Another Chance (18 page)

Peace enveloped her, yet the tranquility was a sham
. Any time, the looters could, and surely would, come back. Having seen the hatred and determination on the corporal's face, she had little doubt. The idea of being stalked terrified her and created a feeling of helplessness within her. Earlier, she had protested that the raiders would not return to ease Benjamin’s and Wolf’s concern. Wolf had not accepted her spoken excuse, but she believed her father had. For now, Sarah needed only Benjamin's sanction to remain at the Inn.

She leaned against the fence
. So many fears bombarded her. They ranged from losing herself to Wolf's passion thereby creating a strong tie to the 18th Century, to never seeing her own time or her friends again, and finally to the intimidating corporal and his inevitable reappearance. What could she do? Lifting her gaze, she watched the clouds float across the sky in a random pattern.
I have about as much control of my life as they do.

Wolf's closing words resounded in her head
. 'Arm yourself.' Sarah reached through the slit in her petticoat and put her hand into the pocket. Her fingers closed around the penknife she always carried there. Pulling out the knife, she viewed the red case in a new light. She closed her hand and enjoyed the weight of it in her palm. What had been a convenient, versatile, and useful tool became a small weapon. Despite her father's religious beliefs, she vowed, if the corporal grabbed hold of her again, she would stab him. Sarah opened the largest solid steel blade and stared at the sharp edge.

Growing up in Chadds Ford, she had often watched the neighborhood boys play mumbley-peg
. Anxious to be part of the gang, she had practiced many hours before entering the game. She had become quite good. Determined to renew her skills, she flicked the knife toward a maple leaf. Although failing to find the center, she hit an outside point. She needed practice, but she could redevelop her mastery. Hopefully, she had enough time.

              * * * *

For November, the weather was quite warm
. Sarah enjoyed the three mile walk back from the winery. Benjamin had been reluctant to let her go, but finally she had persuaded him of her need to be out. The wine maker had assured her he would deliver the order to the inn tomorrow at the latest. A sudden cool breeze tugged at her skirts and attacked her bare thighs. She found herself wishing for a pair of lined slacks. How would she keep warm this winter? A quilted petticoat was an option, but carrying around the extra weight did not appeal to her.

An idea struck her
. Daniel, although only partially recovered, had left yesterday to join the Continental army, pledging to destroy the British. He had forgotten to take the new liners purchased for his breeches. Sarah would requisition the drawers for herself. Benjamin would be shocked if he discovered, but she refused to worry about that. She needed a pair of trousers or at least some kind of knickers. Happy with her thought, she whistled. Oops, she stopped. Ladies do not whistle, or so her grandmother said, for it brought bad luck. She laughed at the old wives' tale, but began humming ‘Strawberry Fair.’

As she approached the tavern, silence greeted her
. No chickens pecked in the dirt. No cows grazed in the pasture. No goats fed in the field. Fear clawed across her skin, raking her like sharp nails. Although she did not see any soldiers, she sought the deep shadows of the trees and edged closer. After a quick look, she dashed to the side of the tavern. With difficulty, she chinned herself on the window sill, peeking inside. She saw overturned tables and chairs, mugs strewn on the floor, and flour dust everywhere. Before her arms gave out, she noticed a stocking-clad leg extending from beneath the trestle table. Father!

Sarah
raced to the front of the inn, charged up the three steps, and flew into the house. Shoving the heavy oak table aside, she knelt beside Benjamin, sought the pulse in his throat, and discovered a strong beat. Satisfied, she checked his body. She did not feel or sense any broken bones, but would she really know? Lifting his head with her hand, her fingers grazed a large lump on the back of his skull. He groaned but remained unconscious.

"Hush," she said
. "I am here." With her apron, she tenderly wiped the thin layer of flour from his face. As she did, she discovered a dried scab of blood near his lower lip. The skin around the area looked red, even in the subdued lighting. She had never nursed anyone, except Daniel, and then only briefly before Wolf had taken charge. What should she do?  Did he have a concussion?  How did one treat a concussion? She remembered something about a flashlight and dilated pupils, but little else. There was no help near, and, of course, no phone or car or any other modern technology. "Damn!"

"One might say that
."

Sarah
twisted her head around at the familiar and welcome voice. "Wolf."

"Is he alive?"
He walked to her side.

"Yes
."

"Have you checked for injuries?" he asked as he bent down
.

"As best I could
. Not being a doctor …"
or having any X-ray or MRI available and someone to interpret the pictures
, she added to herself. "Except a bump on the back of his head, everything appears all right."

"Where is Daniel?" Wolf asked
.

"He left this morning to join the army
. He wants revenge."

"You and your father are alone?"  His black eyes bore into her
.

"A neighbor, whose husband and son are fighting with the Continentals, will start working tomorrow
. Mistress Westcoat will spend her days here and sleep at her own home." Although his expression showed little, Sarah sensed his disapproval. She waited for him to speak.

Instead, she heard him say, "I will carry your father upstairs
. Get water and cloths."

Gathering the necessary items,
Sarah quickly followed behind.

Once in Benjamin's room, she yanked back the quilt
. Gently, Wolf laid him on the bed linens.

"What now?" she asked
.

"Let us make him comfortable and wash his wounds
."

