My Dearest Enemy

by Jennifer Moore

  Murphy nodded, tapping his finger on his chin. “Maybe, but it’s at least thirty miles to the other side. We’d need a sledge.”

  “We’d do better farther east where the lake is shallower and guaranteed to be frozen through,” Emmett said. “And a shorter crossing.”

  Abigail felt a burst of panic at the thought of leaving Ontario permanently. She drew in a quick breath.

  As if he could sense her fear, Emmett slipped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her against his side.

  She leaned her head onto his chest.

  “I agree that east is our best choice,” Jasper said. “But it’s imperative that we stay hidden by moving deep into the forest. The road—the supply line—is well-guarded.”

  Emmett scratched his fingers through his hair. “And if we get too close to Queenstown, we run the risk of being discovered by the British force stationed on the Niagara.”

  The more they spoke, the more helpless Abigail felt. Was there no safe path?

  “Can we ask the natives for help?” Luke asked.

  “Do you know which are friendly?” Murphy said. “I’m not approaching an unknown Indian camp without an entire army behind me. Not after Frenchtown.”

  “The Oneida are friendly,” Abigail said.

  The men didn’t look convinced.

  Emmett made a frustrated sigh. “Well, gentlemen, we can’t remain here. And I’m certain Jasper will agree, our best chance of escaping Byron and evading the pickets is to go by night.”

  “New moon tonight,” Jasper said. “Darkness is our surest ally.”

  “Then it is decided,” Emmett said. “We leave tonight.”

  The others drifted away into their own conversations. Murphy laid down to rest, Barney and Luke gathered the cups and plates, and Jasper stood beside the door, peeking out through a crack.

  “You’re shaking,” Emmett said to her in a low voice.

  “I’m afraid,” Abigail admitted.

  “You’re with me, with us. We’ll keep you safe.”

  She twisted, moving her shoulder out from beneath his and sat up, facing him. In the lantern light, shadows made the hollows beneath his cheekbones dark, and his curls cast shadows on the wall behind them. “Emmett, I’ll never go home again. Never see my father.” Tears filled her eyes. “I don’t know what it’s like in New York. Everything before me is unknown.”

  He brushed away a tear with his thumb and cupped her cheek in his palm. “The war won’t last forever, Abigail. You’ll see your father again.”

  She shook her head. His words were those a person would give a child to comfort them, but she didn’t believe him. The war would end eventually, but if the British were victorious, she would always be a fugitive, always hiding, and never safe.

  Emmett brushed away more tears. “Fear of the unknown is the most frightening. It leaves a person feeling powerless. Terrified.”

  Abigail closed her eyes.

  “That is how I’ve felt ever since Detroit.”

  She opened her eyes. “You were afraid Lieutenant Fox would harm you?”

  He shook his head. “I was afraid he’d harm someone I care about. Afraid he’d harm you.” He cupped her other cheek, holding her face as he leaned closer to rest his forehead against hers. “When I learned you were in Byron, and last night when I realized what you’d done . . . Nothing has ever frightened me more. Not fighting off an army at Frenchtown with no reinforcements or escaping from a prison or hiding out in the forest hunted by the enemy.” He tipped his head to the side and whispered against her lips. “Nothing frightens me more than losing you.”

  Chapter 22

  Emmett and Jasper crept to the top of the hill, careful not to disturb the heavy-laden branches or dislodge clumps of snow that might slide down and reveal their location. They took cover behind underbrush and snow-covered boulders, moving slowly upward until they could see the valley below.

  Long, low wood-framed structures with coils of smoke snaking from chimneys dotted the space surrounding an open gathering area. On the edges of the village were fields, their tidy rows visible beneath the snow. Dark-haired people moved between the long houses, going about their daily chores. Some wore thick skirts and others leather tunics. Feathers poked out from hairstyles and babies were bound to their mothers’ backs with strips of cloth and leather.

  Emmett raised his eyes, looking past the Indian settlement to the lake beyond dotted with villagers fishing through the ice. “We’ll never cross without being seen,” he muttered.

