by Julie Berry
There is triumph in his.
“Do you know where he is now? Perhaps he told you he had to race off to find his father’s cabin, before the search party left in a few days.” He laughs more. “Sharing confidences. How quaint. Your fancy lad is a worse fool than you.”
I can’t help it; I look up at him. His spectacled eyes bulge with cruel mirth.
“It was a trap. They let him hear of the expedition to see if he’d go on his own. And when he left this morning, they followed him. By now he’ll have led them right to Colonel Whiting’s hideaway.”
Oh, Lucas! Phantom, lose yourself and Lucas in the woods but do not go to your old home!
Nothing I can do veils the panic in my eyes. Rupert Gillis delights in it. If he couldn’t woo me, he’s had his pleasure wounding me.
He takes a long, noisy gulp of his ale. Mother’s best, which she keeps for company. He smacks his lips.
“No telling what they’ll do to him when they catch him.”
I watch the bubbles in his ale pop.
“Or what they’ve already done to him.”
I hear voices outside, then a noise at the door. Darrel opens it and hobbles inside, Mother at his heels. She paints on a forced smile.
“Care to stay for dinner, Mr. Gillis?” she says.
“Thank you, no,” he says. He sets his mug down on the mantelpiece over the fire. “I’ve stayed too long as it is. Miss Finch.” He bows for my benefit.
XLVIII.
Once more I wait for Mother and Darrel to go to sleep. I dress silently and slip out the door, praying I won’t encounter the intruder who’s been lurking around our house. I can’t cross the river in the dark, alone. It’s running high from melted snow. If you can take my horse, I will take your mule. I visit our barn on my way and fill my pockets with apples to persuade her to come with me.
I slip a harness over her, lead her into your barnyard, and tether her to a fence post so I can try to mount her. She brays so loud I fear Goody Pruett will wake, never mind Mother. But at length, after several apples and bruises, I’m seated on her back, and I lead her out onto the path toward the river.
The river rushes high, black and bottomless in the moonless night.
She balks at entering the water, as I knew she would.
If I knew she would, why didn’t I form a plan?
I coax. I nudge with my feet and slap her side. She won’t enter the river. I dismount and offer her apples, dangling them out over the water. She can lean farther than I can. In despair I try to push her from behind. She won’t go.
There’s nothing left. I strip off my shoes and all of my clothes and tie them in a bundle on her shoulders. It’s not cold enough to freeze the river, but cold enough to freeze me. The wind that felt so inviting when I left my house is deadly now. And I haven’t even touched the water.
I start with one foot.
Cold! Cold. So cold it’s hot. It burns. I can’t. I can’t.
I pull back and think.
Lucas, Lucas, why didn’t you see this was a trap? Why didn’t I? What was I thinking?
Out there in the wilderness, they might bypass your trial and administer their own justice. An eye for an eye won’t leave you with much.
I grab hold of the mule’s tether rope, feed her my last apple, and plunge into the water.
XLIX.
Suicide. Cold. Pain, pain, never such pain. Only seconds to go before . . . already I can’t feel my hands.
The mule comes along. Makes no sense. There’s no sense in this cold.
Cold, slimy rocks on the bottom tear my bare feet. The mule follows.
Slick gravel slides beneath me and my head goes under. Cold in my mouth and throat. Too cold for fear.
The mule swims beside me and drags me along, bashing my knees into rocks on the far side. My feet are past feeling but my legs try to stand. I stumble ashore, streaming water and blood.
I collapse on the riverbank, white and naked like the first Io. The mule lies down beside me, drenched with cold water but steaming out heat.
L.
My clothes are dry. A miracle. I scrape water off my frozen skin and pull the clothes on with frigid fingers. I squeeze the water from my hair. I can’t mount the mule now, but it’s just as well. I must move to warm myself. I lead her along through the woods in the dark, and she follows me, placid as a lamb. I walked this trail the very first night, and he led me as I now lead the mule. I couldn’t bear to look at him for the sight of what was draped over his shoulders. White hands hung down, flapping with each step, and a head bobbed against his back, baring her white and bruised neck.
I’ve made this journey several times now.
Lottie went this way only once.
LI.
Time passes without my knowing. My feet follow the unseen trail, and your mule follows me. It’s dark, but I don’t get lost. My clothes feel wonderfully warm after my naked bath. Here is the gap. I tether the mule loosely to a tree and slide down the incline that appears, to those who don’t know, to end in a rock face. I feel around until I find the opening, and then I’m through.
A hundred more yards of clawing my way through branches, and I’m at the edge of the clearing of what was to be my home.
I smell wood smoke. I hear movement. I circle around. Light streams from the window. My window, where I watched the moon.
It takes me a moment to realize what I see where the light falls outside.
Tied to a tree is a man’s limp body.
Yours.
LII.
Years of silence prevent my screaming. Shadows pass before the window. Men with lit candles, searching the house, low voices reaching through the wooden slats.
I circle around the clearing, taking care never to come into view. Could there be guards? I find none. I creep up behind you and touch your hands, lashed behind you. They’re cold, but not the cold of death. They twitch.
