“Or to stay alive,” Sam said woodenly, as he marched off to hunt.
As he was about to leave the clearing, Sam turned back to Stephen and yelled, “Don’t use anything but bone dry wood. Less smoke to draw attention to us.”
Stephen and Bear unloaded Jane’s cooking utensils and the supplies needed to make camp.
After gathering up several armfuls of the driest wood he could find, Stephen retrieved the long-handled axe secured with straps to the side of the wagon. He began chopping up the larger pieces the way his father taught him, his rhythm was so smooth the strikes sounded almost musical.
“William, stop tuning that violin and get a fire started,” he said as he carried an armful of firewood to Jane.
“Just getting it tuned for tonight,” William said, grinning. “I plan to keep you all entertained on this trip. Just because we’re headed into the wilderness doesn’t mean we have to leave culture behind us.”
“You’re entertaining all right,” Stephen said, “but not because you’re such an accomplished fiddle player.” He marched off to get pails of water.
Jane noticed Martha, Polly, and Amy tagging close behind Bear as he unloaded supplies from the wagon. He had to work to keep from stepping on them. Her daughters had become fond of their big friend.
“Bear, how do we know which way Kentucky is?” Martha asked.
“Kentuk,” Amy repeated.
Bear put down Jane’s heavy iron pans and knelt next to the three girls. “Well now, wee princesses, long before men from Europe came to the colonies, wild animals and native Indians lived here. The animals made many good paths that lead to water or to other things we need like salt licks. The Indians followed those same game paths and made them wider into trails, and white men followed the Indian trails, and made them wider still into roads.” Bear drew imaginary roads into the dirt to show Martha. “The northern and southern tribes of Indians traveled along a trail called the Great Indian Warpath for trade or for war. This trail goes around stony ground or dense growths of brush and trees. White men made many of these Indian trails into wagon roads that they now call the Wilderness Trail. We will follow this trail whenever we can. When we get to Kentucky, Daniel Boone and his men have already forged a good road into the wilderness for us to follow.”
“What’s wilderness?” Martha asked.
Jane could see Bear thinking, trying to come up with an answer they would understand.
“Wilderness is where only God has touched the earth, where it remains as it was created,” he finally said.
“Will we get lost?” Polly asked.
“Nae, wee one. Yer Uncle Sam has traveled all over these colonies at one time or another. He willna let us get lost.”
“Bear, why did Father want us to move from our big house?” Martha asked.
Martha’s question surprised Jane. Stephen had told the girls they were going to a place where there would be more land. Martha obviously didn’t understand why her father thought land was so important.
“Sweet lass, your Da must do what he thinks is best. Na just for him, but for yer Mum and for ye girls too. He is a wise man. He is doin’ what he must—what his strong mind and his good heart tell him to do,” Bear tried to explain.
She prayed this trip would be what was best for her family. She wanted to have faith in Stephen. It was too late to second-guess his decision now.
“Will there be Indians on these trails?” Martha asked timidly.
Martha still had vivid nightmares about Bomazeen. Jane thought the nightmares would probably continue until they were far away from home. Her heart clenched. If only she could have done something to spare her daughters from the terrifying encounter.
Rather than answer, Bear glanced over at her and waited for her to nod her consent before he continued.
“Aye, lass. But do na worry about that now. Not all natives are hostile, but yer Uncle Sam and I are well used to fighting Indians if we need to. With these braw new long rifles, we’ll be able to shoot them when they’re still a mile away.”
“Good,” Martha said.
Jane hoped a mile would be the closest hostile Indians ever got to her sweet girls.
Their first evening on the trail passed quickly. After Stephen got Jane’s cook fire going and helped her to start the fresh meat to roasting, Sam opened the crate of Kentucky rifles, giving one to each of the men and one to Jane. The .40 caliber weapons cost him more than two year’s salary, but they would be well worth the expense. The slender rifles were not only lightweight and accurate they were quick to load. Sam said he could reload his in 12 seconds while running, and that after some practice they would be able to do so as well.
