Lynette Vinet - Emerald Trilogy 02 (24 page)

 
“Ah, lassie, it’s been a long time since I’ve been home. I can still smell the heather and see the lochs. But I’ve had a bonny time in my life and would not give up my wandering ways.” Angus McPhee paddled with long, easy strokes, never breaking the tempo, though Allison guessed him to be tired by now. Howard helped every so often, and she took over when he wearied. But the small, powerfully built Scotsman kept on, barely aware of anything but the movement of the current, the unpredictability of the weather. Allison found Angus, who had the longest beard she’d ever seen, to be pleasant company, always regaling her with stories of his homeland or his years in the wilderness.

“Been nigh on to forty-five years since I left Scotland and come here, but I’ve never regretted a minute of it.”

“Didn’t you ever wish to marry, to have children?” Allison queried.

Angus blushed beneath the copious beard. “I once had an Indian squaw for a wife, a real fine woman she was, but she died of a fever twenty years ago.
Never had much leaning towards a wife since.
Ties a person down too much.”

“You mean you were never legally wed?” Allison couldn’t suppress the question.

“Aye, lassie, but out here a paper of marriage means naught. It’s no lasting union when the man must travel. I’m a trapper first, and that’s all I aim to be until I die.”

Allison looked towards the direction they were heading. Lake Ontario
gleamed
a sapphire blue, and thick forests surrounded them. A few nights earlier they had rested in Montreal at a small inn, and Allison wished she now had that same bed. But she had been too keyed up to sleep though they had been traveling for days. Her thoughts were of Paul, and she prayed to find him safe and hopefully pleased to see her.

She stretched a bit in the canoe, carefully managing not to nudge Howard. Since their departure, he had been rather surly, and she guessed he was now sorry he had asked to accompany her. He didn’t openly complain, but his face showed resentment. There was nothing to push him on, like her dogged determination to find Paul.

Allison wondered what Paul would think of the garb she now wore. Gone were the pretty silk gowns and fur capes. In their stead was a pair of boy’s pants she had managed to wheedle from a kitchen boy at Uncle Kevin’s, along with a shirt which was much too tight across her breasts. Reluctantly, the boy had also provided boots and a heavy jacket for the chilly nights, but the gold pieces she offered him more than repaid him for his loss.

Since the canoe could only hold basics like food and supplies, she had to leave her personal belongings in Quebec. She hadn’t wanted to return to the house on the cliff, but now she’d probably be forced to when she and Paul returned.
If she returned with Paul…

From the growling sounds emanating from her stomach, she knew it was nearly evening, and they’d make camp soon. Hopefully, they’d catch a large trout for supper.

Allison dozed, feeling a brisk wind on her face, but suddenly the breeze grew harsher, rousing her.

“Uh oh,” Angus said, glancing at the sky which had turned from peaceful blue to angry black. “We’re in for a bad one.”

He advised them to hold tight while he attempted to make for the shore. The water began churning violently around them. For horrified moments Allison imagined the lake as a huge hand, ready to clutch them from the safety of the canoe. The surface settled down somewhat, but all too soon a pummeling rain poured down and the wind rose again, pushing the small canoe farther and farther off course.

She heard Howard’s shouting for her to cover herself with his coat, but she was too terrified to move. Angus seemed to have lost control of the canoe, and the more he paddled, the least difference it made. Huge waves lifted them up then dropped them harshly down.

“Dearest Lord!” she heard Angus’ terrified shout as a huge wave struck them and toppled the canoe into the swirling, treacherous water.

Allison had never been a strong swimmer, but she somehow managed to keep from going under. Not so for Angus; immediately the lake claimed the old man as a victim. Howard swam with all his might toward her but was carried away from her by the swift current. Rain pummeled her and waves hammered at her, and she had no alternative but to move with the current instead of resisting it.

She moved with the current, frantically paddling to the nearby shore when a huge rock blocked her path and she knew there was no escape.

“Paul!” she screamed, but she couldn’t swim around it. The moment she hit, she ceased to feel the icy arms of Lake Ontario.

~ ~ ~

Firelight played over Allison’s face. Even with her eyes closed, she was aware of the pirouetting flames, leaping and spinning like dancers in the ballet. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

The first thing she saw was a ceiling, built from rough-hewn logs. Then her gaze traveled down the wall and rested on a brown and white collie curled beside the fireplace. The animal seemed to sense her gaze, and raising its head, its large brown eyes looked inquiringly at her, its tail thumping on the earthen floor.

Watching the dog, Allison realized she was on eye level with the animal. She found she reclined on the floor and was wrapped in layers of fur. She thought she should move, but found it difficult to concentrate on anything save the dog.

A large, dark shadow suddenly loomed over her and startled her. She barely breathed as a man bent down, his intent gaze taking in all of her. His long, tanned face broke into a smile. “Mademoiselle, I am pleased to see you are awake. How do you feel?”

