by Leslie Gould
But then she heard Baptiste’s voice. “Maman. Maman.”
“It’s me, Emma.” She bent down at the entrance of the wigwam and pulled back the hide. Inside, Mathilde was flat on the ground, with several hides on top of her. She had a fresh bruise on the side of her face. Agnes was at her side, and Baptiste sat up, rubbing his eyes as he said, “Maman” again.
“Mathilde,” Emma said. “Are you all right?”
Her friend opened her eyes and then whispered, “I prayed you would come.”
“You didn’t tell me there was a wigwam back here.”
“Jean-Paul and I made it last summer. We wanted a place to hide if we ever needed to. We left furs and dried food. Some hay for the horse.”
“Why did you plan ahead like that?”
“Jean-Paul didn’t trust George. He felt he might turn on us.”
“Why didn’t you leave then?”
“We had nowhere to go. . . .” She paused, as if looking for the right word. “Permanently. Nowhere that George wouldn’t find us.”
Heartbroken that George had caused the family so much trouble, Emma asked what Mathilde planned to do next.
She shook her head as tears filled her eyes.
“What do you want to do?” Emma asked.
“Find my family. But how can I go a thousand miles with two little ones? I’ll never make it.”
“What about your land?”
“George owns the deed now.”
Tears stung Emma’s eyes. George had taken her land, and yet he still wanted Mathilde’s servitude too. Still expected it. She placed her hand on Mathilde’s arm. “Being with your family would be best, but I agree that going on your own is too risky.” She pointed toward the fire, which had gone cold. “I’ll get it going.”
Mathilde shook her head. “I don’t want any smoke to show. I only burn it at night.”
Emma nodded. That made sense.
“How did you get here so quickly?”
“I’d been planning to come for a few days, since Harriet left. I was ready to go when Judah came and said you needed help. When I returned the next morning, George was angry I’d been gone and hit me again. When he passed out, I grabbed a few things from the shack and then we rode down the creek so he couldn’t track us.” Mathilde raised herself to one elbow. “Don’t tell your brother.”
“I won’t,” Emma said. George hadn’t mentioned he’d seen Mathilde that morning Judah and Emma saw him. The man couldn’t be trusted about anything. “Should I tell Judah you’re here? He’s been looking for you.”
Mathilde shook her head. “He might be following George’s instructions. He seemed strangely friendly with George when he was working with him.”
Emma’s heart sunk. She remembered Judah saying he hardly saw Mathilde when he was working for George. If Mathilde didn’t trust Judah, she shouldn’t either. “What do you need?” she asked. “Food?”
Mathilde nodded. “Anything you can bring.”
“I need to go check on Betha and her baby and take them some food,” Emma said. “I’ll come here afterward and bring you some too.”
“But you’re ill,” Mathilde said. “You shouldn’t be out in the cold.”
“I’m all right.” At least Emma hoped she was. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”
NEAL WAS OUT hunting, and Betha was frying corn cakes for her children when Emma arrived with venison, more apples and potatoes, and a loaf of bread. Emma woke up the baby. He was alert and seemed to be doing well.
She took over the cooking so Betha could nurse the little one. After the children ate, Emma told them to rest so their mother could rest too. Then she left and rode her horse to the creek and forded it quickly.
She dismounted, grabbed the full saddlebag, and slipped into the thicket. “Mathilde,” she said. “I’m back.”
When she opened the hide across the doorway, Baptiste smiled at her. Mathilde slipped Agnes, wrapped in furs, back into her cradleboard. Emma took the food out of the saddlebag and placed it next to Mathilde.
“Merci,” Mathilde said, locking eyes with Emma. “Mon amie.”
Tears stung Emma’s eyes. “You are welcome, my friend.”
As Emma left the thicket, another coughing fit stopped her. By the time she reached Phillip’s cabin and dismounted, she felt feverish and was coughing harder. Isaac took the mare to brush her down and unsaddle her while Emma headed straight to her bed.
