by Janet Cooper
"Sarah!" he yelled, coming to a halt directly beside her.
She stopped and glanced over at him. "Yes?"
"I can do it! Let me show you." He gestured for her to come with him. An almost cocky expression filled his face.
NuHum said, "Go. Finish later."
"Thank you." Sarah wiped her hands on a clean section of the cloth before taking Little Turtle's hand. "Lead on,” she said.
They walked a short distance from the house and stopped.
The boy broke their clasp and pulled his knife from the sheath attached to his leg.
Placing her hands on her hips, Sarah grinned. "Okay. Show me."
He drew a circle on the ground, placed a few stick figures in the center then wiped the dirt off the tip of his knife. The smile on his face disappeared, replaced by a sober, studious look. With careful, almost guarded movements, he flipped the blade. The handle vibrated for a few seconds, but the end stuck firmly in the ground.
"Thee did it!" Sarah shouted gleefully and clapped her hands. She wanted to hug him, but held back. What would his reaction be to an outward show of affection? He had taken her hand, but Sarah decided not to push. Inside, her heart soared at how far their relationship had come.
He grinned. Pulling the knife from the hard ground, he said, "Watch again." He repeated his trick.
"I am so proud of thee. Thee must show thy father." She glanced across the yard to the fenced-in pasture area where she had left Wolf and Jeremiah, but saw neither of them. "I wonder where they went?" she asked.
"Who?" Little Turtle asked.
"Thy father and Jeremiah," she responded.
"They rode off to fish," White Owl said, as he rounded the front corner of the house and drew near.
"Together?" Sarah asked.
The old man nodded. "They appeared to have reached an understanding they have not had for many years."
The news pleased her.
White Owl focused his attention on her. "You helped them make peace. Our families had been friends since Jeremiah's grandfather married Emily and me. To see and not be able to heal the division between them caused me sadness. Now, my grandson has rediscovered his friend."
"XhanXhan, watch me!" Little Turtle demanded. Gaining the older man's attention, the child displayed his skill. His face beamed when the blade carved into the dirt. "Sarah helped me."
"She is a good teacher," White Owl said.
"And I am a good pupil," the boy said.
"Thee is," Sarah said, reinforcing the time and effort the child had taken to develop his skill.
"I'm going to go find Black Snake and show him." Little Turtle dashed off to look for the older boy.
White Owl turned to Sarah. "Walk with me."
"Gladly." She matched her pace to his.
"My grandson has much to learn."
Sarah gazed after the small boy. "Yes, but he will grow into a fine brave."
"I do not mean the child. I speak of his father. For many years, he allowed his anger to come between himself and Jeremiah. When he listened to the truth, he realized his foolishness. Now, he must heed his heart."
She saw the directions his words headed and swallowed hard.
"His mother died when Wolf was born and my wife, a few years later. Silver Wolf does not understand women." He shook his head. "Nor does he understand love."
Heat rose in her face. She tried to hide her blush, but failed.
"You are a good woman, Sarah Stone. You make my grandson happy. I think you love him." White Owl slowed his pace, but did not look at her.
"Yes, I love him, XhanXhan, but he does not love me." She lowered her head and blinked away the tears forming.
He stopped and placed his hand on her arm. "You called me XhanXhan, grandfather."
"I did not mean to offend thee," she stuttered.
He shook his head. "Your words please me, my daughter. They prove you have honored us as your family."
"If only Wolf loved and accepted me," she said sadly. "I would give everything for him, but he keeps his heart locked tightly in his chest."
"You must find the key. I have watched you with Quick Rabbit and her son. Our people like you. My great-grandson has come to admire you. When you arrived at our plantation, happiness came with you."
Her mouth seemed too small for her tongue, and she sought to find the right words to speak.
"Remember my story about my wife coming to find me after I had left the plantation?" he asked, starting again to walk.
"Yes."
"She knew what she wanted. I was a coward and could not admit my feelings for her. My excuse was I was Lenape; she was English. She made me realize that our love was more important than our differences. We never regretted marrying. Our lives revolved around this land and the people living here. We were content."
