by RITA GERLACH
His body was weak from hunger and torture, and yet he stood before the sachem. The old man walked around Nash, paused and made a mystic gesture with his hand. Over his chest hung a gruesome deerskin thong of bones and painted red figures. The scalplocks of his enemies hung from his belt. His face, painted white, appeared ghost-like. He shook a rattle of turtle shell and weaved around Nash.
Nash did not move when Angry Bear leaned near.
“He has powerful medicine,” Angry Bear said with a curled lip. “The words he speaks, he speaks to all white men.”
“I don’t fear his magic,” Nash said. “God, who made earth and sky and sea, guards me against his evil words.”
Around Nash crowded warriors. From the woods they came, from the rocky crags overlooking the river. They crouched on the ground around Nash. Most were young men edgy for battle. There were twenty-three of them, including Angry Bear, twenty-three lithe braves, stripped to their belts, oiled with the fat of the bear, their hair dressed in eagle feathers, painted for war.
Angry Bear fisted Nash’s musket. A fresh scalp hung from his beaded belt, no doubt the scalp of a man who had once been Nash’s friend. Clarke had fought beside Nash, drank ale with him, broke bread at his table, laughed with him, debated him. The gruesome sight caused his soul to lurch. Grief and rage dug its talons deep.
When he thought of Rebecah and her plight, and what might lie ahead for her, his heart groaned.
Sunlight fell upon Chief Logan, and it bothered Nash to see how old he now appeared. He had gone from peacemaker to war chief in the prime of his life. Cruelty shone in his eyes, not the warm and wise look that Nash had known before.
Logan motioned to Nash to speak.
“Many moons ago we smoked the peace pipe in your lodge, you gave me the honor of an Indian name, you welcomed me with open arms.”
“I did those things. You are still a son to me.”
Nash sighed. “I am thankful you still love me as your own, and since I have taken a wife, she is also part of your family. I seek her among the tribes. ”
Logan’s impassive stare etched with interest. “You have taken a wife?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you seek her among the tribes?”
“She and two other women were taken. You know the pain of losing those you love. Hear my cause and let me go free to find her. She carries my child. Let the peace that we’ve had between us remain strong.”
Logan’s troubled eyes peered at Nash through the smoke. He turned to the men around him. “The white man seeks his wife among our people. How many of our women have been taken? How many children murdered and left for the wolves and vultures?”
“There have been many,” Nash said. “Must my wife and unborn child be counted among them? If you let me live, I will find her, and I will speak of the mercy of Logan and of his wisdom.”
“I have heard of three women taken from the valley near the great river by a man not of the Nations, not of the English.”
Stunned, Nash stared at Logan. LaRoux! Although he knew, he asked, “Who is this man?”
“Jean LaRoux—your enemy and mine.”
“Then let me hunt him down. Let me save her and the others.”
Logan swung his hand forward. “Let him go.”
Angry Bear stood. With ruthless eyes, he drew his tomahawk and threw down a challenge. “Let us see how brave this man is you call a son. Let him prove he is a better warrior than I.”
Angry Bear let out a loud cry, raised the tomahawk above his head. He ran toward Nash. Nash caught him by his wrist. Locked together, the two men struggled against each other with barred teeth. Nash wrestled Angry Bear to the ground, pressed his arm toward the hot coals. The tomahawk fell from Angry Bear’s hand when the blistering heat touched his flesh.
The warriors cheered them on, and Logan watched in silence. With his knee against Angry Bear’s chest, Nash grabbed the tomahawk and raised it. He could have buried the blade into Angry Bear’s skull, but instead he struck it into the ground an inch from Angry Bear’s temple.
“I’m no murderer,” Nash shouted at the stunned warrior. “You wanted my death and you killed my friend. I have spared yours. You’re indebted to me the remainder of your life.”
Angry Bear drew himself up, squaring his shoulders. He nodded, acknowledging his defeat. Nash turned to Logan. Logan held his arm out to Nash.