When Isaac woke her up at dusk, she couldn’t manage to leave the bed, not even when Phillip came in for supper. During the night, she coughed and coughed, eventually leaving her bed to stir the fire and heat water. She took the kettle off the fire, put it on the table on a stone, then put a scarf over her head and breathed in the steam.
She planned to make an onion poultice in the morning, but she couldn’t drag herself from her bed. Phillip ordered Isaac to help him pull more stumps out of the field, but Isaac said he needed to stay inside and care for Emma. Phillip wasn’t happy, but Isaac stood his ground.
Emma thanked the Lord for her little brother, for his sympathy and care. He was growing into a good, reliable man.
Isaac made the poultice and then later boiled water for peppermint tea. He also fixed some broth for her and sliced some bread, but she could hardly eat any of it. She slept in fits and dreamed of Mathilde and the children in the thicket. She had to get better so she could take them more food. And check on Betha and her family too. She couldn’t abandon the two women.
Isaac brought Emma water to drink, and then she slept again, this time dreaming of Asher and Hansi and her daughter. But the baby girl was alive. And they were all with her, in Indiana.
She woke as her fever broke to find Isaac sitting on the edge of her bed. “You were speaking of Mathilde,” he said quietly. “Of helping her. Do you know where she is?”
Emma drifted off again. She burned with fever for the next two days.
On the third day, Judah arrived and sat beside her bed. “Please tell me where Mathilde is.”
“She doesn’t want George to know.”
“I won’t tell him.”
She searched his eyes. Was he telling the truth? Emma drifted back to sleep.
When she awoke again, Isaac said more snow had fallen. “Judah’s frantic about Mathilde and her children. There’s a storm coming.”
Emma threw back her covers. “I’ll go.”
“No,” Isaac said. “You’re too weak. I’ll go with Judah. I promise you he won’t tell George.”
Emma fell back in bed, exhausted. Should she trust Judah? Did she have a choice? What if Mathilde and the children were freezing? Or starving? She didn’t know how much dried food they had.
No matter what, she could trust Isaac.
She exhaled, trying to trust the Lord too. Finally, she said, “They’re across the creek, in a wigwam in a thicket.”
“Which creek?”
“Phillip’s creek.”
“Where?”
“The creek where I got the rocks for the fireplace.”
“They’re that close?”
Emma nodded. “There’s a natural bridge there to cross the water.”
Isaac whistled. “We’ll take them food. If the storm is too bad, we’ll bring them here.”
“Phillip won’t like it.”
“He’s not here. I sent him to get Mamm to come look after you.”
“I’m fine.”
Isaac shook his head. “I hope you’re getting better, but you aren’t fine.”
She closed her eyes. “Go check on Betha too, please. Judah knows where they live. But don’t bring Mathilde here. I’m afraid Phillip will tell George.”
“All right,” Isaac said. “Judah will be back soon, and then we’ll leave. We won’t be gone long.”
A while later, Emma heard Judah’s and Isaac’s voices, and then Isaac telling her good-bye. She nodded, too tired to open her eyes.
“Thank you,” Judah said before he slipped out the door. “I won’t betray Mathilde. Nor you
.”
CHAPTER 25
The next time Emma opened her eyes, Mamm was pushing Emma’s hair away from her face. “You’re burning up.”
“No.” Emma wanted to cry. “I’m freezing.”
As Mamm tended to Emma, Judah and Isaac came into the cabin. Phillip asked where Isaac had been, chiding him for leaving Emma.
“She asked us to go check on the O’Brien family and take them food,” Judah said. “We weren’t gone long.” Then he said to Emma, “Everyone is fine. They were cold and hungry but doing better now.”
“Denki,” Emma said sincerely, knowing he was talking about Mathilde and her children.
Phillip scowled at her. “We won’t have enough food for ourselves if you keep giving it all away.”
“Hush,” Mamm said. “The Lord will provide.”
Later that night, after Mamm had fallen asleep, Isaac brought Emma a cup with an inch of liquid in the bottom. “It’s from Mathilde,” he said. “A dogwood decoction. She said to give you a quarter cup every night.”
