by Jay Heavner
The other men pointed in the direction the Indians had gone. They had made no effort to hide their tracks. They wanted to be followed. A trap waited, but where, how soon?
The men forded Patterson Creek, knee-deep, and maybe forty feet across. The air was thick under the trees, mainly silver maple and sycamores. Almost immediately, they were in the reeds, and the trail ended. The Indians had gone to great effort to conceal their path. Lightfoot was in the lead. Roger traveled ten feet behind. Out of the thick reeds, sprang two warriors that fell on their pursuers. Lightfoot had been expecting an ambush. The first attacker was met with a gun barrel that diverted his blow, and then a gun stock to his head that killed him. Roger engaged the second attacker in hand to hand struggle. He knew only one would survive. The two men rolled in the reeds wrestling for an advantage.
Lightfoot turned to help Roger, but a little voice somewhere ahead called out, “Daddy.”
Roger had won this fight on his own. He must save his son. Lightfoot rushed forward through the tall reeds. "Lightfoot," came a voice from behind him. "I have your son."
Lightfoot slowly turned back toward the voice. He saw the wine stain-marked face of Black Wolf. “I have your son, Lightfoot, and I will kill him.”
Black Wolf held a large carving knife to the neck of the boy. “I could kill him now, then you and I would fight to the death. Would you like that? Or I give you a second choice. You can let me kill you now, and I will let the child live. What do you think of that? I give you this choice today. Sacrifice yourself, and the boy lives. Or he dies, and then we fight. What is your choice?”
Lightfoot looked at the knife to the boy’s throat. Surely the boy would die. Lightfoot asked Black Wolf, “Why should I believe you will let the boy live?”
Black Wolf gave a cruel smile. "Why? Why would I let him live? Because it will give me great satisfaction every day I live. I will raise him as my own son. He will grow up and kill many White men. And every day when I see him, I will remember how I killed your wife and bested you. That is why I will let him live. What do you say, Lightfoot? What is your choice?"
Lightfoot looked at his son. The boy must live. Lightfoot tossed his gun into the reeds and looked at Black Wolf. He knew the Indian spoke the truth. "Let the boy live. I give you my life."
He turned and faced Black Wolf. The Indian smiled and lowered the boy into the reeds. He raised his gun to his shoulder and aimed at Lightfoot's head. How could he miss at this short-range? A shot rang out, but it was Black Wolf who fell to the ground dead. Lightfoot turned to see Roger kneeling in the reeds. Roger had killed Black Wolf. Lightfoot ran to his son and hugged him. He looked at the bloody body of Black Wolf and then walked to Roger. "Are you all right? What happened to you?"
“The big Indian tried to kill me with his war club, but I managed to slip a knife between his ribs. He fell on me, and I liked to never get his dead body off of me,” Roger said. “I heard what you said to Black Wolf, how you were willing to sacrifice yourself for your son. That’s what Beka and me were trying to tell you about Jesus. He was willing to sacrifice himself so that we may live. That’s the message of the Gospel.”
Lightfoot’s eyes widened. He nodded his head. “Now I understand.”
Later that day, they buried Beka on the hill to the east of the fort. Recent graves marked the final resting spots of many homesteaders in the Patterson Creek Valley. The area had been the front line in the war with the French and Indians. Many had died horrible deaths. Death was always near for the people here on the American Frontier. More would die before the conflict was finally over, but today two men and a boy sat near the heaped-up mound of a new grave.
Lightfoot looked at Roger. He said, "I made my peace with Jesus. I wish it hadn't taken this for me to see."
Roger nodded, “That is good to know.”
“Just wish that Beka could know of this.”
Roger smiled, “I think she does.”
Lightfoot looked at him, puzzled. “How could she know?”
"God's word tells us that when a lost soul is found, the angels dance and rejoice. I think she'll notice the commotion and ask what the celebration is. She"ll know. Saint Peter will tell her."
Lightfoot smiled, “That is good to know.”
The two men sat silently for a long time. The little boy had fallen asleep on the leaves and grass.
