by Phoebe Conn
"I'll come back as soon as I'm able. Think of that day rather than this, and don't be sad."
Responding to his affectionate hug without thinking, Melissa placed her hands over his, but she would anticipate his return with dread rather than longing. She closed her eyes, and surrounded by his warmth, wished he were any man other than the one he was. If only he were a British officer, or a planter's son, or a frontiersman with a European heritage. If only he had been someone she could have been proud to love, rather than a seductive savage whom she ought to have avoided with Alanna's zeal.
"Melissa?"
His hushed whisper increased her shame, for he ought not to have ever addressed her in terms less formal than Miss Barclay. She pushed away his hands and turned to the side where she had ample room to escape him. "Please, the others will be here soon, and we dare not arouse their suspicions."
"Is that all you want to say to me?"
His sullen frown inspired the words she knew he wanted to hear. "No. I'd like to talk with you all day, to learn about your home and family since you know all about mine, but there's no time." Praying someone would be approaching, she looked toward the house, and to her immense relief, she saw Elliott crossing the lawn. "Look, Elliott's ready to go."
"I'm not."
"Then you'll have to get ready!"
Hunter shook his head, but remained silent rather than increase her agitation. He reminded himself that making love was new to her, and her shyness around him was understandable. He crossed to the bateau and knelt to rearrange the gear it already held, to make room for his own.
"Mother's looking for you," Elliott called out to Melissa.
"Why?" Melissa rushed to him, and then, catching herself, stepped back.
For an instant she had looked terrified, but just as quickly her expression reflected mere puzzlement rather than fright, leaving Elliott unsure of what he had really seen. "I'm sure nothing's wrong," he told her. "Maybe she has presents she wants you to give us."
Seizing control of her emotions, Melissa responded with a saucy smile. "I think we'll save the presents for your return."
Seeing her parents crossing the lawn, followed by Byron and Alanna, Melissa continued to play the carefree young woman they would all expect to see. Her voice was tinged with the proper regret at her brothers' departure, but otherwise her mood appeared to be as sunny as the spring day. After ascertaining that her mother had merely wanted her to come to the dock to wish her brothers farewell, she stood between her parents and added her own best wishes for a safe journey.
When it came time to leave, Hunter thanked the Barclays for their hospitality, then bid Melissa and Alanna a polite goodbye. He did not linger as though he expected the same show of affection they gave Byron and Elliott, but promptly turned away and joined the two young men in the bateau. He did not glance back as they shoved the boat away from the dock and began to row, but he hoped if Melissa's eyes were brightened by tears, they were for him. After the passion they had shared, she had been strangely shy that morning, but his hopes for a joyous welcome upon his return overshadowed his concern.
John and Rachel waved until their sons' boat was well out into the river, before going back to the house. Melissa and Alanna, however, waited on the dock until the bateau had rounded the bend and was no longer in view. With the unabashed glee of a condemned man who's just won a pardon, Melissa drew in her first deep breath of the morning. Hunter was gone, and no one suspected a thing. She was so relieved, she might have leapt into the air with a jubilant shout had Alanna not been there to watch and wonder why.
"It's always fun to have them home, isn't it?" Melissa enthused. "We really ought to have more parties like the one we hosted last night. There's no reason to wait for Byron and Elliott to entertain, when I like having company so much, and I think you're finally beginning to enjoy it as well." She looped her arm through Alanna's, but rather than match her stride, Alanna hung back, pulling her to a clumsy halt.
"Last night you wept yourself into a deplorable state over your brothers' safety," Alanna reminded her. "Yet you just bid them goodbye as though they weren't going any farther than Newport News, and now you want to talk about parties?"
Alanna had made a point of observing the Indian that morning, but she hadn't seen anything untoward from him or Melissa! Perhaps her fears had made her overly cautious around him, but that didn't explain Melissa's constantly shifting emotions. She still felt something was wrong, but with Melissa's stubborn reluctance to confide in her, she doubted she would ever learn what it was.