She didn’t feel fear. In fact she didn’t truly feel anything but the warmth of the furs and fire. When she didn’t immediately speak, he stepped away for a moment then returned with a cup. Sitting on his haunches, he offered it to her. “You must drink.”

She allowed him to lift her head a bit from the pallet and drank of the cool water. When she finished, he gently eased her back down. His hand reached out and touched her forehead. “You took quite a blow, Mademoiselle. How is your head tonight?”

Allison tentatively touched her forehead, felt a huge lump. She started to sit up, but a searing pain cut through her brain and she fell back, groaning in agony.

“Don’t move again.” She heard his voice through the fog of pain and felt his steady, sure hands on her temples, positioning her head once more. When the pain abated, she was able to open her eyes and look at him.

His mouth curved into a smile, enhancing the handsomeness of his dark-skinned face. The firelight glowed upon his ebony hair which was cut to the nape of his neck. The dog moved over towards them, sniffing at her face.

“This Box Fox,” he said, and Allison understood that was the dog’s name, even though it was the strange man who resembled a fox. He wore a reddish pelt over fringed pants. Yet despite his ferocious clothing, she didn’t fear him.

“Do—do I know you?” she asked him.

“No, I am Jacques Tall Tree.”

“How did I get here?”

He pointed towards the cabin door, seeming to see beyond it. “The storm overturned canoe. Old man drowned and probably other man. I could not save them, but you drifted toward shore after you hit the rock. I swam and pulled you out of the water.”

“You saved my life,” she whispered. She had only his word about the incident, which she didn’t recall at all.

His voice broke into her thoughts. “What is your name?”

The question startled her, and when she didn’t reply, he asked again. She looked at him with a blank expression. “I—I don’t know…”

“You no remember because of the hit on the head, but I think you will soon. You must rest. Your memory will come back.” He seemed quite nonchalant about the whole thing, as if every day he were used to saving strange women with no memories from certain death.

“But I have no idea who I am,” she mumbled and suddenly felt like crying.

“Shhh, mademoiselle,” he comforted her and stroked her hair which shimmered across the pallet like the sun on the lake’s surface. “Names no matter to Jacques, but I will call you Angelle. My mother had a picture of an angel when I was boy. I always remember her golden hair.”

“Angelle.”
She tried mouthing the name moments later when he took Big Fox outside the cabin. It was a pretty name, but she instinctively knew that it wasn’t her name yet for the time being, it was as good as any. But why couldn’t she remember? Was the old man who drowned her father? Was the other man her brother?
A husband?
Why didn’t she feel anything for them?

Her head started to ache again, and she stopped questioning herself as she drifted into a fitful sleep.

During the next week Allison heeded Jacques’ advice and gratefully accepted his ministrations. Until she felt stronger, he spoon-fed her like a tiny child and insisted on washing her face and hands with a cool cloth each evening. However, when she was able to get up, she insisted on washing herself. The fact that he had stripped off her wet clothes the day of the accident had bothered her at first, but no longer. She regarded Jacques as a physician of sorts since he was always so coolly detached. The soft lawn shirt he had given her came to just above her knees, and she somehow doubted such an expensive garment belonged to him.

When the ugly purplish bruise on her forehead turned a pale yellow, she dressed in the pair of boy’s pants and shirt she had worn when he found her. Since her memory hadn’t returned, she readily accepted the clothes as her own though pondered why she would have willingly chosen such an outfit.

Jacques sensed her growing despair at not being able to recall her past, and one morning after breakfast, he lifted her from the chair and carried her outside.

“Now, Angelle, you must sit in the sun, walk beneath the blue sky to feel better.” He put her down in front of the cabin.

The lake was visible beyond the trees, and a shiver ran through Allison. “Two men were killed on that lake. I can’t even mourn them, don’t know who they were to me.”

“My heart feels pity for them and for you. But you are alive, and you will remember.”

“How kind you are. I can never repay you.”

His black eyes flashed with merriment. “Does the mademoiselle cook?”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “But if you would show me what to do, I’ll try.”

“
Bien
.”

That afternoon he taught her how to clean fish and cook the catch over the hearth until it was a golden brown. The secret was to cook it only until it flaked. Allison watched eagerly then tried her own hand at it when Jacques let her alone to run a trap line. Upon his return, she placed the plate of trout in front of him. He cut into it, though from its dark brown color she knew it was overcooked and he probably found the fish as tough as leather. He managed to swallow and even to smile. “Next time you must remove from the heat sooner.”

Allison sighed and sat down. “Whatever I was in my past, most certainly I wasn’t a cook. I hope to thank you in some way for all you’ve done, and I’ve failed.”

“I have done only that what any person would do. And the fish shall not go to waste. Big Fox shall devour fish.” He got up and placed the trout before the collie. At first, Big Fox expressed interest, but after sniffing longer than Allison thought necessary, the animal retreated to his corner, leaving the fish intact.

