by RITA GERLACH
For a moment, he watched the picturesque warrior. He studied the direction of the Indian’s eyes, how he planted his feet firm and apart. The warrior’s face appeared chiseled with that granite warlike expression that thrives in the heart of the vengeful.
Angry Bear’s eyes fixed upon the grove of trees. He held up his hand to his warriors and waited. His eyes narrowed like those of a panther.
“For though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.” Maldowney whispered the verse and drew in a breath.
“We’re outnumbered,” said Nash.
“I’ll go out to them, and when I do, you must hurry from here,” Black Hawk said.
Nash yanked him back. “Are you out of your mind, my brother? They will kill you.”
Black Hawk hurried out from the trees. Instead of raising his tomahawk and crying out the war whoop, Angry Bear lifted his face and hand.
Nash’s nerves were as taut as a bowman’s string. Having kept his musket aimed at Angry Bear for several minutes, he blinked his eyes to stay focused. If the Indian warrior raised his weapon to strike Black Hawk, Nash was prepared to cut him down. He was ready to face the consequences, for the sake of his Indian brother’s life. But it appeared the two men were speaking to one another with mutual respect, and it baffled Nash. He watched Black Hawk stretch his arm over Angry Bear’s, and they laid hands on each other’s shoulder.
“A truce you suppose?” Maldowney said.
“It looks that way. But I won’t trust it.”
Black Hawk turned and walked back to where Nash and Maldowney waited.
“My brother, you must speak with Angry Bear. He has not made war on you, and has sworn his life is yours for sparing his. You must come and listen to him.”
“You’re quick to trust the man. I’ve seen the hate in his eyes, and it causes me to doubt any pledge he might make. And what about Robert? Are we to risk his life as well?”
“He will not break what he has sworn—and he has word of your woman.”
Maldowney laid his hand on Nash’s shoulder. “If it’s true he brings word of Rebecah and the women, then you must hear him out. But be vigilant. Black Hawk and I will stand with you. Won’t we Black Hawk?”
The Indian nodded.
For a minute, Nash made no answer. Then, rallying all the courage he had, he moved out from the trees and walked toward Angry Bear. Angry Bear drew an arrow through his hands and snapped it in half. He held out the pieces. Nash took the broken arrow in his fist.
“I gave my word I would not take your life. I have given you the broken arrow as a sign there is no war between us.”
“There are those of us who wish to live in peace. I desire it, Angry Bear.”
“I have heard of your woman. I will tell you this because I too have a woman.”
“What do you know of my wife?”
“Two women are in a cabin not far from here that escaped those who took them captive.”
Only two? “How do you know this?”
With his expression impassive, the warrior pointed to a mountain that loomed over the valley. “Over this ridge we met LaRoux’s men. It is them that say LaRoux has taken a white woman and left her friends. They have broken their pack with him and gone back to their people. You must follow this path along the river. It will take you to the cabin—to the others. There is an infant there they said is the woman’s.”
His heart slamming in his chest, Nash fixed his eyes on Angry Bear. “We will go to this place. Swear to me, you will not harm those who live there.”
Angry Bear squared his shoulders and nodded.
“For this I owe you a debt, Angry Bear.” He held out his hand. Angry Bear raised his arm from his side and took hold of it.
CHAPTER 33
Rebecah pressed her back into the large boulder behind her, deluding herself that somehow it would keep her safe from the unimaginable danger she was in.
LaRoux sat around a campfire tearing pieces of the rabbit he had killed and roasted, between his teeth. He stared at her and tossed the bones into the brush.
“Come with me,” he said, standing over her.
“I’m weary of walking.”
“Get up. There’s a brook at the bottom of the hill. I’ll take you there to drink and to wash.”
She must obey him, or else he would force her. The hill was easy to descend, and below it, the stream flowed through the forest floor of dead leaves. Rebecah got on her knees, cupped her hand and drank. She washed her face and dried it with her ragged sleeve.
