by Janet Cooper
Running most of the way, she reentered the small clearing. As she hurried around the perimeter, she called, "Little Turtle?" She inspected the lean-to, knowing it was useless. Panic, now in full bloom, threatened to overwhelm her and chase all rational thoughts aside. With effort, she overrode the mounting dread and regained control. She gathered her skirt in her hands and, forbidding any negative thoughts, trotted back to the juncture of the two pathways. Following the only lead she had, she turned north. She saw no other signs of moccasins but pushed on. Over and over she repeated the words; I must find him.
Wolf had mentioned that his camp was less than a quarter of a mile from the planned ambush site. Yet, to Sarah, the short distance seemed endless. Every few paces, she stopped, scanned the area, and called Little Turtle's name softly. Only silence greeted her. She must find the boy, for herself and Wolf. As close as he and the child were, if anything should happen to his son, she gulped. Had she missed him? Should she return to camp? She hesitated, trying to decide which way to go.
A shot sounded, quickly followed by a volley. She froze then ran forward. Ahead, but at a distance, she saw smoke rising above the trees. Don't let Little Turtle be hurt. A horrible picture of the small boy lying injured, or worse, along the path bombarded her mind. Sarah hastily shoved that terrible idea aside. As she rounded the next bend, she heard, "What are you doing here?" Instantly, she recognized the voice.
"Little Turtle," she said with a sigh of relief. "God, thank thee." She closed her eyes as she offered her prayer. When she opened them, she glanced around. "Where art thou?"
"Up here, in the tree."
Shifting her gaze, she surveyed the partially bare branches of the forest trees.
"Not there. Over here. In the sycamore." His voice sounded impatient.
Spotting the peeling bark and off-white color that marked the tell-tale trunk, she searched the lower limbs.
"Higher."
Near the top sat Little Turtle.
"What is thee doing up there?" Sarah demanded.
"Watching the battle. Come on up." He looked north. "The view is great." The volley of musket fire almost drowned out his words.
She considered insisting that he come down. Remembering how stubborn the child could be, she pushed that idea aside. Although the tree looked strong enough, the top branches where Little Turtle sat did not look as though they would support the weight of an adult.
"Come on," he persisted. "You're missing all the excitement." Scattered shooting punctured Little Turtle's statement.
A moment later, Sarah heard men's voices in the distance, but no longer rifle fire. "What's happening?"
"The Americans are rounding up the British."
Putting her hands around the lowest branch, she pulled her legs up, wrapping them over. Her skirt bunched around her waist. Oh, for a pair of jeans. Letting go of the limb, she looked for the next hand-hold and started again. This time, she placed her hands on the branch and tried to lift herself up. Although her chin cleared the limb, her arms were not strong enough to support her weight and pull herself up. Annoyed at being so out of shape, especially after all the hard physical work she’d recently done, she dropped off.
"Are you coming?" There was impatience in the boy's tone. "The battle will be over before you get up."
Dusting off her hands, Sarah said, "My skirt keeps getting in the way."
He looked disgusted.
"What's happening now?" she asked.
"I missed it." His voice showed his annoyance.
"Missed what?"
"The fighting! Jeremiah and his men are tying up the British."
"Where is thy father?"
"He's searching the ground."
"Is he all right?"
"I guess so."
Silence surrounded her, not even a bird sang. Impatient and a little fearful at being unable to see or hear anything, she pleaded with the lad. "What's going on?"
"The Americans are putting the English soldiers in canoes."
"What is thy father doing?"
"Checking the supplies and looking around."
"Is he injured?" Sarah's neck hurt from staring upward.
"He's not limping. Let's go see him." Little Turtle beamed with excitement.
"No. He has enough to do without worrying about us."
"Ohhh. Let's get closer. The pine trees will hide us."
His suggestion tempted her. She looked down the path, but the underbrush prevented her from seeing more than ten or twenty paces. If they moved closer, they could overlook the creek and see everything.
