Paper Woman: A Mystery of the American Revolution (14 page)

Mathias stared
at David and Jacques.
 
"Zack
MacVie?
 
You're going somewhere with
that patriot pustule?
 
Where?"

Samson nosed
Sophie, and she continued stroking his neck.
 
He'd be a good traveling horse.
 
"I decoded the cipher.
 
My
father was to have ridden to St. Augustine, presumably to speak with Don
Alejandro de Gálvez on behalf of the rebels."
 
Shock hiked Mathias's eyebrows an inch.
 
"Yesterday evening, I intercepted another message warning
him that someone called El Serpiente knew of the mission, so the meeting had to
be diverted to Havana."

"Havana?"
 
He shoved a tinderbox back into a sack.
 
"What danger makes a sea voyage to Cuba
desirable?"

"El
Serpiente's companion was the man who was flayed.
 
MacVie claims El Serpiente killed my father and Jonah.
 
He's agreed to help us find him.
 
As soon as he returns, we're off."

His gaze
rocketed from her to Jacques and David.
 
"
We
?
 
You aren't
taking Sophie, are you?"

She
smiled.
 
"I think Samson and I have
reached an understanding about the journey."

He
scowled.
 
"No!
 
It's lunacy to take Sophie.
 
She could be killed or violated or injured
or abducted or tortured or —"

"Mathias,
my good fellow."
 
David removed the
straw from his mouth and tossed it away.
 
"You sound like a father."

She pinned
Mathias with a stare.
 
"Or a
husband — without the marital amenities, I might add."

Anxiety bulged
his eyes, and he cast a desperate look at David.
 
"You're her brother.
 
Talk sense into her, for god's sake!
 
She'll be safe here with the Creek."

David waved
away the plea.
 
"You didn't see her
with MacVie.
 
When he returns with your
cousin, ask him if he feels his anatomy's been damaged."

A frown
darkened Mathias's expression.
 
"Witty repartee doesn't qualify her to make such a journey.
 
You can't take her with you."

"Because
I'm a
woman
?
 
Since it bothers
you so much, you don't have to come with us."

"Sophie,
be reasonable."
 
Mathias gestured
south.
 
"The wilderness is full of
savage animals and outlaws.
 
Your odds
of surviving this preposterous journey unscathed aren't good."

"Then come
with us and increase our chances of success."

"I don't
understand you."

She crossed her
arms and drummed the fingertips of one hand atop her upper arm.
 
"You've
never
understood
me."

David's eyes
bugged.
 
"Bloody hell!"

Jacques marched
Mathias away.
 
"All this time I
thought you had learned the wisdom of not arguing with a woman."

David stepped
in front of Sophie, blocking her view of uncle and nephew.
 
"Astounding.
 
With my experience at reading faces around card tables, I cannot
believe I've missed something between you and Mathias all these years."

Her nostrils
flared.
 
"This is the wilderness,
not a card table.
 
And there's nothing
between us to miss."
 
Nearly two
decades of "nothing" seemed to have borne that theory out.

He nodded with
perception.
 
"So 'nothing' is the
problem."

"Exactly."

"Wilderness,
like card tables, has a peculiar way of turning 'nothing' into something.
 
We're taking MacVie along.
 
Make your peace with 'nothing' so it doesn't
interfere with our finding this snake fellow and returning intact."
 
Flicking lint off the sleeve of his fine
jacket, he strolled off.

She looked in
the direction Jacques and Mathias had taken.
 
"Blast it all, Mathias," she muttered.
 
"Speak up, man.
 
Is
there something you want from
me?"
 
And she mused over more
memories of that summer afternoon, eighteen years earlier...

***

"The
Cherokee say this was built by the Moon Eyes."
 
Mathias crawled away from the grotto's entrance, mist from the
deluge clinging to his hair and eyelashes, and sat angled to Sophie.

An aromatic
scent arose from the carpet of pine straw.
 
She'd heard of the Moon-Eyed People — forest-dwellers for eons before
Indians — and of similar structures farther north in Georgia and the
Carolinas.
 
Craning her neck back, she
examined ivy on the low, rocky ceiling.
 
"Why was it built?"

Humor wove
through his expression.
 
"To keep
us from getting drenched in that rainstorm out there."

"That's
as good a purpose as any."
 
She
smiled at him.
 
"When do you find
time to read all that Shakespeare?"

"Before
dawn.
 
I sneak downstairs so I don't
wake anyone."

"Really?
 
So do I.
 
You've never made fun of me for reading so much."

"Why
should I do that?
 
Reading brings you
the world."

She leaned
toward him.
 
"Can you keep a
secret?"
 
He nodded.
 
"I'm managing the ledgers for the print
shop now."

Admiration
flooded his expression, evoking a thrill in her.
 
"A good move on Will's part.
 
David's not the slightest bit interested in the business.
 
So what has Jim to say about it?"

"I told
him I promised to help Father until he found an apprentice."
 
She laughed.
 
"He doesn't know I plan to operate the press after we're
married."

He studied
her.
 
"What will you do when Alton
grows too small for you?"

"Whatever
do you mean?
 
Running the business is a
tremendous opportunity.
 
How many women
are so fortunate?"

Laying the
palm of his hand on her head, he pinched his countenance to resemble a mystic
on a mountaintop.
 
"Within a few
years, you'll discover that Alton and business fills such a small portion of
your mind that you'll be stifled with it."

The warmth
of his benediction felt good.
 
