Thorns in Eden and the Everlasting Mountains (44 page)

“I’m
glad you have acquired some books at Laurel Hill, Rebecah.”

“They
are precious indeed. What have you chosen?”

Theresa
turned to the spine and read, “Robinson Crusoe.”

“Yes,
it is one of my favorites.”

“He
was a man tested like many here in the frontier.”

“Indeed
that is true. He was in solitude until he met Friday, and he grew closer to
God, not through hearing sermons or attending church, but in his loneliness
with only a Bible to read.”

Theresa
sighed. “I can only imagine such a life. He was very ingenious in the ways of
survival. Oh, and the natives. Just reading about them gave me the shivers.”

Rapid
footsteps approached, and Joab ran inside the room. Looking panicked, he stood
before Rebecah trying to catch his breath.

“Joab,
what is it?” A chill raced through her seeing the fear in his eyes. “What is
wrong?”

“Redcoats
coming—four on foot—two on horseback.”

Theresa
rushed to the window and drew back. “He’s right.”

Rebecah
hurried beside her friend. Two officers on horseback rode side by side. The one
horse a dapple-gray that hung its head low as it ambled forward. The other
steed was taller than its companion, chestnut brown with a flowing mane and a
high step.

The
men on foot marched with an effort. Their uniforms were dirty and ragged, the
white wool breeches smeared with dirt, the coats dingy russet.

Rebecah
unbolted the door and went out on the porch. The riders drew rein. The officer
to the left drew off his hat and inclined his head in gentlemanly fashion,
while the other stared at her with guile.

 “Madam,”
said the officer, bowing in the saddle. “Captain Taylor at your service.”

 “Welcome
to Laurel Hill, Captain.” She could have choked on the word
welcome
. “I
am Mrs. Rebecah Nash.  May I present Miss Theresa Boyd?”

 
“It is an honor, ladies. I can see Miss Boyd is no doubt born to the Colonies.
But to find an English lady here in the wilderness is indeed a surprise.”

“No
more than to see you upon it, sir.” She pinched her brows a moment, wondering
how he could tell the difference between her and Theresa. Theresa had not said
a word. “Are you far from your regiment, Captain?”

“Yes,
we are far indeed, madam.  My men and I have been traveling for days.”

“You
are lost?”

 “I’ve
no cause to explain how we came to be in this part of Maryland. The exploits of
military affairs would bore you,” Taylor said. “We are quite weary, and shall
need food and lodging, at least for the night.”

“Our
barn and stable is adequate, Captain. We’ve oats and hay for your horses.” She
knew they’d take them whether she offered them or not.

He
looked over at it, shifting in the saddle, then at the officer mounted beside
him.

“Search
the grounds,” he ordered.

“Is
that necessary?” she said, watching the armed soldiers pass her. “Your men will
find nothing except hay and livestock.”

“Where
is your husband, Mrs. Nash?”

“He
is away on business, but shall return soon.”

“He
has left you here unguarded?” 

“Not
at all. Joab is an excellent shot.” She glanced at Joab. He stood near her,
musket in hand.

Taylor
laughed. “One old man is not enough to hold off a war party, madam.”

“The
warring tribes are to the west, Captain. We’ve nothing to fear here.”

 
“I hope you’re right, Mrs. Nash, especially seeing you are carrying a child.
But I must warn you, we encountered a band of warriors on the other side of the
Potomac. Eight of my men were killed. And we heard in Virginia, that several
settler families in the frontier have suffered at the hands of savages. They’re
closer than you might believe.” 

Of
course his news caused dread to rise within her. If it were true, her beloved
would be returning any time now to protect her. He would know just how close
they were.

Taylor
dismounted and proceeded up the stairs booted and spurred. “Fortunate for you
we are here. I’ll post a guard. But I shall not impose upon your privacy. We
are gentlemen, madam. The barn shall suit us.”

“How
long do you intend to stay, Captain?”

“We
will be gone in the morning. To stay longer would be unwise.”

“Indeed.
Unwise and unjust.”

