That's why Livi needed to talk to Reid. She thought he would understand.
When she heard he was back from scouting, she began threading her way around the perimeter of the fort. She checked the blockhouses one by one. She glanced into the Logan and Prescott cabins and stopped down by the gate. A hot, choky ache climbed the back of her throat as she searched.
She finally spotted Campbell currying his big roan in the area that had been roped off for the riding horses. As she lumbered toward him, Livi couldn't help remembering how Reid had been the night of the raid on the cabin. He'd flared as harsh and elemental as the fire and rain. She'd sensed it as he'd stormed toward her up the rise. She'd smelled the anguish and the blood and the fury on him.
When he'd closed his hands around her arms, his ferocity had licked through her. That blue-white intensity had shaken and shamed her. Yet it had also energized her, given her the stamina to gather up her children and her wounded, and to bury her dead. It had given her the fortitude to take what she needed and leave the cabin behind.
Tonight she needed something else, something she wasn't at all sure Reid knew how to give. She just didn't know who else to ask for help.
"I heard you were back," she said as she approached him.
Reid's head snapped around, his brows clashing above the bridge of his nose when he caught sight of her.
"Good God, Livi! You look like hell."
She took in the deep shadows beneath his eyes, the creases clearly visible around his mouth in spite of a ragged growth of beard. "You don't look a whole lot better."
"I rode out an hour after we got back to the station. I look like this for a reason."
She steeled herself to tell him she had a reason, too. "I haven't been sleeping."
Reid's rhythmic motions slowed. He rested one hand on the gelding's rump and turned his full attention on her. "And why is that?"
Now that the moment for truth was upon her, Livi's throat closed up. "I can't get Violet Hadley off my mind."
Reid waited for her to continue.
"I see her every time I close my eyes," she admitted. "Every time I sit with Eustace, every time I hold Cissy in my arms, I remember how Violet looked lying dead in that cornfield. I keep thinking how she died."
Reid stood silent, concentration sharp in those ice-blue eyes.
The words came hard in spite of Livi's need to confess. "I feel—" Her voice dipped, going raspy and low. "I feel as if it's all my fault. As if I'm responsible for Violet's death."
Once she'd found the courage to acknowledge her complicity, Livi wanted to be absolved and comforted.
Reid stood unmoved.
Livi waited, holding her breath.
Reid gave a snort of what might have been derision and set the currycomb aside. "What do you want me to say, Livi? That nothing you did put her in jeopardy? That going back to the cabin was a wise and well-considered choice?"
His words lodged deep, sharp-edged and excruciating. Feeling betrayed, Livi instinctively defended herself. "But Phillip Wyant said—"
"I'll grant you," Reid interrupted, "Phillip Wyant read the signs all wrong. He made a grave mistake in telling everyone it was safe to leave the fort. But you made the decision, Livi. You chose to go back to the cabin. When you did that, you accepted responsibility for everything that happened there."
Hot tears breached the rims of her lashes. Her voice frayed. "But I didn't think anyone would die."
He came a step nearer, closed his hand around her arm. "Of course not," he said gently. "Of course not. But, Livi, this isn't a forgiving land. Out here, every choice has consequences. Out here, mistakes come dear."
"And Violet paid for my mistake."
Reid said nothing. There was nothing to say.
A sob squirmed its way up Livi's throat. "But how do I live with Violet's death?"
As Reid gathered her in, her belly nudged against him. She heard him sigh, felt his hand stroke the length of her braid. He smelled of dust and horse and a stale, heavy weariness of his own.
"You never forget," he told her, his voice gone low, "but eventually you find a way to forgive yourself."
She sensed he spoke from experience, as if he were remembering when he'd accepted this same kind of horrendous responsibility.
"You vow never to make that same mistake again... and you let it go."
"But is that enough?" she whispered.
"Nothing's ever enough, but you go on."
She heard the ring of both resignation and truth in his tone.
