CHAPTER 22

Henry bolted out of his make-shift bed. It was morning, and I was nowhere to be seen. Last night, he had finally let his guard down, out of pure exhaustion, and I had crept away from the camp in the early morning. He was upset with himself. He knew I hid something and assumed I would take the first opportunity to go back to French. Perhaps he thought I had lied to him about the treatment. He gathered up the bed rolls and let out a loud and frustrated grunt. He wanted to yell at something... he wanted to yell at me. “Damn you, woman,” he blurted out. His outburst carried through the surrounding area and alerted the early morning birds into flight. He questioned his every move and conversation with me. “At least she did not take you. Did you see where she went?” He asked Louis as he stroked the horse’s neck. He looked around. “Let’s get you ready and we’ll go find that insufferable woman.” He was upset with me, but he wouldn’t dare take it out on Louis.

He finished putting the saddle on Louis and loaded up when the sound of crunching leaves, swishing fabric, and heavy breathing came out of the trees behind him. He grabbed his pistol out of the side pack and spun around, ready to shoot.

“Cheese and rice! Don't point that at me, asshole.” I threw my hands up in a surrender and dropped the fish I had been carrying on the ground. It flopped on the ground as I waited for Henry to lower the pistol. My body trembled, afraid that he would shoot me. His eyes blazed with fire, and he continued to point it directly towards my center. “Henry, please, don't shoot me,” I pleaded.

He looked around and lowered the pistol after he realized I stood alone. “I thought you had run off to find the French to lead them to me and Washington.”

I stood there in disbelief, unsure of what to say. I had tried leaving before when we were at the Lovett's home, but I knew that there was nowhere to go. At that point, my only chance of survival was in the hands of Captain Lord Henry Spencer. I had no intention of trying to escape him. Jumonville had my notebook with the dates and locations of Washington's upcoming battles. My new goal was to make sure Lieutenant Colonel George Washington did not get ambushed. I could feel the tears prick at my eyes and my nose tingled. It overcame me with emotions–scared and angry at the same time. “Well, I didn't run anywhere, you… you… pretentious jerk,” I said. My entire body trembled, and tears streamed down my cheeks.

He slid the pistol back into the bag and ran to me. “Oh, Amelia,” he said as he approached, grabbing hold of my shoulders so I would look at him. “My humblest apologies. Please, don't cry. I did not mean to frighten you.”

“You were pointing a pistol at me,” I sobbed. I wiped the tears off my cheeks. “You were going to shoot me, Henry. You wanted to shoot me. Of course, I was frightened.”

“No, Amelia, please stop crying.” He grabbed and held me. “You were gone. I thought you ran. I heard a noise and thought the French were attacking.”

I pushed away from him. “I was scared and upset. But now,” I paused mid-sentence to wipe a tear away. “Now, I'm ticked off.” I could feel my nostrils flair. “Why would you think I ran off? I could have been injured or kidnapped again. I'm sure that asshole has a bounty on me by now. And the first thing you think of is that I ran away, and you were going to shoot me? You're an asshole.”

I picked up the fish that stopped flopping, its gills fluttered as it tried to breathe. I plopped down where my bed roll had been and stabbed at the smoldering logs with a stick I found on the ground. “And another thing, you didn't even bother to look for me.” I pointed the stick at him and swung it around like it was a sword looking for its target. “You were going to take off and leave me here. Oh? How do I know? You packed everything up and were getting the horse ready.”

“Correct. I am a complete and total arse,” Henry said, coming over to the campsite and sat across from me, out of reach of the stick I flailed about. “In my defense, you had tried leaving when we were at Mistress Lovett's home, and you weren't here this morning.” Busted. Did he have to remember that?

“I woke up and had to relieve myself and I was washing up in the creek when I saw a bunch of fish. I didn't mean to be gone for so long. I believe they are edible?” I said as my anxiety and sobs subsided. I had seen live trout only twice and was hoping my memory was correct in the identification and that I wasn’t trying to feed us a poisoned fish. “Anyway, there were a bunch of them, and I don't know how I could do it, but it was like a voice told me to try. I grabbed one. I thought we could have it for breakfast. I came back as quickly as I could, and you pointed your pistol at me.”

“You grabbed a fish? Out of the water?” He shook his head. The look of confusion shifted to anger. “I have already explained my reasoning and I will not continue,” he said as he stood up and stormed off through the woods towards the creek.

