“My papa always says forthright speech is the godliest.”
“Your father is a wise man.” He dared another bite of jerky. Hopefully he’d dodged the girl’s curiosity by getting her to think on her father. Whoever the man was, he surely must be desperate to get her back, for she was unlike any child he’d ever known.
“So are you?” Livvy’s blue gaze pinned him in place. “Going to marry Miss Mercy, that is.”
He shoved the whole chunk of jerky into his mouth, stalling for time. Despite his hesitation, Livvy’s stare did not waver.
The lump of meat traveled down to his stomach like a rock. No. There was no way by heaven or sea he’d give this girl an answer when he did not even want to consider the question. He scrubbed his hand across his mouth. “You think I should?”
“Without a doubt.” Gravity sobered her tone.
He hid a smile. Was this what Mercy had been like as a young girl? “What makes you think Miss Mercy would want to marry me?”
Livvy bent forward, leaning close, her long blond hair hanging like a windblown curtain. “I think she needs you.”
His brows shot high. “She is a self-reliant woman. What makes you think she has need of anyone?”
“Well, she has not told me, not outright, but…” Livvy straightened, craning her neck to look past him toward the path where Mercy had disappeared. Apparently satisfied, she faced him again. “I think she is hiding a whole lot of hurt. Something to do with her mother.”
Elias rubbed his hands along his thighs, thinking back on the many conversations he’d had with her. Had she ever mentioned her mother? Try as he might to remember, nothing came to mind. Shoot, he hadn’t even known the woman was kin to a mighty Mohawk sachem. He shook his head. “Even if that is true, Livvy, only God can heal hurts down deep.”
“Oh, I know, but I think you help her forget. Miss Mercy smiles more when she is with you. My papa says love is that which makes you smile, even when you’re tired.” She leaned forward again, this time a queer gleam lighting her eyes. “I think she loves you, Mr. Elias.”
The girl’s words hit him broadside. Not that he hadn’t tasted Mercy’s need in the kiss they had shared, but love? The thought was too big to wrap his arms around. And even if she did, would she truly give up her life of far-flung freedom to settle down with the likes of him?
Whatever the answer, this was not the time or place to even consider it. He shot to his feet and stalked past Livvy. “I will get some water. After that jerky, you will soon thirst.”
“Mr. Elias?”
Ah, no. He’d not be pulled back into that bees’ hive of a conversation. He glanced over his shoulder, saying nothing.
She smiled. “Don’t worry. I won’t breathe a word of this to Miss Mercy. Your secret is safe with me.”
“What secret?”
Her pert little nose scrunched up. “That you love her too.”
He turned and stalked off. Livvy had far too many years inside her to be stuck inside a little girl’s body.
Destruction was the great leveler. It didn’t matter what kind of blood ran through one’s veins when faced with singed timbers and charred dreams. Wyandot. Mohawk. White. Black. Mercy sank to the dirt, facedown, at the outskirts of what had been her childhood home. She grabbed handfuls of earth, trying to find something to cling to amid such devastation. There was no shame in it. No weakness. Were her worst enemy facing such loss, even he’d drop to the ground and weep.
She closed her eyes—but no good. The macabre skeletons of ruined longhouses had already seared forever into her mind. And though she tried to forget the image, she knew it would never leave. The awful picture of the flattened village was there to stay, like an unwelcome guest who’d slipped in through a half-open door.
Behind her, the horse snorted and pawed the ground. Not that she blamed the beast. Her feet itched to jump up and tear back into Elias’s arms.
But instead she sucked in a breath and stood. This was her chance—albeit a late one—to say goodbye to her father…and, yes, it was beyond time to bid farewell to Mother.
She padded down what used to be the path between two longhouses. How many times had she skipped here as a child? Followed after her brother in crooked leggings she’d sewn to her mother’s dismay, hoping to join him and his friends as they set out on a hunt? Tears burned her eyes. She blinked them away. Tried to, anyway.
