A Place Called Home

by Elizabeth Grayson

  One day as she and Violet sat together peeling onions and potatoes for one of the vats of stew that would feed the refugees, Livi raised the question of the future.

  Violet looked at Livi long and hard. "We's happy with that piece of ground," Violet admitted, her deep, smoky voice gone even more raspy than usual. "We come to like havin' somethin' t' call our own. Here in the fort, it don' matter if we's free. Them seeing us the way they do makes us slaves. You gave us somethin' when we was nothin', Miz 'Livia, and we owe you."

  Livi only hoped that once the crops were harvested she could keep her word.

  So much depended on what happened in these next weeks. The success or failure of her crops would determine the children's and her future. Her last and most precious child would arrive, and Livi longed for David's baby to be born in this wild and beautiful place. She ached for this child to at least have a chance to touch his father's legacy.

  I won't let Reid send me away until after you're born, she promised, laying her hand against where the babe stretched inside her. Somehow I'll find a way to wait. Somehow I'll find a way to make you part of the land your father loved.

  As the second week at the station threatened to turn into a third, the equanimity that had held the populace together came unglued. One of the men guarding the detail bringing water up from the stream swore he saw something move on the opposite bank and fired. Spooked, the others discharged their weapons, leaving the group unprotected and well beyond rifle range of the men on the walls. One woman dumped a nearly full pail of milk over another's head for some real or imagined slight. Tad managed to pick a fistfight with an older, larger, and significantly stronger boy.

  Livi clucked over him and stitched up the gash to the left of his eye. "You've got to find a way to get along with folks, Tad," she admonished him. "We have to stay here until we know it's safe."

  "How soon will that be?"

  At Tad's words, all Livi's own questions about the future came back to haunt her. "I just don't know!"

  The answer arrived that afternoon with the thunder of hoof-beats. George Essex flung himself off his horse into the crowd that gathered to hear his report.

  Ben Logan elbowed his way toward where the scout was just handing off the reins of his lathered horse. "What's the word?"

  "A party of about fifty British rangers and three hundred Indians under William Caldwell has crossed the Ohio," Essex reported. "They've got Bryan's Station under siege, and the fort needs reinforcements."

  "Three hundred Indians!" The words went through the assembled settlers in a single gasp. It was as large a party as the British had mounted against them during the war.

  "The British bring artillery?" Ben wanted to know. When Essex shook his head, Logan nodded. "Fair enough. I'll lead the relief party myself."

  "Tell them we'll be leaving at first light," he instructed the riders he dispatched to Twitty's and Whitley's stations, and as far west as Glover's over on the north branch of the Green River.

  The next morning the whole compound turned out to see them off—the men and boys cheering, the women wringing their handkerchiefs and trying not to cry.

  Logan and his volunteers had been gone only a matter of hours when Phillip Wyant came in from scouting. His news was a good deal better than Essex's had been.

  "It's all clear to the south and west," he reported. "Things may be hot at Bryan's Station, but that's near fifty miles away, and I haven't seen Indian sign for at least half that way."

  "All the British and Indians are up to the north?" someone asked in confirmation.

  "I imagine the raiders at Bryan's will turn tail and run once our boys arrive," Wyant boasted. "All our men will have to do is chase the savages back to where they came from."

  "It's safe, then?" Arthur Johnstone asked. He and his family had been sleeping in the same blockhouse the Talbots had. "We can head on back to our farms without losing our hair?"

  "Looks safe as a featherbed to me," Wyant assured him.

  It was better news than Livi had dared to imagine. They rolled up their blankets and saddled their horses, rounded up the animals and said their good-byes.

  "You sure you're doing the right thing by leaving the station so soon?" Anne Logan asked. "Don't you think you should wait until Reid gets back?"

  "Phillip Wyant says it's safe, and I'm eager to see how our fields and cabin fared," Livi answered, her own restlessness pressing her to leave. "Since the Indians never penetrated this far south, things at the cabin should be fine. I'll just feel better once I make sure of it."

