Scarlet Leaves

by Sonya Birmingham

  "But how?" he repeated, a deep frown plowing his brow. "The wind covered up my tracks."

  "That's right, but a lot were protected by trees and bushes." She sipped the hot coffee, feeling it spread through her stomach and warm her insides. "Besides that, I found some broken brush." She gave him a grin. "By the way, you got off the trail 'after you crossed the Nacachee."

  He wiped a hand over his face. "Yeah ... I figured I did."

  She surveyed his concerned features, deciding she wouldn't tell him she'd been lost for a while herself. "I found the place where your horse floundered, and from then on it was easy."

  He widened his eyes. "Easy?"

  "Sure, after I got a whiff of your fire I didn't need to do any tracking. The smoke blended in with the clouds and the snow, but it was my nose that led me to you. I just kept following the scent of that smoke." She stood, then looked down at him and smiled, anticipating his reaction with relish when he heard her next words. "Say ... if it's 'all the same to you, why don't we go on over to Jake's cabin and wait for this storm to clear?"

  Taggart slowly rose, his face stamped with disbelief. "I know how much you like a good yarn, but this is hardly the time for one of your wild mountain tales."

  "I'm not joking," she said with a laugh.

  His eyes traveled over the heavy forest appraisingly. "Are you saying someone actually lives in this frozen wilderness?"

  Silky chuckled to herself, thinking she'd never seen such a surprised-looking man in all her life. "I sure am. There's an old trapper named Jake Coulter who lives about five miles"she pointed at the woods"thataway."

  Taggart stared in the direction she'd pointed. "Thataway? I don't see anything thataway but a stand of timber so heavy a tick couldn't get through it."

  She drank more coffee. "Oh, he lives over there all right," she replied, still savoring his reaction. "Daniel used to trap with him, and the old fellow came by our cabin for vittles a few times. He must be ninety if he's a day, but he's as independent as a hog on ice." She shrugged her shoulders, not missing an opportunity for a little fun, now that the crisis of finding him had passed. "I would have mentioned him to you, but when you told me what trail you were taking, he wasn't in the vicinity." She smiled again. "I didn't know you were gonna drift seven miles thisaway."

  Silky studied his face as he mulled over the information about Jake, thinking he looked as if she'd just told him the whole Army of Northern Virginia would arrive in five minutes. She let her gaze ripple over him. "Well, what do you say, West Point Gentleman?" she queried, deciding as a general rule flatlanders were a passel of trouble. "Did they give you any classes in that fancy military college about navigating woods so heavy a tick couldn't get through them?"

  Taggart stroked his jaw. "No, not a damn one," he replied with a slow smile. "But the way I see it, we don't have a hell of a lot of choices." He glanced skyward, and, peering up herself, she noticed the snow had lightened and a sliver of pale moon was peeking from the clouds. Turning his attention to the fire, Taggart shoved snow on the flames with the toe of his boot, then moved away and started folding blankets. "If we hurry," he commented, glancing over his shoulder, "we just might make it by midnight."

  Silky grinned and sloshed the remaining coffee on the ground, convinced it was going to be an interesting evening indeed.

  Three hours later the exhausted pair walked into a large clearing. Through the falling snow, they crossed an open expanse, leading their horses toward a dilapidated cabin set back in a grove of cottonwood trees. A split-rail fence and a wood pile peeped through the mantle of white, but there was no welcoming light in the cabin's window, leaving it and the stable behind it with a lifeless, abandoned look.

  "Jake must have already gone to bed," Silky rasped, pausing to catch her breath, "but he'll wake up right enough when we beat on his door."

  When they arrived at the cabin, she pounded on the door with her fist and called his namethen her heart sank, for she noticed the door had been padlocked and boards covered the windows. For the first time in her memory, Jake's place was boarded up tighter than a drum.

  After Taggart tried to remove a window board with no success, he strode to his horse, and from the mare's saddle, retrieved a rifle. "Step back," he ordered, He aimed at the lock and blasted it apart with a shot that tumbled snow from the cabin's caves. Acrid-smelling smoke swirled from the rifle barrel as he kicked open the door and escorted Silky into the shack, whose well-chinked walls offered shelter from the storm. With a loud creak, the door blew closed behind them, muting the sound of the sharp wind, but leaving them in total darkness.

