CHAPTER 13

Christmas Morning at the Cottons’

The wind did not abate. In fact, it moaned around the house all night and into the morning. Huge drifts surrounded the buildings, and still the wind raged on.

Destry was grateful to be inside. She’d caught a glimpse of the snow as the men returned from feeding the livestock. The house was warm and filled with food and good company, at least from the ladies.

She glanced at her mother-in-law. Mary’s snow-white hair bobbed as she moved about the kitchen, as lithe and spry as a child, yet the woman was seasoned with years of experience and love. How can she love that brute of a man she married? Destry wondered.

Peeking into the parlor, she witnessed eight small children helping Grandpa stoke the fireplace. Chagrined, Destry wondered why everyone seemed to love the scary old man with only one hand, especially her own Robbie.

But her chagrin turned to fear and then outright rage when Bill suddenly caught Robbie around the waist and tossed him nearly to the ceiling, catching him deftly as he came down. Robbie’s squeals of delight kept her lips sealed, but her heart was pounding, and her face was flushed with fury.

Along with Robbie’s peals of laughter was a chorus of voices calling, “Grandpa, finish the story. You promised.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for the ladies?”

“No!” came the immediate response.

“Where should we begin?”

“Right where we stopped last night!”

“How about we back up and bring some other people into our story?” Bill asked.

“But why, Grandpa?”

“There was a lot happening in the world, and the Creator of all mankind was not just working in the lives of your grandmother and me. He brought many people together to show us His power and mercy. If we leave out the stories of others, we might miss some of the majesty of our Lord.”

“Oh, all right,” the children reluctantly agreed. “But let’s start right now!”

“Well, I doubt the ladies would mind too much,” Bill said with a smile. “Now, long before I ever saw Green Meadow …”

In his command center on a rocky bluff outside Green Meadow, James massaged his temples to ease the throbbing in his head. Things were so different from one year ago. He’d been a hero then. Thomas, Seagood, and many others had joined Gaff at the Battle of Great Bend and beaten back a marauding band of thieves that threatened to invade the land of Emancipation. After that battle, people cheered whenever the army rode through town. People who had been fearful were no longer afraid. It was a wonderful feeling.

However, nine months had passed since James and Thomas had volunteered to serve with a garrison stationed at Green Meadow. The purpose for the garrison was primarily to secure the border and bring security to the people of Amity, but if trouble came on the western slopes, as it had during the battle of Great Bend, troops from Amity would be able to respond much more quickly. When the garrison had arrived at Green Meadow, they’d been met with open arms. Everyone, except Devia, had been thrilled to have them there. The people donated food, and even Devia had felt a certain obligation to assist.

During the winter months, while Devia’s warehouses stood nearly empty, he housed the garrison within their walls. However, as winter began to pass, Devia encouraged a shift in the public’s attitude. He had hoped to win the loyalty of James Stafford during his stay, but since that had failed, changes were in store.

Under the pretense of making room in his warehouses for spring commodities, he booted the garrison out, and he privately encouraged people to stop selling their products to the soldiers. Many complied with Devia.

James had struggled to relocate his troops and purchase supplies for his men. In the process, he had relied on Devia more than was expedient, thus incurring the wrath of Devia’s competitors. James no longer felt like a hero. He felt unwanted in town and disliked by his own men. He could not buy enough food to keep the camp’s larders stocked, and everyone was hungry. Morale was very low among his men.

In a deep ravine not far from the command center and less than a mile from Green Meadow, Thomas watched as his archers hit nine out of ten bull’s-eyes. A young lad who sat watching laughed and said, “I’ll bet Samoth would like to see this!”

Thomas smiled ruefully. “He never comes close enough to the camp!”

“Sure he does!” the boy countered. “I saw him headed for Captain Stafford’s tent before I came down here.”

Thomas spun and caught the boy’s shoulders in his broad hands. “How long ago was this?” he implored. Thomas spoke with such intensity that the boy cowered a little, wondering if he had said something wrong.