Little Turtle had not stirred, but Sarah sensed his eyes on her. She looked at him thoughtfully.
He started down.
A crashing sound further up the path, in the direction of the ambush, reached Sarah. Sarah glanced up at the boy.
He looked back then shrugged his shoulder and reached for the next limb.
"Stay there," Sarah commanded.
A large, burly man wearing a British uniform burst into view. His bright, red hair sent shock waves slamming into Sarah. Her worst fear had charged into the small clearing heading toward them. Sarah had hoped never to see the English corporal again. For an instant, she considered running, but feared Little Turtle would join her flight and place himself in danger. Unwilling to stand in the open, she dashed behind the tree. Hopefully, the corporal might be in such a hurry he would rush by. Perhaps, he hadn't seen her. She pulled her skirt close to her sides, but she would have had to be much smaller for the slim trunk to conceal her.
"Well, well."
Horror clenched her stomach, but she refused to step out.
"My little Quaker lass." A fat paw grasped her arm and twisted.
She dug in her heels, but he squeezed her flesh and easily hauled her toward him. Unwilling to give in, Sarah lashed out with her other hand. He blocked her with his Brown Bess. The metal lock punctured her palm. She gasped and winced at the pain.
He tightened his hold on her forearm, almost cutting off the circulation. "Be nice," his distinctively high-pitched voice mocked.
Unable to fight further, she grimaced under the pressure of his squeezing hand, but remained still. Meanwhile, her mind sought for a way to protect Little Turtle and herself.
"I missed you the last time I stopped by the tavern."
His onion and rotten teeth breath caused her empty stomach to rebel. Then his words sank in. Had he gone back after the visit when he beat up her father? Was Benjamin injured again? She had not heard from him and had assumed all was well. "When was that?"
Instead of replying, he glanced over his shoulder, looking back the way he had come. With his attention diverted, Sarah fought desperately to escape his hold.
"You're coming with me," he snarled and tightened his grip.
Although her other hand still smarted, she ignored the pain and reached out to scratch his face with her nails. His fingers loosened their grip, and she wrenched free.
"Bitch!" he screamed.
He regained control, jerked her back, twisted her around then smacked her across her jawbone. Her head snapped back and hit the trunk of the tree. For a moment, her vision blurred, and her legs threatened to collapse. She locked her knees and fought to keep conscious, but her feet slipped out from under her. When the soldier's hand reached out to grab the front of her short gown, Little Turtle landed on top of the corporal head. Sarah saw a knife in the boy's hand. With partly focused eyes and unable to help, she watched the child stab the corporal on the throat.
"Hell!" As the British soldier flung off the lad, the rifle fell from his hand.
Forcing her body to respond to her demands, Sarah grabbed the musket and aimed. She had no idea how to fire the weapon, but hoped her actions did not betray her. "Get out of here, before I take a piece out of thy hide!"
He raised his fists, anger and hatred clearly showing, but he stopped. "I'll get you! And that Indian brat too!" he shouted before whirling on his heel and trotting off, and heading south
.
Sarah crawled to Little Turtle and placed the rifle next to the boy, who lay sprawled on the ground. In his hand, he still clutched the red-tipped knife. His breathing seemed fine. She raised his eyelid with her finger and studied his pupil. It appeared normal, but she wasn't sure. Next, she ran her hands over his body. No bones stuck out. She touched the back of his skull.
He moaned.
The bump was not large. Would it increase in size? Cool water might help. She glanced around for his water bag and saw it hanging from a top branch of the tree. Should she go down the hill to the river instead of trying to retrieve the flask? Perhaps other British soldiers had escaped and might head this way. Again, she looked at the bulb-shaped leather bag, dangling from the limb. The fable about the fox and the grapes came to mind. Well, she wasn't going to follow his example; she would get that canteen.
Her decision made, she gathered her skirt and started climbing the tree.
