Wilde, Jennifer

by Love's Tender Fury

  "Jeff—"

  "Be with you in a minute."

  "It's so dark."

  "Your eyes'll soon get accustomed to it. There you are, Jenny. Snug, but not tight enough to hurt. I know it's humiliatin', lass, but that's the way it has to be. Marietta?"

  "Over here."

  He moved toward me, reached for me, pulled me up against him, wrapping his arms around me. I rested my cheek on his chest, the buckskin rough and scratchy against my skin. Cold air swirled around us in clammy currents, and there was a noise like heavy breathing as some force sucked the air toward the rear of the cave.

  "Guess I can thank you for savin' my life now," he said.

  "I—I just shot. I didn't even remember I had the rifle in my hands for a moment. I was terrified, so terrified I couldn't even scream, and then I just—just swung the rifle up and fired—"

  "I'd uv been a goner if you hadn't. The water was rushin' along and the mules was makin' so much noise drinkin' that I couldn't hear him. I liked to jumped outta my skin when I heard the blast, saw that redskin leapin' up in the air with half his face gone. Glad I taught you to shoot, wench."

  "They won't find us, will they?"

  "Not a chance," he told me. "If you didn't know this cave was here, you'd never be able to find it. I—uh—I gotta leave you alone for a little while, Marietta."

  "You're not going back—back out there?"

  " 'Fraid I have to," he replied. "We left some pretty obvious tracks, and I've got to hide 'em. Don't worry, I won't let 'em catch me. I'll be back 'fore you know it. Here—I want you to take this."

  I felt him fumbling, and then he took hold of my hand and placed something cold and heavy in it. As my fingers closed around it, I realized it was his pistol.

  "If anything should happen—not that anything will, mind you—I want you to use the pistol, Marietta. Do you understand what I'm saying? If I shouldn't come back, if the Indians should find you—you're to use the pistol on yourself before they can take you."

  "Please don't go out there," I whispered. "Please!"

  "It's something I gotta do, Marietta. As it stands right now, we might as well paint a big arrow pointing to the cave entrance. Ten, fifteen minutes of work, and our tracks'll be gone."

  "It's insanity. They—even now they're probably—"

  "I know my way around. Don't you worry none. I've been eludin' Indians for years. They won't see hide nor hair of me, won't hear me, neither. There's just enough light for me to see how to erase our tracks. If I wait any longer—"

  "I won't let you go!"

  But Jeff had already gone. I realized that I was alone in the pitch-blackness, and I was terrified, afraid for Jeff more than for myself. I heard the bushes rattling softly as he moved through them, a faint, barely audible rustle I wouldn't have heard at all had I not been listening for it, and then there was only the soft swoosh of the air, as though the cave itself were breathing. Minutes crept past, and gradually my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. A faint suggestion of light seeped in through the opening, and the dense, impenetrable blackness melted into a deep gray, enabling me to make out the damp stone walls and the mules standing placidly at one side, muzzles in place. I heard tiny squeaking noises coming from above me. Peering up, I could barely discern the furry brown masses hanging from the rock. There must have been two dozen bats. I could see their eyes glowing.

  I leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. The bats frightened me almost as much as the Indians. My cheeks were damp with tears I hadn't even known I had shed. I had never felt so utterly defenseless. I felt like a small, abandoned child, and the tears continued to flow down my cheeks. He pretended there was no danger, claimed he had been eluding Indians for years, but if there was no danger, why had he given me the pistol? They would catch him, kill him, burn him at the stake as they had burned Joe Pearson, and then they would come after me. Would I be able to use the pistol? If they came, if they found me, could I put the gun to my head and pull the trigger?

  The mules stirred restlessly. The bats squeaked. Fifteen more minutes passed, at least that many, and still he didn't come. The light seeping in through the opening was tinged with silver. The moon must be unusually bright. Far, far away I heard a gobbling noise, like a wild turkey, and then there came an answering gobble from another direction, then a third, and I knew it was the Indians, knew they were signaling each other in the woods. Had they spotted him? Was that what the calls were about? I prayed, silently, fervently, and then I heard the shrubbery rustling and my heart leaped.

