Acadia Song 04 - The Distant Beacon (11 page)

Rather than the joy she expected to feel, the thrill of coming to a place that could hold her future, Nicole approached the tall gates with dread. They appeared just as the documents prepared by Charles’s lawyer had described. The manor Charles had arranged to be built, yet had never seen himself, was situated on top of a rise, the lawyer had informed her, commanding views in every direction. Stone gates had been erected to match those at the entrance to Harrow Hall in England. As soon as she caught a glimpse of the gates, Nicole knew. Although the manor itself, hidden around a forested bend in the rutted track, was not in sight, she knew. She wanted to tell Gordon to turn back now. But her trembling mouth was unable to form the words.

The company entered through the gates, pausing momentarily to stare blankly at the makeshift huts made from tree boughs and tattered cloth that leaned against either stone pillar. The track had once been a fine broad lane but, unkempt now, it was overgrown with weeds. The wagons creaked and bumped in protest as they moved forward.

To both their left and right, wherever there was sufficient open land, remnants of army camps could be seen. Tent poles were set up in orderly lines, with ashes from countless campfires lined off into the distance. Then the forest closed in. Though the day was still brilliant and sunny and warm, Nicole found herself fighting off tremors of a deep chill, as if her very bones were clenched in the cold of misfortune.

They reached the bend, and the sunlight danced upon the pasture beyond the woodlands. Nicole shut her eyes. She gripped the pommel with both hands, lowered her head, and prayed. More a mute cry than anything rose to the level of words. A brief few heartbeats long, a desperate appeal for strength.

Feeling a hand on her arm, she lifted her head to find Gordon drawn up alongside her. His hand settled there, while his gaze continued to scan the landscape. Nicole reached over and laid her hand on his. No words would suffice just then.

They exited the forest, and looking up, Nicole could not hold back the cry of heartbreak.

Broad fields stretched out in front of them, sweeping up a gentle slope where a once-majestic manor home had been built at the hill’s top. The manor was burned and gutted. In fact, all the farms and outbuildings visible in every direction had been reduced to ashes and ruin.

Carter spoke for the first time since entering the estate. “There’s been a battle here, sir.”

“More than one, I warrant,” said Gordon. “You men, keep together. Prime your muskets. Ready your arms.”

Nicole still gazed up at the roofless manor, gripped by a sight she longed to wipe from her vision. Here and there blackened walls rose from the cloak of ashes, giving hints of its former stateliness. The northern face was the one most intact, with three tall, domed windows yet standing, though most of the glass was missing. A pillared veranda extended outward toward them, the columns now appearing like blackened teeth.

She was alerted to the danger by Gordon’s grip tensing until it nearly cut off the flow of blood in her arm. Then he dropped his hand to his pistol and ordered, “Look lively there.”

A flitting shape slipped by one of the remaining windows. Just seconds later Nicole saw a man drop from the rear of the house to the ground and dash away to her Janette Oke / T. Davis Bunn right, using the high grass for cover. Two more followed.

“Another moving off to the left,” muttered Carter.

“And two more.”

“Turn the wagons about, and right sharp,” Gordon commanded. He then raised his voice and hailed the house, “We mean no harm, maties! We are looking for cover against the night and nothing more!”

A voice from inside shouted back, “You’d best be looking elsewhere, while you still can!”

“Aye, that we will.” To Carter, he said, “Have sharpshooters at the ready.”

But this is my home!
Nicole wanted to call out, to shriek at the heavens. This is
home
.

“Hurry up with those wagons,” Gordon hissed.

“They’re moving into range,” Carter said.

“Give a warning shot near as life’s breath to the front man,” Gordon ordered.

Nicole had seen the bosun in action before. He was uncanny with a musket, able to drop a wild turkey in full flight from a hundred fifty paces. Without another word, Carter raised the musket to his shoulder, squinted down the long barrel, and pulled the trigger. There came the brief flicker of the powder charge catching, a pause, then the roar of smoke and flame. The bullet blew the hat off a man Nicole hadn’t even noticed before. The soldier yelped and hugged the earth. Carter quickly handed the musket to the man at his right and accepted another one with a fresh charge.

“We’re armed and at the ready!” Gordon hollered. “And that was the only warning we’ll fire. Either call back your men or face your last battle here on this earth. Once we start, we’ll end by rushing the house and finishing the lot right off!”

There was a long pause, then they heard, “Fall back!” When none moved, the voice from within the house cried, “You heard me! Retreat back to quarters!”

At this a group of ragtag men slowly stood from the waist-high grass and began making their way back to the house.

Gordon shouted, “You three there by the chicken coop! Get up or we’ll bury you where you lay!”

Just as the trio jumped up and ran back toward the manor, a sailor reported, “Wagons turned and ready, sir.”

“Off with you, then. You too, Nicole. We four will stand and guard your backs. When you reach the gates, Carter, fire one round.”

“Aye, sir. Let’s go, lads.”

Nicole didn’t object. She had seen enough. Whatever promise these lands and this house had once held was now defiled by the onslaught of war. With heart heavy, she moved to the position pointed to her by the driver, riding between the second and third wagons. The drivers stood on their seats, the reins flipped around one forearm while their hands held loaded muskets.

