Dream Weaver (30 page)

"Oh, no!" More killings. Gwen dropped her spoon in her wooden bowl and turned to stare at the fire smoldering in the fireplace. Conflicting emotions jabbed her from all directions--sorrow, anger, but especially a sense that she was failing Christian by her refusal to fire a musket. A sultry breeze blew through the open window, but the house felt like a stifling prison.

How would she ever get used to this life? Would she ever get used to it? Images of the hardy frontier woman taunted her, the wife and mother who could handle a musket as well as a man to defend her home and children. And here she was--a woman who didn't even want to hold a musket, let alone learn to fire the weapon. But what could she do? Ever since her parents' murder, violence had made her physically ill. Lord, how she wanted peace and quiet, a return to normal life, whenever and wherever that was.

"Christian, I'd rather not. I don't want to use a musket, ever."

Both elbows on the table, he leaned forward. "What if my life depended on it?"

She pressed a hand to her head, one of her rare headaches coming on. "Yes." She let out a slow breath. "I'd do anything to save your life, even learn to use a musket."

"That's the kind of talk I like to hear," he said, giving her his first smile in days. "I intend to buy a rifle at the trading post as soon as I have the opportunity. So I can leave my musket with you. From then on, I'll carry the rifle with me and hope to God I never have to use it. I've ever been friends with the Indians, but these aren't normal times...."

Not normal times, Gwen thought as they arrived home again hours later. She hoped and prayed she'd never have to use the darn musket, but at least she was prepared. And yes, she'd do anything to save Christian's life.

Christian gathered his things together, packing his medical supplies in his leather bag. He gave her a long kiss, then held her away to look long and fully into her eyes. "After I leave, I want you to bolt the door behind me. I doubt any Indians will come this close, certainly not in broad daylight, but other people may take advantage of the unrest to cause mischief. And darling, I want to be sure you'll be safe."

* * *

As daylight faded from the sky, Gwen lit a few candles from the tinder box on top of the fireplace mantel. Worried out of her mind about Christian, she continually glanced toward the door. What was taking him so long? He'd never been this late before.

Just when she'd given up hope and was on the verge of rushing to
Fort
Pitt
to request a search party, she heard Christian's knock at the door. Some time ago, they'd agreed on a special knock for either of them--three sharp knocks and two soft ones.

Her hands shook as she drew the bolt back, her knees wobbling while she opened the door. Seeing his dear face, Gwen fell into his arms.

Christian held her in his strong arms and lightly kissed the top of her head. "Sorry I'm late, my love, and sorrier still if I made you worry. Several people east of here were badly wounded in Indian attacks."

"God, no!"

For one moment, Christian closed his eyes, trying to blot out the memory of the recent horrors. Gwen must never learn of the butchered bodies, the mangled women and children, the poor unfortunates taken captive, or the pigs and wild animals that feasted on the dead.

But he had other bad news, and he looked at her closely, wondering how best to tell her. How he loved this woman, loved her so fiercely he'd give his life for her. Still, there were many things he couldn't keep to himself. She'd learn about them, sooner or later. Taking her by the arm, Christian led her to the table and helped her sit down, then sat across from her.

"Something else, darling--the Indians murdered a family near here, the Claphams. You remember them, don't you?"

Speechless, Gwen pressed her hands to her cheeks. She swallowed again and again, her face turning white.

"I was at
Fort
Pitt
earlier today," Christian continued in a low voice. "Daniel, too. Captain Ecuyer has received news of other Indian attacks west and north of here--
Fort
Detroit
,
Sandusky
, Venango. The attacks appear to be concerted and widespread." He nodded with grim assurance. "As you predicted." Worried beyond belief, Christian rubbed his forehead. "The British need a messenger, someone they can trust to take the news to George Croghan, who lives near
Carlisle
now, much farther east. Croghan is the one person best able to understand the news, see what must be done. I volunteered to take the message–“

"Oh, no!"

"Captain Ecuyer said the same thing, not quite in those words. In any event, Ecuyer wishes me to remain here to give medical assistance in case the Lenapes and
Shawnees
attack
Fort
Pitt
."

"Thank God you're staying here!" She lowered her gaze to her lap. "If my attitude sounds selfish, I'm sorry, but I want you here with me, for both our sakes."

"Indeed, I think Ecuyer has the right of it, especially since the fort's military surgeon died last year. I could better serve
England
by remaining at the fort. And Daniel knows the province as well as anyone--"

"Daniel? He could be killed!" She stared at the fireplace, the rise and fall of her chest showing her agony.

"He's willing to chance it, and I am confident he can succeed. He's traversed the trails through the province many times." Christian spoke with assurance. "The British couldn't have a better man."

Gwen's lips trembled. "If anything should happen to him...”

"Nothing will. He can take care of himself," Christian said, reluctant to reveal his own doubts. If Daniel couldn't complete his mission, if he were captured by the Indians--Christian tried to dismiss the tormenting thought.

Enclosing her hand in his, as he always did to give her comfort, he forced himself to speak in calm tones. "Other bad news, sweetheart--the Indians burned the hospital I was building--no, darling, let me finish," he said in response to her shocked expression. "I fear I have even worse news than that. Pray just accept it, for we have no choice. Ecuyer has given orders to have all the houses in this vicinity torn down--"

"Torn down!" She pressed her hand to her chest. "Why in the world...?"

