“Is that the very latest news you’ve had?” she anxiously probed.
“Nope. About March of this year, a British general called Howe fought with Washington in Massachusetts. They claim he turned tail and headed off for some place called Nova Scocia, or something like that. Appears the Continental Congress is going to push for total independence from England. There’s a Thomas Jefferson from Virginia Colony and a Ben Franklin from Massachusetts Colony stirring up quite a ruckus with their war statements. You’d think with over twenty-five newspapers back there that someone would bring me at least one copy to read. Might explain those “Tolerable Acts’ of ’74 which are causing so much fuss. If we’re gonna fight the mother country, I’d sure like to know the whole truth on it.”
Alisha smiled, but did not correct his error. She did not want to alter his line of thought with a discussion on the “Intolerable Acts” and other charges the Americans had leveled against England. “This General Howe, would his first name be Sir William?”
“Don’t rightly know, but that sounds familiar. Know him?” he curiously speculated, brows raised inquisitively.
“Only socially, and a very long time ago. I’ve also met this Thomas Jefferson. He came to England years back to explain the Colonists’ positions and problems to King George. As you can see, it did not make any difference to him. From what my father told me, the king is determined to subjugate these colonies at any price. Uncle Thad said it wouldn’t have been so bad if the king had stopped placing all those impossible acts and regulations upon the people here. The king thought the grumblings were all poppycock and wouldn’t amount to great trouble. Evidently he was mistaken. It still seems to me that they could work out these difficulties if they truly wanted to. Why do they always resort to wars and killing to settle matters?”
Joe quickly moved on to another topic. “This Howe does have a brother, an admiral in the British navy. Jacques Dufoe, that’s an old friend of mine who travels back and forth pretty regularly, says the American spies report this other Howe is planning to blockade most of the seaports here. By now, it might already be done. Seems to me like a long strip of coast to bottle up for very long.”
A startled Alisha exclaimed, “Are you certain, Joe? Admiral Richard Howe is going to blockade all the seaports? That means I won’t be able to catch a ship home until this war’s over! Unless…” Her eyes widened with renewed excitement. “Perhaps I could find some way to get a message to him! He and my father were close friends. He used my father’s shipping business many times. I’m positive Admiral Howe could find me a safe passage back to Liverpool.”
Joe was shaking his head. “I hate to quash your optimism, Alisha, but getting a message to this Howe would be near impossible. Dangerous, too,” he added.
“What do you mean, dangerous?”
“If that message were intercepted by some American spy or if it reached the attention of the new government, they just might view you as a traitor,” he warned her.
“Traitor!” she shrieked in astonishment. “How can I be a traitor when I’m English? I’m afraid you’ve forgotten whose side I’m on,” she meekly refreshed his memory.
It was Joe’s turn to be shocked. “Surely you don’t agree with what England’s doing here! They’re practically enslaving a whole new country. Ain’t right or just, Alisha.”
She shook her head in mild exasperation. “Of course not, but I am British, Joe. No matter, it looks as if I’m stuck here until this war is settled one way or the other. In a way, I fully agree with your quarrel with England. But what I think or feel doesn’t count.”
Joe faced Powchutu and stated, “I’m not so certain I would head for Orleans at this time. Now that I think about it, might not be safe there. Since she’s a seaport, the British and the Colonists could be fighting it out there right now. Have you ever seen what those big cannons can do to a town at a close range?”
“You mean bombard the town? That’s murder, Joe! It’s simply barbaric. There are women and children living there. No doubt many of those people are friends and relatives of some of those seamen. Surely Admiral Howe would not permit such an outrage, such a travesty of justice.”
Powchutu was the one who replied to her naive comments, “In war, Alisha, victory is won at any price or in any way necessary. Never underestimate what any man is capable of doing when pushed into a corner. Desperation often breeds panic. Clear heads usually come after the battle, not in the heat of one.”
