Ella lifted the hem of her shift and wiped her face. “This isn’t the wonderful land my husband’s brother claimed. His name’s Duncan, and he led us here with great stories and promises.”
Luke caught a glimpse of her scarred neck and thought of things he wanted to ask her. “The dress—the one they gave you …” His voice trailed off, leaving the words unspoken. He reflected on the scars the Indians saw on her neck. There was an inquiry forming in his mind.
She faced him, her blue eyes intense. “I burnt the dress.” Her lips pressed together and her chin raised a notch, as if daring him to comment.
Luke only nodded his head and pushed two dry branches into the fire. The smoke billowed. He coughed and rubbed at his eyes.
“Were you there when she—died?” Her voice was husky.
Luke had known the question would surface at some point. “No, after the local group of Seminoles were forced to the reservation, I lived on my own. I call them … friends … family? At least, that’s what I called their older relatives. The men you saw cause grief for their elders, acting the part of renegades and scouts. They told me they’d been down near the village of Tampa. They saw smoke from a solitary campfire. One of them surprised the woman when she climbed out of a covered ox cart.”
“Oh … no.”
“Killed her, and waited for her man and son to come back from fishing.”
“No,” she moaned. “I knew she was dead.”
“That’s why I slipped away from them, and said I’d come help you and your husband.” Luke watched the smoke drift past the tops of the trees. When he glanced at Ella, he saw her blue eyes widened with alarm.
“Will they see the smoke?”
“Who? White men or red?”
“Your Seminole friends.”
“They might. They’re east of here … other side of the river. They’re told to stay on the reservation.” He shrugged. “They wander around to join friends … talk of more war. They were avoiding soldiers that morning, and I was doing the same, when we crossed paths. I can honestly say I haven’t fought opposite the white man—yet.”
“Yet?”
“The time may come. Or I’ll go deeper in the wilderness and hide.” Luke rinsed his bloody hands.
“My husband’s brothers left us up north of here. Because you removed the blue ribbons, I don’t think Samuel will ever find us.” There was no blame in her voice. “I want to take Amos an’ Hannah home to the mountains.”
“Too late for that travel, now. It’ll be winter.” Luke studied her tired expression and the freckles painting her cheeks. “Winter here is mild.”
“Luke, I cain’t abide stayin’ here. How can I survive?”
“You won’t. We need to go west—to Fort Brooke. You’ll be safe there.”
“How do you know?” She jumped to her feet, rinsed her hands in the bucket, and dried them on her shift. “My little ones’ lives are at stake.”
“I know … decent men and women will see after you. I can’t take you north.”
“I must go home.” She sat back down and stared up at him.
“Let me guide you to Fort Brooke. We’ll watch for Indians and soldiers while we travel. The soldiers would want me, and if you stay in this cabin, they’ll force you out.”
“Force me? That’s what they did to Mattie an’ her husband.”
“No one is to live within twenty miles of the Pease.”
“Pease? Peas? You mean Peace River? Why cain’t I live here?”
“By order—because of the reservation on the other side of the river. Ella, there’s no settlers here now. You’re isolated. Have you seen anyone, besides one family?”
Her shoulders slumped. Luke wished he could read her thoughts.
“I don’t know how we got here.” She scratched at an inflamed bite on her left hand. Her blue eyes showed stubbornness. “Guess I’ll wait ’til they run me away, an’ I’ll make ’em take me to the village—Tampa. I’ve got to give Samuel a chance of findin’ us. You couldn’t have removed all the ribbons.” She turned away and stared at the woods.
“No, only the ones leading from the river to this cabin.”
Ella crossed her arms and hung her head.
For a long time, neither one of them spoke. Finally, he stood. “I must bury the deer’s remains. I saved the hide.”
She nodded. “I wish I could bake a thick venison pie with lots of fresh vegetables. Did that back home.” The low voices of the playing children could be heard. “Luke, there’s somethin’ I’ve decided to ask of you.”
He faced her. “Yes?”
“Will you help me an’ the children go north? I could say you were my … slave.” She blushed at the word. But she didn’t flinch when his eyes met hers.