  "Well, take care of yourself," Anne said as they stepped out of the blockhouse into the close, still air of the compound. "Send for me when the time comes for that young'un to make an appearance."

  "I'll do that," Livi whispered as she hugged the older woman close. "And thank you, Anne, for everything."

  It was not quite noon when Livi Talbot and her entourage left the station—the two children, a Negro man and wife, three packhorses, a cow, four pigs, and a half-grown hound. They were eager to reach the cabin on Wilcox Creek, eager to reach their home.

  * * *

  "Rider coming in!"

  Reid heard one of the sentries call out the warning as he galloped his horse straight toward the gates of Logan's Station. He'd been in the saddle for four full days and couldn't think of much beyond filling the hole in his belly with something warm and finding a place to sleep. But he needed to talk to Ben Logan first.

  The compound didn't look so packed with people as when he'd ridden in the other times. There weren't the usual number of men on the walls. What could Ben Logan be thinking of to ease back on his defenses, especially now?

  Reid swung out of the saddle and handed the reins to one of the boys hovering nearby.

  "See that he gets an extra ration of oats," Campbell instructed.

  Reid had expected his arrival to draw more attention. Ben usually came running the moment a scout came in, and folks were always eager for news. Campbell had to admit to a twitch of disappointment that neither Livi nor Tad had showed up to welcome him.

  "Where can I find Ben Logan?" Reid demanded of one of the men tending the gate.

  "More'n halfway to Bryan's Station, I'd say."

  Reid spun around. "What do you mean?"

  The man snorted and spit. "Got word last night that British rangers and Indians got Bryan's Station under siege. Captain Logan gathered up those men we could spare and lit out b'fore dawn. 'Bout four hundred men altogether."

  Reid swore under his breath. "Then Logan doesn't know about the splinter force?"

  "Splinter force?"

  With an effort Reid shook off his weariness. "Who's in charge with Logan gone?"

  "That'd be Jake Prescott."

  Campbell turned just in time to see Prescott hurrying toward him.

  "They told me you'd just arrived," the short, bespectacled man greeted him. He didn't look like much of a fighter, but Reid knew better from the months they'd spent with General Clark.

  "I just heard about Logan heading for Bryan's Station—which is fine as long as he hasn't weakened our forces here too much."

  Prescott's eyes widened. "Essex came in with the word about Bryan's Station yesterday afternoon, and Ben left at sunrise with volunteers. Then Wyant arrived to say the British and the Indians were concentrated up north, and he hadn't seen sign of any Indians since he crossed Redbird Creek."

  "And you believed him?" Concern jerked tight in the hollow beneath Campbell's ribs. "Christ, Jake, you know Wyant couldn't follow a trail over fresh snow!

  "From what I saw," he continued, "I'd say the British and the Indians split their forces just south of Blue Lick. The main body headed west for Bryan's Station. About a third continued south. Every few miles eight or ten of them would splinter off—for raiding. I passed four or five burned-out cabins on my way here, one of them still smoldering. I expect the families had come into the stations, because, aside from a few dead animals, I didn't see any other loss of l
ife. Now, if everyone just has the sense to stay put—"

  Prescott's brows came together. He shook his head. "When Wyant came in and told everyone it was safe, several families headed back to their homesteads."

  Reid stomach knotted tighter. He knew how reluctant Livi had been to leave the cabin, how worried she'd been about the crops.

  "Were the Talbots one of the families that left?" he asked, already suspecting the worst.

  Prescott dipped his head and glanced away. "Livi Talbot and her family pulled out just short of midday."

  Chapter 16

  The sight brought tears to Livi's eyes—the corn drooping in the fields, the squash and pumpkin vines gone yellow with the heat and lack of rain, the pennyroyal she'd planted around the foundation of the cabin lying prostrate in the sun. Though it seemed brooding and sad without a family to give it life, the cabin itself stood intact. To Livi's mind, no place on Earth could have been more welcoming.

  She'd lain awake each night at Logan's Station wondering how they'd live if they'd return to a burned-out cabin and trampled fields. But that hadn't happened.

