by Jamie Carie
She felt better, even with such simple words, knowing that God had revealed to her the hidden depths of her heart. With renewed, humble resolve, she began to pray for her children and whatever else the Lord might trust her with.
* * *
QUIET FOX HAD disappeared.
Isabelle, Julian, and Samuel searched for the guide around the perimeter of the campsite, carefully moving brush and bush so as not to disturb any footprints, but they found nothing beyond their own prints, save the wolf’s prints by the stream. Quiet Fox, or someone, had been careful to cover his tracks. Finally they decided they must go on without him.
Samuel kept them moving at a pace that made Isabelle’s legs quiver in exhaustion, made sweat soak through the bodice of her dress and her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth.
Samuel didn’t talk much, seemingly determined to keep some distance between them after the intense encounter of the night before. But Isabelle had caught him looking at her in a way that said he wasn’t as disinterested as he wanted to appear. Why was he working so hard to ignore her? Had she frightened him off? It was all she could think about as they marched.
On the fourth day the trees gave way to the high grasses of blue-green prairies. Waving and rippling under the hot sun, buzzing with insects, tickling and itching, in places the grass reached to Isabelle’s chin. She walked carefully at first, not knowing what might be slithering in the lush growth under her moccasined feet, but soon enough she didn’t have the strength left to care. The wood had made walking difficult at times, but at least it had been shaded. Now the hazy heat of the sun beat down on their reddened faces, making them damp with sweat and causing the men to pull their hats low over their foreheads.
To make matters worse, the canteens were running low on water. Isabelle’s hand shook with trepidation as the last warm, wet swallow disappeared down her scratchy throat. Lengthening her stride to catch up with Samuel, she grasped his arm.
He stopped, took off his hat, and wiped his brow with the sleeve of the arm Isabelle wasn’t hanging onto. He then replaced the hat, not looking as hot or tired as she and her brother certainly did.
“Water,” she croaked. “We need to find water.”
Samuel looked into the distance ahead of them and squinted. He pulled his canteen out of its strap holder at his waist and handed it over as he talked. “Take mine. We might not reach another water source until the Kaskaskia River. It’s why I am pushing us so hard. If we hurry, we should reach it by nightfall.”
Isabelle took the offered canteen, looked back to judge how far Julian was behind them, then pulled the cork out. Looking into Samuel’s eyes, she put her mouth on the lip of the canteen and tilted it back, taking a long swallow.
“Thank you,” she said, holding out the water.
He took a quick drink, Isabelle unabashedly watching him, noticing the beginnings of a beard that had grown in the time since she’d met him. His eyes met hers with a tentative, afraid-of-what-she-might-do-next look in them. Taking pity on him, she only smiled and offered the cork.
He reached for it, his fingers touching hers for a moment. “Well, we should keep moving if you can. River should be a few hours ahead of us.”
Suddenly there was a shout from Julian. He was gazing upward, his finger pointing to the sky.
Samuel and Isabelle looked up and went still. The sun was darkening at an alarming rate.
“What is it?” Isabelle breathed.
Samuel stood, braced. She could hear his quickening breath, knew that he was trying to assimilate the strange phenomenon above them.
Julian ran up to them, quoting Scripture. “‘The sun will be turned to darkness and the moon to blood before the coming of the great and glorious day of the Lord.’”
Isabelle felt her heart pound at the words. Was that it? Was the world ending?
Suddenly Samuel pulled her toward him and pressed her head into his shoulder. His voice was low and intense as he commanded Julian, “Don’t look at it. Look away.”
Isabelle felt the muscles of Samuel’s shoulder against her forehead, his hand against the back of her head. She breathed hard, wanting to look up but knowing that she could not move against the steady pressure of his hand.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“I don’t know.” His voice was against her ear. “But I know we shouldn’t watch it.”
“Is it evil?”
She could feel his whole body tense as he searched out the question. “Not evil,” he said finally. “Just something we shouldn’t look at.”
“I don’t understand,” she wailed. “Let me go.”
“Trust me.”
