Shadowbrook

by Swerling, Beverly

  Quent raised his gun to his shoulder and released the hammer. “Get up real slow and turn around.” He spoke in English, then repeated the words in Mohawk Iroquois. Because, God blast it, the squaw couldn’t be Pohantis, and this was Mohawk country. “Desatga hade nyah.”

  Nicole stopped with her cupped hands halfway to her mouth. She allowed the water they held to trickle back into the stream, then got to her feet and turned around. “Don’t shoot me, please.”

  Quent lowered his gun, but he moved no closer to where she stood. “In God’s name … How did you get here?”

  “I followed you. As soon as you changed back into your buckskins, I knew you meant to leave and go after the savages who attacked the Patent. But you made me a promise and you must keep it. You must, Quent.” She wasn’t pleading, she was stating a fact. “You must take me north. I cannot go without you, and it is imperative that I get to Québec at once.”

  “What do you mean you followed me? Are you saying you’re the one who’s been tracking me since last night? Since I left the house?” She nodded and he had no choice but to believe her.

  Sweet Jesus. Twelve hours at least, and he’d kept up a steady trot, without a break. He’d never have imagined she could maintain such a pace. “What about those clothes?” he demanded. “Where did you get them?”

  “I found the clothes some time ago, in the room where your maman keeps the household linens. I think you must have known they were there, since you gave me the moccasins.”

  “Yes, I knew. But—”

  “I had to take them,” she interrupted. “I left a note for Madame Hale, to apologize. But I could not go off with you, wearing one of the beautiful dresses she gave me. I thought you would take a horse. I would need—” She glanced down at Pohantis’s leggings.

  “You can’t ride a horse in woods like these.” He nodded toward the thick forest all around them. “The Indians will take a different route, but I know where they’re headed. I’ll get there faster on foot.”

  “All the same, to go with you these are better clothes.”

  “You cannot go with me whatever you’re wearing. Do you have any idea what I’m about to—No, of course you don’t. But that doesn’t matter either. You have to return to the house, Nicole. We’re still on the Patent. It’s safe enough.”

  “I do not know my way back. I told you, I followed you; I didn’t pay attention to the trail. And how safe can it be if a band of murdering savages attacked us?”

  “You can’t come with me. It’s out of the question.”

  “I kept up with you all night and most of this morning. And you didn’t know I was there.” She couldn’t keep the pride from her voice. She had kept up with Uko Nyakwai, the Red Bear. She’d driven herself to the point of almost total exhaustion, to where she thought she couldn’t take another step, and then she’d taken ten more. And not once had she forgotten the woods lore she had learned from Quent and Monsieur Shea in six weeks of trekking with them. How to be silent, how to stay dose enough to see but not be seen. “I kept up.”

  “Yes, you did.” He had to admit his admiration for what she’d done. Wrong and pointless though it was, it was remarkable, and she was indeed what he’d suspected from the first moment he saw her up close, ripping up her petticoat to stanch the blood of a wounded soldier. Much woman. Very much woman.

  “And you didn’t know I was there.”

  He couldn’t let her continue to believe that. Not because of his pride but because to overestimate your strength is to be weak. “I knew someone was there. Only not that it was you.” Still, she deserved to know how well she’d done. “I thought it was a man.”

  She needed to sit down. The water had helped, but she had eaten only the few mouthfuls she could grab as they passed by some highbush blueberries. She needed desperately to rest, but she couldn’t give in to her need until she was sure he would take her north. “Then it’s settled. You will take me to Québec. That’s the direction you’re going, isn’t it? You’re heading north.” She’d remembered what he and Monsieur Shea always said, the thickest bark and the heaviest concentration of moss were on the northern side of the trunk.

  “Yes, I am. But … Confound it, Nicole, look at you.” Her face was as white as her clothes, and her legs, were trembling with fatigue. “You’re half dead with thirst and exhaustion, and we’re nowhere near where we have to go.”

