Whispered Promise

by Colleen French

  Harrison's aim was dead on. The Huron pitched forward and the snow grew stained with the dead man's blood.

  Harrison's heart had never skipped a beat. It had happened so quickly that he hadn't had time to think. He looked down at the feet of the dead man who lay face down in the deep snow.

  His beaded moccasins were different than those Harrison wore. Of course they were. Harrison's friend Noah's wife was a Delaware. It was Delaware moccasins she sewed with the stitching, construction, and markings of the Delaware. Moccasin design was one of the things that separated all tribes.

  Harrison knelt in the snow, rolled the dead Huron over, and began to unlace his moccasins. His fingers flew over the strong laces.

  When he had removed both moccasins, he removed his own and sat down in the snow. The Huron's feet were a little bigger than his own, but the foot coverings fit. Harrison tossed his own moccasins onto the dead man's chest. Kneeling, he stripped the man of his medicine bag, his weapon belt, and the string of feathers and sea shells he wore hanging from his scalp lock.

  In the darkness, Harrison dressed himself in the Huron's trappings. He dug a hole in the snow and rolled the body into it. He covered the Huron with more snow.

  Satisfied, he glanced into the heavens at the stars that twinkled above and whispered a prayer. For good measure he added one of his grandmother's good-luck chants.

  Then he hooked the Huron's deadly war club into his belt and walked around the fort. With the retreat of the Patriot troops, the doors had been flung wide open so the flames could be put out on the exterior walls.

  Taking a deep cleansing breath, Harrison strolled through the open gates and into the fort.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Harrison strolled through the gates of Fort De-Pounce as if he'd walked through them a hundred times. A wounded Huron limped in behind him. Harrison nodded and grunted to his fellow comrade.

  A few English soldiers stood at a doorway speaking to a cluster of braves. Indian women ran back and forth with buckets of snow, putting out the last of the fort fires set by the American soldiers.

  A camp fire burned in the center of the frozen compound. Iroquois in buckskins and an assortment of English clothing stood around it, warming their hands and boasting of their victory. Men ran to and fro in the compound. Women tended to injuries. There was still a great deal of confusion after the fight, exactly what Harrison was hoping for.

  He walked up to the fire and thrust out his hands to warm them. A Mohawk beside him stared. Harrison finally looked at him. "You wish something?" He spoke broken English, praying that the Indians inside the fort walls communicated in English because of their varying backgrounds. If they expected him to speak Iroquois, he was in trouble.

  The Mohawk turned back to the fire. "I do not know you, brother."

  "You know every man in this territory?" Harrison edged his voice with steel.

  "No, no." The Mohawk took another quick look at him. "You came in with the others?"

  "I came on my own. Trouble further up river."

  The Mohawk chuckled. "It is good this fighting between whites. It gives us the chance to take what we want, no?"

  "I take what I want anyway."

  The Mohawk nodded respectfully. "There is food. One of the women will bring you something."

  Harrison kept his eyes on the burning embers. "Fire drink?"

  "Tonight it will flow. The English coats keep kegs locked up inside the walls, but tonight we will celebrate our victory." The Mohawk walked away. "I will see what keeps the women from serving."

  Out of the corner of his eye, Harrison watched him go. There were other men standing at the campfire. They all seemed to assume he knew the Mohawk who had just left. He spoke a few words with them, but preferred to play the loner. It was the easiest way to keep out of trouble, he reasoned.

  Eventually Indian women brought food to the men on wooden trenchers. Harrison sat on hide mats with the other men and ate. After a while an English private rolled a keg of ale out into the middle of the snowy compound and then made a hasty retreat inside one of the cabins built within the walls of the fort.

  Harrison pretended to drink with the others, not wanting to appear suspicious. The men gathered around the fire, an assortment of Iroquois with a few Algonquins, seemed to accept his presence without question. These men were outcasts even in their own villages, so they banded together.