"Just as blacksmithing already fills such a small portion of your
mind."

"Why do
you say that?"
 
His fingers spread
apart and partook of the texture of her hair as if it were a delectable
substance.

"You
walk between the worlds of the white man and the red man, Ayukapeta Hokolen
Econa."
 
She sighed at the
caress.
 
Jim had never stolen her mobcap
or put his hands in her hair.
 
"You've two full lives to lead, respect, and explore."

"Indeed,
I've been summoned by Creator, granted more than one life to respect and
—"

"Explore,"
she whispered.

He examined
a flower, plucked from her hair.
 
Longing and regret occupied his expression.
 
"Respect."

"Is
that the way of it in your other world, too?"
 
Certainly not from the rumors she'd heard.
 
Why else would Christians be so desperate to
clamp their morality on the Creek?

He twined
the flower back into her hair and brushed her lips once with his
forefinger.
 
She closed her eyes,
savoring the touch.
 
The pine straw
rustled, and she opened her eyes to find him supine, regarding her.
 
"What are you thinking, Sophie?"

She traced
her fingertips the length of his cheek.
 
"That my world is full of unfairness."

"You
see, Alton has already grown too small for you."

She slid
down beside him, and he folded her to him, his thumb stroking the palm of her
hand.
 
Her cheek pressed to his chest,
she listened to the paean of his heartbeat above the tumult of rain.

At length he
rose on one elbow to study her, face embedded in shadow, and she laid her palm
against his cheek.
 
He caught her hand
in his, brushing his lips on her palm and wrist before grazing her lips with
his.
 
Her voice emerged husky.
 
"This isn't fair to you.
 
I'm to be married in two weeks."

"It
doesn't matter," he whispered, the warmth of his breath stroking her lips
apart.

***

Outside the
guest hut, she inspected supplies.
 
A
sewing kit.
 
Soap.
 
Bedrolls and canteens.
 
An extra musket with spare flints and a
musket tool, a powder horn and shot pouch, and a cartridge box.
 
A map.
 
Knives, tinderboxes, tomahawks.
 
Mathias's rifle and bow and arrows.
 
She fingered the quiver.

It doesn't
matter
.
 
At first it hadn't seemed
to matter.
 
One of many guests at her
wedding to Jim Neely, Mathias had wished the newlyweds well.
 
The first time she'd suspected that the
grotto of the Moon Eyes
did
matter was six months after Jim's death,
when she'd returned to Alton after spending those months in Augusta with infant
Betsy at her cousin Sarah's house, after Sarah had introduced her to handsome,
blond-haired, blue-eyed Richard Barton.
 
In the ensuing years, Mathias's courtesy and concern only reinforced her
intuition that the grotto of the Moon Eyes had mattered very much to him.
 
But like most men, he was afflicted by the
inability to open his mouth and tell her so.

Handsome,
blond-haired, blue-eyed Edward Hunt had had no difficulty telling her she
mattered to him.
 
Did she still matter
to him after escaping?
 
Had she ever
mattered, or had he been using her to gain information about the rebels?
 
Surely her journey to St. Augustine would
slam the door on any favor from him.

With the
arrival of Captain Sheffield, knowing he was free to return home, perhaps
Edward had taken the initiative and slammed the door.
 
She envisioned him thanking the heavens he'd bought his way out
of the godforsaken war in the colonies.
 
Loss prodded her soul.
 
Was she
certain she wanted to go to St. Augustine?

Unable to make
sense of her conflict, she returned to her inspection of supplies.
 
In addition to the cooking pot, she found
dinnerware, eating utensils, and a sack of staples: beef soup squares, coffee,
salt, pepper, maple sugar, and cornmeal.

David led his
horse over, his gear packed, his grin toothy.
 
He'd changed from his fine clothes into a hunting shirt and
trousers.
 
"Is everything in order,
General?"

"All I
lack is suitable apparel, and if I don't get it by departure time, I shall
steal Uncle Jacques's spare clothing.
 
He's about my size, don't you think?"

David pulled
out the tool kit for his fowler and sniggered.
 
"I dare say Jove himself shall hurl thunderbolts at us if we allow
Jacques le Coeuvre to ride around Georgia naked."

She mustered a
cheery expression.
 
While her brother
unscrewed the worn flint on his fowler, he whistled the ballad "Barb'ra
Allen."
 
Hoping he wasn't trying to
make a point with his choice of tunes, she examined the stock of herbs.
 
Yarrow to stop bleeding and heal wounds —
she hoped they wouldn't have to use that one.
 
Chamomile for headaches and upset stomachs.

David broke
into his baritone.
 
"They bury'd
her in the old churchyard, Sweet William's grave was nigh hers.
 
And from his grave grew a red, red rose
—"
 
He waited for her to look up at
him before flashing a devilish grin.
 
"From hers a cruel briar."

Sage to soothe
itching.
 
Mosquitoes, chiggers, ticks,
and poison ivy.
 
Delightful.

"O, they
grew up the old church spire, until they could grow no higher.
 
And there they twined in a true love knot
—"
 
He paused again, screwing the
new flint onto the fowler with gusto, the grin consuming his face.

An acrid smile
captured her lips, and she responded with her own mezzo-soprano.
 
"The red, red rose and the briar."

"You know,
Sophie, I've a concern preying upon my mind."

"Ah, I
figured you were backing into something with 'Barb'ra Allen.'
 
What's troubling you?"