“But that means I can’t get a ship home, Powchutu. I’m stuck here in this savage land? We can’t even return to their civilization back East? I won’t believe that! Some way, I will get back to England. I will not remain here. I won’t!” she vowed fiercely, angered by this new. obstacle.
“Don’t worry about that now. By the time we get to this New Orleans, I’m sure this war will be long over,” Powchutu said to encourage her.
“There hasn’t been any more news since this battle between Washington and Howe back in March? But this is December, Joe. Surely something has happened by now,” she said in a somber tone.
“The last group which came near here left the Colonies in the spring, Alisha. You remember how long it takes to get this far out. It’ll be the first of the year before I get more current news. Winter travel, as you must recall, is something to avoid. Unless some foolhardy group headed out during the summer, that’s all I can tell you right now.” He could read her disappointment and dejection.
“Surely they will have more news down in St. Louis. We stopped there for a long rest on our way here. Perhaps some later group has gotten stranded there,” she hopefully reasoned. “If so, they can tell us when we arrive there soon.”
“Could be,” Joe agreed just to please her, not really believing her suggestion. He stretched and yawned lazily, hinting at the late hour. “I’d say it’s pretty late. Best we all turn in for some sleep, especially you, Miss Williams. Those pale cheeks tell me you’re pressing yourself.”
With that suggestion, they all went to bed, each having much different thoughts and dreams.
Chapter Eight
Another week passed. Alisha’s strength was increasing every day. She presented a vivacious front to her two friends. More and more she assumed the lighter indoor chores of cooking, dishes, cleaning, and sewing. But the men were adamant about her rest and her care. They constantly checked up on her to make certain that she was not over-extending her growing energy. She felt loved and protected, and she flourished in this warm atmosphere.
Since game and fish were still in abundance, most days they had fresh stews or roasts. She would often prepare spoon bread, dried beans which had been bought from the Omaha, or nourishing potage. The men enjoyed her cooking and her company at the table. It did not take long for her old wit and charm to return to full bloom. Once the reality of her freedom and her self-confidence returned, she gradually became the girl whom Joe had first met and known. To Joe, it was like watching the legendary Phoenix return to life.
Powchutu eagerly observed this new woman unfolding before his very senses. He had not believed it possible for her to become more desirable or more beautiful, but she did. With each passing day and with increasing strength, Alisha began to radiate that same warmth and charm which had attracted Gray Eagle to her. Her moods were sunny and vivacious. Her smile was subtly provocative, yet artlessly innocent. She could be witty and playful or serious and tranquil. She could be herself.
With fear, torment, and doubt gone from her daily life, she slowly transformed into more than the woman of either man’s dreams. At first glance, she appeared totally untouched by her recent experiences. Joe had known her this way before; he was ecstatic to see that former girl return and take over. Powchutu finally saw what Gray Eagle must have seen in her that first time they had met; now he could easily understand how that fierce warrior could have loved and wanted this particular white girl. The very thought accused him.
Powchutu had met Alisha long after Gray Eagle’s imprint had
been put upon her heart. For the first time, he was actually viewing and meeting the real Alisha Williams, not the ex-captive of a legendary warrior. As never before, the full reality of what Gray Eagle’s feelings for her must have been came to life. As if struck by a blinding light, everything about Alisha and the brave made complete sense: their love must have been real. This unexpected conclusion alarmed and distressed him. His guilty conscience demanded that he ignore the truth. Gray Eagle could blame no one for his ultimate downfall except himself, Powchutu reasoned defensively. His past actions had forced Powchutu’s hand, for he had not revealed his love.
When Alisha would find him staring at her in brooding silence, she would playfully coax and tease him out of his dark gloom. She assumed that he was only fretting about their long delay in reaching St. Louis. Perhaps his somber thoughts were upon the war back East which was affecting their future plans. Still, she was slightly perplexed by his cool attitude toward her since her accident and recovery. Not once had he attempted to be more than amicable and polite with her. He had not mentioned marriage or love to her again. She could not help but wonder if her pregnancy by Gray Eagle had somehow changed his feelings about her. If so, then perhaps it was for the best, for her love still remained in Gray Eagle’s tepee.
