Walking Through Shadows

by Sheri Lewis Wohl

  The sky above was clear and blue, the few clouds wispy white and beautiful. Grasses swayed in the gentle breeze that brought with it the familiar sounds and smells of her home: cooking fish, curing meats, and women’s laughter. How could she leave and never return? How could she not follow her destiny? Each pulled at her, equally strong.

  She mounted Tilla and reached out one last time to link her fingers with Alumpum. If what Tiloukaikt said was true, and she knew it was, she would never see or touch her sister-friend again. She wanted to remember her face and feel her warmth. After a moment, she let go and straightened up. It was time to go.

  Then she looked to the west and began to ride. She did not look back.

  * * *

  Perhaps it was time to leave this place. Matthew Hopkins stood in the open window of the small room in the Oregon City home of missionary Tobias Seed and stared. He saw nothing and heard only the familiar sounds of the morning. Above him the sky was clear and blue, the sun beginning its trek across the horizon. All was calm, yet he sensed stirrings of the kind that called for his expertise.

  Turning his head, Matthew studied the small book lying on the petite table. Bound in smooth, rich leather, it was beautiful and expensive in contrast to the rough top it lay on, which was very unlike the polished wood of his own furniture. Out here, he had grown accustomed to the lack of civilized surroundings, though he did not enjoy sitting at this table and in this tiny, drafty room. At the moment, it was the best he could do, so he ignored its crude nature.

  He held his hand over the book as he thought about what he must add to it. His writings included all he had learned while walking this path. The knowledge the centuries had given him was valuable and his work much more complete than when he had written his first book. Short and concise, it had been filled with the important lessons he had learned during his career. Now he had little to impart to the latest volume, which was most aggrieving. Staying here could add nothing more to his most important work; he should leave.

  Yet he could not. His writings were detailed with the teachings of this century, so why did he feel he had not completed the job? His thoughts returned to a night a year past. As the fire consumed her body, his work should have been finished. Still he was unable to leave behind this wild and unsettled place. In his heart, he knew why, though he was unable to let the words pass his lips. She was the one who left him feeling this way, for she had defied him even in death. She had bested him by leaving behind traces of her evil for another to discover and use. Until he righted that wrong, he could not leave this hell.

  He had been following her and her kind since before his title and the delivery of his first masterpiece to the people. He had seen his destiny before his twentieth year and, with his father’s blessing, had embarked upon his most important journey. At the time he had not realized the extent to which his calling and fate would take him.

  Unlike those he hunted, he had believed himself to be of mortal stock. After all, he had been there in 1634 when his father’s life ended and he was united with God in the Kingdom of Heaven. Holding his father’s hand as he made that crossing had filled Matthew with the glory that he felt awaited him once he fulfilled his own mission on earth. He had understood with perfect clarity that he was sent to cleanse the world of those who sought to spread their evil amongst the good and honorable people he offered his life to protect. Once his job was completed, he would join his father at God’s right hand.

  The years had flowed by like an endless sea that brought new, creative ways of trying to disguise their evil. The witches he sought were clever but underestimated him each and every time. He was smarter than they and had the power of heaven behind him. One day soon, he would be victorious and his mission would end. First, he had to find the grimoire that she had managed to hide. As much as he wanted to move on, he could not, at least not until he found the book. He sensed that her magic was the strongest he had encountered thus far and that it would call to others. In fact, he knew it would.

  He had destroyed her but had not, he feared, destroyed her power. Others would come, and he would need to be ever on guard for the signs that would tell him who was pure and who was wicked. Glancing out the window again, he decided it was most assuredly time to leave Oregon City and return to the cabin in the woods. He had missed something, he was convinced of it. He would return, he would find it, and he would end whatever evil she had brought to this land of great rivers and endless fields of wild grasses.

  “Witch-Finder General?”