Thank heaven. I lean against the tree for a moment. You’re sagging against the ropes that bind you to the tree trunk. You wear no coat. Why didn’t I bring a knife? I tear at the knots.
“Who’s there?”
I kiss your hand.
“Judith?” You sound weak. “What are you doing here?”
I creep around the tree to look you in the eye. You look terrible. Your face is bruised, one eyebrow swollen, and your clothes are torn in several places, showing scraped limbs underneath. You shiver in the cold air.
“Watch out, they’ll see you. The window.”
One look tells me you’re freezing to death. With flat hands I rub your body in fast circles. You shudder at my touch. It hurts you.
“They’ll see you!” This time there’s no ignoring your urgency. I go back behind the tree to loosen your knots.
“Did they beatt you?”
You almost laugh. “I didn’t want to be captured, but Horace Bron had different ideas.”
Horace Bron is a mountain of a man. “You’re lucky you’re alive.”
“Judith, I should have suspected. They followed me. I came into the house, and they ambushed me.”
I can picture this too clearly. “I know.”
Your voice breaks. “You knew?”
I come back around the tree to face you. How could you doubt me so? “Gillis came over tonightt to gloatt.”
“Gillis!” You spit. “He was the one who told me ‘the secret.’”
“Shhh,” I warn, for your voice is rising. These knots are stubborn, and in the dark I have little success. You twist and struggle against your bonds, as if now that I’m here they’ll yield.
This never should have happened! “I told you there was nothing here to worry aboutt.”
The moon breaks through a gap in the clouds. I see it through the same trees that I watched for two years.
Enough of this. You’re already suffering enough without me proving I was right.
“Where’s Phanttom?”
“Loose. She ran off, and they haven’t found her.” One thing t
o be glad about.
“Judith,” you tell me, “don’t untie me. Find Phantom and go home.”
I didn’t come this far for Phantom.
“They’ll kill you,” I whisper. “I’m nott going.”
“They won’t kill me. They’re bringing me back to town tomorrow for a public hearing.”
“How can you be shhure?”
“I heard them talking. William Salt says he’s found something of Lottie’s that proves my father killed her.”
What?
What kind of thing?
I remember Lottie dying. I picture it once more. I feel like I’ve jumped back into the river.
I think carefully about what I’m about to say. “He didn’t kill Lottie, Lucass.”
Do you believe me? I peer around the tree trunk for a glimpse of your face. Your eyes are shut. You look like you’re praying. Tied to a tree, you look like Jesus on the cross in Bible pictures.
“Then who did kill her?” I can barely hear you.
Now I know you won’t believe me. “I don’t know.”
The awful silence stretches on.
I can no longer see shadows moving before the window. The candle’s light snuffs out. Are they going to sleep and leaving you here? I wonder why there are no guards out here watching you, but these impenetrable knots are reason enough.
“Judith,” you say softly, “if I could escape these ropes, and I asked you to come away with me, ride on Phantom and set out west, tonight, would you come?”
The darkness makes me bold. I abandon the knots and stand inches before you.
“And if we weren’tt running away?” I ask. “Would you have me for your wife in Roswell Station?”
You lean your face forward. Your nose touches mine. It’s cold.
“I would,” you say, “but let’s not.”
I press myself against you and hope warmth from me can find you.
LIII.
You caress my cheek against yours. “Be my wife, Judith,” you say. “Please say you will.”This place. That word. I peel myself away. “Let’ss gett you untied. You’re no good to me thiss way.”
I attack the knots. I’m ready to bite them.
Your wife.
“Ssh!”
You hiss through your lips. There’s a sound at the door.
“Go!” you whisper.
I can’t leave you!
I can’t help you if I’m caught.
The door opens, and I hear heavy footsteps. Under the cover of their noise I scurry back into the darkness. The footsteps stop.
“Ho there!” It’s the voice of William Salt, the miller. I abandon stealth and run.
Crashing footsteps follow me. Stinging nettles and branches lash my face. My eyes water. The cold air makes my chest ache.
I twist my ankle on a tree root. Still I run. The moon retreats and the darkness is choking. I’ve lost all sense of where I am. The footsteps draw closer. Back in the distance I hear shouts. The other men, I suppose. My body can’t go any faster, my ankle throbs with each step.
I stop.
And so does my pursuer.
He can’t find me without my movements to follow. I can’t still my breath after such a mad race.
More rumblings in the distance of shouting voices near the house. Orange light begins to shine through the trees. Could they have built a bonfire so quickly?
The flames rise higher.
William Salt turns back and wades through the undergrowth toward the fire.
That’s no bonfire. They’re burning the colonel’s house.
At least you’ll be warm.
My body, damp with sweat, begins to chill in the night air. Now I can hear the crackling of the burning house.
Burning house.
Gunpowder.
What if it wasn’t all removed from the cellar?
LIV.
They must have removed it. They must. Or there would have been an explosion by now. One that would dwarf the exploding homelander ships. No, in their search they must have found and removed it. They wouldn’t go to this trouble to recover their arsenal only to burn it now.Phantom appears and nuzzles my ear. Good girl. I’m desperate to think of a way to rescue you. But how, with everyone on alert?
