Sweetbriar

by Jude Deveraux

  “I don’t need to sleep. These blisters are already beginning to run again.”

  “And they’ll be cryin’ for days, and you’ll need to wash ’em, but now you’re gonna sleep. You gonna cooperate or fight me?”

  Linnet gave a weary smile and pulled a mattress from where it rested against the wall. Nettie had brought it earlier. “You take the mattress, and I’ll make a pallet on the floor.”

  “No,” Phetna said sternly. “I’ll stay here in the chair. One of us has to watch him.”

  “Then I’ll—” Phetna’s look stopped her. “All right, you can sleep tomorrow.” Linnet put the mattress very close to Devon and stretched out. She was asleep instantly.

  Chapter Seventeen

  WHEN LINNET AWOKE SUNLIGHT FILTERED IN through the oiled paper over the windows and it was a moment before she remembered the events of the past night. Phetna’s face looked worse in the daylight, the taut, misplaced skin giving her a grotesque look, and Linnet realized why she lived so far from other people. The inhabitants of Spring Lick would never be so generous as to include someone who did not fit with their idea of what a person should be. Miranda still slept peacefully, the effects of the smoke still drugging her somewhat.

  She turned her head to Devon and smiled at his innocent nakedness, the smooth firm buttocks lighter than the rest of him. The blisters on his back were encrusted again, and she stood, picked up the buckets and quietly went outside for fresh water.

  “Linnet.”

  She looked up to smile at the Squire. “Good morning.”

  He smiled back. “I don’t know if it is so good. It feels like we’re in for some rain. How is…he?”

  “Devon is holding his own.” She looked down at her skirt. “I don’t really know. Phetna says we’ll know in a few days, whether he’ll…whether he’ll be all right or not.”

  “You are getting along with Phetna? I know she can be cantankerous at times.”

  Linnet frowned. “I find her to be pleasant. We talked a good deal.”

  “The people of Spring Lick don’t really care for her, they…”

  Linnet glared at him, her distaste obvious.

  “It’s not me, of course, although I will admit her face isn’t something I’d like to look at every day, but the people of the town have some beliefs about her. There was another fire a few years back, a whole family burned, but we got them out. Phetna came but the family still died.”

  Linnet lifted one eyebrow. “You mean they blamed Phetna for the deaths?”

  “I don’t know if they blamed her or not, but they were pretty unhappy about her. It’s her ways as well as her looks. She kept ordering everyone to help her. If she’d just asked—”

  “Asked!” Linnet said angrily. “As I asked four of the men to carry Devon to my cabin? I asked and they refused.”

  “Refused!” the Squire exclaimed. “Who were they? Who refused to help you?”

  “It doesn’t matter now. Nettie’s family helped me, but I just don’t want to hear any more about Phetna. She has been good to me and helped me with Devon.”

  The Squire took the full buckets of water from her, and they began walking. “I’m sorry to have upset you, Linnet. I just wanted to prepare you if you find her difficult to deal with.”

  “Quite the contrary,” Linnet snapped. “Now I must go, his burns need washing.”

  The Squire opened the door for her and then stopped at the sight of Devon’s nude form. His face drained of color.

  Linnet could hardly control her smile. “Phetna says we must let the burns get air.”

  “Yes, I am sure she’s right.” He could not bring himself to look at the scarred woman. “But couldn’t you cover, ah, part of him?”

  Phetna gave her cracked laugh, causing the Squire to turn toward her, and even prepared for the sight, he still felt his stomach roll over.

  Linnet saw his look and took the buckets from him. “I have work to do,” she said coldly; “so if you’d excuse me.”

  The Squire couldn’t let his problem alone. “Linnet, I really think you should cover him somewhat. Think of Miranda.”

  Linnet met his eyes. “Devon’s welfare is much more important than Miranda’s delicate sensibilities, if she has any at her age. I will not rear a fragile flower who is upset at the sight of a sick man’s bare behind. Now, please, I must wash him.”

  The Squire glared at her, turned and slammed the door behind him.

