by RITA GERLACH
Atop the parapet stood a sentry, his musket poised in his hand, his eyes fastened on the woods. Then came the alert, the call to arms. Men rushed out, pulling on boots and strapping on powder horns and pouches.
Climbing the parapet, Nash looked over the side. Within the trees, Indians advanced. The men fired and showered the woods with bullets. The parapet filled with smoke and the smell of sulfur. A second rank of men fired as a flood of warriors rushed toward the fort. Several fell under the volley. Tree limbs snapped and bark splintered from the hail of bullets. The crack of muskets echoed across the clearing. The quivering flames of torches weakened against the smoke.
“Handle. Cartridge. Prime!” shouted the officer in charge. Captain Sparks who was destined to be among the Maryland musketmen under Colonel Cresap’s command in the coming year looked glorious among his men, dressed in a dark navy coat, white breeches, and jack boots. His men were few in number, but were holding their own.
“May God help us!” he said, standing beside Nash. “Look at the number of savages.”
“We outnumber them three to one. They’ll not get over the wall as long as we are alert.” Nash took aim, fired, and the bullet made its mark. He reloaded his musket and fired again. An arrow whizzed past his head and struck the man behind him in the shoulder.
The Indians fell back into the thick of the forest. Nash crouched on the parapet with his back to the wall, pushing the ramrod through the barrel of his musket. Maldowney panted up to him with a fist full of arrows.
Sparks grabbed the arrows and handed them to Nash. “You know the Indians better than any man among us, having lived out here in this God forsaken wilderness. What arrows are these? Can you read what tribe they belong to?”
“These are Cayuga war arrows, and this is a Shawnee hunting shaft. I can tell by the markings.” Nash ran his fingers through the quills.
“I thought those tribes were in the north to make war,” said Sparks astonished.
“Apparently a few have stayed behind,” said Nash. “I’m not surprised.”
Then the scene darkened. Through the haze, a sorry figure ran toward the fort. In ragged buckskins, a man tripped and fell over a stone, then struggled to get up. Once on his feet, he hastened on. The warriors yelled and shot arrows at the fleeing form, hitting the ground near the poor wretch’s feet.
“The poor soul,” groaned Maldowney. “No doubt a prisoner they’ve let free to torment us. God help him.”
“I know that man!” shouted a fellow soldier.
“Aye, ‘tis Adam Lee, the trapper,” yelled another, over the din.
Limping and crying out, Adam Lee rushed toward the gate. Sparks ordered the men to fire into the line of Indians, hoping somehow to save the hapless man.
Again, Adam Lee stumbled and struggled to pull himself up. But this time an arrow penetrated his arm. He cried out and tried to move forward. Another arrow sunk into his leg and he fell upon his right knee. He crawled forward, crying out for help.
“In the name of God, open the gate and get that man.” Nash started down the ladder.
Sparks yanked him back.
“Do you want that flood of vipers to come into the fort? If that gate is opened, they will kill any man who rushes out.”
“We cannot let them murder that man in cold blood.” Nash jerked his arm away. “I won’t stand here and watch.”
“It’s too late.”
“It isn’t. Let me go out and get him.”
“They’ve killed him. Don’t you see the trap?”
Nash pressed his lips. He rushed back to the edge of the parapet and saw Adam Lee on the ground. An Indian ran over and pulled out his hunting knife. The Indian grabbed Lee’s hair. With a triumphant yell, the Indian retreated to the line of trees, shaking the blood-soaked scalp at the fort. The soldiers and frontiersmen shot at him in one barrage. They cursed the warrior to hell and back, some shooting while others reloaded.
Nash fixed his eyes on the warrior. He raised his musket and took aim. He cocked the hammer. He squeezed the trigger and fired. His bullet struck a tree and missed. The Indians embarked across the Potomac into Virginia and were gone. Outside the fortress walls, the grassy plane was strewn with a half dozen dead warriors and one poor frontier settler. Not a man inside the fort was killed, but six were wounded.
