A Place Called Home

by Elizabeth Grayson

  "That was a damn silly thing to do."

  Memory was slowly coming back. The Indians. The attack. The pistol. Livi didn't want to think about the pistol—or what she'd done with it.

  "Is everyone safe?" she whispered, tightening her fingers around Violet's wrist. Please, God, let everyone be all right.

  "Eustace got his'elf cut on the arm, but that's the worst of it," Violet reported. "Marse Reid's stitchin' him up just now."

  Livi nodded and let out her breath. As she did, Tad peered at her over Violet's shoulder. Worry pinched harsh lines around his mouth.

  "Ma?"

  "Yes, Tad, I'm fine." She smiled and tried to push herself up on one elbow to reassure him.

  Violet pushed her down again. "Jus' let your ma rest. She an' that baby been through a lot today."

  The baby. Livi found herself smiling in spite of everything. Lying quiet like this, she could feel the baby moving, faint flutters of new life astir in her.

  Again Livi became aware of a child's shivery, gulping sobs. "Where's Cissy? I want Cissy."

  Violet and Tad made room for the little girl at the side of the bed. A jolt of fierce protectiveness swept through Livi at the sight of her. She was smudged with dirt from being shut up in the turnip hole. Her eyes were red from crying.

  "Hello, Mama," she said in a squeaky little voice.

  Though she was trying very hard to hold them back, two big teardrops rolled down her splotchy cheeks.

  "Hello, Sugar," Livi greeted Cissy and drew her baby girl up onto the bed beside her.

  She knew how frightened her daughter must have been, being shut up in the dark, hearing the Indians' war whoops and the gunfire. After what Cissy had seen on the trail, not even having Violet to comfort her could have been much help. So Livi held her younger child and rubbed her back. For a time she held the rest of the world at bay.

  Finally Cissy raised her head. "When Reid carried you in here," she said in a very small voice, "I thought you'd gone away like Papa did."

  Livi drew her daughter closer. It broke her heart, knowing that her four-year-old had to worry about her parents "going away." No child as young as this should be so well acquainted with death.

  "Well, I'm not like Papa was," she answered, raising her daughter's chin so she could look into her eyes. "I'm just fine. And I'm not going anywhere."

  "Are you sure?"

  Livi gave Cissy the reassurance without a qualm. "I'm very sure."

  From the far side of the room Violet nodded as if she approved of Livi's answer. "Now, come on over here with me, little girl," she urged Cissy. "We'll see if we can brew up the last few scraps of this tea for your mama. She sure seems like she needs a cup."

  Livi lay back and closed her eyes, aching, trembling, bone-deep weary. Though she yearned for sleep, she knew there was one last person she needed to see. Livi hated having to ask for him, hated needing to talk to him at all.

  As if she'd conjured him up, Reid appeared at her bedside. "Violet said I should come and thank you for what you did."

  "What I did?"

  "Over there by the cornfield. You saved my life."

  Livi's stomach curled. Weakness rippled down her arms and legs. "I never shot anyone before."

  "Well, Livi," Reid offered with a certain chagrin, "I'm just as glad you made that Indian your first. He'd have hacked me to pieces if he'd had the chance."

  Even knowing that her actions had kept Reid safe didn't seem to take the edge off what she'd done. "I've never hurt anyone before. I never deliberately—" She swallowed hard. "I could have killed him, Reid."

  His intent blue gaze held hers. "Yes, you could."

  "But if I did..."

  "Then you'd have to decide if it was worth it. You'd have to decide if you really had another choice."

  This was what she'd needed to talk about, the terrible responsibility and the bottomless regret. Reid was the only one who could possibly understand.

  "I don't want to be—the kind of person who—who could do—do that." Livi stammered, feeling as if she were dissolving before his eyes. "I mustn't let myself become—"

  Tears rose and pooled and slid into her hair. Sobs climbed the back of her throat.

  Reid stared at her, his brows notched down over the bridge of his nose. She could see that he was doing his best to remain aloof. Then his mouth narrowed, the corners softened. Mumbling what must surely be his vilest curse, Reid gathered her up in his arms.

