"El Serpiente's companion was the man who was flayed. MacVie claims El Serpiente killed my father and Jonah. He's agreed to help us find him. As soon as he returns, we're off."
His gaze rocketed from her to Jacques and David. "We? You aren't taking Sophie, are you?"
She smiled. "I think Samson and I have reached an understanding about the journey."
He scowled. "No! It's lunacy to take Sophie. She could be killed or violated or injured or abducted or tortured or —"
"Mathias, my good fellow." David removed the straw from his mouth and tossed it away. "You sound like a father."
She pinned Mathias with a stare. "Or a husband — without the marital amenities, I might add."
Anxiety bulged his eyes, and he cast a desperate look at David. "You're her brother. Talk sense into her, for god's sake! She'll be safe here with the Creek."
David waved away the plea. "You didn't see her with MacVie. When he returns with your cousin, ask him if he feels his anatomy's been damaged."
A frown darkened Mathias's expression. "Witty repartee doesn't qualify her to make such a journey. You can't take her with you."
"Because I'm a woman? Since it bothers you so much, you don't have to come with us."
"Sophie, be reasonable." Mathias gestured south. "The wilderness is full of savage animals and outlaws. Your odds of surviving this preposterous journey unscathed aren't good."
"Then come with us and increase our chances of success."
"I don't understand you."
She crossed her arms and drummed the fingertips of one hand atop her upper arm. "You've never understood me."
David's eyes bugged. "Bloody hell!"
Jacques marched Mathias away. "All this time I thought you had learned the wisdom of not arguing with a woman."
David stepped in front of Sophie, blocking her view of uncle and nephew. "Astounding. With my experience at reading faces around card tables, I cannot believe I've missed something between you and Mathias all these years."
Her nostrils flared. "This is the wilderness, not a card table. And there's nothing between us to miss." Nearly two decades of "nothing" seemed to have borne that theory out.
He nodded with perception. "So 'nothing' is the problem."
"Exactly."
"Wilderness, like card tables, has a peculiar way of turning 'nothing' into something. We're taking MacVie along. Make your peace with 'nothing' so it doesn't interfere with our finding this snake fellow and returning intact." Flicking lint off the sleeve of his fine jacket, he strolled off.
She looked in the direction Jacques and Mathias had taken. "Blast it all, Mathias," she muttered. "Speak up, man. Is there something you want from me?" And she mused over more memories of that summer afternoon, eighteen years earlier...
***
"The Cherokee say this was built by the Moon Eyes." Mathias crawled away from the grotto's entrance, mist from the deluge clinging to his hair and eyelashes, and sat angled to Sophie.
An aromatic scent arose from the carpet of pine straw. She'd heard of the Moon-Eyed People — forest-dwellers for eons before Indians — and of similar structures farther north in Georgia and the Carolinas. Craning her neck back, she examined ivy on the low, rocky ceiling. "Why was it built?"
Humor wove through his expression. "To keep us from getting drenched in that rainstorm out there."
"That's as good a purpose as any." She smiled at him. "When do you find time to read all that Shakespeare?"
"Before dawn. I sneak downstairs so I don't wake anyone."
"Really? So do I. You've never made fun of me for reading so much."
"Why should I do that? Reading brings you the world."
She leaned toward him. "Can you keep a secret?" He nodded. "I'm managing the ledgers for the print shop now."
Admiration flooded his expression, evoking a thrill in her. "A good move on Will's part. David's not the slightest bit interested in the business. So what has Jim to say about it?"
"I told him I promised to help Father until he found an apprentice." She laughed. "He doesn't know I plan to operate the press after we're married."
He studied her. "What will you do when Alton grows too small for you?"
"Whatever do you mean? Running the business is a tremendous opportunity. How many women are so fortunate?"
Laying the palm of his hand on her head, he pinched his countenance to resemble a mystic on a mountaintop. "Within a few years, you'll discover that Alton and business fills such a small portion of your mind that you'll be stifled with it."
The warmth of his benediction felt good. "Just as blacksmithing already fills such a small portion of your mind."
"Why do you say that?" His fingers spread apart and partook of the texture of her hair as if it were a delectable substance.
