by Beth Trissel
Purple-berried pokeweed and spikes of gray mullein rose around the charred timbers. Unlike other homesteads, only the barest patch of forest had been cleared and the stumps left sticking above the earth like raw thumbs. The outline of split-rail was absent, as were the sheep and garden it might have enclosed, and there were no outbuildings. Whoever built this had been in a hurry to erect shelter before winter.
The structure leaned drunkenly under the weight of smoldering timbers and appeared as if it might topple in upon itself at any moment. He and Waupee paused just beyond the scorched threshold and looked inside the burned-out interior. Smoky light slanted through gaps in the roof and lent some illumination. Rough-hewn chairs lay overturned on the earthen floor and the slab of wood that had served as a table was thrown down. No foodstuff or anything of value remained.
"It's been ransacked,” Waupee said.
Wicomechee sensed Charity edging nearer. He glanced around at her and frowned. “Can you not wait where I say?"
"I'm behind you,” she reasoned in a whisper.
"You are as curious as a fox kit."
She strained to see past him. “Whose place was this?"
"Trapper's.” Who else?
Her eyes filled with alarm. “Are they gone?"
"They cannot live here now,” he assured her.
"Not without considerable repair.” Waupee turned from the blackened doorway and stepped over smoking rubble. “I'll take a look around back.” He veered off behind the partially collapsed cabin.
"Mechee,” she whispered. “Can I take a peek inside?"
"If I say no, will you obey me?"
She nodded, and he grudgingly waved her beside him.
Keeping her cloak and blanket well up, she lifted her moccasins over the debris and peered into the murky room.
"NiSawsawh! You'll want to see this,” Waupee called.
Wicomechee swiveled and sprang over the debris. Charity did the same, dashing after him behind the cabin. He saw at a glance why Waupee summoned him. “No, Red Bird,” he warned.
Too late. She recoiled from the lifeless figure of a man sprawled by the woodpile, the scalp torn from his bloody head.
With a strangled cry, she staggered back and stumbled over the outstretched arm of a second man partly concealed beneath the collapsed portion of the roof.
"Dear God—” she gasped, reeling into Wicomechee.
He gathered her in a shielding embrace. “I told you to wait with Muga."
She hid her face in his coat. “I just wanted to see."
"Now you have."
"More than you wanted to, poor girl. Sorry. I should have warned you sooner,” Waupee said.
Wicomechee had. “She must learn to heed me."
Waupee squatted beside the fallen men for a closer look. “These two haven't been dead long. Perhaps only a day."
Wicomechee nodded. “No buzzards. Or wolves."
"Who killed them?” Charity gulped.
"Outhowwa's party,” Wicomechee concluded. “We are not far behind."
Waupee straightened and leaned on his musket. “Not nearly as much as I'd have thought. If we continue at this pace, we may overtake them. I wonder why Outhowwa slowed?"
"Injury perhaps. Or hunting. We've taken little time to hunt since gaining the supplies,” Wicomechee pointed out.
"And we've pushed the women and children harder than I liked—” Waupee broke off in mid-sentence. “Are you all right, little sister? You've gone white as a ghost."
She shuddered. “Why did they have to die?"
"Do not waste your pity on these men,” Wicomechee chided. “This is Shawnee land. They have no right here."
"Even so, it's no sight for ladies. Do you feel faint?” Colin asked.
"I'd prefer swooning to what I feel like.” Pulling from Wicomechee, she bent over, groaning with the swell of what appeared to be acute nausea.
Concern displaced his exasperation. “Are you ill?"
"I feel dreadful.” She clasped a hand over her mouth and lurched back through the growth at the front of the cabin.
He hastened beside her. “Because of the men?"
She doubled over. “Oh, I want to die."
Wicomechee reached for her.
"Don't hold me now!” Grasping a sapling for support, she heaved the contents of her stomach onto the ground.
He laid his hand on her shoulder. “Poor Red Bird."