The sun rose higher drenching the land. Black Hawk met Nash and the others at the gate of the fort. Sunlight touched upon his bronze armbands, and the feathers in his hair waved in the breeze.
And so an hour later, they left Fort Frederick in search of the women they loved, and the man who had stolen them away.
CHAPTER 27
Rebecah lay awake listening to the tree frogs and the crickets. A hoot owl in the forest called. The three were a strange mixture. The sounds were soothing. But the owl’s incessant screech seemed ominous in its measure. It was not superstition that attacked her. But the idea of how wild and dangerous the frontier was. The darts of doubt pricked. Fear stabbed. Her soul moaned. All she knew to do was to obey what stirred in her mind and entreat Heaven for herself and the others.
Strengthened, she rose and woke Theresa. Maddie was wide-awake shoving things into a buckskin bag. They had been saving and hiding dried venison, suet, nuts, and maize cakes for days.
Rebecah slipped on her moccasins and drew up the laces. She went to the opening and peered out. The village was asleep. The fire in the center smoldered with red coals. She turned to the others and whispered, “Come. Do not make a sound.”
The moon sprayed the forest in a soft misty glow that would light the way. Stars stood out against the black sky. The breeze blew warm against the women’s faces and the pines scented the air.
Holding each other’s hands, they slipped into the forest, entering it with hearts beating, fearful of discovery as they began their long journey home.
They hurried as fast as they could through the dense forests, crossing streams and climbing steep hills. They rested when too tired to go on, and when dawn rose, they stood on a crest and looked out at the vast mountain range before them.
So far to go. She then wondered if they would make it home, or perish somewhere in the mountains. Maddie’s hand grasped hers. Theresa put her arm around her shoulder.
“Look at that,” Maddie sighed. “Ain’t God wondrous?” She pointed to a silver thread in the distance. “There is the river.”
The wind brushed Rebecah’s face and she drew in a deep breath. “The river will lead us home.”
They walked on, pushed until nightfall. Too dark to go on, they huddled together in a grove of hemlock until sunrise.
As the hours came and went, the sun moved across the sky to the zenith. Rebecah felt the first grips of birth pains in the late afternoon, mild at first, then growing more intense.
Jack will find us. He’ll come through the woods and run to me, lift me in his arms and take me home.
Maddie knelt beside her. “I had five babies in my young days. All sold to other masters by the time they were six years old. But I ain’t gonna cry over that now, Miss Rebecah. I’m gonna help you birth yours.”
“I’m afraid, Maddie.”
“The Lord made you a strong woman.” She checked the baby. “You’ll do alright. Your baby’s head is down.”
“That is good?” Rebecah panted.
“Very good. But you mustn’t cry out. For all your might, you got to be as quiet as you can.”
Rebecah’s hands clung to Maddie and Theresa like a vice. She drew up her legs and bore down. She thought how awful it was to be giving birth in the wilds. She thought how any moment the child would slide forth, and she’d carry the babe nestled against her breast through the woods, across streams, over the mountains, with the hopes that her milk would be enough, that her strength would return.
She pushed again, and thought her teeth would shatter with clenching them.
“You’re doing fine. I see the head now,” said Maddie. “Push again, Miss Rebecah.”
; Bearing down, Rebecah bent forward, her hands bracing her knees. A moment later urgency was replaced with joy.
“You have a baby girl, Miss Rebecah.” Maddie’s voice rang with joyous laughter along with Theresa’s as she wrapped the child in torn cloth from her petticoat.
Rebecah reached for her newborn. “Is she alright?”
Maddie laid the bundle in the bend of Rebecah’s arm. Tears fell from her eyes as she gazed at the black eyes, the sweet bow mouth, and the tiny fingers. “Indeed she is.”
“But her cry is so weak.” Tears sprang into Rebecah’s eyes.
“Now don’t you worry, she’s beautiful. She looks like you.”
With her heart swelling, Rebecah looked down into the sweet face, moved aside the cloth from her baby’s cheek and smiled. “I shall call her Abigail.”