  Taggart scratched a match on the door, then held it before him, revealing rough-hewn logs covered with fox and beaver pelts, and an open ceiling with exposed rafters. Finding a kerosene lamp in the center of a table, he lit the wick, and a flame spluttered momentarily before gaining brightness. Silky clicked a glass globe over the light, then slowly walked about the room, the musty aromas of stale tobacco, leather, and bacon grease hitting her nostrils. "Lordamercy, how glad I am to be in out of the weather," she confessed, stripping off her gloves and tossing them on the table. "My ears are numb and these wet boots are cutting into my feet like knife blades."

  Rubbing her stiff fingers, she turned her gaze about the cluttered cabin. An iron skillet sat on the blackened hearth, still holding congealed bacon grease while clothing littered the homemade furniture, making it look as if Jake had decided to leave without much forethought. "Brrr, it's cold in here," she observed, briskly chafing her shivering arms.

  Taggart moved to a mantel topped with a collection of snuff cans and shaving mugs. "Hold on a minute and I'll have this place warmed up," he advised, kneeling and rummaging through a battered kindling box. "Looks like Jake left a good supply of wood," he added thoughtfully, "and it's good and seasoned."

  At a dry. sink, Silky opened boxes, discovering flour and cornmeal in the larder. "This meal is still fresh," she said, tasting a pinch of it before putting a lid on the box. "So he couldn't have been gone for too long. He has a sister in Wilson's Gap. He probably got lonely and decided to winter with her." She chuckled and shook her head. "Come spring he'll be right back here in his cabin, hollering about town-folk being the root of all evil."

  Flames soon whispered over the kindling, producing the comforting aroma of wood smoke. Taggart hung Silky's hat on a pair of deer antlers above the hearth, then removed her blanket and jacket and laid them near the fire, the scent of damp wool wafting from the sodden material. After the pair had lingered by the flames, warming their half-frozen bodies, he returned outside to feed and stable the horses while she prepared something to eat.

  Silky put up food herself and was familiar with the jars of vegetables she found on the shelves, but she had to smile at the thought of an old bachelor canning his own food. On the counter by the wash pan there was rainwater in a stoneware crock, a small tin of coffee, and, on the shelf below, several jugs of moonshine. Prepared for a long winter, old Jake seemed to live in fine style.

  She'd just finished cooking when Taggart reentered the cabin carrying the saddlebags, rifles, and other gear from their mounts. "There's some corn in the crib," he reported, placing everything on the floor and taking off his damp outerwear. "Seems like Jake's place is that piece of luck I've been needing." With pleased eyes, he looked at the pork and beans, hot corn pone, and spiced peaches she'd placed on the table, then sat down to eat. "How about some beefsteak, woman?" he teased good-naturedly. "A man's got to keep up his strength."

  Silky shook her head. "Jake left us pretty well supplied, but there's no meat at all."

  "Never mind," he commented, slathering a hunk of corn pone with wild plum jelly. "If the weather lets up we'll find some game tomorrow."

  After they'd eaten, Taggart poured them a few fingers of moonshine in their emptied coffee cups. "For medicinal purposes only, of course," he said, handing it to her with a mischievous grin that made him especially handsome.

  The cabi
n was now warm and cozy. Silky's stomach was full, and her head was light. Within a few minutes she was feeling fine. "Has the snow stopped?" she asked, feeling the liquor soothe her aching muscles.

  A cheroot clenched between his teeth, Taggart went to the window, then turned about, answering her with a frown. "No, not yet, but it's slowing."

  Silky smiled, her spirits rising. "Reminds me of the winter of thirty-eight," she drawled, watching his amused face as he recognized she'd begun one of her father's mountain tales. "Pa said it was so cold and snowy then that words froze in the air right while folks we were saying them. People had to use sign language like Indians all winter. Nobody knew what anybody was talking about until spring came and they got all those words thawed out. Lordamercy, what a babble it was then!"