She groped for a handkerchief from beneath her cloak and shakily wiped her mouth. “I want to go to the river."
Waupee spoke from behind them. “We could all do with a break. I'll tell the others."
"Can you walk?” Wicomechee asked gently.
"Yes. Just let me lean on you."
Under his support, she staggered past a thicket. Maroon leaves blew among the brown drifts beneath their feet as they trod over the bluff and arrived on the bank of the Spaylaywitheepi, the Ohio River. Inhaling the fresh water-scented air, she knelt and wet her handkerchief.
Wicomechee kept a hand on her shoulder while she sponged her face and cupped the cold liquid to her lips. “Not too much. You will make yourself ill again."
He helped her up. Bright afternoon sunlight glinted off the rushing water, but she shivered in the wind. He drew her down to sit with him on a stone and opened his coat, wrapping it around her. She sagged against him, hugging his warmth.
He let her rest a moment before speaking. “Better now?"
"Yes. Still a bit queasy though."
"I regret you saw the men."
"I've seen worse. I'm not certain why this upset me so."
Emma handed Mary Elizabeth to Waupee and stooped to drink. “It surely would have turned my stomach."
"Not me!” James declared, swooping past them like a bird.
Lily hugged Waupee's leg. “Why were the men kilt?"
"They were foolish men who do not belong here."
Her wide eyes sought his face. “Do we?"
"Yes, little darling."
The child's blue gaze shifted to Charity. “Did the scary bad men make you sick?"
She glanced around. “More sick. I wasn't right to begin with."
Emma dried her hands on her skirt. “You were ill before?"
"Not ill exactly. Just off the past few days, mostly in the morning. Maybe it's something I ate."
Emma regarded her closely and Waupee looked on as Wicomechee absorbed this life altering revelation. “Why did you not tell me?"
"It wasn't so bad until today. I still might have managed if...” she trailed off, seeing several pairs of eyes on her. “What is it?"
Waupee offered no reply. Rather, he smiled encouragingly and snagged James around the waist then took Lily's hand. “Come on. Let's leave them alone for a bit."
Emma grew brisk. “I really ought to feed this baby. Over there by that pine, out of the wind."
James squirmed in Waupee's grasp as he hauled him away. “I don't see why I got to go too."
Charity observed their departure in confusion. “Mary Elizabeth is sound asleep. Why are they in such a rush?"
Wicomechee did not answer at once, but thought how to best explain the rhythms of life to his volatile young wife. “Do you remember when you wished upon the star?"
Now, she seemed completely taken aback. “The night after we gave each other our pledge. You made no wish."
"Because I have you and you will give me all I wish for."
She lifted her gaze to his. “Why speak of this now?"
He trailed his thumb over her cheek, wanting to enfold her in a wave of tenderness while fearing to overwhelm her. “I think you carry my child."
Her mouth fell open, but no words came out.
He smiled slightly. “So surprised you look."
She gaped at him in shock, a shock she gave voice to the instant she found her tongue. “Wherever did you get such a notion?"
Had no one told her anything? “You are past the time for your monthly flow, are you not?"
&nbs
p; "No—yes. A little."
"When a woman is past this time and ill in the way you are, often—"
She clapped her hand over his mouth. “Don't say it. I couldn't possibly be—what you said. I'm just getting used to having a husband. Don't you see? This can't happen now. Haven't I said?"
Part of him pitied her, while the other wanted to laugh. “That makes little difference."
Had she the energy, she probably would have paced in circles. “We haven't even reached your village. I haven't met your grandfather. What will he think if I arrive—” she broke off. Withdrawing her fingers, she covered her face. “Oh, God."
"Charity, Nimesoomtha will be happy, as I am."
She stared at him through her fingers. “Are you really?"
"Oh, yes.” From deep in his soul.
Her hands slipped to her sides and she slumped in his arms. He imagined her trying to grasp the likelihood that a tiny life had begun within her.
"Does it always happen so quickly?” she asked.
"No. Sometimes many moons, even years pass."