Without worry about her underwear showing, and trying to ignore the thinner branches, she reached up. Only the tips of her fingers touched the leather fringes. The flask began to swing. "Damn." Standing on the tips of her shoes, her one arm wrapped around the narrow trunk, she grasped the sack and pulled. The leather thongs remained firmly attached to the branch. She must reach that bag.
"What are you doing?"
"Wolf!" She peeked down and saw him hunkering by his son's side, but kept her grip firmly on the tree trunk. Relief flooded her.
"What happened here?" Wolf glanced from Sarah to Little Turtle then looked up again at her.
The boy sat on the ground, cradling his head on his knees.
"Is thee all right, Little Turtle?" Sarah called from her precarious perch.
"My head hurts," he grumbled, as he glanced her way.
"Sarah, what are you doing in that tree?" Wolf rose and placed his fists on his hips as he peered at her.
"Trying to fetch the water bag … for thy son," she added.
"Come down. I will get it."
Having them watch, as she attempted to keep her skirt close to her body, did not improve Sarah's climbing style. When she reached the last branch, Wolf lifted her off. She wanted to throw her arms around him and cover his face with kisses, but before she could even thank him, he vaulted up the tree.
Sarah knelt beside the boy. "I wish to thank thee for rescuing me."
"I was brave, wasn't I?"
"Yes indeed," she replied, ruffling his scalp lock.
Wolf offered the leather sack to his son, and the boy took a quick drink. "Rescuing? Why did you need rescuing?" His eyes focused on her face. He reached across Little Turtle and gently touched the outlines of her bruise. "How did that happen?"
She winced.
"Who did that?" Wolf demanded.
"A British soldier, with red hair," said Little Turtle. "I jumped out of the tree and landed on him before he could drag Sarah away."
"Big Bottom."
When Wolf said the name, it sounded like a curse. Sarah sensed the hatred and anger that radiated from him; she shared his sentiment completely. Wolf stared at her, and his eyes softened. For the first time since she had met him, he appeared vulnerable. She wanted to reach out and caress the lines that formed on his face, but was uncertain if she should do so with his son as an audience. Instead, she remembered her duties, poured water onto her handkerchief and applied the moist pad to Little Turtle's bump. He flinched, but did not cry out. She sat on her heels.
"You need some nursing yourself," Wolf said. He pulled a large clump of moss from the ground, dampened it and held the soft side to her face. "I don't believe it's broken." His eyes showed kindness and caring, while his face still glared with anger.
The cool moss eased the ache in her cheekbone, and his thoughtfulness added to the healing. "Thank thee." Her hand moved to replace his.
Slowly, he released his hold and eased back on his haunches. "I want an explanation." His eyes hardened as he looked at his son, who had sat up. "First, what are you doing away from camp?"
Before Little Turtle could answer, Wolf leaned behind the boy and picked up the Brown Bess. "The corporal's?"
Sarah and Little Turtle nodded.
"Thee just missed him. If thee hurries, I'm sure thee can catch him." Perhaps, if Wolf captured the man, he would forget to grill his son.
"Leave the two of you alone …again?" His words and his expression plus his shaking head conveyed his disbelief at her statement.
"We will be quite safe. Won't we, Little Turtle?" She hoped her words sounded more confident to Wolf than to herself.
"As safe as you were a few minutes ago?"
She tried again to divert his attention from them. "According to thy son, the Americans have captured the patrol."
"How does he or you know that Big Bottom was the only one to escape?"
"Well," she shrugged her shoulders and glanced at the child for support.
"You would have seen another set of tracks," said the boy, keeping one hand on his bandage.
"Do you know that I didn't?" Wolf pushed.
"No," he replied, chastened by his father's words.
"It so happens, you are right, but the area is not safe. I told both of you that last night. Is your memory so short?" Wolf looked from the lad to her.
Sarah flushed under Wolf's unfair criticism. She considered mentioning her reason for leaving camp. After a quick look at Little Turtle, who had tucked his head in shame, she kept her thoughts to herself. No sense getting the boy into any more trouble. She removed the drying moss from her face.