The forest felt even more stifling upon her departure. When they rode past the gates and the last driver fired into the air, Nicole could not quell the tears. It seemed to her that gunshot aimed directly for the center of all her fragile, broken dreams.

Chapter 10

At Gordon’s insistence they pushed the animals hard and traversed the entire distance back to the Connecticut River without halting. Outriders trotted ahead and behind, staying just within sight of the main party. Gordon had ordered his men not to fire further warning shots, no shot across the enemy’s bows. They were dealing with deserters, and such men knew no law save their own. If his men spotted any movement at all, they were to attack.

The sun was but a final glimmer over the western hills when they arrived at the riverbank. Gordon refused to accept the ferryman’s argument that night was coming. He doubled the payment for an immediate crossing. The animals were tired and surly and had no interest in boarding. Which meant each had to be blindfolded and led onto the platform, with men heaving on the wagons to help the loading. By the time they reached the other bank, dusk was a thick gray-blue shroud over everything, and all were puffing with exhaustion. Even so, Gordon cajoled and pressed and got man and beast moving once more. Nicole knew his goal was to reach a spot off the trail, one where they couldn’t be seen by any trackers who may have been sent out after three overburdened wagons.

The climb up the steep road toward the ridge seemed endless. Nicole’s horse stumbled from fatigue. She decided to climb down and walk. She was herself soon blundering over unseen rocks and crevices. Pacing alongside the wagons, the men pressed in to push and shout and shove whenever the horses showed the least bit of hesitation. Their way was shrouded in darkness. No light burned from any window Nicole could see, nor was there a moon to burnish the road ahead. Reluctantly Gordon lit a few brands, but the torches only served to heighten the inky blackness all around them.

She found herself slipping into a state of half slumber, walking and dragging on the reins, yet somehow partly asleep at the same time. From the forests to either side, night creatures shivered and croaked and rustled. She heard vague whispers rise in her mind as well, indistinct murmurs from long-ago treks into the Louisiana bayous. She felt like a child again, seeking refuge.

Nicole didn’t know how late it was when they finally made it back to the empty farmhouse where they had overnighted before. She knew nothing except how difficult it was to untie her bundle from behind the saddle. She felt guilty for not helping the others unsaddle the horses and tether them. She should also lend a hand with preparing a campfire and food. In the far-off distance of her mind, she registered the fact that she was ravenous. But for the moment it was all she could do to find a sheltered corner in the gutted farmhouse, spread out her blanket, sink down, and draw her cloak up over her head.

She awoke hours later to a sound that was both familiar and totally alien. It took her a moment to realize the sound wasn’t part of her nightmare. Then she heard it again and knew instantly what it was. Somewhere above her head, a mouse was scrabbling across the floor. The recognition was enough to draw her nightmare out into the realm of conscious thought, something she had not experienced since a little girl. Back then, in the hard times before her family had arrived in Cajun country, such waking dreams had been a common occurrence—as though her fears and childhood tremors were too great to keep within the world of dreams alone.

Nicole shifted beneath her blanket, and her movement was enough to send the mouse scuttling for cover. But the nightmare wasn’t so easily dispersed. She knew now what she had been dreaming. It was one from her early days, that of a road without end. She and her family were walking, walking, walking. Without purpose, without hope. Just walking. And she knew once again the helpless fear she had known as a child, when all her family was deep in slumber and she had clenched the blanket with her hands and between her teeth, determined not to disturb her brother’s exhausted sleep with her whimpers. Only now there wasn’t a little brother sharing her blanket, so she didn’t need to remain quiet. She could rise from the bed.

Quietly she stepped through the open doorway into the cold night. The wind had switched to northerly, and clouds robbed the night of even starlight. For once, Nicole did not mind the chill. Considering her feelings at the moment, it seemed fitting to sit on the porch’s edge and feel a cold that coincided within and without.

She leaned her head against the railing. She was so tired, so very tired, and not just from the day’s interminable march. She was weary in her bones and heartsick. She had so wanted a place where she could settle down and rest and plant roots and grow.

The thought caused her to open her eyes once more. She heard the murmur of the night watchman somewhere back of her, smelled the smoke, and listened to the horses’ sleepy snorting. She had never consciously wished for such a thing before. Often she had wondered if ever she would find for herself the place where she belonged, but it had always been a vague yearning. Something felt mainly because she could see how important it was to others around her—Anne, Charles, Andrew and Catherine, Henri and Louise. All were so deeply grounded in the places they called home. To them, this need was so vital it required no words. For her, it was always more mysterious, something she suspected she’d been born without. Yet now, in her fatigued state, the need was a hunger more fierce than her empty stomach. She
needed
a place that was hers for all time. She needed a
home
.

Her aloneness and vulnerability nearly overwhelmed her. Nicole shut her eyes and sent another wordless plea lofting heavenward. The inner cry was filled with fear and with the need for her Father’s protection.

There was a long moment of nothing but the rising wind and the quiet night sounds. Then Nicole sensed the presence of another, one not seen with her eyes so much as felt in her heart. She found herself utterly convinced that Henri Robichaud, the father she had known all her life, was awake in this dark night and thinking of his daughter, praying for her. The loving protection he had always offered her was there with her now. The answers to all her questions may not be found during this harsh hour, but still there was enough comfort that she could slip into easy, dreamless sleep.