Thorns in Eden and the Everlasting Mountains (25 page)

“Yes.
He is sleeping. Go away.”

Amusement
danced in his eyes. “It is good a woman cares for him. I am at ease now.”

Theresa
scrutinized Black Hawk. His face looked bronzed in the moonlight, friendly. She
noticed the bands surrounding his forearms and the feathers fastened in the
locks of his hair.

“Your
hair is the color of the elms in harvest time,” he said smiling.

Theresa’s
heart leaped at his words. “Go away!”

“I
will go.” Black Hawk climbed down. “Tell my brother I’ve gone to the
mountains.”

Lithe,
Black Hawk dropped from the tree. In a moment, he disappeared into the night.
Theresa watched for a long while from the window, while John Nash slept and the
moon skimmed the horizon.

*  *  *

Nash
woke early as dawn crept over the hills. He pulled himself up on his elbows and
looked at his wound. A fresh bandage had been applied. He had a raging appetite
and thirst. He had not eaten in days.

He
set his teeth and groaned as he tried to get out of bed. It was no use, so he
fell back against the pillows. He lay there wondering for a moment why he had met
with such misfortune. The breeze flowed through the window. Cool and fresh, it
touched his face. He was thankful to be alive. 

The
door swung open. 

“I’ve
brought some food, Mr. Nash. You must be starved. When was the last time you had
a home cooked meal?”

He
thought of Standforth and Lady Margaret. She been the only mother he’d known,
and although she had not given birth to him, she worried over him. He recalled
the first night home and the bounty she had set, how good it was to be with her
and his father. Feeling a little guilty over leaving them, he looked over at
Theresa Boyd with a sad smile.

 “Home
cooked? Months ago. My mother set a fine table.”

“Then
you must eat as much as you can in order to regain your strength. I’m sure she
would insist upon it.”

Theresa
put extra pillows behind him and helped him up. Nash felt a little foolish that
he needed help and tried to swallow his pride.

“The
doctor says you were lucky. The arrow missed an artery. Thank God, otherwise
you would have bled to death. You may need some help walking for a while.”

“How
long have I slept?”

“Twelve
hours.” She poured tea into a china cup, handed it to him. “Hilda made those
eggs special for you. She will be upset if you don’t eat them.”

He
ate while Theresa explained all the doctor had done.

“I
hope I’ve not been a burden to you and your father.”

She
smiled. “No.”

“Well,
I won’t impose on you any longer. I’m grateful for the help you and Mr. Boyd
gave me. I don’t know if I could have made it back to Laurel Hill.”

“Dr.
Cole is very good, don’t you think.”

“I’ve
always thought so.”

He
saw her glance at the window, her face contemplative.

“I
met your friend Black Hawk. He climbed the tree outside the window, paid me a
compliment about my hair.”

“You
were not afraid of him?”

“I
had no reason to be, since he is your friend.”

“He
is admirable.” He drank the last of the tea, thankful but anticipating Joab’s
strong coffee.

Theresa
shifted in her chair. “If you don’t mind, who is Rebecah?” Her eyes held a glow
of curiosity, and Nash handed her back the tray.

“How
do you know that name?”

“You
talked in your sleep.”

“Oh?
What did I say?”

“You
called out to her.”

Yes,
and he had dreamt of her all night.

“Should
I send her word?” Theresa asked. “I can write a letter for you and have it sent
this very day.”

“That
won’t be necessary.” His heart felt heavy.

Theresa
looked disappointed. She went to the door. “If she is someone dear to you, she should
know you’ve been hurt.”

“You’re
kind to offer your help, Miss Boyd. But unfortunately, I’m not dear to her.” 

Her
eyes gazed at him sorrowfully. “Let me know if you change your mind.” She
turned out the room and shut the door.

Nash
reached for his buckskins, and tried to think how he would address the men of
the town without causing a major panic. Yet his thoughts were crowded,
disrupted by the mention of Rebecah.

Slipping
into his hunting shirt was easy. Putting the buckskin trousers on was painful
for his leg. He must be careful not to force the bandage open if he meant to
keep it. He positioned one hand on the table beside the bed and pulled himself
up, standing on his good leg. Determined not to let it get the best of him, he
tried to walk.

