Riverbreeze: Part 2 (42 page)

Downstairs he stopped in the kitchen to retrieve his pistol, powder and shot. Abigail appeared in the doorway, clutching a shawl around her shoulders. She was still in her nightclothes and looked sleepy and worried. This was the first sign of trouble she had heard between the newly-married couples. “Is something wrong?” She asked quietly. “I heard…”

Robert cut her off with a wave of his hand. He didn’t have time for explanations and how would he explain something like this to her anyway.
Oh, my wife had a dream and
I’m hurrying to Maureen’s to save my son
. She would probably look at him as if he had grown a second head! He glanced briefly at her as he said, “Talk to Elizabeth.” Then he quickly grabbed two apples from the bowl on the kitchen table and stuffed them in a leather pouch that he had slung over his shoulder along with the pouches of powder and shot.

“Do you need me to do anything for you?” She asked, watching him search through crocks and covered bowls for food that he could grab and go with.

“No, thank you.” He said dismissively, grabbing a couple of handfuls of walnuts and finally some dried venison. “I should be back later this afternoon.” He added, stepping outside just as the sun crested the horizon.

There was a good amount of frost this morning on the ground and the clear, crisp air felt good on his skin. He took one deep breath before he stopped briefly at the water barrel to drink a full cup and splash his face. Then he loped over the lawn, his feet crunching through the thin layer of frost, the mist swirling all around him, down to the dock where he made another brief stop to relieve himself.

He pushed his canoe into the calm water, jumped in and started paddling down the river, gliding smoothly, the muscles in his arms and back bunching with each paddle stroke. Soon his stiff muscles loosened up and he could enjoy the beautiful morning. The sun was just coming up through the tall cypress trees and the fog was thick on the river. He couldn’t even see all the way to the south side of the river although if he stayed only twenty or thirty feet from the north shore, he could see perfectly fine. In some spots, the fog was so dense he felt like he was gliding through clouds. He could feel the mist on his face and dew drops formed on his hair and eyelashes. While it was a wondrous sensation, he also felt some fear. He couldn’t see if any other boats were approaching from across the river or from behind him. An arrow could take him in the back; a fellow Englishman could mistake him for someone else and shoot him and he would never see who had done it.

But all was quiet except for the sounds of nature around him. He would have heard the dip of another oar or paddle or the creak of a sail or the snap of a twig or branch on the shore. He allowed himself to relax for the moment and to enjoy this peaceful morning, forgetting the real reason why he was traveling on the river.

As he leisurely glided along, he heard numerous small animals and birds rustling in the undergrowth along the shoreline, looking for their morning meal. Ducks and muskrats were busy poking around the bulrushes and he saw one particular plump muskrat disappear through the cattails. He thought what a good meal he would make although he wouldn’t be able to do much with just one skin. He heard a marsh hawk cry and looked up just in time to watch it soar across the bright, blue sky.

And then he saw the perfect scene, a grouping of deer feeding at a small creek trickling into the James, and he slowed his canoe so much that he was almost still in the water. He watched them for several minutes, chewing slowly on a piece of jerky, wishing he had his bow and arrows and remembered the time when Owasewas had given him the gift of the beautifully made hunting tools. There was a young buck among the group, not too close to the others but close enough and Robert knew he would have been the one. The does might be pregnant and he hated to kill a pregnant doe, but this buck was just right. Good size, but not too big, after all he’d have to get it home by himself, but this journey was not about hunting, he reminded himself with a shake of his head. It was about saving his son. He took up his paddle again.

Saving his son, how did he really know that Robin was in danger? He didn’t, and he also didn’t believe that his son would be exposed to any danger while staying with Maureen. Otherwise he would have never allowed him to spend the week with her. He had been confident that Maureen wouldn’t let anything happen to him. She was a competent woman and mother, and she had kept her own children safe from disaster so far, unlike some other unfortunate women he knew. But Elizabeth had been so insistent. He had never seen her so determined to get him moving. And she had trusted him enough to confide in him about this ability that she had that could easily get her condemned to an execution. He had to at least see for himself if Elizabeth was right. After all, what if he ignored Elizabeth and Robin died? What would he do then?

He picked up his pace, his paddle digging into the water with each sure stroke. The tide was going out, helping him speed down the river. He was almost there, he had already passed the Mills’ place and the Cugley’s and then there it was, the rusty old anchor from twenty years earlier, marking the Archer’s property line. Their sturdy dock stuck out a good twenty feet into the water, both their sloop and their canoe were tied up, bobbing quietly in the ebbing water.

After pulling his canoe up onto the shore, he ran to the house. He noticed two servants coming out of the barn but he didn’t see anyone else around. There was smoke coming from the chimneys but all was quiet. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, and once again he questioned Elizabeth’s crazy ideas.

At the front door, he took a minute to take off the pouches of powder and shot. He laid them down on a bench that was by the door along with his pistol. He thought he heard laughter coming from inside and it sounded like Robin. He smiled to himself in anticipation of seeing him. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed Robin this past week. Yes, he had enjoyed this week with Elizabeth tremendously, but now he realized he wanted Robin back.

He was just about to knock when he remembered how much Maureen hated it when anyone tracked mud into her house. He looked down at his feet and noticed that there was some mud stuck to the sides and soles of his moccasins. So he sat down on the bench and took another minute to scrape the mud off with a stick, continuing to listen to the laughter.
There is no emergency here
, he thought, peeved.
So much for believing Elizabeth’s dreams!

But then the laughter stopped and all was quiet except for the nearby knocking of a pileated woodpecker.

Robert paused, waiting…waiting…for what? The emergency? No, he shook his head, chucking to himself.
There is nothing unusual about laughter coming to a stop. People
stop laughing all the time. People can’t keep on laughing forever
.

