by Lori Benton
“I thought it would be helpful for folk to know.”
“It is.” Maggie shared a glance with Catriona that spoke contrary things, gratitude and regret uppermost. “I’m thrilled you’ll be teaching with me, Catriona. And glad more children may attend because of it.”
“I wish people had better sense,” Catriona said. “Regardless of my presence.”
“You’ll have these two,” Seona said, standing behind her babies, who swung dangling legs, pretending to read an imaginary book spread on the table before their noses. “Likely afore I can blink twice.”
Even as she spoke, she wondered, Would such a thing truly come to pass? It would be a few years before Gabriel and Mandy were ready for such learning. Where would they be then? Or by suppertime?
“Oh—Seona,” Anni said, looking happy to change the subject. “I just recalled. You’ve a letter at Keagan’s store.”
“A letter for Ian?”
“Addressed to you, I’m told,” Anni said, before she and her daughter left to see to their own chores.
“We’re about done here,” Maggie said once they had gone. “But we have to wait for Matthew. We could do some planning, Catriona and I, while you fetch your letter, Seona. Better hurry though. That weather’s closing in.”
Seona had a few small coins in her pocket, enough for postage, she thought.
Mandy reached for her, wanting to go, but Gabriel shook his head. “I’m getting schooled, Mama.”
Catriona laughed. “We’ll watch him.”
Seona settled Mandy on her hip and gave Gabriel’s curls a caress. “Mind your auntie. I’ll be back.”
“If Matthew doesn’t get back soon, maybe someone down at the mill can escort us home,” Maggie was saying as Seona stepped from the cabin. The rush of the nearby falls that turned the gristmill’s wheel covered whatever Catriona replied as Seona started down the slope toward Keagan’s store.
“Wonder who’s writing to me instead of to your papa, girl-baby.”
Mandy’s feet, covered in the moccasins Ian had made, kicked at the folds of Seona’s petticoat. “Papa drove the wagon home.”
“He did,” Seona said, wishing she could banish the memory of Ian’s hurting gaze.
Turned out it was something more than a letter waiting on her. She took the bulging missive outside the store and broke its seal while Mandy sucked on a piece of maple candy Mr. Keagan had given Seona with her change. Inside was a letter and a folded bit of hide, thin and pliable. She unfolded that and nearly gasped. More gold, tiny nuggets like a scattering of sunflower seeds.
Why was it addressed to her and not Ian? Seona rewrapped the gold and thrust it into her pocket. With hands that shook, she unfolded the letter. Her gaze dropped to the signature and her heart leapt. Cecily Reynold.
Distracted by the surprise, she skimmed the lines written in an elegant hand. Cecily had news to share about their farm, the neighbors, her son, and a new baby girl they had named Angelique. Then Seona reached a part of the letter that riveted her attention:
John has word for you of Esther, for he met with her when Business last took him to Pryce’s Sawmill. He contrived a few moments alone to speak with her. Rest assured, my dear Seona, that in the way I think matters most to you, Esther is well. There has been no interference from any unwelcome Quarter, for while she may not have said as much to John, there was another to whom she spoke more freely. It was in secret that TR came to us, not long after John met with Esther.
TR . . . That would be Thomas Ross.
We do not know, and did not inquire, how T managed to speak with her, nor did we ever expect to see his face again, but are gladdened by it. John has agreed to help him, if ever help is needed, in a certain Endeavor I need not put into words for you. So while the worst you may have feared has not befallen Esther, still—oh, Seona—she cried most pitifully to John for missing you . . .
A tug on her petticoat jerked Seona from the wrenching words.
“Mama . . . you sad?”
Looking down into Mandy’s worried eyes, Seona folded the letter and blinked away tears. “No, girl-baby. I’m fine. Is that candy good?”
Mandy nodded, smacking sticky lips. Seona had a piece for Gabriel too. She tucked it and the letter into her pocket and took Mandy by a hand as sticky as her mouth. As they climbed the slope past the mill, she ached knowing Esther was so far away. Ached with regret for letting Ian go off to hunt the man threatening them, with nary a kind word. She couldn’t speak to Esther, but she ought to have spoken to Ian. Said something.
