After supper, Kate invited her guests to walk the gardens, throwing the doors wide open to allow the cooling air to enter the house. She strolled down one of the meandering paths with Lionel and the elder Mr Farrell.
The younger Farrell chose to walk with Henry and Lucy, dropping comments about his wife, his horse, and the new girls at Mrs Malone. Lucy had problems following what he was saying in the dark. Only when they paused at the lit lanterns could she read his lips, but it was enough for her to gather that in Farrell’s opinion Henry was lucky to have a wife as pretty as she was, going on to add that one of the new girls at Mrs Malone had hair that – truthfully – fell like spun black silk all the way to her nice, tight little arse.
Lucy felt Henry’s arm tense with interest at this latest comment but decided that she didn’t want to know more, not tonight. Instead, she leaned against him and kissed his throat. He looked down at her and she smiled – a slow, lazy smile. When a few moments later she returned to the house, Henry was at her side. When she took the stairs, he shadowed her, hands on her waist, and when they reached her bedroom door, he pulled the pins out of her hair and kissed her.
*
Once Henry left next morning, Lucy had hot water brought up and set her herbs to steep. For indigestion, she sighed to the slave girl, miming a stomach ache. It was partly true, she smiled to herself as she drank it down.
She stretched and viewed her half-naked body in her looking glass, liking what she saw. She shook her hair loose and grinned when she recalled Moll’s surprised face. For me? the stupid girl had said, clearly disturbed to have Lucy this close. And when Lucy had nodded, she’d unwrapped the little package, probably more out of obligation than any real desire to see what was inside. But once she did… Oh, she’d said, already drowning in it. Afterwards, Lucy had tucked it away, thrown Moll’s hooded cloak over herself, and walked out.
It was unfortunate that the other girl had barged into her just as she was disposing of the cloak. Very, very unfortunate. Lucy flexed her hand. No, that had been wrong, but what was she to do?
Chapter 14
Even now that Ruth was back home, Sarah seemed to spend most of her time either alone or with her, Alex reflected when Sarah appeared in the little clearing looking rather put out. Alex nodded a greeting, puffing as she counted off her push-ups.
Once she was done, Alex rolled over on her back. “Ready to try?”
Sarah nodded, but eyed the branch with trepidation. “Will it hurt?”
“If you think too much about it, yes it will. You have to see your hand going straight through it.”
“Hmm.” Sarah sounded unconvinced.
“Don’t aim for the branch; aim for something beyond it.”
They didn’t say much as they settled down to do their workout together, two women dressed in shifts and men’s shirts, who stretched and bent, kicked and chopped, whirled and turned. Sarah blocked a kick from Alex, and the next second she’d swiped Alex’s legs from under her, sending Alex to land on the ground, all air knocked out of her.
“Bloody effing hell,” she coughed. “Well done, Sarah.”
“Are you alright?” Sarah was kneeling beside her, two parallel lines between her brows.
“I live and breathe.” Shit, that hurt! Still, she got back on her feet and smiled reassuringly at Sarah. “If that had been someone intending you harm—”
“…I would’ve kicked him in his privates while he was down and then I’d turn to run,” Sarah filled in.
“Kicked him hard, very, very hard. Although the first option is always to run, okay?”
Sarah rolled her eyes, but nodded all the same. She danced on her toes, using her head to indicate the branch. “Now?”
“Be my guest.” Alex clapped loudly when Sarah smashed her hand through the wood.
“You’re not spending much time with Ruth,” Alex commented later. She sat down in the shade, thinking she deserved a little rest after her recent work-out.
“She isn’t spending much time with me. She’s either with Daniel or Temperance, and failing that, she discusses scripture with the minister.” She made a face. “She goes all cow-eyed whenever the minister is close – and he an old man with almost no hair!”
“Umm,” Alex said, thinking that the cow-eyed one was mostly Julian.
Sarah threw herself down on her back and yanked at a long straw of grass, chewing on its stalk. “Daniel never talks to me,” she complained.
“He’s a bit busy: harvest work and then his sweetheart to catch up with.” Alex waggled her brows, making Sarah laugh.