  "Marietta—"

  "Jeff! Thank God!"

  "Took me a bit longer than I expected. Our tracks are all gone, and I left some new ones to take their place, tracks leadin' down to the stream. I broke a few branches, left a bit of handkerchief on a thorn, dropped an old powder horn on the bank. They're gonna think we moved up the stream a ways and then crossed over to the other side."

  "Thank God you're back."

  "Almost walked smack-dab into a brave," he said, jauntily, bragging just a bit. "He was standin' there with his back to me, still as could be. It was dark as hell, and I thought he was a tree! Then one of his buddies let out a turkey gobble and he gobbled back and I popped behind some shrubs. It was a pretty close call!"

  Jeff reached for me, pulled me into his arms. He touched my face and felt the tears.

  "Hey, you've been cryin'."

  "I couldn't help it."

  He kissed the tears away and wrapped his arms more tightly around me. "It's all right now. They're gonna do a lot of prowlin' around, and they'll make a little noise, but they ain't gonna find us. Hey, no need to tremble. No need at all. It's all right."

  He stroked my hair and then wrapped his hand around my chin and tilted my head back and kissed me. I clung to him, savoring his strength, his warmth, his goodness.

  "You still hungry?" he asked after a moment.

  "I'm too frightened to eat anything."

  "Reckon we'll wait a while then. Here, we'll just make ourselves comfortable."

  Holding on to my wrist, he sat down and pulled me down beside him. Leaning against the rock, he pulled me over until I was snuggled against his chest. He held me loosely, stroking my arms, comforting me as one might comfort a child, and after a while my trembling ceased and I grew still. He had taken the pistol from me earlier, and now he set it down on the ground beside him, within easy reach. I turned in his arms, resting the back of my head against his shoulder. He curled his arm around my throat, gently, leaning down to brush his lips against my temple.

  "All right now?" he whispered.

  "I—I think so. I—I didn't mean to be so—so weak and all. I hate women who cry, women who fall to pieces. I don't usually—"

  "I know, wench. You're a tough, feisty hellcat, full of spunk and spirit. I kinda like you like this, though. Makes me feel strong and protective and manly. Makes me feel somethin' else, too, but I reckon I'll just have to forget about that for the time bein'."

  "You certainly will."

  "And I was plannin' such a celebration. Damn these Indians."

  "They'll soon go away, won't they? They'll—"

  I cut myself short. Stealthy footsteps were moving outside the cave, and the bushes were rustling. I let out a gasp, and Jeff clamped a hand over my mouth, lightly but firmly. The footsteps stopped. There was a loud gobble, an answering gobble from across the way. In a minute or so there were more footsteps, and we could hear the Indians talking to each other, their voices low. Then they stopped talking and began to search through the shrubbery. Jeff reached out and clasped the pistol. My heart seemed to stop beating. The footsteps were so close, the branches right outside the opening moving with crisp, rustling noises. There was a moment of agonizing suspense, and then a shrill, excited cry shrieked in the distance. The shrubbery rattled noisily as the Indians searching it left to join the one who had cried out. Jeff moved his hand from my mouth.

  "One of 'em must of found the new tracks," he said.


  "I thought they were going to find us."

  "Yeah, for a minute or two there I was kinda worried myself. They'll be huntin' down by the stream now."

  "I hope your ruse works."

  "It'll work. Just relax. Even though we've just been whisperin', I reckon we'd better shut up for a while, just in case one of 'em comes back to have another look at them bushes outside."

  "I'm so frightened."

  "Relax. I ain't gonna let 'em get you."

  His arm was still curled loosely around my neck. He put the pistol down and curled his other arm around my waist. I leaned against him, trying to conquer the fear that gripped me like a tangible force. The Indians were no longer being stealthy. We could hear feet slapping against the ground as they raced about. They called to each other in harsh, excited voices, and then they seemed to be arguing among themselves. Jeff held me, and I closed my eyes, praying they would go away.