Sarah had listened closely and kept step with the old man. They had arrived at the cemetery.
"Wolf needs you," White Owl said. "He has come alive since your arrival. With more white men seeking land and prejudice growing, your life will not be easy here. Yet, together you and Wolf will succeed."
"White Owl!"
Sarah spun around.
Long Knife spurred his horse on, then reined in and leaned forward in his saddle. "Where is Captain Jeremiah Low?"
"Silver Wolf and he have gone fishing. Is there anything I can do?" the patriarch of the village asked.
"Daniel Woodley has been captured by the British. I managed to escape but overheard the corporal threatening to hang Daniel on the old oak in front of Benjamin Stone's inn." Long Knife's mount danced as if impatient to be off, but the lad controlled his spirited horse. "Captain Low must order his men to help free Daniel." His voice cracked, reminding Sarah how young he and his friend were.
"Never mind the captain's men, I'll bring my braves." White Owl started trotting toward the barnyard.
Sarah jogged beside him.
Putting his horse to a fast walk, Long Knife kept pace with them. "I would not advise that."
The young scout's tone sounded worried, and yet Sarah heard the deference in the lad's voice.
"The plantation must be protected from the other patrols that are scavenging the country side," the brave added.
"Your words make sense," XhanXhan said, slowing his pace to a quick walk.
"I'll ride for Wolf and Jeremiah," Sarah said.
"You will never find them." White Owl's brow ruffled, but he kept moving. "Long Knife, ride and warn our men. I will locate my grandson and Jeremiah and tell them what has happened. Then we will ride to the tavern. When you finish here, join us at the inn."
"Yes, sir." The lad kneed his horse and cantered off.
"What about me?" Sarah asked.
"You stay here."
"Never. My father might be in danger. Daniel is a captive and anything might happen to him. I will go straight to the tavern and see if I can help."
"If the British capture you, you will be of no help to anyone," White Owl said, logically.
His words made sense, but she could not stay at Long Meadow and do nothing to help her father or Daniel. "I will make sure no one sees me, XhanXhan," she assured him as they entered the barn to saddle their horses.
"Silver Wolf will be very angry."
"I love my father. If the British are going to the tavern, Benjamin will be involved. He might get injured or," she stopped, swallowed, then continued, "…or killed. If I could help save his life and did not try, I would be unworthy of anyone's love. Wolf's concerns must take second place to my obligation to Benjamin," she stated.
* * * *
"Silver Wolf, Jeremiah," White Owl called in an agitated voice.
Wolf jabbed the end of his pole in the soft mud of the creek bank and climbed up the small hill. His friend followed suit.
Quickly, his grandfather explained what had happened then said, "Sarah refused an escort. She knows how few men we have, and insisted that the plantation would be vulnerable if anyone else left."
The idea of Sarah falling into the hands of the corporal twisted Wolf's gut. XhanXhan should have insisted someone go with her. As soon as Wolf thought the words, he acknowledged Sarah would never have agreed. "Damn her," Wolf said, before turning to his friend. "Jeremiah, ride and collect your men. I'll meet you at the inn."
"I will ride with you, my son."
"So will I," a young voice called.
All three men whirled around.
"Little Turtle," Wolf said. "How did you get here?"
"I heard what happened. I promised her father I would protect her." He pushed out his small chest and stood straighter.
Wolf shook his head. "No, my son. You must return with your grandfather."
Disappointment filled the child's face, so Wolf added, "You must help guard our people."
Although the boy's expression brightened, his eyes showed his desire to argue. Wolf had no time to discuss his decision with his son. "Collect your men," he told Jeremiah. "Meet me at the tavern."
"My camp is not far from there. I'll be there as quickly as possible." He vaulted onto his saddle and headed off.
"Take care of each other." He addressed these words to White Owl, but looked at his son, who nodded solemnly.
As Wolf mounted his stallion, his grandfather said, "Kitanito wet go with you."