“Slave?” He raised his eyebrows. “No. There’s no bill of sale. No one would believe you, anyways.” He felt angry.
“As you say,” she whispered.
“Time’s passing.” He pushed green branches into the flames. The scent of dried blood hung in the air, mixing with the wood smoke.
Her chin quivered. “I know—I know. I hoped Samuel would find us.” A tear trailed down her cheek.
Luke tossed aside a stick and stepped into the open area beyond the oaks, but he felt compelled to watch her out of the corner of his eye.
She sat stock still, her back rigid. She gazed at the smoke blending and rising through the tree branches. Suddenly, with a look of revulsion, she dropped the bloody knife on the board and stared at her hands. She stood to her feet, went to the bucket of water and plunged her hands into it. She scrubbed at them, while tears dripped off her face.
“I hate this land and Duncan!” She pushed a lock of hair off her forehead.
Luke had gotten used to her mentioning the man’s name with anger. “This Duncan—he left all of you?”
“He forsook us, after we left St. Augustine. He wanted to locate a survey team in the village you speak of—Tampa. At least, that’s what he told Jim. He’s always been changeable. He gave us a map he drew … it’s worthless. Years ago, he left his parents an’ worked a gold mine, then he came here with a survey crew. He left them an’ wandered home to drag Jim from the mountains.” Bitterness hardened her words. “My husband listened. And he died!”
Luke got another armload of green branches and dropped them near the fire but walked back to the clearing. With folded arms, he stood studying the back field. Minutes ticked by. He didn’t move.
What was out there? He had heard something unusual.
Ella must’ve felt his attentiveness. She stared at him. “What is it?”
“More rain coming.”
“Let it come. Help me move this meat to the rack? The fire’s good now. If it’s goin’ to rain, we don’t have much time.” She bent over the fire and vented her frustration by stabbing the meat, pushing the last of it onto a green stick.
With one more backward glance at the field, Luke turned. “What’s the full story of your scars?”
With a sharp intake of breath, her hand went to the collar of her shift. Her fingers lingered there. She stepped away from him.
“That morning by your cooking fire … the marks stunned even the Indians. But they didn’t ask—feared to. They recognized the claw marks.”
She folded her arms and leaned against the trunk of the tree, as if she attempted to fortify her emotions before answering.
With her eyes locked on the smoking fire, she replied, “It was a painter—a young mountain lion—or I’d be dead.”
“Must’ve been painful.”
She shrugged. “It were the only time my papa—stepfather—acted like he cared … ’bout me. I was ten. I went with him to the creek. The painter had me ’fore I knew it. He hid—on top of a boulder. I guess he’d been waitin’ his chance. I became the target. The cat jumped and we both fell in the water. My head hit a rock, and Papa used his gun to kill it.”
“He missed his mark.”
“What?”
�
��The katca … he didn’t kill you with the first pounce.”
“He was too sickly and young.” She glanced up at him. “He caught me with one claw. The midwife sewed me up.”
“Did you cry?”
“Cry?” She stared at him. “No, I gripped Mama’s hand, ’til I passed out.”
“Not many men can say as much.” Under the charming layer of freckles covering her oval face, Luke saw strength and resilience.
“I hate the scars. Makes me feel … less than …”
“Other women?” Luke snapped some branches in his hands. “You should be proud. You lived. It’s a statement God saved you from a horrid death. My marks—I’m proud of them. They say it’s like a cross. What I tried to do for Jake, I did for my Lord. I tried to stop Jake’s beating.”
“You did a good thing.”
Luke appreciated her words. He reached for the last piece of meat, but froze. A faint sound came from south of the cabin. With the bloody hunk of meat still grasped in his hand, he whirled and crouched near the tree.
Flight was his first instinct.
Ella gasped. “Singin’?”
The sound was unmistakable. Somewhere in the piney woods, a male voice crooned.
“Yes.” Luke brushed flies from the meat. “I knew something bothered me.”
“Comin’ here?” There was an eager pitch to her voice but also a frightened one. She moved into the sunlight.
“Could be.”
They remained silent. Clouds gathered.
