Juliet swung a musket and powder horn over her shoulder, picked up Elias and bolted out the back door, her homespun skirts flying behind her. She passed the grindstone and shuddered, like a bleached bone it lay against the well in the meager light. Circling the barn, she stared at the unchinked log outbuildings as if she’d never seen them before. The ancient vine rope dangled like a darkened tendril.
“Can we swing on the rope?” Mary pleaded.
How many seconds before the Indians discovered the Bell home? How many minutes until they caught the murderous cries of Indians on their heels? Guinevere and Lancelot, the two draft horses galloped up to the side of the corral, their eyes rolled wildly white, their ears thrown back. Juliet unhinged the gate, slapping their flanks, and shooed them out. No way would she allow the Indians to a make a meal of them.
Single file, hands linked to one another like a human rosary, Caroline, Betsy, the children, and Juliet plunged into the shelter of the woods. Georgie, the dog, followed at their heels. Juliet worried the dog would commence barking at any moment but the canine must have sensed danger, and padded along quietly. Juliet followed and with a huge spruce branch swished the snow to cover their tracks.
Underneath the shadowy oaks and dusky hemlocks, the air pitched black and gray. The trunks of many trees crowded close and pressed upon them.
A scrabbling of claws against tree bark sounded as an animal raced to the top. Juliet lifted her head to catch a glimpse of bushy tail tucked into the hole of a tree. Even the squirrel had hidden.
Overhanging spear-like branches lacerated her skin. With a trembling hand, she held one back for Caroline and the children to pass. Her breath came out in tenuous white billows shredded by the wind. Rotting wood and the scent of a dead animal permeated the air. She tripped across uneven ground pitted with rocks and roots, righted, grappling Elias close to her chest. The forest had changed from a world of beauty to a world of fear.
The shouts and whoops of the Indians and the screams of women echoed over the mountains. Juliet cringed, imagining what was happening to the townspeople. Then rose the moans of Caroline, her children and Betsy. Juliet regarded Caroline, her face unrecognizable, and twisted with fear. Her hood had fallen and her long brown braid matted to her shoulder with sleet. She bent over, grabbing her abdomen. A gush of water soaked the ground beneath her. She looked at Juliet with terror in her eyes.
Dear God. Not now.
“I’ll help you through this, Caroline. We just need to get to the cave.”
Robin, the four-year-old, took Juliet’s hand and curled into her leg. “Please stop that noise.”
Juliet led the way up the steep path. Smoke filtered through the air mixed with the dampness of leaf mold. From time to time, Juliet glanced behind to see if anyone was following. At the top of the mountain, there was a break in the trees giving them a clear view. “Do not look,” Juliet insisted. “Betsy, Thomas, take the children into the forest.”
It was the Hayes’ massacre again, only worse. In the distance, half a hundred columns of dark smoke rose from homes, barns and outbuildings that had been set afire. Skittish horses, mist pluming from their distended nostrils and snow flying from beneath their hooves, were dragged with other livestock from the barns.
From the homes that were not torched, Indians ran in and out, carrying chairs, bread, paintings, whatever suited their desires. Fights broke out with British soldiers over prisoners and valuables. Occasional shots were fired from the fort.
Was that Mr. Clyde laying across his porch’s railing, his head circumcised? Was it Mr. Starring who had laughed so pleasantly at the Powers’ dance, lying dead next to his two sons, wife and mother-in-law? No. He was safe, with his family in his home, having breakfast. Wasn’t he? Juliet bit on her knuckles to stifle a scream. Was that Crims and his horse who lay dead beside the trough? No. But there on the ground lay Maybelle’s flowered hat.
Mr. Leppers and Mr. Hoyers spurred their horses into the village at a full gallop. Leppers made it to the front of his home before numerous Indians fell upon him and tomahawked him. A ball entered the back of Mr. Hoyers’ back and exited from his chest, leaving a gaping hole. Blood spurted, splashing over the saddle and his horse’s mane and neck. He stayed in the saddle for twenty yards then plummeted to the ground. He rose and drew his sword. His movements were sluggish. Before he could get to his knees, a warrior raced up and buried his tomahawk in Hoyers’ temple.