We never know when that last time will be . . .
Thunder rolled again, deeper than before. Mandy squealed. Seona swung the child into her arms. Rain was coming, sure enough. They had best head home else be caught in it. Would Ian and Joseph still go into those hills with a storm brewing?
Seona pushed her legs to carry her up the slope. The mill wheels were grinding as she passed, but up at the school cabin, all was quiet under the lowering sky. The horses, hobbled in the yard, whickered at her, unsettled by the thunder.
Seona stepped inside the cabin. “Catriona?”
No one was there. The benches nearest the door were overturned, a desk shoved out of line. Had Gabriel got to roughhousing and the girls took him outside?
With Mandy growing heavy in her arms, Seona ducked back out, reasoning away a vague alarm. Had she walked right past them, down at the mill? Or had they gone clear across the creek to visit more with Anni and her daughter? She would check but first ducked round back of the cabin to a grassy yard, to be sure the girls and Gabriel hadn’t gone there.
“Gabriel?” she called and nearly dropped Mandy in startlement when Maggie MacGregor came running out of the woods, petticoat hemmed in mud.
“I cannot find them!” She stumbled but righted herself as she reached Seona, long, dark hair tumbled from a cap snagged half-off her head, as if by a tree limb.
“Are they hiding?” Seona asked before registering the panic in Maggie’s eyes.
“Only if it’s a cruel joke! I went down to the mill to see if anyone was free to ride home with us. Everyone was busy, so I came right back. Now they’re gone—and look!”
Maggie thrust a crumpled scrap of paper at Seona. It appeared torn from a book.
Seona set Mandy down and took what she saw was a note, handwritten on the margin of the torn page, but her mind was in a spin, eyes unable to focus on words that looked to have been scrawled with charcoal. A new dread had its claws in her.
“Where is Gabriel?”
Maggie shook her head with exaggerated force. “I don’t know! That note was stuck to the door with a knife. Read it, Seona.”
Seona looked at the paper, her brain finally making sense of the words written there, ill-formed and smudged though they were.
Give over the gold if you want them back. I will come for it.
38
While hailing a nearby cabin, spreading word about the hunt for Aram Crane, Matthew MacGregor had heard Seona scream. He and Lemuel Waring, armed with rifles, came racing their horses along a trail to the schoolyard.
Numb with shock at what the words on the paper portended, Seona couldn’t grasp the questions hurled at her. Was there sign of struggle? Did no one hear anything? How long had Catriona and Gabriel been missing?
While Maggie gave answer, Mandy whimpered, frightened and confused. Seona did not remember putting her down but knew she ought to pick her up again, comfort the child. Her limbs were leaden. Where her vitals had been moments ago, an emptiness yawned, a cavern opened beneath her ribs.
Give over the gold . . .
Matthew snatched the note from her hand. Maggie stood before her, mouth moving over the same words twice before Seona heard them.
“What does it mean, Seona? What gold?”
. . . if you want them back . . .
Seona heard her own voice speaking as if from far away. “He . . . Ian paid for his land with gold. Not coin. Gold dug out of the earth. Aram Crane learned of it.”
>
I will come for it.
“Raw gold?” Matthew asked. “That’s what Ian meant? And . . . what? Crane thinks you have more?”
Mandy clung to Seona’s legs, whimpers turning to wails.
“Whoever did this, we have to tell Ian and Uncle Joseph.” Tears streaked Maggie’s cheeks as she hoisted Mandy into her arms. “Mount up, Seona. I’ll hand her to you.”
“No one move!” Matthew thrust the note back into Seona’s hand and dashed across the schoolyard. In seconds he gave a shout. “I have their trail! Someone’s already trampled over it, but I see it still. I’ll follow it from here.”
He sprinted back to the horses.
“That was me, Matthew. I went a ways into the forest looking for them, but—”
Before Maggie could utter the protest they all saw coming, Matthew said, “I won’t leave them in Crane’s hands a second longer than I must. See them to Ian’s farm,” he told Lem, already in the saddle. “He and Uncle Joseph are waiting for me. Tell them where to pick up the trail.”
Looking suddenly older than his years, Lem said, “I will.”
