Dream Song

by Linda Ladd

  "Did you see anything?"

  His whisper was barely audible, and Bethany shook her head, suddenly terrified of whatever was lurking in the darkness.

  "It's probably some animal drawn to the fire," Luke murmured for Bethany's benefit. But, he had been trained much too well by the Sioux not to make sure. "Get Pete in the canoe," he told her softly, then crept out of the fireglow and disappeared into the night.

  As soon as he was gone, Bethany felt alone and scared. She hurriedly gathered up the drying clothes, then lifted Peeto in her arms.

  Don't be afraid," she whispered, as the little boy roused enough to whimper. "It's all right, sweetie. We're going to sleep in the canoe, that's all."

  He slept again as soon as she settled him in the canoe, and she sat in tense dread, peering around the clearing for Luke. Terrible thoughts swirled in her head as the minutes ticked past. What if they were surrounded by savages or the bloodthirsty pirates that plagued the river? What if whoever was out there had already killed Luke in some silent fashion and was on the way to get her and Peeto? She stifled a scream with her fist as a frightening shape loomed suddenly on the far side of the fire. Luke stood there, tall and silent and half naked, as primeval as the ancient forest around him. She shivered again.

  "It was a deer," he called out to her. "You can come back now."

  Bethany went limp with relief, then moved to obey him. She started to reach for Peeto, but drew up as a sudden thought spun into existence. She glanced downriver at the flatboat party, then at Luke, where he was busy piling more wood on the fire. This was it. This was her chance, probably the only one she would have.

  After that, she didn't hesitate for a moment, but pushed the canoe out into the river. Her heart hammered with fear as she leaped into the stern, thrusting her paddle into the water. Without Luke's weight, the canoe cleared the sandbar without trouble. Then, she paddled frantically as Luke's enraged bellow echoed out over the river behind her. Bethany looked back fearfully, but she had made it! She was too far out for him to stop her! And there was no way he could follow, not at night without a boat!

  "Beth! Beth!" Peeto cried, sitting up in terror, and Bethany quickly took his outstretched hand.

  "We have to get away, Petie! This is our only chance!"

  Peeto had no complaint about leaving Luke's company, and he sat quietly as Bethany paddled steadily, using the fires downstream as a beacon. If she stayed in the calmer waters next to shore, there was little danger of capsizing or being swept away, as there was in the swifter currents at midstream.

  Within the hour, she and Peeto were close enough to see figures moving around the big bonfire on the shore, and she quickly brought the canoe up behind the moored flatboat. Several men ran toward her, aiming their guns at her, while others in the party followed with torches.

  "Please!" she cried. "Please, help us!"

  "Who ye be?" came a suspicious masculine voice, obviously fearful of the often-played trick of the river pirates. More than one river boat party had met its doom while rescuing an innocent-looking victim, only to be overwhelmed by murderous thieves waiting at the wayside. Bethany was quick to reassure them.

  "I'm all alone with my little boy! You saw us earlier with a man. He's took off without us, and we're all alone!"

  "Be comin' in then, lass," the man called, and Bethany gratefully put her hand in a strong one that helped her to shore. A different man leaned down to lift Peeto out of the canoe, but Bethany quickly took him again.

  "It's over now, Petie," she whispered, and the tired child looped his arms around her neck, wearily laying his head on her shoulder.

  "Oh, you poor little lassie," crooned a heavyset woman who had pushed her way through the crowd of men. "All alone on the river with a wee little one. Poor tired little angel." She patted Peeto's back. "He can sleep on deck where the other children are sleep in'. It's safe there."

  Bethany was more than willing to let herself be taken under the wing of the older woman, who identified herself as Mrs. McFern, the captain's wife. Bethany was ushered up the wide gangplank to the deck of the long flatboat. She was tired, too, so weary she could barely stand up. A canvas lean-to had been erected as a makeshift tent, and she settled Peeto alongside several other small children, then knelt beside him, rubbing his back the way he liked until he fell asleep again.

  Afterward, she stood and looked upriver, toward where she could now see Luke's fire, at least five miles away. He didn't have a boat, and he couldn't cut through the undergrowth along the shore, at least not before dawn, when the flatboat would set sail. She walked down the gangplank toward the roaring blaze on the bank, where the adults were congregated.