An adept conversationalist, Melissa hastened to distract her cousin from pursuing such insulting questions. "After you fell asleep, I realized you were absolutely right. Byron and Elliott are capable men, who can handle whatever dangers they encounter. So I ceased to worry." She flashed a beguiling smile, and continued as though she had not been interrupted.
"If Graham Tyler was too talkative, what did you think of Stuart Harnett? Did you like him better?"
Startled by Melissa's abrupt change of subject, Alanna looked but toward the river. The current was brisk, but her cousins were as at home in a bateau as they were on land, and she wasn't worried about them either. As for Hunter, she had never been so happy to see a guest depart. Now, if she could only banish the wretched memories he had stirred, her life would regain the tranquility she craved. It took her a moment to recall what Melissa had asked.
"He's very quiet, but whether he's shy, or merely unimpressed with me, I can't say. Whatever his reason, it really doesn't matter, because I'm not interested in him."
Melissa called upon whatever store of patience she possessed in an attempt to deal with her cousin. Rather than scold her, she grew flippant. "I think you actually enjoyed yourself last night, and you're just too stubborn to admit you had fun."
Alanna smoothed out her apron, then began to fidget. "I wasn't miserably unhappy, that's true, but there's a difference between attempting to be polite to our guests, and having fun."
"All you need is more practice," Melissa insisted. "It's such a lovely morning, let's sit out here by the river and talk for a while." She led the way onto the lawn, seated herself in a graceful heap of petticoats and lace, and patted the grass at her side.
"The morning is bright and clear," Alanna agreed, "but I don't think I'm going to like your topic of conversation."
"Nonsense. Let's talk about the young men we know. It isn't too soon for either of us to begin thinking about marriage. It's a shame Jonathan Frederick didn't wait for me. I loved him dearly, when I was a little girl."
"I remember that," Alanna said, and hoping to keep Melissa talking about herself, she joined her on the lawn. "How many children do he and his wife have now?"
"Four at last count," Melissa replied, "but they'll probably have a dozen in as many years." She named several other young men, friends of her brothers that she had known all her life. At one time or another she had kissed them all, but none of those brief infatuations had deepened into love. "Do any of them appeal to you?"
"I don't believe they even know I exist."
"Then you do like them? Or one of them at least? Tell me which one, and I'll make certain he and his whole family are invited to supper soon."
"That would be a waste of everyone's time. I like them all, but not in a romantic way."
Melissa reached over to pluck Alanna's cap from her curls. "Perhaps you'd prefer an older man. What about Randolph O'Neil? Whenever we see him at church, he always greets you far more warmly than he does me."
While flattered by that observation, Alanna disagreed. "I'm sure you're mistaken, besides, Mr. O'Neil must be in his forties, isn't he?"
"So what? He has beautiful blue eyes, and he's as trim as a man half his age. He's a successful merchant, and owns a fine home. He was widowed several years ago, so he must be lonely. I think he'd make a fine husband for you."
Alanna grabbed her cap back, but kept hold of it rather than again cover her hair. "Doesn't he have a da
ughter older than we are?"
"I'd forgotten all about her," Melissa mused thoughtfully, "but she needn't concern you, since she's married with a home of her own. What was her name? Sharon? Karen? Well, whatever it was, I believe she lives in Maryland, so she'd give you no trouble if you married her father."
"Melissa, I'm not going to marry Randolph O'Neil!" Alanna couldn't help but laugh at the thought, although she considered Mr. O'Neil a very nice man. She really didn't believe that he went out of his way to speak to her every Sunday, but even if he did, it was undoubtedly because he was being kind. "Why don't you consider him for yourself, if he'd make such a fine husband?"
"It's not such a bad idea," Melissa agreed. "I'm sure he'd treat me well, and he can afford to buy me whatever I want. A woman would be wise to consider those assets, when selecting a husband."
"Well, of course, no one would encourage you to wed a man who was impoverished, or one who would treat you badly," Alanna replied. "What about Ian? You've not grown bored with him these few weeks, the way you usually do with your beaus. Isn't he a good prospect?"
