“I wish I wasn’t such a burden to you, Catie. I wish I didn’t need you so much, but I do.”
Need. That was what this was. She could still feel the spot where he’d kissed her hand, and she could certainly still feel his hair between her fingers. But this entire journey was a transaction, a trade, nothing more. He needed her for his escape.
Clouds shifted overhead, and sunshine flared across Samuel’s face for a fleeting moment before fading again. Sparrows chirped on branches that swayed in a temperate wind. But here, in this black limestone cavern, there was only Catherine and Samuel, and the shadows and memories that both drew them together and broke them apart.
Need. The irony of it twisted inside her until a small laugh escaped.
His expression furrowed, and faint lines fanned from eyes that were deep, unfathomable wells.
“Ah, Samuel.” She resisted the urge to smooth his cares away. “How I once longed to hear that you needed me. How I needed you once, too. More than I should have.”
“You thought need was the same as love. Do you still think so?”
Need, hunger, longing, love. Threads of the same fabric, were they not? And yet so tangled in Catherine’s mind that she could scarcely see where one ended and another began. Veering from that dangerous territory, she spoke only of the present. “I think you need me to help you, and I need the war to stop. If helping you get to Quebec makes that a possibility, then this is a fair trade.” She would not admit it was anything more.
Samuel looked at her for a long moment, a struggle evident in his face. He was weighing something in his mind—either her words or his own yet to come. She waited beneath his study until, at length, he spoke. “I’m tired, and so are you, but who knows when we may have another moment alone. My conscience won’t let me rest until I tell you the whole of what kept me away. It was not just Joel’s death. There was more.” He pointed to her sleeping pallet, and she sat on it while he lowered himself to his.
Catherine crossed her legs beneath her deerskin skirt. With a tug on the ribbons at her neck, her hair tumbled free. Surprise spiraling through her, she spread the strands out to dry faster.
Samuel’s lips twitched into a smile, then back again. “You and I—we were practically children when we met. We were lost, both of us. We saved each other in so many ways. But I’m not your Rescuer, Catie. Only Christ can be that, both then and now.”
It would have felt like an insult if he had not cradled the words in the most tender, protective voice she’d ever heard from him. She wanted to argue, to deny that she’d ever placed her entire future, her very happiness in his hands alone. Her words refused to form that lie. Instead she said, “I thought you were going to tell me what happened after your brother died.” She would go without sleep for a week to hear it if she had to.
“Aye, but that needed to be said first.” Samuel coughed, then studied a set of parallel grooves in the limestone between them. “I’ve been reluctant to tell you the rest of the story for a few reasons. Not the least of which was my concern that if you knew, you’d change your mind about taking me north.” He swallowed hard, clearly uneasy.
Catherine’s own nerves followed suit. The ridges on his brow were easily read, even more so now that his hair was cropped short. They spoke of secrets about to surface.
“I could keep this from you until we reach Quebec, but doing so would be living a lie. And I need you to know the truth now, so we can both honor it.”
“Honor the truth,” Catherine repeated, suspense mounting. “You speak in riddles. Please, just say it.”
He clenched his jaw, and his knuckles went white in fists. His entire body contracted in front of her, as though he would retreat within himself if he could. Then he lifted his chin and met her gaze, though he still seemed to hold his breath.
“Joel’s widow, Lydia,” he said, exhaling at last. “I married her.”
The words echoed and swirled in the cavern, and Catherine could not make sense of them. They were patterns of sound without context. “You said Joel married Lydia before you arrived. She was Joel’s wife. That’s what you told me.”
“And then Joel died because of me. Lydia was widowed. So I married her. She is my wife now.”
The silence that followed took on a suffocating texture as Catherine forced herself to grasp what he was telling her. “You married her while I waited to marry you? You saved one woman from widowhood and made a spinster of the woman you loved? Or was that a lie, too? Perhaps you have a habit of promising yourself to whichever woman is within arm’s reach.”