Thomas relaxed. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you. I just had a few things I wanted to ask Samoth if I had known he was here.”

The boy gulped. “Maybe an hour ago. I didn’t know you wanted to see Samoth.”

Thomas laughed. “And it’s a good thing too. I wouldn’t want my thoughts to be an open book to everyone.” With a gentle hand, he ruffled the lad’s curly hair. “Thanks for telling me now.”

Thomas turned and called one of the other men. “Diedrich, you are in charge. Have each man shoot one hundred arrows more. By the time you finish, it will be time for lunch.”

The young officer received his orders, grimacing at the long practice schedule. “How infernal ready can one get?” he muttered. Turning back to the men, he knew what their response would be. Their fingers were already tender.

As Thomas turned to leave, he called over his shoulder, “Diedrich, make it a contest! Highest score gets a double portion of tonight’s meal.”

“All right,” Diedrich said with a smile. “That’s more like it!”

Thomas strode quickly to James’s command center. Guards saluted smartly as he ducked through the tent flaps that were popping in the wind. He paused to let his eyes adjust to the dim light.

The tent was large and contained several cots for the guards when they were off duty. A second opening led to the commander’s quarters. Stepping to this opening, Thomas paused and gathered his thoughts. He could feel his heart beating fast and wondered if he would always be nervous around his elder brother.

“Sir,” Thomas said as he pulled the flap to one side.

“Who is it?” called an upbeat voice from inside.

“Thomas,” he said, stepping into James’s barren quarters. “May I see you for a moment?”

A single candle flickered from its perch on the rickety old crate serving as James’s desk. It illuminated a neatly made cot on one side of the room, with weapons carefully placed alongside. On the desk were several papers, neatly arranged, one of which seemed to be under consideration by the man behind the desk.

Pushing back the crate upon which he sat, James rose. “Thomas, come in!”

The brothers were much alike: tall, muscular, and about the same height. Both had thick brown hair curling about their temples. James shaved his rugged jaw, while Thomas allowed his beard to grow.

Motioning to another crate, James sat down and asked, “What brings you here?”

“Has Samoth been here?” Thomas asked bluntly.

James’s face clouded slightly. “Yes,” he said flatly. “Did you need to see him?”

Thomas bristled but kept his voice under control. “You know I wanted to talk to him the next time he was here.”

James looked blankly at the desktop. “Sorry. I forgot. You were rather busy with archery practice, were you not?”

“Rather.”

Silence grew until James cleared his throat. “Look, what did you need to know? Maybe I can answer your questions.”

“All right,” Thomas said. “To begin with, where has Samoth been all this time? He left over two weeks ago with a special weapons shipment to Gaff. Gaff is stationed this side of Great Bend. The round trip could not possibly take more than four days.”

James smiled. “Thomas, you are too suspicious of Samoth. He didn’t take just Gaff’s shipment with him; he took others. He was gone longer than he told us he would be, but you have to admit, we have curtailed his shipments lately.”

“Look, I don’t trust Samoth. I think …” Thomas paused. “I think he has been lying to us about what he’s hauling for freight and where he is taking it. I’d like to inspect some of his loads and just see what is really in those boxes.”

“We can’t start meddling in civilian business transactions!”

“All right, maybe we can’t inspect his freight, but can we stop his use of slaves?”

“Are you referring to the crews that are cutting granite for the fortress?”

“Yes. I think they are slaves.”

“Do you have any proof, or are you simply making an accusation?”

“I’ve known for some time that the men working for Samoth were foreigners. I’ve tried to talk to some of them, and they can’t understand me.”

“Have you been bothering Samoth’s men again? Aren’t you busy enough here?”

“The other day I rode alongside that caravan headed back to town carrying the granite stone—and James, some of the men were bleeding.”

“A fall perhaps.” James waved him off. “Thomas, what are you trying to make of this?”

