Thorns in Eden and the Everlasting Mountains (49 page)

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They
passed through thick forests along an old Indian hunting trail. The trail was
narrow and indiscernible, having been forgotten through the ages. All that day
they traveled along it. When night fell, they slept in a grove of hemlocks with
inches thick pine needles to cushion the hard ground.

By
noon the following day, now closer to the headwaters of the Potomac, to the
branch of the Savage, Black Hawk discovered a sign. Nash hurried forward when Black
Hawk raised his hand. A piece of blue cloth fluttered from a wild rosebush. Nash
pulled it off and closed his hand over it.  

They
proceeded a mile or more, close to the ridge with the river below. They were to
cross it, when Nash caught sight of something moving along the other side. He hurried
to the edge of the ridge and lay on his belly. The others followed his lead.

“There’s
the rogue,” he said in a low voice.

Maldowney
pushed back his red shock of hair into his hat. “May the Lord render swift
judgment upon his soul if it cannot be saved.”

“Yes,
and allow me to be His instrument.”

“Do
you see the women?” Maldowney asked.

“No.”
Nash set his teeth. “I’ll kill the cursed blackguard.”

Nash
pushed his musket butt hard against his shoulder and squeezed the trigger.
LaRoux’s hand gripped his arm and he stumbled forward. He rolled part way down
the hillside, and then scurried like a frightened rabbit back into the brush. 

With
no time to lose, Nash ran after him. He wanted to find LaRoux and kill him. A
flesh wound was not enough.

He
thrashed across the river to the other side and climbed the bank. In the
forest, Nash looked through the trees, up the ridge. No sign. Just then, an
Indian sprang from behind a tree. Nash dodged the attack and swung his musket. 

The
Indian, a youth, fell backward. He threw his hands over his head and began to
chant, shaking and with his eyes rolling back.

“Black
Hawk!” shouted Nash. “Either tell me what this savage means, or…”

“He
prays his death song,” Black Hawk answered.  “He is crazy in the head.”

“Tell
him I won’t kill him.”

Black
Hawk spoke to the boy and the boy, ceasing his song, gazed up at him. Nash
pulled him to his feet.

“Ask
him where the women LaRoux captured are.”

Black
Hawk spoke calmly. The boy listened, and the wild emotions that had been
driving him settled. 

Black
Hawk asked him, “What name have your fathers given you.”

 “Soaring
Eagle.”

“Where
is your village?”

 “West,
upriver.”

“Why
were you running, little brother?”

The
boy swallowed and his expression turned to grief.  “Beyond those trees my
father lies dead. He is Grey Wolf, a great warrior. LaRoux led him from the
trail of peace, from joining our brothers in war. LaRoux is angry the woman he
wanted slipped away with two others. When we returned to the village, we left
with LaRoux to find them. Then my father wanted to turn back, and so LaRoux tried
to kill him.”

Black
Hawk turned to Nash and in English said, “They are alive. And they escaped. We
are close to them, my brother.”

Mist
rose from the dark hollows of the mountains. Along an Indian hunting path that
had been long forgotten and overtaken with moss and dead leaves, the women
emerged hungry and tired. Rebecah walked ahead of the others. Her boots were
worn through and her clothing torn from branches and thorns. But the steady
walking, the fresh water and air, the sustaining roots and blackberries had
strengthened her.

Abby,
as she was called, thrived at her breast and was a peaceful child. Yet Rebecah
knew they needed more to eat, else her milk would cease and her baby die.

Weariness
lay in Maddie’s eyes. Now thin as a reed, she labored with each step. Theresa
now looked a wild thing, her face gaunt and dirty, her hair hanging in a mass
of twists.

They
passed along a wooded foothill. Below, between two precipitous mountains lay a
glade hidden by great trees of pine, walnut, and oak, where sunlight filtered
through the breaks like silver stems.

“What
is it?” asked Theresa in a quiet voice.

“I
see smoke rising above that line of trees,” said Rebecah. “It’s faint and a
distance away, but it means someone is there.”

“We
must avoid it,” said Theresa alarmed. “It could be an Indian camp.”

“No,
for they set fires in the late evening. It could be Jack.”

Rebecah
slowed her steps. Theresa and Maddie stood beside her sighing with relief to
see a cabin. She felt this too. But as she looked at the flowers of the field,
thinking how much more lovely they were arrayed than any silken-dressed ladies
at a ball, the reality touched her that she and her friends were no longer
alone.