Emma drank it, swallowing hard to get it down. It burned, but she coughed less during the night.
Over the next two days, Mamm cared for Emma, bringing her back to health. Isaac was around—bringing water and wood in, tending the fire, helping with the cooking, and secretly giving her Mathilde’s decoction at night.
Judah didn’t come by at all.
On the third afternoon, as Mamm prepared a poultice, Emma whispered to Isaac, “Where is Judah? Did he go to George?”
Isaac shook his head. “First, he checked with the sheriff in Goshen, who said no one would protect a Native woman in debt to George Burton from being mistreated. So now he’s riding his horse south, down to see the bishop of Vincennes, at the cathedral there. He’s hoping to find out if anyone is going to Kansas this spring and can take Mathilde and the children.”
Emma hesitated and then asked, “Do you think Judah is telling the truth?” Mathilde was valuable to George. She was sure George would reward Judah for turning her in. Perhaps the story of going to Vincennes was to deter Isaac and Emma from suspecting him of helping George.
“Jah, I know he’s telling the truth. He’s a good man, Emma. It’s not like you to be so suspicious.”
“His own sister-in-law doesn’t find him trustworthy. He hasn’t joined the church.” Emma stopped to cough. Then, in an even raspier voice, she added, “And he started working for George again.”
Isaac shook his head. “He told me it was so he could keep an eye on Mathilde.”
“He might have been lying.”
Isaac shook his head. “I don’t think he was.”
“But we can’t know for sure.” Emma put her hand to her face. “How far is it to Vincennes?”
“Two hundred and fifty miles or so.”
“And he’s going in this weather?”
“He’s had experience traveling in the cold, and his horse is reliable.”
Emma thought it awfully bold of him to seek the help of a Catholic bishop. She didn’t know much about the religion, but she knew their bishops were different from the Amish ones. There were far fewer Catholic ones, and they seemed to hold a lot of power.
Mamm cared for Emma for a few more days and then said she needed to go home. She had a mother in Newbury Township about to deliver, and she hoped she hadn’t missed it already. “I need to speak with you about something first,” she said to Emma, who sat on the edge of her bunk. “Eli is anxious to court you. He’s waited long enough.”
Emma shook her head. “I’m returning to Pennsylvania.”
Mamm’s thick eyebrows arched. “With whom?”
Emma had been waiting to tell her mother until it was closer to April, wanting to avoid a discussion with her. “Two families from Newbury Township are returning to Lancaster County. They said I can ride with them.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mamm said.
“But you agreed to it before we left,” Emma responded. “That’s the reason I came—because you said I could return.”
Mamm crossed her arms. “I didn’t think you would actually go back.”
“Please honor the promise you made to me. I’m a grown woman.”
Mamm leaned toward Emma. “You’re not acting like a grown woman. You’re acting like a child. You haven’t changed.”
The words stung Emma, but she bit her tongue from responding. Mamm was still her mother. She needed to honor her.
“Come back to our place and court Eli Wagler,” Mamm said. “You’ll soon have a husband again and more children. That’s what will make you content.”
“I have no desire to marry Eli,” Emma said. “I’m going back to marry Abel.”
“You’ll be bored by the second week.”
“Mamm!”
“Abel has no vision. No ambition.” Mamm shook her head. “He’s nothing like Asher.”
“And you think Eli is?”
“Compared to Abel?” Mamm sighed. “Jah, he is.”
“I’m not interested in Eli. He’s arrogant.”
Mamm shook her head again. “He’s confident. He’ll make a fine husband.”
“No. He said horrible things about the Native people.”
“They killed people around here,” Mamm said, “soldiers and settlers alike.”
“A handful of Potawatomi did those things.” Emma exhaled, trying to calm herself. “And then others asked for forgiveness for the entire tribe, just as they forgave the settlers for their violence. Should an entire group be judged for the sins of a few?”
Mamm crossed her arms. “I’m only suggesting that you consider how Eli sees things is all. He’s being pragmatic.”