“If it had been just one man, you might be right, but I rode the entire length of that caravan, and it was the rule, not the exception. I think those men have been beaten.”

“Stone quarries are dangerous places to work. I don’t find it inconceivable that a number of men could be hurt working there. Besides, it isn’t any of my business.”

“James, the men are so tired they sleep while driving their wagons. I think they cut stone all day, drive home and unload it, and then lay that stone all night—only to turn around and do it all again. The work proceeds at a furious rate.”

James pounded his desk in frustration. “What is your point, Thomas? What do you want me to do?”

“Shouldn’t Samoth be confronted about using slave labor?”

“Number one, we don’t know he is using slave labor; and number two, it isn’t any of my business.”

“It’s wrong to benefit from the unwilling sweat of another man’s labor,” Thomas countered.

“We don’t know it is unwilling labor!” James shouted. “Those men may be working night and day for a very handsome price. They may be wealthy men when this project is complete. Truthfully, Thomas, aren’t you just angry that Devia kicked us out of his warehouse so he could turn it into a fortress? You know he has every right to do whatever he wants with his own property.”

“Of course he can build a fortress,” Thomas snapped. “Yes, sometimes I am angry about being evicted. Not only has it made life harder for the men but it seems to have been designed to create bad feelings between us and the community more than to open up space for incoming goods. Look, I really don’t care what Samoth does with his property, but he shouldn’t misuse people.”

“What do you want me to do?” James growled. “Stick my nose in everyone’s business? Am I to set standards for everyone else to live up to?”

Thomas thought about that for a moment. “No, it isn’t right to set standards for others, but neither can we ignore the standards of common decency. I’m going to get to know those men if I can, and help them if at all possible.”

James swept a weary hand over his forehead. “Thomas, don’t you have enough to do?” He spoke with exasperation, not anger, for he knew Thomas had made up his mind.

Thomas smiled. “I still want to see Samoth about this.”

“Watch yourself, Thomas. Samoth can be pure poison if you get him upset.”

“Thank you,” Thomas smiled. He realized James had just given his permission to proceed with Samoth, because he had not received an order to refrain. He saluted smartly and turned to leave.

“Thomas,” James called, “be careful.”

Thomas grinned. “I will.”

The flickering light from several bonfires cast ominous shadows upon the work. Jaroth straightened and groaned. His fingers were cracked and bleeding. Every muscle in his body ached. He was so weary he didn’t know if he could lift another stone into place.

“You! Get back to work, you scurvy dog!” the guard shouted.

Jaroth heard the guard’s words, but decided to ignore them a moment longer. He had cut stone blocks in the quarry all day and had hauled them to the top of the fortress wall all night. With only a brief interlude for stale bread and sour beer about midnight, Jaroth didn’t really care what that foreman did to him.

A whip snapped viciously behind his shoulders. “I’m talking to you, swine. Get back to work, or I’ll assign you to the quarry again today.”

Jaroth bent over his pile of stone. He might endure a beating, but not another day in the quarry without sleep. He breathed a sigh of relief when the slave driver moved on down the line. Much as he feared the foreman, it was Samoth that sent chills down his spine.

“Did you visit with James Stafford today?” Master Devia asked.

“Yes.”

“What did he want?”

“To order supplies,” Samoth responded.

“Was that all?”

“Mostly.”

“What else?”

“He voiced an interest in our labor crew.”

“What did you tell him?” asked the old man.

“That it was none of his business.”

“Good! How is the project proceeding?” Devia asked.

“The catwalks, battlements, and corner towers are complete, Father.”

“What about my tower?”

“I have too few men.”

“Why didn’t you take more?” Master Devia demanded.

“I’ve had no time to go back for more.”

“Let this be a lesson to you! When you reach out to grasp a thing, take all you can get, for the opportunity may never again present itself to you.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Things are happening quickly,” Devia said. “The Lord of Endor moves. He calculates that the time is ripe. We must be ready, or we shall be swallowed up like the rest.”