  "Poor, unfortunate lamb, so young to be alone with the little bairn. Tsk, tsk," Mrs. McFern said soothingly, putting a comforting arm around Bethany.

  Bethany said little, but her thoughts were on the morrow, when they would embark downriver again where Luke would never, ever find them. She was safe. Peeto was safe. And, that's all that mattered.

  In her safe haven, wrapped in Mrs. McFern's motherly concern, the likes of which she had not experienced since her own mother had died, when she was four, she sleepily began to feel almost magnanimous toward Luke Randall. Perhaps, she would leave his clothes and canoe behind on the bank where he could find them when he eventually made his way downriver. Yes, that's what she would do. He probably thought her a thief, but she wasn't one. She had never stolen one thing in her whole life. She would prove it, too, by not taking anything of his when they left on the flatboat. If Captain Hosie was still in New Orleans, he would help them again.

  Those were her last thoughts as her weary mind and body gave way to exhaustion. She closed her eyes, slowly dozing off, as the men and women of the flatboat chatted around her.

  A long time later, just as the darkness over the river was beginning to gray into daylight, something awoke her. She sat up as Mrs. McFern gave a short scream. Bethany looked around, her bleary eyes focusing on the object of Mrs. McFern's fright. To her cold, stark horror, she saw Luke Randall striding directly toward her like some ancient, wrathful god, his brown, nearly naked body still glistening with water.

  "Ooooh!" cried a young woman on the other side of Bethany, succumbing to a shocked swoon, but Bethany wasted no time on fainting spells, not after seeing the lethal look on Luke Randall's face. She scrambled for dear life, her only thought to get to Peeto. But, she wasn't quick enough; Luke's hands closed around her arms. Bethany's knees turned to jelly as he held her in an iron grip, his wet, powerful body nearly touching her heaving breasts as he jerked her off the ground, shaking her like a rag doll. Just as quickly as Luke had arrived, several men closed in on him, their guns aimed at the intruder's bare chest.

  "Who the devil are you, walking in here half naked amongst our womenfolk?" Captain McFern demanded furiously. "We could have shot you, thinkin' you was an Injun, dressed like that! Where in tarnation ye come from, man?"

  "I floated down on a couple of logs I lashed together after this bloody little thief stole my canoe and everything else I had," Luke said, grinding out the words savagely.

  "What?" McFern sputtered. "That poor little lass come to us with her son-"

  "He's my son, dammit! She abducted him from St. Louis, and I can prove it. There's a warrant for her arrest in my buckskins in the canoe."

  Bethany felt dozens of eyes swing to her in condemnation as Captain McFern sent a man to the canoe to verify Luke's story. Moments later, the man returned with the warrant in hand, and Bethany's would-be protectors backed away, leaving her to Luke's righteous fury.

  Fear held her in an icy grip as he nearly dragged her after him to the canoe.

  "Sit," he ordered, and she sank down obediently while he quickly donned his buckskins. His breathing was hard and rapid, and she could almost feel the waves of cold rage emanating from him.

  "Get your clothes off."

  "What?" Bethany gasped, looking around as if to run, but long brown fingers shot out
to capture her slim wrist.

  "I said to take off your clothes. Now, or I'll do it for you."

  Frightened, Bethany did as he ordered, quickly slipping out of her shirt. She covered her breasts with her crossed arms, shivering in the predawn chill.

  "The rest of it, too," he intoned harshly.

  Bethany obeyed, cringing in humiliation, but Luke hardly looked at her as he threw a blanket at her. Bethany pulled it gratefully around her shoulders.

  "You left me without clothes," he said coldly. "Let's see how you like it."

  Bethany huddled in the bottom of the canoe while he strode off to get Peeto. She was embarrassed and cold, but glad the people of the flatboat party were too busy with their preparations for disembarkation to witness her humiliation. She was so furious with Luke Randall she could kill him! She never thought he could find a way downstream! On a makeshift raft? It was impossible!