“My soul is grieved for your family, my brother,” Nash said, taking hold of the chief’s arm, looking into Logan’s eyes.
“I know your words are true and from your heart.” Logan swept his hand toward the forest. “Go and find her.”
And so, Nash went into the forest, his musket, powder horn, and shot restored to him, his eyes fixed west toward the everlasting mountains in search of the woman he loved and the man he meant to kill.
CHAPTER 25
Though Jean LaRoux had led this band of renegades through the frontier to rob, steal, and murder, he was not their leader in Grey Wolf’s village. His face was new to them, but word of him had reached their ears many moons ago, before the flowers of the woods had bloomed and the locusts twilled in the heat of day.
Grey Wolf was chief, and he welcomed Rebecah and Theresa into his lodge, to dwell with his wives, Open Flower and White Fawn. Theresa was terrified of him, but Rebecah showed no fear and much respect. Grey Wolf did not wish them as wives for he laughed he had enough and plenty of children to feed. They were the slaves of his wives, and work they did from before the sun rose to long into the night.
The day they were brought to the village was a frightening one. The people gathered around a fire. The women sang and then were silent. It was a time of testing to see which among the women were the strongest. Thrust into the dirt beside the fire, their arms went around each other, until they were yanked apart.
Rebecah sat upon her knees. Her hopes of being treated with kindness were dashed by what she witnessed, and what was to come. She stared in horror as Theresa was dragged closer to the fire, her hands and feet bound with strips of leather cords. Listening to Theresa weep, she shook with fear for her friend’s life.
She dug her hands into the dust. Her eyes remained fixed upon Theresa. The panic in the young girl’s eyes was unbearable to see. Rebecah pleaded with Grey Wolf, but his face never turned to hers. She looked back at Theresa and stretched out her hand.
“Be strong,” she said. “They will not kill you. Be strong.”
A whimper escaped Theresa’s lips. All color drained from her face. “Do not come near,” she managed to say through her tears. “Look away.”
Four braves and a squaw surrounded Theresa. The braves held her down. The squaw bent over and scratched Theresa’s limbs with a stick covered in thorns. Theresa cried. Thin trickles of blood ran along her legs into the dirt.
Her heart pounding, Rebecah struggled to stand, being great with child. Her mind raced and reeled. She called out to Grey Wolf. LaRoux stood beside him with his arms folded.
“You must stop this! She is but a girl,” she pleaded. “She has done no harm to any of you.”
Grey Wolf lifted his head and made a motion with his hands to the people.
When it was over, Rebecah and Maddie washed Theresa’s wounds and applied the healing salve an Indian woman had supplied them. Maddie cradled her in her arms and hummed.
From that first day, every bone in Rebecah’s body ached. She worked in the garden and washed clothing in the stream. She stood in the morning light at the edge of the water, her hand against the small of her back. LaRoux sat on a rock watching her.
“You should not be a slave. It would be wise to have a husband.”
“I have a husband.”
“After the child comes, I may want you.”
“Then I pray God takes me before that time.”
LaRoux plunged his knife into the ground. “And if God does not?”
She paused and pushed back her hair. LaRoux stood. He lifted her up by her arms. Pressing her against hi
m, she trembled. His fierce eyes searched hers.
“I would have had you that day on the road if it had not been for the man in the trees.”
Enraged, she shook herself free from his grip. She went to lift her basket to go but he yanked her back.
“You would have warmed to me, Rebecah. I would not have needed to force you after the first kiss.” Then he pressed his lips hard against hers. Disgusted, she shoved him back and he laughed. “It is too much for you?”
She wiped her mouth. “You disgust me.”
LaRoux took a step forward. “I am weary of this game,” he shouted.
She hurried away with tearful eyes. Sunlight poured through the trees and warmed her face. But her hands, oh how cold they felt, and the sick feeling from that forced kiss would never leave her.
Jack. Oh, Jack, my love. Find me.
Beside Grey Wolf’s lodge a kettle hung on crossed sticks simmering over a fire. Open Flower and White Fawn sat on the ground beside it and smiled to Rebecah. Neither looked as poetic as their names. Their white deerskin clothing was striking and they kept their hair in a single braid, but life in the wild had marred their faces.