“Our defenses are ready. It is only your tower that remains.”

“My tower of vision.” The old man smiled warmly. “Samoth, you are a fool. You should have built the tower first. Protection from the Power on High surpasses that of walls and barred gates.”

“Make up your mind! Do you want to keep armies out or get in touch with some unseen power? I, for one, fear the sword of James Stafford more than any unseen God.”

“Silence!” the old man roared. “You talk like a madman. There is unspeakable power in Endor. Watch that it does not consume you!”

“Ha! All that awaits me in Endor is a soft bed and a warm body. I do not fear the unseen powers you bow and scrape the floor to please.”

“I will pray that the powers on high forgive me for raising a fool. Get back to work! My tower must be completed this week. Amity awaits my wisdom. This is my hour. I pray your incompetence does not block my way!”

Samoth turned without a word and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. He stomped out of the palace and made two complete circuits around the temple he was supposed to complete. As he finished his second lap, he noticed several things they could do to speed the building process. Feeling a little better about the deadline, he went to tell the foreman that no one could stop working.

Samoth’s foreman was not a popular man, but when he told everyone they had to go back to the quarry without a rest, there was nearly a riot. Things settled down quickly when the guards began cracking their whips, but one man stood his ground.

“I’m not going back until I get some rest!” Jaroth demanded.

The foreman ordered six guards to take the big black man down, and it might have been a fair fight if they had all been empty-handed like Jaroth. The guards had clubs, whips, and ropes, and it wasn’t long before they had their troublemaker trussed up tight and tied to a post in the middle of the compound.

The foreman wasn’t going to lay a finger on Jaroth; he’d give Samoth that pleasure. He found Samoth in his office and held out the whip in his hand. “We have a man that needs a little persuasion, boss.”

“Who is it?”

“The big black one.”

“I’ve been waiting for him,” Samoth said as he removed his jacket and took the whip from his foreman. “Just let me at him.”

There was not a sound in the compound except the dull thump of leather striking flesh. Jaroth would not satisfy Samoth with a single cry of pain. Time and again the leather thongs ripped into his flesh and cut bloody trails across his abdomen, but Jaroth remained silent.

Samoth had long wanted to subdue this man, to make him cringe and cower, but the black man refused to give him any satisfaction.

Finally exhausted, Samoth laid the whip aside. “Untie him and get him in his wagon,” Samoth told the guards. “He will go to the quarry, and he will load stone!” Jaroth never said a word, but his eyes were filled with defiance as he was led away.

Samoth’s anger flashed, but he was too tired to respond. He just wanted to be alone. Panting, he staggered toward the one place he was sure to find solitude: the fortress towers. He found the stairs and began a slow climb to the observation deck. At the top, Samoth was chagrined to find the sneering face of his foreman. “I need some air,” he snapped. “I’ll take your post for an hour.”

Without a word, the foreman turned and disappeared down the staircase.

I don’t like that man, Samoth thought. He knows too much. Samoth stepped to the railing and watched the foreman shuffle across the courtyard below. He’ll get some beer and bread, he thought. Oh well. Let him!

Samoth began to pace back and forth, growing angrier with each step. He’d beaten that slave until he should not have been able to move, but the man had still been defiant when he walked away.

Striking his fist into his palm, Samoth seethed. “How dare one man slow down the work! I won’t let this slave, or Stafford—or even God in heaven—stand in my way. Anyone who does is going to pay dearly.”

Thomas quietly sat astride his mount at the bottom of a deep ravine. The morning light was dim, but he could hear the creaking wheels of a caravan upon the stony trail. If only I could get someone to talk to me, he thought.

Wagons slowly crept down the slope, out of Devia’s sight. This was where Thomas liked to meet them. He watched their descent, wondering which drover he should try to speak to today. He spied one man slumped forward on his seat. Riding forward to investigate, he saw a large red stain upon the man’s shirt and breeches. Drawing alongside the wagon, he called, “Are you hurt?”

