Lord of the Wilderness

by Elizabeth St. Michel

  She touched her fingers to her lips, remembering Joshua’s golden kiss. She had certainly not been kissed before and he had fulfilled everything for a young girl’s dreams.

  Inadvertent bits of information with reference to Joshua came from the Hayes. A neighbor had visited and Orpha bragged she had hosted the legendary frontiersman.

  Joshua’s reputation stretched across the frontier. Sorting out the fanciful from truth was easy, and she dismissed most of it as fact. No doubt, there was his fabled marksmanship, but with a long rifle flung backward on his shoulder and shooting ten deer with a single ball?

  She blew a tendril of hair out of her eyes. From the ludicrous to the sublime, tales touted the killing of a colossus mythical bear that ate people whole, tied up the ornery wind with a grapevine, and in deep water lakes, jousted with serpents the size of a house. He possessed the ability to disappear in the wilderness with no hint of his existence. Her favorite being how mountains knelt before him.

  Her thoughts went back to Eldon.

  An impatient knocking spurred her attention.

  Was it Joshua come to take them away?

  Her heart leapt. She dropped her knife and flew to the door. Her shoulders slumped when a red-coated soldier entered, stamping snow from his boots on the floor where Juliet had worked hard to polish that morn.

  “I’m Captain Milburn Snapes, in His Majesty’s service. Is Master Hayes home? I have urgent business with him.” His high-pitched voice came as a sneering insult and so did the smack on her behind when she had turned.

  Juliet raised her hand to slap his face and stopped. No sense earning a beating. She had to stay in good health to escape.

  He laughed, and his closely-spaced, blood-shot eyes flicked from side to side like a boar inspecting a trough. His piggish mouth with a sloping chin jutted from bulging cheeks. He lacked only a ring through his nose.

  “I’m in a hurry, girl, but wouldn’t mind a tup or two with you warming my bed.”

  She was sick of being bullied and Joshua’s threats to Horace emboldened her. With certainty, she would not allow a soldier to intimidate her. “Master Hayes has some goats you can make yourself available to.”

  He touched the pair of silver-mounted pistols stuck handily in his belt, and then moved a hand on the hilt of a long-sheathed knife that hung on his side.

  Juliet pivoted and made her way down the hall, pointing to a room on the right. “You can rest in Master Hayes’ office while I get him.”

  “I remember a slight,” he said behind her. “You’re an uppity servant who wants a lesson.”

  He didn’t enter Horace’s study. She didn’t need to look behind. The stamp of his boots told her he followed close on her heels.

  She skimmed a hand in front of her nose to eradicate his rancid smell. “Even the goats wouldn’t have you,” she said over her shoulder.

  Into the kitchen she fled. Mary had returned and was cracking eggs. “Go get Master Hayes. He has a visitor,” Juliet ordered.

  Mary hesitated, looking to Juliet, and then to the man who had burst rudely into the kitchen.

  “Hurry,” Juliet mouthed.

  Mary flew up the back stairs.

  The man burst into the room and slammed her against the wood block, his guns and sheathed knife pressing into her belly. He lifted her skirts and she tugged them down. His hands were everywhere.

  “I always wanted to sink my quid into a redhead,” he laughed.

  She pushed at him, but he held her drawn between his legs. Up close, he reeked even more. Her stomach roiled. His face leered above her as he ripped at her skirts.

  “So much boldness. I don’t think you’re as confident as you pretend.”

  A sickening terror crawled up her belly. His hands clawed up her legs, forcing her thighs to open.

  “I won’t let you—”

  He knocked off her cap and coiled a mass of her hair tight to his fingers and yanked her face inches before his own. “You will learn obedience like the bitch you are.”

  When she squirmed, he laughed, and mauled her breasts in a punishing grip, pinching her nipples. She wanted to scratch his disgusting sneer off his swine face. She bit his hand. He slapped her, and then grabbed at her nether regions.

  Heart pounding in her ears, she reached back, stretched out and arm flailing for something to grab. The basket of eggs crashed to the floor. She stretched harder…felt the hilt of the knife she had used earlier. She grasped it and whipped it to his throat…pushed it into his flesh. A trickle of blood dripped from his neck onto her chest. “Get away from me before I slit your throat.”

