by Deborah Hale
“I can’t remember,” said John.
“She was gone,” declared the youngest in a tone that brooked no gainsaying.
“Aye,” agree the others. “She wasn’t about then.”
“Did she say anything before she left, about where she might be going?”
The boys shook their heads, but Nellie cried, “Aye, she did. Don’t ye mind, John? Just as she was finishing up the story, she asked ye how far and which way to Chatham.”
Chatham. The word sent a chill through Harris.
“Aye. So she did.” At the look on Harris’s face, the boy hastened to add, “I told her it was a long way and nobody ever walked it if they could sail instead.”
Coming to his feet, Harris gave the anxious lad a manly pat on the shoulder. “I appreciate yer telling her that, John. Ye may as well learn young, though. A woman who’s made up her mind won’t be swayed by the best warning in the world.”
John Glendenning didn’t appear to understand that he was in jest—if only partially. However, the boy relaxed visibly at the bantering tone of his remark.
A coiled spring tightened within Harris.
“Thank ye for telling me what ye know.” He nodded to the children. “I’ll go find Miss Lennox to see if I can bring her back to tell ye more stories.”
He tried to keep the urgency from his stride until he was out of their sight. No sense in frightening them, or making them feel responsible for Jenny’s disappearance.
“Robert.” Harris fell into step beside the shipbuilder. “Can I borrow a few supplies? Jenny’s gone and I fear she may have set off for Chatham overland.”
“Take what ye need, Harris.” Robert Jardine surveyed the descending arc of the sun. “Be quick about it though. If she has any kind of a head start on ye, she could walk quite a piece the first day. That’s no fit trek for a woman, especially one alone. Most of the Indians hereabouts are peaceful, but there are a few I wouldn’t care to meet alone in the woods. That goes for some of the settlers and sailors, too. There are rivers to ford—six, at least, and wild animals—”
Harris loped on ahead, spurred by these dire warnings. As he gathered together a blanket, a knife, a flint, wire, a water skin and a little food, he tried to guess what had made Jenny take to her heels.
Had it been the things he’d said to her last night? Had his unwelcome ardor made Jenny leave town? He could think of no other reason, though part of him protested that she’d seemed far more frightened of her own feelings than of his. In any case, she had made her choice. She wanted Roderick Douglas for a husband. Wanted him so fiercely and so surely that she’d been willing to brave a forty-mile trek in the wilderness just to reach him that much sooner.
Harris had always sworn he’d never make a fool of himself over a woman, but with Jenny he couldn’t help himself. Time and again she’d rebuffed him and still he’d gone back for more. Did that make him a fool in her eyes? Probably. Would he seem a greater fool still by following her to Chatham? No doubt.
None of that mattered.
He would never be able to live with himself if anything happened to her. Besides, he had given his word that he would see her safely to Chatham. And he meant to keep his promise.
Even though it might break his heart.
Sweaty and footsore, Jenny wondered if it was her imagination, or if the road was becoming narrower and more overgrown with each mile she walked. The porritch she’d shared with the children at breakfast was a long way down and her belly felt achingly hollow. Perhaps she should have stopped at that little shop in Richibucto and bought herself some provisions. She hadn’t wanted to take the chance of meeting Harris, in case he should convince her not to leave town.
A wave of relief engulfed her when she rounded a bend and entered a clearing in the forest.
A cabin even tinier than the Glendennings’ squatted in the midst of a partially cleared lot. Fishing nets hung behind the house, waiting to be mended. On the bank of a narrow creek, an overturned canoe lay beached. Two barefoot children frolicked among the tree stumps. Half-a-dozen chickens pecked at the packed earth in front of the cabin door. A thin plume of smoke rose from a hole in the roof.
Jenny’s mouth watered at the savory aroma of frying pork fat.
“Hello,” she called softly to the children.
They scampered toward the open door of the cabin, screeching “Mama! Mama!”
