Dream Weaver

by Shirley Martin

  Chapter Nineteen

  Several days had passed since the meeting of the discussion group, a fiasco Gwen would just as soon forget. Catching Christian's dark looks, she tried to act pleasant. Of course, she could stick up for her beliefs--she was right in trying to warn the men, after all--but she'd much rather have a contented husband than an angry one. Anyway, it was a moot point. The discussion group had disbanded as more Indian attacks occurred to the east.

  On this clear morning in mid May, the cabin remained shrouded in darkness, the hour early, the sun still below the horizon. Christian drained his earthenware mug and set it down, giving Gwen a frank look across the table.

  "Now that we're both finished with breakfast, I want to show you how to fire a musket."

  Gwen shook her head. "Uh, uh, not me. I don't want to have anything to do with a musket."

  He scowled. "You'd be better off learning how to defend yourself, instead of kissing British soldiers or inviting yourself to a men's discussion group."

  "I still say I had a right to attend your discussion group. And I already explained what happened about the other incident. I did not kiss Lieutenant Shelbourne. He tried to kiss me."

  "Useless semantics," he muttered. "But again, we digress, so let us forget about the lieutenant or the group."

  "I'm trying to forget."

  "Then shall we return to the subject? Your life may depend on learning how to use a musket. I've heard of more trouble to the east." He lowered his head, then looked up at her again. "The Indians are killing people, taking them captive. Didn't want to worry you before, but now..." He sighed. "You must learn to defend yourself."

  "Oh, no!" More killings. Gwen dropped her spoon in her wooden bowl and turned to stare at the fire smoldering in the fireplace. Conflicting emotions jabbed her from all directions--sorrow, anger, but especially a sense that she was failing Christian by her refusal to fire a musket. A sultry breeze blew through the open window, but the house felt like a stifling prison.

  How would she ever get used to this life? Would she ever get used to it? Images of the hardy frontier woman taunted her, the wife and mother who could handle a musket as well as a man to defend her home and children. And here she was--a woman who didn't even want to hold a musket, let alone learn to fire the weapon. But what could she do? Ever since her parents' murder, violence had made her physically ill. Lord, how she wanted peace and quiet, a return to normal life, whenever and wherever that was.

  "Christian, I'd rather not. I don't want to use a musket, ever."

  Both elbows on the table, he leaned forward. "What if my life depended on it?"

  She pressed a hand to her head, one of her rare headaches coming on. "Yes." She let out a slow breath. "I'd do anything to save your life, even learn to use a musket."

  "That's the kind of talk I like to hear," he said, giving her his first smile in days. "I intend to buy a rifle at the trading post as soon as I have the opportunity. So I can leave my musket with you. From then on, I'll carry the rifle with me and hope to God I never have to use it. I've ever been friends with the Indians, but these aren't normal times...."

  Not normal times, Gwen thought as they arrived home again hours later. She hoped and prayed she'd never have to use the darn musket, but at least she was prepared. And yes, she'd do anything to save Christian's life.

  Christian gathered his things together, packing his medical supplies in his leather bag. He gave her a long kiss, then held her away to look long and fully into her eyes. "After I leave, I want you to bolt the door behind me. I doubt any Indians will come this close, certainly not in broad daylight, but other people may take advantage of the unrest to cause mischief. And darling, I want to be sure you'll be safe."

  * * *

  As daylight faded from the sky, Gwen lit a few candles from the tinder box on top of the fireplace mantel. Worried out of her mind about Christian, she continually glanced toward the door. What was taking him so long? He'd never been this late before.

  Just when she'd given up hope and was on the verge of rushing to Fort Pitt to request a search party, she heard Christian's knock at the door. Some time ago, they'd agreed on a special knock for either of them--three sharp knocks and two soft ones.

  Her hands shook as she drew the bolt back, her knees wobbling while she opened the door. Seeing his dear face, Gwen fell into his arms.

  Christian held her in his strong arms and lightly kissed the top of her head. "Sorry I'm late, my love, and sorrier still if I made you worry. Several people east of here were badly wounded in Indian attacks."