  “I came all through the Ohio Country, didn’t I? With you and Monsieur Shea. And you never heard me complain, or—”

  “Exactly. With me and Corm. We could take turns helping you, and we weren’t in that much of a hurry. But now there’s a man’s life at—”

  “You must take me north, Quent.” She would not listen to his explanations. “I must go and if you will not take me, I will go alone.” She would probably die in these woods, but surely le bon Dieu would accept that sacrifice.

  Quent watched the play of emotion on her beautiful face. He took a step in her direction and reached out for her. Nicole backed away. “Don’t,” she whispered. “I am sorry. Truly. But you must not.”

  She sounded the way she had when he’d found her in the cave behind the waterfall. He let his arms drop to his sides. “Nicole, you have to trust me. If there’s to be anything real between us, anything that lasts, you have to believe that I know what’s best. I can’t talk about it now. Whatever the problem is, whatever you’ve become afraid of, I can’t address it until I have gone where I have to go and done what I have to do. You must return to the house and wait for me there.”

  “I cannot,” she repeated. “I do not know the way. I swear by Almighty God that is the truth.” She made the sign of the cross to attest to her oath.

  He hated the popery, and hated that she was dressed in a whore’s white buck-skins. “You can’t go with me. I told you, it’s out of the question.”

  “I don’t want to go wherever you are going. I want you to take me north, as you promised. To Québec. Monsieur Shea made a vow. He passed the responsibility to you, and you told me it was a sacred trust, the same as if he were doing it himself. Now I am asking that you keep your word.”

  He was torn between wanting to spank her because she was acting like a stubborn child, and wanting to smother her with kisses. Worse, he was wasting precious minutes while Solomon … A solution to the stand-off came to him in a flash. Not ideal, but better than any alternative. “Very well.” There would be more remonstrations he knew and probably tears, but he’d deal with them when they happened. “We’ll sleep for an hour first. Then we’ll go on.”

  She sighed, and having won, gave in to the needs of her body. The trembling spread from her legs to the rest of her, and she sank to her knees. “Quent, is it possible … Could we eat something before we rest?”

  Christ, she must be starving. “Here, chew on this.” He took a piece of dried beef from his haversack and gave it to her. “Kitchen Hannah’s best jerky. Have you tried it before?”

  She shook her head, concentrating on chewing. Her eagerness made him smile, and while she ate he swept pine needles into a pile to make a bed.

  The jerky disappeared quickly. He had more and she was probably still hungry, but he didn’t offer her another piece. Better if she didn’t get too comfortable. She had to remember how difficult even this, the easiest part of the journey, had been. Later, when she was as furious with him as he knew she would be, she had to remember what it felt like when hunger gnawed at her belly and she had been parched with thirst and tired blind. He mustn’t push her too far, though from the look of her she was ready for whatever he asked.

  Quent felt tenderness rising like a river inside him, tempting him to take her in his arms; to turn and run back to the house and make his peace with Ephraim and claim what could be his and hers. He’d guessed his mother’s scheming all along and seen the changed way his father looked at him. He pushed such thoughts away. For both their sakes. They could have no future built on the agony of Solomon the Barrel Maker, or on him turning his back
on what he knew to be his duty. “Sleep now.” He nodded toward the heap of pine needles. “I’ll wake you in an hour and we’ll go on.”

  “You always wake up when you tell yourself to,” she said softly, remembering what he’d told her back in the Ohio Country.

  “Yes, I do.” He’d thought to rest a short distance away from her, leaning against the gnarled old elm. Not letting himself get too comfortable was one way he controlled the amount of time he slept. But watching her stretch out on the pine needles, with a sigh, he was suddenly hungry for her again, with the same overwhelming need he’d felt the day before in Shoshanaya’s glade. Christ, had it been less than twenty-four hours? Maybe if they made love now, finished what hadn’t been finished yesterday, she would know how truly she was his. Maybe it would make what was going to happen later today a litte easier for her to bear. He knew he was only finding excuses to do what he wanted to do, but he couldn’t stop.

  Quent knelt beside her, placed his hand beside her cheek. “Nicole …”

  She looked at him but didn’t move to push him away. “No. I am sorry, but no.”