“Even Big Fox won’t eat it!” she cried, but the situation struck her as amusing. Laughing aloud, she was joined by Jacques who then shared with her the trout he had properly prepared earlier.

She had been with Jacques almost three weeks before he spoke of himself. They sat before the fireplace, Big Fox at their feet. Jacques had always been friendly to her, but now she sensed he wished to put their friendship on a different level. He told her he was a
metis
, a half-breed. His mother had been a French woman who was captured by a Huron warrior, but grew to love him and stayed on willingly. She had taught Jacques to speak French, though he generally had considered himself Indian. However, as he grew older, he realized he was different from the other children of the tribe, that they treated him as an outsider. His younger sister also felt ostracized and clung to their mother.

Shortly after his mother’s death, he became a brave to please his father, but still, like his sister, he felt out of place. He realized this was because his mother hadn’t given up her French ways but had instilled them into her children.

Later, his sister married a trapper but died from child birth fever. Jacques eventually lived at the cabin even after his brother-in-law, Golden Hawk, set out on his own. However, Golden Hawk had recently reappeared out of the wilderness and would soon return from Montreal after trading their pelts.

“Golden Hawk will be home before too many nights have passed.”

“Perhaps he won’t be pleased to have a stranger here, Jacques. I really should leave.”

Concern flooded his face. “No, Angelle. Where would you go?”

“I don’t know.” She placed a hand to her forehead,
then
shook her head, her hair streaming down her back. “I am such a bother to you.”

“Golden Hawk will not mind. I take good care of you. Until you remember, you stay with me.”

His kindness overwhelmed her. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thank you again, my friend, and good night. It’s late, and I’m very tired.”

He nodded. “Tomorrow I show you a shallow part of lake where you may bathe in private.”

~ ~ ~

The days were still warm but the lake was pleasantly cool. Allison gloried in the cleansing water against her bare skin. Jacques had shown her a small bay where she could bathe in private without being seen. Thick foliage covered the shoreline, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of nearby wildflowers. But soon the water grew quite chilly, and she shivered as she pulled on the long shirt, burrowing beneath its softness and warmth. She fingered the expensive fabric and knew again that Jacques couldn’t claim this as his own. The garment clearly belonged to a man of quality. How she knew that, she didn’t know. How she knew how to speak or knew anything perplexed her. Why couldn’t she remember who she was or where she had come from? Was it that she didn’t want to remember?

She put on her pants and sat down on the grass, shaking her long mane of hair free of water droplets. Big Fox sat nearby and winced as the water hit his large, liquid eyes. He inched closer and rested his head on her knee. “Such a love you are,” she crooned and patted his thick fur.

An image suddenly flashed before her of a small baby in her arms, but before she could capture it fully, it was gone. She felt shaky and confused, and not even Big Fox’s pawing at her leg eased the strange sensation.

After a few moments, she looked down at the animal. “I must remember, somehow I have to,” she said, wondering if a nameless child in a nameless place needed her. Was she someone’s mother?

The sound of Jacques’ distant voice roused her from her reverie and she got up and ran toward the sound, the dog following. She saw him some distance away, waving to her.

“Golden Hawk has returned, Angelle!”

She waved back, but she wasn’t pleased. She had dreaded the man’s return even though she knew practically nothing about him. Because of Golden Hawk, her days of having Jacques and Big Fox to herself were at an end. The feeling of safety and comfort with Jacques was over. Somehow she knew Golden Hawk wouldn’t approve of her. Probably he was a brooding savage who took very little interest in women since his wife’s death. Jacques had told her the man loved his wife, Little Dove, to distraction and had never gotten over her untimely passing and the loss of his son.

Well, she had no place to go until her memory returned. And at the moment, it looked rather bleak that it ever would. She’d have to make the best of the situation until she could leave.

She followed the woodland path to the cabin, and when she entered she didn’t immediately see Golden Hawk. Jacques read her mind. “He is by the lake, hoping to catch our dinner.”

Smiling at him, she gathered her courage and asked if he had told Golden Hawk about her. Jacques nodded, but slowly. “He says you are my responsibility.”

“Oh, he does, does he?” She spat out the words in one breath. “I don’t need you or your precious Golden Hawk to take responsibility for me! I can manage quite well without either one of you!” She picked up a plate and slammed it down, pieces breaking upon the floor.

Embarrassed by her words and actions, she turned and headed toward the cabin door, but her exit was blocked by a huge chest, covered in buckskin. She glanced up to behold the blond-bearded face of the man she knew must be Golden Hawk.

His eyes were dark brown and piercing, and they swept across her face like a broom swishing away the cobwebs from a corner. She didn’t know what to say, couldn’t utter a sound. Until that moment, she had never seen him, but he stunned her when he spoke, sounding as if a name were being wrenched from the very depths of him.

“Allison!”