A dark face turned toward him. The man’s eyes were clouded with pain, and he winced when his wagon wheel dropped into a hole and jarred the entire wagon.

“Hold up!” Thomas shouted, but the caravan never altered its pace. Thomas swung from his saddle to the dirty, rock-gouged floor of the wagon bed. Finding a hole in the sideboard, he tied off his horse and scrambled onto the seat. Half expecting the man to resist him, he was surprised when the man handed him the reins. Even as he hesitated over what to do next, he received another shock.

The man turned to Thomas and asked weakly, “Whisky?”

Stunned that the man spoke his language, Thomas stammered, “N-no! Why do you need whiskey?”

“Kill … pain,” the man whispered.

Thomas tied the team’s reins to the wagon’s hand brake. It was apparent that the caravan was not going to stop, nor were the nags pulling this wagon going to stray. They merely plodded along, following the wagon in front of them.

With his hands free, Thomas helped the man clamber over the seat into the wagon bed where he could lie flat. Stripping off the man’s cloak, Thomas folded it into a pillow for him to rest his head upon.

Trying to find comfort, the man drew his knees toward his chest, wincing every time the wagon hit another bump.

Thomas quickly searched through his saddlebag and withdrew a small flask of ointment. Then he carefully opened the man’s shirt. The sight made him sick. The man’s abdomen was ripped and bloody, and muscles twitched in the open air.

Thomas struggled to keep from gagging as he opened his flask and daubed ointment on the wounds. A pungent aroma drifted away upon the breeze. Drooping heads perked up on the wagons nearby, and the injured man opened his eyes in surprise. Recognizing Thomas, he whispered, “Go!”

“I want to help.” Thomas gestured with the flask.

“No!” came the reply, and the man feebly pulled his shirt back over his wounds. The wagon suddenly lurched and threw the man into the sideboard. He rolled back on the floor with a groan.

“Just take it easy,” Thomas said softly. “Let me help you.”

Reluctantly Jaroth allowed Thomas to reopen his shirt. Thomas spread a small amount of ointment upon the raw wounds. Almost immediately he could sense the man relaxing as his eyes closed and he breathed deeply.

“Thank you,” Jaroth managed to croak, forcing a weak smile.

Thomas returned the smile and then noticed that the wagon had stopped. Several faces peered at him over the sideboard. The ointment’s aroma had finally caught the attention of the entire caravan.

There was an angry shout from the head drover. He was making his way back along the wagons, shouting in his foreign tongue and shaking his fists. The men cowered and ran for their wagons.

“What is he saying?” Thomas asked.

“Just go!” Jaroth whispered fiercely. “If we are late to the quarry, there will be more beatings!”

Thomas nodded and helped the man to his feet.

Jaroth studied Thomas for a moment and then smiled. “Thank you!”

Thomas untied his mount and leaped into his saddle, raising his hand in salute. As the caravan slowly creaked down the path, Thomas thought, I still don’t know if these men are slaves, but they are being abused. This has to stop!

The air was heavy inside the command center as the brothers eyed each other. “Look, James,” Thomas shouted, “we have to make Samoth stop abusing his own people!”

“Thomas, it isn’t my place to tell Samoth how to run his business!”

“We have to do something,” Thomas countered. “That man was in terrible shape!”

“Don’t we have enough suffering among our own men? Why must we worry about his?”

“Of course we have suffering in our camp, but not because you or I have beaten any of the men!”

James sighed heavily and sat down on his crate. He ran his fingers through his thick mop of hair. “I wish I could just be a commander of a military unit and not worry about the morality of my neighbors. I know you are right, brother. I spoke to Samoth yesterday of your concern, and now you report this incident. It seems to me our concern may actually be making their situation worse. And now you want me to confront Samoth again?”

Thomas bowed his head. He knew the burden of the camp was heavy enough for any man. The coolness of the community had not made life any easier. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had spoken to anyone about this.”