  Laughing, suddenly ebullient with relief, Livi urged her mount down the rise and across the bridge. It took her only seconds to dismount in front of the cabin and throw open the door. Heat billowed out of the house like a blowsy embrace. Though it was hot enough to set bread to baking, Livi pressed inside. Everything was as they'd left it—the bed unmade, the mending dumped hither and thither on the tabletop, a bag of meal lying forgotten on the floor. She let out a long, uneven breath, feeling as if she'd been holding it since the night they left.

  Without discussion, each of them fell to work. Tad and Eustace unloaded and cared for the animals. Violet lit the fire. Livi unpacked their belongings and put them away. Once they'd set things to rights, Livi and Tad began hauling water from the stream to the languishing vegetable patch. Violet and Cissy headed out into the fields to pick a few ears of corn so they could make gritted bread for supper. Eustace climbed the ridge to see how his own small house and garden had fared.

  "How long do you think it will be before Reid gets home?" Tad asked, handing his mother another bucket so she could dole out water to her thirsty plants.

  "I can't imagine that he'll be back before whatever's going on at Bryan's Station is settled."

  "I don't know why you wouldn't let me ride out with Ben and the rest of the men."

  Livi paused and glanced across at her son. She wanted to tell Tad what any mother would tell her thirteen-year-old. That he was too young to go, that he didn't know the hardships he would face. But Tad knew. He probably knew more about death and dying, about danger and courage, than many of the young men who had ridden out with Logan that morning.

  "I couldn't let you go with Ben Logan because I needed you here with me," Livi answered, glad she'd been able to protect him this once. "If the baby comes early, I'll want to look after things until I'm back on my feet."

  "You know you can count on me, Ma," Tad assured her and passed another pail her way. "Just like always."

  "Just like always," Livi echoed. Tad wouldn't hear the regret in those words, but she felt the shame way down deep. Once the baby came, once she knew if they would be staying or going back to Virginia, things would be better. She wouldn't have to depend on Tad so much.

  As they worked, the afternoon went hot and still. The trees stood listless and silent. The murky sun slipped behind a bank of clouds. The air took on weight and presence.

  While they lugged more sloshing pails of water around the corner of the house, Patches set off barking somewhere up on the ridge.

  "Sounds like he's treed a coon again," Livi observed, pausing to swipe sweat from her forehead.

  "I think he missed hunting when we were all at the fort."

  "And you did, too."

  Tad ducked his head. "You're not still mad about the rifle Reid gave me, are you?"

  Livi took a breath. "I wasn't angry with you. I wasn't really angry with Reid. I was angry that I didn't have either the money or the sense to get that rifle for you myself." It was a hard admission, but she figured she owed it to her son.

  "It's all right, Ma."

  "I want you to know it wasn't because I didn't think you were ready," she went on. "God knows you've earned the right to have a rifle of your own. God knows you've proved—"

  "It's all right, Ma," he said again. "I understand."

  That was the worst of it. Tad almost always understood.

  With a weary nod, Livi straightened and braced her hands behind her waist. Her back ached clear around into her ribs these days. Or maybe that ache was from the baby's kicking. She'd never carried a child who kicked and turned and jabbed her the way this one did.

  Tad seemed to sense she was about done in. "Why don't you let me finish? Eustace will be along soon enough to help."

  Up on the hill, they could hear Patches barking again. They paused to listen, the sharp, staccato yaps coming harsh and close together.

  "Maybe that's Eustace coming now," Livi suggested.

  "Maybe not," Tad murmured, shifting on his feet, peering up the hill.

  "I think I'll head on over to the cornfield and see what's keeping Violet and Cissy."

  "Fine, Ma. I think you should do that."

  A restless wind kicked up as she started toward the creek. It set the water beneath the bridge to churning and rippled through the tree branches. It tugged at the loose strands of Livi's hair and batted them against her cheeks. It carried a faint, earthy promise of coming rain.

  Livi sniffed appreciatively. Oh, Lord, how they needed that rain!

