Wild legacy

by Conn, Phoebe

  "I wish you good luck, but this war has gone on too long," Falcon murmured through a lazy yawn, "and so has today. Let's get some sleep. I'll check on the horses."

  To please Belle, Falcon had left Nails at home and ridden a dapple-gray gelding named Smoke Ring. Smoke was a fine mount that could carry him all day without tiring, but he was not Nails. Afraid the horse sensed his disappointment, Falcon gave him extra attention and talked with him each night as though he were an old friend.

  He would discuss the day's ride and make plans for the next, all the while stroking the gelding's soft, smooth muzzle and finely arched neck. The horse seemed to appreciate the chat, and would snicker softly. "You miss home, don't you, Smoke?" Falcon asked. "WTiat I miss is Belle. I imagine her strolling down by the river about this time in the evening, and thinking of me. At least I hope she is thinking of me as she is never far from my thoughts."

  Falcon gave the horse a final pat, then returned to the fire and stretched out on his stomach. Etienne wished him a good night, but sat up a while longer. Falcon could not help but believe Etienne must long for something more than political freedom—a sweetheart as pretty as Belle, per-

  haps—but respecting his solitude, he did not speak the thought aloud.

  While Falcon and Etienne were moving southwest, Lord Cornwallis had captured Charlotte, but with a great many of his force ill, could advance no farther in his effort to subdue the southern colonies. Lieutenant Colonel Patrick Ferguson, the Inspector for Militia in the Southern Provinces, was also bound for Charlotte. Moving west with twelve hundred American-born Loyalists, his mission was to cover Cornwallis's left flank, to defeat rebel militia, and to enlist whatever Loyalist recruits he could find among the residents of the South Carolina Blue Ridge Mountains. Rather than attracting recruits, however, Ferguson, who was noted for being one of Cornwallis's cruelest officers, encountered fierce resistance from armed backwoodsmen.

  Unable to summon support from Charlotte, on October 7, 1780, Ferguson took up a defensive position on the slopes of King's Mountain. Digging in on the crest of the steep hill, Ferguson's troops looked down over a rocky slope dotted with towering pines. They felt exhilarated but secure.

  Falcon and Etienne had joined the frontiersmen two days earlier. Living on the edge of civilization where Indians were a constant threat, most had shown little interest in the war when it had been waged on the east coast, but now that Cornwallis had sent Ferguson out into the Carolina Piedmont, they had a good reason to fight. Led by Colonels William Campbell, Joseph MacDowell, John Sevier, and Isaac Shelby, they numbered eleven hundred.

  "This is going to be too easy," Falcon whispered to Etienne. "We'll move up the hillside from tree to tree and take the mountain before nightfall. You'll see."

  Falcon had previously fought with William Campbell, who was Patrick Henry's brother-in-law and led the Virginia Militia. Falcon was clearly looking forward to the battle,

  while Etienne had to fight the queasiness in his stomach to appear as cool-headed. When the order was given to advance, he copied Falcon's bravado; moving with a lithe grace and using the trees as shields, made his way up the treacherous hillside.

  The fire from above was continuous, but so inaccurate that the frontiersmen quickly grew bold. They crawled and lurched up the hill, all the while firing their rifles with the skill they had honed in their youth. Etienne slipped going over a boulder, but Falcon caught him by the belt before he took a tumbling fall all the way back down the mountain. The pair fought on, side by side, coughing in the rain of pine needles and rock chips thrown up by the bullets pelting the earth.

  They heard Ferguson's shrill silver whistle and dodged a savage bayonet charge to press on. A white flag appeared on the mountain, but firing continued from both sides. Etienne knelt as he and Falcon used the same tree for cover. He reloaded and had just raised his rifle to his shoulder when a bullet knocked Falcon off his feet.

  Etienne grabbed for him, caught the fringe on his pant leg, and hung on. He had to fight to maintain his balance to keep them both from skidding down the steep incline. The bullet had passed through Falcon's right leg just above the knee, and Etienne yanked hard to pull him behind the tree to do what he could for his friend. All around them the bitter fight continued and screams and curses echoed off the trees. Etienne looped his belt around Falcon's leg to stem the flow of blood, but the brave's buckskins were already soaked.

