Whispered Promise

by Colleen French

  She looked up at him, feeling better. She knew she couldn't allow herself to be hurt by William's words. She knew he was just repeating what his father had said. But still, it hurt. "Any other words of wisdom your grandmother might have offered?"

  "That you can reprimand a child, while still loving him."

  Recovering from the shock of her son's accusation, Leah could feel anger tightening in her chest. She had tried to be patient. She'd even argued with Harrison for William's sake. But this was it. She'd been lenient with him long enough.

  Leah grabbed her leggings and slipped her bare feet through them. "I'll tell you what the little dear needs and that's a switch to his bottom." She jerked up the leather leggings. "Every time he sits down for the next week he's going to remember how he should or should not address his mother!"

  Harrison laid his hand on her. "No. You mustn't do that."

  She looked up at him, growing angrier with William by the second. "And why not? A good beating might get his attention. Nothing else I seem to do or say does."

  Harrison shook his head. "The Shawnee, we never strike our children."

  She tugged on her moccasins, her fingers flying over the laces. "But you just said he needed to be punished."

  "Reprimanded."

  Leah's angry gaze met his. "Is this our first disagreement on how we should raise our son?"

  "No." He tossed her her cloak. "Fourth or fifth. I was just trying to keep my mouth shut for the time being. I figure I've got an entire lifetime ahead of me to be his father."

  She pointed an accusing finger. "I'll deal with you later. I'd better catch him before he reaches the Hudson or gets carried off again."

  "Call me if you need me." He grinned. "I'll not beat my son, but I'm still not opposed to stringing him up."

  Leah glared at him over her shoulder and crawled out of the snow wigwam into the bright morning light. "William!" She got to her feet, tying her fur cloak around her shoulders. There was no answer, only the bright silence of the snowy morning on the mountainside.

  "William Edmund Beale! Answer your mother!"

  There was still no reply.

  Leah glanced down at the ground. William's footprints would be easily enough to follow in the deep snow. She found him a few hundred yards down the trail sitting in the snow, his back to a rock.

  She pushed a tumble of red curls over her shoulder and crossed her arms over her chest. "William, you owe me an apology."

  He thrust out his lower lip stubbornly.

  "William?"

  "How could you do it, Mother? My father's not cold in the ground and you . . . you . . . an Indian!"

  Leah grabbed his arm and jerked him up out of the snow. "Now you listen to me, young man, and you listen good. I have had it up to here," she sliced at her throat with her free hand, "with you and your sour ways. I don't know what Edmund let you get away with these last months, but life is about to change, young man. I don't care if Indians carried you off, I don't care if a band of buzzards took you, it's over and that's no excuse to call your mother what you called me."

  "Papa said—"

  "Well, your papa was a liar!"

  William looked up at Leah fighting tears. "He wasn't," he said weakly.

  "You don't even know what the word slut means," Leah said.

  He twisted his lips. "Whore, tart, drop-drawers. They followed the camp. They slept with men, they . . . you know, for money."

  "Well, I have never you know for anything but love, son. I was in love with Harrison before your father ever came along." Once Leah started to speak, she couldn't hold it back. She had to tell him the truth. She had to try to make him understand. "Something terrible happened and Harrison and I couldn't be together. I married Edmund Beale, but I never loved him, William. He never loved me." She let one hand fall. "I know this is hard for you to understand but we were never happy together. In my heart Harrison was always my husband, all these years, and I his wife."

  "No, it's not true." He kicked snow at her. "You're just saying it because that bastard Indian—"

  She leaned over, jerking his cloak to pull him closer. She stared into his black eyes, miniatures of Harrison's. "That Indian is your real father and is going to be my husband shortly so I would suggest you speak of him with a civil tongue!"

  William's lower lip trembled. He looked up at her. He shook his head, his mouth open with no words coming out.

  Leah nodded.

  William shook his head harder. "I . . . I'm William Edmund Beale, son of Edmund Beale, Master of Tanner's Gift now. I—"

  "You are William Edmund Beale and I'm sure Edmund Beale loved you, but he was not the man that gave you life." She pointed up the trail. "That man, a red man, gave you life out of love for me."