But he wouldn’t. Joseph and Ian meant to go after Crane on their own. Had already gone, surely. “Matthew. Wait—”
Ignoring Seona, Matthew led his horse into the trees. Lem grabbed Juturna’s reins to lead the riderless filly. Sight of that empty saddle struck panic through Seona. She swung into the saddle, reached down for Mandy, then drove her heels against the mare’s sides. Clinging to the child in front of her, she felt strong muscles quiver and bunch beneath her as the mare’s hooves dug into the track.
She had never ridden a galloping horse, never seen a forest stream by so fast; still the miles between Shiloh and the farm seemed impossible to cover. Lem’s horse caught her up, Maggie’s just behind. Though the rain sheeted the hills in curtains of gray, the track before her had seen none yet.
Thought of Gabriel in Crane’s hands, up in those hills somewhere, drew a moan that the mare’s pounding hooves barely muffled.
They met Ian and Joseph on the track between the farms, Lem shouting ahead their news. Hat pulled low, draped in an oilcloth cape, Ian turned his roan across the track to head off Seona’s mount. The horse came to a jarring halt as Ian grabbed the reins. Seona clutched at Mandy as the mare collided with Ruiadh, who withstood the impact, braced.
“What d’ye mean?” Ian demanded, taking in their stricken faces. “Catriona and Gabriel were abducted?”
“From the school cabin.” Lem spilled out the details a second time until Joseph cut him off.
“Where is Matthew?”
“He found the trail,” Maggie said. “We couldn’t stop him.”
Seona freed a hand from Mandy and shoved the crumpled note at Ian. She watched his face harden with dread as he made out the words, before thrusting it at Joseph.
“He’s coming to my farm—if we don’t find him first. He wants the gold.”
“Have you any?” Lem asked.
“Aye. Some. He’ll never find it.” Ian looked to Seona, who knew he was debating going back for it.
“There is no time,” Joseph said for her. To Lem he said, “Bring everyone to my sister’s house. Stay with them there.”
“You don’t need me to ride with you?” Lem gripped his rifle, scared but ready to aid.
“No,” Ian said. “Better just Joseph and I. We’ll pick up Matthew’s trail at the school.” He met Seona’s gaze.
“You should’ve gone after him sooner,” she said, knowing it the opposite of what she had asked of him before. Knowing she was as much to blame for this turn, having taken her babies into Shiloh. Too terrified to care.
“I should have,” Ian said. “I’m sorry.”
“Just find them!” The words ended in a wail. She pressed her mouth to Mandy’s curls to stifle the noise.
“I will. God Almighty help me, Seona, I . . .”
He had meant to say I promise, Seona was certain. But Joseph had thrust his rifle in the air and loosed a hair-raising shout. He kicked his horse into motion with a spray of dirt and the hollow drumming of hooves.
Still clasping Mandy tight, Seona plunged a hand through her petticoat’s slit, drove it into her pocket, and wrenched out the leather-wrapped gold Cecily Reynold had sent with her letter. Ian’s gaze fastened on hers, far too near to misread his desperation. His remorse.
She thrust the folded leather at him. “Give that devil what he wants.”
He stared at it. “What?”
“More gold. Take it—go!”
Comprehension gripped his features. With a fist around the scrap of leather and the treasure it contained—enough to purchase two precious lives?—Ian loosed no shout but rode after Joseph in grim, determined silence.
Matthew’s mount had left a churning in the earth; he had wasted no time pursuing Crane. Neither did Ian and Joseph. They didn’t ride into the village seeking whomever Matthew had summoned for the hunt—now become a rescue—preferring speed and stealth over numbers. Rain had begun to spatter. It had been drenching the higher hills since before dawn.
Matthew’s trail had obliterated much of the sign Crane had left, but not all. The man was afoot, leading his animal, the hoofprints deep enough to indicate the horse bore weight. Gabriel and Catriona. Bound no doubt. Conscious? Wounded?
You should’ve gone after him sooner.
He should have gone after Crane as soon as they found the traps. Or Francis Waring’s remains. Clear back in Cherry Valley when first he suspected the man of trailing him.