He pulled her closer in an embrace that an hour ago she would have fought an army for, but now she felt trapped and small and weak.
“For goodness’ sake. For once in your life, Isabelle, trust someone.”
A few hours later they had exhausted every conceivable explanation of what had made the sun go dark and fell into silent marching. Now, with no river in sight, Isabelle began to feel a little desperate. The sun beat on the exposed back of her neck now, making it burn and sting when she turned her head. Her raging thirst was playing tricks on her, turning her thoughts to areas of her mind that she hadn’t known existed until now—places of defeat, of hopelessness, of dark dread. Her legs continued to move of their own accord, pushing her forward in a sluggish line that wavered and weaved.
Julian moved alongside her and put his arm around her, supporting some of her weight. “Are you okay, ma soeur?” he asked, using a name he hadn’t called her since he was a boy.
Isabelle leaned into his shoulder, trying to put a smile into her voice. “Some water would be nice.”
“Don’t think about it so much.”
“I cannot seem to think of anything else. I wonder if Samuel is right, that we’ll reach the river by nightfall.”
“Even if we don’t, we will feel better after the sun goes down. We should walk faster if you can though. Samuel is getting farther and farther ahead of us.”
This was different, Julian being the stronger of them. She touched his shoulder. “You are growing up, mon frère.”
He shook his head and looked down, embarrassed but with pleasure flooding his face.
She caught his dark blue eyes and smiled with compressed lips. “I am glad you are my brother.”
She had never said that before, and he looked quickly away. “As if you had a choice.”
“Well, there is that,” she said, jabbing him in the shoulder and lightening the mood. Then she tilted her head and smiled at him. “It is true though. Don’t forget it.”
Julian just shook his head.
Turning brisk, Isabelle said loud enough for Samuel to hear, “I think we are lost.” Then quieter, more serious. “What if he has given us false promises of his scouting and tracking abilities? We don’t really know him.”
“I thought you liked him,” Julian teased.
“I did. Until he made fun of me. And then manhandled me.”
“He did not.”
“So quick to defend a stranger.” She looked ahead to where Samuel walked several yards in front of them. “We don’t really know anything about him,” Isabelle stubbornly insisted as if to herself.
“We will be careful. But I think,” Julian said in a faraway voice, “Samuel could be our friend. Don’t lose faith in our scout just yet.”
Isabelle lengthened her stride and nodded. “I hope you are right.”
* * *
ON THE FIFTH day they traveled only a little way before seeing a dark smudge against the horizon. It felt like they had been adrift on a sea of grass for days and then, suddenly, up ahead was land. Salvation had come in the form of a dark tree line in the distance and the promise of the Kaskaskia River. Samuel didn’t tell them how relieved he was to see it, how he had thought they might be lost and wandering straight into hostile territory. Instead, he spurred them on with renewed promises of water.
They walked
faster now, saying little, conserving all their energy for the task of keeping one foot moving in front of the other in the tall grass. Samuel offered Isabelle his arm to lean on, but she spurned it saying, “I’m fine,” and then proved it by walking ahead of all of them for the next fifteen minutes.
By noon they reached the farmhouse Samuel was sent on this mission to find, causing him internally to change hats from guide to spy, covertly studying the farmhouse as they approached it, as well as the surrounding land, its proximity to the river, and the availability of any boats and outlying buildings. It was just as the hunters had described.
It was perfect.
Isabelle ran toward the door, a raspy cry of relief escaping from her parched throat. Samuel started to stop her, then thought about it and regrouped. If the Renoirs cooperated, and he thought they would, this might prove a valuable front to explain his presence in the area. He watched as she banged on the door, saw a young woman open it, listening and nodding. He and Julian were now close enough to hear Isabelle say that they were traveling to Kaskaskia and had run out of water.
By the time Samuel and Julian got to the plank door, a man had joined the woman. He was quite a bit older than his wife but had bright, intelligent eyes and, after a thorough perusal of the three of them, held out his hand to Samuel.
“Henry Coffman.”