With
his hand guiding his leg, he limped forward. A knock on the door, and Joab came
inside the room. Looking worried, he rushed over to Nash and put his arm around
his shoulder to help him.

“I’ve
been worried sick, Mr. John.”

“I’ll
be alright, Joab.”

“You
should be in bed and not runnin’ around.”

“We’ll
be home later, and you can fuss at me then. I need to speak to Mr. Boyd.”

Being
the town clerk, Boyd was dressed for the day. He waited at the bottom of the
staircase, hat in hand.

“Are
you well enough to be up, Jack?”

“Yes.
Forgive me for barging in on you last night. You were the first person to come
to mind to go to.”

“I’ve
sent word to all the Committee of Observation members that we are to meet at
the tavern to hear your news.”

“Do
you have a cane I could lean on? It’s embarrassing, but I cannot use Joab as a
crutch.”

Boyd
reached behind the door and handed him the only one he owned. “I daresay you
won’t be dancing with the ladies of the town for a time.”

Nash
smiled. “I was never a good dancer anyway.”

“How
did this happen?”

“A
Shawnee arrow. If it had not been for Black Hawk, I don’t think I would have
made it. He knew what to do for my wound, and knows the trails better than any
white man.”

“He
has gone into the mountains.”

“I
knew he would.”

“You
saw warriors this far to the east?”

“A
band painted for war. We came upon a farm…they’d burned it, killed and scalped
the couple living there.”

Mr.
Boyd’s eyes widened. “God help us.”

“I
pray He will.”

They passed out the door down into the street. John
Nash’s heart sunk to see the people moving along it going about their day in
this peaceful town still untouched by Logan’s War. Mothers holding their
children’s hands paused as the men crossed the street and headed for Mrs.
Carlton’s Tavern. Soon a crowd of townsmen followed Nash, grave-faced and
silent as they filed inside.

Later
that night, in the tavern on the corner of Market and Court Streets, men
huddled together discussing the grim news brought to them earlier in the day.
There were no rounds of ale, for the atmosphere was of a solemn nature.

“He
was carryin’ Nash over his shoulder because he’d been shot straight through the
leg, I tell you,” one man with a great beard and thick spectacles said.

“I
heard it was an arrow that got him,” said Tobias.  “But nothin’ takes Nash down
easy, you know. He reminds me of a fellow I knew under General Braddock’s
command. Been shot in both legs and lived to tell about it. Now that was a war,
the French and Indians, and the General was a great man.”

Andrew
Clarke had been listening to the entire buzz for the last twenty minutes. He
was silent until he could stand it no more. He stood, knocking his chair
backward and leaning his hands upon the table. His face twitched with anger.

“He
was shot alright.” He lifted his mug, took a swallow, and wiped his mouth with
his shirtsleeve.  “I’ll put down my last coin it was an Indian that done it. A
renegade on the warpath.”

“Calm
down, Andy.” Tobias patted him on the shoulder.

“Aye,
and I heard it were an Indian that saved Nash’s life by bringing him here,”
said Sam Evans the town blacksmith.

“I saw
him comin’ into town with Nash. Bold as brass was he, and noble an Indian as I
ever saw,” said the tavern maid Meg as she set down the mugs.

 “Set
your heart to pacin’, did he, Meg?” laughed Tobias, followed by the others. 
Meg shook her curls and nudged him on the shoulder.

Evans
downed his cider. “Let’s be happy Nash weren’t killed.”

Clarke
slumped in his chair. “We better face the facts. You were at the meeting,
Tobias. You heard what Nash said.”

Tobias
looked grim. “Aye, I heard. Nash sat there still as a post, not movin’ a
muscle, not showin’ any pain as he told us the news. But you could see the
worry in his eyes.”

“Keep
your muskets oiled,” Clarke said to the men. “Now we got two wars to fight, one
with the British, the other with the Indians. Cresap better not show his face around
here for what he’s brought on us. Too bad John Gibson didn’t shoot him dead
when he found him in that cabin.”

Sam
Evans leaned over the table. “There’s no proof Cresap done anything. Who we
gonna believe, an Indian chief or one of our own. I say we wait and hear
Cresap’s side of the story.”

“The
Committee is mustering a militia to protect the settlers,” said Clarke.  “I’m
staying, and I’m sending my wife and baby girl to Baltimore to stay with her
aunt until the whole thing blows over. I’ll not see them murdered and scalped.”