Stephen stroked the smooth maple stock and admired its graceful lines and skillfully made iron accoutrements, including a distinctive patch box in the stock. He pointed the weapon towards the distant hills, pleased with the good sights. His first new rifle, he would treasure it. A rifle like this could mean the difference between life and death or between a full belly and starving.
For target practice, Sam nailed a white feed sack to a tree 100 yards from camp. By the time Jane had supper nearly ready, the sack hung in shreds.
“Let Jane try,” Stephen suggested.
“That would na be fair,” Bear said, “there’s na but a wee bit of threads left to shoot at.”
“Give me that rifle,” Jane demanded, clearly challenged by Bear’s comment.
With Stephen’s help, Jane loaded her new weapon. She tucked it securely into her shoulder, took aim, and fired. What remained of the feed sack fell to the ground.
“Those green eyes aren’t just beautiful, they’re as sharp as a hawk’s,” Stephen bragged.
“I made it easy on all of you,” Sam said. “Next camp, I’ll put it out 150 yards.”
By sundown, Sam’s weather prediction came true. Thunder rolled in a long parade as if the storm played hundreds of drums and cymbals as it marched across the countryside. Wind gusts picked up and large cold drops of rain started to slap their faces.
Jane quickly got the girls and Little John under cover inside the wagon and then started collecting her cooking utensils.
Stephen gathered up their new rifles and stored them away along with anything else that could blow away. Before he and Jane climbed inside too, he swung her around into the circle of his arms. Putting his hand to the back of her neck, he drew her lips to his and gently covered her mouth. She returned the kiss with abandon, letting the rain patter down on them both. Then he forced himself to step back and help her into the wagon.
As he climbed up behind Jane, William and John crawled under the wagon for their shelter.
Sam and Bear took cover under shelters they had made earlier from tree limbs and hides they had placed on high ground.
A lightning bolt cracked overhead. Polly squealed and Amy pressed her tiny hands to her ears. Little John clung to Stephen’s damp wool jacket. Martha just looked annoyed at being stuck in the wagon for the rest of the evening.
“Don’t worry, lightning is just the Almighty’s way of reminding us how powerful He can be,” Jane said, wrapping her arms around both Polly and Amy.
“He must be fierce,” Little John said. “I wouldn’t want to make him mad.”
“Many grown men aren’t smart enough to realize that,” Stephen said.
Chapter 14
The next morning Jane made a brief note in her journal.
The storm last night passed quickly, but left the ground wet, just enough to make everything muddy. Stephen is so full of energy and hope. He inspires us all. I pray that God will give him the strength he will need for this journey, and that He will give us all strength. I fear we will need it.
“We’ve made good progress today, nearly ten miles. Tomorrow, we should make the Merrimack River before dark. I’ll rest easier once we’ve crossed it,” Sam quietly told Stephen and Bear as they rode.
“I won’t rest easy until Bomazeen is dead,” Stephen replied.
“Aye,” Bear agreed. “The demon is still within strikin’ distance. We’d be easy to track. We’re leavin’ a trail an Indian bairn could follow.”
“Let’s make camp before it gets dark,” Sam said. “We’re more vulnerable at night so we’ll need to hunt some food and be back before sundown.”
“Aye. I’m as hungry as big Camel here,” Bear said.
“So am I,” John said and he and William joined them.
Stephen hoped they could find some turkey or wild hog. Hunger pangs rumbled in his stomach too.
“Little John and I will fish upstream while you two hunt,” John said.
Bear and Sam rode off. They would ride some distance away before dismounting and hunting the rest of the way on foot.
Stephen turned to William. “You’re looking a little stiff, brother.” While William hadn’t complained, he suspected that after two straight days on horseback, William felt like he did—saddle-sore in some very private places.
“I’m fine,” William growled.
“There’s no shame in admitting it. We’re not used to riding all day like Sam and Bear. Why don’t you keep a watch out and gather up firewood. I’ll get these horses hobbled so they can graze some. Looks like some good grass over there,” Stephen said, pointing to a meadow not far off.