He looked as though she’d struck him, his chest concave between tight shoulders. “Do you truly think so little of me? I already told you, my love for you never waned. If it had, I would not have pushed Joel to go ice fishing with me so I could hurry back to you.”
“You’re saying our love killed Joel. And you atoned for that by marrying his widow.” Catherine was on her feet, head spinning, unable to say more or think or breathe.
Samuel pushed up and reached out to steady her, but she stumbled away from him. “She would have been destitute,” he said through colorless lips. “She had no one else. Her entire family was killed in the same raid that made me a captive. It was Joel’s dying wish that I provide for her, and it was the right thing to do. She was with child. We have another—” His voice cracked and broke apart.
“That’s enough,” Catherine whispered and turned her back on him. It took all her self-possession not to clutch at the ripping inside her chest.
“Catherine, wait. Where are you going? Wait!”
“Wait?” She rounded on him, fury flashing through her. She grasped it, for it was the strength that held her up. “I am done waiting. I will never wait on you again.”
Chapter Twenty-One
With a stitch in her side from running, Catherine slowed her pace at last. She pulled her unbound hair over her shoulder and let it pool in her lap as she sank against a tree. She didn’t care where she was, only that she was away from Samuel Crane. Anger boiled inside her not just against him, but against herself for caring after all these years, and she could not say which was stronger.
A murder of crows exploded from the tree, leaving her with only her thundering pulse. She needed to be alone right now, and yet loneliness was the very demon she longed to slay. Samuel’s words replayed over and again in her mind, digging deeper with each repetition. Whatever Catherine had shared with him seemed like a farce, the home he’d built for them a stage set.
Furiously, she plaited her hair, pulling the three hanks tight. She felt betrayed all over again, but why? Samuel had broken their engagement years ago, and she had mourned and recovered from that loss. If betrayal was unmet expectation, a shattered trust, what had Catherine been expecting from him? With what had she entrusted him?
Tying a ribbon around her braid, she secured it with a yank and leaned against the flaking birch trunk behind her. She’d been harboring a tiny ember of hope ever since she had learned about Joel’s death and assumed it was the sole reason for Samuel’s absence. But he had fanned that hope into a bright flicker, however meager that flame. A look, a touch. No—more. He had confessed that he’d never stopped loving her, and this was the root that continued to trip her. Was it a ruse, another manipulation to ensure she would take him to Quebec? Or had they both been bewitched by danger and fireflies and memory?
Catherine buried her face in her hands and groaned with the weight of her shame. All this time, Samuel had a wife and children, one of them fully his own.
Samuel, a father! She reined in her imagination and hobbled her own desires. How she had longed for him to lead the family they were to build together.
Fatigue pulled on her body, mind, and spirit. She was dizzy with exhaustion and combusting with sadness and anger. No wonder he’d worried she wouldn’t take him north if she had known his secret.
Her thoughts came to an abrupt halt. Did she really only give when she expected to get back in equal measure? Did she consider all of
life a trade?
It is. The whisper slithered through her. She rubbed the muscles in her shoulders, still sore from last night’s voyage, and considered that every action had a consequence, every cause an effect. If that wasn’t trade, she would be hard-pressed to give it another name. This was her business, her way of life. Which meant she should have known better. Samuel had allowed her to feel loved in return for her help. Had she agreed to help him solely for the chance to end the war, or had part of her done it for the chance to begin again with him?
Only one answer could explain her reaction to his news.
Bowing her head to her knees, Catherine’s fury slipped away. Gasping sobs heaved her shoulders. As much as she wanted to hate Samuel for what he had done, she couldn’t. But neither was she ready to face him again. If Christ was her rescuer, as Samuel had said, she needed Him to rescue her from bitterness.
Utterly spent, she curled onto her side on a bed of leaves, dappled shade her blanket, the hushing wind a song. Roots pushed up through the ground, but her body was too tired to protest. In the middle of a prayer, sleep carried her far away.