“Will they wed soon?”
“I imagine so, although Daniel must be ordained and have some income first.”
“So many years of study,” Sarah said, “and for what? To preach sermons that bore his congregation to death?”
Alex grinned. “I think his aspirations are slightly different.” She patted her lap in invitation. Sarah scooted closer and pillowed her head on Alex’s knees. Her fair hair had come undone from its braids, and Alex spent some minutes smoothing and plaiting all that hair back into place. “Ruth wants to stay with the Allertons in Providence.”
“Aye,” Sarah said with a sigh.
“If you want…” Alex didn’t want it, definitely not, but still she had to offer. She cleared her throat and smiled down at Sarah. “Should you want to, I’m sure we can arrange for you to go as well.”
Sarah just shook her head, muttering that she wouldn’t be welcome, a third in a cosy two. It hurt, she added, to see herself replaced in her sister’s affections.
“Of course you’re not.” Alex made a mental note to have a long chat with Ruth about sisterly duties. “It’s just that Ruth knows you’re always there, and Temperance is still a novelty.”
“Always there?” Sarah looked up at her. “No one is always there. I might sicken and die tomorrow, or…” She paused. “You know, like Rebecca Ingram.”
“Shush, you shouldn’t tempt fate like that.” Just the thought of her daughter in the hands of someone like Philip Burley had Alex’s throat closing up.
“I know what to do,” Sarah said. “Send them flying and kick them in the balls.”
“I thought we agreed that the first alternative was always to run.”
“That too,” Sarah said.
Alex stuck her face up to the sun. Insects buzzed; birds chattered and squabbled; in the distance, a cow lowed; the sound of laughing children came in snatches with the wind; and somewhere to her left, Carlos was singing out of tune. Sarah seemed on the verge of sleep, her breathing slowing, and Alex was considering whether to stretch out for a little nap when a shrill sound sliced through the air. Alex rose, making Sarah grumble loudly when her pillow disappeared.
“What was that?” Alex said, tilting her head in the direction of the river.
“What was what?” Sarah yawned.
“Don’t you hear it?”
A carrying keening, and Alex shielded her eyes with her hands, swallowing back a gasp when she recognised the tall Indian who was jogging towards her home.
“Qaachow!” She snatched up her shawl and ran for the house with Sarah running beside her. Alex’s head was spinning with thoughts: Qaachow here. Oh God, oh God, why had he come? But she knew, even more so when she saw just how many Indians were filling her yard. Matthew was far away, out with the other men in the fields that lay to the south-east. Not Ian, she recalled with a flare of hope. No, Ian was at home, hurrying into the yard with his musket in hand.
“Go!” Alex wheeled to Sarah. “Fetch your father. Run like the wind! Tell him Qaachow has come.”
Sarah nodded and turned to leap away, her skirts bunched high around her legs. Fleet like a deer she was, speeding away among the trees like an arrow, and Alex turned to rush down to the yard.
Alex skidded to a stop, panting heavily. Her hair had come undone. She could feel it stand like startled vipers round her head, but despite her disarray and her unorthodox dress, she pulled herself togeth
er to stand very straight and eyeball Qaachow who was waiting in the yard. Samuel, where was Samuel? With the men, she hoped, but then she saw that he wasn’t. He was already standing with the Indians.
“Unhand my son,” she snapped, striding over to take Samuel by the arm and yank him free. She hugged him to her side and glared at Qaachow who glared back.
“It’s time.” He pointed at Samuel who shrank away from the piercing look in those dark eyes. “White Bear must learn about his other people. He must grow into a brave with Little Bear.” He made a gesture with his hand, and a young boy came to stand beside him, stark naked except for a breech cloth. His hair was the same blue-black it had been when he was a baby, and he peeked at Alex, a timid smile hovering over his mouth.
“You said twelve,” Alex said hoarsely.
Qaachow hitched his shoulders. “It’s time,” he repeated. He said something in a low voice, and his men spread out in a half-circle. Suddenly, there were arrows and muskets aimed at Ian. He said something again, and a group of at least ten Indians slipped away up the lane.