“Good day, English woman,” Open Flower said.
“Good day,” she said and paused.
White Fawn made a graceful gesture with her hand. “Come, sit with us.”
“I’ve much work to do.”
“Mother has worked enough. You must rest now.”
Rebecah nodded in assent. “I’ll go and rest, but inside the lodge.”
Maddie was tending a child who had fallen and scraped his knees. She had become a medicine woman, and her skills kept her from being traded to another village.
“I shall go mad if I must stay her another day,” Rebecah said, and explained what LaRoux had done.
“You must tell Gray Wolf,” said Theresa. “Perhaps he will send LaRoux out of the village.”
“Gray Wolf would not understand.”
Maddie shook her head. “No matter where I go, there’s trouble. But we’ll cross over Jordan in the good Lord’s time.”
Rebecah looked at the old woman with wide eyes. “What are you saying, dear Maddie? Are we to die in this place?”
“We’ll live. You’ll see.”
“But LaRoux—”
“Now don’t you worry about LaRoux. He’ll not last long, an evil man like that. You got to think about your babe.”
“Yes.” Rebecah ran her hands over her belly. The babe moved from her touch. “My time is soon, and I’m frightened. You will help me, won’t you?”
Maddie closed her hand over Rebecah’s. “I’ve birthed lots of babies, Miss Rebecah, and you is a strong woman. It’ll be fine.”
Theresa handed Rebecah a wooden bowl filled with water. How different she looked. The sun had turned her skin tawny and bleached her blonde hair almost white. Rebecah too had changed. Her creamy skin was darker now, her hair sun-streaked with gold.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said, taking the water from Theresa with a grateful nod. “We should try to escape while the men are gone. I heard Grey Wolf speak of it. God have mercy on those they may meet.”
Theresa sat beside her. “I’ve been hoping we all would go. But Maddie is old, Rebecah. She may not make it.”
Maddie cackled. “I’m old but strong.” She scooted the child out the opening. “I got to go with you, to bring Miss Rebecah and her baby through the birthin’.”
“And what about you, Rebecah?” Theresa said. “Perhaps we should wait until after the child has come. It would be too difficult for you to travel.”
“My child is safer in my womb, then in this village.”
“But there’s no telling how long it will take us. What if you have the child on the way? Oh, Rebecah, you’re certain?”
“More certain than anything. We must try.”
Theresa bit her lower lip. “It will be dangerous.”
“I know. But I’m willing to take that risk.”
“We’ll make it if we trust that God will show us the way, and not fear our going,” said Maddie.
Theresa laid he head across her drawn knees. “I miss home. I miss my father.”
Rebecah grasped her friend’s hand. “I know, for I ache sore for my husband. All this time I’ve believed he is searching for us. If we try to follow the river, we may meet up with him. There is no other thing for us to do but to go home.”
The three women put their arms around each other. Tears slipped from their eyes when they recited a Psalm together.
The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want…He leadeth me beside still waters. . . .”
CHAPTER 26
Nash searched the old hunting trails for any imprint of moccasin or boot. He looked for signs, but found none save what animals had left. Above the Potomac were the oldest trails used long before the white man stepped foot there or whose eye had seen the ridge of mountains.
The heat was high, and the leaves on the trees curled. Locusts and cicadas whirled in the forests. By dusk, the river reflected the colors of the setting sun. The horizon filled with thunderheads. Deep rumbling rolled and in the distance, he saw lightning streak across the sky.
In a clearing stood Fort Frederick. A sentry standing on the wall saw Nash walking toward the gate. “Who goes there?”
“John Nash of the Catoctin Rangers. God bless our country and hang King George!”
A moment later, the heavy door opened. A troop of patriots greeted him as he ducked through the opening.
“I’m searching for my wife.” He addressed the corporal in charge. “She and two other women were taken captive by the Indians.”