"You will have a black and blue mark for several days," Wolf commented.
"Probably, but what about the corporal?" she asked.
"There will be another time for the corporal."
Sarah heard the regret in Wolf's voice, but decided against commenting since if she and Little Turtle weren’t here, he could pursue his enemy.
"Tell me what happened." Wolf surveyed them closely.
Sarah looked at the boy. He stared at her.
Obviously, Wolf saw their glances. "Let's all sit and get comfortable."
She sat on one side of the boy and Wolf on the other. Needing to keep her hands busy and her eyes away from Wolf, she removed the pad from Little Turtle's bump and squeezed water from the flask onto the cloth.
"I want the truth." Wolf emphasized each word.
"Thee first, Little Turtle." Sarah reapplied the moist handkerchief to the boy's head. This time, he did not cringe. She held the make-shift bandage in place.
The child told the story concisely and accurately. When he mentioned leaving the camp, his father frowned, but did not interrupt the tale.
"Have you anything to add?" Wolf asked Sarah.
"No. But I have a question. The corporal mentioned he had visited my father's tavern recently." She swallowed hard as worry for Benjamin surfaced in full force.
Wolf saw the concern clearly on her face and wanted to pull her into his arms and chase away her fear. Then he remembered his discussion with Little Turtle about Sarah leaving once the British soldiers had been caught. With considerable effort, he restrained his impulse.
"Doeth thee know if he has been back since the last time when he beat my father?" Her eyes penetrated his soul.
Touching her shoulder, he said, "If he had, we would hear. When we return, I will send a messenger to make sure Benjamin Stone is well."
"I must go and see for myself how he fares."
Trepidation for what might happen to her on the trip rippled through Wolf's gut. "As you saw today, you are safe only at Long Meadow."
"If thee will escort me, I will be safe." Her words and tone pleaded with him. "I have not seen my father for many days. Please, let me reassure myself of his health."
His fear for Sarah made him want to deny her request. Yet he understood her wanting to see for herself. Needing a few moments alone, he rose and walked a short distance down the path. Having both Sarah and Little Turtle in danger had crystallized
Wolf's feelings. As much as he wanted to deny the attraction for this woman building inside him, he would not lie to himself. He wanted her to be with him …always. The idea of her ever leaving filled him with such deep remorse that he momentarily wished that the corporal might never be apprehended.
If anything happens to either one of them, my life would be as the heavens without the stars--dark and lonely. As long as she stays at Long Meadow, she is safe. Outside, danger threatens. Yet, Wolf could no more wrap Sarah in a cocoon than his grandfather could still the wagging tongues that helped kill his wife.
Making a decision, although one he did not favor, Wolf strode back. "I will take you tomorrow."
"Thank you." Her face lightened.
He had expected a stronger reaction from her. Since he had agreed to take her, why did she not seem as pleased as he expected. Wolf eyed her carefully, but could not penetrate her expression.
"Let's go home," he said. Picking up Little Turtle, Wolf placed him on his shoulders. Amen-apush followed behind his master.
"E--e! You haven't put me up here for a long time."
"Like the view?" Sarah smiled at Wolf, but only with her lips, before glancing at the boy.
"Not as good as the tree, but it will do," his son said honestly.
They all laughed, yet Wolf heard total joy only in his child's voice.
* * * *
Once back at Long Meadow, Sarah bathed and changed her clothes. Wolf had told her he would find his grandfather and tell him what had occurred. Uncharacteristically, Little Turtle had fallen asleep while eating, so Bowl Woman had put him to bed.
As she dressed, she thought about her impending visit to the Inn and a never before qualm filled her. She wanted to see Benjamin, to verify that he was well, yet misgivings about returning seized her just as they had while she sat nursing Wolf's son. Would the door open and take her back to her own century? Since she had no say about arriving, why would her departure be any different? Yes, she missed her friends, but she had a chance to create her own friends and even a family at Long Meadow. She shook her head at the difference a few weeks could make.