  He smiled at the title. Even after all these years, all these centuries, he still never tired of the honorific. It was true that Parliament had never confirmed his claim to the title, but that was a petty detail. As far as he was concerned, God had conferred it upon him, a much higher council than the humans of Parliament. Thus, he had carried it with him year after year, never growing weary of the sound of it upon the lips of others, particularly when those lips were rosy and lovely.

  “Miss Seed. How may I help you?” Prudence Seed was quite pretty, with her dark hair tucked beneath her white cap, her cheeks glowing with a touch of pink, and those very kissable lips. The familiar twinges assailed him.

  She dipped her chin and could not quite hide her smile. He would like to flatter himself and say he appealed to her because he was a virile young man, but out here in the West, cultured men like himself were rare. This was an untamed land yet, and she saw few who were not crude explorers who wore the same clothes for months on end, did not shave their faces, and smelled worse than the animals they hunted. Someone like him, who embodied the best of refinement, was a treat, and even more so, she responded to his mysterious allure.

  “Come sit with me.” He held out his hand and led her to the chair pulled close to the fire. For a woman who willingly gave up her life in the city for an unknown future in undeveloped lands, she maintained a grace and dignity that spoke loudly about her character. She enchanted him, and he longed to hold her in his arms and give of himself freely. That she was a maiden did not concern him. Out here in the wilds, the rules of polite society no longer mattered, at least not to him.

  Her response to him seemed to match his own. She did not hesitate at his invitation to enter his private room and willingly put her small, warm hand in his. What he liked the most was her purity and her righteous heart. She was the kind of woman he had dedicated his life to protect.

  As she sat in the chair with the firelight flickering over her beautiful face, he ran his hand down her neck. Her skin was smooth and soft and…what? He jerked his hand away. It could not be, not this beautiful, loving soul, yet his touch was skilled, and he knew the marks when he saw them…when he felt them.

  She screamed when he jerked her head to the side, baring a long stretch of her pale neck. There it was as if mocking him by its very presence on one he had believed to be pure and with whom he had contemplated sharing his body: the mark of the witch. Against otherwise smooth flesh, it was raised ever so slightly, a splash of crimson that gave irrefutable proof that the devil himself had laid his fingers to her body. Disgust made his stomach lurch.

  Her screams continued as he tore the hat from her head and the dress from her shoulders. They were alone in the house, for her brother had left on horseback before dawn on a journey to save the souls of the wild people who lived in the hills. He would not return for several days.

  As her torn clothing fell away his worst fears were confirmed. Yet another mark marred the skin on her back. Such a bright future vanished in a breath. He knew of one way to save her soul, and he was the only one to do it. He put his hands around her neck and squeezed. Once, long ago, he would have used the water or the walking to wring forth her confession. No longer, for his skill in detection was divine. His diligence and prowess were sufficient to understand the horribleness of her sin and to issue the only judgment possible against her. He was inquisitor, jury, and judge. He came to cleanse the land, and so he would.

  When her struggles ceased and her b
ody at last fell limp, he picked her up and carried her from the room. With her draped across the back of his horse, he rode away from the Seed home and into the morning. The tree rose out of the stand clustered far from the house, strong and thick. Yes, it would do. He dismounted and took the rope from his saddle. It took only a bit of time before all was readied.

  The heat of the blaze followed him as he rode away, the flames engulfing her as she hung from the tree visible for a long time. But he didn’t look back.

  Chapter Three

  Near the John Day Dam

  Present day

  Molly was having second thoughts about the grand plan now that they were here. They’d spent a couple of hours outside of Umatilla hiking the river there and stopping every so often so Angus could take pictures. Then they’d piled back into his SUV, and at first she figured they would drive the Oregon side of the river as though they were headed to Portland. He surprised her when he went back over the river and into Washington once again. Heading west, he piloted them in the direction of Goldendale and the John Day Dam. She thought he would stop at Goldendale, but instead he chose a place called Cliffs Park. Though Molly was a lifelong Washington resident, she’d never even heard of Cliffs Park. Angus had made the journey from across the pond as an adult, and here he was full of more trivia and history about the place than she would ever be able to pull out of her head. She obviously needed to get out more.