  Jasper nodded.

  Over the course of their two-week journey, they’d debated the dilemma countless times. If they continued west, past the Oneida Village, they ran the risk of encountering British soldiers stationed at Fort Niagara. But farther east, the lake was too wide. Crossing it would take days, and a longer crossing brought with it dangers of its own. With spring coming, the change in temperature would cause cracks in the ice and air pockets in the center of the lake. Not to mention they risked exposure with no place to conceal themselves from the weather or enemies. They’d searched along the coast but always arrived at the same conclusion. This was the safest place to cross.

  As far as Emmett was concerned, none of the options were satisfactory. And he’d not risk their lives unnecessarily, not with Abigail. He looked back at the village. Abigail had claimed the Oneida tribe was friendly, and watching children play and women talking together as they worked, he could almost believe it to be true. But when he remembered Frenchtown—the war paint, the braves wielding tomahawks, the soldiers dead and dying with their scalps torn from their heads—he couldn’t bring himself to take the chance.

  The journey from Byron had been slow as they followed the curve of Lake Erie. And as anxious as Emmett was to get to the safety of the American side of the lake, he knew one hasty move would get them captured. They spent a good part of every day scouting out the safest routes then moved cautiously through the thickest parts of the forest, taking hours to hike only a few miles in the deep snow.

  Finally, a week earlier, they’d halted and spent nearly an entire day crafting snowshoes from pliable branches. The contraptions were clumsy and difficult to maneuver at first, but once they got used to taking sliding steps, walking on top of the snow became easier, and they covered more ground.

  Abigail had chatted as they wove frozen branches together, telling stories of her father wearing snowshoes and pulling her on a sled as a young girl. She had a way of keeping the men’s morale up with her cheerful nature. Emmett supposed having a woman in the camp reminded the men of home, of the mothers and sisters and sweethearts they’d left behind.

  She somehow knew just the thing to lift a man’s spirits, talking to Luke about his plans to attend university or Barney about the woman he hoped to marry. She asked Murphy about his family and even managed to persuade the silent Jasper to tell about his home in Kentucky.

  In the evenings, it made him happy to see the men all gathered, eating the sparse meals together, their temperaments pleasant in spite of the arduous walking and the cold. Abigail’s grandmother’s colorful stockings hung from branches over the fire, and she tended blisters and rolled ankles and checked each of the men’s hands, feet, and ears for frost burn.

  But by far, the favorite part of Emmett’s day was when the others rolled into their blankets for sleep or left the camp to keep watch. Abigail would pull the prison blanket around her shoulders and snuggle close to him. The two would whisper into the night, sometimes teasing or talking about nonsensical things, and other times they’d mutter soft confessions, speaking of personal matters that required trust to reveal.

  After a while, Abigail’s words would become slow, sometimes making no sense at all as she fought to keep herself awake. Emmett cherished those moments with her cheek on his shoulder, his head resting on hers. Once he was certain she’d fallen into a deep sleep, he’d move her to lie closer to the fire, resting her head on his pack. He’d watch the light flicker over her face then settl
e himself down to sleep as well, but not before he brushed a kiss—

  “If you don’t mind my saying, Captain . . .”

  Jasper’s words pulled him from his thoughts. What had they been talking about? Emmett cleared his throat. “Yes, go ahead, Corporal.”

  Jasper gave a strange look before continuing, and Emmett wondered if his thoughts had been evident on his face. His ears heated.

  “Every day brings us closer to capture,” Jasper said. “Either by those pursuing or those ahead. Your fate and Miss Tidwell’s are sealed if we’re taken by the British. And the longer we remain in Upper Canada, the slimmer our chance for escape.”

  “If we wait until the lake thaws . . .” Emmett began but quickly saw the danger in the idea. He sighed. “We risk discovery. Once the water is passable, the lake will be so full of warships and merchants, we’ll be seen for sure.” He was speaking more to himself than his companion, but he hoped that by going over the problem again and again, another solution would present itself.