  She clambered heavily over the split-rail fence at the edge of the nearest field and was enveloped in the sweet summer scent of growing corn. She set off along the ends of the head-high rows, looking for Violet and Cissy. The turned-back husks scraped and rattled in the wind as she padded past.

  By the time she'd reached the sixth row of corn, concern for the two of them had begun to prickle down Livi's back. She couldn't imagine why they would have gone so deep into the field when any of the half-dried ears would do for making supper. When she reached the twelfth row, Livi's itch of concern turned to nettles of outright panic.

  Three rows later, she spotted what looked like a pile of rags lying near the opposite end. She stopped and stared, then ran the width of the cornfield, dread building with every step. The closer she came, the more familiar that faded blue fabric seemed to be. Her heart pumped hard as she approached. She was less than a dozen steps away when she saw that the fabric and the earth beneath it were stained with blood.

  Livi churned hot with horror, cold with fear.

  "Violet," she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Oh, Violet, no!"

  The wind winnowed down the rows of corn, ruffling the hem of the dead woman's petticoat. She lay sprawled half on her side, her shoulders hunched, her face turned into the dirt. There was red where her hair should be.

  Livi swiped at the tears with her hands. She couldn't tell if Violet had died alone, or if she was sheltering Cissy's broken body in the protective arc of her own.

  Livi closed the distance and reached for Violet's arm. She pulled the dead woman onto her back. Violet came slowly, her head lolling. Her throat lay open in a single slash. The bodice of her gown was red with gore.

  There was no child beneath her.

  Livi stumbled to the ground, her knees gone weak. "Where is she, Violet?" Livi whispered around her sobs. "Where has my Cissy-baby gone?"

  There was no answer in the rising wind.

  Hunkered there in the dirt, Livi forced herself to think. She wanted to shout her daughter's name and knew she dared not. She wanted to run screaming toward the house and held herself still. Abhorrence of how Violet had died backed up in Livi's throat. She'd died violently. Alone and afraid. Livi wanted to take the woman in her arms and comfort her, but she had to find her daughter first.

  Skirting Violet's body, Livi crept to the end of the row of co
rnstalks. She had no way of knowing where Cissy was. She had no way of knowing if the Indians were gone or lying in wait a handsbreadth away. All Livi knew was that she couldn't return to the cabin until she'd found her child.

  She mustered her courage and inched around the end of the row. The next lay long and empty. So did the one that followed it. Each time she peered down the length of another row, Livi grew more certain that, as hard as she'd tried, she had failed to keep her baby daughter safe.

  Livi throbbed as if a vital part of her had been hacked away. She shook with self-loathing and remorse. She should have stayed at the station. She should have waited for Reid. Because she'd been impatient her little girl was lost and Violet was dead. Still Livi kept moving, looking down row after silent row of cornstalks.

  Finally she caught sight of a tousled head just barely visible amidst the tangle of weeds and wildflowers on the far side of the fence.

  "Cissy!" The name was in her mouth before Livi could bite it back. "Cissy?"

  The little girl raised her frightened, tear-streaked face.

  Livi struggled over the fence and caught her daughter in her arms. She held her tight amidst the wind-whipped grass. Held her, shivering and sobbing silently into Cissy's hair.

  "I didn't want to see," Cissy confessed in a whisper. "I didn't want to see the Indians hurt Violet. I ran away."

  "It's all right," Livi whispered.

  Cissy shook her head. "Violet's not all right. I could hear them hurting her."

  Livi crushed her baby closer.

  Cissy's tiny, tear-choked voice came muffled against Livi's chest. "The Indians made Violet go away, didn't they, Mama? They made her go away like Papa did."

  "Yes" Livi whispered, not knowing how to lighten the burden her child was carrying. "There wasn't anything you could do to help, sweetheart," she whispered. "You were such a smart, brave girl to find this place to hide. It's what Violet wanted you to do."

  But kneeling together at the edge of the field, her baby refused to be comforted. As she tried to console Cissy, Livi struggled to order her thoughts.