  "God, no!"

  For one moment, Christian closed his eyes, trying to blot out the memory of the recent horrors. Gwen must never learn of the butchered bodies, the mangled women and children, the poor unfortunates taken captive, or the pigs and wild animals that feasted on the dead.

  But he had other bad news, and he looked at her closely, wondering how best to tell her. How he loved this woman, loved her so fiercely he'd give his life for her. Still, there were many things he couldn't keep to himself. She'd learn about them, sooner or later. Taking her by the arm, Christian led her to the table and helped her sit down, then sat across from her.

  "Something else, darling--the Indians murdered a family near here, the Claphams. You remember them, don't you?"

  Speechless, Gwen pressed her hands to her cheeks. She swallowed again and again, her face turning white.

  "I was at Fort Pitt earlier today," Christian continued in a low voice. "Daniel, too. Captain Ecuyer has received news of other Indian attacks west and north of here--Fort Detroit, Sandusky, Venango. The attacks appear to be concerted and widespread." He nodded with grim assurance. "As you predicted." Worried beyond belief, Christian rubbed his forehead. "The British need a messenger, someone they can trust to take the news to George Croghan, who lives near Carlisle now, much farther east. Croghan is the one person best able to understand the news, see what must be done. I volunteered to take the message–“

  "Oh, no!"

  "Captain Ecuyer said the same thing, not quite in those words. In any event, Ecuyer wishes me to remain here to give medical assistance in case the Lenapes and Shawnees attack Fort Pitt."

  "Thank God you're staying here!" She lowered her gaze to her lap. "If my attitude sounds selfish, I'm sorry, but I want you here with me, for both our sakes."

  "Indeed, I think Ecuyer has the right of it, especially since the fort's military surgeon died last year. I could better serve England by remaining at the fort. And Daniel knows the province as well as anyone--"

  "Daniel? He could be killed!" She stared at the fireplace, the rise and fall of her chest showing her agony.

  "He's willing to chance it, and I am confident he can succeed. He's traversed the trails through the province many times." Christian spoke with assurance. "The British couldn't have a better man."

  Gwen's lips trembled. "If anything should happen to him...”

  "Nothing will. He can take care of himself," Christian said, reluctant to reveal his own doubts. If Daniel couldn't complete his mission, if he were captured by the Indians--Christian tried to dismiss the tormenting thought.

  Enclosing her hand in his, as he always did to give her comfort, he forced himself to speak in calm tones. "Other bad news, sweetheart--the Indians burned the hospital I was building--no, darling, let me finish," he said in response to her shocked expression. "I fear I have even worse news than that. Pray just accept it, for we have no choice. Ecuyer has given orders to have all the houses in this vicinity torn down--"

  "Torn down!" She pressed her hand to her chest. "Why in the world...?"

  "The captain fears the Indians may use these houses to launch attacks from. Indeed, I concur with his assessment. Everyone around here must move to the fort after the houses are destroyed. That's how it must be, and best we accept the facts."

  "But Christian, our house..." Gwen cast a frantic glance around the tiny place that had become their home since the fire destroyed the prev
ious one. Resting her elbows on the table, she gave him a pleading look. "...all our things."

  "Most of our possessions, I believe, we can take with us. Certainly my books and medical supplies, our clothes. Try to understand we're much more fortunate than the other poor souls around here. We've been assigned the officers' barracks, but most of the people will have to live in lean-tos on the parade ground. A few more fortunate ones may live in the soldiers' barracks. Either way, they'll have precious little privacy, I fear."

  "Of course," Gwen replied, looking contrite.

  Deepening shadows told him of the passing time. "Shall we have our evening meal now? Aside from breakfast, it'll be the last one in this house. Tomorrow, we move."

  * * *

  Turned on his side, Christian lay awake, his gaze on Gwen while she slept with her lips slightly parted, her long hair falling across her shoulders and down her back. He thought about their move to Fort Pitt on the morrow. Above all, his thoughts centered on his dear wife, fearing he might awaken the next day to find her gone to a time he couldn't fathom.