She pulled back slightly to search his face. “Why couldn't I have had years? I'm not ready to be a mother.” She balled her hands together and brought them against his chest. “What have you done to me?"
He covered her fists and brought them to his lips. “No more than you allowed, or invited.” A flush spread over her cheeks with the knowing in her eyes.
"Do not be ashamed. So sweet you are."
"Being with you is so—pleasant,” she faltered. “I couldn't resist."
He couldn't repress a chuckle. “Good."
She collapsed back against him. “How am I to manage a baby? I barely remember my own mother."
"I see you with Emma's little one. You will do well."
"I can give Mary Elizabeth back when she cries. I'll have to keep this one."
He laughed. “I will help you. Many will."
"You had better. And what of this journey? It was hard enough before. Now—"
"The village is not far,” he soothed. “Soon you will lie on soft furs in Nimesoomtha's wickon."
"But I feel awful."
"This will pass."
"When?"
"I am not certain."
"One thing I am certain of. You can no longer march me like a warrior, Wyshetche."
The sobering thought occurred to him as well.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Eighteen
The respite passed too quickly. The next morning, Colin lifted Charity up onto Stuart and settled her behind Emma's swaddled figure. “Ready or not, we're away."
"Not,” they chorused.
He offered them a rueful smile. “Someday, ladies, I promise you life will be easier."
This was definitely not going to be that day. The mist that had crept in fully declared itself. Heavy haze clung to the trees and hugged the trail. Mile after mile, the chill fog gave the landscape a ghostly appearance. Rocks and trees emerged through the cloudy soup and quickly disappeared, swallowed up again. And the woods were still. All sensible creatures must have sought shelter, except for the human ones.
"At least it's not horribly windy,” Emma muttered.
Apart from that, Charity found little to be thankful for. The horses plodded on and on through the fog with nothing to distract her from her misery. Huddled against Emma, she listened to the endless fall of their hooves. Beyond this monotonous tread, the Spayleywitheepi tumbled, hidden from sight.
A cold, hasty lunch and equally cold drizzle added to her misery and her queasiness returned. Despite her increasing discomfort, or perhaps because of it, her eyes refused to stay open. It occurred to her that she should alert someone to her drowsiness, but this thought blurred, as did the hazy outline of the trees.
For her, the gloom ceased to exist. In its place, a snug room took shape with a stone hearth and warm fire. Chunks of kindling were piled in the corner and a table set with shining pewter plates. A roast goose engulfed the platter beneath it and a plate of corncakes stood ready. A plump matron stood by the hearth, stirring a pot of strew.
The woman turned and waved her near. “Come, my girl, and get yourself warm."
"Aunt Mary?"
She held out a steaming cup of tea. “Aye. Drink, lass. ‘Twill settle your stomach."
Charity reached gratefully for the cup. “You're not angry with me?"
"Nay, lass. Just fretted nigh unto death over you."
Charity stepped toward her, but Aunt Mary fell away.
"Watch it, gal!” a man rapped as strong arms caught her.
"Uncle John?"
"You really are gone, little sister."
She opened her eyes in bewilderment and gazed into Colin's worried face.
"Do you have any notion how close you came to taking a tumble?” he asked.
"I should have realized she'd fallen asleep,” Emma said from atop Stuart.
"No harm done, darling."
"But if she'd fallen. It doesn't bear thinking about."
"I don't dare put her up there again. We'd better stop and make camp.” He ran his eyes over the dreary landscape. “Not much shelter here."
"Give her to me, NiSawsawh."
Charity hadn't noticed Wicomechee walk back to them. He took her from Colin and held her to him. “What would I do if you fell? You could lose the little one—break your neck."
Neither of these possibilities had crossed her mind. As for the baby she carried, it meant little more than the source of her present misery. “I'm sorry."
He said nothing more and followed the others. The deepening gloom reflected his dark mood. “I heard you speak the name of your guardian."
"I dreamed Aunt Mary was calling me to a lovely fire, offering me a cup of tea. I wanted the tea,” she sniffed.