She glanced up at a sky as brooding as her heart. God, why? You protected me. Why did You not protect these people? Why not Matthew? Why not my mother?
No answers came, but she did not expect any. Her father had required complete obedience from her and her mother even when they did not understand his ways…and it was always for their good. Though it was impossible to believe anything good could come from the death of those she loved, she must trust that God was sovereign—or that He was not. Yet had He not proven in the past several weeks that He did reign supreme? Not in ways she’d choose, but in ways of His choosing.
Her feet slowed as she neared the blackened ribs of what had been the council lodge. War and peace collided here. The many decisions of when to fight, when to hold off. Had her father sat cross-legged, passing a pipe, when the attack came? Had he been smiling or reverent? Deep in conversation or alone?
She lifted her hand, holding it out as if she might take hold of his and feel the strength of his calloused fingers pressing into hers. She stood still for a long time, listening hard, straining to hear one last time the affection in his voice even as he rebuked her for being so strong-willed.
“Goodbye, Rake’niha,” she whispered. “Skén:nen tsi satonríshen.”
A raven swooped low in a graceful arc, then soared up into the sky and disappeared into the trees. Those more superstitious than she would take it as a sign. She merely lowered her hand. Sign or not, a tentative calm seeped into the thin spaces between flesh and bone. The empty hollow was still there in her chest, right next to the space left behind after Matthew’s passing. But just seeing where her father may have spent his last minutes lay to rest a small portion of her grief.
Turning, she picked her way onward to the second longhouse past the council lodge…the one she’d shared with her mother.
Countless times she’d walked this way. This time though, when she stopped and imagined the bark-and-frame structure that had housed them, she imagined it with new eyes—and a new heart. Here, in the remnants of violence and death, a quiet appreciation blossomed, replacing her old scorn. Now that she’d tasted of captivity and knew firsthand such terror, she finally understood. How frightened her mother must’ve been, dragged into this village, not knowing the language or what would become of her. Yet despite the harsh treatment she’d suffered because of her abiding and outspoken faith in Iesos, her mother had survived…and never once stopped loving. Not the people. Not her father.
Not her.
She bowed her head with the knowledge. For so long, she’d believed one of the best reasons to be alive was never knowing what would happen next. But maybe an even better reason was to learn from the past to correct a future course.
Kneeling, she reached behind her neck and unclasped the necklace. Tears fell, baptizing the ruby-red heart, puddling in the lines of her open palm.
“I apologize, Mother. Please”—a shaky breath tore through her—“forgive me.” Why hadn’t she said this when her mother was still alive?
Dampness leaked down her cheeks, chilly in the early evening air, and she shivered. “I did not see your strength because I did not look for it.”
She swiped at her nose with her sleeve. “But you’d be happy for me, I think, for I–I’ve finally learned to trust. Just like you wanted me to.”
Her voice broke, and she swallowed, saltiness tangy on her lips. “I believe what you told me, that God will dry each of my tears one day, like He has surely dried all of yours.”
The necklace weighed heavy in her hand, and her whole arm shook like an old grandmother’s. “I lay to rest my childi
sh contempt. It will ever be dead to me. I only hope that you can forgive me for flaunting it all these years.”
She lifted her face to the darkening sky. “Forgive me, oh Father, for leaving undone that which I should have mended.”
Setting the locket down, she grabbed a nearby rock and dug with determination. Each gouge reminded her of the grooves she’d surely worn deep into her mother’s heart. Regret drove her to a frenzy of flung dirt and ragged cries.
Spent, she pitched the rock aside, then picked up the locket. Pressing the cool stone to her lips, she whispered against it, “I love you, Mother. Let us forever be at peace. Goodbye.”
She set the necklace into the ground and covered it up, handful by handful, tear by tear. Pressing the loose dirt into a mound, she laid her hands atop it, finally still. Finally done.
Final.