She stood with her still-damp cheek pressed to his sweat-stained shirt, felt the stroke of his hand on her hair. She was exhausted, hurting, but calmer somehow. There was comfort here. Not the kind she had hoped for or expected. Not the kind David might have given her. What Reid offered was acceptance and understanding. And Livi seemed suddenly able to breathe again.
By degrees Reid released her and stepped away.
She knew he was worn every bit as thin as she was, and she needed to find the words to thank him for what he had shared with her. But when she looked up into his face, Reid's expression had changed. Instead of finding empathy in his eyes, she saw sudden determination.
She stared back, stunned.
"Or consider this, Livi Talbot," he told her, his voice gone cold. "If you can't face up to what's happened, go home. If you can't accept responsibility for your decisions, head back to Lynchburg, where mistakes don't cost so much. Or go back to your family, Livi, for everyone's sake. You never belonged in Kentucky anyway."
With a curse he spun away.
Livi stood there with her hands clasped together, watching him go. Thinking, as she had so often lately, that Reid Campbell was probably right.
* * *
Livi and her children gathered with the other families to welcome the Logan's Station militia home. They had received word the night before of the fighting at Bryan's Station and the defeat at Blue Lick that followed. But even if they had not heard, the hopelessness and grief on the militiamen's faces spoke eloquently of the outcome. Still, Livi didn't fully grasp the disaster that had befallen the Kentucky settlers until Ben Logan allowed his troops to break ranks.
As the weary men waded into their loved ones' arms, they brought word of brothers and fathers and uncles who were lost. Though the Logan's Station militia had arrived after the battle was over, men from almost every other frontier station had been struck down. And those losses had touched almost every family.
Near where Livi stood, Anne Logan was sobbing against Ben's chest.
"Not Israel," she was saying, shaking her head. "Not Daniel and Rebecca's Israel."
"The Boone's son must have been killed," Reid offered, appearing at Livi's elbow as if they hadn't spit words at each other two nights before. "Everyone's connected here in Kentucky, either kith or kin."
"What will our Martha do at that cabin all by herself?" one woman asked a man who was weeping as freely as she. "What will our grandson do without his father?"
As she tightened her grip on Cissy's hand and scanned the station looking for Tad, Livi felt herself sway closer to Reid. She needed him to lean on in this time of grief, someone whose calm was second nature, whose hand rode so naturally at the small of her back.
"All these folks came west about the same time," he went on in an undertone. "They cleared their bit of land and banded together to fight the Indians. Depending on each other made them lifelong friends. Pretty soon the youngsters began to marry, binding families together." Campbell shook his head, his face gone grim. "The losses suffered at Blue Lick will effect this frontier for decades to come."
Regret shaded the blue of his eyes, and she could see frustration tightening the corners of his mouth. Livi knew that no matter what the outcome of the battle, Reid would rather have been with Logan and the others than here at the fort.
She looked around, knowing that if she stayed, these people would be her friends and neighbors, would share her joys and sorrows as she was sharing thei
rs tonight. She saw how hardship had marked their faces, saw the loyalty, the concern and compassion they felt for one another's losses.
Part of her reached out for that, wanting and needing to belong to something bigger and stronger than she was. Part of her shrank away. Adversity and struggle had bound these people together. Grief and misfortune had forged a common bond. Livi had already experienced more than her share of loss and regret. Why should she stay on in Kentucky and risk her life and her family?
Bit by bit, the crowd dispersed. Some of the families went back to their cabins and shut out the world. Most milled around on the dusty expanse at the center of the station, drawing comfort from each other. Cook fires glowed bright in the gathering dark. Rabbits were set to roasting over one open blaze as a haunch of venison was turned above another. Blackened cauldrons of stew soon trailed delicious-smelling steam. A ham appeared on a makeshift table, as did breads made from rye and corn and squash. One woman brought out butter and wild persimmon jam. Several arrived bearing dishes of vegetables. Another served up the greens she'd been brave enough to gather at the edge of the woods.