It was a merciful, dreamless slumber, the kind that made time disappear.
Then crickets pierced her consciousness, along with something else. A voice calling her name. With a start, Catherine awoke to shadows that told her hours had drifted past. She pushed herself up from the ground and stepped away from the tree.
“Catherine!” Thankful’s voice was muffled by distance.
Muscles stiff from her unmoving sleep, Catherine hastened back toward the cavern. It wasn’t long before she found Thankful walking near the creek behind it. “Catherine!” she called again, pushing branches out of her way.
“I’m here.” Catherine ducked under a low bough to meet her.
Tears streaking her cheeks, Thankful plunged toward her. “I was so worried.” She clung to Catherine in a fierce embrace. “Sam told me what he shared with you. I can scarcely believe it myself, so I can only imagine how you feel. I thought you’d decided to leave us.” She stood back.
Catherine picked an evergreen needle from Thankful’s uncovered hair. “I’d never just leave you. I confess, the notion of letting Samuel find his own way from here did cross my mind. He can walk, even if he cannot row.” She shrugged. “So can we.”
Thankful’s lips tipped to one side. “Ah, mon amie.” Understanding filled her voice. “I knew you loved him still. I am so sorry for—for—” A hemlock cone dropped to the ground beside her. “For all of it.”
A wedge expanded in Catherine’s throat. “So am I.” There was so much she could say, and yet she had no appetite for it. “He should have told me sooner,” she whispered.
The creek bubbled beneath an evening growing cool. “And what would you have done if he had?” Thankful asked.
Catherine shuffled through a drift of leaves. “I don’t know.”
Twigs crunched beneath their moccasins. Thankful’s hem caught and dragged them in her wake. “I hate to see you hurting.”
“I don’t understand why his news has affected me this way,” Catherine confessed. “He cast me aside years ago, but I recovered. How could I have been so foolish as to place him at the center of my affections again? I should have known better.”
Thankful picked her steps around moss-furred stones. “Loving someone is never a foolish thing to do, Catherine. But now that we know about his family, loving Samuel has to mean something different than it did before. It has to mean letting him go.”
“Again.” Another tear slid to the end of Catherine’s nose, and she caught it with the side of her finger. “I’ve had practice.”
The gathering twilight did not hide Thankful’s red-rimmed eyes, her swollen lids. “Don’t be harsh with yourself for feeling sad. And please, please don’t be harsh with Samuel for caring for Lydia and their children. He genuinely believed it was the right thing to do, though it cost him dearly to give you up. You may not believe that, but it would be wrong to persuade him to prove it.”
Catherine stilled. Arms crossed, she looked up at the cavern where Samuel waited inside. The entrance was partially hidden by trees and shadow, but the echo of the rambling creek bounced off its walls. “He has a family, and it isn’t us.”
A gentle touch on her shoulder softened the sting of that truth. “They wait and pray for his return.” Thankful’s voice blended with the water rippling behind them. “We could turn around now, leaving Samuel on his own, and you could put him behind you once and for all. Personally, I would consider it a relief not to face any Abenaki. I imagine it would be a relief for you not to face Sam. Is that what you want? To turn around?”
Options tugged at Catherine from both sides, and she followed each to its logical conclusion. Samuel still needed her help, and she still wanted to speed the end of the war. At least now there was no question that after Quebec, she and Samuel would part forever. With a great heave, she began rebuilding the wall around the remnants of her heart. In time, she knew the pressure would ease.
Leveling her gaze at Thankful, she squeezed her hand. “I’ll bear my burden if you will bear yours.”
Samuel emerged from the cavern. “I’m glad to see you. I thought you might—”
Catherine cut him off. “I know what you thought.” Bending, she picked a clutch of sorrel and forced her feet to carry her forward. “We leave as soon as it’s dark.”
