“I’ve only had a few times where a renegade Indian came along, but I fought him off—and, as far as the animals, well…they are out there, but I haven’t had any trouble with them.”
“You mean you’ve killed Indians?”
“Yes, of course, what would you expect? I’m not in the habit of letting them scalp my head. They sell scalps to the British, you know.” He went for his hat hanging on a branch stand by the door. “There really isn’t as much danger of the Indians, anymore—not since they were fought off in the last battle at Fort Stanwix. Most of them went north. What we have here now are mostly friendly to our cause and a big help to all of us. We’re holding true to our new constitution.”
“I saw firsthand what some of those other Indians can do, and I don’t care to see something like it again.” Carl’s brows drew together as the picture of those three dead soldiers with their scalps gone and blood-covered faces reappeared in his mind.
“Does this mean you don’t want to go with me?” Thomas fixed his stare right into Carl’s eyes.
“No, I would be happy to go with you. When do we get started?” He looked once again at Beth for some kind of response, but she only shrugged her shoulders.
“We will need to leave now if we’re going to be back by sundown.”
It didn’t take long to hitch the horse to the wagon. With a wide boarded seat up front for them to ride on it seemed as though it could be a fun trip. A wool blanket was thrown over the seat, long enough to come up over them, should it become too cold as they rode along. An Indian on horseback came up alongside of the rig, waiting to ride along with them.
Night Sun, a tall lanky man, wore his tailored deerskin trousers and a long Indian-made poncho draping from his shoulders to his knees. The moccasins on his feet bore signs of wear, with holes at the sides and who-knew-what on the bottom. He was sporting three feathers in the band around his head, which he proudly showed off by turning his head from side to side. Carl nodded at him as he mounted the wagon and sat beside Thomas. He looked back to notice some straw laid out in the bed of the wagon.
Thomas noticed the interest. “The straw is for several needs. We never know what we will get and some things need a safe, soft place—and if we have to spend any time there, we have something to bed down. Rest can be very important.”
“I didn’t realize we may be spending a night or more than the afternoon. I thought you said you wanted to get back by sundown?”
“Yes, I did, but there have been times when things were a little difficult, and I had to stay there overnight. I really don’t think it will happen now, not since the last battle.”
The trail they traveled was mixed—sometimes clear with no problems, other times a struggle to get through the thick foliage. Along the way, about three miles from the farm, they stopped at a fort manned only by Indians. The lonely one-storey log building had one room and a small loft for lookout. Sunlight filtered through the boards of the high fence surrounding it and reached over the top of the long stretch of wood planks for the roof. The wide opening in front allowed them to enter without problem. Thomas took the wagon right up to the front door. An Indian dressed in an old soldier’s uniform ran out to greet them.
Another Indian dressed in skins like most others brought water for the horses, while the men went inside to be refreshed with some rum and flat, dry bread.
The stop-off was comforting as they restored not only their own energy but provided a rest and a pause for Betsy, who drank thirstily and fed on wheat.
They didn’t linger long as the day moved on. Thomas still wanted to get back to the farm by sundown. Related to most of the Indians there, Night Sun wanted to stay at the fort and wait for them so he could visit with his kin. His horse, tied at the hitching rail, hammered his hooves into the ground when Thomas turned his horse around to leave.
“That horse wants to go with us,” Carl remarked as they rode out of the fort.
“They get used to being with certain other horses and can’t understand why they’re being left behind. He’ll settle down as soon as we’re out of sight,” Thomas assured him. He whipped the reins to hurry Betsy on her way.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Fallen trees, downed by the recent storm, covered the long, rough trail they traveled with mud, forcing the wheels of the wagon to sink in almost beyond coming back up and out again. Carl was sure they would get stuck, but they went on, bouncing in the seat, until they reached some dryer, more solid ground. The smell of the river filled the air—they were getting close.
Other wagons and riders appeared out of nowhere. Four wagons and half a dozen men on horses, including a few Indians, traveled together, going in the same direction as they were.
Most of them were settlers, and the others on horseback represented the army, all looking hopefully for much-needed supplies. The area was just too far from any major city, leaving them the only way to access goods and fighting gear through shipments down the wide long river. Wagons for supplies for the trading post came in from the city.
Friendly waves from weary travelers had Thomas paying more attention to the others than to the curious onlooker next to him. Carl’s eyes wandered around as he viewed the people from so long ago. This was something only found in history books and websites that had an accounting of these days, the days of the Revolutionary War. It was like he opened a page in time and was reading it right in front of his eyes—live.
The growing sound of the river gave them all reason to step up the pace with concentration now on getting there, and the friendly gestures ceased.
“Come on, Betsy; let’s go.” Thomas yelled as he spanked the reins against her back.
Carl held his breath as they pulled into a clearing yards away from the ship setting beside a dock. The sound of rushing water flowing downstream echoed through the hills behind it and slapped the large rocks on the shore as it kissed the banks of the river. The small vessel rocked with the current as men were busy unloading boxes and large bags of all kinds.
“Looks like a good shipment for once,” Thomas commented as he had Betsy come to a halt. “We don’t always get this much of anything, and sometimes we get nothing.”
