Unaware of the little drama taking place between the two, Pierre hummed softly to himself as he gathered up the last of the fish, wrapped it carefully in a large leaf and placed it in his food pouch.
Cherish reluctantly took her eyes from Sloan’s. She looked down at the warm, sturdy moccasins on her feet, her mind awash with thoughts of this man’s kindnesses. Her eyes met Sloan’s again.
She smiled.
It was her answer.
Not a hint of what he was thinking showed on his face, but his shoulders relaxed. Reaching for the bark plate she had used, he put it with his and tossed it into the campfire.
CHAPTER
* 5 *
The forest was silver with the morning dew when they left the clearing.
“It’s time we moved on,” Sloan had said simply.
“Oui, mon ami.” Pierre put out the campfire, scattered the ashes and covered the fire spot with leaves and twigs.
Cherish gathered her things together. Sloan took a strong strip of hide from his pack and ran this under the corners of her blanket roll. He tied the ends, making a long loop. Leaving it on the ground beside his pack, he wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and tied it loosely, forming a pouch over her chest. He placed her gun in the pouch, being careful not to touch her breasts.
“When you no longer need the shawl for warmth, we’ll turn it around so that the pouch rides on your back. Have you used the gun?”
“I’ve not fired it, but I can load.”
He took the gun from the pouch, checked the load and returned it.
“It’s ready to fire. If you should need to use it, be sure to hold it in both hands and be ready for a kickback.”
“Do you think I’ll need to use it?”
“You never know. It’s best to be prepared.”
He placed his own pack securely on his back and looped her bedroll over his shoulder.
“I can carry my own pack. This”—she motioned to the pouch on her chest—“is so light.”
“It’ll take on weight.” He turned away, took up his rifle and headed into the woods. Brown followed.
Cherish adjusted the shawl so that the gun rode easily on her chest. She tried to match Sloan’s long, free-swinging stride and learned quickly how to keep her skirts from wrapping around her legs. During the hour that followed she thought of what Sloan had said about needing help with the babe. She called to mind the tasks that would require. The work, she told herself, would be easy even if the babe was newly born. She had helped neighbors back home care for infants.
What had happened to Sloan’s wife? Was he still grieving for her? Of course he was. Any decent man would grieve for a wife who died giving birth to his child. That Sloan was a decent man she had no doubt.
Cherish breathed in the sweet clean scent of the spruce trees, listened to the soft shushing sound of her moccasins on the drying autumn grass and marveled at the silence with which Sloan and Brown moved. The floor of the forest was thickly bedded with old leaves. It was no wonder they could pass through with scarcely a whisper of a sound coming from their feet.
Pierre had taken a position at the rear of their small caravan and Cherish tried to maintain the same distance behind Sloan so as not to slow his pace.
Once Sloan glanced back, never breaking his stride. “Too fast?”
“No,” she said, not wanting to waste breath saying more.
“We’ll walk faster this morning while we’re fresh, and slow a bit this afternoon until you get used to it.”
To pass the time Cherish tried to call to mind everything she knew about caring for an infant. The feeding of a child without a wet nurse was difficult. Did he have a cow? Of course he had a cow or the child would have starved. She chided herself for thinking he would not have provided food for his child. Who was with the child now? Oh, she wished she had asked that question when he asked her to come with him.
Not until the sun was well up did Sloan change his pace. Presently they came to an oak grove bordering the river. Sloan stopped and dropped his pack. He motioned to Brown to go to the river and drink.
Cherish had long since turned the shawl around. Now, lowering it to the ground, she wandered down to the water.
“Tired?” Sloan asked.
“Not really. I’m mostly warm and thirsty.”
“Feet holding out?”
“Yes, thanks to your wonderful footwear.” She accepted a cup of water, downed it and returned the cup. “That was so good.”
Sloan drank and returned the cup to his pack.