  He backed away just as the cook came into the kitchen, then took a step back, eyes wide. Juliet threw down her skirts and moved around the cook, thankful this one time for her presence. Out of breath, Mary burst in behind her.

  “Get yerself upstairs, Juliet. I’ll report yer whoring to Mistress Hayes later.”

  Her body trembling, Juliet straightened. Visions of the whipping post loomed. “I’ve done nothing to encourage—”

  “She’s a slut,” sneered Snapes, wiping the blood from his neck. “Would spread her legs for anyone.”

  “I know her kind,” the cook scoffed. “Saw her lusting after Joshua Hansford.”

  Snapes froze. “Joshua Hansford was here? When? What was he about?”

  What was Snapes’ interest in Joshua? Juliet’s stomach beat a wild tattoo. She sensed whatever his interest, it did not bode well for Joshua.

  “Months ago,” said the cook.

  The cook moved her bulk round the kitchen, inspecting the broken eggs on the floor. “I’m sure Juliet will earn a whipping for her sins, but the Mistress is in a terrible temper over Eldon. He goes first.”

  “What? The poor boy is sick, cannot lift his head from the bed.” It was a moot point how the cook was obviously hale and healthy and derelict in her duties.

  “Mistress has to teach him a lesson.”

  The punishment was madness and they were helpless to stop the lunacy. “There is no need for this cruelty.” Juliet said. “Mary and I are doing his chores.”

  Juliet caught the English captain’s malevolent stare directed at her. “Tell Mistress Hayes, I’ll do the honors.”

  * * *

  Amidst moans, the boy was dragged down the stairs and in such a feverish state, Juliet prayed he did not know what was happening to him. Orpha, in her dressing gown, commanded her position from the porch. The servants were aligned around the post for optimal viewing and the consequent lesson to be learned. Snapes had secured Eldon, his hands tied above his head, his toes barely touching the ground. Barely conscious, his chin slumped to his chest.

  Like a showman, Snapes smiled, taking great delight in teasing out the macabre moment before administering the lash. One. Two. Three…the whip cracked.

  Juliet lost count and held back the bile in her throat.

  “Dear God,” said Mary. She leaned against Juliet, gasping. The other servants stayed rooted and trembled, too afraid to speak up against the horror unless they wanted to be next. The cook lifted her chin in approval. Orpha clapped and cheered with each blow.

  Over and over again, Snapes cracked powerful, punishing blows on Eldon’s back. Blood streamed in rivers off his emaciated body.

  Juliet put her hands over her ears. “Stop! Stop it!”

  His arm lowered to his side, Snapes regarded Orpha. His questioning gaze seemed to beg for more lashings.

  One of the servants put his fingers to Eldon’s throat. “The boy’s dead.”

  A maniacal gleam grew in Orpha’s eyes. “No more than he deserved. Enough excitement for today. For her whoring, Juliet’s turn will take place tomorrow.”

  “Why not today?” suggested Snapes.

  She wanted to claw the sneer off Snape’s face. No doubt, the cook and Snapes conspired against her. Protesting her innocence was as futile as holding water through wide-spread fingers.

  Knees buckling, she righted herself, refusing to show weakn
ess. Somehow, she had to keep up this dangerous game, faking a bravado she didn’t have and holding her breath waiting for Orpha’s whim.

  “Not today. I like my entertainment parceled.” Like a vulture, Orpha’s wrapper flapped about her as she turned to go inside the house.

  Juliet breathed a sigh of relief and cast her gaze on the distant mountains rolling onward with infinite depth. There was no sign of Joshua. To expect him to return was a useless venture. She leaned to Mary and whispered, “We leave early morn.”

  Chapter Eight

  Joshua and Two Eagles entered the fort at West Point, a crucial military location guarding the Hudson River and critical for the transportation of food and supplies. A blue-coated soldier escorted them to a crowded office.

  “Joshua, Two Eagles, it’s a pleasure. You have news of the frontier?” Colonel Rufus Putman gestured for them to sit. “This is General Anthony Wayne. He is also interested.”

