Davis nodded. "I'll be there in a bit, Colonel."
Welles leaned forward in his saddle and looked around at the settlement and the rolling, wooded hillsides that surrounded it. "This is fine country. Now that there's a good, wide road leading to it, there'll be plenty of settlers coming in here. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if there were enough people in another year or two for Kentucky to petition for statehood."
Davis frowned a little. "You really think so, Colonel?"
"Why not? Have you ever seen a better place to settle?"
"No, can't say as I have," Davis replied honestly.
"Once people make a place their home, they're going to want churches, and schools, and everything else that makes it civilized."
Like law and order, Davis thought. If what Welles said was correct, Kentucky might not stay a frontier for much longer. That murder conviction might come back to haunt him, and he might have to move on to escape it.
Davis didn't want to think about that. He was still a long way from the Shenandoah Valley. If he made a life for himself in Kentucky, it would be as Hal Davis. He would still be safe.
The reassurance sounded hollow, even to him.
But there was nothing he could do about the situation right now. He had more pressing matters with which to concern himself—such as Emily Harding and the relationship that had grown up between them. He had to deal with that first. And he had been thinking more and more about Andrew, as well. Shadrach had said he won that knife in Boonesborough, from a man who could have been Andrew. That settlement was only a few days' journey from Logan's Fort. It was possible Andrew was still around somewhere up there.
As much as he might try to deny it, the need for vengeance still burned within Davis. He could go take a look around Boonesborough, maybe ask a few questions. It wouldn't hurt anything.
But first . . . Emily.
Davis put his ax over his shoulder and walked up to the supply wagon. He turned over the ax and picked up his weapons: the flintlock he had brought with him to the Block House, the one he had taken from the outlaw he'd killed on the hill, and the rifle with the broken stock that Conn Powell had pressed into his hands that night outside the little tunnel. Davis had never thought of himself as a sentimental man, but he was going to hang on to that broken flintlock, he had decided, to remind him of what he and Emily had gone through together, and to remind him of the long hunter as well.
From the supply wagon, Davis walked on to the settlement. The people who already lived here had turned out in large numbers to greet the newcomers, creating a large, bustling crowd. Life on the frontier was often difficult and lonely, and these pioneers usually seized any excuse for a get-together. There would be plenty of drinking and laughing and fiddle-playing and dancing tonight, Davis thought. He was sure Emily would enjoy the celebration.
But would this be the last time the two of them danced together?
"My goodness, you're loaded for bear, aren't you?" Emily asked with a laugh as Davis came up to the Harding wagon carrying the three flintlocks.
He managed a smile. "Man never knows what he's going to run into out here."
"I suppose that's true." Emily stepped down from the tailgate of the wagon. "Why don't you leave two of those rifles here, and we'll take a look around the settlement?"
That sounded like a good idea to Davis. He had wanted to talk to her privately, without her parents and brothers and sister around, and this might be the best opportunity he would get. He set the broken flintlock and one of the others inside the wagon for safekeeping, then linked his arm with hers as they strolled toward the high stockade walls of the fort.
Although most of the buildings in the settlement were outside the walls, the citizens could retreat inside the fort in case of Indian trouble. So could the farmers who worked the blue-green fields in the distance.
"What do you think of the place?" Emily asked. "After passing through all that wilderness, did you think we'd ever see a settlement again?"
"I figured we would."
"Well, of course, I know that. We knew all along that Logan's Fort would be here, and so would Boonesborough, and Harrodsburg, and Bryan's Station and all the others."
"Colonel Welles says that in a year or two, he thinks there'll be enough people hereabouts for Kentucky to become a state."
"Really? That would be wonderful!" Emily exclaimed.
Davis wasn't so sure about that, but he didn't want to say anything to ruin her good mood, not yet, anyway. He asked, "Where are you and your family thinking of living?"
"I don't know. There's still plenty of land just waiting to be claimed. I think Mother would like to be somewhere close to the settlement, though. She's had enough of the wilderness." She shivered, and Davis felt the tiny movement. "To tell you the truth, so have I. I'd just as soon stay here if . . . if everything works out all right."
Now, what did she mean by that? Davis wondered. He started to ask, then checked himself, not sure he wanted to hear the answer just yet.
They walked around the fort, Emily exclaiming in surprise at all the places doing business in the settlement. "I thought there might be a trading post, but that would be all," she said. "Why, there's a milliner's, and a lawyer's office, and even a doctor!"
"And a blacksmith shop and a mill and a stable," Davis pointed out. "Pretty much everything anybody would need."
"They say that nothing can stop the march of civilization."
Davis was afraid she was right about that.
"I've heard there's going to be a dance tonight," Emily went on after a moment.
"Figured there would be," Davis answered shortly. Whenever he was worried about something, he generally retreated back into his old reticence.
"Are you going?" she asked bluntly.
"Well . .. sure." He took a deep breath. "And you're going with me."
Her smile was as bright to him as the sun. He would have a talk with her later, after the dance, he decided. He didn't want to spoil this day for her. Better to postpone the hard choices.