Pierre joined them. He had not said a word or made a sound since they had left the clearing by the spring. Cherish considered it remarkable that such a lively, boisterous man could remain silent for so long. She had felt his eyes on her often, but strangely she felt no resentment, was no longer embarrassed by his frank admiration.
“We’ll go northwest until we hit Dry Bed Creek, take that to the Salt and follow it until we are almost home,” Sloan told Pierre.
Pierre thought for a moment, then moved his big hands in a disapproving gesture.
“Mon Dieu, Sloan,” he began and continued speaking rapidly in French, his eyes darting to Cherish, who recognized the word enfant and another she had heard before but did not remember the meaning of.
“Speak English, Pierre,” Sloan said. “Cherish is no child. She has a right to know the dangers.”
Pierre turned to her. “Mademoiselle, I tell my friend it may be mistake to go into Cherokee land. Cherokee are moving to winter quarters. The young bloods are restless, raiding and taking scalps. I say, maybe it be wiser to follow the Kentucky to the Ohio and take flatboat down river to Carrolltown.”
Cherish said nothing, but her eyes went to Sloan.
“It will take weeks longer. You can’t depend on getting a boat when you want one. If we are to be home before the cold sets in, we cut across and follow the Salt.”
Sloan watched her as he spoke, judging her reaction. She felt a stirring of pride that he was sharing the decision with her.
“It’s important to get home soon?”
“The babe has no woman with her.” He stated the fact simply, his face giving none of his feelings away.
“I can walk,” she said simply.
Cherish was sure she saw a glint of admiration in Sloan’s gray eyes before he turned and picked up his pack.
For the rest of the morning the going was somewhat harder and their progress slower. Sloan picked his way unhesitatingly and surely, detouring around brush and fallen trees and avoiding boggy depressions. The river was off to their right, hidden by the forest where only an occasional bright ribbon of sunlight penetrated. Birds fluttered and chirped. Now and then a squirrel scampered from branch to branch and blue jays scolded them from the treetops. Cherish kept her eyes on Sloan’s broad shoulders, her one thought to match the pace he set.
The sun was only a third of its way across the sky when Cherish’s shoulders began to droop. The weighted shawl felt increasingly heavy across her chest. Once she glanced back at Pierre, his huge pack on his back and his rifle cradled in his arms. He grinned at her, his dark eyes shining. He was walking easily, and she knew the pace was slower out of consideration for her. Deliberately she pulled her mind off her discomfort, raised her chin, and settled into a walking pattern.
By noon she was so tired she wanted to sink to the ground, but Sloan pressed on, never speaking or looking back. So when he did halt and drop his pack it was so unexpected that Cherish simply came to a stop and looked at him.
“We’ll rest a spell and eat a bite.” He sat down under a large walnut tree. “I didn’t stop for you to rest,” he explained, “because it would be harder to keep on going. If you give in to it, you’ll have to rest every hour. If you put your weariness aside and press on, in time the weariness will pass and you’ll be stronger.”
Scarcely hearing his words, Cherish unshouldered her burden, moved heavily to a nearby tree, sank down and leaned back against the broad trunk.
A strand of her light hair had escaped its braid and was lying against her cheek. She swept it up with the back of her hand, then let the hand fall tiredly to her lap.
Sloan’s face was turned to her, his light eyes narrowed slits between the dark lashes. She wasn’t even sure he was looking at her until he spoke.
“Thirsty?”
She nodded.
“Me too.”
He dug into his pack and drew out the cup. Motioning to Brown to come along, he went down to the river.
Pierre dropped his pack near Cherish and followed them. Vaguely, she thought she should go with Sloan, but she found it too much of an effort to get up. Her eyelids drooped. The silence of the woods closed in and lulled her senses. Groggily, she identified the various sounds she heard: the water rushing over stones hurrying on to some distant place, the rustling of dry leaves being worried by the slight breeze, flocks of birds gathering for the long trip south.
“Cherish.”
She opened her eyes and sat up straight, embarrassed that she had dozed. Sloan held out a full cup of water. She took it, drained it without breathing, and returned the empty cup.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“More?”
