Blue Moon

by Jill Marie Landis

  “The decision was mine,” he said without looking at her.

  “I just hope we can find my family sooner than later.” She wanted to spare him as much as she could, even though she did not want to think about telling him good-bye. When the time came, she only hoped she would be able to watch him walk away without letting him know how much he had come to mean to her already.

  Shawneetown

  As Noah stood with Olivia on the outskirts of Shawneetown, he had the urge to turn tail and run. Self-imposed isolation had not prepared him to face a large settlement of whites whose values and customs were so foreign to the way he had been raised.

  He had realized as much the first time he had come across the much smaller community where Hunter lived in Kentucky. For days before he spoke to the tall white man who would eventually become his friend, Noah had watched the comings and goings of the settlers dwelling in a few cabins on a bluff above the river. If it had not been for Hunter Boone, who was somewhat of a loner himself, Noah would never have learned even the rudiments of the manners of white society.

  He had never considered himself white, even though his father’s blood ran in his veins equal to his mother’s. Now he was about to enter another settlement, this one with five times as many dwellings and more people than he could count milling around the ferry and the boat on the waterfront. He would rather walk through a swamp full of cottonmouth snakes.

  “This is Shawneetown?” There was disappointment, not to mention hesitation, in Olivia’s voice.

  “This is it.” Maybe she would change her mind now that she had seen the place and would want to go back to Heron Pond.

  “This isn’t a town,” she mumbled.

  “What is it then?” How much bigger was the place she had come from in the East? He couldn’t even fathom it.

  “A brick hotel and a boat landing don’t make this a town.”

  “Kaskaskia is the only other place in southern Illinois that has this many people,” he assured her.

  “It’s so … muddy,” she whispered. “So raw and new.”

  The spring floods were over, but the main thoroughfare was covered with thick mud churned by horses’ hooves and wagon wheels. A dark, dirty waterline stained the ground floors of the cabins along the street, cabins that housed stores, shops, and families. When the river left its banks, the inhabitants moved to the upper floors until the water receded.

  “What was my father thinking?” she whispered.

  Noah looked at the woman beside him. They had been alone on the trail for two days. He had spent the night sitting beside a campfire watching over her while she slept. He had not minded the task in the least, for it meant that he could watch her the way he had longed to during the day, without her knowledge. He could take his fill of looking at her, memorize the way she lay with her hands folded together beneath her cheek, the soft sound of her sigh, the dark bow of her lashes.

  While she slept unaware, he could let his gaze wander where his hands longed to, down the tempting line of her throat, over her breasts, along the swell of her hip, down her thigh. He could imagine the feel of her lying beneath him, recall the way her body gave and took him into her, the way they fit together as if they had been created specifically for one another.

  But unlike him, she was not inexperienced. She had known another man’s touch, another’s body. She had grudgingly told him how, despite her abhorrence, she had responded to Lankanal time and again.

  She had slept more peacefully last night than any night since he had found her. He had not slept at all. Noah wondered if he had somehow helped banish her nightmares, or if she had merely been too exhausted to dream. He would never know.

  “Maybe we should go back,” he thought aloud.

  Olivia slowly turned and looked into his face, her eyes haunted by shadows and distant memories. “Noah, surely you know I can’t. I have to find out what happened to my family.”

  He knew nothing of the sort. He had no connections, no family ties.

  “And if they’re not here?”

  She searched his face with her gaze, her forehead marred by a frown. “I will cross that bridge when I come to it.”

  He had offered her a place in his life, but even if she could not find her family, she was still refusing to take it.

  Walk away, he told himself. Leave before you make a complete fool of yourself.

  But he could not leave without knowing that she would be safe, that she would have a place to lay her head without worrying about becoming some man’s victim again.

  He surveyed the town, willing to let her make the first move, to conduct a search for her family on her own terms. He was nothing more than her guide, her bodyguard. A casual observer. They were among her people now. He had to tread carefully, to follow their rules, their laws. He had to draw on his memory and recall the things Hunter had told him.