"You walk between the worlds of the white man and the red man, Ayukapeta Hokolen Econa." She sighed at the caress. Jim had never stolen her mobcap or put his hands in her hair. "You've two full lives to lead, respect, and explore."
"Indeed, I've been summoned by Creator, granted more than one life to respect and —"
"Explore," she whispered.
He examined a flower, plucked from her hair. Longing and regret occupied his expression. "Respect."
"Is that the way of it in your other world, too?" Certainly not from the rumors she'd heard. Why else would Christians be so desperate to clamp their morality on the Creek?
He twined the flower back into her hair and brushed her lips once with his forefinger. She closed her eyes, savoring the touch. The pine straw rustled, and she opened her eyes to find him supine, regarding her. "What are you thinking, Sophie?"
She traced her fingertips the length of his cheek. "That my world is full of unfairness."
"You see, Alton has already grown too small for you."
She slid down beside him, and he folded her to him, his thumb stroking the palm of her hand. Her cheek pressed to his chest, she listened to the paean of his heartbeat above the tumult of rain.
At length he rose on one elbow to study her, face embedded in shadow, and she laid her palm against his cheek. He caught her hand in his, brushing his lips on her palm and wrist before grazing her lips with his. Her voice emerged husky. "This isn't fair to you. I'm to be married in two weeks."
"It doesn't matter," he whispered, the warmth of his breath stroking her lips apart.
***
Outside the guest hut, she inspected supplies. A sewing kit. Soap. Bedrolls and canteens. An extra musket with spare flints and a musket tool, a powder horn and shot pouch, and a cartridge box. A map. Knives, tinderboxes, tomahawks. Mathias's rifle and bow and arrows. She fingered the quiver.
It doesn't matter. At first it hadn't seemed to matter. One of many guests at her wedding to Jim Neely, Mathias had wished the newlyweds well. The first time she'd suspected that the grotto of the Moon Eyes did matter was six months after Jim's death, when she'd returned to Alton after spending those months in Augusta with infant Betsy at her cousin Sarah's house, after Sarah had introduced her to handsome, blond-haired, blue-eyed Richard Barton. In the ensuing years, Mathias's courtesy and concern only reinforced her intuition that the grotto of the Moon Eyes had mattered very much to him. But like most men, he was afflicted by the inability to open his mouth and tell her so.
Handsome, blond-haired, blue-eyed Edward Hunt had had no difficulty telling her she mattered to him. Did she still matter to him after escaping? Had she ever mattered, or had he been using her to gain information about the rebels? Surely her journey to St. Augustine would slam the door on any favor from him.
With the arrival of Captain Sheffield, knowing he was free to return home, perhaps Edward had taken the initiative and slammed the door. She envisioned him thanking the heavens he'd bought his way out of the godforsaken war in the colonies. Loss prodded her soul. Was she certain she wanted to go to St. Augustine?
Unable to make sense of her conflict, she returned to her inspection of supplies. In
addition to the cooking pot, she found dinnerware, eating utensils, and a sack of staples: beef soup squares, coffee, salt, pepper, maple sugar, and cornmeal.
David led his horse over, his gear packed, his grin toothy. He'd changed from his fine clothes into a hunting shirt and trousers. "Is everything in order, General?"
"All I lack is suitable apparel, and if I don't get it by departure time, I shall steal Uncle Jacques's spare clothing. He's about my size, don't you think?"
David pulled out the tool kit for his fowler and sniggered. "I dare say Jove himself shall hurl thunderbolts at us if we allow Jacques le Coeuvre to ride around Georgia naked."
She mustered a cheery expression. While her brother unscrewed the worn flint on his fowler, he whistled the ballad "Barb'ra Allen." Hoping he wasn't trying to make a point with his choice of tunes, she examined the stock of herbs. Yarrow to stop bleeding and heal wounds — she hoped they wouldn't have to use that one. Chamomile for headaches and upset stomachs.
David broke into his baritone. "They bury'd her in the old churchyard, Sweet William's grave was nigh hers. And from his grave grew a red, red rose —" He waited for her to look up at him before flashing a devilish grin. "From hers a cruel briar."