  “With the Indians, there’s at least a chance,” Jasper said.

  “A chance,” Emmett muttered. “I wish I had more to offer all of you.”

  “We knew the risk, Captain.”

  Emmett clasped his friend’s shoulder. “Then it is decided.” He nodded and looked back toward the village once again. “Let’s go tell the others.”

  When they arrived back at the camp, Murphy was stirring rabbit soup over the fire. Abigail and Luke sat visiting on a cleared flat rock. When she saw Emmett, she smiled.

  He grinned in return. It was a sight he’d never tire of.

  Luke jumped to his feet, offering Emmett the spot beside Abigail.

  Emmett sat and, with Jasper, explained their decision to approach the Oneida Indians and cross the lake from the shore near their village.

  The men looked nervous at the proposition but agreed, as he knew they would.

  Abigail slipped her arm through his. “You are worried.”

  “I am.”

  Instead of offering a trite bit of advice or telling him there was no reason for concern, she leaned her head onto his shoulder and stayed silent, offering comfort.

  The soldiers talked through the plan, deciding to rest for the remainder of the day and approach the village in the evening. Once they explained their peaceful intentions to the villagers and received their permission, they’d cross the lake by moonlight.

  Emmett drummed his fingers on his knee, wishing he could foresee the outcome of their gamble. But all he could do was pray and hope. He hoped no British patrols came this far west. He hoped the Oneida would recognize that they meant no harm. He hoped he could protect his men and Abigail. They’d all placed their trust in him, and all he had was hope. Was it enough?

  “You’ve grown tense.” Abigail’s voice was soft, meant only for him. She squeezed his arm as if to illustrate. When he didn’t respond, she sat up and pulled the rock pouch from her skirt pocket. “Shall I distract you with this fine collection of minerals?” She poured the rocks into her lap. “Oh, what’s this?”

  The surprise in her voice made him turn.

  She was untying a small scroll, similar in size to a short cigar. “I hadn’t seen this before,” she said. When she unrolled the papers and laid them flat, Emmett saw they weren’t papers at all, but bills. British currency, which retained its value better than did its American counterpart. Abigail stared at the money. “Isaac delivered the pouch to me in the prison. He must have . . .”

  Emmett was again impressed by her brother’s innovation. He’d secretly aided in their escape and provided the funds to help his sister on her journey, all without endangering his position or his country. “Like I said before, your brother is a fine man.”

  “Here, you should take this.” She held the roll toward him. “Perhaps we can hire a carriage or some horses. At least buy food.”

  He closed his hand around hers and the bills. “Your brother meant this for you.”

  “But it might help us.”

  “Keep it safe. It will do no good with the Oneida today.”

  Abigail agreed and slipped the bills into her pocket.

  Emmett felt the weight of his responsibility all over again. He was Abigail’s guardian. Her brother had entrusted her to his care. Approaching the Indians . . . the plan did not sit well with him. He scratched his cheek, wishing he could come up with an alternative. When he set his hand back onto his knee, Abigail slipped a rock into it.

  “Now, don’t look, but guess what it is.”

  He turned the stone over in his fingers, feeling the rough edges. It was lightweight, with two smooth planes. One side felt as if it were coming apart in sheets. “Mica,” he said.

  “That was too easy.”

  He smiled at the reminder of the first time they’d engaged in a contest of mineral knowledge, and her attempt to distract him from his worries. “Now your turn. Close your eyes.”

  She did as he asked, holding her hand out. “No cheating.”

  “Cheating?” Emmett pretended to be offended. “How would I cheat?”

  “By giving me a rock from the ground or a clump of snow.” Her lips parted just the slightest bit.

  Emmett kissed them.

  Abigail started, but she did not move away.

  When he pulled back, she opened her eyes and smiled. “You did cheat.”

  Emmett laughed. “I only added a further dimension to the game. But if you’d rather stick to guessing stones . . .”

  Abigail’s cheeks turned pink, and she glanced at the other men.