  Flopping onto to his back, he rested his hands on his chest and stared up at the ceiling. How she must hate this life with all its dangers and hardships, compared to her former life in the twenty-first century. What would stop her from leaving him to return to her own time? If she could journey from the future to the past, then mayhap she could travel from the past to the future.

  Only his love could stop her, but was that enough?

  Chapter Twenty

  Sir Jeffrey Amherst brooded at his headquarters in a pleasant country house just south of Greenwich Village, reading the reports from the many British forts in North America--Fort Detroit, Venango, Presqu'isle. So many forts under attack! Fort Sandusky destroyed!

  My God, to think the savages would dare rebel against British rule. Well, he'd teach them a lesson they'd never forget. Amherst dipped a quill pen into the inkwell to compose a letter to Colonel Bouquet in Philadelphia. If anyone understood Indian warfare and could defeat the Indians at their own game, it was Henri Bouquet.

  "I wish to hear of no prisoners," Amherst wrote, first telling Bouquet of the uprising. He had one further suggestion for Bouquet. "Could it not be contrived to send the smallpox among the disaffected tribes of Indians?"

  * * *

  "At least the Indians haven't attacked Fort Pitt," Gwen remarked to Christian as they settled into their stifling hot, cramped quarters inside the fort, a room so dark it had taken her eyes several minutes to adjust.

  "Not yet. Let us pray they don't." Christian knelt, setting a stack of books down in a corner of their small room, then rose to hang shirts and breeches on a peg. "Fort Pitt has been fortunate so far." Dusting off his hands, he looked around the room. "This suits us well, don't you agree?"

  "All the comforts of home," she replied with a smile, thinking the two of them had scarcely had a home for long since their marriage.

  Later that evening, Gwen and Christian prepared for bed after supper in the officers' mess, both of them tired from settling into their new quarters.

  Gwen slipped her moccasins off and shoved them aside. “Since so many families live

  at the fort now," she said, "we have many children with nothing to do. I thought I might organize some classes, even if without any formal educational materials or books. I can still teach them the alphabet and elementary math and games they might enjoy." She pulled her mobcap off. "I think I can keep the children busy."

  "Good idea. The children need something to occupy their time." Christian drew his shirt over his head, revealing his muscled forearms and the swirl of dark chest hairs. His physique reminded her of one of the hunks she'd seen in a fireman's calendar in her own time. Wild thoughts flitted through her mind, every idea focused on Christian.

  With her hands at her bodice, Gwen stood, letting her gaze roam from his bare chest to his slim waist and on to his muscled thighs, his breeches fitting him like Calvin Klein jeans. As he hung his shirt on a wall peg, she admired his quick, lithe movements.

  Dreamy with thoughts of seduction, Gwen tried to finish unlacing her bodice, her fingers clumsy with impatience. Desire flooded her, making her weak. She watched as Christian sat on the edge of the bed to draw his shoes off, his dark hair glistening by the lamplight. Looking up, he caught her gaze on him and grinned, as if he could read her mind.

  She opened her mouth but halted with her fingers on her dress as a wave of dizziness overcame her. Icy bumps rippled along her arms, her mouth going dry. A feeling of dread weakened her, and faintness washed over her in gigantic waves, all these symptoms precursors of one of her weird spells.

  She pressed her hand to her head and moaned.

  "Gwen?"

  "Gwen!"

  She turned in Christian's direction--and saw a bus! Paralyzed with shock, she stared straight ahead, seeing the number 61C on the bus, as plain as if--

  "No!"

  "Gwen, what's amiss?"

  "Oh, no!" Ohmygod, it was right in the room, heading straight for her. She jumped out of the way and fell back on the bed, missing Christian by inches.

  "Gwen! What is it? What happened?" Christian drew her close to his chest, his hands strong yet gentle. "Darling, what in the world...?"

  "I--" She breathed hard. "I just had another vision. I saw a...a bus."

  He looked puzzled. "What's a bus?"