She turned to go back up the hill, but as she moved, LaRoux grasped her wrist from behind. The strength by which he held her was gentle, yet with the unyielding hold of an iron shackle.
Looking back, she caught sight of a band of bronze encircling his forearm. Sunlight hit it. Its similarity to the one Black Hawk wore was striking. Below it, she saw the place where her husband’s bullet had grazed him. She tried to pull free, but could not match his strength.
“Let your gaze be for me.”
She frowned. “I’ll have none of you.”
“You must decide to either have me or be the wife of an Indian.”
“I’ll never be persuaded any other way, for I know you for what you are.”
“And what am I?” he said drawing closer.
“A thief and a murderer. A kidnapper.”
“I’ll not deny it. But there are worse sins.”
“You have taken me away from my child.”
“You’ll forget. You’ll have others.”
“I shall not forget. Do you expect me to love you when you’ve taken me from my baby and brought so much pain to my life?”
LaRoux released her hand. “You will forget.”
Rebecah shook her head. “There is one thing you cannot take from me, Monsieur LaRoux—my memories. I wonder. What was it that made you the kind of man you are? Why do you hate so much?”
His face twitched. She had hit a nerve.
“Hate keeps me alive. Hate causes my blood to rush through my veins. Hate triumphs over my enemies.”
For a moment, she felt sorry for him. How sad it was for a man to live his life prone to hate and opposed to love.
“Hate brings a man to an early grave, alone, friendless, without another human being to mourn his passing. Is that what you want?”
An angry fire rose in his eyes and he flung her back. “I will tell you what I want. It is you, Rebecah. But I will wait for you to come to me. I know you will—eventually.”
“Long ago you gave me cause to fear you,” she said. “Now you wish me to hate you even more?”
“I’m not fond of that idea.”
“Let me go.”
“No, you will go with me beyond the mountains where no one will find us.”
“I will not go with you!”
“You’ve no choice.”
“I do. Drive your knife into my heart. I will not go from this place.”
LaRoux drew out his knife and threw it down. Then he crushed her to him and kissed her lips. She would not yield. He pushed her back toward the campfire. She could smell the meat upon the spit, the rancid smoke rising from it.
“Sit,” he said, motioning with his hand for her to take some meat.
“I know better than to eat anything offered to me by my captor.”
“Very well, go hungry,” LaRoux told her. “Soon you will learn to depend on me.”
Unable to take any more, she turned away with her hands over her face. She hurried to the rock and fell upon her knees under it. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She dashed them away, and drew herself up.
She must run—run for her life—run for Abigail, for Jack her beloved—even if it meant her life.
Her hair fell free about her shoulders, and she shoved it back from off her face. It felt heavy and dirty. She stood. The ground was soft, but peppered with pine needles and cones, stones and bits of wood. She stepped back, grimaced with pain. The soles of h
er feet were bruised and bleeding. Not long ago she wore satin slippers and silk stockings. Now she wore rags and there were holes in her shoes. Her legs were bare and dirty, her dress in tatters.
She reached up, touched skin that had once looked like ivory. Now it was burnished by the sun. Each strand of her hair lacked the silken luster Nash loved. Her hands were chaffed.
She wondered if she were ever to hold her babe in her arms again. And would she feel her husband’s arms around her? Oh, his arms. The moon climbed the sky and she closed her eyes from the world around her and thought how warm and protected she felt in them.
Starvation got the best of her, and baring the pain gripping her stomach, she took some meat from LaRoux and ate it. Darkness set it, and with it despair and loneliness. Nothing would abate it, not even the soft, fragrant glow of the fire that warmed her.
She stared at the red coals. LaRoux said, “When we reach a village, I’ll see to it you have new clothes to wear. Will that please you?”
She did not answer.
“Take off your shoes.”
She glanced up at him. As his eyes bore down upon her, she slipped them off. He took them. “I will give them back later. You won’t dare try to leave without them.”