  She tensed all over as he approached again, carrying a fussing Peeto, but the boy quieted as soon as Luke handed him to Bethany.

  "Don't ever try anything like that again, girl, do you understand me? Never."

  Something in his voice terrified Bethany, and she shivered under her blanket as he pushed the canoe into the river and began to paddle.

  Chapter 3

  Around noon, Luke relented about Bethany's clothes. They were nearing a small river settlement where an old friend of Luke operated a trading post. They would stop there to eat and stretch their legs. Anger still churned in his gut over Bethany Cole's foolhardy stunt, even more so at himself for allowing it to happen. He had been stupid and careless, but who would have thought a young girl like her would take off on the river at night the way she had? He wouldn't ever turn his back on her again, that was for damn sure.

  She was in the bow, wrapped toe to chin in the blanket. Her gaze promptly slid guiltily away and her small jaw angled upward at a stubborn slant that belied her subdued mien. He knew she would try again if given half a chance, but she wasn't going to get one.

  As they neared the small, cleared bluff where Old John had his place, Luke gazed up at the scattering of roughhewn log cabins above the river. A blacksmith's shop and a small inn were set back from the trading post and livery stable. A plume of smoke rose from the fieldstone chimney hugging one end of the store, and a gaunt-ribbed cow grazed near the front porch.

  Luke beached the canoe on the narrow strip of sand, then swung into the knee-deep water. He picked up his rifle and tossed Bethany her shirt and pants.

  "Put them on. You're staying here with the canoe, but Pete's coming with me."

  Bethany put on her clothes eagerly as Luke lifted a subdued Peeto, onto his hip. She watched silently as they trudged up the hill. She wouldn't go anywhere without Peeto, and Luke Randall knew it.

  As Luke reached the small, leaning porch, he heard several voices from inside the combination saloon and mercantile, and he looked around. There hadn't been another boat on the beach, so the other travelers must be riders from nearby Natchez Trace. As he climbed the rickety steps, still carrying Peeto on one hip, he saw three horses tied to a hitching rail by Old Johns livery stable.

  Inside, a dozen men lounged around the planked bar and scuffed-topped wooden tables, most of whom Luke recognized to be longtime inhabitants of the tiny settlement. Old John stood near the bar, but when the old man saw Luke, he came forward at once, his grizzled face splitting into a welcoming grin.

  "Well, if it ain't Luke Randall hissef! Whar the hell ye been, man?"

  "West," Luke answered laconically, and the old man's rheumy eyes went to the boy in Luke's arms.

  "What manner of varmit you got thar?"

  "This is my boy. We're going down to New Orleans."

  "I'll be damned for cursin', I ain't never knowed you had no boy! Come over har and have a drink wid me. You still trappin'?"

  "Yeah," Luke answered, his eyes roving the room. Two men sitting at a nearby table attracted his attention. They both returned his gaze with narrowed, speculative eyes until his unwavering green stare caused them to look away. They were trouble, bad trouble; he knew that with the sixth sense he had developed in the mountains, where a man couldn't survive without it.

  "Who are they?" Luke asked Old John, and the man lowered his voice.

  "They be the Hackett brothers, and thar's not one decent bone in the three of 'em together."

  "Three?"

  "One's outside somewhar or druthers. That be Smilin' Jack in the black shirt. He's the one wid the big teeth, and that one wid the red hair and skinny mustache be Bucko. The other one goes by Braid, 'cause he's got long hair all braided up with bear fat. They rode in this mornin', and I ain't turned my back on 'em since."

  "I wouldn't, if I were you."

  "Heard tell they murdered a family on the Trace awhiles back, woman and children, too, but nobody can prove it."

  Luke's hand moved to Peeto's shoulder, where the boy stood quietly beside him. He could believe the Hacketts were capable of murder just by looking at them. He ordered his supplies, suddenly anxious to get Peeto away from the hard men drinking whiskey at the table, and very glad he had not brought Bethany Cole inside with him. He had no doubt they would consider a young girl like her fair game.