  With her head reeling, Livi lay with her temple pillowed on his broad shoulder, her face turned into the warm crook of his neck. His hands splayed across her back—broad, rough hands holding her together while she cried; strong, capable hands offering consolation. For this moment, he seemed gentle and solid—and safe. Livi hadn't felt safe since David died.

  "It's all right," he said, with an odd, begrudging tenderness. "It's all right."

  But it wasn't all right. Livi didn't want it to be all right. She didn't want to be able to dismiss shooting a man by telling herself it was justified. She didn't want to know that if her aim had been true, she could have killed him. She didn't want to be the fierce, hard woman the wilds were demanding she become.

  Reid would say that if she wasn't strong enough to defend her own, she wouldn't survive in Kentucky. He would tell her that if she wasn't brave enough to face the hardships, she should go back to Virginia, where survival didn't cost so much. He would inform her with that hard, knowing quirk to his lips that until she'd made David's dream her own, she had no right pursuing it. And perhaps he was right.

  But just this once, Reid Campbell held his peace.

  Tucked up in his arms, she wept for what she'd done, for what life on the frontier might force her to do. She shed tears for the decisions she had made, for the responsibilities she had taken as her own.

  She cried because for the first time in months she had someone to hold her close.

  In time, her weeping ran its course. She swiped at her eyes with her hand. She snuffled piteously until Reid produced a proper gentleman's handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers. Now that the worst was over, Livi was mortified that she had fainted, more embarrassed still that she had cried all over Reid. He was the very last man in the world she wanted near when her weakness got the better of her.

  It took more than a dollop of courage for her to raise her head and meet his gaze. "Will the Indians be back?"

  She saw a flicker of admiration in his eyes, as if he knew what facing him was costing her.

  "They'll come back to claim their dead, but I think that's all. Unless I miss my guess, these were a few hotheaded young bucks bent on mischief, not part of a war party. I sent Eustace over to Whitley's Station and St. Asaph's to let them know what happened, just in case. But I'd say the danger's passed..."

  "For now," Livi added, his implication clear.

  "But just for now. What happened today should prove to you that no matter how peaceful it seems, this valley isn't inviolate. Indians will be through regular-like, and they won't come to parlay or trade a few skins. You need to accept that if you stay on in Kentucky—even just until the crops are in—you're going to have to fight."

  His admonition to leave lay unspoken between them. In truth, he didn't need to put the warning into words.

  Feeling suddenly compromised by the comfort she was taking and how good it felt to be held, Livi eased out of his arms. Yet as she withdrew, she took with her a bit of Reid's warmth, his scent, and the vitality that hummed beneath his skin. She felt stronger for those few minutes of contact, more able to face whatever came.

  It surprised her that when she made as if to rise, Reid curled hard, restraining fingers around her arm. "You just fainted," he pointed out. "You're pregnant. You need your rest."

  She shook her head. "I'm perfectly fine. Besides, Violet can't keep Cissy and get supper pulled together."

  "I'll take Cissy if need be," he offered. "Now, for the love of God, Livi, just lie down!" His tone was gruff with annoyance and
utterly implacable.

  Deep inside her, a spark of their usual antagonism stirred to life. Campbell was the most obstinate, high-handed man she'd ever met. He had absolutely no right to order her around. Though when she thought about it, that shuddery, gone-at-the-knees feeling might go away if she could get some sleep.

  Perhaps Reid was just trying to be nice.

  Nice, she thought, closing her eyes. Reid Campbell being nice—the novelty of the concept made her smile.

  Chapter 14

  Reid had to admit he'd been wrong. Once the raiders claimed their dead, no other Indians breached the peace and solitude of their little valley. Nearly a month passed, and though he and Tad hunted the hills and hollows for miles around to augment their dwindling food supply, not once did he see any sign of Indians in the woods. Nor, as Campbell rode from station to station asking questions that might lead him to David's killers, did he hear any indication that the tribes to the north were astir.