  Taggart chuckled, then slipped back into his chair, the muscles of his big shoulders rippling against his shirt. "Well, the winter of eighty-four may best thirty-eight. With all the deep drifts, I'm going to have a devil of a time getting to Charlottesville."

  Silky ached to accompany him to the town that lay at the foot of the Blue Ridge. She knew that part of her motive was simply to enjoy his company a bit longer and help him get through the treacherous mountains. Then, facing the truth, she suspected she was in love with him, and just didn't want to let him go. "Don't worry," she remarked, lazily running a finger about the top of her coffee cup as she tried to slip the statement past him, "I'll guide you into Charlottesville."

  Taggart studied her openly. "You'll do no such thing," he returned, a dangerous spark in his eyes. "As soon as it clears you'll go back to Sweet Gum Hollow. I won't have you risking your life to get me through the mountains."

  Silky sighed, thinking that now that they'd dealt with the problem of freezing, another more personal problem had taken its place. She knew he was trying to protect her, but she also knew he wouldn't make it to civilization without her. Why, it was almost her duty to the Confederacy to help him, she told herself, building up her courage for the baffle to come.

  "I won't be risking my life, as you put it," she said forcefully, ignoring his displeased countenance. "I've traveled the Blue Ridge all my life and I know the way to Charlottesville." She permitted herself a sly grin. "Not like some people I know."

  Taggart stood and took the cheroot from his mouth. "Your place would go to rack and ruin. Who would take care of your cow, and Daniel's hounds, and"

  "Charlie's taking care of them," she swiftly interrupted, trying to remain calm under his growing disapproval, "and he could just keep taking care of them a while longer. There's not a thing on that place that needs doing that he can't handle."

  With catlike grace, Taggart paced about the cabin, then turned and shot her a hot glower. "You're not going," he announced, his voice ringing with authority, "so forget about it."

  "I am going," she declared, the effects of the moonshine increasing her natural feistiness. She stood and shoved her hands on her hips. "You just don't know about it yet."

  His eyes shot sparks. "Did anyone ever tell you that you're a damn hard-headed woman?" he said, jabbing his finger at her.

  Silky tried to ignore his fiery gaze. "A few times ... but it never kept me from doing anything I really wanted to do," she partied, promising herself she wouldn't let him intimidate her with his manly assurance. She realized he was about to explode, and, sensing she temporarily had the upper hand, she decided to go to bed before he could give her another lecture.

  "Well, good night," she offered airily, sashaying to the bed. She sank to the mattress, pulled off her boots, and tossed them on the floor, watching the startled play of emotions on Taggart's face.

  "Good night?" he echoed, striding to the bed with a blank, amazed expression. "You're going to end this conversation with, 'Well, Good night'?"

  She slipped under a soft fur throw, feeling the feather mattress give under her weight as she stretched out. "Yesgood night. I've decided continuing this conversation would be wearisome and useless. I'm fired and I want to go to bed. I suggest you do the same. There's some quilts on that shelf over there you can spread before the fire."

  An angry light flickered in the depths of his eyes. "If you think this is the last of this conversation, young lady, you're sadly mistaken. You're not going to Charlottesville. You're returning to Sweet Gum Hollow."

  Silky observed the deep lines on his face, thinking she'd never seen him look so stem. His glare burned her skin, but before he could say anything else, she turned her face to the wall, pulling the covers far over her shoulder.

  "You're not going to Charlottesville," he repeated in a commanding tone, "so get the idea out of your head. As soon as this storm blows over, you're going home."

  Silky nestled into the mattress, then closed her eyes and pretended she was asleep, completely ignoring him.

  There was the creak of floorboards, then the sound of Taggart plopping into a chair before the fire. As the mumbled words "Damn, if that woman isn't more stubborn than a two-headed mule!" reached her ears, Silky smiled to herself, knowing that come hell or high water she would accompany him to Charlottesville.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning Taggart and Silky rode out, looking for game. The snow had finally stopped and the woods glistened like silver, etched in sharp relief against the soaring mountains and a sparkling blue sky. Spotting a little creek snaking through a clearing like a bright ribbon, they dismounted and, leaving their rifles in the saddle holsters, walked to the rushing water to see if they could find deer sign.