As she repaired Joe’s clothing, Alisha would find herself thinking about Gray Eagle and their past life together. The pain of his betrayal had lessened with the time she had spent with her friends. Still, she could not stop thinking about her Indian husband, and about the raging passion they had shared. Something deep within her soul refused to accede to the tormenting truth of his hatred. Even if she never learned the whole truth, she would always believe there was more to his actions than she knew, something which had prevented his return to her side.
Yet even as she reminisced about their times of joy, anguish intruded on her happy thoughts.
“Was it so hard to love me? Or was it only impossible to accept your one-time enemy as your new lover and wife? If only I knew why, Wanmdi Hota, if only I knew why…” she murmured sadly.
Dreams and wishes changed nothing, a cruel fact which she had learned all too well in the recent past. Even she came to realize how much she had changed in these past weeks at Joe’s. She could sense the vitality and the very essence of life returning to her. She became conscious of how often she smiled, how wonderful and carefree she felt, and how easily she laughed these days—things which had been missing for many months. It almost seemed strange, even frightening, not having Gray Eagle responsible for her very life. The realization of how deeply she had been bound to him thundered through her awakening mind.
It was as if she had been totally immersed within his being, as if she had temporarily existed only through him. For a time Alisha Williams had ceased to exist. She had been ordered about from sunup to sundown. She had never made a decision on her own during her captivity. Her life had consisted of listening and obeying, or of being punished for not complying with his wishes. But her love for Gray Eagle had made her endure.
It was apparent that freedom in itself did not bring joy or happiness. Never had she been as happy as when she had shared a tepee with Gray Eagle, despite her enslavement to him. Alisha knew that if she could live it all over again, she would certainly be obedient from the start. She would never force Gray Eagle to punish her for mistakes which she intentionally made. She would not innocently or purposely humiliate him before his warriors; that had caused many problems in the past. She was forced to admit that her own pride had cost them as much as his had. But once the events had taken place, there had been no way to alter them. Perhaps she had even forced him to hate and abuse her…
“So very tragic and costly, my love,” Alisha spoke to Gray Eagle in her heart. “Our child is dead, and we have been separated for all time. Such needless waste, such futile sacrifices. Did you ever love me, Wanmdi Hota? ‘What price my honor demands of me; the world demands, but cannot see; for I alone must pay its fee; to be wildly tossed on life’s stormy sea.’ Such bitter truth in those famous words, my love. If only the fee had not been the life of our child.”
During the second week of December there was a light snowfall. She stood at the small window for a long time until the cold draft forced her to close it. She went to sit at the table, her thoughts in a wintry maelstrom: the coldest season was upon them and they were still far from their goal. She suddenly jumped up and began to nervously pace the small confines of Joe’s cabin.
Joe was secretly watching her from beneath lowered lids as he worked on several of his traps. To him, she seemed like a trapped badger who was furious and restless. He put aside his work and made some fresh coffee. He decided that this was a very good time to bring up the news of the money back in St. Louis. He assumed such news would certainly enliven her dismal spirits.
“Alisha, come over here and sit down. I have something to tell you which is mighty important,” he stated mysteriously, a broad grin on his face, a devilish twinkle in his blue eyes.
As she came forward, Powchutu was instantly alert. Without trying to appear over-anxious, he also came to sit at the table with them. Joe passed around cups of coffee, then settled into his own chair. His keen gaze studied the scout’s fathomless face. That gut instinct which warned that he could, yet could not, trust this particular man returned to annoy and to confuse Joe. He vainly tried to shake off his groundless suspicions.