“Whatever. Throw your tantrum. Jerk.” I took a moment to gather my thoughts as I watched him stomp into the woods. A few deep inhales, and the adrenaline stopped coursing through my veins a million miles an hour. I grabbed a log and put it on the smoldering embers. If I was going to cook this fish, I needed fire. After a few minutes, orange flames licked the log. I found a knife in one of the side bags on the horse and tried to clean the guts out of the fish. I did not frequently find fish on my menu but was determined to make this work. When I had purchased it in the grocery store, it was cleaned and usually frozen. Catching and cleaning a fish right out of the stream proved to be a task that I had wished I never had to endure. It was a messy business. “Come on, Murray, you've watched enough tv shows and movies. You can do this!” I tilted my head from side-to-side, rolled my shoulders back, and let out a deep breath in mental preparation for the task at hand. I was not prepared for the mess that I created, but if I wanted to eat, I needed to get over the having fish blood and guts on my hands.

The fish was sufficiently cleaned without me gouging a hole in my hand. With my makeshift sword-stick shoved through it, I held it over the weak flames of the fire. My hands were sticky and slimy, but hunger won over cleaning them. The flames intensified. I wasn’t sure how long it would take to cook—it was a complete guess—I had hoped it cooked it long enough. The skin had blackened. I removed it from the heat and carefully picked at it to check if it had cooked through and was flaky. Ah, white flaky flesh and breakfast was a success.

I picked at the flesh. Salt and pepper and a squirt of lemon, that would have helped. In the end, it didn't matter. I caught, prepared, and cooked a fish on my own. I ate half the fish before I sat back, leaned on my elbows, soaked in the morning sun, and basked in my glory of accomplishment. Woman hunt. Woman cook. Woman provide. I wanted to pound my chest in victory, but my hands were gross from the slaughter. I would take my victory lap after I cleaned up.

Henry walked up as I savored my victory and growing independence. I handed him the stick with the other half of the fish, without saying a word to him, my hands still disgusting with dried fish blood and guts. He grunted a thanks. I could tell that was a strain for him.

“I don't know why you are angry with me,” I said as I rubbed my hands together to remove the grass and dirt that was stuck to my hands still caked with fish guts. I still fumed at the thought of him pointing a pistol at me, but I tried to maintain a sense of control. “Do you feel better after taking a walk? I'm assuming that is where you stormed off to go do.”

“Mayhap.” He sat there focused heavily on the fish and refused to look at me.

“I've eaten. The rest is yours.” I looked at my filthy hands. My nose scrunched up as I smelled the fish guts.

“Why didn’t you do the cleaning at the stream?” He still didn’t make eye contact. “You wouldn’t have made a terrible mess near the camp, and you could have washed your hands.”

I sat there, mouth agape. I had no answer for him. He was correct. I should have cleaned the fish at the stream, but I would not give him the satisfaction of telling him he was right. Or maybe I didn’t want the other fish to know that I murdered their friend. I looked at my hands. They looked and smelled disgusting. I almost wanted to keep them that way, out of spite. “And where, mayhap, would I have gotten a knife if not from your bag?” I huffed. Trudging off to the stream to clean up, I stayed longer than required. The other fish found a different area to swim. Word must have got out that I was on a killing spree. Ha! I let my emotions get the better of me. The extra time needed to wash my hands and face brought down the heat of my anger.

Henry helped me mount Louis, with him saddled behind, and we headed in the direction of Wills Creek in silence.

“Amelia, please, forgive me,” he said in a soft voice. I gasped at the feeling of his soft and warm breath on the back of my neck. He was close, I could almost feel the touch of his lips brush on my neck. A shiver slid down my spine and into my toes.

I leaned back into his firm body; it was warm and inviting. I turned my head to look back at him. He looked down at me, his face close to my face. “Forgiven,” I whispered. The emotions of the morning had me spent. Misunderstandings would make for a very long ride, and I wasn’t up to the emotional exhaustion to prove that I was correct. Our eyes locked a moment longer than I expected. I took a deep breath and turned to face the path ahead, unable to focus on anything around me.

Henry cleared his throat, “I wanted to thank you for catching breakfast for us. They are a bit more difficult to catch than I gave you credit for.”

“Is that where you stormed off to this morning?” I stifled a snorted laugh.

“I did not storm off.” I huffed in disbelief at his statement. He continued, “I went to wash up and saw them swimming around, like you did. I thought if you could catch one, then surely, I could catch one. They are quick and slippery. I must admit to defeat.”

“Don't underestimate me Lord Henry, there’s more to me than you can ever imagine.” I nudged him in the stomach with my elbow. “And, by the way, you did storm off in a big grumpy pout.”

“Mayhap, I did storm off.” His voice was low and close to me. I felt the small hairs on my neck and arms react to his breath on my neck. Get ahold of yourself, Murray.