“Because it is not ready. You will eat when I say you will eat.”
Mrs. Epler spoke so infrequently that when Ger heard her flat voice, thickened by a Dutch accent, he straightened from stacking wood and looked for her.
Mrs. Epler was not a small woman, but not soft, either. She had the look of sculpted granite, from her thick waist to her ample bosom to the hair pulled back in a fierce bun. At the moment, her arms were crossed beneath that bosom. The frown emanating from her face could have knocked a Crow from the sky.
William Jennett stood on the receiving end of Mrs. Epler’s frown. He scowled back at her, but his shoulders were hunched defensively up around his ears. “I got sentry duty. I ain’t asking for more than my share or anything.”
Ger had to admire Jennett. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t have the guts to ask Mrs. Epler any favors to start with, let alone talk back to her.
“Shoo, now. You heard the lady. Off with you.” Mrs. Lockton was a tiny black whirlwind flurrying around the base of the mountainous Mrs. Epler. She flapped her hands at Jennett.
Jennett stepped back. “Fine. Fine! I’ll go hungry.”
He turned on his booted heel and stalked away. Behind him, Mrs. Epler turned around. Mrs. Lockton scurried after Jennett.
“Old biddy,” he muttered in Ger’s general direction, as their paths crossed.
“Uh.” Ger nodded toward Mrs. Lockton, coming up behind Jennett in a rush. For a second Ger thought she intended to swat Jennett on the rear, as if he were an errant child.
Jennett turned. In a movement so quick that Ger wasn’t quite sure he actually saw it, Mrs. Lockton snatched Jennett’s hand and pressed a hunk of yesterday’s cold cornbread into it.
“Go on, now!” Mrs. Lockton made another shooing motion at Jennett and then scurried back the way she’d come. Jennett stared after her retreating form.
Ger grinned at Jennett. “I think she’s sweet on you.”
Jennett shrugged, and a slow answering grin curled his lip. “Beggars can’t be choosers, I guess.”
“We can’t all be lucky in love,” Ger replied.
As Jennett bit into the cornbread, he glanced past Ger and raised his eyebrows. Ger didn’t quite dare to turn and follow Jennett’s gaze, but the voices he heard behind him belonged to Byrne and Colley. It didn’t take a lot of imagination to picture Kellen standing with them.
Jennett swallowed and glanced off to one side. From the corner of his eye, Ger saw Vincent Bradley talking to Ellis.
“Yeah. Well. Just do us all a favor, Owen. Keep on keeping it in your pants. “
Ger’s face warmed, but Jennett just smirked.
“We got enough trouble as it is, that’s all I’m saying.” His gaze shifted back toward the voices behind Ger. “She was good out there. Cool under pressure.”
Jennett’s face didn’t change much as he spoke. The corners of his mouth twitched downward, and his brow furrowed. But his gaze slid away from Ger’s.
“What was it like?” Ger asked.
Jennett took another bite, chewed, swallowed. He still didn’t quite look at Ger.
“Let’s just say this,” he finally said, his voice pitched low. “Let’s just say I hope that big plan Ellis and Governor Harrison hatched works, to spook the Reds into signing treaties and moving on out of the Territory peacefully. I guess we got to do whatever we got to do. But I’d sure rather not have to do that more than I have to.”
Jennett shoved another bite of cornbread into his mouth and talked around it. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
Maybe another week and a half to Vincennes and Harrison and whatever the trouble the Shawnee decided they could afford to make.
“Guess we will,” Ger replied.
Jennett walked away, and Ger finally allowed himself to turn around and look for Kellen. She was with Byrne and Colley, of course, just like Ger had assumed. Her face was tilted up toward Byrne’s, and her lips were pressed together like she was refusing to laugh at whatever he’d said.
And maybe, he thought, because he couldn’t help thinking it, maybe after we’ve cleared up Harrison’s Indian mess, there will be room in our lives again for other things.