“Dear God,” said Caroline. “I hope James doesn’t return and is provoked to the same madness to save us.”
“A useless endeavor earning Hoyers’ and Leppers’ their deaths,” Juliet whispered and turned Caroline into the forest, praying Joshua wouldn’t return and risk his life.
Juliet forced her feet to move yet could not feel the earth beneath her shoes. The journey was like a pendulum of the clock in her father’s library—the brass disc swinging relentlessly back and forth, back and forth, heedless of anything going on in the world around it.
Juliet caught up with Betsy, Thomas and the children. Juliet veered a sharp left and pushed through the bracken, thorns tearing at their clothes. Juliet stumbled with the weight of Elias on her hip. Betsy took the rifle from her, relieving her. Some of the children were crying. Caroline bent over with another spasm. Elias wailed for his mother and Juliet came abreast of her to silence him.
“Let’s play hide-and-seek. We must be very quiet and move quickly to our hiding spot where no one will find us,” Juliet instructed the children. She paused and took a breath. The cracked branches and foot falls in the sleet would lead the Indians right to them. “We must travel down the mountain.”
She slipped and slid down the sharp incline, holding Suzanne’s small hand in hers, and descending to where a small creek gurgled. Georgie plunged down ahead of them where he waited. The shoreline had ice crystals on the rocks. “I know it’s cold but we have to cover our tracks so the Indians won’t find us. Thomas and Betsy carry the younger children. The older children will follow.” Juliet tied up her skirts.
Little James sucked his thumb. Juliet picked him up, too, and stepped into the freezing creek. She inhaled, the bone-chilling cold wrapped around her legs.
Betsy held a child on each hip when she strode into the stream, a yelp of surprise at the cold. They moved over slippery rocks and, twice, Juliet leaned in to give support to Caroline and Betsy before they were swept away in the current. Elias sobbed and burrowed his face into the hollow of her neck. She ducked her chin on top of the little boy’s soft, blond curls and he peeked at her, his little mouth puckering, his big eyes watery with tears.
“Don’t worry. Aunt Juliet is going to find a safe place.”
For a half of a mile, they traveled downstream. Juliet pointed for Caroline to climb up on the rocks to the left and handed James and Elias off to Caroline. Joshua had trained her to walk on the rocks which would show no sign of their passing.
Juliet crossed to the opposite bank, creating numerous tracks to confuse the attackers in case they trailed them, and then retraced her steps. She held her breath, again wading through the freezing waters and returned to the group waiting for her.
“Keep going forward.” With a stick Juliet brushed leaves across their footsteps. Like frightened, uncertain sheep they shuffled through the forest. An awful stitch in her side turned to a burning numbness. Around enormous rocks covered with massive tree roots, they advanced. Nothing seemed familiar with the newly fallen snow. What if she couldn’t find the cave?
Georgie growled. A nighthawk brushed over their heads, the wind from its flapping wings fanning their hair. It swooped again, startling with its nearness, then plunged down the hill before settling on the iron-clad branches of a stark oak.
“Rarely does a nighthawk feed in the day,” whispered Caroline, panting short breaths.
Her contractions were coming more readily, and Juliet needed to get her to the cave before it was too late.
Animals assist us and act as potent spirit guid
es.
Two Eagles’ words were tattooed on Juliet’s brain and his imaginative story of animal helpers, aiding his escape from his foes. Maybe his story wasn’t whimsy. She scanned the terrain, scrutinized where the nighthawk settled. Waiting? Waiting for her? A sensation tingled over her skin in a wash of fevered heat.
Juliet tingled with awareness. “Follow me.” She made an abrupt turn down the mountain. Under fallen trees, they crawled, slipping and sliding on wet leaves down the steep slope and through tangled underbrush. She kept an eye on the unwavering nighthawk. An indescribable link resonated between them. The bird shifted. She lowered her gaze to a grapevine tent.
The cave.
She lifted a veil of vine and ushered Caroline, Betsy and the children inside. She glanced up to the looming oak to mouth a thank you to the animal spirit. The nighthawk had vanished.