She shook her head. “I’m usually not overly fond of drinking muddy river water, but that was good,” she added with a smile. “The rabbit you cooked last night is more to my taste right now.” She got to her feet, afraid that she’d not be able to move at all if she didn’t.
For a moment she thought Sloan was going to smile, but instead he squatted beside his pack, took out the rabbit, tore off a leg and handed it to her. Pierre came from the river, whistling softly under his breath, and accepted a portion of the meat.
“Thank you, mon ami. Ah, it is good to sit down, n’est ce pas, Mademoiselle?” He sank to the ground with a deep sigh, rolling his eyes at Cherish.
Cherish didn’t understand all that he had said, but she nodded in agreement.
Sloan took a portion of the meat and placed it on the grass for Brown before taking his own share. They ate hungrily, while Pierre chattered away between bites. Cherish listened with interest.
“I see John Harrod some days back. He tell me Daniel Boone came a-walking in days before. First his woman knew he was alive since he was taken by the Shawnee. He make friends, that Daniel. Make friends with old Chief Blackfish. Mon Dieu, Sloan, nobody know what to think. It is mystery why he is alive. His woman is going back over the mountains and is taking the little ones.”
Both men were silent for a while, thinking.
“What do you think, Pierre?” Sloan asked.
Pierre cleared his throat and appeared to be studying the question.
“Who knows,” he said at last. “Blackfish let Boone go, or he got a chance to run. Other prisoners were taken to Detroit—to the British—to be ransomed.” After a moment’s pause he went on. “There is much unrest in the Shawnee towns and with the Cherokee.”
Cherish watched Sloan’s face and waited for him to say something about the Cherokee, through whose land they would be traveling. When he remained silent, she dared not ask the questions on her mind, lest Sloan think she was afraid and insist on taking the long way around. She knew he didn’t want to waste time.
The memory of riding the crowded, rocking boat on the Ohio was still too fresh in her mind for her to want to repeat that experience. The broad river of fast-flowing muddy water, studded with dead tree trunks, broken by islands of dreary sand, was an ugly and mysterious thing. She didn’t care for water travel—sliding along past trees not changing in kind or color, the banks high in some places and low in others, but always the trees closing in the river. It was good to see open country, to walk in the woods, to cross a meadow and see the hills beyond.
She felt a thrill of excitement. There was so much to see, such a lot of country to cross . . . and she would cross it with Sloan. She darted a glance at him. He was preparing to shoulder his pack, and the awesome width of his shoulders, the well-muscled legs straining in the tight buckskin made her suddenly catch her breath and look away. An unfamiliar tingling set her body trembling at the thought of being alone with him for days, or weeks, in the far-reaching wilderness.
He came to her, knelt and picked up one of her feet. He removed the soft, fur-lined moccasin and examined the bottom of her foot. Without looking up at her, he examined the other foot, then replaced both moccasins. He inclined his head slightly toward her and got to his feet.
“We’ve miles to put behind us before dark. Can you make it?”
She stood and tilted her head to look up at him. His gray eyes locked with hers, and for a moment, she was lost in their depth and couldn’t speak.
“Yes,” she said softly, but firmly.
She waited.
This time it happened. He smiled. Dimples showed in his cheeks and sent her heart pounding against her breasts.
“I knew you were hickory.”
Cherish was suddenly wildly happy, and it showed in the glow on her cheeks and in her twinkling blue eyes. Her soft mouth parted as awareness of his masculine strength brought an overwhelming desire to lean forward and rest against him.
Sloan looked down into her wide shining eyes, and his expression changed into one of puzzlement.
“Ready?” he asked abruptly.
He settled the shawl pouch over her shoulders, motioned to Brown and walked away without a backward glance.
Cherish looked quickly at Pierre before following Sloan. He was watching quietly, waiting to fall in behind her, a knowing smile on his cheerful face. His black eyes sparkled mischievously and Cherish blushed a deep rose, but she tilted her chin up and smiled at him.