“You promised it like a gift. You take him under threat,” Alex said. “I don’t want to let my son go with you, and so you show up in force to compel me to give him up.”
Qaachow regarded her stonily. “My foster son.” He nodded in the direction of Samuel. “He and my son have nursed at the same breast.”
“Because I chose to save your boy!” Alex’s voice rose in anger and fear. “Am I now to regret that I did? Should I have left him and your wife to starve?” Qaachow flinched but kept his eyes locked on Samuel.
“You come across the seas,” he said bitterly. “You step ashore on our land, and you say it’s yours. You kill, you rape, you offer trade with one hand and stab us in the back with the other. My people are no more because of you. The lands that were ours since the Earth was new are trod by the feet of white men. You bring sickness with you, and our people die while you multiply. How many sons have you got, Alex Graham? Seven? I have one – one left alive. But I have buried three and just as many daughters, and they have died because of you.”
“Because of me? I saved him!” Alex pointed at Little Bear.
“Your people are our destruction,” Qaachow went on, ignoring her interruption. “And now I come to take something back. A son, a healthy, well-grown boy.”
“He’s mine,” Alex groaned.
“And mine,” Qaachow replied, not giving an inch. He made as if to grab Samuel. Alex slapped at his hand.
*
Matthew flew over the wooded ground, his sons at his back. They were almost home when they heard the barking of the dogs. Angry, overexcited barks, and, threaded through them, voices raised in fear and protest. Matthew swung his musket up into his hands and picked up his pace, his heart thundering in his chest. Alex, he could hear her, and there was Ian saying something as well… Something struck him over the head, and he dropped like a felled tree to the ground. His musket. He fumbled for it, but it was lifted out of reach, and hands came up to help him up. Once he was on his feet, they didn’t release him, they held him, leading him down his own lane as a prisoner.
“Qaachow.” Matthew attempted a nod, but winced.
The tall Indian nodded back, arms crossed over his bare chest. Dark eyes regarded Matthew impassively, and dark hair hung in a braid down his back, decorated with an embroidered length of rawhide and a couple of feathers. Round his waist was wound a braided belt from which hung a tomahawk and a knife, and his feet were encased in moccasins decorated with quills and beads. Qaachow was tense, muscle playing under his coppery skin. He regarded Matthew in silence for some minutes, jaw set, mouth pressed into a thin line.
“I’ve come for the boy.”
“It’s too soon,” Matthew protested with a woolly tongue.
“No, it’s almost too late. Look, he shrinks back in fear from us.” He waved his hand at Samuel, who was plastered to Alex’s side, but whether out of choice or due to the hold Alex had on him was difficult to tell.
“That might be because he doesn’t want to go with you,” Matthew said.
“But go with us he will.”
“Aye,” Matthew said, not knowing how to meet his son’s eyes. He straightened up and beckoned for Samuel to come to him. Reluctantly, Alex released her hold on him. Matthew dropped to his knees before his lad and raised his hands to cup a face that was so like his own.
“Son.” He choked and cleared his throat. “I once made a promise, aye? I promised that you would go with Qaachow and learn all there is to know about the Indian way of life. And now he wants you to do that.”
“But I don’t want to,” Samuel whispered back, his lower lip wobbling.
“Ah, lad!” Matthew kissed him on his eyes. “You have to, son. If you don’t go willingly, they’ll take you by force. You see they can, don’t you?”
Samuel nodded, one grubby finger tracing the tears that were running down Matthew’s cheeks. “So David is right.” Samuel’s voice could barely be made out, and still Matthew heard every word as clearly as if he had screamed them out loud. “He said you named me Samuel Isaac, because I’m just like Isaac in the Bible: I’m your sacrifice.”
“Oh God, no!” Matthew hugged him to him. “No, lad, that you’re not. And Qaachow will see you safe. He will return you unharmed but wiser.”
“I still don’t want to,” Samuel whispered in Matthew’s ear.
“Aye, I know that,” he whispered back. “But sometimes men have to do what they don’t want to do. That’s the difference between a boy and a man.”