I try to climb up on Phantom. She bends herself down, and with the help of a low-hung tree limb, I climb onto her back.
I can’t rescue you now. I surrender you to the men for tonight.
I pat Phantom’s neck. Take me home, girl, I think. She doesn’t need to hear me say it. She turns toward the burning house and sniffs the air, then sets off in the other direction, toward the shale slope. I twine my fingers through her mane and rest my head against her neck.
LV.
Thank goodness, in the dark I can barely see her perilous climb. But she can. She leads me out of the valley and brings me to a shallower part of the river that I don’t recognize in the dark. Without a pause she plunges in. I hoist up my skirts and my legs. She is sure-footed over the slippery rocks and never even gets her belly wet. She shakes herself off on the opposite shore and leads me through the forest until we come out onto the road, in between the village and your house. She doesn’t stop until she’s reached my barn. I slide off her back and lead her inside. Io moos contentedly.
I rub Phantom down for a long time so she won’t take a chill from her dip in the river. My body aches with weariness and cold, but I can’t thank her enough for sparing me another swim. I throw fresh straw down into Io’s stall and let Phantom in beside her. Phantom huddles next to Io. They’ll keep each other warm tonight.
LVI.
It’s still full dark, but the sky tingles with predawn. I approach the house and see once more, in my mind’s eye, the colonel’s house ablaze. That was to be my house, my refuge. You will be my refuge now. So I must get you free. I place my hand on the door latch and lift it quietly. It’s locked.
I try it again to be sure.
Mother’s face appears in the window. She sees it’s me and
closes the shutters.
I rattle the latch.
“Please!” I cry through the latch. “Lett me in!” “You don’t live here.” Mother’s voice is muffled by Father’s well-made door.
Not this. Not now. I survey my filthy clothes and shivering, aching body. “Only once more,” I plead. “One more time, lett me in. I’ll never come back.”
“Go back to the man you need so badly and see if he’ll take you in.”
Cold, weary, and frightened to death, rejected by the mother who nursed me. It is more than I can bear. My eyes fill with tears, my throat with sobs.
“Mercy for a daughtter,” I cry, pounding at the door. “Mother, help me!”
I hear Darrel’s voice but can’t make out the words. Mother makes a sound, and it silences him.
The house stands dark and still. The site of all my happier memories of Father, and Mother in better times, its blackened boards are unmoved by my distress.
I back away from it.
I bid my father’s house good-bye.
One last time in the barn, I scratch Io’s head, then lead Phantom out. She whickers her protest; she’s just gotten comfortable. But she follows me to your barn, where she and I lie back to back on a bed of straw.
Only then do I remember your mule. May she find her own way back. I can’t help her now.
Book Four
I.
I wake to clamor. The church bell rings again and again, sounds the alarm, summoning the entire village to come at a run. Homelanders? I wipe my eyes and look around me, dazed. It’s midmorning. I missed my chores.
Still the bell clangs.
I’m in your barn, with Jip curled up against my belly. Now I remember.
I jump up to find my bruised legs wobbly underneath me.
I hold on to the stall while I pluck the straw off my rumpled dress. My belly growls. Phantom noses me for her feed. Oats for her you have, but nothing that will feed me, and your house is locked.
&nb
sp; The bell rings for you, and for the explorers’ return. It must be that. I won’t know anything unless I go and listen myself. I’ll hide in my rear corner as usual. Perhaps in this moment of crisis I’ll be noticed even less.
I set off down the path. Up ahead, making slow but dignified progress up the road, are Mother in her Sunday best, and Darrel, leaning on her arm. Darrel didn’t go to school, it seems. Couldn’t, with no one to help him. I hang back behind a maple tree and wait for them to get far beyond me. “Playing hidey-tag?”
I jump. It’s Goody Pruett. She cackles at my skittishness. “You’re a wreck, aren’t you? What happened to your clothes? And how come you’re hiding from your own mother?”
She pats me on the elbow, and somehow I find myself escorting her by the arm into town.
“Don’t take too much imagination to think of a reason. Old Goody Pruett’s been around a long time, she has.”
She walks so slowly I despair of arriving before the meeting is over.
“Goody Pruett knows things Preacher Frye and Doc Brands don’t need to know.” She chortles with laughter, then peers at me with her glossy black eyes. “You’re in trouble, aren’t you, lassie?” She eyes the front of my dress.
I am too tired to protest my innocence. Goody joins a long list of authorities on the subject of my immorality.
We are the last ones to approach the church. Goody makes her way up the aisle, and I slip into the back. Not unnoticed. Reverend Frye’s eyes follow me, as do some others, I assume from the expedition, who stand in front with guns at their sides. This room is not a church today. It’s a courthouse.
You are tied to a chair next to the pulpit. Your clothes are even more soiled and tattered in the light of day. I see blood from a cracked lip, and the purple bruise around your eye. Your head droops. Everyone whispers at the sight of their disgraced young knight. Not Maria, though. She sits tight next to Leon, pale and silent.