Because hard they would be. He had reached another decision, the most difficult one of all.
If there was ever going to be anything lasting between the two of them, Emily deserved to know the truth about him.
No matter how much it hurt.
* * *
Music filled the night, wafting into the air from a dozen or more fiddles, a handsaw, and a tub with a broom handle stuck through the bottom of it so that a string could be attached. Several hundred pairs of hands clapped along with the robust melodies. Skirts swirled, feet flew, and the biggest celebration that ever hit Logan's Fort in its relatively brief existence continued long into the night.
Davis danced until it felt as if his feet were going to fall off. Emily was light, almost buoyant, in his arms, but he had spent most of the day chopping down trees and clearing brush over the final half-mile or so of the Wilderness Road. Besides, he had more on his mind than dancing.
Still, as they whirled and spun to the music, Davis couldn't help but be carried away by the joyousness of the occasion. He smiled more that evening, he figured, than he had in a year.
Trying not to puff and pant after a particularly fast-paced song, he led Emily out of the big clearing where the dancing was taking place. Tables had been set up around the edges of the clearing, and they were practically groaning from the platters of food and jugs of cider with which they were laden. Davis picked up one of the jugs, uncorked it, and poured cider into cups for himself and Emily.
"Thank you," she said as he handed her the cup. "All this dancing has made me thirsty."
"You want to sit out a while?" he asked.
Emily considered, then nodded. "That would be fine."
Davis felt a mixture of relief and dread. He had been waiting for an opportunity to have his talk with her. This might be the best chance he would get.
"Why don't we take a walk?" he suggested.
"Unchaperoned?" Emily asked with a smile.
&n
bsp; "I won't tell your ma and pa if you don't," Davis said. "Besides, my intentions are strictly honorable."
"Well . . . not too honorable, I hope," she said boldly over her shoulder as she turned to stroll toward the trees where the wagons were parked.
As a matter of fact, Davis thought as he hurried after her, his intentions were so damned honorable that he wondered if he was making a terrible mistake. Either way, he knew he had to go through with it. He cared too much about Emily to live a lie with her.
Shadows claimed them as they walked side by side underneath the trees. There were a few people around the wagons, of course, but no one close enough to be within earshot. Davis made sure of that before he had Emily sit down on one of the wagon tongues. All the oxen and mules had been unhitched and were penned up in a corral near the walls of the fort.
Emily took a sip of her cider, then said solemnly, "I have a feeling you brought me out here for a reason, Davis."
He nodded, wishing he could see her face a little better in the shadows. "Yep. I did." He fell silent.
"Well? Are you going to tell me what it is or not?"
For an instant, Davis felt like bolting. But he knew he couldn't do that, so he drank down the rest of the cider, hoping it would give him a little courage. To his dismay, it didn't seem to help one blasted bit.
He took a deep breath, then said, "All right. I just figured that since I love you and you love me—"
She reached up and touched his cheek with her fingertips. "I never tire of hearing you say those words," she murmured.
He frowned, distracted by her gentle touch. Forcing himself to go on, he said, "I figured that you ought to know the truth about me. I already told you my name's Davis Hallam, not Hal Davis like I told the colonel and everybody else."
"I don't care about that."
"Well, there's a reason for it, and you may care about it." He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "I had . . . some trouble with the law back in Virginia."
"All right," Emily said steadily. "I think I know you well enough by now to know that you're a good man, no matter what you might have done in the past."
"I didn't do what they said I did," he went on hurriedly. "You've got to believe that."
"Of course I do."
Her trust in him strengthened his resolve to go through with this. "I was married," he said. "I had a wife . . . and children."
Emily's chin lifted a little as she regarded him intently. "What happened to them?"
"The children are all right . . . I hope. I haven't seen them since last winter. I don't reckon I'll ever see them again. My wife . . ." He had to swallow hard before he could continue. "My wife is dead," he said flatly. "I was accused of killing her, and the magistrate found me guilty and sentenced me to hang. I got away and . . . wound up here."
It was Emily's turn to take a deep breath as she tried to cope with what he had told her. After a long moment, she said, "I see. Did you kill your wife, Davis?"
"No! Dear Lord, no! I never touched her." His hands shot out and gripped Emily's shoulders, pulling her up so that her face was close to his. "I swear by everything that's holy, I didn't do it, Emily. But . . . I know who did."
He felt her trembling and knew that he was probably frightening her. But she said, calmly enough, in a voice that was little more than a whisper, "Tell me about it."
He did. For the next few minutes, the story poured out of him—the problems between Faith and him, the growing suspicion of Andrew's involvement, the terrible discovery he had made on that wintry day . . . Faith's death at Andrew's hand. He told her all of it, and tears welled from his eyes, and her arms went around him and held him tightly as great shudders wracked him. With anyone else, he would have been ashamed and humiliated to be seen this way.
Somehow, though, with Emily it was all right. Before he was finished, she was crying with him.