“What sort of things will you be looking for?” Carl asked.
“Rice for one, more rum—maybe other foods but, most importantly, guns, knives, and uniforms for our soldiers…and shoes.” He paused to wave to another farmer who just pulled up alongside of them. “Hopefully, some blankets, candles—those kinds of things.”
They dropped down from the wagon, setting their feet on wet ground. The rush was on to get to the dock and pick out whatever they could divide among them.
Other than a few uniforms and two sets of shoes, most of the shipment was rice and rum. Thomas managed to get a wool blanket, a musket, a bag of rice, and three jugs of rum.
“Helen was so looking forward to more tea and sugar, but those will have to wait for another time,” he told Carl as he helped him set the supplies in the wagon. “I’m glad you came along to help me with this. I never have company, and it’s kind of nice.”
“I was happy to do it.” Carl couldn’t help but wonder how important all this was to him. It was a far cry from going to the local grocery store to get whatever you wanted or needed. He felt a bit guilty for all the luxuries he had back in the future. Things he’d never given much thought about before. Now he faced what it was like before modernization struck and how people had to struggle to get by.
Once they were loaded up, they sat around drinking rum and enjoying conversation about any news one or the other would have to report. The war had been going well, it was said. Many of the British army had gone north, but it was far from being over. They held their tin cups up in a toast and drank the rum.
On the way back, the company of wagons, Indians, and soldiers went their own ways, splitting the convoy in all directions. A last good-bye wave came from all of them as they moved on. Thomas stayed fast to the trail they came in on and let Betsy trot
along slowly. By the position of the sun, it had to be late afternoon, reaching for the evening hours.
Carl was anxious to get back to Beth. He’d been worried the whole day about her. The adventure was great, but leaving her alone on the farm, so far away from everything, with only another woman and a child, was more than he wanted to think about. What if one or more of those renegade Indians showed up? Were there enough of the good ones around to help them? Would they get back to find a terrible disaster? The thought was pushed from his mind by some strength that told him not to go there.
The trail going back seemed much longer than getting there. Carl knew it had to be his strong desire to get back, but he said nothing, even though he wanted to speak out and tell Thomas to speed it up. Betsy moseyed along at an even trot with her master at the reins, having not a worry in the world. Carl was certain these few trips now were not only for supplies but his time out from his everyday chores and maybe even the family. Never mind there was a war going on and at any given time they could be faced with an enemy.
“Tell me, Thomas, do you like it out here?”
“Why do you ask such a thing?”
“It must be a big change from your life back in England where you had none of this to put up with. You know…the war, the work, the need for so many things you can’t have or get.”
“My dear man, it’s called freedom—freedom to worship as I please, freedom from the king and from having to be told how to live.” A wide smile snuck out from under his growing beard. “A new land, rich with life, freedom and hope.”
The reflection of the Independence flashed in Carl’s mind. We the people. “Yes, so
I’ve heard.” Carl folded his hands on his lap and gazed out at the forest ahead of them.
With the sun falling deep in the western sky, Thomas began to hurry old Betsy along. About a mile in the distance, they heard rifle fire, so he stopped to find out where it came from.
“Could just be someone out hunting,” he told Carl as he stood high in the wagon, looking in every direction. Caution had to be taken for fear of another outbreak of battle with the British. “Things have been too quiet for too long,” he told Carl as he sat back in the seat. “Anything can happen.”
They waited for several minutes before going on. With no more sound of gunfire, he felt it safe to continue, but he kept a steady eye for anything that looked strange, his rifle at his side.
Carl’s adrenaline spiked as they traveled along in what might be signs of danger. Every little sound in the bush, over the land and in the sky had his attention. Thomas reached down between his worn out boots to retrieve a jug of rum.
“Here, have some of this,” he said as he handed it to Carl.
His nervous companion took the jug in hand and downed a large swallow of the potent stuff. “Thanks; it tastes better this time. Maybe I’m just getting used to it.”
Thomas laughed. “It’s a good thing to get used to.” Without delay, Carl took another quick drink from the jug and handed it back to Thomas. “Go ahead and keep it,” he told Carl as he waved it off. “I don’t need it as much as you do.” He slapped the reins over Betsy’s back to quicken her stride.
“Besides, we were able to secure plenty of rum this time. We loaded three large jugs in the wagon. Helen will be pleased with the rice and candles.” He shook off a small branch that fell from a tree as they passed under it. Ahead just a few yards lay an open field that went on as far as the eye could see. They were more than halfway back.
Carl recalled an area similar to this one he and Beth were in before they met up with those three soldiers. He looked around, expecting to see some buffalo like they did back then. Even though they had passed through this same place earlier, it somehow looked different. Blame it on the time of day, the lighting of the day or just his imagination, it didn’t look familiar.
“Why is it, Thomas, things change around here so much?”
“What do you mean, change?”
“I don’t remember coming through here before. I know we must have if this is the same trail we took to get out here.”
“Well, no, it’s not the same trail at all. I changed our route to avoid any hunters or shooters I suspected on the other path. This will get us back to the farm, but it will take a little longer.”