  Phetna’s sustained cackle and the slamming door woke Miranda. The baby rolled over and looked about her, somewhat dazed by the transformation of her home.

  Linnet saw Phetna’s immediate reaction to Miranda—she turned her face away, not wanting the child to see her. Linnet took a deep breath and knew it was now or never. “Phetna, I need to tend to Devon. Would you please take care of Miranda? She will need to be taken to the outhouse right away, if she isn’t already wet.”

  “No, I can’t,” Phetna said, desperation in her voice.

  Linnet kept washing, going slowly and tenderly around the blisters on Devon’s back. “I can’t do this and take her, too, and I have enough of a mess to clean up now.”

  “But I can’t take her outside. They’re outside.”

  Linnet turned to her. “I am sure you mean the people of Spring Lick and I am just as sure that you are right, but there are more important things than a person’s scarred face.”

  Phetna blinked, the one eyelid pulling tightly. “What about her, your young’un?” She still refused to look at the little girl.

  “Miranda,” Linnet called and held out her arms. “Come here. Miranda, I’m afraid, has been in the care of several other people in her short life. Until she was a year old she didn’t know who her mother was. I came to Kentucky with several wagons and when there was sickness, which there always seemed to be, I acted as nurse while someone else cared for Miranda. In Spring Lick Nettie has always cared for her while I taught school. Miranda is one of those people who never meets a stranger. Miranda.” She turned the baby to face Phetna. “This is—I don’t know your last name.”

  “Been so long, I forgot it myself.” She reluctantly looked at the smooth, perfect face of the baby.

  “Miranda, this is Aunt Phetna. She’s come to stay with us. Will you go to her now, and she’ll take you outside?” Much to Linnet’s chagrin, Miranda did not like Phetna’s face. It scared her, as when some of the boys made faces at her, and she turned back to her mother and began to whimper.

  “I told you not to do that. I don’t know how you can stand to look at me but there’s no reason for you to make that child look.” She stopped talking when Linnet put Miranda in Phetna’s bony lap.

  “Miranda, look at me.” The child looked at her mother, afraid to again look at Phetna. “Now, Miranda, Aunt Phetna looks different, but there’s nothing to be afraid of.” Linnet touched her own eye. “See, eye. Now, Miranda’s eye.” She took the child’s hand and Miranda touched her own eye.

  “Where’s Mama’s eye?” Miranda smiled and kicked her bare feet. She liked the game. “Now Miranda’s eye.” The child touched her own eye. “Now Aunt Phetna’s eye.”

  Phetna was startled when the child stuck a little finger into the scarred eye.

  “See, Miranda,” Linnet said. “Mama’s nose, Miranda’s nose, Aunt Phetna’s nose.” The baby laughed and Linnet turned to Phetna. “It may take a few minutes, but she’ll get over her shyness. Why don’t you let her touch your face and let her see you’re not trying to frighten her?”

  Phetna was overwhelmed by all of it. Not since she had been burned, twelve years before, had she let anyone touch her face. The truth was, she hardly even touched her own body, refusing to acknowledge the missing ear, the heavy cords across her cheek and neck, the scarred lips. Miranda was too young yet to form opinions of what was really hideous. Phetna took the child outside, and Linnet was alone with Devon.

  She washed him tenderly and, as she came close to his face, she bent and kissed his warm cheek. “You’
ll get well, won’t you, Devon? Soon you’ll be back on your feet and we’ll be arguing, as always.” She continued washing him, talking to him, encouraging him to get well. She was free with her endearments because she knew he couldn’t hear her, and the helpless man beneath her fingers was far removed from the Devon of the day before, the man she said she could no longer love.

  Phetna came back into the cabin, Miranda holding her webbed hand, and Linnet could see the rain beginning behind them. Phetna’s mutilated face was further distorted into a smile. “I think we’re in for a downpour. It’ll be hard on Squire ridin’ in it.”

  “Why does the Squire have to go out today?”