  The later the evening became, the drunker the men got. They danced and sang and told foul tales of rape, pillage, and murder. A fight broke out between a halfbreed Shawnee and a Seneca. The half-bread lost his life near the gate with a hatchet between his shoulder blades.

  The leader of the dangerous rag-tag group seemed to be an Iroquois called Little Joseph. He gave the orders and appeared to be taking much of the credit for the successful retreat of the Americans. It was obvious to Harrison that these men felt no true alliance with the English soldiers they killed for or even each other. The Indians simply enjoyed the killing.

  Well after midnight, Harrison sat leaning against one of the inner walls of the camp out of the way of the bitter wind. An attractive Indian woman in her early twenties had just brought him another mug of ale. Little Joseph had drunkenly shoved the woman, Seabird, into his lap, offering her services for a price. Harrison had refused, blaming drink on his lack of desire.

  Seabird had seemed relieved.

  Harrison watched her go back across the compound. He assumed the women slept in common quarters somewhere. All night he had been trying to figure out which building inside the fort was what. He knew where the food stuffs were kept and where the male Indians slept. He knew where the armory was, but the tiny log buildings that made up the inner fort were built in such disorder, that he couldn't guess where the prison cells were. If Beale and the boy William were here, that was where he would find them.

  Harrison pretended to take a drink from his mug. "These English . . . they are fools to fight again and again for log walls, no?"

  Little Joseph opened his eyes and hacked and spit. "This man cares not what they fight for as long as they pay him."

  Harrison chuckled with him. "What is the reason these men are here, the English? Why do they hold the fort so far from the fighting?"

  Little Joseph shrugged. "They bring prisoners. We get the information the English want from them. They pay us with whiskey and firesticks."

  Harrison pretended to take another drink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, slurring his words slightly. "Prisoners? Hmmm? Who could be so important to bring here? Are there prisoners now?"

  Little Joseph wrinkled his bushy black eyebrows. "Why do you ask, Huron?"

  Realizing he needed to take a step back before he got into trouble, Harrison belched loudly and rubbed his stomach. "No reason. Thought this man might be allowed to help question the prisoners." He got to his feet with a grin, stumbling.

  "Where you going?" Little Joseph asked, still sounding a little suspicious.

  "To piss." Harrison laughed. "Why, you want to go with me?"

  Another man sitting near them cackled.

  Little Joseph stared at Harrison for a moment and then broke into a grin. "So piss." He threw up a hand. "Go piss, you stinking Huron."

  Harrison walked away, thankful Little Joseph hadn't questioned him any further. Harrison had hoped he would be able to investigate the buildings inside the fort after the men fell asleep, but it was beginning to look to him like they didn't sleep. If his guess was right, they would drink until dawn when they finally passed out.

  He walked back toward the group. So what if they drank all night. That was all right with him. Patience was the key in a situation like this and he was a patient man. He would find out soon enough if Beale and his son were here.

  Harrison spent the following day among the Iroquois, mingling, talking a little, but not getting any worthwhile information. Once he had tried to wandered through a breezeway that led to the rear of the fort, but Little Joseph had stopped h
im on the pretense of inquiring if he was interested in going hunting. After that, Little Joseph had kept a careful eye on him and Harrison hadn't gotten a chance to do any more investigating.

  When darkness fell on Fort DePounce and the soldiers rolled out another keg of ale to the Indians, Harrison's determination wavered. He hated to leave Leah in the forest alone another night. But he had promised her he would find out if William had ever been here at the fort. He decided to give himself until noon the following day.

  All night long Harrison remained awake, pretending to be asleep. With Little Joseph suspicious of him, he feared if he slept, the Iroquois might slit his throat.

  Like most of the other Indians, Harrison remained outside at the campfire. It was cold, but certainly warmer than sleeping out in the open forest. While the others slept, he kept his vigil. To occupy his mind, he thought about Leah. He thought about every word she had spoken to him since they'd been reunited. He thought about every touch, every whisper, every smile. He remembered the color of her brilliant red hair shining down her back. He thought of her husky laugh and the taste of her mouth on his . . . the taste of sweeter places.