  Tears ran down William's cheek and he dashed at them with his mittens. "It's not true," he said again and again. "It's not true. I'm no redskin. I'm black Irish. That's why I got black eyes, that's why I tan."

  "It's not true, William. All lies your father conjured up. Edmund lied to you and I went along with his lies because at the time it seemed the best thing to do."

  William looked up, tears running down his face. "I hate you, Mama! I hate you for this!"

  Leah covered her mouth with her hand. She had to be strong. "Edmund Beale loved you and I know he did with you what he thought was best, but . . ." She sighed. "But he also taught you some things that were wrong. Men cannot be judged by the color of their skin, William. Not a red man, not a black man, not a blue one." She took his shoulders going down on one knee so that she could look at him at eye level. "What matters is what is in a man or a woman's heart." She tapped his chest above his heart. "Here."

  William just stared at his mother, the same angry look in his eyes. "That man isn't my father. You can't make me be his son. He can't come to Tanner's Gift."

  "He is coming. Rightfully, he should have been there with us all these years, not Edmund."

  William wiped at his tears with his fur mittens. "I'll run away."

  "Tanner's Gift is your home."

  "I'll go to Philadelphia to Aunt Jenny's. Papa wanted me to go to school in France. I'll go now," he went on stubbornly.

  Leah ran her fingers through her hair. Where was all this happiness she had expected? Edmund was gone. She and Harrison had found each other again. The two of them would now be free to have a life together. It had never occurred to her that William could be a problem. She looked down at her son. It was obvious this conversation was pointless.

  Maybe the boy just needed more time to think. In time he could adjust to Harrison, she hoped. For now she had to get what she'd come for. William had to understand that she was his mother and that he had to respect her. "An apology. I'll have it now."

  "But, Mother—"

  "Now, William," she repeated evenly.

  He dropped his chin. "I'm sorry for saying what I said." He looked up. "But I'm not sorry about what I said about him," he pointed, "and I won't live under the same roof with a redman."

  Leah chose not to push him any further for the moment. "Your apology is accepted. Curb your tongue with me in the future or your backside will ache for it. The only reason I didn't whip your bottom is because Harrison said not to. Now get your bag together. It's time we got on the trail. We've a long way to go and it's going to be slow trekking through the snow."

  William ducked away from her when she tried to reach out to touch him. He walked off.

  Leah just stood there watching him, praying all would work out.

  In half an hour's time they were on the trail, heading down out of the mountains. All three wore snowshoes. They were awkward at first for Leah, but once she got the hang of it, it made the going faster. Again and again she mentally thanked Running Rabbit for the sapling and gut shoes. Without them they would have floundered in the deep snow, making half the time they were making with them.

  They traveled in relative silence. William walked ahead most of the time, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge
that Harrison was even there. Leah was lost in her own thoughts, struggling internally between duty to her son and her right to happiness. Harrison remained pensive as well.

  That night they camped on the side of a ridge. They were nearly out of the mountains now. Twice during the day they had seen signs of other people. Once they had come across an abandoned cabin with fresh graves. They had also found the ashes of a campfire. Harrison had dug through the cold ashes and seemed concerned but when Leah had questioned him, he'd said there was nothing to worry about.

  After a sparse meal of dried venison, they prepared to sleep for the night. Harrison would rest for an hour or two while Leah stood watch and then Harrison would remain awake the rest of the night. Neither spoke of who they waited for; they didn't want to frighten William. But Leah knew. Kolheek could be somewhere out there watching them, waiting for the right moment.

  Leah didn't know why he wanted to kidnap William, except to hurt them. But he'd not take her son. The next time she shot him at him, she'd be certain she was dead on the mark.

  Leah sat warming her hands at the campfire with William at her side and the Brown Bess between them. Harrison stretched out on his cloak to sleep.

  An unfamiliar sound in the woods caught Leah's attention. William heard it too.

  "What is it, Mother?"