  She ran her fingers through her hair, her heart thumping. "Something from my other time. It was coming right at me!" She peered at him, her eyes filling with tears. "You don't believe me!"

  Christian swallowed hard. "I find your visions difficult to accept. Gwen, mayhap all the moving we've done and all that's happened has, er, affected your brain."

  "You think I'm crazy, don't you?" she challenged, wiping her hand across her eyes. "You think I'm loony."

  "Loony?" He shook his head. "Never mind. Best you go to bed now. By the morrow--"

  "Oh, yeah, by tomorrow everything we'll be back to normal, right? And we'll both forget anything happened to me. But, oh, God," she said, her voice rising, "what if something takes me back to my own time?"

  "Nay, don't say it!"

  "And Christian, I'll never see you again!"

  * * *

  The following morning, Christian checked on several infirm soldiers, his mind churning with worries about his wife. After all this time he'd known her--for above a year--he still couldn't understand her or what malady she suffered from, whether it was mental or physical. Of course, a trip through time would be an unimaginably traumatic experience, but he sensed her difficulties went beyond that. Why was she having these hallucinations?

  Could an unseen force draw her back to her own time? On his return to their room to write in his medical journal, Christian clenched his hands. No! He wouldn't let her leave him. She'd be here at the fort with him, night and day. He would not let anything happen to her.

  * * *

  Determined to forget her vision, Gwen organized her class the following morning. She went from one family to the next, to the lean-tos scattered all over the parade ground and to the families who lived in the soldiers' barracks, hoping to interest enough children in attending school. By early afternoon she'd enrolled enough children to start a class, gathering them in an unoccupied corner next to the Flag Bastion.

  Perched on an upside-down crate, she held her calico dress down so it wouldn't flutter in the light breeze. Dark, heavy clouds hid the sun and gave an added dimension to the drab dreariness of the fort. The children sat on the ground, their lips parted, eyes wide with rapt attention. "...and so when the prince kissed Sleeping Beauty, she awoke and looked all around..."

  As her gaze roamed from one child to another, Gwen noted one little girl who sat at the edge of the group, her head drooping. Hurriedly, she finished the story, then dismissed the boys and girls, encouraged by their friendly good-byes and promises to come again the next day.

  Gwen walked over to the little girl and crouched down beside her.
Tapping her on the knee, she spoke in a low voice. "Barbara, dear, don't tell me my story was so bad it put you to sleep."

  Barbara roused and shifted her position, her hand pressed to her forehead. "Nay, Mistress Norgard. I liked your story well enough, but my head and my back hurt, and I feel so warm."

  A stab of alarm sliced through Gwen. Not another flu epidemic! The poor little girl struggled to rise but fell back, prompting Gwen to put her arms around the child to help her stand. Barbara was burning up! Observing her flushed face, Gwen became more frightened by the minute, until she could hardly wait to find Christian.

  After she returned the child to her parents and searched for Christian from one end of the fort to the other, she finally found him leaving the commandant's house. Relief flooded her at the sight of him. "Christian, one of the little girls is sick and--"

  "I know," Christian replied, grim-faced. "Smallpox."

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The smallpox epidemic raged at Fort Pitt. A newly-constructed underground hospital treated all the sufferers, too many, Gwen agonized. Tired and discouraged, she walked from one patient to another, checking on them, speaking words meant to comfort. She swept the room with her gaze, looking for Christian in the dim light. After a few moments, she saw him on the other side of the room.

  So relieved she'd taken part in a smallpox vaccination program before her trip back in time, she didn't worry about catching the disease. Christian was inoculated, too, thank God. But she wanted to cry when she saw all these people who'd had no protection, who now endured pain and misery.

  After her class this morning, Gwen worked alongside Christian in the hospital. Bending low at Barbara's bedside, she dipped a cloth in vinegar water to bathe the child's head. She wrung out the cloth, then gently dabbed it across the little girl's cheeks and forehead. Struggling to keep her eyes open, Gwen tried to ignore the heat, nearly choking on the stench. Wanting to present a cheerful face, she found it wasn't easy.