As Jenny approached the little house, a girl roughly her own age appeared in the doorway. She carried one baby in her arms. Another was due to make an appearance soon, if Jenny correctly interpreted the bulge beneath the young woman’s apron. The children who’d been playing in the clearing now peered out from behind their mother’s skirts. Fear and curiosity flickered in their round dark eyes.
The woman also eyed Jenny warily. “Qu’est-ce que vous?” she asked. “Qu’est-ce que vous désirez?”
Jenny shrugged. “I beg yer pardon? Is that French ye’re talking?”
“Ou est vous arrivez?” the woman demanded.
“I’m Jenny Lennox.” Jenny pointed to herself. “If that’s what ye want to know. I’m on my way to the Miramichi…”
“Miramichi?” the woman repeated. “Avez-vous venir a Miramichi?”
Jenny broke into a smile. “Aye.” She nodded. “I’m on my way there to get married.” She pointed to the fourth finger of her left hand.
“Ah, mari!” The woman nodded.
“Ye ken!” Jenny cried. “Married at Miramichi.” She pointed off in several directions. “Which way is it? How do I get there—to Miramichi?”
“Miramichi, c’est ça.” The woman pointed to the woods across the creek. Jenny could make out a narrow gap in the bushes. That was the road?
“Thank ye.” Jenny bobbed her head. She took but a few steps toward the path when her stomach growled piteously.
She spun around again. “I’ve not eaten since early this morning.” Rubbing her stomach, Jenny hoped the woman would understand she was hungry and not think she was pregnant. “Could ye spare me a bite of what ye’ve got cooking?” She inhaled appreciatively. “It smells very good.”
“Restez ici.” The woman held up her hand.
“Restez? Rest.” Jenny translated for herself. “Stay where ye are.”
The woman and her children retreated into the cottage, but she returned in a moment, without the baby. She held out two golden brown balls that fit comfortably into Jenny’s palms. They were still warm.
Jenny transferred the food all to her left hand. With the right, she fished in her apron pocket for one of her coins.
The woman eyed the money and Jenny more suspiciously than ever. She shook her head. “Allez.” She motioned Jenny to be on her way.
“Thank ye.” Putting the money and the food into her pocket, Jenny picked up the bundle that contained her wedding dress.
“Thank ye.” She called back over her shoulder. She could hardly wait to get out of sight of the cabin to devour the victuals she’d been given.
Prying off her shoes and lifting her skirts, she forded the stream with ease. Judging by the height of its banks, the water level was low after a dry summer. Jenny ducked into the woods and followed the path for a few hundred yards. Then she subsided beneath a tall maple tree and prepared to eat.
They looked something like Scotch eggs, this windfall bite. Prepared for the texture and taste of sausage meat and hard-boiled eggs, Jenny let out a faint squeak of surprise as she bit into one. Beneath the crispy fried crust was a soft layer of potato, encasing a core of salty codfish.
Jenny had never tasted anything so delicious.
Her prudent plans to save the second ball for tomorrow’s breakfast evaporated. She attacked it ravenously, groaning with contentment once it was safely in her stomach.
For some time longer she sat there, listening to the children’s laughter echoing from the clearing behind her. She entertained the notion of going back and asking for a night’s lodging. Her unfamiliarity with the language would make that difficult, an
d the woman hadn’t seemed impressed that she could pay her way. Better to keep going and be that much closer to Chatham by nightfall.
The hot food in her belly rekindled Jenny’s strength and her spirit. Pulling on her shoes, she struggled to her feet and hoisted her bundle of belongings. Then she set off up the narrow path, which appeared to be climbing a gentle incline.
Were the only settlers in this area French? she wondered as she walked. And could she reach the next house on the road before night fell?
“Have ye seen a lady go by? Wearing a blue bonnet and carrying…” Seeing the query in the old woman’s eyes, Harris switched into the rusty French his grandfather had made him learn in honor of the “Auld Alliance”. “Avezvous vu une femme…avec un chapeau bleu…et un…”
As he plundered his memory for a word that meant parcel or bundle, the woman pointed ahead. “Oui. La fille, elle est allé sur le chemin.”