5
The midday meal was what it always was, cornbread hot enough to burn your fingers and beans with stray chunks of whatever meat Mrs. Epler and Mrs. Lockton had on hand. During the days, along the trail, Mr. Lockton often took a couple of the men and moved away from the main group to hunt. Deer and rabbit and squirrel were a different texture and flavor than Widow Howland’s fish stew, but hungry was hungry. Kellen ate whatever was spooned onto her tin plate.
Byrne had wandered off, so she’d been sitting on a downed tree with Colley and Kalvis while she ate. She was mopping up the last of the bean juice with the last of her cornbread when Colley polished off his own plate and hurried off to relieve the men who’d taken first watch during the midday halt. Colley hadn’t been gone long when Jennett came off watch and carried his own steaming plate over to take Colley’s seat.
As he plunked down between Kellen and Kalvis, Jennett made an odd strangled sound that wasn’t quite a laugh and wasn’t quite a snort. When Kellen looked up at Jennett, his mouth was twisted into a matching expression.
“There is something wrong?” Kalvis asked from Jennett’s other side.
Jennett tipped his chin toward the wagons. “Chases me off like I’m the lowest lowlife of the low. But look at how she does old mister butter-em-up.”
It took Kellen a second to understand who Jennett meant. Then she spotted Dale Ackermann standing before Mrs. Epler, his head inclined toward her as his mouth moved. Mrs. Epler—stone-faced, brick wall Mrs. Epler—was smiling.
“Huh,” Kellen said. “Wonder what he’s saying.”
One of Mrs. Epler’s hands fluttered up and came to rest at the base of her throat. Her more-than-ample bosom hitched, and Kellen realized she was laughing.
Laughing. Mrs. Epler.
Jennett shook his head. “I don’t want to know.”
Kellen smirked, tucked the last bite of cornbread into her mouth, and stood up to take her mopped-clean plate to Mrs. Lockton. On Jennett’s other side, Kalvis grunted as he stood, too.
“Too bad, old man,” Jennett said, grinning up at Kalvis. “Looks like Ackermann beat you to the punch.”
“Foolishness,” Kalvis said, and he walked off.
Kellen left Jennett chuckling to himself and followed after Kalvis. She didn’t really walk with him, because it was Kalvis and, as usual, he hadn’t acknowledged her presence. But he was only a few steps ahead and to one side of her, so when he stopped suddenly and closed his eyes, she noticed.
His face contorted, and his shoulders hunched forward. Kellen thought of gunshots and blood on her hands and Kalvis’s near-dead weight against her legs.
“You all right?” she asked.
Kalvis’s eyes popped open. Kellen guessed he hadn’t realized she was there.
The furrows in Kalvis’s forehead pointed as deeply down as the corners of his mouth. He turned his head toward Kellen, but as always didn’t quite look at her. “Thank you, but I am fine.”
The terseness of his voice sparked sudden annoyance in Kellen’s gut.
“You don’t like me much, do you?” The words flew out of her mouth before she could swallow them back.
Kalvis’s eyebrows lifted, and he blinked. He looked at her—made actual eye contact—and then yanked his gaze sharply away again.
“I dislike that you have been placed in such a situation that you are forced to behave like a man instead of a proper lady.” Kalvis’s words were stilted, his tone cautious. “It is your loss, but also the loss of the world, that it will never know the sort of lady you might have been, if you’d been given the chance.”
The bottom dropped out of Kellen’s anger. She stood there with her mouth open, and she thought she’d been about to snap something indignant at whatever Kalvis said. But whatever words had been lining up scattered li
ke startled starlings.
Silence hung between them for a couple of heartbeats.
“Yeah, well, I just— I… I have no idea how to take that.”
“It was not intended to offend, Miss Ward.” Kalvis abruptly tipped his head back and squinted at the sky. “Today’s storm comes soon. I had not heard how much rain there would be in the west.”
It was an obvious bid to change the subject, but he wasn’t wrong. The sky’s blue, visible in snatches between the overhanging branches, was dark and heavy to the northwest, like it held too much water to keep a respectable distance.