“Of course you didn’t,” James blurted. “I was in town getting supplies yesterday and saw Samoth, so I mentioned your concerns. He became defensive and told me to mind my own business. I meant to tell you when I got back, but other things crowded it out of my mind.”

Thomas knew that James dealt with much more than just camp matters. Civilians and soldiers alike came to James for a decision or favor. Some came with complaints, just as he was doing right now. “I’m sorry, brother. I have only made your burdens heavier. Let me talk to Samoth myself about this matter, and you need no longer worry about it.”

“No!” James spoke with alarm. “No, I don’t think you should do that, Thomas. You don’t get along well with Samoth. You never have!”

“We’ve had our differences, but I’ll be polite. I’m sure things will go all right between us.”

James frowned. “You have duties here, Thomas. The spearmen need practice on frontline defense again. I rely heavily upon you to work with the men. You have a better way with them than I do.” James lowered his head. “Sometimes I think you would be a better commander than I.”

Thomas knew that pride drove James to excellence. Of the two of them, James was the better swordsman, scholar, marksman, and fighter. He had always felt the need to prove himself to others. Under the current stress, pride was taking its toll. The cracks of humanity were beginning to show.

“James, I don’t want your responsibilities,” Thomas said quietly. “I’ll go work with the men. If you don’t want me to pursue this with Samoth, I won’t.”

“Good!” James said, relaxing. “I will address this. Just, please, stay away from Samoth.”

“Yes, sir!” Thomas saluted smartly.

James’s shoulders drooped. “Thomas, I don’t like it when we squabble. I’ll take care of this, I promise.”

“All right,” Thomas said, turning to go.

“Thomas,” James said, “thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

Thomas nodded and stepped through the tent flap.

James marveled at the tapestries that lined the hallway leading to Samoth’s office, but when the chamberlain opened the office door, he caught his breath. Light spilled into the room from the cathedral windows lining one wall, while tapestries lined the others. Samoth sat behind a large, ornately carved mahogany desk with two large captain’s chairs facing him. A huge circular rug covered the stone floor beneath the desk and chairs. Samoth rose, displaying an impeccable suit, clean-shaven, handsome face, and outstretched hand. There was a slight tightening of Samoth’s jaw.

“James, to what do I owe the honor of your presence this day?” Samoth’s words were smooth and graceful, and one could imagine that he meant them if not for the stiffening of his elegant features and the narrowing of his clear blue eyes.

James refused to be intimidated. He knew he too was an imposing figure. He was impeccably clean and neat, if not elegant, and his simple uniform enhanced his broad, powerful frame. When he wore the black helm of Amity, it sat upon his head as regally as any crown, and a sword rode in its sheath at his side. His dark eyes showed no emotion.

“Samoth, we need to talk,” he said civilly.

Samoth stiffened visibly as he sat back down in his high-back chair, but he said amiably, “Of course, James. You know I am always at your service.”

A wry smile crossed James’s lips. “To be sure,” he said, putting aside the polite lie. “I have men getting supplies downstairs.”

“Good!” Samoth relaxed and gestured toward a cabinet stocked with the finest wines. “Something to drink?”

“Not this time, thanks.”

“Well, at least have a chair.”

James could tell that Samoth was on edge, and tensions might ease if he complied. Carefully he lowered himself onto one of the waiting chairs. “I’ve heard a report that some of your men were injured this morning. Do you know what happened or whether they need medical attention?”

Samoth bristled. “What business is it of yours? Do I ask about the welfare of your men?”

“Not unless they have caused a disturbance in Green Meadow,” James countered. He smiled, thinking of the times when Samoth had brought news of one of his men’s misdeeds.

“I have already taken care of this matter,” Samoth said flatly.

“I thought I could offer medical services if you need them,” James responded.

“We have our own medicine,” Samoth said sullenly. Then he brightened, “Who did you say brought you news of the event?”