Allowing their eyes to adjust to the dim light, they moved far into the recesses protected from the sleet and icy wind. Shivering, the children wailed, wishing to be home by the warmth of the hearth. Juliet took turns relieving the harried Caroline of her frightened brood, glad to have stocked the cave. Thomas found a dry spot, unrolled the blankets and put the exhausted children to sleep. Georgie curled up protectively beside them.
Juliet assisted Caroline, helping her to a blanket and covering her with the furs they had stored. The contractions came quicker and quicker. Juliet calmed Caroline, giving her a bite stick to suppress her cries.
“I’ve done this a hundred times, Caroline,” Juliet assured her and despite the horror in the valley, a baby fought its way into the world.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Three days and three nights passed. “I’m going back to see if they’ve gone.”
“What if they haven’t departed? You could lead the Indians back to us,” Caroline said, nursing her infant at her breast.
“There has been silence. I believe they have left. Your husband and Joshua might have returned and we must let them know we are alive. I’ll use another route to keep you and the children safe.”
“I’m coming too,” said Thomas.
Juliet let loose her hold on Mary and tousled Thomas’ blond hair and nodded.
With a rifle in her arms, Juliet moved deeper into the woods, moving through the bracken and entered the creek going north until she was opposite the town, and then moved eastward to where the woods gave way to a little marsh. Keeping concealed at all times, she climbed Blackberry Mountain where Joshua and she had made love on the last nights of summer. At the spot cloaked with moss, she touched her heart and felt Joshua near.
She slid down a ravine, briars and sticks poking into her. She rested, and idly observed a remaining leaf drop gently to the earth in a hushed whisper immune to the chaos. The ground lay a ghostly white beneath the straight shaggy hickory trunks, covered with nuts, freed from their shells that the squirrels hadn’t taken. With Thomas beside her, they climbed the other side. She understood his vested interest was Grace and couldn’t bear to tell him the servant girl’s body was one of the charred remains.
The sun was at its zenith, yet remained hidden behind a heavy mantle of leaden clouds. The day remained blustery cold, when she came to the crest of the town. She tugged her shawl around her to ward off the endless dismal sleet. What was left of Blackberry Valley lay in smoldering ruins. Almost every building was gone except the stockade walls of the fort.
Was the town safe? Had the British soldiers and warriors departed? Gunfire from the fort was infrequent and sporadic. Had anyone made it to the outlying fort or communities for help or were they destroyed as well?
Juliet inched closer, keeping hidden in the bushes just in case any Indians or redcoats remained. She thought she saw Crims and his beloved horse had been thrown on burning timbers that still smoked. Their scorched bodies drew up in the characteristically pugilistic attitude of death by fire. Juliet put her fist in her mouth to stop a sob, saying a prayer for the grizzled old widower who was now with his wife.
Colonel Allerton’s body had been dragged away from the fort, stripped of his clothes, scalped and dismembered.
At the Powers’ home, she counted seven bodies. Two domestics and Charles and Bethany lay near what had been their front porch. Under a tree, their daughters, Charity, Chastity, Comfort and Cornelia had been brutally scalped and mutilated and no doubt raped.
Dozens of bodies lay scattered. Many must have been taken prisoner unless they made it to the fort or escaped. She prayed for the latter and that help would arrive to free them of their bondage.
Through the gloom, the Bell household and barns remained untouched. Odd. Perhaps the Indians had not cared. At least, Caroline would have a home to return to with her children.
A twig cracked. Bushes rustled. She and Thomas backed farther into the shrubs. A wraithlike figure crawled from the hollow of a log.
“Grace,” Thomas squeezed the shaking girl in a tight hug. “I feared you were dead.”
“I took refuge in the pantry, slipped a window open, dropped to the ground and ran. There were so many of them. With the glow of fires, Indians passed back and forth from where I hid, but never detected me.”
Sheltered in Thomas’ arms, Grace whimpered. “So many mercilessly killed, beggin’ for their lives. They lined up many prisoners, stripping the men naked where they suffered fiercely from the cold and forcing them to carry heavy loads of the stolen goods. There was no sympathy for the infirmed or weak, hurried along at the points of jabbing spears.”