  Joshua spent the next half-hour over maps, detailing the movements of Indians and the British.

  General Anthony Wayne leaned forward. “I’ll make sure General Washington receives it posthaste.”

  “There is an indentured servant at Horace Hayes’ farm, claiming she is Colonel Faulkner’s cousin and wants to escape to England.”

  General Wayne cleared his throat. “And you want to help her escape and return her to her cousin,” he said matter-of-fact.

  “I do.” Joshua nodded.

  “Well then. While you are at Fort Oswego, you can do intelligence gathering for us.”

  “Agreed. I’ll stay one night to rest and resupply, and then be on my way.”

  “Good,” said Putman. “Take from the quartermaster whatever you need.”

  Joshua shook hands and left with Two Eagles.

  Outside the commander’s office, Joshua fell in with Ghost, a renowned trapper. He shook his shaggy head. “Just came from the south and barely missed a huge party of Onontio’s moving north.”

  Joshua froze. Juliet. She’d be vulnerable. “Where?”

  * * *

  In a milky haze, snow fell, lacing the dawn, rendering everything silent. Still hanging on to its ragged coattails, winter seemed to spite the advent of spring.

  Eldon. She had cared for the servant boy so much, she felt she might bleed to death with his passing. She and Mary had wept silently through the night, grieving the poor boy’s horrid fate, wishing him well into a far better world. Eldon’s death and the imminent threat of Juliet’s lashing cemented their departure.

  The horrid Captain Snapes slept upstairs after spending half the night in deep conference with Horace.

  The first few streaks of dawn swathed the house when they tiptoed down the stairs, gathering foodstuffs and a knife from the kitchen while everyone slept. Juliet purloined a coat from Horace and one from Orpha made of heavier wool for their travels. The labors they had performed for the Hayes’ more than paid for the items pilfered.

  Juliet and Mary crossed themselves when they passed a fresh dug grave where the servant boy had been laid to rest. They hurried past the whipping post, a lone bloody sentinel in the yard, a grim reminder of what would happen to them if caught. Entering the barn, they crossed to the back. They pulled aside a loose board and stepped through the cow pasture where huge bovines snorted out short puffs from their nostrils, unconcerned with the interlopers.

  Nerves dancing in her stomach, Juliet turned to see if anyone from the house was watching. She exhaled and the air became frozen lace. Satisfied no one could see them, and that the barn blocked any view of their passage, they climbed through a split rail fence, slogged up a meadow and into the barrier of the woods. Their footprints were left in the snow, but Juliet couldn’t do anything about that.

  So quiet. Unearthly quiet as if the world quit breathing, imprisoning her in a glare-white silence. Up the mountain, trees seemed to leer at her, grabbing at her with their long branches, talons scratching her. Yet nothing sounded, nothing stirred, nothing sang.

  Gooseflesh rippled up her back.

  We will escape. We will escape. She puffed the promise with every footfall. Why did nervous sweat slick her body?

  “We must keep going, Mary. To put as much distance between us and the farm is vital.”

  From atop a sharp treeless precipice, they paused to catch their breaths. The inordinate number of coyotes howling in the distance lifted the hair off the back of her neck. Unusual. Mating season didn’t start until later in the spring. With rough woolen mittens, she rubbed her forehead. How would they defend themselves against a pack of coyotes?

  Below lay a pastoral view of the Hayes farm. Quiet. Serene. She had loved the peaceful hours before the other servants rose. Sheltered from the elements, warmth, and food beckoned from the uncertain fate ahead.

  “Where will we go?” asked Mary.

  “My goal is to reach my cousin, Colonel Thomas Faulkner. Joshua had informed me he was stationed at Fort Oswego. I pored over and copied a map of the New York frontier in Horace’s office while he entertained Captain Snapes in the dining room last night.” She breathed a little prayer to Moira who had imparted her knowledge of the stars. She’d use the skill to forge north.

  All of a sudden came horrendous cries rattling the nerves up her spine. Numerous warriors, their heads plucked clean except for a strip of hair an inch wide, cut short and brush-like, running from above the brow to the nape, scattered from the forests and surrounded the house. She and Mary froze. An attack.