  He reminded himself that his father’s blood ran in his veins, too. That he was half white and he could bear to live among them for as long as it took to see Olivia settled.

  He could set aside his own discomfort for her in order to do what he had to do.

  They walked into town together; if Olivia was ashamed of the dress he had given her or disturbed by the stares of the townsfolk, she did not let on. Instead, she walked with her head high, her expression set, daring anyone to comment. At the river landing she asked after her family, but everyone there was emigrating and had barely any knowledge of Illinois, let alone the names of all the settlers in the area.

  Noah heard the whispers, felt the curious stares of the easterners and foreign-born folk speaking odd-sounding words who were headed farther west, to Kaskaskia. He stared them down, daring them to look him in the face, never the first to turn away.

  Olivia suggested they try the hotel and taverns, which looked to be crowded gathering places, but before they reached the first establishment they were approached by a woman carrying a basket of eggs down the street.

  “I’m Faye Matheson. I run the Nu Way Dry Goods store.” The bespectacled woman in a drab serge gown stood no taller than five feet. Although she was smiling broadly, Noah could not help but notice that Mrs. Matheson was studying Olivia. As yet, she had not given him a second glance.

  “My husband, Ern, is the keeper of the peace in Shawneetown. You two just passing through, or do you intend to stay around and put down roots?”

  Olivia introduced herself and then got directly to the point. “I’m here searching for my family. I … we were separated during the move to Illinois and I lost touch with them. They were supposed to have settled around this area.”

  Faye shoved her spectacles up the bridge of her nose and shifted the basket on her arm. “Well you’re talking to the right person, that’s for sure. Ern and I know near to everybody in these parts. If your kin settled anywhere close by, I’ll know ’em.”

  Noah’s gut tightened. Olivia went very still, so still that he sensed she was deeply hesitant before she went on.

  “My father is Payson Bond and my stepmother is—”

  “Susanna.” Faye Matheson finished for her.

  Olivia reached over and grabbed Noah’s hand, holding on as if he were a lifeline. He shifted uncomfortably and looked around to see if anyone on the street had taken any notice besides Mrs. Matheson.

  “You know them?” Olivia’s eyes widened in disbelief.

  Faye nodded, but her smile dimmed. “I do, but not well. They don’t get into town, but I sure do know of them, and I know they’ll be right happy to see you.” She was still watching Olivia closely. “Why don’t you come on over to my place? You can sit a spell and have a cup of coffee and I’ll tell you how to find the place.”

  Olivia glanced up at him. Noah nodded.

  “I’ll go down to the ferry crossing and wait for you there,” he said.

  “Will you wait?”

  She looked as if she doubted she would ever see him again. They had found her family. He should walk away while there was nothing left b
etween them but a night of memories. Another man could leave her now with a clear conscience, knowing she was safe, that he had taken her as far as he needed.

  But he wasn’t another man, and he could no more walk away from her yet than he could fly.

  “I’ll see you in a while.” He started to leave.

  “Noah, wait.” Olivia turned to the peacekeeper’s wife. “I would love to sit and chat over a cup of coffee with you, Mrs. Matheson, but I would really like to find my father’s homestead before dark.”

  Noah looked over at the Matheson woman and found her staring intently at him, squinting hard behind her spectacles. He started to turn the scarred side of his face away from her, then caught himself and stopped.

  “Do I know you?” She folded her arms, forgetting Olivia entirely as she focused on him.

  “You were going to tell her how to find her father,” he reminded her.

  Faye Matheson shook her head. “It’s the darnedest thing. I feel like I ought to know you for some reason. You’re not from around here?”

  A farmer driving an empty cart drew up beside them. “Mornin’, Miz Matheson. How you doin’ this mornin’?” He nodded to Olivia and then turned his attention on Noah.

  “We really have to be going.” Olivia tried to excuse them again. “If you could just tell me the way, ma’am?”