"I will build you a fire, make you tea. Do you not think I can care for you?” Hurt welled in his words.
"I know you can, Mechee. But I feel so awful, and Aunt Mary is the closest I've come to having a mother."
"Do you wish to return to this woman?"
A ragged sob disrupted further speech.
"Don't weep,” he pleaded. “I regret my words."
"I can't—stop.” All-consuming misery accounted for her weepy state more than anything he'd said.
Upraised voices from up ahead broke through his efforts to console her. She tensed, fearing some new danger. “What's happening?"
"Muga says Outhowwa's party is near. He sees campfires."
Her relief at this announcement brought the calm that had eluded him. But what about Rob?
Flames from the nearby campfire bathed Charity's chilled body like a balm as the rain beat down beyond the broad half-cave carved into the earth and stone along the river bluff. Some of Outhowwa's party had gone on to the village, but a hearty assembly sat around the main fire pit, while she lay beside the cozy blaze at the other end like a rabbit tucked in its burrow. If her stomach would allow her respite, she'd do more than just drift beneath the surface of consciousness.
"Drink this."
She roused at Wicomechee's coming, but it seemed more effort than it was worth to sit up. He lifted her against him and she sipped the ginseng, praying the tea would aid, not offend her volatile condition.
"Tonight we eat corn mush and the rest of the bacon. None want to hunt when they can cook from supplies,” he said.
She made a face. “I'd rather have roast pheasant and new-made bread."
Emma spoke up. “Wouldn't we all?"
Colin chuckled. “How about a plump stewed chicken, meat pastries, and apples dumplings? And don't forget the brandy."
A memory surfaced in Charity's weary mind. “It was all there, in the grand house in my dream."
"That's why we call them dreams, darling."
Wicomechee nuzzled her cheek. “Tomorrow, I kill you a fat rabbit to cook. We will all eat well.” He turned his head toward Colin. “Have you finished tending the horses?"
"Not yet
. I left Muga hard at it."
"Leave Posetha with the women. I will help you."
"And boast to Outhowwa about the giant you felled,” Colin teased. Wicomechee smiled faintly, and Colin stood, bending his head beneath the low stone. “I'll just bring the women some food first."
Emma laid the bundled baby across her lap. “What about James and Lily?"
"They're telling anyone who will listen of our adventures and eating scraps the men toss them. Outhowwa is waiting to hear more of your battle with the trappers, NiSawsawh."
"We will speak."
"How badly wounded was Chaka?” Charity asked, surprised that she cared.
"He gave his leg quite a whack while chopping wood—feels foolish about it, but he's mending.” Colin bent and pressed a kiss to Emma's fingertips, then walked off into the smoky shadows beyond their circle of light.
Wicomechee slid from beside Charity. “When I return, I wish to find you have eaten.” He stooped under the rock shelter. “I leave Red Bird in your care,” he said to Emma.
Charity flopped back down the instant he vanished. “Oh no, I expect some cooperation from you, my girl,” Emma chided.
"Good heavens. You sound just like your mother."
"Suppose I do. Here comes Colin with food, up with you now."
He handed Emma two bowls. “Who are you ordering about?"
"Charity. Wicomechee left me in charge."
"I didn't realize you had the makings of a colonel."
Charity dragged back up. “She gets it from Aunt Mary."
"I can readily envision Mary McLeod marching everyone at attention. Remember, my dearest, the best officers have a streak of mercy."
"I'll be firm, but gentle,” Emma agreed.
"I can't imagine you otherwise,” he smiled, and turned away, ducking beneath the stone.
Emma's tender gaze followed him into the foggy drizzle. “God forgive me, I love that man more than my life."
"I trust God will pardon us both.” Anything else Charity might have said remained unspoken. Rob Buchanan was making his way toward their campfire. Her queasy stomach knotted and she gripped Emma's arm. “Look who's coming."
Emma muttered, “Just what we need right now."