  The sound was a high-pitched whine, almost a cry.

  "It sounds like an animal." Leah stared out into the darkness. "An injured animal."

  William jumped up.

  Leah grabbed his hand. "Where do you think you're going?"

  "It's hurt, Mama. You always said we have to take care of anything hurt."

  "William—"

  Another whine filled the night air, this time closer.

  "It's a dog," William said excitedly. "Can't you hear him? He sounds just like Freckles."

  Before Leah could react, William slipped away from her darting into the darkness.

  "William, come back!" Leah jumped up, dragging the Brown Bess musket with her. "William!"

  She found him only a few yards into the trees. He was down on his hands and knees in the snow. He'd found the source of the crying.

  "Mama, it's a dog. I told you it was a dog!"

  Leah knelt. In the dim light she made out the outline of a small, tan hound. The pup was licking William's hand. "Be careful. He's hurt. He might bite."

  "He won't bite." William scooped him up in his arms. "He must be hungry. Can't we feed him?"

  Back in the circle of firelight William laid the dog down on his pack and crouched to get a better look at him. "Oh, he's hurt. Look at his paw."

  Leah set the musket down and knelt. The dog's rear right paw was raw and mangled. "He must have gotten caught in a trap or cut by something," she said, turning the paw gingerly.

  The dog laid its head on William's lap. If Leah was hurting the animal, it made no response. "Poor thing," she muttered, stroking his back. The dog appeared to be well fed, at least until recently. A corner of one ear looked as if it had been chewed off in a battle a long time ago. "He must be hungry."

  "Well we have to feed you, don't we, Sam?" He scratched the dog behind his chewed off ear. "That's what I'm going to call him. Sam."

  "William, you can't keep this dog," Leah said gently.

  "You can't just leave him here. He's hurt and he's hungry." William hugged the dog. "Maybe he got captured by Indians like me and he got away." William beamed, the first real smile she'd seen since they'd been reunited. "Just like me because I got away."

  Leah glanced over at Harrison who was sleeping soundly. He looked so tired. There were dark circles beneath his eyes from lack of sleep. She knew he wouldn't like the idea of taking a dog along with them. They didn't have time for such silliness. The sooner they got home to Tanner's Gift, the better.

  Leah looked back at her son. "Let's see if we can wrap that paw. If he can't walk on his own, he can't go."

  "Hear that, Sam?" William threw his arms around the dog's neck. The pup pushed his nose under the boy's hand. "You're going home with me to a place called Tanner's Gift. I've got a lady dog there called Freckles. You're going to like her."

  Leah got up and went for the medicine bag Running Rabbit had given them. Surely there would be something in there suitable to make a poultice for the dog's paw.

  Leah knew this was foolish, agreeing to let the boy take the dog, but how could she deny him such a simple thing? This boy she saw here caring for the dog was the son she knew, the son she remembered. Maybe caring for the dog would give him something to do other than feel sorry for himself.

  Of course if William was going to keep the dog, she'd have to break the news to Harrison.

  She looked up from her leather pack to where he lay. Maybe she would just stay up all night and let him sleep. That would give him a good night's rest . . . and her a reprieve.

  Mark Leamy went down on one knee in the bloody snow and lifted his twin brother's head. "Matt? Matty can you hear me?" He lifted him until he was half sitting up and pressed his ear to his chest. Matty was still breathing, he could hear the bloody garbled rattle in his chest. A dusting of snow covered his clothing. He'd been lying there a full day by his guess. "Matty?"

  Mark had left the cabin there at the base of the Catskills the day after the big snowfall to check his trap lines up stream. When he'd left Matt and his new Indian wife Mary, they had been fine. Secretly Mark had thought they were pleased at the thought of having a night's privacy, being newlywed and all.

  Mark had arrived this morning to find this carnage. Matty was lying here near the woodpile, cold and unconscious. Mary lay dead inside on the cabin floor, her throat slit, her body stiff. The strange thing was, she'd not even been raped. Nothing in the cabin had been touched, not even the musket over the doorway. It had been a brutal, senseless killing.