“Deal,” William said.
Stephen removed George’s saddle and began brushing the stallion’s broad back, where the horse’s black hair was wet and matted from the day’s ride. He enjoyed the grooming as much as George did. There was something pure and earthy about the salty aroma of the horse’s sweat and the brushing seemed to help them both relax after a long ride. When he was done, he stroked George’s long neck and hindquarters. The powerfully built stallion had nearly perfect conformation and he counted himself lucky to own such an exceptional mount.
He loved the horse like a dear friend. Riding George was far more than a means of transportation—it made him feel stronger and more alive—as if the strength of the stallion’s big heart and powerful muscles passed through to him every time he rode. Of all God’s creatures, he thought the horse most worthy of mans’ admiration and devotion. And George received ample amounts of both.
“I’m going to the creek to wash the dust off my face and hair. I’ll get some water for coffee and dinner too,” Jane said.
Stephen looked up and judged the distance to the creek. It was less than 50 yards away. “All right. But stay alert and take your rifle.”
William stacked the firewood, then used steel and flint to ignite the leaves and twigs he’d placed at their base. “You should shortly have enough heat to cook if you have a mind to make some of your famous biscuits in your Dutch oven,” he said with a grin.
“Thank you,” Jane said, “I just need to check on the children and freshen up first.”
William opened his bedroll and stretched out his long legs.
The children were running in circles around the wagon, chasing each other and squealing happily, letting off pent up energy from being confined all day.
Jane loaded her rifle, grabbed her soap and pails, then headed down the slope. Tall Cypress trees lined the bank, their branches and leaves rustling like huge wind chimes in the steady light wind. The creek, swollen from spring rains, flowed noisily. The churning water formed white foam around colorful boulders and rocks. Jane wished it were summer and she could disrobe and sit on the rocks, letting warm water swirl around her naked body.
Winding her way around some large boulders, she made a path down to the river bank. She removed her cloak and laid it and her bucket on the rocks, and then unbuttoned the bodice of her gown, pulling it down. With only her shift left to cover her breasts, the cool gentle breeze made her shiver and raised goosebumps on her bare skin. As she bent down to the water’s edge, she breathed in the clean smell of the water.
Jane splashed her face with the clear water before dunking her head. Shivering, the chilly water did not feel pleasant, but it felt far better than the dirt and grime of the trail. After dragging the bar of soap through her wet hair, she started scrubbing and didn’t stop until she’d done a thorough job. She closed her eyes, dipped her head in the creek again, and vigorously swirled her hair through the cold water.
Then she felt only the cold of terror. Her entire body shuddered in fear when large strong hands pressed against her mouth and held her head down in the water. Jane struggled to raise her head, eyes wide under the water, but she couldn’t. She needed to breathe! What was happening? Someone was trying to drown her! Then the man violently jerked her up by her hair. She stumbled and sucked in a breath, choking on water, as a man pulled her backwards. She tried to wrench away, but couldn’t.
“Make one sound and I’ll gut you like a fish,” a raspy voice growled as he pressed an icy blade of steel against her throat, “then I’ll steal your oldest daughter instead.”
She went limp with fright and ceased to struggle, afraid he would make good on this threat.
He hauled her backwards, dragging her between the boulders, his hand still clamped tightly across her mouth. Her dripping hair covered her eyes and she could not see. She shook her head slightly to clear the hair and water out of her eyes. Her assailant pushed her toward a horse hidden in a copse of nearby trees.
Panic squeezed her chest, making it difficult to breathe. Dear Lord, send Stephen to her aid.
With his long blade pressed against her stomach, he hoisted her into the saddle as if she were a sack of grain and climbed up behind her. The fabric of her gown split open under the knife and she felt cold steel scraping against her bare skin. She didn’t dare move or scream.
He nudged the horse and they took off slowly, quietly following two mounted braves waiting nearby. Soon, the horses hurtled forward, then broke into a gallop. It was then that she realized Indians were stealing her.