  “Nicole, yesterday—”

  She reached up and moved his hand away from her face. “No,” she repeated. “It is no longer yesterday. I am sorry.”

  Damn her! If she didn’t want him as much as he wanted her, then so be it. He wouldn’t—Ah, he wasn’t being fair. She hadn’t been brought up to this life—she was white, not Indian. There were conventions he couldn’t expect her to overcome. At least not twice. Later, when they were married, it would be different.

  He went to the elm and sat beneath it, leaning against the hard, unyielding trunk. And because he knew how much his body needed it, he closed his eyes and allowed himself the one hour’s sleep he had decided was justified.

  “What is this place?”

  “Do Good; it’s the Shadowbrook trading post. I told you about it, remember? The folks who live here are Quakers.” It was the first question she’d asked since they woke and started walking again, and more words than he’d spoken since she had refused to let him touch her.

  He hadn’t intended to go through Do Good, but it wasn’t far out of his way, and it occurred to him that Lantak and his band might have caused trouble here as well. But Do Good looked as it always did. Neat, clean. The black-on-white sign, the whitewashed meeting house, the weathered gray barns and houses: everything was exactly the same as always.

  Quent pushed open the double swinging doors of the split-log trading post and walked inside. Esther Snowberry was standing behind the counter. “Good afternoon, Esther. I hoped I’d find you here.” He hadn’t seen Esther for five years. Her hair was entirely white now, and her face was lined.

  Esther turned to him with a broad smile. “Good afternoon to thee, Quentin Hale. Of course I am here. And thee is most mightily welcome. We’d had word that thee had returned to Shadowbrook and I was hoping thee would visit us soon. Sit down and rest thyself. Thee must—” She caught sight of the woman behind him, wearing white bearskins. Long ago there had been a squaw on the Patent who wore such things, but she’d thought … No, this woman was young, and white, not Indian. “Perhaps thee can introduce me to thy guest, Quentin.”

  “This is Mademoiselle Nicole Crane,” Quentin said. “I must ask permission to leave her with you, Esther. Until someone from Do Good can find the time to take her back to the big house.”

  Nicole whirled on him. “No! You promised, Quent! You promised!” This betrayal after he had given his word was too much, too cruel. She could not entirely choke back the tears of fury and frustration. The white-haired woman was looking at her. No doubt she believed the problem to be that Quentin Hale did not want her. As if she had thrown herself at him and he—Mon Dieu, forgive me. Forgive my pride. Sainte Vierge, help me. “Please forgive me, madame. I do not wish to be rude, but—”

  “I need no title, child. I am called Esther Snowberry. And thee must not excite thyself so.” The girl was distraught. There were blue circles beneath her eyes and her cheeks were sunken with fatigue. “It is no trouble to us to have thee here. My son-in-law will happily drive thee to Shadowbrook tomorrow. He will take the wagon and bring back a fresh cask of rum for our stocks here, so the journey will be as useful for us as for thee.”

  Nicole started to say something, but Quent cut her off as if she were a disobedient child. “I’ve not got a lot of time for explanations, Esther. There’s been an Indian attack on the Patent, Huron renegades.” He ignored her gasp of shock and went on. “They did much damage. It well may be there’s no rum ready for you. But in any case Mademoiselle Crane must be returned safely to my mother’s care, and I cannot take her.”

  “You promised,” Nicole whispered. “You made a sacred vow.”

  “Later,” he snapped, turning his head and speaking directly to Nicole. “I told you. I’ll take you north later.”

  “Thee can settle thy business after thee has rested and eaten,” Esther Snowberry said. “It is not possible to make wise decisions when thee is hungry and thirsty and without ease. Come, sit over here.” She indicated the pair of benches that flanked the big fireplace. “I will send for food.”

  Quent started for the door, pretending to believe her words had been meant only for Nicole. “Quentin Hale.” Esther’s voice stopped him. “Thee can make far better time wherever thee is going with a bit of proper food in thy stomach. And it will be quicker to have it here than to find it and kill it and cook it in the woods.”