“A scout,” James replied.

“When and where did he see these men?”

“This morning he crossed paths with a caravan of your hired men.”

“Hired men?” Samoth looked puzzled. “Oh, yes! The hired men worked late last night, and this morning there was a scuffle. You know how tempers can flair when men get tired. I guess someone pulled a knife. We asked the man not to go out today, but you know how tough these men are. He wanted to go. Said he had to make some more money. He doesn’t get paid to lie around.”

James looked doubtful but said nothing.

“Believe me, James, everything is under control. Thank you for your concern,” Samoth said coolly. They both rose from their chairs.

“Thank you for your time,” James said without emotion. Without another word, he turned and strode quickly from the room.

As the door closed behind him, James knew that Samoth had been lying about the men being hired. So, Thomas was right. Samoth was using slave labor. Well, he thought, how do I deal with this?

For the next several days, James sought to keep Thomas and Samoth apart. He feared that someone would get hurt if they ever got together, but not everything was going badly for him. Green Meadow’s coolness toward the garrison was beginning to thaw. Devia had enraged many of his competitors by implying that they would have to fend for themselves if trouble ever came to Green Meadow. Many had come to court James’s favor as the threat of war loomed on the horizon.

James had hoped to find a compromise that satisfied nearly everyone—until Irene Stanley brought a delegation to his command center.

James had met Helberg and Irene Stanley before, and he knew they farmed on the western slope. The western slope was an area not really claimed by Emancipation or Amity or anyone else, so life there was a bit wild and unrestrained. Helberg and Irene were pioneers who were not afraid to settle new territory or live with some unsavory conditions. They didn’t have a lot of neighbors on the western slopes, but they were very close to the ones they had. James knew these things about Helberg and Irene Stanley. What he didn’t know was why Irene and several of her friends were in his command center.

“Mrs. Stanley,” James said as he ushered Irene and her friends into his office. “What can I do for you?”

Irene was not a woman to waste words. She explained how several of the neighbors had been losing livestock and farm tools ever since the winter snow had melted. Things had become so bad that twenty men from the surrounding farms had gathered and gone in search of the thieves. “And the men have not come back!” Irene exclaimed.

Irene Stanley stood unflinching in front of James. She and her neighbors had come directly to him with their troubles, bypassing Master Devia altogether. Now, here she stood, expecting some kind of a response.

James shifted his weight uncomfortably. He wasn’t sure what to do. “Ladies,” he began, “I am not authorized to travel beyond the borders of Amity. You could speak to Master Devia. He is—”

“Devia.” Irene stamped her foot impatiently on the canvas floor. “I wouldn’t go to him if my life depended on it. I imagine he is behind all this.”

“My husband doesn’t trust Samoth or his father,” said a pretty young woman in the group. “I came to Irene, and she came to you. We were hoping you might send some men out to look for our husbands.”

Just then, George Greenwold stepped into the tent, saw the gathering, and turned to leave.

“George!” James cried. “Come in! I need your help.”

George had to hear the story again, and one fact that stayed consistent, regardless of who told the tale, was that none of the women wanted to return to their homes. They were tired, hungry, and footsore. Though provisions were not plentiful in camp, James ordered a meal for the ladies from the larder, and in a short time their first grievance was amended. Housing was more difficult. They could not stay in the camp. After much discussion, James assigned George Greenwold the responsibility of finding housing for the women in Green Meadow.

Though the women had been fed and were about to find housing, James had not yet promised any specific action. The women continued to plead their case to James, until Irene Stanley stood and faced them. “The commander needs time to plan his strategy,” she said. “We must allow him to do what he thinks is best.” She turned and looked directly into James Stafford’s eyes and said, “Thank you, Mister Stafford, for your cooperation.” Turning, she led the women quietly from the commander’s tent.

James sat alone, turning the news over in his mind. “Oh, Lord,” he prayed, “what am I to do?”