"And with you," Wolf replied. As he rode, Sarah's image penetrated his mind. If anything happened to her, she would never know that he loved her. The idea was unthinkable. He spurred his stallion on.
* * * *
The sun barely topped the trees as Sarah stopped a short distance from the inn and tied her horse to a thick branch of a fir-tree. Beyond the grove of closely knit pines stood the tavern and from the this side, she could scarcely see the inn. Still, she moved carefully through the underbrush, using the fattest trees for protection and cover. Every now and then, her skirt caught on a briar stem. She silently cursed her colonial garb, wishing for a pair of jeans.
She heard men's voices shouting and swearing before she reached the clearing that surrounded the tavern. Using the massive trunk of a beech tree as a blind, she surveyed the area; off to her left, in a clearing and at least five feet from the wall of the barn, stood Daniel. They had tied him to a fence post and stripped his shirt off his back. Even from this distance, Sarah saw stripes of red marring his flesh. His head hung loosely. A cry of distress gripped her, but she swallowed the sound for in the center of the pasture four soldiers sat gulping ale and munching loaves of bread. The curses and oaths they jokingly bantered between mouthfuls would have made even a 21st Century woman's face flame. Now, she scarcely heard them. She searched for her father, but failed to see him. Nor could she find Mistress Westcoat. Her stomach tightened in fear for their safety.
She gathered her skirt and ran quietly to the rear wall of the inn, keeping pace with the pounding in her heart. After waiting for a moment to be sure no one had seen her, she put her hands on the sill and pulled herself up. Hastily, she glanced in the window, but saw only the empty tavern room. Now what? she thought, as concern for her father and Mistress Westcoat grew.
Steeling her nerves, Sarah eased around the side of the tavern, keeping as close to the gray cedar siding as possible. When she reached the corner, she peeked around then immediately drew back.
The fat, red-headed corporal sat on the railing; his bottom spread across the top of the wide board and even hung over several inches. Stone cold fear raked its icy claws across her skin. Her thoughts turned to Wolf, and she remembered how he had shot an arrow into one of those large bulging cheeks. The idea of throwing her knife into one of his beefy buttocks tempted her, but what would she do afterwards?
Daring another glance, she searched the area directly in front of the tavern. Beneath the large oak tree sat Benjamin and Mistress Westcoat tied together, back to back. Neither appeared hurt, but, with only a few moments to study them, Sarah could only hope and pray. Over their heads and off to the left, a rope with a noose hung swinging in the light breeze. She shivered at the sight. As she stepped back, trying to decide what do to, hands grabbed her from behind.
"Well, well," said a gruff, English voice.
Sarah twisted and squirmed, struggling to break free. She kicked. Thud. Her foot connected with a hard shin.
"Damn you, slut!"
The man wrenched her arms, and pain coursed through her elbows and shoulders.
"I'll break 'em," he warned when she tried to yank away.
She had no doubt that he would and, for the moment, ceased fighting.
"Walk!" He prodded her forward. As they rounded the corner, he called, "Look who I found."
The corporal's head turned slowly. An evil grin spread across his ugly face. "Well, well now, we can have some real fun."
A perverted leer lit his gaze and made Sarah's mouth go dry with terror. Why had she not listened to White Owl? Why had she left Long Meadow?
The corporal heaved himself to a stand with difficulty. "I wasn't looking forward to fudderin' that old dried out piece of meat …" He indicated Mistress Westcoat with a jerk of his head. "But I've been lookin' forward to slippin' into your warm, silky puddin' for weeks."
He edged closer with each filthy word. With surprising gentleness, he rubbed the pads of his fleshy fingertips across Sarah's cheek, yet his touch froze her insides.
"Can we have her when you're done?" the soldier who held her asked.
"By the time I finish with her, she'll be stretched enough for a wagon to slide inside," he chuckled grimly.
Sarah's knees weakened.
"If you still want her then, she's yours." The corporal grabbed a hank of hair and yanked Tears came to her eyes.
"That was your first lesson in pleasurin'," he roared with amusement, and his men joined in.