Thank God! “Merci, merci!” exclaimed Harris, in what he knew must be a dreadful accent. “Quand?” he asked. When?
The woman pondered the question for a moment. Or perhaps she was thinking how to tell him in words he’d understand.
“Peut-être, deux heures?” she said at last, holding up two fingers to drive home her meaning. “L’àpres-midi, tard,” she added. Late in the afternoon.
Harris sighed. He had closed the gap between him and Jenny to just two hours. Could he reach her before the sun set?
“Merci encore, mistress.” He bobbed the woman a quick bow.
He had taken several long strides down the road before her question stopped him. “La fille, oú va-t’elle?”
“Miramichi,” he called back, unable to keep the concern from his voice. “She’s bound for the Miramichi.”
“Miramichi, à pied?” Walking? The woman sounded properly horrified. “Mais, ce n’est pas le chemin. Personne n’habite la route après Louis Vautour.”
“That’s why I need to find her.” Harris didn’t bother to translate. He was certain the old woman would take his meaning. Judging by the way the road had narrowed, he’d already reached the conclusion it would soon disappear altogether. Whoever this Louis Vautour was, Harris hoped Jenny would have sense enough to stop there and ask for shelter before the darkness overtook her.
If only he could be certain. He’d never met a woman as determined—nay, as mule stubborn—as Jenny Lennox. Whether in crossing the ocean, surviving a shipwreck or learning to read, she went after what she wanted with a singularity of purpose that he could not help admiring. No matter how much it exasperated him at times.
As it exasperated him now.
She had set her mind on marrying Roderick Douglas and nothing would stand in her way. Least of all her heart, which had perhaps begun to yearn in another direction.
How much farther?
Jenny stopped, her light but awkward bundle falling unnoticed from her hand. The evening sun of summer waned on a horizon she could not see for the press of trees. Lengthening shadows made it harder than ever to pick out the path. Perhaps she had strayed from it already?
The salty codfish had made her thirsty, but she hadn’t come across another brook or creek since she’d eaten. Which would explain the absence of settlement, Jenny reasoned, forcing down the flutter of panic within her. People needed a source of fresh water, for drinking, and washing and for their livestock.
She held herself still, eyes closed, reaching out with her other senses for any sign of human habitation. The faint pungency of wood smoke or food cooking, the bark of a dog or the bleating of sheep. All she heard above the rapid tattoo of her heart and the shallow hiss of her breath was the nearby chatter of a squirrel. All she smelled was the muted but pervading aroma of dry pine needles. For all she knew, there might not be another living soul for miles in any direction.
It suddenly struck Jenny that she was alone. Never had she felt so solitary as in these vast miles of empty forest. Never had she felt so small as in the shadow of these towering trees.
Never had she felt so alien as in this wild, rugged land.
Fighting to stifle a sob that strained to escape, she set her mouth in a resolute line, picked up her fallen parcel and pressed on. No matter how daunting, she had no choice but to move forward. Going back was not an option, though it whispered seductively in her thoughts. Somehow, she sensed that in returning to Richibucto and facing another month with Harris, she might unleash forces more frighteningly powerful than the raw might of nature presently arrayed against her.
Doggedly placing one foot in front of the other, she cursed under her breath as low-hanging branches swiped her and tree roots tripped her. On she walked, eyes straining to follow the ill-marked trail. Her spirits lifted for an instant when she spied a swatch of cloth caught on a length of bramble up ahead.
It could be a sign she was nearing another settlement. If nothing else, it meant she was still on the road.
By the day’s dying light, she peered at the threads. As a noose of panic tightened around her throat, Jenny recognized the color. Seeking confirmation but praying it was a mistake, she reached down and felt along the hem of her skirt.
There it was.
A small patch of cloth torn free when she had snagged her dress on these same brambles at least a quarter of an hour ago.
The thought that she had forced herself on for that long without coming an inch closer to Chatham brought Jenny to her knees. She had walked for a whole day with little in her stomach, after an all-but-sleepless night. Now her body ached with exhaustion and her head spun with a lethal drowsiness to which she dared not surrender.