  To his way of thinking, that didn't make sense. With the peace treaty still being negotiated in Paris and the boundaries in question, the English should be recruiting tribes to raid Kentucky. Certainly there was as much at stake now as there had been in 1777, when the British and their allies had come howling down across the Ohio River to lay waste to the forts and homesteads. The Year of the Bloody Sevens, the settlers called it, and hundreds had lost their lives. Reid's conviction that it could happen again stoked the tension constantly simmering in his gut.

  That Livi and the rest went on about their lives, when death and destruction could sweep out of the hills at any moment, riled Campbell beyond all provocation. He knew Livi took her pistol when she tended the fields or weeded her garden, but considering she'd fainted the first time she shot an Indian, Reid wasn't sure she'd use it.

  Instead of erecting a stockade as he'd suggested, Eustace and Tad turned their energies to building a corncrib and an ash hopper so there would be lye for making soap and hominy. Violet still gathered greens in the woods, and when Cissy wasn't practicing her letters or helping her mother, she went with her. Dangerous practices, all of them, yet part of daily life at the Talbot cabin.

  In spite of Reid's concerns, everything in the valley flourished. The corn was high, and in a week or two they'd be plucking the first of the roasting ears. They were already eating from the vegetable patch, and the first of Livi's pole beans were sweet as honey. Livi was rounding out a little more every day, her belly protruding, and her breasts growing lush and full. Though Reid knew she'd be mortified if he let on he'd noticed, it seemed to him a wondrous ripening. Somehow he'd put his uneasiness to rest where the baby was concerned and took pleasure in knowing she was keeping David's legacy alive.

  His frustration at not being able to find the men who'd killed his friend took on a presence of its own. It fed his bitterness and grief, his anger and regret. In the thickest part of the night Reid would jerk awake, wet with sweat. In his dreams he knew the identity of the men who'd murdered David, but when he woke he could never quite remember. The nightmares kept the restlessness astir, kept him riding out, searching and questioning. Yet he couldn't seem to put the little valley behind him for more than a few days at a time.

  Though being at the cabin chafed, Reid kept busy. He helped Livi whenever she let him, though in truth she rarely did. She seemed to think that accepting his aid compromised the agreement they had made or nullified her own accomplishments. She worked harder and longer than he'd imagined any Chesterton could, and refused to give an inch in the demands she made on herself or on anyone else.

  Reid didn't know what had happened to the hapless child David had married, but the woman who had faced him and refused to leave wasn't the wide-eyed girl he'd known. The only way he could think to explain the change in her was that the traits he'd long ascribed to Livi Talbot had been wrapped around a core of something stronger.

  She so seldom asked for help that Campbell was surprised when she came to him one morning while he was sharpening the axes with a whetstone.

  "Since you're on about household tasks," Livi began, coming into the breezeway where he was working, "would you mind hauling water so I can wash? I'll scrub whatever you've got that's dirty in return."

  That she made every request a bargain between them rankled more than Reid cared to admit, but he swallowed his irritation and went to comply. Violet and Eustace were busy moving into the house Reid clearly remembered refusing them permission to build, and Tad and Patches had headed out a few minutes earlier to check the snares. By the time Reid had carried enough buckets to fill the cauldron over the fire, the soak tubs, and the rinse tubs, Livi was already soaping and scrubbing.

  Reid took out his frustration by splitting wood. It was a never-ending chore, and one Livi seemed perfectly willing to let him tackle. He didn't bother to speculate about who would use the cords of logs stacked up behind the house when Livi and the children were back in Virginia and he had headed west. Reid concentrated instead on the weight of the single-bladed ax in his hands, on the flex of the muscles in his chest and shoulders, on the solid, satisfying splinter as the logs came apart.

  Between swipes of the ax, he noticed that Cissy had wandered down to the edge of the stream to collect more rocks. She liked the ones that shone in the sun, or pebbles in which the colors blended and blurred. She kept a constantly changing collection in a basket at the edge of the breezeway. As he continued with his work, he did his best to keep her in sight. Each of the adults at the cabin watched over the children, sharing responsibility for their welfare in a way that reminded him of how his grandmother's people did things.