His hand fastened upon her arm and pulled her up. When he leaned close, she scurried back. Through the firelight, his face was burnt umber and ablaze with want. Fear surged through her.
“It would be easier if you were to give yourself freely,” LaRoux said.
“Don’t you believe in God?”
“What a strange question.”
“You should fear Him. What you are about to do…what you want to do…”
He grabbed her and pulled her against him. She pushed back, beat him with her fists. He pushed her to the ground. She hit him with the full force of her knee. He rolled over onto his side in agony, and she struggled onto her hands and knees. He reached for her as she crawled away, swearing he would kill her if she did not come back. Her heart pounded against her chest and she gasped for breath. He lunged at her. She picked up a handful of dirt and flung it into his face. He fell back blinded.
Time not sparing, Rebecah got to her feet and ran. Sobbing, her hands stretched out into the darkness, her feet stumbled over roots and twigs, stinging with pain. LaRoux shouted behind her, swearing he would catch up to her and then she would see who her master was.
It was a hill she climbed. The pine needles were like thorns beneath her feet to slip her up and cause her to fall, and cut into her soles. She dug at the earth with her hands, pulling herself up the hill, kicking her feet out behind her until she reached a great outcropping of rock and crawled through cast off leaves and branches until she reached the top and swung herself over.
The ridge of blackened stone escalated into a great precipice overlooking the river. She hurried across the rocks, slips of lichen and moss, tuffs of coarse weeds growing between the cracks.
She raised her hand to her heart, felt it beat some warning to stay true to her flight. She must go on, lose herself in the depths of the forest.
Stars studded the sky and the moon shot its beams through the sycamores. Rebecah could see ahead a short distance. She bit her lip as she moved on, for each stepped seemed more painful than the one before. She looked to the right, then to the left, trying to know which way to go.
So this is what it has come to. This is how it will end. Jack will never find me, for I am to die here in this wilderness.
Before her lay a natural path made by deer. It cut straight through the grove of evergreen.
“Hide me, Jesus, in thy name.”
Would he send angels to take her from the world, to rescue her from her miserable flight? Would she not see them stretching out their arms to lift her away?
She crept forward at the top of a cliff overlooking the Potomac. Laying on the rock, she watched it move below in the growing moonlight. How it swirled over the rocks, how the trees shadowed it along the banks.
Sick, hungry, and shattered, she breathed out. “I am a child of the wilderness at last. How quiet it is, how still.”
Peering over the edge of the precipice, she saw a shadow fall along the bank, and then movement in the trees.
LaRoux!
Scrambling back, she got to her feet, and hurried into the woods, plunging through brambles of wild rose and grape, stumbling over roots that ensnared her ankles. Her bruised and bleeding feet slowed her, and she tried to endure the pain as she hurried.
She stood still when she heard him shout her name. “Rebecah! I will find you.”
She turned full circle, looking for anything that could protect her. What could a stick or rock do now? Desperation filled her. The darkness overwhelmed her. Her mind flooded with crazed fear like a cornered creature.
She turned to the right. A fallen sycamore.
She ran toward it, fell into the leaves, tucked her body beneath it. She gathered leaves around her, pulled down the branches.
Winded, she drew her arms over her head and her knees to her chest. Suddenly the woods were silent. Not a sound, not even wind.
She felt him near, closer and closer. She heard the crunch of a leaf, the snap of a twig. Then she heard his heavy pant, and held her breath.
LaRoux was within yards of where she lay.
Help me, God. Do not let him find me.
She shut her eyes tight, trembled.
Wait. Don’t move. Stay still.
Slowly she exhaled. Her heart pounded. For an hour, she did not move, frozen with fear. Looking through the branches she watched the moon and realized death had passed her where she lay. But how far death had gone, she knew not, and wondered if he might not turn back and find her.
A quickening of the heart jarred her. With an aching she remembered why she had left England and come to this wild, unforgiving place. A little smile crept over her mouth.