  Harrison knew he couldn't lose Leah again. No matter what it took, he would have her. His grandmother's words came back to him, echoing in his head. She had said he wouldn't be whole without settling his differences with Leah. The truth was, he couldn't be whole without her.

  Then came the question of what he would be willing to do to have her. Would he kill Beale? Both he and Leah hated him. The boy would get over the death with time. But would Leah accept her husband's death as an act of love, or would she condemn him? Would Harrison condemn himself?

  He didn't know.

  The other choice, a poor one, but a choice none the less, was to become Leah's secret lover. He could return to his father's lands, don the clothing he had left behind and become the son his father deserved. He and Leah could carry on a liaison the rest of their living days, or until Beale died of natural causes.

  But how painful it would be to watch Leah with Beale. Harrison wasn't certain he could stand the thought of her going home with him, perhaps his even trying to force himself upon her. If Beale hurt her, Harrison knew he would kill him. He'd not be able to stop himself.

  Harrison rolled onto his side, staring into the dying embers. The sun was dawning in the sky. Streams of orange light spilled over the high jagged walls of the fort. He prayed Leah had made out all right in the forest alone. He knew he'd made the right decision in leaving her behind. He wasn't certain that he could have defended her here among these savages.

  Harrison heard someone and looked up. It was the woman, Seabird, who Little Joseph had tried to foist upon him two nights ago.

  She saw him watching her and skirted to the far side of the fire to add a log. She was obviously frightened of him, frightened of them all.

  Harrison sat up. "Your corncakes are good," he said speaking of the meal she had served him last night. "Do you have more?"

  She nodded. "Honey."

  He moved and she jumped.

  He smiled. "It's all right." He made a universal sign of peace, not sure how much of what he said she understood. "Do not fear this man." He took a chance. It was gut feeling, one his grandmother had taught him to trust. "I am not one of them."

  "No?" she asked softly.

  "No. I look for prisoners."

  "No prisoner here. Not this day. Gone. All gone."

  "But what about prisoners who were here? I look for a boy, a white boy called William Beale. He is eight summers. He was kidnapped."

  Seabird took a cautious step toward him, glancing at Little Joseph who snored on the ground a few feet away.

  "It's all right," Harrison assured, rising up on his knees. "The boy's mother seeks him." He hesitated watching her. She seemed to want to say something.

  "Have you seen the boy? Dark hair." He touched his own hair. "Dark eyes." He pointed to his own eyes. "Small." He raised his hand above the ground to demonstrate the height of an eight-year-old.

  Seabird lowered her gaze. "There was boy."

  She spoke so softly that Harrison wasn't certain what she'd said.

  "A boy? He's here?"

  She lifted her head and shook it. "Gone."

  Harrison felt his heart tumble. He knew nothing of children, but he knew Leah's heart would be broken and his heart would break for her.

  "He is dead?" Harrison asked carefully. He used another hand signal wanting to be absolutely certain he understood her.

  She shook her head, her long black braids swinging. "No dead. Gone. Sold."

  Harrison jumped up, startling her. She took two steps back. He held his ground, speaking softly. "Sold to whom? Can you tell me Bird of the Sea?" "Mohawk." She spat into the fire. "Mohawk dog Two Halves."

  "Two Halves," Harrison repeated. "You're certain? Where can this man find Two Halves."

  She turned, pointing northwest. "The clan of the Turtle. Mohawk," she repeated with disgust.

  Harrison broke into a grin. Damn the good luck! "This man thanks you," he said, still smiling. "From his heart. From the heart of the mother who gave him life." He touched his hand to his heart.

  She walked away. "Hope you find boy. Hope you kill the man Two Halves and leave his body for wolves to feed." Her voice caught in her throat. "Many moons ago, he take Seabird's son, too."

  Harrison watched the woman walk away and disappear within the inner walls of the fortress. He wanted to call after her, to say something, but what could he say?

  He left the fort in the silence of the early morning and headed for Leah.