Finally, he made himself ask, "Do you still believe me?"
"Of course I believe you! You're a good man, Davis Hallam. I know you'd never hurt someone you love."
"I'd never hurt you," he whispered. She lifted her face to his, and their lips met.
Reluctantly, Davis ended the kiss only a moment later. "There's more," he said. "I think Andrew may be here in Kentucky."
Emily pulled back from him a little. "What makes you think that?"
"Remember that knife Shadrach had, the one with the silver ball at the end of the handle?"
"If you say so," Emily replied doubtfully. "I never paid that much attention to it. I was too scared of him."
"Well, I got a good look at it. Andrew had a knife just like that."
"There must be more than one knife made that way."
"Maybe, but Shadrach said he won it in a card game from a man in Boonesborough. The man he described sounded an awful lot like Andrew."
"So . . . what are you going to do, Davis?"
"I don't know. I thought about going up to Boonesborough and taking a look around to see if maybe I could find him."
This time Emily stepped back completely out of his embrace. "And what if you do? Will you kill him?"
Davis blinked in surprise at her reaction. "I don't really know. I never thought that far ahead." His fingers clenched and unclenched. "He deserves killing."
"I won't argue that, but you don't know for certain he's anywhere around here, Davis. If you don't find him in Boonesborough, what then? Will you go to Harrodsburg, or Bryan's Station?"
"I don't know," he said.
"How long will you look for him?"
"I . . . don't know."
"Davis . . ." She caught his right hand in both of hers. "Listen to me. You want revenge on your brother."
"I want justice," he said stubbornly.
"No, justice is something meted out by the law . . . or God. You just want vengeance. And if you go seeking it, you may be consumed by it. It can destroy you, just as sure as anything."
"I won't let that happen."
"How can you be sure? None of us know what the future may bring, none of us!" She stepped closer to him, and his arms instinctively went around her. "Davis, I thought you brought me out here tonight to tell me that you're going to be staying here. I thought . . . I thought you were going to ask me to marry you."
"That's what I want," he said in a voice choked with emotion. "That's what I want more than anything else in the world."
"Then I'll be yours," she whispered, "but only if you give up searching for Andrew. Let the law handle it."
"The law said I was guilty," Davis said bitterly. "The law wanted to string me up from a gallows."
"I can understand why you left the Shenandoah Valley. No man should be punished for something he didn't do. I'm not asking you to go back. I'm just asking you to let your brother find whatever justice Fate has in store for him."
Davis felt himself weakening. When he had headed west, finding Andrew and wreaking vengeance on him had been the furthest thing from Davis's mind. He had been concerned then only with survival. It was only since the encounter with Shadrach that thoughts of settling things with Andrew had steadily grown stronger in Davis's mind.
Had it become an obsession with him? Was Emily right? Davis had never felt himself consumed with the need for revenge.
But if the search was unsuccessful in Boonesborough, what then? Maybe he would move on, seeking Andrew in some of the other settlements. Maybe he would forget about what he had walked off and left here at Logan's Fort. Maybe he would abandon the future he might have had, in exchange for a bloody past that wouldn't let him go.
He couldn't risk it. He had come too far, endured too much, to throw away a second chance at happiness that he had never figured to have. He took a deep breath, the Tightness of the decision filling him.
"Emily Harding," he said, "will you be my wife?"
"What about Andrew?" she asked tautly.
"I don't care. Whatever happens to him is in God's hands, not mine."
"Davis . . ."
&nbs
p; She kissed him again, her answer to his question in the soft warmth of her lips. Davis felt his passion growing as her body pressed insistently against his. He could feel, too, the rapid beat of her heart. Likely there was a preacher here in the settlement who could marry them, he thought. There had damned well better be!
And the best part of all was the resolve spreading through him, telling him that he was doing the right thing. The decision he had made was the only one he could have reached. Just as he had told her, Andrew's fate was in other hands now, and that was the way it should be. Davis Hallam wasn't going to look back any longer.
From now on, he would look only to the future . . . the future he was going to share with Emily.
Chapter 16
Davis climbed down the ladder, stepped back, and looked up in appreciation at the sign he had just nailed to the log building above the door. He had spent a long time burning the letters into the thick plank with a heated iron. Emily had helped him a little with the spelling.
The largest letters on the sign read THE BROKEN FLINTLOCK. Below it in smaller letters were the words Tavern and Inn. Emily had suggested that he put his name on the sign, too, but Davis had declined. If anyone ever did come looking for him, he didn't want to make their job any easier than it had to be.
Emily emerged from the open front door of the building, wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist. She smiled at Davis, then turned to look up at the sign with him. He slipped his left arm around her shoulders and drew her close against him.
"It looks mighty fine, Davis," she said. During the past year, people around Logan's Fort had become accustomed to hearing her call him by what everyone else thought was his last name. "You did a good job on it. Now when folks hear about the inn, they can find it easier."
He nodded. "I'm glad you talked me into it."
"I just want the place to be as successful as possible."
The Wilderness Road Page 19