  Her tone did not permit defiance. He walked to the bench and sat down. The fire was banked because of the August heat, but smoldering enough so it could be revived if it were needed. Nicole sat opposite him. She did not speak. He expected her to argue further, tell him what a scoundrel he’d been, say he’d lied to her—he hadn’t lied, just hadn’t told her all the truth—but she only looked at him as if he were a dog turd, blast her. There was no denying that’s exactly what he felt like.

  “Hepsibah Jane,” Esther called. A child appeared from the shadows where she’d retreated when the shouting began. “This is my Judith’s girl,” Esther said. Hepsibah Jane looked to be about five. She had a wooden sampler frame and a needle still in her hands, though judging from the big-eyed stare she fixed on the strangers it was a safe bet she hadn’t taken a stitch for some minutes. “Go find thy mother, child. Quickly. Tell her Quentin Hale is here from the big house. With a guest. They are needing to be fed.”

  After the little girl left not a word was spoken by any of them. Quent and Nicole sat and tried not to look at each other. Esther busied herself among the trade goods behind the long wooden counter. When she turned back to them she held a stack of clothing. “Perhaps thee would care to try these things, Nicole Crane. If thee does not wish to wear a squaw’s clothing for whatever part of thy journey lies ahead. There is a small room behind, where thee might see if these would accommodate thy needs.”

  Yes, that was sensible. Whatever Quent said, she had not given up. She was going to Québec, not Shadowbrook, and for what waited at the end of her journey, the white bearskins of an Indian squaw were certainly not suitable. Nicole nodded her thanks and stood up.

  Esther led her toward the small storeroom in the rear. Quent rose. “Judith will come quickly, Quentin,” Esther said without turning around. “Thee need not rush away thinking thee will be much delayed.” He settled back on the bench.

  Five minutes later Judith hurried in, carrying a basket filled to overflowing. “Thee is most welcome, Quentin Hale. It is good to see thee again.”

  “And you, Judith.” She was expecting another child, and glowing with the prospect. “I had thought to see your slave—Prudence, as I recall. But I’m glad for the chance to say hello to you.”

  “Prudence is here, but she is no longer a slave,” Judith explained as she unloaded the basket. “She has a house of her own and makes those calico bags.” She nodded to a stack of yellow and blue drawstring bags piled high on the counter. “The Indians quite like them
as trading goods.”

  “Not a slave?” Quent said quietly. “I’m not entirely surprised.”

  “It was the decision of the entire community. Many Friends are so thinking these days. We discussed it at Yearly Meeting three years past and it was agreed there would be no more slaves in Do Good. Thy father had no quarrel and no reason to complain, since the business here is done the same as always, with or without them.” She removed two large slices of meat pie from her basket as she spoke, and a pile of biscuits spread with butter. “Hepsibah said there was someone with thee. I brought enough for two now and something for thy journey so—”

  “I brought a young woman, a guest of my mother. She has gone with your mother to see if some proper clothes can be found for her.”

  Judith looked puzzled, but Esther Snowberry appeared before her daughter found a way to voice a tactful question.

  The older woman beckoned him to the back of the trading post. “Quentin, I beg thy indulgence.”

  He murmured, “Excuse me,” to Judith, then got up and went to where Esther stood waiting.

  “I apologize for discussing that of which I have no knowledge,” she began, “but among us it is a good thing to speak plainly, as thee knows.”

  “I know. Speak your piece, Esther. I’m listening.”

  “That young woman is sorely tried, Quentin. She is in great need of understanding, and I fear it can come only from thee. Thee must examine thy conscience and see if there is any way thou has not dealt fairly and respectfully with her.”

  God help them, Esther thought he had taken advantage of Nicole, and that he was deserting her. He had no time to explain. Every moment that passed he chafed to be on the trail, prayed that Solomon would survive until he caught up with Lantak and the others. “Esther, I give you my word, I didn’t—I mean there was nothing—Confound it! I’ve no idea how to explain.”