  Both the farmer and Faye Matheson were staring at him now. Noah’s hand tightened on his rifle. Sweat broke out on his forehead and he had a sudden urge to scratch under his eye patch.

  The farmer, with a blank expression not unlike that of his ox, stood by expectantly. Faye Matheson continued to try to place Noah.

  “What’s your name?” she finally asked.

  Noah said absolutely nothing. The farmer smiled.

  “His name is Noah.” Olivia sounded frustrated. “Noah LeCroix.”

  “Well, I’ll be hog-tied and pickled.” The farmer took off his hat and slapped his knee with it and whistled. “Wait ’til the boys down at the tavern hear this. They’re gonna have to see it with their own eyes, I’m afraid, or they’re never gonna believe I saw Noah LeCroix in the flesh.”

  “What are you talking about?” Noah was barely able to unclench his jaw and get the words out.

  “Why, last I heard, you was dead.”

  For the life of him, Noah could not figure out why this man he had never met from a town he had passed through but once—and that more than five years before—should have heard anything about him, let alone that he was dead.

  “I’m standing right here,” Noah told him coolly before he turned to Mrs. Matheson. “Lady, we need to be on our way. If you won’t tell us where Miss Bond’s father lives, then we’ll find someone who will.”

  He felt Olivia’s hand touch his sleeve. “Please, Noah.”

  “Noah LeCroix. Noah LeCroix.” Faye Matheson muttered. Far from showing any offense, she shook her head and continued to repeat his name over and over.

  “The flatboat pilot,” the farmer said, nudging Faye with his elbow. “The flatboat pilot. The Prince of the Ohio. The half-breed who made a deal with the devil and guided near on to a thousand flatboats safely down to New Orleans, ’fore the devil took his due and turned the river on him, ripped off half his face and swallowed him up without a belch afterward.”

  Tall and lanky as a scarecrow, the farmer looked Noah up and down, from the toes of his moccasins to his black felt hat.

  Faye declared, “That’s it! I knew he reminded me of somebody. I heard the river took off half his face. One of the survivors of the accident claimed he saw your eye float past while he was swimming to shore.”

  Now Olivia was staring at him too. She stepped closer and said in a hushed whisper, “Oh, Noah, I’m so sorry.”

  As the farmer chuckled and congratulated himself for spotting Noah first, Faye started to hum a little ditty and tap her foot. Olivia looked appalled and anxious. It was bad enough he stood out because of his mixed blood, but now, somehow, while he had been hiding in the swamp, he had become a legend. The Prince of the Ohio.

  Then right there in the middle of the muddied thoroughfare, Faye Matheson started humming louder and with more enthusiasm until the farmer joined in and they started singing.

  “Devil had the river,

  A-flowin’ fast and wild,

  Until he saw the half-breed,

  Said, ‘I have to have that child.’

  Walked up to make a bargain,

  As the devil often do,

  Tapped the half-breed on the shoulder

  Said, ‘I gotta talk to you.’

  “Oh, Noah LeCroix, Noah LeCroix,

  Prince of the Ohio.

  Oh, Noah LeCroix, Noah LeCroix,

  Prince of the Ohio!”

  Noah turned to Olivia. “Make them stop.”

  “Let’s go. Surely someone else knows where my father lives.” She tugged on his hand.

  A crowd was gathering. Faye and the farmer sang on.

  “Oh, I’ll give you more than fame

  For your trouble if you dare.

  Everyone will speak your name,

  And talk about your bravery.

  All you have to do is give me,

  The right to claim your soul….”

  The farmer suddenly noticed their chagrin and stopped in mid-verse. Over Faye’s off-key warbling, he said to Olivia, “Did you say you’re looking for the Bonds?”

  Two steps away, trying to outrun his humiliating notoriety, Noah stopped in his tracks and swung around.

  “We are.” He tried to intimidate the farmer with a one-eyed stare.

  “I’d be mightily honored if you would let me lead the way. Payson Bond’s land butts up to mine. I’m Bob Carver.”