After moments passed with only the sound of insects, the crackling fire, and birds in the trees, Luke rose to his feet and faced Ella. The top of her head came to his shoulder, and he was stunned at his overpowering protective feeling.
She’s so small—too fragile for the wilderness!
“You go to the cabin, keep the gun close, and the young ones inside. Leave the meat. I’ll stay close and watch. I’ll return before dark. Don’t follow me. Don’t tell about me.” He pushed the raw meat into her hands, wiped his hands on some grass, and turned to leave, but a ragged elderly man trudged toward them on the dusty trail.
“He’s seen you,” she whispered.
Chapter 20
There wasn’t time for Luke to slip away, so he took the meat from her. He continued to work over the smoky fire.
“Go to the cabin. I’ll follow.” The smoke billowed around him. “Say I’m your slave.”
She rinsed her hands, went up the steps, and waited.
The bedraggled figure got closer, walking with a limp, and sporting a flowing gray beard. While breathing through colorless lips, the man came to a stop, and raised his walking cane in a picturesque salute.
“Good evenin’!” He tipped his head to peer out from under the brim of the limp, black hat. The man, verging on cadaverous, waved the pine cane, as if pronouncing a blessing.
“Evenin’,” Ella repeated.
Luke detected her stealthy movement. She edged closer to the open door of the cabin. He knew her thoughts were of the children, and he decided to go sit on the edge of the porch. He walked over, nodded his head at the old man’s greeting, and ran his knife down the length of a branch he held in his hands. Slicing away the bark gave him an excuse for the sharp knife to be in view.
Balanced on the man’s back was a pack with miscellaneous items tied to it and sticking out the top. From his side hung a dirty haversack, which flopped against his left thigh with every step. He lurched forward.
“Name’s Perleu,” he managed to say, while breathing in short huffing pants. “It’s my only name.”
“Per-loo?” Ella repeated with a soft laugh. “Never heard of perleu—as a name.”
“Yep, my fav’rite meal, made with chicken.” His lips parted into a wide, toothless smile, which showed sunken gums. “Can’t chew nothin’ else!” His crackling, high-pitched laugh sounded like Ella’s hens announcing the appearance of eggs. “Mushed up chicken an’ liquid! Hee, hee! Ummm … now that’s heaven.”
“I’m Ella Dessa McKnapp, an’ this … is Luke.”
“Aye, aye, good ta be seein’ folks hare.” He didn’t act as if it was strange to see only a white woman and a slave.
Amos came running from the cabin and Hannah followed. They gawked at the funny old man.
“Who’s he?” Hannah said.
Ella shushed her daughter and motioned to the bench on the porch. “Perleu? Want to set a spell? We’re finishin’ our work for the day.”
While eying the bench, he nodded and hobbled up the two steps. He stiffly lowered his aged body and turned to the children.
“Boo!” he yelled, sending both of them scurrying for the protective cabin walls. Cackling with laughter, he slapped his knee with one arthritic hand. “I love doin’ that!” He shrugged the pack off his shoulders, still chuckling.
Luke grinned and heard Ella ask the old man, “Would you like some coffee?”
“Real stuff?” He extended a quivering hand toward her, taking the pose of a drowning man. “No chicory? Strong?” His wild-haired eyebrows wriggled.
“Yes, supply’s gettin’ low, but there’s some in the pot. I can warm it, an’ it’ll likely be strong.”
“Hmmph! I’ll inhale it! Come hare, little one.” He beckoned to Hannah with a crooked finger. “I won’t hurt cha.”
Hannah’s bare feet edged near Perleu. She looked to her mama for reassurance, and Ella nodded, but Amos was the first to get close.
“Whatcha got?” He pointed at the haversack.
“Why, it’s my home!” Perleu let out a wheezy snort and wiped one arthritic hand under his hooked nose. “I carry all my worldly goods an’ belongin’s.”
“You got lots,” the boy replied.
Ella went to the fire pit, where she had a battered metal pot resting on a rock.
Luke could tell the children were drawn to Perleu’s animated nature. Hannah fingered the fringe on the old man’s leather backpack and acted unafraid.