He gave a low chuckle of admiration and politely bowed his head, indicating that she was to precede him out of the clearing.
CHAPTER
* 6 *
The sun was going down. Thick shadows began to spread over the ground. Cherish was exhausted. The bodice of her dress was soaked with perspiration and clung to her bosom. Her skirt was limp and dirty. She had caught her hair on a low branch earlier in the afternoon and strands pulled from her braid floated around her face. Wisps of curls stuck to her cheeks.
Sloan led them through a dense growth of pines, needles of living green, each branch studded with rich brown cones. Sunlight, the last of the day, streaked through the branches, making ribbons of light on the ground. Flocks of birds settling in the upper branches of the trees were scolded by squirrels. The pungent scent of pine floated on the slight breeze.
The trail began to climb and run along a narrow ridge. The dense pine forest was on the left. The land on the right sloped down steeply to the river below. A large brown bird glided lazily into the air, gradually circling down to the river.
Sloan stopped suddenly and Brown froze in his tracks, his big head up and watching. Cherish halted close behind Sloan and peered around his shoulder. Crossing the path ahead were two furry black bear cubs, an enormous black mother bear sauntering along behind them.
“Bears!” Cherish whispered.
“Lots of them here, Mademoiselle,” Pierre whispered behind her.
“The little ones are lovely. The mother looks so calm and patient.”
“She may look that way, chérie, but angered she is deadly. She could tear you to pieces with one mighty swipe of her paw.”
Sloan turned around. “Pierre knows what he’s talking about, Cherish,” he said, low-voiced, but with a wide grin. “When Brown and I first met him, a bear had him treed and was just waiting for him to come crashing down. First he would yell like a stuck hog, then curse like a drunk river rat.”
“Mon Dieu,” Pierre nodded. “It is true, chérie. I crossed the trail between her and her cubs, not knowin’ they were there, and she thought I was to do them an injury.”
“If that mama bear had understood French, you’d not be here today,” Sloan teased. “I never knew there were so many French insults.”
“If not for Brown here”—Pie
rre nodded toward the dog, still watching the trail ahead—“she would have had me for supper while this one did nothing but laugh.”
“You’d have laughed, too, Cherish, if you could have seen him climbing that sapling with fifty pounds of furs on his back. The higher he went the more it bent toward the ground.”
“Ho! ’Tis something I don’t like to think about. Brown’s barking scared her away. Brown was lucky she didn’t know he was only a dog.”
“Or mistake him for a Frenchman,” Sloan said with a laugh.
He waited several minutes after the bears had disappeared from sight before he moved on out of the woods and across a park-like space with giant trees, then up a rocky ridge. Soon they left the ridge behind and the ground leveled out. The walking was easier even though the land had a roll and a swell to it. Evening insects were starting to hum and still Sloan didn’t stop.
Cherish concentrated on his broad back, occasionally forgetting to ward off the branches that slapped her face as she moved after him. She prayed her feet and legs would not give out on her. Some hours back her feet had started to hurt. Now with each step she felt as though she were walking on sharp stones. She tried not to think about them or her other discomforts. She didn’t allow herself to slow down or limp. To keep her mind off them she envisioned a dish of warm cornmeal mush, laced with heavy syrup, and a cup of hot sweet tea.
The last rays of daylight vanished. The sky was a dull gray and a thick haze rose from the river. The trees pressed close in around them like tall dark sentinels. Abruptly Sloan turned toward the river, and they followed it a short way. The ground here was uneven, and Cherish was so tired that she stumbled several times in her effort to keep up with him. At last he came to a small clearing overshadowed by a steep cliff. He stopped beneath the overhanging rock.
The men dropped their packs. Cherish stood numbly by. Sloan picked up a large stick and signaled to Brown. They went inside the gaping hole in the cliff. Pierre poked around in the grass and leaves in front of the opening.
Love and Cherish Page 5