Melissa could not hide her admiration for the British officer, and this time her smile was sincere. "Yes, Ian's so charming I can't help but like him. He has fine manners and appears to be from a respectable family, but he can't hope to come into a large inheritance, or he'd not have gone into the military."
"Perhaps not, but he could always leave the Army, and your father would loan him the money to buy land or invest in a business, if you asked for his help. Shouldn't marrying the man you love be your first concern?"
The possibility she might be viewed as no longer worthy of a fine man's love brought a renewed threat of tears, and Melissa rose to her feet to hide them. By the time she had arranged her skirt and petticoats into flattering folds, she had shoved all thought of her regrettable affair from her mind, and overcame them. "Yes," she finally cautioned, "but a woman ought to take care to choose the right man to love."
Alanna coiled her hair atop her head, and covered it with her cap before rising. "Is it possible to choose whom to love?"
"It has to be," Melissa replied. Determined to find Alanna a beau, she was seized with the sudden inspiration to request Ian's help in the matter. After all, he liked Alanna, and it would be a wonderful—and totally selfless—excuse to see him. Charmed by the cleverness of her idea, she guided Alanna up to their room, where they discussed the much needed additions to her wardrobe. For a few hours at least, Hunter actually was forgotten.
Chapter 5
In Newport News, Hunter and the Barclays left their small bateau, and along with other members of the militia boarded a sailing ship bound for Alexandria. The voyage north through the Chesapeake Bay and then up the Potomac River was neither long nor difficult, but Hunter did not enjoy the company he was forced to keep. The Barclays were officers, intelligent, educated men who were able to appreciate people of different cultures, and he had been proud to be their friend. Sadly, the recent recruits traveling with them to join the Virginia regiment were unsophisticated country boys. Most kept their distance, as Alanna had, but a few taunted him with insults they believed him too stupid to comprehend.
Once they began their journey over land, Hunter's duties as a scout would keep him constantly moving ahead of the regiment. That fact had at first prompted him to simply ignore the jokes told at his expense, but he had paid close attention to those telling them. He soon learned Vernon Avey wasted no opportunity to make others look foolish. He was a surly fellow, mean-spirited and belligerent. In his late twenties, he was one of the older recruits, but made no effort to set a good example for the younger men.
Vernon was shadowed by Willis Hoag and Hank Jepsen, whose loyalty bought them immunity from his vicious taunts. Like birds perched along the peak of a roof, they lined up at Vernon's elbow, ready to double-over with laughter whenever he chose someone to ridicule. Because none of the recruits were seafaring men, simply traversing the deck without stumbling and falling was a challenge. Cleverly avoiding drawing ridicule upon himself, Vernon spent his time leaning back against the rail, where from a secure footing he provided a malicious commentary on the mishaps befalling those who could not easily cross the deck with a sailor's rolling gait.
While none of the accidents he found hilarious were serious, being humiliated by Vernon was so painful that the men began to avoid him. Frustrated by the diminishing supply of fodder upon which to feed his sarcasm, Vernon shifted his target to Hunter. The Indian was too agile to call clumsy, and too handsome to draw criticism for his looks. He was Indian, however, and that fact inspired Vernon to plummet to new depths of tastelessness.
Hunter could excuse such insufferable ignorance for just so long, but after a particularly demeaning remark about the length of his hair, he crossed the deck, stood close, folded his arms over his chest, adopted an impassive expression, and stared down at the man who had spoken it. Vernon's blond hair, light brows, and pale lashes provided little definition for his features, which not even his mother would describe as attractive. His eyes were a pale blue and reminded him of a fish, Hunter laughed to himself before offering a jest of his own.
"Even a fish has sense enough to know when to shut his mouth. If you're not that smart, then I will shut yours for you."