“There are others looking for them as well.” The corporal turned, his bayonet catching the glow of sunset. He motioned for Nash to follow him toward the barracks. From out of a doorway came Robert Maldowney. He threw up his arms and shouted to his comrades when he saw Nash.
“From the mouth of the lion! Praise be to God, Jack. They slew you not.”
He ran forward, threw his arms around Nash and hugged him. Nash asked about the women, and Maldowney shook his head.
“Thank the Lord, there’s Mr. John.” Joab approached him with tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Mr. John. I tried…”
Nash laid his hand on Joab’s shoulder. “Not another word. I know you would have laid your life down for them. I don’t blame you for what happened.”
Mr. Boyd and Dr. Pierce rushed out in urgency.
“We gave you up for dead,” said Boyd. “Thank God you’re alive. Any news on the women? Is there anything you can tell us?”
“My pains have been rewarded like yours.”
“Come, we must talk,” said Mr. Boyd.
“We are all anxious to hear of the journey that led Captain Nash back to us, Mr. Boyd,” Dr. Pierce interrupted. “But he must have food and rest.”
Nash halted his steps and looked to the well-meaning doctor. “Dr. Pierce. It’s good to see you.”
“And you. It appears you’ve been through a terrible ordeal. Where is your horse?”
“He now carries Chief Logan on his back as a gift for saving my life.”
On the barracks porch sat Black Hawk. He looked up at Nash as he approached. Nash smiled at him. “Black Hawk, my heart cannot say how glad I am to see you.”
“You fought bravely, I can tell.”
“But with fear racing through my veins.”
Inside the barracks, room was made for Nash with much excitement. Ale brimmed over his pewter cup and the helping of venison stew steamed from a wooden bowl.
Resting there to eat and drink, Nash looked at his comrades in arms. There was Robert Maldowney, preacher and protector, a giant of a man in buckskins, with a shock of red hair and a tartan baldric over his shoulder. Beside him sat Mr. Boyd, a man unaccustomed to the wilderness and its hardships. It showed in his face, that and the anxiety for his daughter. His hands rested on the table, fingertips touching fingertips, his pensive gray eyes never leaving
Nash’s face.
Nash would not have recognized the good doctor if it had not been for the fact he recalled his identity. A serene man, in a hunting shirt, leggings and cap, had cast off the finer black attire of a physician for the fashion of the backwoodsman. Joab sat beside him, his hair a little grayer.
And then there was Black Hawk. Nash knew a change had come over him. Had Theresa Boyd’s capture brought on the melancholy showing in his face? He had shaved the sides of his head, and his tuft of hair was fastened with feathers. Upon his face, he wore war paint. No doubt, this was a sign he had declared a personal war upon her captor.
“We found Clarke in the woods dead,” said Maldowney. “A brave man and a loyal friend lost to all those who knew him.”
Nash’s heart was sore because of Clarke. He looked into his mug of ale as the others spoke about him. Each man spoke in turn, then Nash. He told them about his capture, Logan, and Angry Bear.
“My word, Nash. You came so close to them killing you,” said Boyd. “What you must have suffered.”
“It’s nothing compared to losing my wife to LaRoux.”
Maldowney patted Nash’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, my friend. We will not rest until we find her and the others.”
They huddled around the table and laid out their plans. They would travel over the Allegheny west. Black Hawk would scout ahead, and they would search every village, every settlement no matter how long it would take.
Black Hawk stood. “If the women escape, they will travel toward the east, over the mountains along the great river. We must watch for them in the forests, listen for their voices on the wind, wait for the sounds of the jays calling. The deer will roam ahead of them. These are the signs we must wait for.”
Nash’s heart quivered. It was agony to think of her struggling through the wilderness in search of home. How could she and his unborn child survive? It made his search for her even more desperate.
* * *
Dawn rose with the heat of summer. Nash dashed cold water on his face as the others stirred awake. Wiping his jaw with a towel, he went to the window and looked out. The light from the campfire outside the barracks danced in eerie yellow shadows against the stone walls of the fortress.