The children ran toward them, their tiny bare feet kicking dust. Amos’s shorter legs stumbled, and he cried out in apparent fear. Hannah circled back to grab his hand and pull him.
“Mama! There’s a wolf starin’ at us!” She pushed Amos up the steps.
Ella jerked her skirts out of the way and went down the steps to join her daughter. “Where?” She lifted the gun higher.
“Look … by the dead tree. See? More that way!” Hannah waved to the right and pointed her finger at a cabbage palm leaning sideways. “See? He’s movin’!”
Samuel stepped to the right side of the porch. “I see him.”
“He’s bold—to appear in the daylight,” Ella murmured. The dark-coated animal hovered near a clump of cabbage palms. It paced back and forth, sometimes turning toward the cabin to watch them. “Samuel, what should we do? Hannah, go inside with Brother.”
“Watch him, unless you want to try picking him off with the gun.” He put his left hand on Amos’s shoulder, and the little boy swung around, acting startled at the unusual touch. “He’s just pacing.”
“Could be he’s crazed? Is there foam on his jaws?”
“Can’t see.” Samuel rubbed his eyes and squinted. “I can tell he’s agitated.”
Amos suddenly wrapped his arms around Samuel’s leg. “He watchin’ me.”
Hannah nodded. “Yes, he was. He were watchin’ Amos—not me. He whined.”
“Whined?” Ella and Samuel both echoed the word.
The wolf trotted into the woods. They waited, but he didn’t reappear.
Samuel frowned. “The children should stay on the porch or inside. I need to go tie up my horse—get my bundle and whip.”
She nodded. “Use the barn. I imagine you need a bite to eat. I’ll prepare somethin’ for you.”
His sad eyes met hers, and he nodded.
Two hours later, Luke returned with two barrels of clean water. He pulled close to the cabin so they could use a bucket to fill the barrel on the porch. He then drove to the barn to refill the water trough. When he was done, he jumped from the covered wagon, walked back to the porch, and held up a string of catfish for all to see.
“Come on, Amos, we’ll go clean these.”
Amos raised his light-colored eyebrows. Excitement lit his face, and he turned to Ella for permission. “Mama?”
She nodded.
He giggled and hopped down the steps.
“Luke?” Ella called from the porch. “There’s a lone wolf hangin’ by that big clump of cabbage palms. Keep Amos close.”
“I told you I saw tracks.”
Samuel cleared his throat. “Luke, may I talk to you?”
Luke laid the fish on the edge of the uneven porch and nodded. He walked around to the steps and came up to face Samuel—man to man. The expression in his narrowed eyes told Ella he braced himself against whatever was said.
“How well do you know this territory? Could you get us on the right trail? One heading north to Saint Augustine, so that—”
The air split open with a high-pitched wail. Luke cleared the porch in one flying leap and hit the ground running.
Chapter 22
A dark, shaggy shape had Amos trapped near the covered wagon. The child crouched, frozen in fright. The oxen tossed their heads and jerked in opposition to the wagon’s brake, and Amos ducked sideways. He crawled under the wagon, but his shrill screams filled the air.
Ella stood paralyzed with her hand latched to her throat. She saw Samuel snatch the gun and leave the porch. He sprinted toward her son, but she couldn’t make her legs obey. Hannah whimpered and crushed her face to Ella’s skirt.
With a growl of rage, Luke charged the animal with his bare hands. But it backed away, alarm showing in its one good eye.
Stumbling to a halt, Samuel sank to one knee and reached under the wagon. He grasped the terrified boy by the leg.
“Stop! Stop screaming!” He drew the wriggling child into his muscular arms. “Stop. Hush.” Samuel sat and wrapped the boy close, cradling him against his broad chest. “Shh … shh.” He stroked Amos’s messy blond curls with his left hand. “Look at him. Isn’t he pitiful?”
The animal had dropped flat to the ground. It lay there panting, ears pointing straight up. Its black sides moved with each breath, but it stopped panting long enough to stare at Amos. A white patch decorated its chest. An inquiring, lonely whine rose from deep in its throat.