  On the riverbank, Bethany paced back and forth beside the canoe, glad for the opportunity to exercise her cramped legs. Her stomach rumbled, and she felt as if she was coming down with a chill from sleeping in her wet clothes. At least she had them on, she thought. She looked up at the buildings above her, wishing Luke and Peeto would come back with some food. She could smell the mouth-watering aroma of roast venison, and if this trading post was like her father's place, there would be plenty of vegetable stew as well. And fresh bread and ale. She stopped, staring up at the cabin. What was taking them so long?

  She frowned, walking a short distance up the hill to see if they were coming. They were still inside, and she turned back toward the canoe, less than willing to make Luke Randall angry again. She intended to keep her clothes on. Halfway down the dirt path along the side of the bluff, a sound brought her to an abrupt standstill. Weeping. Soft, heartbroken weeping. Her first thought was that it was Peeto, hurt or frightened. Alarmed, she ran back up the hill. She was very near the livery stable, but as she stopped there to listen, she realized it was not a child she heard.

  It was a woman, she decided, and never had Bethany heard such awful, hopeless sounds of misery, not even in the orphanage, where muffled whimpers came in the dark of night after a new child arrived, all alone and afraid. Even then, Bethany had always gotten up to lend comfort, because she knew how the children felt. She had cried herself to sleep many times, her face hidden in her pillow, so the dormitory matron wouldn't hear and punish her, and her heart twisted in compassion now for whoever was suffering in the stable.

  She looked around warily, moving past the horses at the hitching rail to peer inside the open doors. The dim stalls were quiet and deserted, but when the crying began again, Bethany followed the sounds to the last stall. A small figure sat huddled in the corner, her face in her hands. Bethany knelt, reaching out to touch the girl's tangled brown hair.

  The girl flinched, flailing weakly at Bethany with both hands.

  Bethany gasped, horrified by the ugly bruises covering the girl's face. Angry welts and older, yellowing bruises covered her arms and one shoulder revealed by her torn dress, and her eyes were so swollen that it was impossible to discern what she had looked like before the terrible beating.

  "Who did this to you?" Bethany whispered, catching the girl's hands, but the poor thing shrank away, as if expecting more blows.

  "Please, let me help you," Bethany said urgently, afraid that whoever had abused the girl would come back.

  The beaten girl suddenly grabbed Bethany's arm, and muttered hoarsely in a language she did not understand. "Aide-moi, Jacques, mon beau Jacques. Il veut me tuer-"

  "Come on, try to stand up. I'll help you," Bethany said, draping the girl's arm around her
shoulder. She had to get her out of there, Bethany thought wildly, but the girl was too weak to stand and spoke pleadingly in her own language. Desperate, Bethany half dragged the girl toward the door.

  "Whar'd you come from, gal?"

  The crude voice sent Bethany's blood running cold, and she whirled around to stare in horror at the tall, skinny man slouched in the doorway. He wore a filthy blue shirt and black breeches with some kind of animal skin vest, and his hair was black and oily, braided in a queue that hung to his waist. He smelled awful, of some terrible odor that Bethany didn't recognize, and when he smiled, she saw dirty, broken teeth, except for one gold tooth in front that hung down like the fang of a wolf. Her eyes dropped to the slim leather whip he carried in one hand.

  "You weren't thinkin' to steal me wench thar, was ya now?" he asked, raising the whip to scratch at his braid.

  Bethany sprinted straight for him, so quick that he had no time to react when her doubled fist hit him square in the nose. His head jerked back and blood spurted. Cursing in rage, he caught her by the hair as she tried to dart past him.

  "Now whatcha gonna do, bitch?" he growled, and Bethany grunted in pain as she was flung to the ground near the other girl. She screamed as the whip whistled down and white-hot agony erupted in her cheek.

  Luke stopped near the top of the path, as Bethany's cries echoed from somewhere to his left. He turned toward the stables, then cursed as Peeto lit off in that direction before Luke could stop him. He dropped his sack of food, following the boy at a run, and seconds later burst through the stable door just as Peeto threw himself on the man who was bending over Bethany.

  Luke frowned, hauling Bethany's assailant up by his vest with one hand and sending a steel-knuckled fist into his face. Braid Hackett went over backward and lay unmoving in the straw as Peeto scrambled into Bethany's arms.