"The captain fears the Indians may use these houses to launch attacks from. Indeed, I concur with his assessment. Everyone around here must move to the fort after the houses are destroyed. That's how it must be, and best we accept the facts."

"But Christian, our house..." Gwen cast a frantic glance around the tiny place that had become their home since the fire destroyed the previous one. Resting her elbows on the table, she gave him a pleading look. "...all our things."

"Most of our possessions, I believe, we can take with us. Certainly my books and medical supplies, our clothes. Try to understand we're much more fortunate than the other poor souls around here. We've been assigned the officers' barracks, but most of the people will have to live in lean-tos on the parade ground. A few more fortunate ones may live in the soldiers' barracks. Either way, they'll have precious little privacy, I fear."

"Of course," Gwen replied, looking contrite.

Deepening shadows told him of the passing time. "Shall we have our evening meal now? Aside from breakfast, it'll be the last one in this house. Tomorrow, we move."

* * *

Turned on his side, Christian lay awake, his gaze on Gwen while she slept with her lips slightly parted, her long hair falling across her shoulders and down her back. He thought about their move to
Fort
Pitt
on the morrow. Above all, his thoughts centered on his dear wife, fearing he might awaken the next day to find her gone to a time he couldn't fathom.

Flopping onto to his back, he rested his hands on his chest and stared up at the ceiling. How she must hate this life with all its dangers and hardships, compared to her former life in the twenty-first century. What would stop her from leaving him to return to her own time? If she could journey from the future to the past, then mayhap she could travel from the past to the future.

Only his love could stop her, but was that enough?
 

Chapter Twenty

Sir Jeffrey Amherst brooded at his headquarters in a pleasant country house just south of Greenwich Village, reading the reports from the many British forts in North America--
Fort
Detroit
, Venango, Presqu'isle. So many forts under attack!
Fort
Sandusky
destroyed!

My God, to think the savages would dare rebel against British rule. Well, he'd teach them a lesson they'd never forget.
Amherst
dipped a quill pen into the inkwell to compose a letter to Colonel Bouquet in
Philadelphia
. If anyone understood Indian warfare and could defeat the Indians at their own game, it was Henri Bouquet.

"I wish to hear of no prisoners,"
Amherst
wrote, first telling Bouquet of the uprising. He had one further suggestion for Bouquet. "Could it not be contrived to send the smallpox among the disaffected tribes of Indians?"

* * *

"At least the Indians haven't attacked
Fort
Pitt
," Gwen remarked to Christian as they settled into their stifling hot, cramped quarters inside the fort, a room so dark it had taken her eyes several minutes to adjust.

"Not yet. Let us pray they don't." Christian knelt, setting a stack of books down in a corner of their small room, then rose to hang shirts and breeches on a peg. "
Fort
Pitt
has been fortunate so far." Dusting off his hands, he looked around the room. "This suits us well, don't you agree?"

"All the comforts of home," she replied with a smile, thinking the two of them had scarcely had a home for long since their marriage.

Later that evening, Gwen and Christian prepared for bed after supper in the officers' mess, both of them tired from settling into their new quarters.

Gwen slipped her moccasins off and shoved them aside. “Since so many families live

 
at the fort now," she said, "we have many children with nothing to do. I thought I might organize some classes, even if without any formal educational materials or books. I can still teach them the alphabet and elementary math and games they might enjoy." She pulled her mobcap off. "I think I can keep the children busy."

"Good idea. The children need something to occupy their time." Christian drew his shirt over his head, revealing his muscled forearms and the swirl of dark chest hairs. His physique reminded her of one of the hunks she'd seen in a fireman's calendar in her own time. Wild thoughts flitted through her mind, every idea focused on Christian.

With her hands at her bodice, Gwen stood, letting her gaze roam from his bare chest to his slim waist and on to his muscled thighs, his breeches fitting him like Calvin Klein jeans. As he hung his shirt on a wall peg, she admired his quick, lithe movements.

Dreamy with thoughts of seduction, Gwen tried to finish unlacing her bodice, her fingers clumsy with impatience. Desire flooded her, making her weak. She watched as Christian sat on the edge of the bed to draw his shoes off, his dark hair glistening by the lamplight. Looking up, he caught her gaze on him and grinned, as if he could read her mind.

She opened her mouth but halted with her fingers on her dress as a wave of dizziness overcame her. Icy bumps rippled along her arms, her mouth going dry. A feeling of dread weakened her, and faintness washed over her in gigantic waves, all these symptoms precursors of one of her weird spells.

She pressed her hand to her head and moaned.

"Gwen?"

"Gwen!"

She turned in Christian's direction--and saw a bus! Paralyzed with shock, she stared straight ahead, seeing the number 61C on the bus, as plain as if--

"No!"

"Gwen, what's amiss?"

"Oh, no!" Ohmygod, it was right in the room, heading straight for her. She jumped out of the way and fell back on the bed, missing Christian by inches.

"Gwen! What is it? What happened?" Christian drew her close to his chest, his hands strong yet gentle. "Darling, what in the world...?"

"I--" She breathed hard. "I just had another vision. I saw a...a bus."

He looked puzzled. "What's a bus?"