Shortly after dusk, they were back on the river again. At least while rowing, Catherine could focus her energy on something else. Still, she couldn’t ignore him there at the stern, Thankful rowing between them. Catherine would rather steer the rudder herself, but with the rapids behind them, speed was more important than careful maneuvering, and Samuel’s shoulder needed more time to heal.
The wood creaked as he shifted his weight. She wondered if he was thinking of his wife. Lydia.
Catherine maintained her steady rhythm with the oar but focused on the heavens. Blazoned with colored light, they were a merciful distraction. Where the sky above should be black except for the stars, it looked like a giant warrior had slashed it with his knife. A ghostly green spilled and oozed from the line stretching across the horizon. Shafts of light rippled to a music only they could hear.
Catherine rowed toward the magnificent expanse, and Thankful and Samuel remained silent in quiet reverence. They did not worship the Hodonäi’a, as the Iroquois called the Northern Lights, but the Great Good God who created them.
The river lapped gently against the bateau, and somewhere in the distance, a wolf’s cry soared, held its long note, then fell. The land on both shores sloped up before dipping again. Slowly up, then slowly down, the howl and the hills were in harmony with the water’s ebb and flow. This, too, was a kind of music to Catherine. Time bent itself to a similar pattern, for she could no better track how long they’d been rowing than she could get any closer to that elusive light. So separate from the world of war did Catherine feel, it was as if the moment were sealed off by itself.
And then it was punctured.
Stilling the oar, she paused to look around. “Something’s not right,” she whispered.
“What is it?” Samuel asked, his profile sketched in charcoal as he turned to scan the banks.
Wind feathered over Catherine, carrying an unmistakable scent. “Behind you. We’re being followed.”
“What?” Thankful twisted on the plank that held her.
Catherine held up her hand, then pointed to their wake. With the Northern Lights illuminating the night, it was not difficult to see the outline of another vessel on the river, and at least one person paddling it. The lithe figure moved with the strength of a porter and a practiced grace unknown to Pierre Moreau or Gaspard Fontaine. Slowly, but perceptibly, the shape of the pursuer grew larger.
“Who is it?” Samuel’s voice was strung low and tight.
“My sister.” She was almost certain of it. But whatever compelled Bright Star to race after them now, when Catherine knew she had
wanted no part of this plan—that sent cold dread into her spine.
“You’re sure?” Samuel pressed. “What makes you think so?”
“Bear grease. Don’t you smell it?” Most of the People rendered the grease and used it in their hair or over their skin to protect from mosquitoes. But only Bright Star would come after her. “Something’s wrong, or she would not have come to find us.”
Tension radiated from the angles of Samuel’s posture. “Press on. You said yourself that she did not want you to take me. Neither did Joseph.”
But Joseph hadn’t stopped them when he’d had the chance. Catherine squeezed the oar, the blade suspended over the water. The weathered wood had begun to split, and the fractures pinched her palms. “She is my sister. Though she mistrusts you, she would not bring me harm.” She glanced from Samuel to Thankful.
“You’re sure it’s her?” the young woman whispered. “What if you’re wrong?”
“I am not. It’s Bright Star. I just don’t know what drives her. Whatever it is, it’s important, and I aim to find out.”
Thankful’s chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. “Samuel says we should keep going. Look, there’s a bend in the river. Once we get beyond it, could we not hide?”
“She’ll find us before we would have time to sink the bateau. Come now, Thankful. It’s Bright Star. We have no reason to fear her.”
The sky glowed with waves the color of algae. Beneath it, Thankful’s complexion took on a similar cast.
“Catherine. Row.” Gone was the tenderness Samuel had shown back in the cavern. In its place, a stern command.
She set her jaw. “We have held our council, and you both have said your piece. Now it is time you listen to your leader, for like it or not, that is what I am.” She directed her words to Samuel. “You asked me to lead you. So let me.”
The air thinned and grew brittle between them, but Catherine would not back down. Neither did she call out to Bright Star. Instead, she waited silently for her sister’s canoe to reach them, while her heart drummed against her ribs.
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