“It’s not always like this here. The storms have been uncommonly frequent this summer.” The voice that came from behind Kellen was girlish in pitch, but Annie James always sounded to Kellen like she was throwing her words like sharp little knives.
Kalvis took off his hat, inclined his head curtly at Annie, and then stalked off like he suddenly had someplace important to be. When Kellen turned around, Annie’s face was drawn into a puzzled frown.
“I don’t think I said anything offensive?”
Kellen was still off balance enough from Kalvis’s remarks to blurt out, “You didn’t. He’s allergic to women.”
“Oh.” Annie’s mouth twitched. Her whole face twitched, like it was trying to decide whether to laugh or not.
Kellen barely knew the girl—she spent way more time in the company of Vincent than Kellen was comfortable with. And usually, Annie kept to her father’s side or to the tent they shared. But Kellen felt bad enough for the girl to offer a sympathetic smile.
“Fall in! Pack it up and get ready to move out!” Vincent’s voice rang out from over by the wagons. Kellen fought back the usual involuntary flinch at the sound of his voice and turned away.
She’d taken three steps when Annie’s voice came from her elbow.
“Rivers are rising, and settlers are struggling to get into fields, let alone grow anything.”
Startled, Kellen jerked her head to the side and found Annie smiling hesitantly as she walked alongside.
“I’d guess so.” Kellen struggled to think of something conversational to say. “Much as it’s rained, we should all be underwater by now.”
Annie nodded, solemn but still smiling. “Those with the least sensibility are blaming it on The Prophet. They say the Shawnee lands receive just the right amount of rain and flourish while the white settlements drown.”
The Shawnee. The damned Indians. The usual images flashed through Kellen’s head, of black eyes and painted faces and warriors falling. Of blood.
Blood in the water.
“Huh,” Kellen managed to utter, but no other words came to her.
Thunder rumbled, although still distant. Behind them,Vincent shouted again. “Get a move on!”
Kellen started off for the picketed horses again. Annie kept pace beside her.
“They treat you differently,” Annie said.
Kellen blinked and glanced at the younger girl.
“Who?” Kellen asked.
“The other Crowmakers.”
Annie tilted her head at Kellen, and something about the shadows playing across her face suddenly brought the Red in her features into clear focus—the angles of her nose, the curve of her cheeks. In the filtered light under the trees, her eyes even seemed darker.
Black eyes and painted faces.
No. She couldn’t keep going there. Kellen gave herself a firm mental shake and tried to think about what Annie had said and what she should say back.
“I don’t know.” Some of the men did treat Kellen differently—Kalvis was a good example. So was Langston. But for the most part it was a lot like the docks. Act like one of the guys, and they treated you like you were one. “Not really. They’ve always treated me pretty much like one of them.”
Annie’s head tilted the other way. She reminded Kellen of a wide-eyed bird, too curious for its own good. “No. I mean, they treat you differently than they treat me.”
Kellen blinked. “Oh. Well. You’re younger, you know. That probably has to do with it. And you wear a dress and actually look like a girl. You’re pretty.”
Annie smiled at that. She stood a little straighter and glanced past Kellen.
At a particular someone, Kellen realized. She fought the urge to turn around and see if she could tell who.
Annie’s smile dropped into a puzzled frown. “But if they think I’m pretty, then wouldn’t they treat me more nicely? Be more willing to actually speak to me?”
Kellen barked a short laugh. “With your father around? I don’t think so.” And Vincent—Vincent spent as much time looking out for Annie as her father did, it seemed.
And just like that, Kellen was pretty sure who was behind them that Annie had glanced toward.
“Annie.” The voice came from behind them, too, so sudden and brusque that Kellen jerked to a stop and glanced around. Samuel James stood frowning at them, in his usual high-collared shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Annie must have gotten her height and thinness from him, but James’s hair was lighter and redder.
Every speck of girlish curiosity and sparkle in Annie’s expression vanished. Her posture snapped into perfect alignment, and her face turned into a mask of somber maturity.
