Nor was he a willing guide. "I'm only going to Logan's Station to see about transporting my furs to Virginia," he warned when he found Tad and Livi saddled up and waiting to accompany him. "I won't be there more than a hour. It's hardly worth the trip."
"We'll be there long enough to see about getting a dog, won't we?" Tad asked. "This morning you said—"
"I know what I said," Reid snapped. "We'll get you a dog if there's one to be had." Scowling in Livi's direction, he'd mounted up and led the way.
With or without Reid's blessing, Livi was glad she'd decided to leave Cissy in Violet's care and make the trip. Logan's Station, or St. Asaph's, as Reid said it was sometimes called, was a stockade fort built in what David had called the frontier style. Two dozen log cabins faced a broad interior field with spiked palisades connecting the cabins' high back walls. Large blockhouses guarded each corner of the fort, their larger second stories overhanging the first as a deterrent to an enemy bent on scaling the walls. According to Reid, more than twenty families lived inside and tended the acres of gardens and fields to the east and south.
Livi, Tad, and Reid drew a surprising amount of attention as they rode in. The men returning from the fields for the midday meal paused to glare at them. Women appeared in the doorways of the cabins and watched with open suspicion. Livi was confused by their hostility until she realized it was Reid they were staring at, not Tad and her.
Livi had never considered how Campbell's looks might be construed on the frontier. Back in Virginia, where his father and grandfather were well-respected men, Reid had been an exotic. The obvious signs of his Indian ancestry stirred their share of gossip, but out here, dressed in his buckskin shirt and with feathers stuck into his hatband, he looked more savage than white. More like an enemy than a friend.
Just as they were dismounting, a tall, good-looking man emerged from one of the more commodious cabins.
"Reid," he called out as he crossed the yard. "Reid Campbell. I didn't know you were back."
"It's good to see you, Ben."
"The trading go well?"
"Well enough." Reid took the man's outstretched hand warmly in his own. "I've come to see about shipping my furs."
Around them, the suspicion Livi had sensed melted away. The men picked up their tools. The women receded into the darkness of their cabins.
"And who is this?" the man asked, indicating Tad and her.
"This is Olivia Talbot, David's wife," Reid told him, "and their son, Tad. David was killed on the way here."
The man's thick eyebrows rose. "He wasn't caught in the massacre near Four Mile Creek, I hope."
"No," Livi answered, "but we came through right after it happened."
Reid's head snapped around. "You didn't tell me that."
"You didn't seem very interested in our travels."
Livi saw a flush swell along Reid's cheekbones, but he bit down hard on whatever he'd intended to say to her.
"Well, I'm damned sorry to hear about David," Ben Logan said. "He was as fine a man as I've ever met."
His words brought the sting of tears to Livi's eyes. "Thank you."
"Let me welcome you to St. Asaph's. I'm Benjamin Logan, and I'm sure my wife will be pleased to offer you her hospitality while Reid and I conduct our business."
"I'd like that."
Logan turned. "Come right this way."
The Logan cabin was cool and dim despite the brightness outside. The family was gathered for the noon meal, a sprout of a girl and two boys around Tad's age.
"Sit here, Mrs. Talbot," Anne Logan offered, motioning for one of the boys to make room on the puncheon bench. "We've nothing but mush and greens today, but you're welcome to some."
"That's kind of you," Livi demurred, "but I ate before we left the cabin."
"It helps to keep your stomach full when you're carrying," Mrs. Logan offered wisely as she dished up for all four of the children. "When's the baby due?"
Livi took a moment to think. With the rigors of the trail and the work of settling in, she'd pushed her concerns for the baby to the back of her mind. "In the fall," she said.
"Well, don't forget there are women here to help when your time comes," Anne Logan offered.
If Reid insisted they leave once the harvest was in, Livi didn't know where she'd be when the baby came. "I'll keep that in mind."
"Sure I can't offer you something?" Anne Logan insisted. "A cup of sassafras tea, perhaps?"