Sage to soothe itching. Mosquitoes, chiggers, ticks, and poison ivy. Delightful.
"O, they grew up the old church spire, until they could grow no higher. And there they twined in a true love knot —" He paused again, screwing the new flint onto the fowler with gusto, the grin consuming his face.
An acrid smile captured her lips, and she responded with her own mezzo-soprano. "The red, red rose and the briar."
"You know, Sophie, I've a concern preying upon my mind."
"Ah, I figured you were backing into something with 'Barb'ra Allen.' What's troubling you?"
"Major Hunt."
She wrapped the herbs and stood. "He's halfway to England in his heart by now. I'm sure he cannot leave Alton soon enough."
"I wish I could agree with you." Gaiety abandoned his face.
She swallowed. "Whatever do you mean?"
"It's what he said to me this morning after Jonah's funeral. He apologized for not knowing your whereabouts, or being there last night when Fairfax failed to apprehend your 'abductor', or treating you with the utmost delicacy and consideration after you'd served King George in the highest capacity by breaking the cipher. It was almost like watching a Catholic flog himself. He was quite sincere. He's in love with you, Sophie."
Frowning, she scratched at her temple, distressed that she seemed to have to choose between Edward and family honor, even after Will was dead. Was this about family honor? Was she being a naïve fool? Perhaps Edward did love her, but when was the last time she'd felt that Will had loved her? "Shall I become his mistress just because he loves me? I'm not responsible for making him feel better."
"No, that's not what I meant." David gnawed his lower lip. "I've a peculiar feeling about him. He may be a mediocre soldier, but he possesses great tenacity and determination."
"A statesman, then. He'll do well in Parliament."
"There's one more thing I must say. Mathias is right. This is a fool's journey. If you knew what's out there in the wilderness, you'd stay here." His cheeks paled. "By all the gods on Olympus, I'd really rather not be going. I'm not tagging along for some visceral delights I imagine at a card table in East Florida or Cuba. I'm in because you're my sister. So think hard about staying here."
Her resolve never wavered. "I'm going."
"Damn, I knew you'd say that."
"Bonjour!" Jacques sauntered into their midst bearing a bundle of fabric. "Or should I say Buenos días? For you, belle Sophie." He lobbed her the bundle: two pairs of trousers and two hunting shirts with a brimmed hat sandwiched between. "All we lack now is that rascal, MacVie, with the rest of the staples."
"Thank you, Uncle Jacques." She hugged the clothing to her chest. "What do I owe you — Ow!" David had stepped on her foot.
A leer glittered in the Frenchman's eyes. "Payment? You wish to discuss payment? I am always willing to discuss payment when lovely ladies believe themselves in my debt."
David's "I-told-you-so" expression backed her toward the hut. "Never mind. I shall go change now." She entered and shut the door.
Outside, she heard Jacques: "I stand ready to assist you, should you need help with the trousers."
Chapter Eleven
"TWO O'CLOCK." DAVID pocketed his watch.
Hairs escaping from Sophie's plait tickled her sweaty neck, suggestive of mosquitoes. "Where is that blasted hog farmer?"
Jacques tapped his overturned pipe in his palm. "This little piggy went to market, this little piggy ran home."
"Squealing 'wee, wee, wee' all the way home while being shot through with Creek arrows — ah, at last." Sophie exhaled relief. MacVie approached leading his horse laden with sacks of deer jerky and dried fruit. Mathias, accompanied by Runs With Horses and his similarly tattooed younger brother, Standing Wolf, followed with their horses.
The quartet halted before the hut, MacVie glum. Mathias said, "My cousins and I are going with you." He brushed past Sophie and began loading gear on his horse.
"Thank you." She sidestepped to tug once on the blacksmith's plait of long, dark hair. "All of you."
"I gave my word." Expression dour, he secured his bedroll.
"But if you don't dispose of that conservative countenance, I shall leave you behind."
Smug humor enlivened the Creek brothers' faces. Mathias regarded her for a few seconds before his expression softened, and a smile relaxed his lips.