"Good!"
While normally, Sarah preferred to make her own plans, she readily abided by his decisions for this situation was beyond her knowledge.

While
Sarah sat on the side of her father's bed and washed his face, Wolf undressed him from the opposite edge. "You do not appear to have many skills with the injured," he stated, as he placed Benjamin's second shoe on the floor.

As
Sarah wrung out the hand cloth, she sought a suitable and believable response. After gently dabbing the bump on the back of Benjamin's head, she said, "We are not sick very often." She avoided looking at Wolf, yet his eyes burned holes in her.

"You know who is responsible for the destruction," Wolf said
.

“I can guess
.”

"What will you do?"

"They have taken all our livestock and, probably, most of our food and drink." She continued washing Benjamin's already clean face and neck. "We will see no more of them."

After wringing out her damp cloth, she began to bathe her father's arm and hand
.

Wolf's fingers closed over hers
. Sarah tried to carry on, but his hold tightened. Reluctantly, she glanced at him; his face as hard as a stone statue.

"They will be back
." He leaned over Benjamin's still body.

"Why should they?" she said, defiantly
. "We have nothing of value left." Her stomach churned fearing Wolf's answer.

"
You are still here." He eyed her intently.

"Why would soldiers come back for me?" She tried to speak lightly, but the words nearly choked her
.

"Such men want everything
." He loosened his grip, but she did not move.

"My father needs me
." She occupied her hands by washing every segment of Benjamin's exposed skin and kept her eyes centered on her father. She waited for his scold, his rebuttal. Instead, she heard the squeaking of the rope bed.

Unable to do any more for Benjamin and curious to have an answer, she asked, "Why did thee return?  Did thee track the soldiers back to the inn?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "After two days of constant tracking, I had lost the trail. The men moved into a more densely populated area. Their tracks faded or were obscured by those of other men and their animals."

"Was our inn on thy way home?" She mentally crossed her fingers, hoping if he had travel out of his way, she was the reason
. She pulled the covers over Benjamin.

Wolf brushed his short hair with his hand and stared at her
. "Instinct urged me to ride here."

"Instinct?"
His answer surprised her and disappointed her.

"Being white you will not understand
."

Her hackles rose at his comment
. He always made her angry when he compared her to other people. "Try me," she challenged.

Shrugging his shoulder, he said, "At times, voices tell me what direction to go or warn me about danger
. When they speak, I listen."

"Oh…
" She almost said, like a psychic, but caught herself in time.

The scorn on his face deepened
. "Whites have no faith in our spirit guides," he said with disgust.

"Quakers believe God speaks to them, and although I have never attended formal meeting, my father taught me to believe," she stated, feeling the words to be true
. In a firm, reasonable tone, she continued, "Why cannot the voice be from him?"

He looked deeply into her eyes
. "I had heard that your father had been 'Read Out' of meeting."

"He makes no secret of that
. He fell in love with my mother and married outside the Society. They would not forgive him for his transgression, and he would never force my mother to believe what she could not." She paused. “Was thy grandmother accepted by white society or the Lenape after she wed?”

He flushed, slightly. “Both made her life difficult, but my people eventually accepted her. Her own never did.

Sarah suspected as much and seeing no need to pursue this conversation asked, "What shall we do next?"

"Let him sleep, while we clean downstairs
."

She led the way
. Reaching the bottom step, she stared at the mess and wanton destruction. "I know how Hercules must have felt when he saw the Aegean Stables.”

"At least, it does not smell," Wolf quipped
.

She spun around and stared over her shoulder at him
. "How doeth thou know a Greek myth?"

"My grandfather and my father insisted I learn the history and tales of the white men," he said evenly
.

"Oh
." She found it impossible to keep the surprise out of her voice.

He eyed her with acceptance, yet she sensed his disappointment
. Her shocked reaction had probably reinforced his assumptions about whites. Scolding herself for behaving just like the colonists, she vowed to undo her faux pas.

"While you decide our plan of attack, let me fetch the water
." Wolf grabbed the bucket and headed outside.

Sarah
righted the chairs and began putting the room in order. When Wolf returned, she explained her ideas. He nodded in agreement.

"Did thee go to school around here to learn the white man's history?" she asked as they moved the furniture against the walls
.

"An
Indian
mixing with King George's subjects?" He laughed harshly. "I might infect or contaminate them."

"Then
…" She began wiping the tables with a cloth.

He took the straw broom from the corner and started sweeping
.

She stopped in mid-stroke
. "I did not realize Lenape men cleaned floors."

"When we
travel and break camp, braves disperse the ashes and brush away all signs of man."

"Yes, but a kitchen floor?"

"What I am doing is similar and you need help." He attacked the corners of the room. "You asked where I learned white man's history," Wolf said. "I took the 'Grand Tour'."

"Thee?  Of Europe?"  She failed to keep the surprise out of her voice
.

He stopped steeping
. The expression in his eyes hardened. Again, she had insulted him.

"Can an
Indian
not travel?" He spoke the words with loathing. "May he not benefit from European culture also?"

"Of course
, but …"

"Do you believe I am too stupid or too foolish to see and adapt the positive inventions of other people?"  He renewed his sweeping and pushed the flour toward the door with quick, brisk strokes, careful not to throw up a large, white cloud of flour
.