“Will we be back by sundown?”
“I don’t think so, but maybe not too much after.”
“Can we ride in the dark?” Carl’s attention now focused on the darkening sky above.
“I don’t like to, but we will go as far as possible.” Thomas looked at him as the shadows from the high rocks to the side came over his face. Carl couldn’t see his expression. “We may have to bed down for the night.”
“I’m worried about Beth. Will the women be all right?”
“My Helen knows what to do when needed, so don’t worry. They will be fine.” The wrinkled look in his brow told another story, but his words were some comfort. “Come on, Betsy; let’s get us home,” he coaxed as he laid the reins on the horse’s back again.
* * *
Beth helped Helen with dinner while she constantly went to the window to look for the men, in hope they would be coming soon. Outside the daylight struggled with the coming of the dark night, and she began to worry more than she had all day. Even though she tried to avoid thinking of the men they’d found dead with their scalps gone, the picture appeared in her mind like a plague. If only she had talked Carl into not going.
“Don’t worry so,” Helen told her as she set some plates on the table. “They will be along soon.” She hustled around the table, the skirt of her dress whisking to the side to make a swishing sound as she walked. Little Annie sat on the floor by the fireplace, turning pages in an old book that looked like it had been around for a long time. She had to be careful not to let pages fall out, so she had it set on the floor and turned them slowly. Beth noticed there were no pictures, and she wondered if the little girl could actually read. At her age, Beth didn’t think so. Annie had to be maybe three or four. What a wonderful child, she thought. How nice it would be to have a little girl or boy, but there’s been no time for a family. Look what I’ve missed. She gazed down at the little one with yearning.
Beth was handed a bowl of the flat, dry bread to break up into pieces and set on the table while Helen took the pot of beans off the small wood stove and set it up on the iron platform attached to it.
It dawned on her that Annie had to be imitating her mother, who Beth had seen reading from another book the night before. Helen must have given her the old book to play with, she thought as she scanned the room for toys, but none were in sight.
Helen lit more candles, using a long thin stick she had held over the fire in the fireplace. Darkness fell on the cabin, with only a slim glimmer of the setting sun left in the west. Through the window, Beth could see the orange glow at the edge of the wide open field between the forest trees. She put her hands together, lacing her fingers in prayer as she held back the tears that threatened to spill at any time.
The sound of a horse approaching brought her hurrying to the door, only to see an Indian ride up to the cabin and dismount. He had no headpiece and wore what looked like the remains of an army uniform.
When he came to the door, Beth stepped aside, backing away to let him come in. In his hand he held a note, rolled up with a thin ribbon tied around it.
Helen took the note, untied it, and unrolled the tan paper. She read whatever was written on it, then rolled it back up. A little smile appeared on her face as she stuffed it in the large side pocket of her apron. With a lasting smile, she offered the tired Indian something to drink. He nodded as he took the cup from her, but his eyes were on Beth.
“We have guests here now,” Helen told him. “Her husband is off to the river with Thomas. They should be back soon.”
“I go now,” the Indian said as he set the cup down on the table. “Must hurry back.”
“Thank you for bringing me the message.” Helen
held her hand out to him and waved.
Beth went to the window to watch him leave but, most of all, to see if the horse and wagon she wanted to see was anywhere in sight.
“Come, Elizabeth, and join me in something to eat.” Helen urged her to the table. Little Annie was already seated in her high chair up to the table with a plate in front of her.
Just as she was about to sit down, Beth heard something outside that brought her hurrying back to the window. Yes, it’s them, she thought as she saw the wagon pull up to the opening of the barn. Without saying a word, she rushed to the door and was outside in a few second.
As she ran to the barn to greet them, she saw Thomas helping Carl off the wagon as though he were hurt. “What happened?” she shouted as she came up alongside the wagon. Her heart beat frantically, and she had trouble catching her breath. With her hand on her chest, she asked again as Carl stood with his head down, his shoulders slumped. “What’s wrong?”
Carl lifted his head and swayed to one side. “Eeeelizabeth.” He held out his arms to her. When he grabbed hold of her she could smell the rum on him. His arms felt heavy as he wrapped them around her neck, almost knocking her down. Thomas came to help her get him inside.
“He’s drunk,” she said as they stumbled along to the house.
“It looks that way, miss. He had a little too much rum, it seems.”
Carl halted suddenly with his head down and retching like he was going to throw up.
Thomas stood at his side. “Better out here than in the house.” He held on to Carl’s arm with one hand on the back of his head until the deed was done.
“He’s not used to drinking a lot,” Beth mentioned as they went forward to the door, she on one side of Carl, while Thomas helped on the other side. Both held him by his arms until they got him inside where they could seat him in a chair.
“Looks like someone had too much rum,” Helen remarked as she set two more plates on the table. “He may not want to eat right now. I think you best take him into the bed and let him sleep it off.” She waved a hand in the air to rid the smell of the man sitting at her table. Beth took Carl by the arm and led him to the bedroom. He mumbled something, but she couldn’t tell what it was.
Outside That Door Page 13