  “Which way?” Noah demanded to know over a rousing chorus of “Oh, Noah LeCroix, Noah LeCroix.”

  The farmer pointed northeast. “Right through there, past the land office and the Cake and Beef store.”

  Noah turned to Olivia. “You ride along with him on the oxcart. I’ll go on ahead and wait for you at the edge of the woods.”

  Olivia’s heart went out to him as she watched Noah pull his hat low on his brow and stare at the ground as he jogged a few yards down the muddy road. He quickly disappeared between two log buildings, one sporting a fancy shingle that read CAKES N BEEF.

  When she turned around again, Faye had finally stopped singing and was hurriedly explaining to three newcomers what the fuss was all about.

  “… so I stood here thinking to myself that I knew him from somewheres, and then Bob come along and recognized the name and sure enough, it was Noah LeCroix.”

  “The Noah LeCroix?” A bearded gent in a tall crowned hat and a cutaway coat leaned into the center of the crowd toward Faye. “Oh, I’ll give you more than fame …” he sang. “That Noah LeCroix?”

  “One and the same. Half-breed with a missing eye.” Bob nodded. “How many of them you think are running around here?”

  “Where’s he been all these years?” A squat, fat hunter in the back of the crowd shouted. “Has he made another deal with the devil?”

  A hush fell over the crowd. They all looked at Olivia. Part of her was tempted to fabricate a whopping tale to satisfy their curiosity, but she quickly decided that would only add fuel to the fire. She envisioned Noah’s beautiful treehouse sanctuary and his peaceful life before she had turned it upside down.

  “He’s been away.”

  It was all they would ever hear from her. Her patience at an end, she drew the farmer aside. “If you don’t mind, sir, I’d like to get to my father’s homestead before dark.” More than that, she wanted to leave Shawneetown behind and join Noah at the edge of the woods.

  The center of attention, Bob Carver immediately straightened his shoulders and offered her his arm. “Right this way, miss. Any friend of Noah LeCroix is a friend of mine.” He actually shouted so those in the back row could hear.

  As he helped her up onto the narrow seat of the oxcart, Olivia tried to tell he
rself that she was anxious because she could not wait to be reunited with her family. But her heart kept reminding her that what she really wanted was to reassure herself that Noah had not disappeared and left her without a good-bye.

  It was hard to ignore her heart.

  Chapter 8

  Bond Homestead

  Payson had Little Pay and Freddie to live for, which should have been enough for any man. But on days like this, when a dense gray mood of lethargy and heavy sorrow settled over him, he seriously thought that his boys might have been better off raised by their Grandfather Morrison in Virginia.

  He wrapped a rag around his hand and pulled a Dutch oven out of the fire. Turnip-and-squirrel pie was a habit he wouldn’t mind breaking, but turnips and some corn flour were all they had left until he could bring down something other than the squirrels the boys had practically tamed.

  “That smell good to you, Susanna?” He lifted the lid of the pot and waved his hand over the steaming contents, hoping to tempt his wife.

  The rocker never even slowed, nor did the off-key tune she hummed almost continually now. The steady creak of the wooden rocker was enough to drive him as crazy as she appeared to be.

  “Have you seen the boys?” He had vowed weeks ago that he would not give up talking to her. He would not be reduced to silence, driven to hide behind it the way she did. Not as long as the boys still depended on him. Not until he had given up altogether.

  “It sure looks good,” he lied. It looked downright watery, the crust lumpy. The piddling bit of squirrel meat was hardly enough for a single man, let alone a family of four.

  “You know where the boys are?” Payson crossed the room and put his hand on Susanna’s shoulder. He had not touched her any more intimately in almost a year. She did not even look up.

  “Susanna?” He gave her a gentle shake. “Where are the boys?”

  The humming stopped, but she continued to pump the rocker back and forth.

  “Outside, I suppose. Playing outside someplace,” she barely whispered.