“The prettiest babe I ever did see.”
“I think so too, Maddie. Ah, her hands are so tiny.”
“And you did so well. You’ll have your strength back in no time.”
“I couldn’t have done it without your help. Thank you.”
“No need for thanks. Just promise me you’ll let me watch this babe grow, let me help take care of her.”
“You will be Aunt Maddie to her and stay at Laurel Hill forever. Oh, but she is pretty. Poor child—to be born in the wilderness.”
Theresa touched Rebecah’s shoulder. “It was better to have had her here than in the village. One of Grey Wolf’s wives could have claimed your baby.”
“You’re right, Theresa. She is mine, and no one can take her from me.”
Theresa sighed. “This was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. I’ll never forget this day for as long as I shall live.”
“We shall guard her well and bring her home,” Rebecah said. “Jack and I have a little girl. Now I know we shall make it back.”
She rested the remainder of the day, but at sunrise, the women rose from their beds of moss and leaves and made their way along the woodland path toward the east.
Rebecah carried the infant near her breast. She envisioned each step brought her closer to home. She looked up through the trees to the blue sky. Her stomach ached with hunger, but her heart was full.
They stopped beside a stream and drank. Kneeling upon the mossy brink, Rebecah cupped her hand and dripped it into the water. The water tasted sweet and cold.
Theresa knelt beside her. “Are you tired, Rebecah? We can stop if you want to.”
“A little farther I think.” The babe lifted a fist and cooed. “There is still much daylight left.”
“Do you think they will follow us?”
“I don’t think so. We’ve gone quite a distance.”
“I’m glad. I feared our captors more than the dangers of the wild, especially LaRoux.”
“So did I. Now we mustn’t fear, for he is far from us and we will never see him again. We must hasten on, and make as many miles behind us as we can.”
“We are close to the river,” Theresa said, as they walked on. She paused and lifted her hand. “Look there—a break in the forest and a field before us.”
The three women emerged out of the pine grove to a dell of grass and purple thistles. Goldfinches fluttered from the stems to the downy heads. Bumblebees darted here and there, and hovered. A meadowlark sang, and a great hill rose beyond the field, destitute of trees.
Through the field they went, their attire catching the course caresses of the thistles and tall grass. They climbed the hill and reached the summit. Breathless the three women stood silent, looking at the wide vista of row upon row of mountains. The wind fanned their faces. It smelled of pine and wildflowers.
“Have we missed the trail?” Theresa said.
“I hope not.” Rebecah raised her hand above her eyes.
“The mountains look as if they go on forever.”
Rebecah turned to her friend. “Come, we must cross them.”
Theresa moaned. “I’m weary.”
“We all are. But we cannot give up.”
Rebecah grabbed Theresa’s hand, and together with Maddie, they plunged into the heart of the mountain range toward the river with hope in their hearts.
CHAPTER 28
By mid-morning, the sky grew heavy with clouds, the forest dark and brooding. The birds hushed. Anxious and frightened, Rebecah stared at the ominous sky. A storm was coming.
Her babe whimpered and she held her closer. The sucking calmed the infant. She loved her tiny Abby beyond what mortal words could describe, and the desire to protect her was as strong as a mother lion’s. Where could they go for shelter? She searched the surroundings for a cave, an overhang of rocks, anything that would provide protection from the elements. She turned to Maddie and Theresa, her hair floating away from her face.
“We must find a safe place before the storm comes,” she called over the howl of the wind. “We haven’t much time.”
The others nodded and moved ahead at an arm’s length.
Thunder rolled in the distance, like a giant wave of the sea moving to shore, then crashing upon the world. The forest was thick here, laced with heavy vines that hung from the elms. The sky grew pitch. Rebecah shivered. The thunder was fierce, the lightning blinding.
They were blessed and did not doubt they were watched over. They found in the broken limestone a cave large enough for them all.
“Here!” said Theresa, who first saw it. “We shall be safe enough here.”