"That would be nice."
While the older woman boiled and brewed, she quizzed Livi about Cissy and Tad, Lynchburg, the journey down the Wilderness Road, the cabin, and the crops. The boys gulped down their meal without saying a word and bolted from the table in search of Ben Logan and Reid.
"You seen any sign of Indians out your way?" Anne asked as she handed Livi the mug of tea.
"After our experiences on the road, I hope never to see another one," Livi answered honestly.
Mrs. Logan took a place across the table and drew her daughter onto her lap. "Ben thinks they'll be even thicker this year than last."
A shudder shook Livi's frame. "What with the British defeat, David said the threat would lessen some."
Anne Logan shook her head. "According to Ben, it's the peace negotiations that will make this year so hard. The British figure the more land they control on this side of the mountains, the stronger they'll be when it comes to setting boundaries. Ben thinks those English devils Caldwell and Weems are up in the Ohio country convincing the Wyandot and Shawnee to keep raiding in the hope we'll all take our families and head back east."
"That won't happen, will it?"
"Not with men like my Ben and your Reid putting roots down so deep."
"He's not my Reid," Livi took pains to point out.
The other woman shot an appraising look in Livi's direction before continuing. "Well, I'm just as glad we're here in the fort and not 'settling out' like you all. We've come through more Indian attacks than a dog has fleas since we headed west in seventy-five, and it's a damned unsettling experience.
"We usually get word from the stations to the north when the tribes cross the Ohio, and we send riders out to the cabins. If I were you, I'd keep a few things packed in case you need to come into the fort sudden-like."
Somehow Livi had convinced herself—or let David convince her—that once they reached the cabin, the danger of Indian attacks would lessen. That David had been wrong about the Indians frightened her. Could it be that he hadn't understood the danger the peace negotiations posed, or was Anne Logan exaggerating the likelihood of an attack? Was she a woman inured to living with the Indian menace, or had the man Livi trusted most in the world deliberately misled her?
Livi stared down into the pinkish tea, her stomach churning. If David had lied to her about this, what else hadn't he told her to win his way?
"Ma?" Tad stood in the open doorway of the cabin, a wriggling black-and-brown puppy in his arms. "Ben said I could have the pick of the litter, and I want this one. I'm going to call him Patches."
It was a fitting, if not particularly original, name.
Behind Tad, Ben Logan and Reid loomed in the doorway. "I thought you needed a watchdog, Livi, and Ben says his bitch can smell Indians the minute they set foot on this side of the Ohio."
Livi nodded in both agreement and grudging appreciation. "To tell the truth, I've missed having a dog. Old Rusty was so much a part of the family."
Tad beamed, and Campbell looked unduly pleased with himself.
"Oh," Reid added, "I've also spoken to Ben about the packhorses. He'll take them off our hands any time you like. There are always folks passing through that have need of decent pack animals."
Livi stiffened, her voice going cold. "I don't recall that you and I ever discussed selling them off."
"Well, Livi, we both know they're too much work, and they'll eat you out of house and home."
Reid was right. She should have considered disposing of the pack animals long before this. T
here just hadn't been either the time or the opportunity. What rankled Livi most was how Reid had burst in and reordered her life when she'd been doing perfectly well without his help.
"Well, Mrs. Talbot," Ben Logan offered in a conciliatory tone, "whenever you're ready to sell them—"
"I'll see about bringing them over to the station in the next few days," she told him crisply, not sparing so much as a glance at Reid. "And while we're at it, there's another matter I'd like to discuss." Livi forged ahead in spite of Reid's deepening frown. "I need a barn for my stock. It's one of the things David didn't have time to build, and I was wondering if you knew someone who would be willing to do it."
Logan looked at Reid for confirmation before he answered her. "Right now, Mrs. Talbot, most of the men have fields to tend. But come fall, when the crops are harvested, we might just put together a barn raising out your way."