  Falcon gritted his teeth, leaned back against the tree, and fought to stay conscious, but he knew the wound was bad. "I won't lose my leg," he swore through clenched teeth.

  Etienne was more frightened for Falcon than he was about the outcome of the battle, but he ducked as a bullet whistled by so close it tore a hunk of bark from the tree.

  "No. You are very strong." He offered what encouragement he could, but with the firing so intense, he dared not carry Falcon down the hill for fear they both might be shot in the back.

  The frontiersmen needed only one hour to overwhelm the Loyalists, but the battle was the bloodiest since Bunker Hill. Colonel Ferguson was killed as he rode his horse on a wild charge down the hill, and his entire force was either killed, wounded, or taken prisoner. As for the backwoodsmen, they lost only twenty-eight men, while sixty-two were wounded.

  Despite his agonizing pain, Falcon heard cries of "Tar-leton's quarter!" and knew men were being slaughtered who should have been allowed to surrender.

  "Stop the killing," he urged Etienne. "Go on. The fight's over. Don't let any more men die."

  Amazed that Falcon could think so clearly, Etienne left, but only briefly. He dragged what wounded men he could away from the carnage, but he refused to leave Falcon alone for long. He stood guard over his terrified prisoners and his wounded friend until a physician at last appeared. "Treat this man first," Etienne insisted, pointing to Falcon.

  The doctor was a pudgy young man with wispy blond hair, but he had kind eyes and nodded immediately. "Yes. I'm looking after our own first." He slit Falcon's pantleg up the side, then loosed Etienne's belt and handed it to him. "You're very lucky. The bullet missed the artery or we'd have blood spurting with a definite pulse. You see, this is just seeping out all over."

  "Well, stop it!" Falcon cried. "It makes no difference if I bleed to death slowly, or fast. I'll be just as dead."

  "A good point." The physician did his best to cleanse the entry and exit wounds, then bound them with lint soaked in oil and wrapped the leg with a long piece of linen, "Where are you from?" he asked.

  "Virginia."

  "Good. There are other Virginians among the wounded and you can all go home together."

  His whole leg was throbbing with excruciating pain, and for the first time, Falcon feared he might not make it that far. He reached out for Etienne. "You take me home," he whispered.

  Falcon had been a true friend to him, and Etienne could not refuse. "I will," he promised. He knelt beside him and gripped his shoulder. "Belle will take such good care of you, you will be dancing again before the holidays."

  Falcon had never cared much for dancing, but tried to smile. "I just want to be able to walk."

  The doctor rose, took Etienne's arm, and pointed down the hill. "Wait a while to make certain he does not lose any more blood, and then bring him to the bottom of the hill. I want all the wounded kept together."

  Etienne nodded, then, too badly shaken to remain on his feet, he sat down beside Falcon while the physician looked after the Loyalist prisoners. "I have been wounded several times," he explained. "The pain is always bad."

  Falcon closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing, but that was such a great understatement, he could not find a clever reply. Nails had always brought him good luck. He had known that, but he would never tell Belle he had been wounded because he had left the stallion at home. She would suffer so badly when he came limping home that he would never cause her more pain, but when he was next called upon to fight, he would ride Nails or simply stay at home.

  While Etien
ne and Falcon waited on the hill, the bodies of the enemy dead were heaped together and covered with logs rather than buried. By the time Falcon felt strong enough to make his way down the hill with Etienne's help, the spoils of the battle were being parceled out. The buckskin-clad victors took horses, rifles, and even clothing from

  the defeated Loyalists. By sundown, their mission against Colonel Ferguson done, many left for home.

  William Campbell knelt beside Falcon. "I won't ask how you feel because I know it can't be good, but I'll see that you and the other Virginians reach home safely. You're one of the best men we've got, and you must know how much today's victory means. With Ferguson and his men lost, Cornwallis will have to go on the defensive. After the rout at Camden, we needed this victory, and badly."