Trace of hunter and prey left Shiloh and angled into the forested hills to the northeast. Even afoot Crane had moved swiftly, making use of beaten paths but more often the subtler trails of deer and elk, climbing ridges, bending ever eastward. Ian rode behind Joseph, letting the Mohawk scout the trail, exerting his energies toward unraveling the man’s twisted mind.
Give over the gold if you want them back. I will come for it.
Obviously he meant to hold Gabriel and Catriona captive until he had what he wanted. If it came to bargaining, would whatever Seona had given him be enough? He hadn’t had a chance even to glance at it.
Please. With half his mind he tried to pray. It was like casting a net of spiderweb, his faith too fragile to lay hold of hope. Grace was needed. Help from on high in a measure beyond what he could possibly deserve. What he deserved was what he had seen in Seona’s eyes as she all but hurled the gold at him. Shattered trust.
Rain battered through scarlet leaves, striking his hat, running down the cape. The air chilled as they climbed. Though its firing mechanism was covered against the rain, he tucked the rifle under his cape for good measure. Last thing he wanted was a misfire, when the time came. If it came. Was there a way through this without bloodshed?
Thrust into his coat pocket, the gold burned like an ember. He would give it all to Crane and promise the rest hidden in that beech tree for Gabriel’s and Catriona’s lives. What was the man’s plan? Did he mean to carry them back to the farm or secure them somewhere first? Should they have waited for Crane to come to them?
He couldn’t have borne it. How was Seona bearing it?
Please.
His spiral of second-guessing was cut short as ahead on the trail Joseph halted and slid from his mount, moccasin-clad feet hitting the damp ground. Ian followed suit. Rifle clutched in reddened fingers, he led the roan forward until he reached Joseph, crouched on the path, the edges of his cape spilling rain.
“Ye cannot have lost the trail?”
“No.” Joseph stood, face and hair beaded with moisture. “It goes on as before. Crane only, I think.”
“Matthew lost it?”
“Or left it. Do you see where we are?”
The ridge they were cutting across rose steeply to the north. Slopes thickly wooded fell away south and east, blurred under darkened skies that rumbled as the storm rolled down toward Black Kettle Creek. They were near the trail they had taken the day they fetched Neil down from Hecto
r Lacey’s cabin, perched above that creek-cut ravine. “I do see.”
Joseph caught his gaze. “My sister’s husband meant to go there today. Maybe there are more in peril than we knew.”
Did Crane know of that isolated place? Was he making for it as a refuge, a place to stash Catriona and Gabriel? Was Neil trapped up in that squatter’s shack—and the old man too?
They led their mounts forward, looking for a way up the ridge the horses could manage, while keeping watch for traps. There could well be more, and other sorts, the nearer they came to Lacey’s cabin or whatever den Crane was making for.
Was his son cold? Terrified? Had Catriona fought her captor? Was she injured?
The spiral sucked him down again, though he clung to the desperate hope that Crane wouldn’t harm them, not if he meant to trade them for gold.
Please . . .
At last the ridge they flanked presented a gentler face where a side trail split away and climbed, a barely discernible impression angling up through the forest duff.
“Here.” Joseph stopped. “If the deer climb it, so may—”
The crack of a branch snapping and thud of heavy feet had them whirling to where the slope fell away on the trail’s opposite side, rifles shouldered, the stock cover of Ian’s hastily yanked askew. Blood pounded in his ears as he scanned the trees, searching for a man’s figure. Something to aim at.
Joseph’s mount whickered as Ian spotted not a man but another horse picking its way toward them, coming up through the dripping trees. A dark bay roan, saddled, reins trailing. Seamus—Neil MacGregor’s horse.
Joseph thrust his mount’s lead at Ian and, with one mistrustful eye on the leaf-strewn ground, reached the horse and brought it up to the trail. Behind Seamus’s saddle, Neil’s doctoring kit was tied. Of the physician there was no sign.
As Joseph led Seamus near, Ian noted a hitch in the gelding’s stride. Had that started before or after parting ways with its rider? No blood stained the saddle or tack. No evidence of anything amiss, save Neil’s glaring absence.
Joseph’s gaze mirrored Ian’s confusion and dread. “Do we climb to the trail above or keep to this one?”