Vernon looked to Willis and Hank for protection, but both men had begun to sidle away when Hunter had first approached, and clearly he was on his own. Infuriated that an Indian would dare to make fun of him, he doubled his fists at his sides and threw out his chest. He was skilled at making light of the misfortunes of others, but his usually sharp tongue failed him, and all he succeeded in doing was puffing himself up until he resembled an amorous bullfrog during a midnight serenade.
Hunter waited, his feet braced should he have to block a punch, but Vernon lacked the courage to hit him. Finally the fair-haired bully looked away, his expression still defiant, but his silence damning. Hunter could have walked away then, but he didn't. He kept staring at Vernon until he finally broke away from the rail and, still not hazarding a glance up at him, scurried back to the stern, where the men gathered there hurriedly moved aside to avoid him. Still not content, Hunter turned toward Willis and Hank, but his challenging stare prompted them to flee to the bow.
Hunter had learned from experience that once he had proven a man lacked the courage to repeat a joke to his face, he would have no more trouble with him. Unfortunately, there always seemed to be another man willing to test the limits of his patience. Had one of those belligerent clods—rather than the Barclays—approached him and offered a job as a scout, he would have refused it. Byron and Elliott had always treated him with respect, however, and it was his loyalty to them that kept him from quitting as soon as he reached the bottom of the gangplank in Alexandria. He had not complained of the way he had been treated, and he was surprised when Elliott apologized for the troops' lack of manners.
"Give them a couple more days," he encouraged the Indian. "Seeing how easily you move through the forest will put a stop to their teasing faster than anything I could say."
"It's not my skill they're questioning," Hunter replied. "They're laughing because I'm Indian, and no matter how far I lead them, I will be Indian still."
Unable to contradict him, Elliott looked to Byron for a response, and his older brother quickly obliged. "These men were hired to fight, not think, and that accounts for their lack of judgment. If they ever stopped to consider the differences between you, they'd quickly realize you're worth at least three of them, and none of them wants to face that."
Hunter turned to look back at the troops filing off the ship. Even if they weren't bright, they were young and strong, but none had impressed him as being invaluable to the Ohio Company's cause. "Only three?" he asked. "A Seneca brave is easily worth twice that."
Elliott's eyes widened at Hunter's boast, and amused, Byron feigned a punch to his brother's ribs. "He's teasing you. Now come on, let's report in and make certain Washington hasn't left w
ithout us."
Hunter followed, but he made no more immodest boasts when he was introduced to Col. Joshua Fry, the Oxford-educated Englishman commanding the Virginia regiment, or Lt. Col. George Washington. He had heard the Barclays speak of Washington several times, but they had not mentioned he was only twenty-three years old, or of such an imposing height they would all have to look up at him. That Washington would make a splendid target was Hunter's first thought, but he was favorably impressed.
After questioning Hunter to satisfy himself the scout was familiar with the terrain they would cover, Colonel Fry announced his intention to remain in Alexandria to drill half the regiment, while Washington went on ahead with the rest of the troops. They would take supply wagons and follow the trail paralleling the Potomac River to the Ohio Company's storehouse at Will's Creek. From there, Washington would use pack animals to cross the Alleghenies and reach the fort they believed to be under construction at the junction of the Monongahela and Allegheny rivers.
Not wishing to appear ignorant, Hunter drew Byron aside. "Who is building the fort?" he whispered.
"Capt William Trent. He's an Indian trader from Pennsylvania. He's in charge of the Ohio Company's post at Redstone Creek. Do you know him?"
"Yes. He's an honest man."
"Governor Dinwiddie agrees, and asked him to gather volunteers to build the fort, but Washington's the one who chose the location. There's an Ensign Ward with Trent, and they should have the fort completed by the time we get there."
Barring interference from the French, Hunter thought to himself. "Your troops can't become lost on the way to Will's Creek. I'm going to go on ahead and meet you there."
"No, you'll stay with us," Byron argued.
So as not to create a scene in front of their superior officers, Hunter waited until the Barclays had been dismissed to repeat his request, but the minute the three of them were alone, he made the reason for his decision clear. "You'll be following the river, so I won't be needed until later," he explained.