  Falcon nodded as Campbell continued to compliment him and praise their success. Faint from loss of blood, he was glad to be on the winning side, but he was a long way from home, and that was where he wanted to be.

  Belle was helping her mother tend her herb garden when she heard Falcon speak her name. Elated that he had returned home, she looked around, expecting to find him coming her way, but he was nowhere in sight. "Did you hear someone call my name just now?" she asked her mother.

  Arielle was harvesting the comfrey she had planted last spring. She would dry both the leaves and roots for medicines. She straightened up and scanned the yard. Dominique was standing near Belle, and looked equally perplexed. "No. Could it have been a bird, or the wind?"

  There were birds in the nearby cottonwoods, but Belle had never heard any with calls of a single tone which would mimic her name. There was a gentle breeze, but again, it did not have a masculine sound. "No. It was Falcon. He called to me very clearly, as though he had some urgent need." When her mother and sister exchanged a worried glance, Belle was provoked with them both.

  "I did hear him. I swear I did. His voice was as clear as yours, Mother. I don't understand why he isn't here."

  Arielle set her scissors and basket aside and came to her daughter. "I believe you. Falcon loves you dearly, and no

  matter how far away he might be, he must surely be thinking of you. Even if his words echoed only in your mind, his thoughts were surely with you."

  Having no further interest in the herbs, Belle crossed to the bench at the edge of the garden and sat down. "I don't believe this is a good omen," she murmured fretfully.

  Arielle quickly joined Belle on the bench. "Please. Do not worry when there is no need."

  "No need?" Belle had already dipped into her mother's store of dried raspberry leaves to brew a tea that eased the nausea she experienced upon waking. She believed she might have become pregnant the first time she had slept with Falcon in August. It was now October. The fact that she and Falcon were not legally wed was a small problem, however.

  "Falcon has had time to return to the fighting," she reminded her mother. "When so many others have been killed—"

  "Stop it!" Arielle ordered emphatically. "You must not allow that thought to even enter your mind. Falcon is the most skilled of soldiers. He is well, as he always is. Don't doubt that."

  Dominique walked over to them, but she did not look nearly as confident as their mother. "Have you ever heard Father's voice when he wasn't near?" she asked.

  Arielle gestured helplessly. "No. But I have heard of people hearing the voices of their loved ones when they could not possibly be heard. It could be a very good omen, cherie. Falcon may be on his way home again, and thinking of how much he wants to see you. Or perhaps it was merely a vivid memory that touched you suddenly."

  Belle shook her head. "I was thinking of how much I still had to learn from you about herbs, not about Falcon. It wasn't a sound I just conjured up. It simply happened as naturally as he speaks to me when he's here. That's why it startled me so not to find him nearby."

  Dominique sat down beside Belle. "Let's view this as a

  good thing," she proposed. "I wish I had someone thinking of me as often as Falcon must dwell on thoughts of you."

  "Half the Virginia militia must dream of you," Belle mused aloud.

  "Belle!" Arielle scolded.

  Dominique laughed. "No. She's right, Mother. At one time or another, I do believe a great many of the men serving with Virginia's militia have called on me. I should have kept count. Well, no matter. I think it's sweet that you heard Falcon speak your name. Make a note of the date, and when he comes home, ask him what he was doing today. I imagine you'll find he was lost in thoughts of you."

  Belle longed to believe that. "I suppose that could be true."

  Arielle leaned close to kiss her daughter's cheek. "Of course it is true. Come help me finish in the garden, and we'll go inside and make lemonade."

  "No. I think I'll go down to the stable and check on Nails. With Falcon gone, he's undoubtedly feeling neglected." Without waiting for her mother's permission, Belle rose and started off toward the stable.

  Arielle turned to watch her go. "I do not like this," she whispered to Dominique. She reached for her daughter's hand. "Say a prayer with me for Falcon. I do not want Belle to lose him when he is so precious to her."