After a long time, the men arose. Lightfoot put the sleeping boy on his shoulder, and they walked to the fort. It would be their home tonight. Tomorrow was another day. The men would have to adjust to their new reality without Beka. Life would go on without her just as it would with everyone ever born. There's a season to be born, and a season to die. Lightfoot was glad he was prepared for the day his life would end. He hoped that all could know this peace. Many times, he’d go to her grave and tell her this. He found peace when he talked with her. And he thought she knew.
Chapter 26
It was late afternoon when John first saw the weary travelers heading toward his cabin. The three came over the old Indian trail that ran past the burned-out cabin of Mr. Dennison. Indians had killed the Dennison family in the war. John had helped bury them. The road past the cabin continued up and over Middle Ridge and then to Winchester 40 miles further east. People slowly returned to the frontier now that the Indians were defeated, but now and then, sightings happened. The three travelers were a strange sight, the short, fat, and bald man riding the horse and the two women walking behind. The man was well dressed for the frontier, as was the first woman. The second woman, with flaming red hair, wore tattered and well-worn clothing. Her hair had not seen a comb for days.
From his cabin porch, John watched as they got closer. Finally, they arrived. The short, fat man looked down from atop his horse and said, "How do you do? My name is James Durham. This is my wife, Elizabeth." He pointed to the first woman, who nodded. "And this is my maidservant, Jenny."
He pointed to the second woman. She wearily looked at John. She was younger than John, he guessed by 5 to 10 years. Even though the grim and dirt she wore, John could tell she was pretty, very pretty. A little soap and water were needed to improve her appearance. The other travelers needed it too, but mostly Jenny. She looked tired, exhausted. Probably an overworked indentured servant, John thought.
He was right. Durham asked if they could stay at the cabin for the night. He said the girl could sleep in the shed, but John insisted that all would stay in the cabin. John added salted pork to the beans cooking over the fire. He asked the trio to fetch water and milk from the spring house and pick some vegetables from the garden. James ordered the girl to the distant spring house. He and his wife picked some greens, onions, and radishes from the garden, but the wife did the majority of the work. The misses prepared greens and onions and put them in the pot of water to cook over the fire in the hearth. John already had cornbread and a rhubarb cobbler made. Sometime later, Jenny appeared with a bucket of water in one hand and a smaller container of milk in the other. Jenny said nothing and set her burdens down. James fussed at Jenny, "Girl, can't you move any faster? I'm hungry, can't you see?" John poured some of the water Jenny had brought in the coffee pot and put it over the fire. When it was hot, he would throw in some coffee grounds for coffee.
Jenny said nothing and set her burdens down. James continued, "Don't stop now, lazy girl." Jenny cringed but did as instructed. "These servants ain't what they used to be. Treat them kindly, and what gratitude do they show?" James said to John. James continued, "I bought her services down at Alexandria. She's mine for four years. She's been with me for six months. You would think she'd know more by now. This world just ain't what it was when people knew their place and were thankful for it."
The supper was good. The beans with salt pork were tasty, and the mixed greens hit the spot. The Englishman, Durham, dominated the conversation during the meal. It was mostly about how people needed to know their place, especially the poor. He bragged on how the English had conquered the world, especially the Iri
sh. He couldn't understand how the brave English General Braddock had been defeated. It had to be the Colonials and Irish troops' fault. John knew what happened. He kept his peace, but it was too much for Jenny. She growled, "The English butchered my people and took their land."
With that, James raised his hand to strike Jenny. John grabbed his arm and with authority, said, "We'll have none of that in my house." Rattled by this James, retreated, "Sorry," he said. "Don't know what came over me."
John knew all too well the way the English had treated the Scots and the Irish. What Jenny had said was true. John thought of how the English had treated William Wallace. More recently, the Duke of Cumberland's troops had slaughtered and raped their way across Scotland. He had no love for the English. They ate the rest of the meal in near silence. Occasionally someone would ask for something to be passed. When they finished, John asked the women to clean up and James to come outside with him.