Maddie poked her head inside, and went in with the sturdy walking stick she carried. “No snakes or animals,” she called back. “Though if there were animals, we could’ve eaten them.”
“I think I could eat anything at this point.” Theresa helped Rebecah sit next to Maddie, and dropped beside them. Three friends, three sisters they had become with their arms around one another.
The cave had dry twigs and moss. Outside were cones and bark. Maddie and Theresa gathered as much as they could. Maddie set to rubbing one stick against another. It took some time, but soon the moss was smoking. The cave glowed with firelight, and their shivering bodies grew warm. The storm rushed through the forest.
“Theresa, take my knife.” Rebecah pulled it from the sheath attached to her calve. “Fasten it to Maddie’s stick and make a spear.”
“Seeing game is one thing,” Theresa said. “Killing it is another. I have never hunted before. I don’t know how.”
“We are hungry. One of us must find something.”
Theresa blinked back her tears. “I’ll try.”
From her dress, Theresa tore strips of cloth and bound the knife to the end of the stick. It was light, sharp, and strong.
Rebecah was starving, and her baby needed her milk. Maddie was growing weak from a lack of food, and the arduous journey. Theresa’s eyes were glazed with hunger.
Rebecah took pity on the poor girl. “Here, you take Abigail. I can do this.”
“You’re sure?”
“Keep Abigail close, and if she begins to cry lend her your finger.”
With the weapon in hand, she stepped from the mouth of the cave. She walked under the trees, her feet sinking into layers of leaves. Her mind tossed with her condition and plight. She was dirtier than she had ever been in her life. Her mouth parched, and the lips her husband relished to kiss were cracked. The skin he once caressed no longer felt silky, her hair a mass of tangles. The need to cry overtook her, yet she pushed it back, deep, down, hidden.
She had to remain strong. She could not give in.
The desire to laugh rose. She closed her eyes and envisioned herself a year ago, dressed in soft linen and lace, her body perfumed and her hair shimmering. She was at Endfield dancing with the handsome colonist that pursued her. She remembered how she looked the day she stepped from the coach in Fredericktown. Oh, how the men’s eyes followed her.
The wind pushed her back and she said aloud, “Look at me now. Look at me, God.” A tear escaped and riveted down her cheek.
Deer crashed through the forest,
leapt over fallen trees, disappeared into the brush. She heard an animal cry. Her hand tightened upon the spear. She raised her arm. The rabbit was two yards from where she stood, caught in a tangle of bramble. She stepped slowly, silently. A lump grew in her throat. She had never killed a thing in her life. But it had to be done. She swallowed and before the rabbit could catch her eye, she drove the knife into its side.
Soon the meat simmered over the fire. Rebecah felt strength returning.
“We will make it now,” said Maddie in a soft whisper.
Theresa laid her head in Maddie’s lap. Maddie’s hand smoothed Theresa’s hair, like a mother would do.
Rebecah watched the old black woman close her eyes and settle back. She then realized Maddie had hardly eaten a morsel and feared she was dying.
CHAPTER 29
Standing alone on the edge of a cliff made of black shale, Nash watched the sun set in the west over the mountains. Magenta light shone through the trees and faded as a sky of cobalt blue descended.
The breeze strengthened, and he smelled the scent of rain and evergreen. His blue eyes lifted, and he watched a flock of geese fly toward the river. His heart was sick for his beloved. The wilderness was so vast. How could he find her?
Feeling his chest tighten with anxiety, his pain deepened. He sunk to his knees. His soul cried out for help. What could he, a mere man, do to find the lost in these formidable mountains? There was only one who knew, and he begged his God for guidance, for aid, for wisdom.
“Show us the way, Lord.”
A hand fell over his shoulder and he turned to see Black Hawk. “Do not worry, my brother.”
“We’ve lost the trail, haven’t we?”
“I shall find it again. I will watch the birds and the animals in the forest. They will show which path to follow.”
He stood beside Nash with his arms folded over his chest. The tassels of his leggings blew in the light breeze.