  Reid had been working steadily for half an hour when he realized Cissy was nowhere in sight. From behind the cabin he could hear Livi singing as she worked uninterrupted—which meant she was alone.

  His throat went dry as he scanned the woods and fields, looking for some sign of the little girl. He set the ax at the side of the stump and started down the rise.

  "Cissy," he called out softly, not wanting Livi to hear, not ready to have her know he'd let her daughter slip away. "Cissy-girl, where are you?"

  His heart nudged uncomfortably against his ribs as he approached the water. He looked in both directions, to where the brook ran clear and swift, rippling over its bed of stones.

  Thoughts buzzed through Reid's head. If an animal had carried Cissy off, he would have heard it. If she'd encountered Indians, she should have been able to cry out. If she'd wandered away, he'd be able to pick up her trail once she left the rocky streambed.

  He headed west, trotting along the bank, anxiety soaring through him. He was halfway to the trees when he caught sight of Cissy's shoes, set carefully on a rock at the water's edge.

  She'd gone wading in the stream. God knows he'd watched her do that often enough, with her skirts carefully hitched up in front and the hem trailing in the water.

  But then, she'd always gone wading in the shallows closer to the house. Cissy wouldn't have known this part of the creek so well. Looking for pretty rocks in the streambed, she might not have seen the drop-off hidden at the edge of the shade. There was a tiny waterfall just under the lip of the trees with a chest-deep pool beneath it. But what was a pleasant spot for a man to bathe could be deadly for a child of Cissy's years.

  "Christ!" Reid muttered and bolted along the bank. He needed to be wrong about where Cissy was.

  In the dimness under the canopy of trees, shadows fell across the surface of the pool. As he came nearer he saw the shadows shift with billowing skirts and gossamer webs of floating hair.

  "Oh, Jesus! Oh, God, please!" Reid muttered as he ran the last few steps and threw himself into the pool. Cissy drifted faceup, just below the surface, her eyes open wide. Her tiny, fragile hands were extended, reaching toward the light.

  Reid scooped her up against his chest. She was white and cold. Slack and still. Limp as a broken blossom.

  Dead. The word screamed through him. Dead like David. Dead.

  Reid couldn
't let that be. He groped his way onto the bank, bent Cissy over his arm, and rapped her sharply between the shoulder blades.

  "Breathe, Cissy!" he ordered. "Breathe!"

  Water drained out of her nose and mouth.

  "Goddammit, Cissy, breathe!" he rasped and smacked her back again.

  Cissy choked twice and twisted a little in protest of her rough treatment. She wheezed down a ragged draught of air.

  He struck her again, then held her tight as she coughed and gagged and gasped. He held her and helped her clear her stomach and lungs of the water she'd swallowed. He held her as she gulped down air and gagged again.

  He felt the life flow back into her body. He felt her muscles tighten, her body warm beneath his hands. It wasn't until Cissy began to squirm against him that Reid realized how he was clutching her against him.

  He closed his eyes, light-headed with relief. "Thank you," he whispered, though he wasn't sure to whom.

  Cissy pushed at him again. "Let go, Reid!" she croaked, her voice gone raspy. "You're squashing me. You're squashing the stone I found!"

  He was breathing hard, laughing and shaking, and smoothing back this baby's hair.

  "I'm squashing your stone," he repeated, and laughed again.

  "See my stone? I never found one with a picture on it before."

  Reid took the smooth, flat piece of limestone in one trembling hand.

  "It's a fish," she prompted him.

  He looked down, trying to focus, trying to loosen his hold on Cissy a little at a time.

  "A fish," he muttered.

  "It's—a—fish!" Cissy repeated with some exasperation.

  Reid nodded, his mind stirring again, returning from that place where panic and instinct were all he had. He nodded and took another shaky breath. "This kind of picture in a rock is called a fossil."

  Cissy squirmed to look at him. "How do you know that?"

  "I learned it in school, I guess," he answered, still quivering inside.

  "You didn't go to school! Mama said you lived with the Indians."

  "I lived with the Indians, too."