There would be no barn until after the crops were harvested and she'd been packed off to Virginia.
She set down her mug of tea with a thump and rose to go. "That sounds perfectly fine, Mr. Logan. Thank you."
They said their good-byes, and as they rode out of the gate, Livi studied Logan's Station with new eyes. She assessed the height of the walls, the bulk of the blockhouses squatting at the corners, the sentries surveying the countryside even on such a peaceful afternoon. It didn't assuage the fears that Anne Logan had roused, but at least now Livi knew they weren't alone out here. If the British and the Indians came calling, she and her family were welcome to refuge at Logan's Station.
* * *
Reid let his voice drop low and deep as he reached the climax of the tale he was telling Cissy and Tad. "'And for your deception,' the Great Spirit told the serpent, 'you and your descendants shall slither on your bellies until the end of time.'"
"Is that true?" Cissy demanded as Reid's voice faded into the deepening dusk. "Is that really why snakes don't have any legs?"
"It's a story that goes back to the time when the world was young," Reid answered solemnly. "It has been told around fires in the winter house year after year, passed from one generation of Creeks to another."
Cissy looked so patently unconvinced that Reid laughed and ruffled her silky hair.
"Tell another story," Tad begged, gathering the new puppy up in his arms. "Tell us how the rabbit got his long ears."
Noticing Livi had come to stand over them in the doorway of the cabin, Reid shook his head. "There will be other nights and other stories."
The children groaned.
"Reid's right," Livi said. "It's time for bed. Wash your faces and say good night."
"Aw, Ma!" Tad grumbled and made his way to the basin in the breezeway.
"And don't forget to wash your neck, young man."
Females must be born knowing those eight words, Campbell thought, smiling to himself. He'd heard pretty much the same thing in both English and Creek.
From her perch on his knee, Cissy wrapped her arms around Reid's neck. "It was a good story. I liked it very much."
For the briefest moment the girl rested warm and trusting against Reid's heart. Then she wriggled free and stood scowling as her mother scrubbed her face with a wet cloth.
As Livi turned to usher two damp-faced children into the house, Reid snagged the hem of her skirt. "I'd like a word with you once the children are abed."
The glance she shot him implied that she'd rather have discourse with a skunk. "I need to hear them say their prayers."
Reid nodded and settled himself more comfortably on the steps as the wind hummed sweetly through the trees and the air hung thick with the promise of rain. At that moment, Reid was able to admit to himself that he was more contented in this little valley than anywhere else.
"You going to stay on with David's family?" Ben Logan had asked earlier in the day.
"Hell, no!" he'd answered, but Reid wasn't sure. It all depended on how Livi answered his questions tonight.
He braced his forearms across his knees and stared out into the velvet dark. If David were here, he'd see this wilderness as a promise on the verge of fulfillment. He'd remind Reid of the dreams they'd woven on the grueling winter march with Colonel Clark.
Somewhere slogging through the half-frozen swamps between Kaskaskia and Vincennes, Reid and David had agreed to pool their land grants, to find a little valley and call it home. They'd decided to come to Kentucky to build something fine and enduring. Reid was to trade and trap to provide their capital while David built the farm. This hollow with its creek and fields and cabin was to have been their great beginning.
David's death had ruined that. Now Reid carried the burden of land he had no desire to farm, a pregnant woman and two young children who might well demand more than he could give them. And a future that stretched before him without the man who'd been his only friend.
David had been his home, his family, his tribe. He was the only one who understood that a man's need for freedom could coexist with his yearning for something permanent.
The raw ache of loss rose in Campbell's chest. He would never rest until he'd avenged himself on the men who'd murdered David. And if Livi was able to give him any clue about who they were, he'd track them down. Once he was free of his responsibilities for Livi and the children, he'd wreck revenge on David's killers if it took until the end of time.
"Reid?"
Livi's voice came low and wary, scattering his thoughts. He shifted on the steps, making room for her.