Samuel cuddled Amos tight but leisurely held out his left hand to the animal. “Here—come,” he commanded.
“It’s a dog,” Luke said, standing six feet from it. “Not a wolf.”
Ella gave a sob of relief.
“Yes, it’s a big dog.” Samuel effortlessly rose to his feet with Amos balanced on one arm. “Minus one eye. I think it likes Amos.” The dog jumped up and retreated to steal a brief, darting look. The left side of the dog’s head was badly scarred, and the eye missing.
“He’s the one we saw,” Hannah said. She untangled herself from the folds of Ella’s skirt.
“I don’t think he’ll harm the children but take caution ’til we know for sure,” Luke said.
Ella ran to Samuel and Amos. She stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to her son’s damp cheek. “Amos, I love you so much!”
“An’ doggie loves me?”
“Well, maybe.” Samuel released the smiling child to his mama’s arms.
While hugging her son, Ella turned and searched for the dog, but he had vanished. “A dog might be a good thing.” Samuel shouldered his gun. “But he sure appears beat up, with one eye missing.”
Hours later, Ella slipped to the dark porch and stood with her arms crossed and a shawl over her shoulders. The chilly night made her shiver. She could smell a hint of grass smoke in the air. Luke had burned the brush in and around the sinkhole after cleaning the fish. A light shower had passed over, making the charred weeds smolder.
She caught sight of a light moving by the barn. It was Luke. Behind her, through the slightly open door of the cabin, she could see Samuel sitting at the rickety table. A sputtering candle cast jumping shadows on the wall behind him, and a low fire burned in the fireplace. With his left hand, he used a quill and jotted notes in a worn copybook. It was the record of their journey south, and she knew what he now added to it—his thoughts about his oldest brother. It felt comforting to see him there, but it made her yearn for Jim all the more.
The tips of Ella’s fingers felt sore from hand-stitching seams in a pair of knee pants for Amos. She cut the pattern out of material salvaged from the legs of Jim’s old pants. With a yawn, she stepped to where she could see more of the starlit sky. The stars seemed to stretch forever. Half of a moon stood at the treetops.
She was aware of soothing night noises. She whispered, “Oh, now … this is peaceful.”
A barred owl gave voice from a pine. Whoo—whoo—whoooahh! Ella smiled. To her, it wasn’t an unpleasant sound. It could scare the britches off a person the first time they heard it, but the second time, it was a heartwarming thrill.
She watched the light from one of their soot-darkened lanterns dance over the sandy ground. Luke walked to the porch on silent bare feet. He set the lantern on the top step and nodded. His face appeared darker, with a sheen, as the lantern glow reflected across it.
“I knew I might find you here.”
“Why?”
“I’ve seen you on other nights.”
“Oh.” She pressed her lips together and bowed her head, not sure how she felt about his remark. “Yes, it’s a quiet time for me.”
“Fire’s out in the sinkhole. I’ll check the water level in the morning and clean it out. I killed four snakes trying to escape the flames. The Lord’s angels tended to Amos … when you say he fell in.”
“I know.”
“He also could’ve drowned. There’s a ledge of bumpy stone. Water below that. I don’t know how deep it goes. It’s a flow of some sort water underground?”
She shuddered and
clutched her arms across her upper body. “I don’t want to know.” She went down the steps to the cool sand and dug her toes in. It was dark. With the sooty lantern casting a low, circular beam, she hoped Luke couldn’t see her bare feet.
Going without boots was a secret habit she indulged in during the warmer evenings, unless it rained. Jim would’ve never understood. He always insisted she not go barefooted—that he could provide footwear. But she liked to feel the sugary softness of the Florida sand under the soles of her tired feet. Plus, it reminded her of running barefooted in the mountains.
She noticed Luke glance at the partially opened door. She knew he saw her brother-in-law seated at the wobbly table, quill in his left hand, and writing by candlelight.
“Amos was tickled about the dog.” He moved closer.