  “We have to start feedin’ him today.” She nodded toward Devon. “And I got all the rose hips at my cabin. We need to make him drink rose hip tea. I brung a bag with me when I come, but Squire’s horse bucked and we lost it, and the fool horse trampled the bag into the ground. Squire said he’d go back for more today, but so far I ain’t seen him.”

  Linnet was on her feet at once. “I’ll go to him and see where he is.” She grabbed her shawl, threw it over her head and left the cabin. The rain was cold and she was immediately soaked, but she hurried ahead to the Squire’s house. Although she pounded on the door, no one answered.

  She didn’t like the idea of going to Jule Yarnall, but she felt she must in order to find out where the Squire had gone.

  Jule’s face was a smirk of I-told-you-so when she opened the door to Linnet’s knock. She did not invite her in but left the younger woman standing in the rain.

  “What do you want, as if I didn’t know?”

  “Do you know where the Squire is?”

  “He left first thing this mornin’ to go huntin’ with my man. I ’spect right now he’s holed up somewheres out of the rain. What you want with him?”

  “He said nothing about going to Phetna’s?” Linnet asked, swallowing her pride.

  “What’s he wanta go to that ol’ witch’s house fer? We don’t like havin’ her kind around Spring Lick. That woman’s evil.”

  “Evil?” Linnet asked incredulously, water streaming down her face. “She is a kind woman, only scarred. There’s nothing evil about her.”

  “You wouldn’t think so, not your kind. But I warn you, she better be gone right soon or…well, she just better be gone, you mind my words.”

  Linnet turned on her heel and left the woman standing in the doorway.

  “You mark my words,” Jule called behind her.

  Linnet stepped into the warmth of her own cabin. “I can’t find him. Jule said he went hunting. Do you think he forgot?”

  Phetna snorted. “It ain’t whether he forgot but whether he wants to ’member. The way he looked last time he saw Slade’s boy, I don’t reckon he was rushin’ to get somethin’ to help make him well.”

  “You’re right.” Linnet held her hands toward the glowing fire. “How far away is your cabin?”

  “You ain’t thinkin’ of goin’ there alone, are you?”

  “How far is your cabin?” Linnet persisted.

  “Look, you been in Kentucky long enough to know the dangers. This ain’t the East. The Indians don’t attack whole settlements much anymore like they done when I was a girl, but why do you think people still live so close together? Indians just love a lone farm or even better, a young girl walkin’ somewheres all alone. You know what the Indians would do if they caught you?”

  “Yes, I do,” Linnet said quietly. “I know exactly what they would do. Can I get rose hips anywhere else at this time of year?”

  “No.” Phetna shook her head. “It’s too early yet for June roses.”

  “Then it seems the supply is at your cabin; yet they are needed here.”

  Phetna stared at her. “You said you was willin’ to do anythin’ for the boy, but I didn’t think it included riskin’ your life.”

  “Why is it so unsafe for me, yet you live there alone and you are a woman?”

  Phetna threw back her head and laughed, the shrill, broken sound that fitted her looks so well. “There’s a mite of difference between me and you. The Indians stay away from me mainly, but eight years ago they brung one of the chief’s sons to me. He’d been burned, and they stood guard while I tended him. He got well, and ever since the Indians have brung me presents. There’s hardly a day goes by I don’t find somethin’ to eat layin’ on my doorstep. Ever’ once in a while they bring me somebody else to look at, and sometimes the chief’s boy comes by. That’s the reason I can stay there, but you—you’d be fair game for some young brave.”

  Linnet shook her wet shawl in front of the fire, the flames hissing. “I don’t really think I have a choice. The rose hips are something Devon needs, they are at your cabin, and I am the only person who can get them.”

  Phetna knew it was useless to argue. “You always so stubborn?”

  Linnet considered the question seriously for a moment. “I guess I am. Sometimes there are things that must be done, and if others thwart you, you have to take a stand. I guess I get it from my father.” She smiled. “Now tell me how to get to your cabin.”

  She listened carefully to Phetna’s description of the seven-mile journey, seven miles there and seven back. She would have to hurry since the rain would slow her down. The rain was pelting the earth in hard torrents when she went outside and, as she shut the door, she did not hear Devon’s attempt to talk, to tell her, “No,” his attempt to stop her from her dangerous journey.