  They’d all suddenly found a reason to move away from the fireside. Jasper had disappeared, and the others were taking an extreme interest in a nearby tree. She looked down at the rocks in her lap. “I like your game better.”

  Emmett did not need another invitation. He slipped a hand beneath her ear, drawing her toward him. This time, Abigail wasn’t taken by surprise. She kissed him back, a sigh escaping her soft lips, the sound making his worries fall away.

  He kissed the corner of her lips and along her jawline.

  Abigail tilted her head, nestling against him.

  “Just think,” he said. “After tomorrow, we’ll be in America, and we won’t have to scout or stand watch or hide away in the daytime.”

  She snuggled closer against him. “It sounds perfect.”

  He leaned his head on hers and tightened his arm around her shoulders. “I’ll take you to Rosefield Park, far away from the war. You’ll love it there.” Abigail grew very still, and he thought she must be nervous about the lake crossing and unsure about her future. It was understandable. “The plantation is beautiful in the spring. You and Lydia will attend garden parties and teas with the other ladies.” She still did not move, so he kept speaking in an effort to ease her concerns. “And of course, she’ll insist that you accompany her to shop for gowns. Once we cross the lake, you’ll not have to worry about the war again.”

  Abigail didn’t respond.

  ***

  That evening, the small band approached the village, taking no efforts to conceal themselves. They had only one weapon between them, Abigail’s father’s old musket. And Jasper held it low with one hand in as unthreatening a manner as possible.

  They walked at a steady pace, neither too rushed in a way that might be considered aggressive, nor too slowly, which might give the impression that they were sneaking up on the village.

  The moment they stepped into the valley, a group of warriors joined them. The men didn’t speak or make any effort to communicate other than walking alongside them, accompanying them to the village. Even though they were not outright threatening, the men’s manner left Emmett in no doubt that he and his band were their prisoners.

  Abigail’s hand slipped into Emmett’s—whether to give him courage or because she herself was afraid, he did not know.

  They reached the gathering space in the center of the village and were escorted through the silent crowd. From the side of his eye,
he saw curiosity in the villager’s faces, but not fear. A few pointed to Jasper’s head covering.

  They stopped when they reached a group of five people arranged in a semicircle. Four men who Emmett assumed were the elders of the tribe sat, two on either side of a woman.

  The woman was past middle-aged. Wrinkles crisscrossed her sunken cheeks and lined her mouth, but she sat tall, hands folded calmly in her lap, regarding them with intelligent eyes. Her hair was parted in the middle, and a beaded tiara of sorts encircled her head above her brow.

  Emmett could see the woman was in charge. She’s the one they’d need to convince if they were to leave peacefully. He wished he knew what approach to take with her. Would she respond to charm? Or should he try to gain her pity?

  The woman studied the group, and then her eyes moved to Emmett, realizing he was the leader. She nodded her head, waiting.

  Emmett stepped forward, but Abigail tugged on his hand. She stood on tiptoe to whisper into his ear, “Say she-kú. It is a greeting.”

  “She-kú.” Emmett gave the woman a gentlemanly bow and his most charming smile.

  “She-kú.” The woman returned the greeting but not the smile.

  “My name is Captain Emmett Prescott.” He laid his hand on his chest and spoke slowly, unsure if any of those gathered understood what he said. “My friends and I mean you no harm. We simply wish to cross the lake.” He motioned toward the shore behind them.

  The woman regarded him for a long moment. Emmett clasped his hands behind his back and regarded her in return. He waited patiently, not wanting to seem intimidated.

  Finally, she leaned to the right and spoke to the man beside her.

  “Soldier?” the man asked, nodding at Emmett’s uniform coat.

  “Yes, I am a soldier.”

  The woman said something else, and the man listened then translated.

  “But not a red soldier.”

  “No, I am an American soldier.” A burst of panic flared in his chest. If they wished to, the Oneida could easily turn them over to the British force stationed in Niagara. They would probably be paid a reward. He had no way of knowing the nature of the groups’ association. Were they allies? Neutrally friendly? Enemies? He clenched his hands behind him to still their trembling.