Emma shook her head. “I think he’s trying to justify the land we’ve taken.”
“We paid for the land,” Mamm said. “All of us have.”
“Ten years ago, Mathilde’s family picked berries on this land.” Emma pointed south, toward the creek. “It was stolen from them by the government and then sold to settlers.”
“That might be so, but remember we didn’t steal anything. Everything we’ve done has been legal. We bought our farms, paid for with our money. Lots of it.”
“But can’t you see?” Emma kept her mother’s gaze. “If Asher and Dat and so many like them hadn’t yearned to go west, hadn’t coveted land for new farms, this never would have happened.”
Mamm shook her head. “We simply heard there was land available, and we needed more for your brothers. You can’t blame us for the Natives being forced out. It happened before we arrived.”
“What happens when settlers set their eyes on Kansas? Where will the Potawatomi go then?”
“Nowhere,” Mamm said. “That’s their new land. Their new home, as this is ours.”
“That’s not true.” Emma struggled not to cry. “Judah said some have already been forced farther west, to the Indian Territory.”
Mamm gave her an exasperated look.
Emma decided to return to the topic of Eli. “Regardless of whether Eli is arrogant or pragmatic, I’m not cut out for life here. I’d much rather be bored back home than despondent here. I need to be at the Martins’ place in Newbury Township on the first Monday of April to start the journey.”
“You shouldn’t have gone behind my back to make those arrangements.” Mamm’s eyes sparked.
Emma didn’t say any more. She didn’t believe she’d gone behind Mamm’s back. Mamm knew her intentions.
Unfortunately, Mamm wasn’t done with the conversation. “Reconsider Eli.”
Emma laid back down on her pine-bough ticking. “I can’t.”
Mamm waited a moment and then said, “Goodness, child, no husband is going to please you all of the time or hold your exact beliefs. And even though I agreed when we left Somerset County that you could return, I don’t want you to go. You’re my only daughter. I want you to stay in Indiana so that you will be close. But maybe, as much as it grieves me, you should go back to Pennsylvania. Maybe it is too much for you to
be in this new land.”
Emma closed her eyes. She knew Mamm was trying to get her to change her mind, but she wouldn’t. Her mind was made up. She just hoped she could help Mathilde before she left.
MAMM LEFT FOR home a few hours later. Day by day, Emma recovered her strength, and winter finally retreated, causing the snow to melt and the creek to flood. Isaac assured her Mathilde and the children were fine.
A week later, as Emma cooked breakfast while Phillip and Isaac did the chores, a knock fell on the door.
Drying her hands on her apron, she went to answer it. Judah stood there, with a scruffy growth of beard and a much thinner face. “Guder mariye,” he said, and then quickly added, “I know Phillip is out doing chores. I wanted to speak with you before he returned. First of all, how is your health?”
“Much better.” Emma suppressed the cough that had lingered now for weeks.
Judah, with an expression of compassion on his face, smiled slightly. “I spoke with a priest at the mission in Vincennes. He agrees Kansas would be the best place for Mathilde. There, or Indian Territory, if her family was sent farther west. Two priests and several nuns are leaving in the next few weeks. If Mathilde and the children can get to Vincennes by April first, she can travel with them.”
“Is there anyone who can help you get them there?” Emma’s heart raced. Come April, she would be headed home.
“No. And I don’t think I should go alone, not with her and the children.”
Emma agreed. It wouldn’t be appropriate.
“Could you go with me?” he asked.
Her heart skipped a beat.
“I’ll ask Isaac to go too,” Judah quickly added. “I’ve thought it through, as far as decorum. If just you go along, the two of us cannot come back unaccompanied. With Isaac, we’ll be well chaperoned. Plus, I think a larger party would be safer.”
“Safer? What are the dangers?”
“Marauders.” He paused. “And other people.”
“George?”
He nodded. “He came by several times while I was gone, asking Walter about Mathilde, if I’d found her.”
“So what good would two Amish men and an Amish woman, all nonresistant, be against marauders and George?”