  The mud of the narrow trail was up to her ankles, covering her shoe tops, running down inside the leather, covering her feet, squishy and gritty between her toes. The water ran down her face, wet her wool shawl until the musty smell of it floated around her. Her long, thick hair was heavy with water and weighted her head down, pulling on her neck.

  It was a great relief when she saw the little cabin ahead. Gratefully, she pushed open the heavy oak door and sat before the cold, empty fireplace. She was breathing heavily, her leg muscles pulled and tight from the long arduous journey, the constant fight against the sucking action of the mud that made each step a burden, a fight to accomplish. She took the pins from her hair and let the heavy mass fall about her shoulders, wringing it out with her hands onto the stone hearth.

  She was caught unawares when a hand clutched the wet hair and jerked her head back fiercely and a cold, sharp, steel knife blade caressed her throat.

  “What you do here?”

  “Please,” she whispered against the sharp steel. “I came for medicine. Phetna is helping me with a burned man, and I came for medicine.”

  He released her, shoving her forward until she caught herself with her hands against the rough stones of the fireplace. She turned to look at him. He was a young Indian dressed in fringed buckskins, his thick black hair falling past his shoulders.

  “I must get the medicine now and return to him.”

  The young Indian watched her as she stood on a chair and began pulling the long stems from the ceiling rafters. He seemed perplexed as to what to do with her.

  “To which tribe do you belong?” she asked, her voice shaking. The man certainly didn’t seem to be a menacing warrior, and she had a feeling he had come into the cabin only to escape the rain.

  He threw back his shoulders. “I am Shawnee,” he said with pride.

  Linnet smiled and felt safe once again. “The man who is burned is also part Shawnee. His name is Devon Macalister.” The Indian’s face registered no recognition, and Linnet wondered if Devon had another name among the Shawnee.

  He studied her. “How you get back to white man’s town?”

  “I will walk since I don’t have a horse.”

  “Yellow Hand will take you to white man’s town.” He seemed to think this was a great honor for Linnet.

  She smiled at him. “That’s very kind of you. Would you please hold this bag for me while I fill it?”

  “Man does not do such work.” He looked at her in contempt.

  “Oh. I didn’t know. I
thought maybe since it was for one of your tribesmen you might help.”

  He seemed confused for a moment and then resignedly held the linen bag open while she dropped the rose hips into it. She smiled at him, but he ignored her. He was little more than a boy really, she thought.

  The rain hammered on the roof, and the two young people inside were isolated from the noise of the approaching horses. The door burst open, and the Squire and Mooner Yarnall burst in, both armed with Kentucky rifles.

  Linnet and Yellow Hand froze with unexpected shock.

  “Linnet, move away from him slowly,” the Squire said, his voice low and cautious.

  “Nonsense!” she said and stepped down from the chair, her body carefully placed between the white men and the Indian. “Please let me introduce Yellow Hand, he is—”

  “He’s an Injun, and the only good Injun is a dead one,” Mooner said, his upper lip curled.

  “Yellow Hand is a friend of a friend of mine.”

  “I told you she warn’t fit to live with decent folk,” Mooner said, his rifle raised.

  Yellow Hand pushed Linnet aside. “I hide behind no woman,” he said, staring straight at the rifle aimed at his head.

  Mooner jerked on the trigger but the rifle did not fire. “Damn powder! Got wet in this confounded rain. I woulda had me a dead Injun that time.”

  Linnet stepped before Yellow Hand again and looked at the Squire. “Are you going to allow this? He nearly killed an innocent man. You stood there and would have allowed him to kill an innocent person!”

  “Now, Linnet, Mooner has his reasons for his feelings about Indians.”

  “Well, I do, too!” She turned to face the young man. “You said you’d give me a ride back to Spring Lick. Will you still do so?”

  He nodded to her curtly.

  She put her hand on his arm. “I know you are proud, and brave, but it would not be an honor to be killed by such a white man as he.”