Ella caught the scent of human sweat mixed with fire smoke. “I’m afraid God’s gonna hav’a time keeping up with my son. Thank you for going after the … dog.”
He gave a low chuckle. “The dog’s by the barn, sleeping near the fence.”
“Is he one more thing to worry ’bout?”
Luke sat on the edge of the porch and folded his arms. “No. I think he’s a family dog. His vicious head injuries make him appear wretched. My guess is, he fought with something meaner and almost lost the battle.”
Ella shuddered and kicked at the dirt with her toes. “His color was so much like a wolf. I couldn’t budge when he made for Amos. I’m ashamed. I couldn’t have saved my own child.”
“You knew Samuel and I were there. If we hadn’t been—you’d have died for Amos.”
She mulled over his words. “I hope … I have that kind of courage.”
“You do—and more. Keep an eye on the dog, but give him a chance. He might be what we need.”
“Perhaps.”
The lantern’s glow reached beyond the porch, gently lighting a semicircle of ground. Luke rolled his big shoulders, as if working out aches and pains. The lantern’s light skipped along his chestnut-brown skin. He hadn’t put his shirt back on.
“The cold air feels wonderful. It lifts the spirit,” he murmured.
“It’s a perfect night. Reminds me of home.” She fixed her eyes on the starlit sky. “The trees would be mostly bare by now—colors gone.”
“Hmm. I like hearing the night sounds and studying the stars.”
“Are you ever lonely?” she asked, thinking of her longing for Jim’s presence.
“Lonely?” He took a deep breath. “Loneliness has been my life. I accept it as such.” He cleared his throat. “Yes. I’m lonely.”
A short howl sounded in the distance, and both of them listened—tensing—waiting for the reply. Another wolf joined, and soon, a whole crescendo of howls drifted over the flat piney woods.
“It’s rare to hear a whole pack or see them.” His deep voice reflected his feelings over the dwindling species. “That pack is some distance away.”
She sighed and hit at a lone mosquito buzzing around her head. “Wish these things were rare!”
He chuckled. “We need cold weather to get rid of them.”
“When?”
“Ahh, January? A warm, wet winter can be bad. The bugs don’t die off. They continue to bite. I’ve seen many white men die of fever. During the wet months, it can drop a strong man, put him into body-racking chills, and lay him out dead in days. Forts that withstand Indian attacks fall to a tiny insect.”
Ella turned and studied his outline in the lantern’s dim light. “How long have you been gone from there? Your father’s—”
“Four years.”
“Maybe, they no longer search.”
He shook his head. “No, I’ll be a branded man until I die. You forget, I’ll never be free. Any slave catcher or trail tracker will try to capture me. They’ll know there’s someone who wants my hide. I’m too … I stand out with the color of my eyes and larger build. People remember descriptions of me.”
“Luke, what Perleu said set me to thinkin’. One of your parents—your father—”
“Yes?” The dull light from the lantern caught his amazing eyes as he raised his head. The illumination showed their golden copper color.
“I’m sorry.” Ella felt ashamed. “Doesn’t it make a diff’rence? Doesn’t he—your father think of you as a—”
“Son? No.” Luke’s reply held resentment. “He doesn’t and neither do my half brothers and sister. I never expected favors from him, because in his eyes I don’t exist. My mother was from an island and beautiful—still is, I’m sure. She was seized at age twelve and trained to be lady’s maid to his wife and later educated by the best. But he coveted her for himself. I was the result.”
“His wife … did she know?”
“Hmm, I was raised in the big house, right under his wife’s nose. I have his facial features and build. But she didn’t care as long as he provided fancy clothes, parties, and entertainment. Ironically, when my mother was first brought to the plantation, the master’s wife demanded the best tutor available to school my mother.
“Eventually, my mother took over the private teaching of the master’s heirs when the hired teacher died. When I was born, my mother was allowed to keep me. I slept in a tiny room connected to hers.” Luke cleared his throat and hesitated.
“She was allowed to keep you?”
“You’ve not been exposed to the elite way of life. Most unwanted babies would’ve been sent out to the slave quarters and given to a nursing slave to raise as a field hand.”