  Then he was shaking me and I opened my eyes to see the cave filled with misty yellow-white light. I had fallen asleep. I couldn't believe it. The Indians had been jabbering and I had been terrified and I had actually fallen asleep. I was stretched out on a blanket, another blanket pulled up over me. Jeff was grinning. He looked cocky and very pleased with himself. I sat up, rubbing my eyes. My whole body ached, and I was hungrier than I had ever been in my life.

  "Must say, when you sleep, you sleep soundly. Thought you'd never wake up. It's nigh on ten o'clock in the morning."

  "Did they—are they gone?"

  "They're gone," he said, "long gone. They went splashin' off down the stream just a little while after you dropped off. I've already been out, had me a good look 'round. They ain't gonna be lookin' for us any longer, Marietta."

  I climbed to my feet. "How can you be so sure?"

  Jeff frowned, reluctant to speak. There was something he hadn't told me. I sensed it at once. His brown eyes were dark, his mouth tight at the corners. He still hesitated, looking at me, and finally he sighed, grimacing before he spoke.

  "They found who they were lookin' for," he said, "or who they thought they were lookin' for. Billy Brennan was camped 'bout a quarter of a mile up the stream, Marietta, on the other side. They found him. They had a bit of fun. I... uh... I heard 'em at it last night, after you dropped off to sleep. I heard him, too. I was damned thankful you weren't awake. No one oughta have ta hear anything like that."

  I was silent. I knew my cheeks were pale, Billy Brennan had been a dyed-in-the-wool villain, a thief, a murderer, but no man should have to die like that. Jeff looked at me with worried eyes.

  "I shouldn'ta told you," he said quietly, "but in the long run it's best you know. I found Billy, what was left of him. I buried him before I came back here to wake you up. The Indians are gone, and they won't be back. We don't have to worry about them any longer."

  "That poor man."

  "Yeah," Jeff said, and then he changed the subject. "The mules are already outside, eatin' all the grass in sight. I suggest we have some breakfast, too, and then— then what say we push on to Natchez?"

  "That sounds like a splendid idea," I told him.

  CHAPTER 20

  As we neared Natchez the land became incredibly verdant, rich and green, and the trees were majestic, great oaks that spread their boughs as though luxuriating in the fresh air, the rich soil, the clear blue sky. It was still early morning. Jeff told me we would reach Natchez shortly after noon. I should have been relieved, should have been eager to reach the comfort of civilization at last, but I wasn't. I was curiously sad, for it was over now, this long, hazardous, grueling journey, and the warm, satisfying intimacy must end, too. I would not be able to relax and reveal in Jeff's nearness any longer. I had to steel myself against him. I had to escape at the first opportunity.

  "Natchez really began way back in 1716," Jeff informed me. "Chap named Jean Baptiste Le Moyne, Sieur de Bienville, built a fort high on the bluffs, Fort Rosalie, near the villages of the Natchez Indians. He and his men had a lot of trouble with the Natchez, but he managed to subdue 'em—forty-nine men against the whole Natchez Nation. A great settlement grew, Frenchies pouring in from all over. The land was cleared, plantations established, merchants and artisans arrived. Ten years or so passed, and then the Frenchies got greedy and tried to take even more land from the Indians." He paused, shaking his head.

  "What happened?"

  "One of the bloodiest massacres in history. The Natchez came to the French with reports that the Choctaws were going to attack, claimed they wanted to help fight 'em off. The French were frightened and let the Natchez come pouring in with weapons—Indians entering every house to 'help' fight off the Choctaws. At four o'clock in the afternoon—this was November 28, 1729—their chief gave the signal. The killing began. The French were butchered, decapitated, their heads piled up in the public square. The women and children who weren't butchered along with the men were taken captive. The whole settlement was razed to the ground."

  "How—dreadful," I said with a shudder.

  "There was retaliation, of course," Jeff continued. "The Choctaws were old enemies of the Natchez, and the French got 'em to help. Soldiers and savages came pourin' up from New Orleans, and the Natchez Nation was destroyed in a spree of bloodlettin' that made the massacre seem pale by comparison. A few of the Natchez survived and fled through the wilderness to join up with the Chickasaws. The settlement of Natchez was reclaimed by the wilderness, swallowed up as though it had never existed. Then, at the close of the French and Indian Wars, it passed to the British."