Livi heard the particulars of the battle at Blue Lick while she worked with the other women. One man fortified with a ramekin of whiskey propped himself on a keg at the end of the table and commenced filling in the details of the battle. Livi listened in spite of herself.
When the main force of British rangers and Indians proved unsuccessful at forcing Bryan's Station to surrender, they burned and trampled the fields around the station and killed what livestock they could find. Then, gathering up the smaller raiding parties as they went, they marched north toward the Ohio country. They crossed the Licking River and took shelter behind the ridge on the far side of the Blue Lick marsh and lay in wait, knowing the militia would follow.
The men from Bryan's Station joined forces with the ones that rode in from Boonesborough and the smaller stations, and set out to chase the raiders back across the Ohio River. When they reached Blue Lick, the Kentucky militia had hesitated on the east edge of the marsh. They knew the land. They knew that the woods at the top of the rise and the gullies behind it could hold a legion of the enemies—or nothing at all.
A conference ensued. Some of the men wanted to send out scouts before they ventured into the salt flats. Others counseled waiting for Logan and his men to arrive. But hot-blooded Hugh McGary had shouted, "Follow me!" vaulted onto his horse and lead the charge.
Their fate was sealed the moment the men fell in behind him. The British and Indians laid down fire from the safety of the trees, and when the outnumbered Kentuckians wheeled to retreat, their attackers chased them to ground. The rest of the battle was brutal and brief. The fighting with knives and war clubs was hand-to-hand. Nearly half the force of Kentuckians died in those few bloody minutes.
Livi tried not to listen to the descriptions of what the men from Logan's Station found on the battlefield. She had enough memories to haunt her nightmares: of David lying broken and still, of Molly Baker's rucked-up dress and bright red shoes, of Violet Hadley's death in the cornfield...
Instead she focused on the music. On the far side of the field, someone had taken up his fiddle and was filling the deepening dark with sweet, sad music. Rich in minor keys, the pieces he was playing suited the mood in the station tonight. What the fiddler was offering was a tribute to those who had fallen, a lament for those who were lost. Livi's eyelids burned at the mournful sound.
She rounded up her children once the food was put out and saw that they got something to eat. People helped themselves from the dishes and platters and pots then found places to sit—on the steps of the cabins, on the rough-hewn benches set up for the temporary school. The men clustered in the shadows, passing jugs of whiskey from hand to hand. They toasted fallen friends and drowned their regrets in a brew so raw that the tears they shed could be blamed on the liquor.
Livi filled a trencher of food and went to see to Eustace's needs. She found her daughter playing with Tallie Logan and took her off to bed. Usually Livi lay down with Cissy, welcoming the chance to stretch out and rest her aching back. She was nearing the end of her eighth month of pregnancy, and her energy was dwindling. She wondered how she would ever harvest whatever corn was left after the fire. Some nights she was too tired to care.
But tonight Livi was restless. The music and the stir of activity so long after the station was usually quiet drew her back outside. From the doorway of the blockhouse, she watched glowing, red-orange sparks lift from the fire into the inky sky. She tasted the flavor of roasting meat in the drifting smoke. She heard the rumble of masculine laughter from somewhere off to her left.
Livi stepped into the yard and was drawn toward where the first fiddler had been joined by another. A man playing a tin whistle sat in, too. With their arrival the tenor of the tunes changed. Where there had been sadness and lament, there was now grace and life and gaiety. Several couples began to dance. With a lump in her throat, she watched the men and women move together, silhouetted against the flames. That a moment of such sadness and loss could blend so seamlessly into one of dancing and frivolity seemed proof of the optimism inherent here in the wilderness. But Livi wasn't sure she could ever reconcile one thing with the other.
She wandered toward the fort's half-open gate.
What would you think about all this, David? she wondered. Would you want me to stay on here?