She sat down beside him with a twitch of skirts. "What was it you wanted to discuss?"
He took a moment to study her in the faint light from the Betty lamp she'd left burning in the room behind them. Olivia Talbot still possessed the most extravagant looks he'd ever seen—hair with all the brilliance of a winter sunset, skin like winter's first snow, a wide, soft mouth that invited seduction. No wonder David had fallen in love the first time he set eyes on her.
No wonder Livi had proved such a formidable nemesis when Reid tried to influence David to his way of thinking.
He deliberately shifted his gaze to where fireflies flitted and sparked among the trees. "I want you to tell me how David died."
Livi sucked in a breath.
"I want to know where you were camped, and how the Indians managed to surprise you. I want to know what they looked like, what weapons they had, and how they behaved."
"How can you ask that?" she all but hissed. "How can you ask me to relive the most devastating moments in my life?"
"Because it's necessary."
"Necessary how?"
"So I can avenge David's death."
"I don't want him avenged," she said and gave a thready laugh. "I want him back."
Reid clasped his hands so tightly together the joints went white. "I can't give you that."
"No one can."
Reid could sense the emotions wax and wane in her as outrage bled to anger and anger into tears. He made no move to offer comfort. She'd never accept it from him anyway.
What she wanted was a reprieve from the questions he had to ask, from the details he'd make her remember. And she knew he wouldn't back down.
"We were east of the Block House," Livi finally began, "camped well back from the road. The weather had been fair and fine. David shot two fat pigeons during the afternoon, and we roasted them for supper. He said they were nothing compared to the bounty we'd find in Kentucky. But then, he said that about everything. No grass was as sweet, no sky as blue..."
He saw her fingers curl as if she was trying to hold tight to those happier times.
"When it came time for bed, David lay down with me in the tent. He'd done that every night since we'd left home. The noises in the woods frightened me, and having him there helped. After I'd fallen asleep, he'd leave to keep watch by the fire.
"I guess he must have fallen asleep, too, because he came awake beside me. We could hear the sound of footsteps outside the tent. Soft, they were, and stealthy.
"David curled out of our bed-ro
ll and looked outside. I don't know what he saw. He just handed me the pistol and said, 'It's going to be all right, sweetheart.'"
Her eyes had gone dark with what he was forcing her to tell him. Tear-streaks shimmered on her cheeks. He wished he could spare her the rest of this.
"What happened then?"
"David left the tent, yelling for all he was worth. He was trying to scare the Indians off, I guess."
"How many of them were there?"
"Through the slit between the tent flaps, all I could see was two men going through our packs. One of them spoke to David in some language I didn't understand. And David answered."
Anticipation rippled up Reid's back. This was something he could go on; David spoke a good deal of Creek and a little Shawnee.
"Then he and one of the braves began to argue. The man drew his knife and came at David. He shot him in self-defense."
As if that would matter to anyone but her.
"The gunfire woke the children. Cissy started screaming and Tad kept trying to shove past me and out of the tent. He wanted to help his father, but I couldn't let him do that."
Livi's voice broke, and Reid shuddered with an urge to gather her up and comfort her. But hers was a grief no one on Earth could assuage. Much less him.
Besides, more important was finding out what happened that night and making someone pay for David's death.
"Go on," he encouraged her.
Livi muffled her sobs with the back of her hand. "There were more Indians back in the trees. One of them ran right at David, yelling and swinging his war club. David fended the man off with the empty rifle." Her voice wavered. "Then the brave came at him a second time—"
Reid could see it in his head, hear the brave's wild yell and the swish as he swung the war club a second time. He could imagine the contact, the way David must have crumpled, how he must have lain there shattered and still.
Bile scoured the back of Campbell's throat.
I should have been there. The words beat in Reid's brain. If I'd gone with David to get Livi and the children... If I'd been in camp that night..."
"For God's sake, Livi!" he burst out. "You had a loaded pistol. Why didn't you use it?"
A Place Called Home Page 19