“How cruel! I couldn’t have lived if someone took away my children.”
“It’s common at the big houses … large land holders. But the wife had a soft spot for my mother.” His low voice held a trace of bitterness. “Mother was strict on me—knew she had to be. There was no one to watch me while she taught. So, from the time I could obey, she had me in classes with my half brothers. I recall sitting on a chair in the corner, my legs going numb. I was better than the other colored folks—but less than my siblings.”
Ella gasped. “They knew you was kin?”
“Not at first. I didn’t know it, until my mother told me one night. I played with my half brothers, but I preferred to read. I devoured the books in my father’s library. Something in me made him pay attention. I wasn’t as … offensive to him as other children he sired by female slaves.
“He tolerated my reading because he devised a bigger plan for me. When I reached the age of twelve, he sent me to the fields to learn how they were run … how the field hands and other slaves were forced to do labor for him. My mother had me continue lessons at night. I was to be a land manager for my father—not his son. I wasn’t totally his slave. But also, never free. You know the story from there.”
“Yes … about the beatin’s … your runnin’.” Ella blinked away tears and pulled her shawl tighter to her neck.
“Am I to be hunted all my life?” His soft question sounded childlike.
She hesitated. “Luke, I don’t know how to answer.”
“I didn’t expect an answer.”
Her heart ached for the man sitting on the edge of the porch.
Why is the world this way? Why, God?
“I belong nowhere. I’ve no place to hide. My darker skin says colored—Negro. But my facial features and stature resemble my father, more than his accepted sons. He’s French and over six feet tall. But … accept me? Moi? His own flesh and blood? No.”
“How—he’s a father!”
“You’re not of that world’s thinking. Charles LaPierre is proud he produced me … not that he fathered me. With the Seminoles, I’m accepted. I’m safe. They have let me be who I am—a man. But I’ll never be free to live … love the way I desire. Right now, the only future I have is with God. In the meantime, I must stay out of sight.”
“Perhaps, it’s the way with all of us? God is our only hope?”
“In heaven, I’ll stand shoulder to shoulder with all races of men.”
She cleared her throat. �
�We’ll all be equal, then. I won’t hav’ta worry about my scars or how I talk.”
“You talk fine.”
She gave a low laugh. “I struggle with it. My stepfather didn’t take to learnin’. Never wanted me to have what he didn’t. My mother secretly taught me to read an’ write … though she didn’t know everythin’. Samuel’s mother taught all her children.”
“Your way of speaking is good. Your voice is … soothing.”
Soothin’? She almost laughed. “I now understand the accent I hear in your voice. When I git upset, I slip back towards the way my paw talked.”
Luke cleared his throat. “The way a person speaks has no bearing on how the Lord regards them. You don’t have to talk like a school teacher to be loved by those around you.” He glanced at the partially open door. “You are … you’re special. God put a sparkle in your eyes, like a sun-drenched pool of water. It can warm anyone’s heart.”
She was silent for a moment. “I don’t know … what to say.” Luke’s words caught her unawares and pulled at her lonely heart. “I better go in. Samuel said he’ll join you in the barn after he finishes his journal.”
Luke lifted the lantern. “It’s late.”
Ella murmured a hasty good night and went up the steps.
Samuel sat at the table, his hand on the thin, leather-bound journal and a folded piece of paper. “I couldn’t help but hear most of your conversation—through these walls and the partially opened door.”
“I knew you could hear.” She stood near the table, one hand tangled in the folds of her shawl. “An’ what have you to say ’bout it?”
“Does it matter?” His eyebrows raised, bluish-green eyes intent.
“What you think has always mattered, even when we were children.” Her finger traced the grain of the rough tabletop.
“Do you fail to see the slave cares for you?”
“Shh!” Ella glanced at the loft where the children slept. “He’s the only adult I’ve had to talk to through all of this.” She waved her hand at the interior of the cabin. “He saved our lives! An’ I still love an’ miss your brother. I have done nothin’—”
With This Peace Page 17