“Go back to the porch,” Luke told Ella and bent to add wood to the fire under the coffee. “I’ll tend this. I think the old man’s harmless, but you must stay close.”
“So … you live nearby.” Ella’s remark drew Perleu’s inquisitive look.
“Yep. Well—no, I drift. My home’s the swamps an’ hammocks an’ piney flats. Don’t settle much, since my Jenny died, ten years past.” He wiped a mock tear from his eye and winked at Amos.
“Jenny your wife?” Hannah asked. “My mama is my papa’s wife.”
“Naw … mule. A woman couldn’t keep up with me. It’d be like a turtle tryin’ ta stay with a black snake. Eh? I’ve been wanderin’ since I was a set-along child.”
Hannah’s eyes opened wide. “My papa got bit by a rat’ler. He’s livin’ with God.”
“Big snake!” Amos added, stretching his arms.
“Ye don’t say.” Perleu raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry. Must be hard on yer mama ta be alone.”
“I have help.” Ella shot a questioning look at Luke. He could tell she felt uncertain about revealing to the old man their immediate troubles.
“Why sure. A woman alone is not good.” His age-rimmed, watery eyes avoided her face. “Let me show you somethin’.” By putting aside his cane, Perleu used both of his shaking, liver-spotted hands to pull up his ragged pants leg. “Got me own survivor.” The calf of his right leg had a huge, scarred hollow in it, distorting the shape of his leg—making it assume the image of a bone, more than a leg. He rubbed his fingers over the concave spot on his leg.
“A hole!” Amos bent closer and touched Perleu’s withered limb.
“Amos, don’t.” Ella shuddered at the sight of the misshapen leg. Her lips went pale.
“Here’s coffee,” Luke said, pretending he didn’t see Ella’s shock, as he came swiftly up the steps to change the subject. “It’s hot.”
Perleu dropped his trouser leg and reached for the tin cup. “Ahh, a touch of heaven.”
Luke nodded and backed away.
While switching the hot metal cup from hand to hand, Perleu tried to take a sip, pursing his thin lips way out to touch the rim. “Hot, hmm, but wonde’ful. I got bit twenty years back—thought I’d die—wanted ta die. Begged the Maker ta slay me. Ahh … too ornery ta kill. Injuns don’t even want ta take the time ta do me in, ’cause my scalp’s worthless. They throw me scraps of spoilt food an’ hope I go away without cursin’ ’em.”
Luke muttered under his breath, “They avoid the touched ones.”
Perleu drank the coffee and made loud slurping sounds—impressing Amos. “Whew! Hot! But doesn’t make me bat an eyeball!” He smacked his lips. “Good stuff.” He winked at Hannah. “Yer ma is tryin’ to burn my tongue outta me! Hee, hee!”
“What’s the news?” Ella drew Hannah away from the old man, sat on the steps, and held her.
Luke saw her lips caress the top of the girl’s head, and his thoughts flashed back to his own mother. He could still feel the touch of her fingers under his chin as she made him look at her. There’s strength in you, my son. Don’t you ever forget God has a plan for you. Listen for His whispers. God doesn’t yell.
Perleu grunted. “Was at Fort Brooke. Some folks talkin’ trouble. Always rumors, ye know. One family—way south of here—lost livestock by a night raid. Injuns snuck in.”
“What happened to the people?” Ella’s arms clutched Hannah. A frown appeared between her eyes and shadowed the tantalizing blue in them. “Did they—”
“Injuns?” Amos edged tight to Perleu’s legs. His little hands patted the tops of the old man’s knees.
“No one hurt. Spooked ’em.” His shaky hand smoothed Amos’s uncombed hair. “They went ta Fort Brooke an’ got people excited. I found a man scalped ’long the road ta the village—Tampa. Dead as a doornail. Cain’t say as it were Injuns … some white folks copy things.” Perleu’s green eyes sparkled with vibrancy, and he seemed to calculate the effect his words had on all of them. “I leave the Injuns alone. Don’t wish ’em no ill … no sir, not me!”
Ella’s face was pale. “What did the man look like?”
With This Peace Page 15