In the growing darkness, she stood on legs still tingling from her cramped position. Early night air breathed on her like an animal on the prowl, tempting her to return to the same old torment of her darkest memories.
But a newly forged freedom burned like a brilliant light inside her. The memories remained, and always would—but the sharp-edged pain was gone, leaving behind a hard-won tranquility.
Insects began to scratch and whirr. Earthy moistness, pregnant with a damp chill, smelled musty, and the last bit of apathetic daylight melded into shadows. Night would fall hard soon—a darkness so complete, given aid by an overcast sky, that even if Mercy did know this stretch of land, she’d be hard-pressed to find her way back to camp. Elias glanced over to where Livvy curled up near a small fire. He loathed to leave her untended—but he hated even more the fact that Mercy was out there somewhere. Unguarded. Unbidden, his hands curled into fists. What to do? Leave the young girl to go after the woman? Or remain here and leave Mercy in God’s hands alone?
Staring harder into the darkness, he ground his teeth, willing Mercy’s horse to appear with her atop it. If this was the love Livvy had spoken of, this anguish, this awful burning skittishness to run into the fires of hell if need be just to pull Mercy out, well then…he wasn’t sure he wanted it. The weighty responsibility of it pushed the air from his lungs.
A shrill cry rent the air, raising gooseflesh on his neck. Just a screech owl. Nothing more. But all the same, he retreated to go grab a horse.
But then turned back around.
Far off, leftover autumn leaves crushed beneath a thud-thud, thud-thud. He yanked off his hat and raked his fingers through his hair, relief shaking through him. No doubt about it. This woman would be his death.
Slowly, far too slowly to his liking, a black silhouette approached. Mercy reined in her horse in front of him and slid from her mount, a quirk to one brow. “Why do you stand here? Is all aright?”
“No!” The word flew out like a bat from a cave, but it couldn’t be helped. Lord, but he was tired. “Everything is not ‘aright.’ Not with you traipsing about alone in a dark wood.”
Anger shook his voice, and he instantly repented. But it was too late.
Her head dipped, her loose hair falling to the curve of her waist. “I apologize for having caused such worry.”
Both his brows shot up. What was this? No defiance? No you-don’t-need-to-fret-on-my-account, I-can-take-care-of-myself rebuttal? Alarmed, he studied the woman. There was no change in her broad stance, so unladylike yet strangely alluring. Her same slim shoulders held straight and ready to take on the world. Near as he could tell, not one thing was different in her appearance—but something was…what?
He softened his tone. “Well, no harm done, thank God. I made a small fire sheltered from sight, and the smoke is minimal. I did not want to take any chances on those warriors in case they had second thoughts. Go warm yourself. I will see to your horse.”
Working quickly, he led the animal to where he’d hobbled his mount, then relieved the horse of its bridle. “Easy, girl,” he crooned while he patted her neck. Then he set about looping a rope around one hoof and, with plenty of slack, connecting it to another, keeping the beast from roaming off. After a quick rubdown, he returned to Mercy. By now, naught but coals glowed below her outstretched hands. Next to where she sat, Livvy slept soundly.
Mercy looked up at his approach, her pert chin hiding a smile. “You call this a fire?”
That bit of spunk, little as it was, eased the worry churning the bellyful of dried berries he’d eaten. Maybe she was fine after all. He sank to the ground at her side, opposite Livvy, and handed over the pouch of pemmican. “Did you find the peace you were after?”
A smile split white and broad. “I did.”
While she ate, he watched, admiring the soft planes of her face, the curve of her cheeks, the lips that he’d kissed. His gaze sank lower, to her bare neck, the hollow between her collarbone—then stopped. The skin there was naked. No gold chain. No locket.
He jerked his gaze back to hers. “Seems you lost something.”
“Hmm?” She chewed a moment more before swallowing. “Oh…” Her fingers fluttered to her chest, resting right where the locket should’ve been. “No, not lost. Given.”
He leaned back, eyeing her. “I thought that locket was important to you.”