The men got up from the table and walked outside. When they were about 100 feet from the cabin, John stopped, and the Englishman did too. John looked at him sternly and said, "You're a guest in my house, and I expect your best behavior."
“So, so, sorry,” said James, “don’t know what came over me. That wench has a tongue on her. Sometimes I wonder why I even bought her.”
John looked at him and asked, “Would you sell her to me? I have no woman here, and I need one.”
James looked a little surprised. Quickly his calculating mind thought. “Yes, if the price be right. She’s a sturdy wench and hard-working, but oh that tongue. Sometimes I’ve wanted to cut it out, but how would she eat?”
John ignored the question. He reached for the Englishman's hand and put a gold coin in it. Mr. Durham looked at it and smiled then bit it with his teeth. It was soft, and he smiled more. "Why that's the real thing. Where did you get this?"
John ignored his question and placed another coin in Durham's hand. The Englishman's smile grew broader. He said, "Now I do own her for three and half more years."
John reached into his pocket for more coins. He placed four more in Mr. Durham’s stubby hand. His smile grew larger. “And she’s a strong thing.”
John looked at him and said, “But she has a surly tongue and can be insubordinate.”
Mr. Durham replied, “Let’s say she’s spirited.”
John put two more coins in the outstretched hand. The Englishman’s smile grew still larger. John looked at him and said, “Tomorrow morning before dawn, you and your wife will leave and never return. And you are not to tell Jenny, agreed?” James looked at the two additional gold coins John held between his fingers. “Agreed?” John asked again.
“Agreed,” said Mr. Durham, “You drive a hard bargain. After tomorrow you will never see me again.”
John had not driven a hard bargain. He had significantly overpaid, but he wanted Jenny. The fat man put the ten coins in a small cloth sack with a drawstring. John pointed out the corners of his property from the high point where the cabin sat. Durham pulled Jenny's indentureship paper from his breast pocket. He printed on it, "I, James Durham, on June 20, 1759, in the year of our Lord, do sell the indentureship of my servant, Jenny Kelly, to John Phares." Then he signed his name and also wrote: "Paid in full." He gave the paper to John. "Well, I hope you enjoy her services as much as I did," James Durham said in a joking but a little sarcastic way.
They walked back to the house. It was getting dark. They went into the house now lit by the fire in the hearth. John told Jenny she was to sleep up in the loft in the hay. He and the Durhams would sleep on the hay mattresses on the floor. She indicated she understood and shortly afterward climbed the ladder to the loft. The rest of the people there soon were in bed and asleep quickly, except for John. He was thinking of what to say to Jenny tomorrow after the Durhams were gone. Mr. Durham was snoring loudly. Eventually, John drifted off to sleep.
The night passed quickly. John heard the Durhams stirring, getting up, and dressing. He saw John and whispered, "We're leaving; good luck to you and your prize."
John followed them out the door, which he closed gently. The sky on the horizon showed a glimmer of light. The Durhams departed quickly. John sat on the bench on the porch and watched the sunrise from the cabin that faced the east. John loved this time of the day. Each day brought new hope. When it was bright enough to see, he went to the chicken coop for eggs. He found four the hens had laid and put them in a small basket he had. He carried these to the cabin, went inside, and found Jenny carving ham off a large, white bone. She placed the slices on a plate as John walked to the fire. He noted Jenny had put the coffee left over from last night on the fire to heat. It was not boiling, but the pot of water next to it was. John carefully placed the eggs into the boiling water. He turned to the young woman. "Jenny, we need to talk, take a seat," John said. She sat down on the bench across from the table from John. "Jenny, the Durhams are gone," John said. "Mr. Durham sold your services to me last night." And he laid the legal paper on the table.
Jenny looked stunned. Then she grabbed the butcher knife she'd used for carving the meat and rose from her seat. She looked at John with fear and anger. "John Phares," she said with a strained voice as she pointed the knife in his direction, "I'll wash your clothes, I'll clean your house, and I’ll cook your food, but I WILL NOT BE YOUR WHORE!"