  Bile rose in his throat as Mark looked down at his brother's battered body. Whoever had done this to him, hadn't just shot him, he'd beaten him with something, probably the bloody stick of firewood lying there in the snow.

  "Matty?" Mark shook his brother. "Matty can you hear me?"

  Matty's eyelids fluttered. He opened his mouth to speak showing bloody gums where his teeth had been. "M . . . Mark, that you?"

  Mark forced a smile. "It's me, brother."

  Matty's lower lip trembled.

  "Seen my hound? Seen King George?"

  "Haven't seen him, Matty."

  "Bastard. Seemed like a nice man. Spent the night on the hearth. Said he was a half-breed." He smiled. "Liked Mary's cookin'. She made venison stew and dried apple dumplings. You know how I always like apple dumplin's, Mark."

  "I know it, Matt." When he grew quiet again, Mark squeezed his shoulders. "Matty, you got to tell me who did this."

  Matt wheezed and a little bloody spittle ran from the corner of his mouth. "Such a nice man for a redskin. Not one of these kind." He struggled to get his breath. "Shawnee. Came the morning you left, only Georgie didn't like him. Tried to bite the redskin. He got awful mad . . . should have seen it comin'. Run Georgie off, I think . . . "

  "His name," Mark urged, knowing his brother was dying. "Can you tell me his name, Matty old boy?"

  "So tired." He began to tremble. "Cold. Mary needs to put a log to the fire. Cold in here. Mary? Where are you, you pretty little wench?"

  "His name, Matty," Mark insisted gently. "Tell me the Shawnee half-breed's name."

  "H . . . Harrison," he called himself. "A Shawnee. H . . . Harrison DeNay."

  Chapter Twenty-five

  "Damned dog," Harrison muttered as Sam darted between his legs, nearly tripping him and then bounded off after William.

  Leah laughed. Since they had reached the foothills of the Catskills, the traveling had been easier. There was less snow accumulation and there was now a decent road to follow.

  Harrison's plan was to reach the Hudson and try to hire a boat to take them south to New Jersey. Leah still had two of the gold pieces she'd saved in her pocket
in the shipwreck and she had one emerald earbob left. With that, hopefully they could buy food and passage into New Jersey. It would be tricky getting down the Hudson with the British occupying much of the river, but what threat could English soldiers see in a boy, a woman and an Indian? With a little luck, they'd be in the American camp, wherever it had settled for the winter in the matter of a week or two.

  "He's a nice dog," Leah teased, taking Harrison's arm.

  "I told you, it's a poor idea. Bringing a dog along! The blessed animal only has three working legs. He'll never keep up and I swear by all that's holy I'll not carry a dog on my back."

  Leah squeezed his hand. "The dog's been no trouble and you know it. I told William that if he couldn't keep up, we'd have to leave him behind."

  Harrison frowned. "You can't give into a child's every whim, else he'll turned spoiled like a rotting gourd. It looks fine from the outside, but when you open it, it's black and putrid."

  Leah wrinkled her nose at his analogy. "I'm not spoiling him by letting him keep the dog. I'm giving him some responsibility." She gazed ahead. William and the dog had disappeared again. Leah had warned her son that he had to stay in sight of her, but he and the dog were having such a good time running through the forest that he was often far ahead of Harrison and Leah.

  She looked back at Harrison. "Giving him a little responsibility might help him forget what's happened or at least put it out of his mind."

  "You mean put me out of his mind."

  Leah dropped his hand. She had known this conversation was coming, but she'd been avoiding it. "Harrison, we've got to make this work," she said softly. "William has got to come to accept you. Maybe not as a father at first, but . . ."

  "But what?"

  She focused her attention on the path at her feet and the weight of the pack on her back. "But I can't live like this, caught in the middle the way I am right now."

  "What do you mean, caught in the middle?"

  "When I'm with William he complains about you. When I'm with you," she raised her palm lamely, "you complain about him."

  "I'm not complaining, damn it. You make me sound like a child. The boy is my son and I'm concerned. I'm expressing my concerns."