What is it you want, Livi?
She could almost hear David speak the words. And he was right. She needed to decide what she wanted for herself and her children. She had to decide what she was willing to fight for and hold.
A scuffling made her turn and she saw Reid wending his way toward her, ever so slightly unsteady on his feet.
"What are you doing," he asked her, "staring out into the dark like that?"
"I was thinking about David."
As he stepped nearer she could smell the bite of whiskey on him. She saw the flush of color along the crest of his cheeks and noted the slightly diminished clarity of his pale, bright eyes.
"I was thinking about him, too," he admitted. "He should be here with us tonight. He always believed in Kentucky. He never lost faith."
Livi heard a regret in Campbell's tone that raked up the coals of her own emotions.
"But David isn't here, is he?" she asked almost angrily. "If there are plans to fulfill, it's up to us."
Reid stared down at her, as if seeing her for the very first time. "But don't you miss him?"
Tears welled up. Useless tears, tears Livi had grown impatient with shedding.
"I miss him every minute of every day," she admitted. "I lift my head from sweeping or weeding and expect to see him standing there. I lie in bed at night and, just before I drift to sleep, I wonder what plans he's made for tomorrow."
Reid nodded as if he understood, and again she sensed the loneliness in him. She saw suddenly what a singular life he lived, heading off into the woods for months at a time. Even here in the company of men with whom he'd served in the war, of men who respected the Campbell name and Reid's skills as a woodsman, he didn't belong. He lived his life in a no-man's-land between two cultures. She understood the reasons he remained aloof. Yet surely Reid wanted more from life than what he had.
She saw now that David was the only one who had accepted Reid for what he was. David had trusted him, encouraged him, and cared for him. Neither Reid's father nor his tribe had claimed Reid's loyalty, but David had. David had opened his life to Reid and invited him in. And all at once Livi understood the scope of what Reid had lost when David died.
Livi loved her children and they loved her. She claimed burgeoning friendships here on the frontier and knew people would welcome her back if she returned to Lynchburg. She'd won the respect of Eustace and Violet. And the love of David himself.
Reid had never had anyone but David.
"Of course I miss him," she went on, shaken by her insight and the scope of Reid's vulnerability. "But I also miss who
I was able to be when I was with him."
She could feel his gaze on her, sense the confusion behind his eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"I've changed since David died. I've had to change. The children and I wouldn't have survived if I continued to be the woman I was when we left Lynchburg." She drew a painful breath. "But I resent having to change. I liked being protected, cared for, and loved. I relished loving David in return. Loving him made me whole, complete in a way I'll never be again."
Reid stood silent for a moment, then his hand settled at the small of her back. His touch set off ripples of awareness in her, just as his intensity always did.
"Livi—" he began.
"Rider coming in!" one of the sentries bellowed from the wall walk above their heads. Livi and Reid hurried back as the men swung the tall gates wide.
"It's John Gable from Harrodsburg," Reid told her as Ben Logan headed toward where the rider had pulled up his lathered horse.
"We just had confirmation," Gable began in response to Logan's greeting. "The Indians are all tucked up tight in their village at Chillicothe. Near as our scouts and Boone's can tell, their raiding is over—at least for now."
"What does that mean?" Livi turned to Reid.
"It means we'll be able to go back to the cabin," he said. "It means that you're going to be able to harvest whatever's left of your crops."
Abruptly he turned away from where the settlers were gathered around Gable's horse.
"Let me walk you back to the blockhouse," he said, his voice unusually gruff. "There will be lots to do come morning with half the families pulling out."
After the fighting and the dying, Livi tried to grapple with the notion that it was safe to go home.
Each of them was silent as they crossed the compound. Livi's thoughts had to do with packing up, with making provision for Eustace until he was well enough to travel. She couldn't help wondering, when they saw it in the daylight, what would be left of the crops and the cabin. It there'd be enough to even warrant going back.
A Place Called Home Page 27