape before we pass Fort Cumberland.” Not only was the backcountry bereft of white folks, but the Indians were as thick as the trees.
And I refuse to go back into my past.
“I will take ye with me if I can, but I may no be able to.”
“But Tomas, I will be all alone.”
Ach! His throat closed tight. “I will be back to ye soon.”
Her chest heaved. “Je ne sais pas si je peux le faire.”
The fear crooked along his spine. He grabbed her cheeks. “Ye can do this. Ye are strong and brave. Look at what ye have already done this past year.”
She blinked the sheet of water from her eyes.
“Remember, Lass, we do what we have to do to survive and get back home.”
A tear splashed to his knuckle and slid into the crease by his thumb.
What if I am wrong? What if God does not intend to see us back?
“Did ye bring your rosary?” he asked.
“Non. It was in my bag.”
“Then ye should take mine.”
She shook her head. “I have the rood around my neck.”
“Verra well. Then pray with your fingers. There are ten. Pray as much as you can. Promise me.”
“I promise,” she sniffed. “And Tomas?” Her eyes watered. “I know I cannot cry tomorrow. But just for tonight?”
“Aye, Lass, but do so against me, so nae one else hears.”
He cradled her against his chest. The sobs tore her apart while the tears soaked his blue hunting shirt.
Finally, she fell asleep. How long he lay there holding her he knew not. At some point, he twisted to his side and repositioned the blanket fully over her.
Near morning he awoke. His stiffened bones ached from the cold and the rock. He twisted eastward. A dull light throbbed on the horizon. He crawled free of her by at least two feet. If the rock had been larger, he would have gone farther away.
He checked to see that his knife was still in the hidden sheath inside his leg along with the emergency pemmican. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his worn, wooden rosary, and prayed. He was ready for the fourth sorrowful mystery, the Lord’s carrying of his cross, when he heard someone scrambling up the rocks.
His heart heaved tight.
Red Bear crawled into view. He had washed away the war paint and had wrapped his upper arm with a rag. He spoke in Shawanese. “You work the beads of the white man’s God now?”
“I do.” Thomas slipped the rosary back into his pocket and stood.
The brave knelt at Elizabeth’s side and nudged her shoulder gentler than Thomas would have expected. But then, had not the man gentled Little Swan since their childhoods?
The lass jolted awake and winced, probably at the hard rock which surely had turned her bones to fire. She eyed Red Bear. Her face jerked tight with the fear.
Red Bear eased his fingers forward and grabbed at the rood laying against the lass’ chest. “And woman wears this God’s son around her neck.” A war ravaged his face. He seemed to be fighting for words.
Then, he let the rood go. It fell back to the lass’ chemise. The Indian gripped her waist and lifted her to her feet. She reached for her shoes. She slipped one on and then the other. She took a step. Her knees buckled.
Red Bear grabbed her arm.
“She has blisters,” Thomas said in Shawanese.
The brave grunted. He leaned over and pulled the shoes off.
Elizabeth grabbed at them.
Red Bear tossed the shoes aside. They rolled along the rock. One plummeted to the valley below.
“Why did you do that?” She stomped her foot.
“Elizabeth, no!” Then quieter. “Remember what I said.”
She closed her eyes and lowered her arms to her sides.
Red Bear frowned. “Woman always filled so with Mother Earth’s fire?”
“She can be,” Thomas muttered.
Elizabeth looked at both men.
She is trying to understand what we are saying.
Thomas had better be careful. The woman was smart enough to learn Shawanese words all on her own, and Thomas did not want her knowing what they were saying.
Red Bear grabbed the lass’ left hand. She cried out.
The brave’s face tightened. He lifted her hand and tore the bandage off. His eyes fasted on the pink skin rambling across the palm. He grunted, then grabbed her other hand and tugged her to the rock’s edge. He lowered himself over the side. He pointed to the blanket and the bag and then to Thomas. He pulled Elizabeth down with him and carried her off.
By the time Thomas’ feet hit level ground at the base of the rock, Red Bear was kneeling before the lass like a groom proposing to his bride. His hands slipped first one moccasin onto her foot and then the other.
“Those will be better on your feet, Lass,” Thomas said.
His arm was grabbed. He was whirled around. A hand slammed across his cheek. His head twisted with a crack.
“P’cataweh Wawakotichethe. Mat-teh atchmoloh.” Black Fox. No speak.
His ears rang. His head ached. He slid his eyes upward.
Red Bear shoved the cross-eyed Indian backward. “Nee-swee Nipe. Mat-teh.” Green Water. No.
Red Bear turned to Thomas and fired off the Shawanese. “Black Fox tricky. Black Fox get out of scrapes before. No talk to woman.”
The fear was filling Elizabeth’s eyes. She would drown if he could nae stop it. “They will nae let me speak to ye.”
The word no rushed past her lips.
This time, Red Bear backhanded the other side of his face.
“Tomas!” she cried.
Red Bear stepped before Thomas. The lass was lost from his sight.
The brave lowered the Shawanese words to a whisper. “Do as Red Bear say, old friend, or next time another will hurt you much worse. And woman will then be all alone.”