My beloved. Oh, how she loved him. She crossed the ocean and traveled to the frontier to see him again, to love him again, to be his wife forever and ever. They had a daughter. They were a family.
She pressed her body tighter within her hiding place, imagined her beloved’s arms about her. Her body shook with the want to cry. Her hand covered her mouth, the other her eyes to wipe away the tears.
CHAPTER 34
“Two white men and an Indian approaches!”
Mrs. Monroe hiked her skirts above her ankles as she dashed from the back of the cabin to where her husband worked cutting firewood. He dropped his axe and grabbed his musket. Nash, Maldowney, and Black Hawk halted when he raised it and cocked the hammer.
“My name is John Nash. We are looking for my wife, and two others.”
Monroe lowered his weapon. “You got an Indian with you, sir, and…”
Nash walked toward him. “Black Hawk is my blood brother. This is Robert Maldowney, a man of the Gospel.”
“Come inside.” Monroe showed them the way. Mrs. Monroe gasped when Black Hawk ducked his head through the door. Her husband assured her all was well.
Theresa sprang up from a chair. “Captain Nash!” She threw her arms around him. “Oh, poor Rebecah. She has been taken, sir—down by the river. I’ve been praying…”
“Do not worry, Theresa.” He looked into her face and touched her cheek. “I will find her.”
Maddie smiled. “The Lord will direct your path to Miss Rebecah. He has got to, sir, cause look here who needs her mama.” In her arms, she held a baby and drew back the blanket from the child’s face. “Here’s your child, your little girl.”
Nash’s heart leaped and he hurried over to Maddie, looked down into the sweet face of his daughter. Immediately she seized his heart. He handed his musket to Maldowney and took her into his arms.
“My girl,” he said, tripping over his words.
“Miss Rebecah named her Abigail. Had her in the woods while we escaped. Ain’t she beautiful?”
“As beautiful as a spring day. Look Black Hawk. Look Robert. I’ve a daughter.”
/>
Black Hawk, impassive as ever, raised his brows. Maldowney stepped up to have a look. “A fitting name for her, Jack. Abigail means a father’s joy.”
“And so she is.” Nash kissed the little head, and then turned to Monroe. “Sir, I know my wife was taken. Will you show me the place? I and my brother will follow that trail and find her.”
Monroe nodded. “It’s just down the hill at the riverbank.”
“I have one other request. Do you have a horse?”
Monroe shifted on his feet. “I do.”
“Will you lend it to my friend here, so that he may ride to Fort Frederick? Miss Boyd’s father and intended are there. He will bring them back with mounts and supplies.”
“A good plan, sir. For the women are too worn out to travel by foot. My horse is in the barn.”
“I will saddle him and be on my way,” Maldowney said, and went out.
Nash turned to Theresa, saw a mix of concern and hope in her eyes. “I will pray, sir, God will make your feet as hinds’ feet, that you are swift to find Rebecah and bring her back to all of us.”
* * *
Standing above the river on a precipice of rock, they could hear deer crashing through the forest. Black Hawk drew out his long knife. Nash’s finger looped inside the trigger of his musket and his thumb pulled back the hammer. He looked down at the river. The muscles in his arms contracted when he saw a lone figure pass between the trees and disappear.
He glanced at Black Hawk. “LaRoux?” he said, speaking low.
Black Hawk nodded. “A man, yes.”
Together they moved ahead, silent and with stealth. “Look,” said Black Hawk. Looped over a branch he found a strip of linen. He pulled it free. “She’s left a sign.”
Nash looked back at the precipice thinking how she had to have stood there. She was near. He wanted to call out to her, but if it were LaRoux he risked endangering her.
Stay where you are, Rebecah. I’m coming.
With his musket in hand and his heart pounding, he sprinted ahead. He knew LaRoux too was searching for her, and he prayed he would find her before his enemy.