  You will not be immune. Joshua’s words came back to haunt.

  Juliet gripped the hood of Mary’s cloak, hauled back, and the sudden motion caused her friend’s feet to fly out from under her. Both girls hit the ground with a muffled thud. With shaking hands, she pushed a ledge of snow blocking their view in front of them apart. Icy cold cut into her chin as she peered over the outcrop.

  Shock robbed Juliet of speech. She lay as motionless as an iron anvil.

  Servants were herded outside. The cook ran from her grotesque-painted captor.

  One of the warriors directed the charge. Juliet stared at him. From the distance, his facial features were obscured. He stood a mountain of a man, a sordid creature from Dante’s Inferno. Despite the frigid temperatures, he was shirtless, wearing only moccasins and a loincloth. Blood-curdling screams rose from him. Juliet pressed her mittened hands over her ears to drown out the terrible cries of his warriors.

  As the cook fled past the whipping post, her nightgown flailing like a sail, the enormous Indian threw his tomahawk. She half-turned, then fell.

  Captain Snapes, fully dressed walked out onto the grounds. No one touched him.

  Crammed between two warriors, Master Hayes was wrestled to the porch. “You bastards. I’m the King’s man. Snapes do something.”

  Snapes laughed. With certainty, he’d known of the attack.

  Impatient, the leader of the Indians yanked his tomahawk from the cook’s skull, shifted to Horace, and raised it again. The blow glanced off the side of Horace’s head, right above the ear, opening a wide scarlet gash. Master Hayes took a step forward, his mouth open in an empty cry. The giant Indian plunged his tomahawk into Horace’s skull, then raised his foot to Hayes’ back and yanked it out. Horace plummeted face first from the porch.

  Mary moaned and leaned into Juliet, covering her eyes at the grisly scene.

  Orpha, still in her sleeping clothes screeched and clawed as the savages dragged her across the porch, and then tied her spread-eagle across the woodpile. Like parting the sea, the leader moved through his warriors. He lifted his breechclout and straddled Orpha. Her free hand flailed, searching for her nonexistent cap to cover her baldness. When he finished, one warrior after another took their turn with her.

  “Dear God,” whispered Mary.

  Orpha, raped repeatedly by a number of Indians was left to the leader. He jerked a wicked knife from his waistband and cut a deep circle in her scalp from the receding hairline back from her forehead to the crown. With a tr
emendous jerk on the hair, he pulled the scalp off and shook it high above his head.

  Juliet’s mouth opened in a voiceless scream. Unable to look away, her hand closed convulsively around her gold cross as another Indian knelt on Horace’s back and cutting his scalp free, picking up his tomahawk.

  There seemed to be a dispute about the cook’s scalp with one Indian holding up his tomahawk over the other. He pushed his competitor off the cook, completed removing her scalp and shoved it into a pouch attached to his waistband.

  The house was torched and the flames grew brighter, fed by the winter wind, roaring like tongues from the windows and casting blood-red outlines on the ground. The snap and hiss of the flames invaded the snow-insulated quiet of the day.

  Two warriors shouted from behind the barn, and squinting, Juliet saw them pointing to footsteps printed in the snow. Through a drumbeat of shock, she heard the leader and Snapes shout to follow.

  “Hurry, Mary.” Juliet helped her friend to her feet. Slipping and sliding on a deer trail, they disappeared among the thick woods, fleeing up the mountain.

  At the apex, fragile snow gave way and buckled beneath them. Arms flailing in the air, everything sailed past. Juliet plummeted down a steep embankment, grabbing at rocks, branches, clawing at icy roots to break her fall. She slammed into a mucky embankment, her breath whooshing out of her as Mary crashed into her.

  Bruised and sore, Juliet crawled to her feet. “Mary, are you all right?” If there were any bone breaks, they’d be doomed.

  Mary stood on shaky legs. “I’m fine.”

  A creek burbled, the first indication of a winter thaw. “We have no choice. We have to travel downstream. Wait here.”

  Juliet tossed her bundle on her back and hiked up her skirts. The icy water took her breath away and soaked through her boots.