  She had to admit, the scenery was pretty. Usually if she was driving to Portland, she chose the Oregon side with its wide-open spaces and ubiquitous wind turbines. Not that this side didn’t host its share of turbines, but it still had groupings of trees that gave it a much different look and feel. She rather liked it and wondered why she’d never bothered to come this way before. Actually, she knew why. Speed was an issue because she was always in a hurry, and the Oregon side was faster. She never took the time to slow down and enjoy the view.

  Out of the car, she stood and stretched her arms up over her head. The John Day Dam below them served as a barrier between the Columbia River and Lake Umatilla. Impressive, yet she wasn’t quite sure of Angus’s choice in hiking areas. She was used to heavily wooded areas that blanketed the mountains and embraced the streams and lakes. In other words, lots and lots of pine trees. This was quite different. Oh, it was hilly enough, and the Columbia River was pretty damned impressive. It was just so different with its open spaces dotted by clustered stands of trees and sagebrush-peppered rolling hills. The effects of glaciers thousands of years earlier were impossible to miss. It was very cool and quite unique.

  Apparently, Angus actually did have a plan, even if it wasn’t clear to her. She now knew he was working on a book about the people who originally called this area home and wanted to get an up-close and personal feel for the area. In her humble opinion, the Children of the Sun, or the Spokane Tribe, would be more interesting, but that was just her. She was, after all, born and raised in Spokane, so why not study the indigenous people of her own area? Winnie had told her he’d decided to make Spokane his home partially because of its history. It fascinated Angus, and when he wasn’t working as a voice-over artist, he was writing his nonfiction books. Perhaps he’d already completed his research on the Children of the Sun, and this was his next chapter. What did it matter anyway? She was just along for the ride.

  With hands on hips, Molly looked to the south. While the view was stunning, it didn’t look like a very exciting hiking prospect. Near the river, the landscape featured lots of rolling hills, punctuated by rock cliffs, and as far as she could see, full of weeds, brush, and wildflowers. She kind of liked the low-lying brush, which put off a faint sage-like odor that smelled a little like the kitchen.

  Though the landscape didn’t have the vast spread of trees so common in the Spokane region, this area had some trees and plenty of basalt rock cliffs. Thank you, prehistoric glaciers. While Angus might want to get a good feel for the early inhabitants and initial explorers, like Lewis and Clark, if he thought she was going to climb those rock cliffs or jump in a canoe to cross the river, he could jolly well think again. She appreciated the majesty that was represented here. She also respected it. The wide Columbia did not appeal to her sense of adventure, as she knew all too well about the currents that tore beneath the calm surface. Only a fool would challenge those waters. And the cliffs? Those babies were steep, creepy, and if folks were to be believed, home to plenty of snakes, as in rattlesnakes. No thank you, Angus.

  Before she opened her big mouth, she stopped. What did she have to lose? Or that she hadn’t lost already anyway. It wasn’t like she could turn around, go home, and start baking for her loyal customer base. As it was, she’d had to turn over the projects she committed to for the next couple of weeks to her friend, Kristin, aka Tasty Cakes. She might never get those accounts back either, but she had to do what was best for her customers, given she was out of business temporarily. That left her here and with two choices: go home and be depressed about a situation totally out of her control, or stay here and accept Angus’s grand plan, and maybe, if she got lucky, have a little fun. This forced-vacation thing was a pain in the butt. Not that she had control issues or anything like that. Nope. Not her.

  She decided to continue to hang with Winnie and Angus, and hope for that fun thing. She’d stay, but she still didn’t intend to climb to the top of any damn cliff. Angus would have to dangle a whole lobster tail and a big bottle of pinot before she’d even think about it, and the chance he had either of those things in his pack was pretty slim. She’d hike a while longer, sure, along the lovely rolling-hills sections with nice grass and trees. She’d breathe in the pleasant scent of sage and let it whisper soothingly along her senses. When they were done, they’d find a motel in Goldendale or maybe cross the river and hit one of the hotels in Hood River. She’d order wine from room service and then take a hot bath while Loba snoozed on the bed. Now, that was an awesome plan.