John had expected her to be surprised, but not this. He could see she'd taken a defensive position. He looked her in the eyes. "Jenny Kelly," he calmly said. "You will wash my clothes, clean my house, and cook my food, but I have never wanted, nor needed the services of a whore."
Jenny's face looked like it could crack. She sat down, laid the knife on the table, and buried her face in her hands. She began to cry. All John could see was her hands and tangled red hair. Slowly he moved the knife away. "Jenny," he said, but she didn't notice. "Jenny," he said again, but she continued to cry vehemently.
He got up from the table, left the house, and sat in the handmade chair on the porch. The sun was entirely over Middle Ridge. He sat, thinking as ten long minutes passed. The door opened, and out came Jenny. She carried a plate of food and a cup with steaming coffee. "Sir," she said. This is for you. I am sorry I spoke to you in such a manner. I had no right. I ask your forgiveness."
John took the plate and cup. He sat it on the porch bench. “It’s okay, Jenny,” he said. “It’s okay, get yourself something to eat.”
She went into the cabin and quickly returned with her food. John told her to take a seat, and they ate together. Today would be the first of many mornings they spent this way.
***
Two weeks later
The sun was at its zenith that warm day when the traveler from the west stopped at John's cabin. His horse and the one that followed were piled high with furs. Jenny sat on the porch shelling peas. "Hello," said John to the fur trader. "How are you, and where have you come from?”
“I am as well as can be expected,” he replied. “I just came from the forks of the Ohio.”
“How are things there, now that the French are gone?” John asked. “I hear the Indians have switched sides.”
“The British and Colonial forces are busy building a substantial fort at the forks,” he said. “They're calling it Fort Pitt in honor of William Pitt, the Prime Minister. Most of the Indians are now cooperating with the British, not the French, but not all. I chanced upon a horrible sight near Great Meadow. The Indians, probably Huron or Ottawa, left a dead man tied to a tree, by the trail for all to see,” he said. “He was missing a leg. It looked to me that they had eaten it while he watched. They had cauterized the wound from the missing leg with fire. I believe, after eating the leg, they cut his tongue out, and then blinded him. After that, they scalped him, and sank a tomahawk in his head to kill him finally.”
“What did he look like?” John asked.
“He was short and stout, probably bald,” the fur trader replied. Jenny looked up from her labors, but said nothing. “From the clothing they left, I�
��d say he was an Englishman.”
John asked, “Was there any evidence of a woman with him?”
"Yes, I saw what looked like part of a torn dress on a tree shard," he replied. "I suspect they are taking her back to their village if they don't kill her on the way. If they're pursued and she's too slow, they'll kill her. Or they may get hungry. If she made it to their village, she could be adopted into the tribe, used as a slave, or sold to the French."
"The dead man sounds like the traveler who went through here about a week ago, with his wife," John said. "That's too bad."
The two men talked for a short period. Jenny continues to shell the peas. Finally, the traveler left. He said he wanted to get to Winchester as soon as possible.
When he was gone, John walked to the porch and sat on the bench with Jenny. “Do you think it was Durham?” he asked.
"Yes," she replied. "I do. May he rest in peace, but I will shed no tears."
John looked at her and smiled. “I don’t think we will ever see those two again.”
***
Two weeks later in an Indian Village beyond the Ohio River
Seven Indians faltered into the village. Their time raiding hadn't gone well. They started with eleven men. Instead of being the hunters, they had been the hunted. The British and Colonials were too strong. They'd captured a few guns, balls and powder, and one woman. They'd had to kill the slow woman when pursued. A French man, Francois Geoffrey, watched as they entered the village. An object worn around the neck of the leader caught his eye. He walked over to the Indian and asked about it. The Indian took off the leather string with the gold coin on it and handed it to him. The French man took the necklace and placed it on the handsome woman next to him. Her name was Kathleen, and he had bought her from the Shawnee. Her father was an escaped slave who found shelter among the Cherokee. She'd been captured during a raid and sold to him, but now he loved this woman who was his wife. "For you, my beauty," he said.