* * *

That
night the stars stood out bright as winter frost, innumerable as the sands of
the sea against a coal sky. The breeze whispered and stirred through moonlit
trees. The air smelled sweet with the aroma of wild grape and ripening
blackberries. A man could taste it upon the tongue as he took in a lung-full of
air. 

By
day, the sun had heated the ground. It felt warm to the touch beneath Nash’s
blanket. The river murmured below the clefts, a peaceful cadence in a strange
world.

He
looked up at the stars, his musket in the crook of his arm. A meteor arched
across the sky and vanished, a second one followed.

He
wished the world were different. He thought of his father, and the arrows of
grief returned.

He
thought of his beloved. Rebecah was waiting. He should have been home days ago.
She must be worried. At sunrise, he would head back. Perhaps this would be the
last time he would patrol so far.

Perhaps
it was time to remain on his own land, with her beside him.

Captain
Taylor and his men were now within the barn snoring away after dining on Laurel
Hill’s venison. The sentry Taylor posted outside the house stood armed beneath
the sycamore.

Rebecah’s
eyes fluttered open after a dream left her heart beating and her soul longing
for Nash. She turned her head, reached out and touched the cold pillow beside
her. She gathered it into her arms.

Where
is he? Why has he not come home?

Days
had come and gone, long, lonely days.  Missing him, yearning to see him, to
hear his voice, to be held by him was a hard thing to carry, and the worry was
even worse. 

She
looked out the window where the moon was shining. Was he looking up at that orb
the same moment as she? She felt him, as if he were there with her.

“God,”
she whispered. “Keep Jack safe. Bring my beloved home to me.”

An
hour before dawn she could sleep no longer, and so she rose and dressed in brown
homespun, the bodice laced with faded blue ribbons. At the mirror, she lit a
candle and combed out her hair. She would let it hang free today, for he liked
it such. Soon the sun would rise, and perhaps then she would see him coming
down the mountain path toward home. 

She
slipped on her boots. Lacing them, her hair fell over her shoulders. She went
downstairs and opened the door. The sentry turned, tipped his hat, and returned
to his watch.

She
scanned the dark line of trees, the gentle slope of the mountain. The sun
peeked above the horizon, the light a thread of magenta. She put her head
against the post and waited. She must be the first thing he sees.

The
call of a woodland bird hung on the breeze, low and ominous in its murmuring.
The sound startled her. Shadows moved among the trees. The sentry brought down
his musket. He pulled back the hammer and it clicked. Captain Taylor appeared
in the doorway of the barn tucking in his shirt. 

A
form leaped from the trees and ran toward the house, doubling over, disappearing
into the darkness. Another moved and sunk to the ground.

The
sentry turned and warned her to retreat inside. Taylor, with his flintlock
pistol in hand, rushed forward with his men, and shouted to her when he saw her
terrified face. She ran back through the door. Joab and Maddie were in the
kitchen.

“What
is it Mrs.?” said Joab, placing the firebrand back in its place.

“Indians!
Lock every window and door.”

Joab
threw the bolt over the kitchen door. Maddie lifted her hands away from the
bread dough. “Lord, have mercy on us.”

“Maddie,
hurry and wake Miss Theresa.”

A
musket hung above the fireplace. Joab had it down in a flash, and with hurried
fingers swung the powder horn and shot pouch over his shoulder.

“Jack.
Oh, Jack,” Rebecah whispered. She looked out the window beside the front door. The
warriors were smeared with war paint. Beaded belts held their tomahawks, shot
and powder pouches.

One
man in particular stood out among them. He was their leader, a man of no nation
or origin, a man who warred by his own rules, and commanded with bewitching
power. He was called murderer and thief, and Rebecah had encountered him once
before. 

Jean
LaRoux raised his musket over his head.

Rebecah
threw her hands against her ears to drown out his bloodcurdling cry. She
retreated from the window. She could not block the sounds, the blasts of
flintlock and musket, the cries and war whoops.

 Dim
light came through the loopholes in the shutters. She rallied, pulled another
musket from the wall and poured gunpowder into the barrel.

Joab
turned to Rebecah. “Mrs. I see dead Redcoats out there, and the rest are running
away.”

“Cowards,”
Rebecah said, thrusting in the ramrod.