His gaze shifted to Alisha’s lovely face, and he smiled warmly as their eyes met. “Good news, Alisha. First, don’t be angry with me because I’ve waited so long to tell you about it. I’ve had my reasons, mainly that you wouldn’t sit still long enough to heal properly. Before I tell you, promise me one thing: remain here at least another week or two. By that time, I’m sure all your strength will be returned and you’ll be completely well. Travel in winter is very bad, as you well know. I had to make sure you were all right before we had this talk. Understand?”
He waited for her agreement, unaware of where her thoughts would run to. “What are you talking about, Joe? What news could be this import—” She halted in mid-sentence and blanched white. She fearfully whispered, “Surely you haven’t heard that he’s coming after me?”
Joe wondered if he had read excitement in her expression just prior to fear. “Heavens, no!” He quickly settled her rising suspicions and panicked heart. Once again there was that curious mixture of emotions within her eyes: relief and disappointment.
“It’s about something your Uncle Thad did when we passed through St. Louis. Do you recall the man who ran the mercantile store, Hiram Bigsley?” He waited for her to refresh her memory and to nod her head yes.
“You see, Alisha, Thad feared a robbery or wagon accident along the trail. In such a case, a man could lose everything he owned. Thad thought it wise to place a small nest egg, as he called it, in Mr. Bigsley’s keeping. You might recall Bigsley’s a sort of banker for people around here, including for me. He was told to keep this money for five years. In the event Thad never returned for it, he was told to give it to someone in need of help. Bigsley’s a cunning and tight-fisted man, but an honest one. I’ve had lots of dealings with him in the past. Now that your Uncle Thad is dead, the money belongs to you: one thousand pounds in English currency.” He patiently awaited her reaction to this lifesaving news.
Alisha was temporarily stunned speechless. She could hardly trust her ears. Countless thoughts raced through her mind at the same time, but one in particular kept returning: money meant all of her troubles were solved. No longer would she be destitute and vulnerable. She would now have the means to support both herself and Powchutu; she could now repay him for many of the things which he had done for her. There would also be plenty of money for ship passage back to her beloved homeland. Tears of happiness filled her eyes. She suddenly cried in unsuppressed glee. She jumped up and pirouetted merrily around the small room. She laughed, she giggled, she wept, feeling that at long last the Fates were on her side.
She pulle
d Joe to his feet and hugged him tightly in joyful gratitude. “This is the happiest day of my life, Joe. For the first time in ages, I’m truly free of the past. No more am I poor, defenseless Alisha. I’m free, Joe, free!” But even as she said it, he could still read the lingering pain in her emerald eyes.
He chuckled as he witnessed the effect of his unexpected news upon her. “I hope you can see why I didn’t dare tell you this sooner. Why you would have shot out of here like a spooked quail from the brush. Now you can relax. There’s nothing to worry that pretty head about except getting well. Agreed?” he pressed, tugging playfully on a stray curl.
She lovingly cuffed his strong chin with her small fist and laughed. “Yes sir,” she joked with a mocking salute. “Whatever you say is just dandy with me. Everything is fine with me now.” She began to dance around, hugging herself in this new elation of freedom.
“In that case, this calls for a celebration. That last trapper who came by traded me a small keg of applejack for some staples. I’m afraid Powchutu and I finished off my only flagon of Irish whiskey while you were so ill,” he discreetly confessed, then chuckled with great zest.
“What, pray tell, is applejack?” she asked amidst her girlish giggles.
“Just a fancy name for apple brandy. Not excellent quality, but pretty good on a cold night,” he whispered, suppressed chuckles ready to erupt from his grinning mouth at any moment.
“As good as Irish whiskey from a French flagon?” she jested impishly, standing arms akimbo and feet apart, feigning an old shrew about to reprimand his daring suggestion that she actually join them in a cup of strong, manly spirits.
He rubbed his forehead as if trying to recall something vital, then shrugged his powerful shoulders in mock distress. “Hum-m-m. Can’t rightly remember, ma’am. That night’s still a little fuzzy. You might say I got slightly soused. I believe it had to do with worrying about somebody pretty special who was powerfully ill,” he confessed, flashing her a rueful look.
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