“It…” Her lips pressed together, and her hand fell to her lap. “It was time to let it go.”
His throat tightened. Ah, that he might remove the unyielding griefs this woman had suffered. “Mercy.” Her name came out jagged, and he cleared his throat. “I sorrow for your loss. I know it hurts—”
“No.” She snapped her face toward his, eyes burning with the intensity of one of the coals. “Do not pity me. You should know what manner of woman you travel with.”
“You owe me no explanations. I am content with who you are—”
“But I am not.” She pushed the pouch back into his hands, cutting him off. “Years ago, that necklace was taken in a raid on some whites, led by my father. I was a young girl when the war party returned. My father awarded me with the trinket, for though he could be a harsh man, he was ever soft toward me.”
He shook his head. If the thing were that important to her, why had she gotten rid of such a token? “I should think you would want to keep it then, being he is gone.”
“You don’t understand. This isn’t about my father.”
Once again her fingers rose, and she absently stroked the side of her neck where the chain had rested since her girlhood. Some kind of memories played across her face as she stared into the glowing coals, twitching her lips, bending her brow.
He waited, giving her the time she needed, wishing he could give her more than that, could comfort, could heal.
Her voice started low and so quiet he leaned in closer to catch her words.
“When my mother saw the stolen locket bouncing against my chest, it was a vivid reminder that she’d been taken in a raid. She asked me to take it off. I refused. She never asked me again, but I persisted in wearing that necklace, drawing a perverse strength from thinking it somehow made me stronger than her.”
Her shoulders sagged for a moment; then she straightened them, a new strength rising like an eagle. “But I was wrong, Elias—about so many things…and far too quick to judge others when it was my own heart that needed tending.”
He grunted. “A lesson for us all, I think.”
Her gaze met his—maybe. Hard to tell now, for he could barely distinguish her shape though she sat within reach.
“You’re a good man, Elias Dubois.”
Mercy’s admiration crawled in and made a home deep inside. He’d been called many things by many people, but not good. Not for years…not since his own mother had died when he was a lad about Livvy’s age. His lips pulled into a smirk. “There are plenty who would say otherwise.”
“Well then, they are wrong.”
There was no stopping the grin that stretched his mouth—or the chains that dropped from his heart. She could have no idea the healing her admiration brought. He could barely trust himself to speak,
so he cleared his throat first. “Bed yourself down. I will take first watch.”
He stood, aiming to give her space, but his name on her lips anchored his feet.
“Elias?”
“Aye?”
“Thank you.”
He cocked his head. “For what?”
“Not many men besides my brother and Matthew ever look past my independent streak to see me…the real me.”
He strode to the other side of the coals and sank down, hunkering in for a long watch. “Their loss,” he breathed out.
And hopefully his gain—if she’d give up that independence to have him.
Despite stiff joints and a tender bottom, gifts of a long day’s ride, Mercy’s spirits rose so high, she gripped the reins tight lest she fly away. Last night she’d slept more soundly than a snuggled babe and this morn awakened with a fresh view of the world. She should’ve made things right with her mother—and God—long ago. And she would have, had she known how sweet that freedom tasted.
Behind her, Livvy shifted. “Miss Mercy, you think we’ll be stopping soon? Because, well…I need to.”
“Aye.” The girl was right. She could use a break herself. Not many hours of daylight remained though, so this would have to be a quick reprieve.
She nudged the horse with her heels to catch up to Elias’s side, when he suddenly pulled on his reins.
His gaze slid to hers, and he pointed to his ear, then aimed his finger down the road.
She listened. A nearby kingfisher rattled a low call, and a few squirrels played tag off to the side of the woods, scratching their claws against bark. Nothing out of the ordinary. She angled her head. What had Elias heard?
Her lips parted to ask—then as quickly she pressed them together. The distinct jingle of harness and tackle traveled on the late afternoon air.
The Captured Bride Page 25