  "I thought the French ceded this territory to the Spanish?"

  "Most of it was—Natchez bein' the exception. It's the only English outpost in these parts. A few years back, settlers started pourin' in, folks who couldn't make a go at farmin' back east, folks who were dissatisfied with the politics of the Colonies, others who simply wanted a taste of adventure. They've done wonders in the past five-six years. It's still pretty rough and rugged, of course, but it's growin' all the time. The land's some of the richest I ever seen, and men like Helmut Schnieder are establishin' plantations that are gonna become the glory of the territory."

  "Helmut Schnieder? That sounds like a German name."

  Jeff nodded. "Teutonic to the core. Grim chap, Schnieder. He arrived a couple of years ago, a man of mystery, loaded with gold. He bought all the land he could get his hands on, built him a cabin, and then sent for his sister, a mousey little thing, scared of her own shadow. They say Schnieder's buildin' him a mansion now, say it's gonna be a showplace that'll make them fine homes up east look like shacks."

  There was a high bluff up ahead. Jeff looked at me, grinning, his brown eyes twinkling as though he were planning a surprise. We rode side by side toward the edge of the bluff, passing under oak trees, emerald-green land sloping away on either side. I heard a soft, rushing noise; then we were at the edge and the land dropped away abruptly in a steep, rocky cliff and I had my first glimpse of the Mississippi River.

  It was large, unbelievably large, a vast blue-gray expanse of water that seemed to divide the continent in half. I stared at it in awe, for I had never seen anything like it. It made the rivers in England seem like paltry streams, made even the mighty Thames seem insignificant in comparison. As we watched, a huge flatboat loaded with wooden crates moved past, and two men poled a crude log raft piled high with bundles of fur. There were several canoes, as well, the great river carrying them all along as though indulging these tiny specks bobbing on its enormous back. Jeff sat there on his mule, grinning, delighted that I was impressed. One would have thought he had invented this majestic spectacle.

  "Thought you'd be impressed," he said.

  "It's overwhelming."

  "Flows all the way down to New Orleans and then out to sea. It's more'n a mile wide in places—has to be one of the biggest rivers in the world, maybe the biggest. It's really somethin', ain't it?"

  I nodded. The river seemed to sparkle in the sunlight, silvery-blue reflections dancing on t
he surface. The banks were a reddish-brown mud, and on the other side another cliff rose, rocks golden brown, jagged, the land above as green as on this side, the great trees dwarfed in the distance. It was one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen. I gazed, and the sadness that had been lingering grew stronger. I wanted to cry. Jeff sensed my mood.

  "It's been good, hasn't it?" he said.

  I knew what he meant. I nodded again, not trusting myself to speak.

  "We've had some rough times, true, and a couple of pretty scary days, what with the Indians and the Brennan boys, but... it's been good. I ain't ever enjoyed a trek so much."

  "It's over now," I said.

  "Yeah, I guess all good things gotta come to an end."

  "And now—" I began.

  "Now we'd better push on to Natchez," Jeff interrupted. "I got a lot of business I wanna take care of this afternoon, and then, tonight, I'm gonna treat you to the grandest dinner you've ever had. The inn's got a dandy taproom, real elegant. All the best folks in Natchez dine there."

  "When will we leave for New Orleans?"

  "Tomorrow morning."

  "There'll be a boat?"

  "Traffic 'tween here and New Orleans is constant. There's always a boat leavin', always one pullin' in filled with goods. The docks are a regular beehive of activity every day."

  We rode on then, the wind whipping my hair and lifting the skirt of my red dress. It was the dress I had worn to the fair, the dress I had been wearing the day Derek sold me to Jeff. That seemed such a long time ago, a lifetime ago. Carolina... I mustn't think about that now. I must concentrate on making my escape. It would have to be this afternoon or tonight. Jeff was in love with me, but he still had every intention of taking me down to New Orleans. Love was one thing, business another. He would probably make an enormous profit, enough to give up these treks and go into some other kind of work. He had mentioned wanting to open his own place, had mentioned it several times, though he hadn't been specific about what kind of "place" he had in mind.