Clenching her fists, she lifted her face to the darkened sky. “Damn ye, Harris Chisholm!” she cried defiantly at the top of her lungs.
The outburst relieved her feelings somewhat.
Damn Harris Chisholm, indeed. This was all his fault. If only he’d let her alone. Kept his distance. Instead of making her entertain doubts where she needed to be most certain. Making her feel things she could not afford to feel.
What choice had he left her but to run away?
“No.” Jenny corrected herself aloud, just for the momentary comfort of hearing a human voice. “I’m not running away from Harris. I’m going to Roderick Douglas.”
Catching the note of uncertainty in her voice, Jenny let loose with the foulest curse she’d ever heard let alone uttered. And why not? There wasn’t a soul within miles to shock with her profanity. Her father might have washed her mouth with soap, but he was thousands of miles away. Even her dour Old Testament God seemed far distant from this primal woodland.
Jenny fought her exhaustion, trying to decide whether it was better to press on or better to spend the night where she was. Then she heard a noise.
It was a combination of sounds that made her hackles rise and her fatigue-addled wits search desperately for escape or a safe place to hide. Dry branches snapped and pine needles rustled beneath the heavy onrush of some large animal. A wolf? A bear? As it lumbered closer, Jenny could also make out the fast hiss of breath.
With a sharp squeak of terror, she dodged behind the wide trunk of an ancient pine tree. Then she turned and ran blindly into the night. She collided with another tree and fell back for an instant, stunned. A whisper of logic told her it would be safer to curl up somewhere and lie still, praying the beast might miss her in the dark.
Casting cool reason aside, Jenny picked herself up and ran on, spurred by the sounds of pursuit drawing closer. Wild predators were said to have uncanny powers of night vision, not to mention keen ears and a feral ability to scent their prey. That was not what mattered to Jenny. She simply could not bring herself to stop and face danger. Let it overtake her on the run. At least, that way she stood a chance.
At least she would die with the hope of escape in her heart.
From behind her, nearer than ever, she heard a thud and a deep grunt of pain. It gave her ragged energy a boost. Her legs pumped faster.
Then Jenny felt the ground open up bene
ath her right foot. She lurched forward, sprawling onto a bed of moss. Her pitiful reserves of breath rushed from her body. Her heart hammered in her chest and every particle of her flesh pulsed in vain with a craze to flee.
As she whimpered in the first painful gasps of air, the stalker overtook her. She felt the muscular weight of it crash down upon her, driving the wind from her lungs again. Its hungry breath seared her neck. At any second its fangs would close on her throat.
And she would die.
Chapter Ten
Feeling Jenny squirm beneath him, Harris collapsed on top of her, pulling the night air into his lungs in great heaving gasps. Each intake of breath slashed into his chest like a dull razor. In his mad, blind chase through the woods, he’d been battered to a jelly. He could feel his flesh bruising and his overworked muscles throbbing in protest.
But he had found Jenny, and that was all that mattered.
As soon as he could gather the energy, he rolled off her, panting. “Don’t fret. It’s only me, lass.”
“H-Harris?” His name retched out of her, followed by a frenzied fit of sobbing.
He groped for her in the darkness, pulling her close. “There, there. It’ll be all right now, lass. Ye’re safe with me.”
Barely had he got the words out when she homed in on his lips. Planting her mouth on his, she stormed it with reckless abandon. Harris did not get a chance to enjoy this strange, violent kiss. For in the next galloping beat of their hearts, she wrenched free of his embrace and boxed his ears.
Reeling from the sudden turnabout, he raised his hands to fend her off. His own banked fury with her burst into open flame. Clutching her slender wrists together with one hand, he shook her until he could almost hear her teeth rattle.
“Enough of that, woman! Come to yer senses, now.”
“Ye miserable blaggard!” She struggled to free herself from his grip, no doubt anxious to mount another assault. “How dare ye scare the life out of me like that? Couldn’t ye have called out instead of charging through the brush like a wild beast?”
“Would ye have answered if I’d called?” he roared back at her.