"Don't touch her!" Benjamin called.
Sarah looked at him. "Father, don't worry. I will be fine." Although a blatant lie, she refused to allow the corporal to see how afraid she was.
He caught her chin with his meaty fist and lowered his lips to hers. His wet, slimy tongue thrust into her mouth. Sarah resisted the urge to vomit and instead bit his tongue …hard.
"Agh!" He jerked away then slapped her cheek with enough force to make her ears ring.
Sarah's head snapped. The pain shot through her and she groaned. Her legs buckled and she would have fallen, but his hand still firmly gripped her hair.
Big Bottom spit blood from his mouth then raised his hand again. Before he could connect with Sarah's face, an arrow sliced a strip of flesh from the meaty side of his palm. His scream pierced the air, and he released his hold on her then stared at the flayed skin.
Sarah twisted away. She started to run, but the corporal grabbed the back of her bodice with his uninjured hand and yanked her in front of him.
"Davis, point your musket at her. If another arrow lands, kill her." The corporal chuckled unpleasantly. "Fire anytime," He called out to his unseen attacker."…if you dare."
His men guffawed.
Wolf swore silently. He could have killed Big Bottom, but Sarah's body had shielded the corporal's vital parts. With the private training his Brown Bess on Sarah, wounding Big Bottom would accomplish nothing.
The four other soldiers had grabbed their muskets and stood in the center of the field. They formed an irregular square. Each man searched the area around them. Wolf used the giant tulip poplar as protection so none could see him.
How long could he hold them at bay? And how long would it take for Jeremiah and his men to arrive?
"Looks like a stand-off," Wolf called.
"I don't know," Big Bottom said. "Stern, Case, move closer to the Quaker and the old woman. Focus your muskets on them." As Wolf prepared to lose an arrow at the soldiers, the corporal added, "If you shoot, we'll kill them all, starting with the pretty one."
Wolf might get a few shots and kill some of the British, but Sarah would die. He pulled down his bow, furious at his inability to change the odds.
&nbs
p; "Underwood, come bind up my hand," called the fat man. "Lang, cover the lad."
Frustration filled Wolf as he watched the soldiers take their new positions. Perhaps he could taunt the Corporal into making a foolish move.
"How's your ass, Big Bottom?" Wolf called sarcastically. "Of course, with a target as large as yours, even an amateur would have difficulty missing." Wolf chuckled mockingly.
The British corporal's face matched his red hair. "When we capture you, Indian, instead of just hanging, you'll be drawn and quartered in payment for that arrow."
With more confidence than the situation deserved, Wolf said, "I'm free, and your men are easy targets. Still looks like a stand-off to me."
"Stand-off? You damn fool. Surrender, or they all die." The corporal grinned evilly.
Sarah looked in Wolf's direction. Her facial expression showed no emotion, but she stood straight and tall. Her defiant stance made Wolf proud of her. Somehow, he would save her. Once she was free, he would confess his love. He must succeed.
"Before you can murder all your captives, I can kill a few of your men, beginning with you, Big Bottom. So, why should I come in?" Wolf jeered.
"We got the women, the old man and the lad. You got nothing but a quiver of arrows and no targets." Although his words were true, they sounded less than confident.
"If you free them, I'll yield," Wolf said, striving to find a way to rescue the captives.
"Four for one." The corporal snickered. "Never!"
"Let the women go. I'll throw down my weapons and surrender."
"No, Wolf," shouted Sarah. Fear showed in her words and face.
"Sounds like the Quaker lass cares for you." Big Bottom's arm encircled Sarah's neck. "Did you make her your squaw, Indian?"
Wolf's anger raged, but he tightened the reins on his emotions. He needed cool logic, not hot fury. He cleared his mind and thought. If he could kill a few of the soldiers, he would improve his negotiation position, yet he saw no way to do that without placing Sarah's life in jeopardy.
"Tell you what," the corporal said. "You walk out, and we'll let the little Quaker lady go."
"Let her go first."