The seven distributed the load of gear and supplies among the horses. Sophie removed her hat to drape her haversack and cartridge box over her shoulders. "Mr. MacVie, show us where you believe El Serpiente camped last night. North of here, you said." She replaced the hat and took up Samson's reins and the spare musket. Since MacVie had little incentive for honesty, what he showed them in the remaining six hours of daylight could reveal much about the rebels' motives and schemes.
They mounted their horses, a subdued MacVie in the lead, Sophie riding between David and Mathias. Once she glanced behind, but by then, the forest had already swallowed the Creek village. A nameless something called to her from beyond her conflict, a siren that she sensed had little to do with family honor or a nobleman's affections but much to do with her own soul. A piece of herself waited out there, ahead. The thought of a summons wielding such power frightened her a little, but she knew she couldn't rest until she found it.
***
Late afternoon, they crossed Butlers Creek west of Augusta and found remnants of a recent campsite. Evidence of three people with horses included broken twigs, churned ground, and human and horse turds. Antsy, MacVie gestured around. "The Spaniard and his two allies camped here yesterday to mislead pursuit. Let's go back to Alton before we chance on them."
Mathias rose from an examination of hoof prints, motioned Sophie, Jacques, and David to him, and said, low, "The trio headed south. If El Serpiente continued on to St. Augustine without delay, he'd be in the swamps near Briar Creek tonight."
About thirty miles south-southwest of Augusta. Sophie regarded him. "When is our earliest chance to overtake them?"
"Probably two days hence, near where Briar Creek meets the Savannah." Mathias's attention shifted to MacVie, who'd slunk closer, and the four of them turned to glare at the rebel.
MacVie spread his hands to encompass the abandoned campsite. "You asked me where they camped last night. Here it is. Don't you trust me now?"
Sophie propped her fists on her hips. "Not even as far as we can throw you."
Anger trapped his tongue a moment. "Someone — someone needs to put you in your place!"
"Watch your mouth, MacVie." David took a step forward, Mathias at his side.
"Gentlemen, please." Through the shield created by her brother and the blacksmith, she stared down the farmer, hoping he couldn't tell how he frightened her. "Mr. MacVie, ha
ve you any idea who are El Serpiente's accomplices?"
"Two men from Boston. Friends of John Adams."
The more he talked, the less sense he made. Why would two friends of John Adams take up with a Spaniard who'd killed a fellow rebel? When would they get the truth from MacVie?
David snapped, "What are their names? Did you meet them?" MacVie shrugged again. David shook his head and looked at Sophie. "Let's intercept the Spaniard quickly. The mosquitoes haven't fancied me yet, but I'm not fond of the idea of giving them several days to change their minds." Sophie, Mathias, and Jacques agreed. MacVie scoffed at all of them.
An hour later, a couple miles west of New Savannah and the postal road, they stopped for the night in a pine-scented dell. Mathias, Runs With Horses, and Standing Wolf vanished into the forest with bows and arrows as soon as they'd unsaddled, rubbed down, and picketed their horses. Sophie performed the same tasks for Samson, then helped clear the site. They'd seen no pursuit, but they'd be cautious and build just enough of a campfire to cook supper. A pity she couldn't have the sanctuary of wood smoke. Although bird and cricket nocturnes filled the vicinity, so did the less-welcome whine of mosquitoes.
Standing Wolf dropped off three writhing, large-mouthed bass. Sophie dressed the fish and skewered them on green willow wands. Into the aromas of fried johnnycakes and roasting fish, the hunters returned with seven rabbits between them and the reassurance that the party hadn't been pursued.
By the time night tangled the forest in a turgid blanket, little remained of the rabbits and fish but bones. Jacques knapped the flint on his musket. David prodded the coals with a stick. Moths waltzed low, singed in the heat yet lusting for light. Fireflies flitted at the boundary of night, and pink heat lightning pulsed the sky. In the distance, an owl hooted, and some small critter emitted a scream of mortality.
MacVie stashed his pipe away, heaved himself up, and belched. "I got the first watch. You with me, Jacques?"
Standing Wolf came to his feet. "I will join you."
MacVie's tone soured. "Whatever delights your heart." He stomped off into the brush. Standing Wolf slipped into the foliage after him.
Paper Woman: A Mystery of the American Revolution Page 9