The words helped Samuel straighten his spine, and after some minutes, he was able to step out of Matthew’s arms and turn to face Qaachow.
“I’ll go with you,” he said with a quaver. He took a hesitant step towards the man that was to be his father for a year, and the stern face broke up into the slightest of smiles.
Alex made as if to rush at him, her arms open to hug, but Matthew’s hand closed on her arm, and with a slight shake of his head he indicated that she should not. This was difficult enough as it was for the lad.
“I’ll go with you too.” Father Muñoz stepped forward.
Qaachow eyed him sceptically. Why would he want to take a limping man along?
“It’s my destiny,” Father Muñoz said, and that Qaachow seemed to understand. The wee priest moved over to take his place among the Indians.
Once Samuel was standing among the Indians, Qaachow said something in a low voice, and most of his men melted away, Samuel carried away with them.
Alex moaned a low Samuel, tore herself free from Matthew, and ran after her son. “Samuel!” she cried. “Samuel! I love you, son!”
There was no reply.
Alex turned to Qaachow and stalked towards him. Had she been a mountain cat, her tail would have been whipping with anger. Her eyes regarded the Indian chief with such contempt the tall Indian shuffled on his feet.
“Keep him safe,” she growled. “I expect him back unharmed.”
“Of course,” Qaachow said, “he’s my son.”
“No,” Alex spat at his feet, “he’s my son and you’ve stolen him. I respected you before. I even liked you. Now, I no longer do. Had I found your son or wife tomorrow, I would have walked away and let them die because of what you’ve done to me today.”
Qaachow paled and backed away. “He will return a man.” Together with his last few men, he stepped into the protective shadows of the forest, with Carlos Muñoz hastening after them.
Matthew moved to take Alex in his arms. She swung for him, landing a punch on his chin that had him reeling back.
“Don’t touch me!” she shrieked. “This is your fault, and now my son…” She gulped. He tried yet again to embrace her, and this time she slapped him. “He’s gone! Goddamn you, he’s gone, and you did nothing. You just stood there!” She shoved him away from her.
“What was I—?”
“Shut up! Leave me alone, you bastard.”
“Alex�
�” He held out his arms to her. “Please, Alex.”
“I hate you!” Alex swivelled on her toes, glared at the shocked, assembled household. She backed away, wiping her nose and her eyes on her sleeve. “He’s gone, my baby is gone! Why aren’t you riding after him? How can you just stand there? Bring him back, goddamn you, bring him back!”
With that she fled, pushing at whoever stood in her way, yelling at one son, at another, and all the while she was weeping, loud sobs that echoed through the balmy air, sounds of such desperation that Matthew had no idea what to do. She didn’t want him, that much was clear.
He strode off towards the tool shed, found an axe and made for the trees. His son. Sweet Lord, his Samuel.
“Oh God,” he groaned, stuffing a hand in his mouth to stop himself from screaming out loud.
*
Down by the river, Samuel was told to undress. He was handed a breechcloth, a knife and moccasins just like those Little Bear wore.
“Today, you leave the white man in you behind,” Qaachow said. “You will not speak English; you will not wear white men’s clothes. You are one of us now, White Bear.”
“I don’t know your language,” Samuel hiccupped.
“You will learn.” With a terse nod, Qaachow set his group of men moving, and Samuel had to run to keep up. At one point, he thought of turning back – he could still see the river, and so he could find his way back home. Mama, he sobbed and wiped his eyes with his arm, my Mama.
A hand grasped his; two friendly, dark eyes met his. “Brother,” Little Bear said in English and grinned at him.
Chapter 15
Alex couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t talk. She sat for hours in her bedroom staring blankly at the sky outside, tracking time by the red reflections moving across the floor. She didn’t wash, nor did she brush her hair or clean her teeth. At times, she tried to crawl out of the dark hole she’d dug for herself, but the knowledge that Samuel was gone, that they’d given him up voluntarily, sending him off to meet God knew what on his own, had her turning tail and scurrying back to hide some more.
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