“It’d
be wise if we thought of our kin,” said the bearded man.

“Some
of the women won’t go,” said Sam. “They’re as much attached to the land as
their menfolk. I doubt Indians will come as far as the town though.”

“Well
the militia will keep the hordes of hell away.”

“What’s
a handful of men against a whole nation of braves?” said Clarke.

Creaking
on rusty hinges, the tavern door swung open. In stepped a man who dared show
his face in Fredericktown. Heads turned and eyes watched this loathsome
creature of the backwoods walk up to the tavern keeper. He demanded whiskey,
and when he was told it was dry, his face twitched red with anger.

Andrew
Clarke did not take his eyes off the man’s arrogant face. He remembered how
LaRoux looked at Nash with unfounded hatred the last time he was in the tavern.

“Well,
well.” Clarke stood. “What do you want in our town, LaRoux? Come to flaunt any
new scalps?”

LaRoux
turned at Clarke and put his dirty hand over the hilt of his knife. 

“Been
to the Potomac, you French mongrel?”

LaRoux
took an abrupt step forward. Tobias reached up and grabbed Clarke by the sleeve.
“Let him go, Andy. He’s not worth it.”

Shaking
his arm free, Clarke moved around the table and faced LaRoux. Fire flared in
his eyes, fire and hate. Unmoved, Clarke met him stare for stare with equal
hatred.

“Logan’s
family was murdered by a band of butchers. It’s bringing every Indian down on
our heads from the Ohio to the Hudson.”

LaRoux
leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms. “I heard about it. What’s
that got to do with me?”

“We’d
all like to know. Logan rallied with Chief Cornstalk. The six nations are at
war with us and are out to kill every man, woman and child that has white
skin.”

“Let
them have their warpath.” LaRoux glared and turned away.

Clarke
clenched his fists, as all eyes watched. “You wouldn’t have anything to do with
the family killed near the river. Because if you did, there isn’t a rope too
short or too long in Fredericktown for your neck.”

LaRoux’s
eyes blazed. He drew his knife and lunged at Clarke. The men in the tavern
sprung out of their seats. Clarke fastened his hand around LaRoux’s wrist.
LaRoux twisted and slammed his fist into Clarke’s side. Clarke gasped. Bounding
from his chair, Tobias came between the two men and pushed LaRoux back. The
blacksmith and innkeeper threw their hands forward to keep the men apart

“If
any killing happens, LaRoux, you’re to blame and you’ll hang from Smith’s oak
by sunrise!” Tobias warned. “Put your knife away and get out of here before we
haul you off.”

“No
man will take me,”

“John
Murphy was the last man hung back in forty-nine. You want to be next, LaRoux?
Cause if you are, we’ll see to it for attempted murder.”

LaRoux
clenched his teeth and broke free. He sprang at Tobias. A tangled mass of men
reached for the old man, for Clarke whose wrist was bleeding, others for
LaRoux. A man drew his pistol and shot it into the rafters hoping to end the
fight. Yet the knife gleamed in the air and descended into a feeble breast.

A
chilling cry pierced the shouting. Everyone froze. Tobias fell to the floor.
LaRoux burst from the throng. Like a rabid animal, he ran from the tavern and
disappeared into the blackness. Men ran out into the street, but LaRoux was
nowhere in sight.

“We’ll
go after him!”  Cursing, Clarke started out the door of the tavern.

“He’s
gone, Andy. We won’t find him now.” Sam Evans pulled him back by the shoulders
with his great hands.

Clarke
blinked his eyes against the darkness then hurried back. He knelt beside
Tobias. The old man lay shaken on the edge of death.

“I’m
not ready to die.” Blood was in his mouth, and forming in the corners of his
lips.

Mrs.
Carlton tore the edge of her petticoat and pressed the cloth against the wound.
She was a middle-aged widow, with hair streaked silver, robust and as good at
business as any man in town. “He’ll never step foot in my establishment again,
Tobias. I’ll guarantee you that, my dear.”

Tobias
looked up into her eyes. “I can’t believe he got me.”

“Now
you lie still and don’t talk anymore. Some lads have gone for the doctor. He’ll
have you fixed up in no time.”