Oh God, this can’t be happening.
Then she knew. She recognized his smell. Bomazeen’s sharp stench was something she’d never forget, but she could not bring herself to look at his chilling face. She peered down at the knife instead, still held tightly against her stomach. The sight of the blade and the scalps hanging from his belt made her want to retch.
She couldn’t let this venomous snake have her, but she couldn’t jump off without the knife slicing her belly or leg open. The risk was too great.
Bomazeen, now flanked by the two braves, crossed a large meadow, loping the horse through the tall grass. Within seconds, they would be in the cover of timber again and she feared she would be forever lost to her husband, to her girls, to their life.
Stephen, help me.
Stephen hobbled the last horse and removed the lead rope, throwing it over his shoulder. He turned to look over in George’s direction. The stallion wasn’t there. He scanned the surrounding hills and spotted George at the top of the next rise. “Damn. I’m going to have to make that big fellow a stronger hobble,” he told himself.
He began to march the 100 yards or so to catch up to George when he heard a shot.
He looked up and then gasped, horrified. Anger, like he’d never known before, welled in his chest. A man on a horse was hauling Jane away. It must be Bomazeen! The sight nearly stopped his heart. Then he spotted another horse and a body lying on the ground in Bomazeen’s wake.
Stephen sprinted the remaining distance to George, jerked the broken hobble off, and quickly threw the lead rope around the horse’s neck to make a rein. He jumped on the bareback stallion, pulled him around, and kicked hard.
The stallion responded, his powerful hips springing into a full run, as Stephen bent over George’s withers. Within seconds, they raced wide open across the meadow toward Jane. He saw Sam and Bear a couple of hundred yards off. Had Sam made that shot from there?
Ahead, one Indian disappeared into the woods, but George easily overtook the other mount carrying two people. He urged George close behind Bomazeen and aimed his pistol, but didn’t fire for fear of hitting Jane.
As
soon as Jane saw him, she bit down hard on the arm holding her. When Bomazeen jerked the arm away, Jane leapt off the other side, falling like a rag doll.
Stephen fired his pistol, but Bomazeen swung away from the ball’s path, clinging to the side of his horse’s neck. He shot his second pistol, and this time grazed Bomazeen’s arm.
His heart clenched with his need to go back for Jane, but he forced himself to stay focused on Bomazeen. He would not allow the man to escape again. He had not been there the first time Jane was in real trouble, but he was this time, by God. And if he didn’t kill the man now, Bomazeen would come after Jane again. He wouldn’t let that happen.
This bastard was going to die.
He urged his stallion over and charged into the flank of Bomazeen’s mount, knocking the devil and his smaller horse over. He tugged George to a skidding halt and spun the horse around.
Like a cat that had fallen, his dark eyes narrowed and hissing through gritted teeth, Bomazeen quickly bounced back to his feet and faced Stephen. Brandishing a skinning knife, Bomazeen bristled belligerently, his expression murderous, ready to attack. “I’m going to use this knife to gut you. Then I’m going to use it to skin your bitch after I take her,” Bomazeen taunted, his voice spiked with venom.
Bomazeen was capable of keeping that promise. Stephen had to kill him.
He leapt off George. How dare the bastard touch his wife. Never again! He quickly yanked the hatchet off his belt, more confident using it than his small hunting knife. He’d had a hatchet in his hand since he was a boy. For the first time, he would use it to kill a man.
The nearness of the monster unleashed something within him. Seething with overpowering rage, he advanced, keeping one eye on the long knife in Bomazeen’s hand. Then he noticed the scalps hanging from Bomazeen’s belt. The sight sickened him, especially the fresh white-haired one. Undoubtedly Mrs. Andrews’. He would make Bomazeen pay for that ghastly deed. Nothing mattered now but killing the viper that threatened Jane and had nearly murdered his daughters.
Romancing the Wilderness: American Wilderness Series Boxed Bundle Books 1 - 3 Page 10