  All night long Leah huddled in the frigid tomblike darkness waiting for Harrison to come back. He'd said wait two days, but how could he possibly take that long? The fort wasn't far. Either Edmund and William were there or they weren't. What would make Harrison think he might be gone two days?

  Then Leah thought about Edmund. He was Harrison's enemy. If Harrison found Edmund, Harrison would lose Leah. Of course both of them had known that all along, but until tonight that really hadn't sunk in.

  The question was, why would Harrison rescue Edmund?

  All along Harrison had promised he would take her to wherever William was being held and then here at the last minute he had changed his mind. Had he changed his mind because he wasn't really going to the fort at all? After all, hadn't he told her just last night that he wouldn't lose her again?

  Leah stared out into the darkness. A snow hare hopped by. The longer she sat in the cold snow, the angrier she became.

  Harrison wanted her for himself. He hadn't gone to the fort as he had promised. That's why he'd been so quiet all day long. He'd been making his plans to trick her. Her guess was that he'd come dragging back telling her Edmund and William had been killed. After all, he hated Edmund and why would he care about William? He'd never met the boy. He wasn't real to him. This was Leah's quest, not Harrison's. Harrison had already found what he'd wanted.

  Leah dozed on and off all night. In the morning she ate snow and chewed on some dried berries from her bag. The sun came out after a while and she spent the morning sitting in a bright spot, staring into the forest. At first the trees around her seemed barren, but then slowly she became aware of the animals around her.

  Cardinals perched in the trees above her head, a splash of brilliant red against the white of the snow. A tit-mouse scratched in the snow beyond Leah's shelter, in search of some small nibble of food. Leah even saw a deer walk timidly into a clearing to her left. It chewed on a few twigs of foliage left uncovered by snow and then wandered off.

  Eventually the afternoon shadows lengthened and it began to get dark. Leah had been warm earlier when the sun had shone but now that it was growing late, she was cold again. After sitting for an hour listening to her teeth chatter, she suddenly stood.

  "I'll have a fire if I want to," she muttered. "To hell with it! To hell with you, Harrison DeNay!" Determinedly, she began to gather pieces of fire wood.
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  All day long she had waited for Harrison. All day long she had tried to convince herself that her earlier misgivings had just been a result of her own fears for her son and her fear of sleeping alone in the forest. Leah had wanted to believe Harrison would come back for her. She had wanted to believe that he would bring news of her son.

  But he had left her before, hadn't he? He'd said he'd loved her and then left her. He'd done it once. He could do it again.

  Leah threw pieces of wood to the ground next to her shelter. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry.

  Harrison wasn't coming back. And if he did show up, it would be without William.

  She knelt with the tinder box from her bag and began the tedious process of starting a fire.

  "Son of bitch," she mumbled. "Why did I trust you! You're a man like any other man. Just because I laid with you, didn't mean I should have trusted you. You son of a bitch!"

  So what was she going to do now? She was lost in the middle of the wilderness. She had no idea how to go about searching for her son. She didn't even know where the blessed fort was!

  A spark struck a crumble of dry leaves and she blew on it. The tiny flame fanned out catching on another handful of leaves. Leah added a twig, then another.

  She didn't know exactly where the fort was, but she knew what direction, didn't she? She wasn't stupid. She'd traveled hundreds of miles to find William. She didn't need a man to find him. She didn't need anyone!

  A minute later, Leah had a healthy fire burning. She smiled with self-satisfaction. It's too late to set out now, but come morning, I'll be on my way, she thought. I'll find that fort and I'll find my William. She put out her hands to warm them. No one's going to stop me. Not this time.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Harrison kicked at the cold ashes of the fire Leah had built the previous night. Where the hell was she? The impressions in the snow showed that no intruder had been here. Leah had walked out of the camp on her own.

  His leather bag with his food rations hung from a tree branch. Harrison snatched the bag out of the tree, cursing beneath his breath. Why couldn't she listen to what he told her? What couldn't she have been patient and stayed put?