  “Ladies.” Angus stood at the open back hatch holding their packs. He handed Molly hers and she slipped it on. “Water?” He seemed to have a mental list and was ticking off each item. Nobody was leaving either until he checked off each item.

  She patted the side pocket of her pack. “Loaded up.” She might be a baker, but she wasn’t totally lost when it came to hiking. Granted, this area was a little more remote than her typical hike and, so far, a few hours longer than normal for her and Loba, but hey, she still knew water was the number-one item to keep plenty of in her pack. In her case, she had to carry double so both she and Loba had enough. Like most dog lovers, she’d even go without water if she had to in order to make certain Loba had what she needed.

  “Good girl.” He smiled, taking the edge off the girl, which he knew she hated yet still loved to tease her with. As much as she liked Angus, he had a definite wicked streak. Actually it made her like him more.

  “Thanks, boy,” she said softly as she slipped her arms into the straps of her pack.

  His smile grew. Another thing she liked about him. He could take it as easily as he dished it out. He turned his attention to Winnie, who was still sitting in the passenger’s seat changing into her boots. “Come on, pokey,” he said around the side of the car. “Molly and I are ready to go. Kick it up.”

  “Just hold your horses,” Winnie said. “Flip-flops aren’t exactly hiking footwear of choice, you know.”

  He rolled his eyes as he looked at Molly. Probably a good thing Winnie didn’t see him do that. “That’s my woman,” he said under his breath. Then he peered up toward where Winnie sat with her legs sticking out of the open door. “Hey, babe, why exactly did you bother to change out of your boots when we left Umatilla?” Actually, Molly had been wondering the same thing.

  Now Winnie rolled her eyes. “Because I wanted to. Got a problem with that?” That was Winnie. She did, as the saying went, go to the beat of a different drummer and, in her case, without any kind of apology.

  He saluted her. “No, ma’am. Just asking.”


  “Good. Then leave me in peace and let me get ready.” She returned her attention to the long laces of her tan boots. Looking at their newness, Molly had a pretty good idea why Winnie had shucked her boots so quickly. She hoped that if she was right, Winnie didn’t get blisters so bad she couldn’t walk. Been there, done that, and she didn’t want to go there again. Nor did she wish that kind of misery on her best friend.

  Molly smiled when Angus went up and helped Winnie with her footwear. She loved the way these two were together—their teasing, their laughter, and their caring for each other. All the little things said so much without uttering a single word.

  Throughout the years, she’d met all of Winnie’s boyfriends. Most she’d liked, which said quite a lot about Winnie’s taste in men. A few, however, not so much, and thankfully they’d faded away without a great deal of fanfare. Angus, well, he was, in her opinion, a keeper. She was pretty sure Winnie thought so too, which left her with only one question. When would the two of them meet on that page? From the outside looking in, it was hard to tell who the holdout was: Angus or Winnie?

  If Molly weren’t here, maybe they’d finally be able to answer that question for themselves. With her along, they’d be at their best, and likely most conservative, behavior. Neither was bound to tip their hand with her and Loba traipsing along behind. She supposed they would sort it out in good time, and she hoped they decided to do it together. They were a perfect match.

  When Winnie was finally booted up and, like Angus and Molly, had her pack on her back, Angus led them away from the locked vehicle. The day had grown progressively warmer in a pleasant and comfortable way. The sun on her face felt good, and the air was fresh and clear.

  The Umatilla River ran strong as it merged with the Columbia River, and the sight was incredibly beautiful. With each step, she thought more and more that Winnie had been right. This was exactly what she needed to smooth out the rough edges the shocking fire had caused. A couple of days of this kind of exercise and communing with nature, and she’d be ready to tackle the mess back at the bakery. In fact, as she thought about it, she realized it could be an opportunity to make the changes she’d been wanting to for months. She would come back better and stronger.