“Old Mrs. Leppers,” Grace shook her head. “Could not keep up and stumbled. A warrior whipped out his tomahawk and chopped the elderly woman across the back of the neck, severing her spine. He scalped her and left her lying where she had fallen.”
“Then they herded the horses, cattle and sheep that could be herded.”
“Do you think they have left for good?”
“I saw them all leave, but was too afraid to come out until I saw you.”
A cannon boomed from the fort and they flinched. “Soldiers continue to defend the fort but I’m too afraid to make a run for it after what happened to Colonel Allerton. If only they had listened to you, Miss Juliet,” she cried and turned into Thomas’ chest while he consoled her.
So much for the folly of men and the misfortunes they reaped. “Stay here. I’m going to scout the Bells’ home.”
Grace grabbed her. “No, don’t. What if they return?”
“I doubt if they will return. Three days have passed and they would be fearful that word had gotten out to surrounding areas and a counterattack mounted against them. I’ll be back. I promise.” Juliet picked up her gun, less sure of what she’d encounter.
* * *
On the hill above the Bell home, Juliet crouched and listened. Nothing stirred except for the horses whinnying for food. Thank God, she had released them so the Indians didn’t slaughter them. Lancelot and Guinevere must have been smart enough to run off and now had returned home for food.
Probing her surroundings, she waited, head cocked for any sound. Nothing. She rubbed her mud-caked hands to get the circulation going. Senses heightened, she edged with slow, cautious movements to the back of the barn.
The grim sleet gave way to a dense enshrouding fog. Her garments were soaked, and she yearned for the comfort of the house. The seductive force to start a fire and snuggle deeply beneath a cozy feather tick waxed before her. She shivered. To be warm again. So close.
She leaned against the barn, clutching the growing spasm in her stomach and peered through the layers of thick fog obscuring the house. Silent. Empty? Strewn across the yard was a broken spinning wheel, books, paintings and kettles, everything the Indians decided not to take with them apparently satisfied with the booty from the town. No movement in the house. Oh, she could run to the house. Yes. She could savor the warmth and security, and hadn’t Grace said she’d seen them all leave?
Lancelot and Guinevere whickered. Were the horses warning her? They were hungry, her wary mi
nd rationalized. Suddenly their nostrils flared, tails flagged, heads elevated, ears flicked forward and backward, and then ran from the paddock. Her heart thudded wildly.
Seized by her hair, she was jerked viciously upward. Above her, Onontio’s lips stretched in a cruel smile. The red and black stripes painted on his face ran together in a ghoulish mishmash. Cold, dark fear jagged up her spine. Onontio wrenched her arm.
“I will have her,” shouted Snapes, stepping off the porch.
Juliet shot daggers at Snapes. The man who had brutally tortured Sarah. She did not shake with fear but with anger at herself.
“No,” said Onontio. His braves crowded around him. “The woman is mine.”
Snapes stepped in front of the gigantic Indian. “We are taking her to Fort Niagara with the other captives. The commander will pay money for her.”
“No.” Onontio threw her to the ground and lifted his breechclout.
In one swift move, Juliet kicked with all her might, struck him in the groin, rolled over, scrambled to her feet and ran into the woods. Branches slashed at her skin, tore at her gown. Roots hidden by treefall tripped her and she went sprawling, her hands skidding across sharp rocks. Palms smarting, she picked herself up and ran across a meadow until her heart exploded, until her legs were made of lead, until her breath came out in whimpers. Stumbling, tripping, someone grabbed her hair again and slammed her to the ground. Her breath whooshed out of her. Her head swirling, she rolled.
Onontio, on top of her, suddenly jerked up. His eyes hardened.
Clutching her mother’s golden cross around her neck, she twisted her head to see what distracted him.
“Joshua!”
Sitting on his stallion, rage and relief surged through Joshua’s veins. Onontio dared to raise his breechclout. The War Chief would die.
Then suddenly, like a plague of ravenous locusts, Onontio’s men swarmed across the hilltop. Their footsteps thundered across hoary frozen ground. Ferocious war screams like a million teeming banshees.
Lord of the Wilderness Page 28