“They’re
abandoning us. No one will be here to help us.” Theresa stood in the center of
the room with Maddie beside her.  There were no tears in her eyes, no tremble
in her voice. Only she stared at the door locked in fear as footsteps pounded
up the steps, onto the porch.

Joab
shouted over his shoulder against the noise. “I’ll hold them off as long as I
can, but you women get out through the back. Run into the woods and stay low.”

The
thuds against the door chilled the blood.

“I
can’t leave you, Joab.”

“I’m
right behind you, Mrs. You got to get out now.”

Again
and again, the Indians rammed their shoulders against the door.

“Run! 
Run!”

Maddie
and Theresa reached out and holding each other, they ran to the back of the
house and cautiously went out in the misty air coming down the hills. Rebecah’s
heart pounded. Pulsing fear trembled through her. They tried to reach the cover
of the trees, tried to escape what could mean their capture or even death.

But
the Indians were upon them, pulling at them, dragging them, throwing banded
arms around them.

“Be
still or die!” shouted LaRoux, yanking Rebecah by the hair.

LaRoux
swung her around, trying to control her, but she fought back like a wildcat.
She bit his hand and he threw her down. Her hair fell over her eyes. She looked
up. He stared at her, his legs spread-eagle across her body.

Rebecah
would rather fight and die, than be taken into the wilderness by this horrid
creature. And so, she turned upon him, beating at him with her hands. She
kicked and shouted. She twisted against him. Maddie and Theresa tried to reach
her, but were prevented. Tearful they urged her to stop for fear LaRoux would
kill her. Indeed LaRoux would have when he forced her on her knees and jerked
her head back by her hair. She cried out. He pulled his knife and laid the blade
against her throat.

“Kill
me,” she whispered. “I’d rather die than go with you.” Then she remembered she
carried a life and regretted what she had said.

“Ah,
I know your face,” he said. “You were the woman in the coach. Perhaps I should
kill the others instead.” He grabbed her chin, moved her face close to his. His
breath was hot and foul.

Rebecah
winched and tears pooled in her eyes. He stared at them, for they looked like
crystal with sunlight striking them. She was beautiful even now, but he did not
let it soften him.

“No,”
she whimpered. “Please, do not hurt them. Let them go.”

LaRoux
laughed and pulled her up. “You will come with me.”

“Please.
I’m with child.”

An
Indian stood behind them, and LaRoux pushed her back against him. “Bring her,”
he ordered. He then turned and walked ahead. 

The
Indian held her up and spoke in his native tongue.  She moved on with him following
her. She glanced back at the house.

Joab.
Was he alive?

Shaken
and frightened the women walked past the dead. They had been scalped. Rebecah
hid her eyes from the gruesome scene of blood and torn flesh. Theresa threw her
hands over her eyes, cried. She called for her father and shook within the
cruel hands that held her.

Rebecah
turned to her.

“Theresa—”

Theresa
looked at Rebecah with such misery and helplessness that her breath escaped
her. Maddie’s face was one of horror and sorrow. 

“Maddie,”
and she threw out her arms to her. 

The
trees swallowed them in the misty darkness. Rebecah’s face was wet with tears,
her heart pounding as the world spun. Trembling, for the dark, for the shadowy
hemlocks encompassing her, for the hands that pushed her forward, she laid her
face against Maddie’s shoulder.

 
“Jack. Jack, my love,” she whispered against a rising wind.

Nash
stopped at the edge of a cliff overlooking the Potomac. Deep pools swirled below
and great fish moved like shadows within them. Reflecting the trees and the twilight
sky, the river murmured like a cooing mother giving life to all upon her banks.

An
eagle cried, wheeled like windblown thistle above the jagged rocks imbedded
deep into the river. The breeze lifted it higher until it reached the top of a tall
pine.

Normally
to see such a magnificent bird would have caused Nash to smile. But not today,
not after he had discovered his wife and two others had been taken by
renegades.

He
stalked down the narrow path to lower ground where the murmur of the river grew
louder. He and his men had spread out, and seeing the position of the sun, he
headed back to join Clarke and then the others further downstream.