“Yes, father?” Even Annie’s voice was different. Kellen noticed Annie didn’t tilt her head while she waited for James to answer.
“We will be departing in a moment,” James said. “I need your help.”
Annie smiled and leaned forward. “Of course. I’ll be—”
James turned and stalked back toward the wagons.
“Right there,” Annie finished. She held her smile in place, but a tightness around her eyes gave away how she struggled with it.
“Duty calls,” Kellen said, in a light tone.
Annie’s smile trembled into a real one, briefly. “I’m sorry,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me?”
Without waiting for Kellen’s response, Annie trotted after her father. Which was just as well, because Kellen found herself paralyzed by the dawning understanding that Annie James harbored a crush on Vincent.
She’s just a girl, still. And it doesn’t matter, anyhow!
She just had to set her sights on the work ahead, that was all. Focus on that and forget about all the other, more confusing things, like Vincent. And Ger.
Just follow Ellis’s lead. Follow the trail. Only another week or so, and they’d reach Vincennes.
I can do this. I can.
Behind her, Vincent was hollering again about moving faster. Kellen shrugged off his voice and everything it used to mean to her and stalked toward her waiting horse and Crow.
6
August 1806
Indiana Territory: Tecumseh’s Town
“The children have learned and listened and obeyed, and the Master of Life is well pleased.”
Tenskwatawa’s voice carried, as though the air itself conspired to help his words reach his followers. The people had gathered on the ceremonial grounds at the edge of the village, in an open area of downtrodden grass and packed earth. Tenskwatawa stood in their midst, atop a slight rise that made even his squat form a head taller than everyone else. He held his arms slightly raised and out to the side, a gesture of entreaty he assumed often during his speeches.
“He has told us that whiskey is for whites and not for Indians, and we have spilled it onto the ground rather than drink it. He has told us to turn away the white traders and to return to the old ways, and we have done these things. We have turned our faces from the errors of the past.”
“Seguy,” came a chorus of response from the crowd, intoning their affirmation of Tenskwatawa’s words. Make it so.
Wind Man heard nothing from Tenskwatawa’s mouth that should have caused him anxiety, and yet delicate mice feet of concern crept along his neck.
This thing we are about to do—is this a right thing, or one of the wrong choices Tecumseh worried about?
A heaviness hung in the
air, moist and sweet and a little sharp, as if rain gathered, although the only clouds in the fading blue sky of dusk were puffy, scattered things and not towering thunderheads. Toward one edge of the ceremonial grounds, wood had been laid for a bonfire, stripped branches leaned together to form a pyramid beneath which was laid heavier logs and kindling. The fire was not yet lit.
Laughing Girl stood just at the bottom of the rise, close at hand should Tenskwatawa need her. Wind Man stood further away, with other men of the tribe. Since Wind Man’s talk with Tenskwatawa, Laughing Girl’s smile had returned. She favored him with it now, as their eyes met.
Because he believed in her father, and that showed that he also believed in her? Whatever the reason, his lips mirrored her smile. Would it be such a difficult, terrible thing, to simply trust in Laughing Girl and in Tenskwatawa?
“Yet it is not enough simply to renounce the wickedness into which you had fallen,” Tenskwatawa called out.
So many of the people had gathered that they spilled out of the ceremonial ground and stood between the houses and cookfires of the town to listen. Shoulder to shoulder, they became an ocean of bronze and burnt-earth and ochre skin, black hair and dangling feathers and bright-colored shirts. The retreating sun cast shadows across strong angles of upturned faces and sparked in black eyes.
Their expressions were rapt. A breathlessness quivered in the air as they waited to hear what Tenskwatawa would ask of them next. Wind Man knew already, yet he held his breath, too. Worried feet skittered down his back again.
“You must show how eagerly you embrace a new beginning,” Tenskwatawa called out. Then he paused.
“Seguy,” the people said into the moment of silence.
Tenskwatawa hesitated another moment. His arms remained lifted but his head turned slowly from side to side, as if he listened to the long silence.
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