  "One soul sharing two bodies, I believe she said." Dominique bowed her head and prayed that her cousin was as well as when she had last seen him. Her thoughts swiftly strayed to Etienne, and she added his name. As she and her mother finished working in the garden, she grew increasingly concerned that Falcon had called to Belle for a reason, and that it could not possibly have been good.

  Belle walked through the stable, but Nails's stall was empty and she went on outside to the paddock, where she found the beautiful stallion in a highly agitated state. One

  of the stableboys was seated on the top rail watching him. "What's gotten into Nails?" she called to him.

  The boy scrambled down off the rail and removed his hat. "That I don't know, Miss Belle. He just started kicking up an awful fuss in his stall, so I brought him out here, but he's no happier."

  Belle rested her arms on the top rail. She called to Nails and the horse trotted over to her, but then tossed his silky white mane and trotted away. "He misses Falcon as badly as the rest of us."

  "That may very well be true, Miss Belle, but what shall we do with him if he won't calm down?"

  "If he looks as though he might jump the fence, call Hunter. He'll know how to handle him."

  Belle considered going to look for Hunter herself, but if hearing the call of a loved one meant something sinister to the Seneca, she would rather not know it. Apparently calmed by her presence, Nails slowed his restless circling and came back to her. She reached out to pat his neck and recalled the nights she and Falcon had ridden him into the forest outside Camden. She wondered what other secrets the stallion might be privy to.

  "I wish you could talk," she told him. "I'm sure your opinions would be unique to say the least, and undoubtedly valuable. As it is, we shall have to be content with no more than a nuzzle and a pat. Leave him out in the paddock for a while," she called to the stableboy. "Perhaps he was simply bored."

  "Yes, Miss Belle. I'll do that."

  Belle pushed away from the paddock and walked back through the stable. This time she stopped to visit a moment with Ladybug, who was passing the afternoon in lazy contentment. She then went on to the river and sat down on the grassy slope to watch the water surge past in rollicking waves. She missed Falcon more each day, and had even

  taken to visiting his room in the evening before she went to bed.

  There was a bow and arrows he had made as a child lying on the desk. She remembered that each time Hunter had taken him off into the woods to teach him something new, he had come running home to show her what he had learned. He had always been so proud of his skills—and it had been an endless source of wonderful games for her. What a strange pair they must have been, an Indian boy in buckskins and a little blond girl in ribbon and lace.

  Belle hugged her knees as she began to cry. She had never known a world without Fa
lcon, and she couldn't bear to think he might have called to her with his dying breath.

  Etienne demanded a wagon taken from Ferguson's troops, hitched his bay and Smoke to it, and started off for home the morning after the battle. Along with Falcon, he had three other wounded, but there was little he could offer in the way of care. One man had been shot in the arm, another in the foot, while the third had been slashed by a Loyalist making a bayonet charge. Falcon was the most seriously wounded, but also the one most familiar with the terrain. Etienne relied upon him to set their course.

  With three spare horses, Etienne was able to switch teams often, but fording the Catawba River taxed the strength of both man and beast. Wet and weary, they swung wide around Charlotte to avoid British patrols. Then Etienne began angling northeast as they crossed the Pee Dee River, but with better than three hundred miles to cover before they reached Williamsburg, he never drew an easy breath. The man with the injured foot offered what help he could, while the fellow with one good arm did, too, but Etienne watched Falcon and the other man grow progressively weaker.

  William Campbell had given them what provisions he

  could spare, and Etienne caught fish when he could, but he had a difficult time convincing his ailing companions to eat more than a few bites at each meal. There were days they went without fresh water, and others when Etienne had to get down from the wagon to lead the horses through the swamps. He lost count of the days on the hellish journey, and cried with his passengers when they at last passed into Virginia.

  While Belle heard no more voices, she awoke each dawn burdened with a sense of foreboding that kept her from enjoying any part of the day. Rather than accomplish any useful tasks, she wandered the plantation in aimless circles. She could not concentrate on the print in books, nor work on embroidery. She tried fishing, but missed Falcon so badly she never put her hook in the water.