Tsking to himself, he inspected his moccasins for any last trace of dirt or mud and when he thought they were sufficiently clean, he stood up and raised his fist to knock.

A tortured cry, then a bloodcurdling scream pierced the silence. A shiver went through him and chills broke out all over his body.
Robin
, he though immediately,
I’m here.
Daddy’s here
. He immediately tried the knob but it was locked, so without another thought, he kicked at the door. But Phillip had put a big, solid, English lock on the door and it wasn’t so easy to break the door down. He tried again. Fueled by adrenaline surging through his system, he finally broke the door down after three or four kicks.

He ran into the kitchen, then stopped short at the awful sight before him. His blood turned to ice and his breath caught in his throat as he saw Robin standing in the fireplace, flames licking up his smock. They hadn’t reached his face yet, but it would only be a matter of seconds before his entire head and body were engulfed by flames. Robin was screaming; his hands outstretched as if he didn’t know what to do. Maureen was screaming too, frozen for the moment, with a bowl of oatmeal in one hand, a spoon in the other. Her little boy, in his high chair, frightened by all the screaming, started wailing, adding to the racket.

Robert ignored them and rushed to his son and grabbed him. “Daddy!” Robin cried, so happy to see his father, but there was no joy in this reunion. With his two bare hands, Robert beat at the flames. He could see that the hem of the smock was completely burned away and Robin’s poor little bare feet were covered with angry red blisters. If Robert didn’t get the fire out soon, his whole body would be scarred. He pressed Robin to his own chest to try to smother the flames with his own body. “Water.” He yelled at Maureen, glancing at her.

She had panicked at first, but at the sound of Robert’s voice, she seemed to come to herself again. She threw down the bowl and spoon onto the table, then turned quickly to the barrel and scooped out a dipper of water. She threw it at them, but in her haste, most of the water splashed Robert’s body and he had to shake his head. “More! Hurry!” He yelled, continuing to beat at the flames burning their way up Robin’s smock. The little boy continued to cry loudly, great big fat tears running down his face.

Maureen came back with a pitcher this time, splashed them with more water, and in her panicked state, continued again and again to throw water at them until the fire was out and Robin and Robert were drenched and she stood there, exhausted, gasping for breath. Even the fire in the fireplace had been put out in the process and the floor was now a swirling, gloppy mess of dirty ashes and dirty water.

Robert collapsed into a sitting position in the middle of that messy puddle with Robin in his lap and he just sat there in shock, holding his son, trembling and gasping for breath. He felt the solid weight of his son in his lap and couldn’t believe what had just happened. He felt like he was in a nightmare. And she had known;
she had known
! How? How?

All he knew was that Elizabeth had been right. He was amazed and a little frightened. More chills ran down his spine as he thought what might have happened if he hadn’t listened to her. As it was he had dillydallied during part of the trip, not really believing her and now regretting it with all his heart. He would never doubt her again. And he couldn’t wait to get home to tell her and to thank her and to bring Robin home where he belonged.

Robin was whimpering and Robert automatically whispered nonsensical noises into his ear. He would never complain about Robin’s crying again; he would welcome it because any noise that Robin made meant that he was alive. He kissed Robin’s ear and skimmed his lips along the malleable ridge, marveling at the softness of the skin there. He couldn’t imagine his life without his son and his arms tightened around the little boy, almost hurting him. He breathed in the smell of smoke and burnt flesh and his body began to tremble again. He looked down at the top of Robin’s head and was fascinated by the finest strands of his blond hair, shining in the shaft of sunlight coming through the window. And then he noticed how certain spots of Robin’s hair were turning darker as if raindrops were falling on his head, but Robert knew they weren’t out in the rain and he couldn’t figure out what was causing the dark spots.

Maureen was still crying, saying, “I’m sorry, Robert; I’m sorry” Over and over again.

But Robert hardly heard her. “You’re safe now.” He whispered into his son’s ear. “’Tis all right. You’re safe now; you’re safe now.”

He didn’t even hear them when Phillip and the three other children stepped through the broken-down door.

* * *

“What the hell…?” Phillip exclaimed as he took in the shocking scene before him. His wife was sobbing uncontrollably; his youngest son was screaming and Robert was sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, his son clutched tightly in his arms. Robin was crying so hard, he was in danger of hyperventilating. “Robert? Maureen? What happened?”

“’Tis my fault.” Maureen cried, her whole body shaking. “I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

Robert remained on the floor, frozen in position, trembling, still in shock.

“What do you mean, ‘tis your fault?” Phillip said, as he put down the pail of milk he had carried in and stepped around the kitchen table to get a closer look. When he saw what had happened, he gasped. “Oh God.”

He went into quick action. He moved back to Mary, his oldest daughter, who was still standing near the doorway, her lower lip trembling. He gently took the basket of eggs from her and set it on the floor, saying in a calm voice, “Take your brothers and your sister to your room, then fetch a blanket and a sheet, even if you have to take it off your own bed. Hurry now.”

“Papa?” She whimpered, her eyes wide with fear.

“What happened to Robin? Why is Uncle Robert sitting on the floor?” Martha, the second daughter asked, looking back and forth between her mother and her father.

He bent down in front of his two daughters to block their view and cupped the backs of their heads. Looking into their eyes, he said, “Everything will be all right. Robin had a little accident, but you must hurry. You’ll help your sisters, won’t you, son?” He spoke to Phillip, Jr., only three, but the lad nodded his head solemnly.

“Go.” Phillip urged his oldest daughter. She nodded, responding to her father’s calm but urgent voice. Quickly she picked up her baby brother from his chair, ignoring his cries, plopped him on her hip, then grabbed her other brother’s hand while telling her sister to follow. They hurried out of the kitchen.