Samuel grinned with friendly intent and nodded to Isabelle. “I hope my wife didn’t startle you, sir. She’s been mighty thirsty these last two days, and I didn’t have the heart to stop her headlong rush to your door.”
The couple smiled at the wide-eyed Isabelle as she stood by a barrel of water, drinking from a huge wooden ladle. Samuel gave her a look that said to go along with the story. She tilted her head at him and sauntered over, extending her hand to their hosts and passing the ladle to Julian.
“Do forgive me.” She smiled and batted her eyelashes at Samuel, “My husband swore he knew the way.” She pressed her lips together in mock innocence. “He always did have a tendency to get us lost. Why one time …”
Samuel stopped her, groaning internally, knowing that he had underestimated her yet again and that she was determined to make his life difficult at best. “This is Isabelle—”
“What is our last name, dear? I’ve forgotten.” She dimpled at him, tilting her head again as Samuel silently cursed at himself.
“Holt.” He smiled at the bewildered-looking hosts. “A sudden wedding. Recently.”
Julian made a choking sound that Samuel tried to cover by pulling Julian to the forefront. “This is Julian Renoir.”
“His brother-in-law,” Isabelle said happily. “They knew each other first. Samuel wanted shooting lessons—can’t hit the side of a barn with that fancy rifle of his to save his life, and wouldn’t you know it, my brother is a sharpshooter.” She shrugged. “I took one look at him, so big and strong and manly,” she clung to his arm and looked up into his face with adoring eyes, “and I was smitten.”
The young woman giggled. “Well, ain’t that a story. Please come in and rest yourselves. I’m Missy and this,” she went to a cradle and lifted out a tiny baby, “this is Benjamin. He’s three weeks old today. Say howdy, Benjamin.”
Isabelle smiled at the baby. “So precious. Why I was just telling Samuel the other day that I want a baby so bad I can hardly stand it.”
Samuel nearly choked on the water he was drinking and thrust the ladle into Isabelle’s chest. “Could you get me some more water, wife?”
“Why certainly, husband. You know I live and breathe to serve you.” Another lingering, adoring smile, and she turned to do his bidding.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
They all sat around the table, Missy heating up a stew they’d had for dinner, supplying plenty of water and making tea for them. Isabelle was holding the baby, looking a little uncomfortable as though she’d like to find a place to set him down, while Henry, who thankfully had turned out to be a fount of information about the area, sat and smoked from an old clay pipe and talked with Samuel and Julian.
Samuel learned that this was the only farm for miles this side of the Kaskaskia River and that the activity at the fort was normal for this time of year—Indians traveling in and out to trade and the British firmly, if absently, in control. It would take less than thirty minutes to hike to the fort from here. Henry owned two canoes and assured Samuel he would be happy to ferry them across in the morning so that they could continue on their mission of fetching the priest’s books.
After dinner, feeling much better with a full stomach, Samuel rose and asked the location of the outhouse. He planned to get a better look at the layout of the farm.
“Oh, I’ll come with you. You know how afraid of the dark I am,” Isabelle said in a somewhat ominous tone. A vision of her killing the wolf flashed through Samuel’s mind, and he almost laughed aloud but managed to duck his head instead and slap his hat down low on his head. “Come along then.”
Once outside and safely out of earshot, Isabelle hissed in a whisper, “What was that all about? Your wife? Why didn’t you tell them the truth? Who are you really, Samuel Holt?”
“Which question would you like answered first, sweetheart?”
“Sweetheart, is it? Why, I ought to shoot you for doing that to me without any warning.”
“I knew you’d catch on quick enough. And anyway, you didn’t let me lead. You tore off toward the front door before I had a chance to tell you my plan.”
“I was dying of thirst, if you will remember. You certainly didn’t know where to find water.”
“I knew it was at the river; it just took us longer to get here than I thought it would.”
“Don’t get me sidetracked. Why would you need to lie? What is wrong with the truth?”
They had reached the outhouse door, a quaint moon and three stars cut out of the wood. Samuel leaned against it and sighed. “Can you keep a secret?”
Isabelle scowled. “What do you think?”