  They trailed along the creek, their boots crunching over the frozen vegetation as they looked for tracks. Bundled to the chin and wearing his blanket poncho, Taggart pointed at the snow at the water's edge. "There's bound to be deer around," he commented, clouded breath streaming from his nostrils. "Look at all those tracks."

  Filled with curiosity, Silky noticed a dead tree had toppled across the creek and she decided to cross it and check the bank on the other side. Holding a limb to steady herself as she climbed on the tree, she looked over her shoulder at Taggart's frowning face.

  "Be careful," he warned, tugging down his hat. "That trunk is probably slick."

  "Why, I've crossed dozens of foot logs," she answered, edging out on the tree and gazing at the swirling water below her, "and this amounts to the same thing." She held out her arms under her blanket poncho, carefully balancing as she walked across the tree trunk. "See, I'm almost halfway across already and"

  Suddenly Silky's boot hit an icy spot and, her heart lurching, she tumbled into the creek, sucking in her breath as the icy water rushed over her. Losing her hat, she went under all the way, cold water pouring into her ears and nostrils and penetrating her clothing.

  Sounds were garbled and magnified under the water, and she heard the rushing current and the noise of her own floundering body as she desperately tried to get her footing. Panic swept over her, but with a mighty effort she righted herself, and finally touched the creek bed with her boots. Coughing and spluttering, she realized the water came only to her bosom. Relieved, she struggled for the bank, her muscles aching with pure agony as the heavy poncho pulled her back. Wiping her eyes, she saw Taggart, a horrified look on his face, rushing into the shallow water, calling her name and holding out his gloved hand.

  Silky scrambled toward him, and he clasped her hand and pulled her into his arms, half dragging her up the snowy bank.

  "I-I almost drowned." She gasped as the wind hit her wet hair and clothing, producing a series of uncontrollable shivers.

  He jerked off her wet poncho, then, after taking off his own, pulled his over her head. "You're completely soaked. We've got to get you back to the cabin so you can warm up," he announced, his voice rough with worry as he pushed his hat onto her head.

  He hoisted her in his arms and hurried across the clearing to their horses, his powerful legs striding through the deep snow. "Can you ride?" he asked, lifting her to his saddle.

  Silky managed to straighten in the sadd
le, but was still shaking so hard she could scarcely speak. "Y-yes, I think s-so," she answered, her voice hardly more than a whisper.

  Taggart untied the horses, then looped her mount's reins about his saddle horn. Snatching up his own reins, he swung up behind her and surrounded her with his strong arms. Colder and more frightened than she'd ever been in her life, Silky felt his warmth and his pounding heart. He kneed his mare and they started toward Jake's cabin, the two galloping horses churning up the snow in great plumes.

  Taggart kicked the cabin door closed behind him, then carried Silky to the hearth and deposited her on a bearskin rug. There she crumpled into a kneeling position, feeling the blessed warmth of the flames wash over her as his hat tumbled from her head. Instantly he knelt beside her and pulled off the blanket poncho, then, with worried eyes, scanned her wet clothing. ''You've got to take off your wet shirt and britches," he ordered, stripping off his gloves and unbuttoning her shirt before she could murmur a protest. He stood and swept the room with his eyes. "We've got to find something to use for toweling." As his back was turned, Silky managed to slip off her sodden shirt and, feeling icy water trickle down her back, covered her bare breasts with her crossed hands.

  Taggart shrugged off his jacket and threw it aside. After inspecting the cabin's shelves, he came back with a collection of cotton flour sacks and ripped their seams, turning them into flat pieces of material. Kneeling again, he began to dry her face and arms. Still shivering uncontrollably, Silky could only moan as he wiped the material over her skin. He eased her to a sitting position, then took off her boots and placed them aside. "Do you think you can stand?" he asked, genuine concern flickering in his eyes.

  Silky nodded and he helped her to her feet. At the bed, he tore off the fur throw, brought it back, and wrapped it about her. "Here, I'll hold this while you shed those wet britches. Can you do that?" he inquired, cupping her chin.