“I work for a large trading company. Out of New Orleans. I’m here scouting, fleshing out new areas of trade.”
Isabelle stared hard at him, her head cocked to one side and her lips pressed together. “A trader. New Orleans? What is the company’s name?”
Samuel searched his memory and blurted out the only one he knew of, the one the folks at Fort Boonesborough had been complaining about. “The Virginia Company. Do you doubt it?”
“Yes, I doubt it. What would a trader have to hide?”
Samuel gave a short laugh and his most condescending look. “Men are generally more honest if they don’t know you are interested in their goods. Large quantities of goods.”
Isabelle gave him a long considering look. “My father is a trader,” she said, looking smug. “So be careful, Mr. Trader. I’m not ignorant about the ways of a voyageur.”
Wonderful. He’d picked the one vocation she knew something about. Samuel reached over and touched her cheek, not being able to resist its creamy softness in the moonlight and knowing it would change the dynamic of their conversation. “Guard the door for me, love? I wouldn’t want to be attacked by wild animals or anything while doing my business.”
Sure enough, Isabelle’s eyes grew dark and hot. “Too bad I don’t have my gun,” she said in a sultry voice. “I might just find something out here worth shooting, husband.”
Samuel laughed and ducked into the dark outhouse, shaking his head. Could there be another woman on the face of this earth so different from his Sara?
* * *
THE STARS WERE filling up the sky as they walked slowly back to the house, lingering in the dark. They entered the cabin to find Julian playing Henry’s guitar and singing a song—a sweet, heart-filled song about love lost that had Missy gazing at him with stars in her eyes. When the song ended, she clapped heartily and said to Isabelle on a long breath, “Your brother is so musical. My goodness, what talent.”
Isabelle smiled at her, nodding, glancing at Samuel who seem
ed to be engrossed with Henry. Both were cleaning their guns. “Yes he is. My mother says when he cried as a baby it sounded more like a song than a complaint. He’s been making up songs ever since.”
Missy shook her head, leaning over her son. “I sure would like to see a talent like that in one of my children someday. What a joy.” She glanced at her husband, and something sad flashed in her brown eyes. She quickly turned back to Isabelle and grinned, holding out her hand. “Come see the bed I made up for you and Mr. Holt.”
Julian looked suddenly toward Isabelle, a frown furrowing his eyebrows. Samuel stopped cleaning the gun and looked at Isabelle with something like panic in his eyes. He apparently hadn’t thought this scheme through, Isabelle thought with internal laughter. She grinned at him, saying to Missy, “Oh, you shouldn’t have. But it’ll be so nice to sleep on something other than the hard ground.”
6
They climbed the rickety ladder to the loft, which smelled faintly of garlic and onions and lavender, much like her mother’s cellar. Dried vegetables and herbs hung from the ceiling, and the sweet scent caused Isabelle her first pang of homesickness. A straw mattress lay in the middle of the floor, made up with two pillows and a couple of quilts. Isabelle found she wasn’t tired now though. Her body was humming with anticipation, just waiting to see Samuel’s head appear at the top of the ladder.
Missy said, “Julian can sleep in the baby’s room, and we’ll move little Benjamin’s cradle into our bedroom. So, you see, there’s plenty of room.”
“Thank you, Missy, this is just perfect.” Thinking of what two married women might say in private to each other, Isabelle lowered her voice. “You are so kind.”
Missy blushed and held the baby tighter to her chest, looking a little wistful. “I—that is—” She started to tear up and turned her head away from Isabelle, blinking rapidly. “I’m glad for you,” she managed, then quickly turned away and climbed back down the ladder.
Isabelle stared after her, wondering what was wrong. Hope had talked to Isabelle about what it would be like to be a wife, to share the marriage bed; and although there hadn’t been many physical details, Isabelle was no stranger to forest and farm animals. She was certain she knew the fundamentals. But Missy seemed so sad and unhappy about something. Sighing, not knowing what to do to help, she turned her body and her mind to the bed and smiled a smug smile, reaching for the top button of her dress.