Arm
in arm the women emerged from the woods. A shorthaired dog on the porch perked
up its ears, stood, and bayed. Rebecah’s babe cried.

From
the cabin door, a woman put her hand above her eyes.

“There’s
a woman. Oh, she will help us.”

The
woman dropped her hand. She shouted for her man who, upon hearing his wife’s
panicked voice, came running around the corner with musket in hand.

Holding
Maddie between them, Rebecah and Theresa moved on hoping this secluded couple
would not turn them away. Maddie collapsed in their arms. The baby continued to
cry, and would not be comforted. The dog ran ahead of its master and barked.

“Please,”
Rebecah said with heaving breath. “We were captured by Indians and have
escaped. Please, give us shelter until we can go on.”

“Come
up to the cabin,” said the woman. “You’ve no reason to fear here. Dear Lord, you’ve
an infant with you.”

“My
daughter Abigail.”

“Have
you milk to give her?”

“I
do. Though I believe not for much longer.”

“’Tis
easily remedied. We have food aplenty here, and I’ve a child I’m nursing. What a
miracle that you and your wee one survived.”

The
woman’s husband put up his hand, and the women halted in their steps. Rebecah’s
heart sunk. The man’s stature did not trouble her; it was the look in his eyes.
He was bearded, and wore the buckskins so prevalent to the backwoodsman. In his
appearance, as well as his lady’s, he had not starved, nor had he feasted. His
face was lined by a hard life. The gray eyes showed suspicion and caution.

“How
do I know you haven’t been followed? If you have, the Indians will be coming
down upon us. I cannot risk it.”

He
turned away. His wife called him back in an alarming tone. “Are you the man I married?
Or are you some cold-hearted creature I do not know?”

Turning
his head, he looked at her.

Wide-eyed,
Rebecah stood forward. “You mean to turn us away? We are three women in
distress, and I with an infant.”

“Only
a bounder would dare!” Theresa began, but Rebecah put her hand on Theresa’s
shoulder to calm her. The man frowned.

 Abigail
continued to cry and Rebecah cradled her. “If you will not take us in, at least
give us food and water.”

“I
would not deny you that,” he said.

“But
you would deny us protection.”

“I
have to think of my family.”

“That
is honorable indeed. Nevertheless, as a man and a Christian, is it not also in
your power to help us? For I’m certain we haven’t been followed. We’ve traveled
over these mountains for days without seeing another human being. If indeed you
fear reprisal, then give us something to carry and we will be on our way,
though we are tired and our Maddie is ill.”

 The
man paused and looked at her with a steady yet contemplating light in his eyes.
By it, the certainty he was not a cold man by nature could be seen. He lifted
his eyes and looked toward the woods. There was no movement within it, no
Indian slipping through the brush.

“I
believe you,” he said. “I’ve seen one Indian in these parts, and that was six
months back. He was an old fellow either lost or looking for a place to die.”

“Then
we are beyond their reach?” Theresa asked.

“Aye,
that may be. Come inside. My Liddy will give you something to eat.”

Hours
later, after eating a feast of venison stew, the women were hopeful. Next to
Liddy was her own babe’s cradle, and she rocked him as she talked with Rebecah.

“It
is quiet in this place.” Rebecah laid Abby in a basket the woman had provided,
and folded a blanket over her. “I imagine it is a good life, but there is
danger living so far from a settlement or town. Why did you come so far?”

“To
get away from those who wished to keep us apart,” Liddy said. “It was the only
way for us to be happy.”

“Your
family did not agree with your choice of a husband?”

“They
were against it. We could have gone north, but they would have followed us. My
father is an unforgiving man and would have gone to any length to keep me from
the man I wanted.”

“I
have loved like you.”

Liddy
turned her eyes to Rebecah. “Then you know what it’s like to suffer for love’s
sake?”

“Indeed
I have known it well, yet the joys of love I have known to be greater.”

“I
believe there are many women like us in the world.”

“More
than we may know.”

“But
I think some of them to be cowards, for they forfeit true love for money and a
life of comfort.”

“You
are brave indeed, Liddy.”

 “I was a lady once.” Her son whimpered and she lifted
him from the cradle. “My family has lived in Baltimore for more than a hundred
years. The house is a large manor, and the plantation is prosperous. My father
raises horses, and has not lacked a single day of his life. My mother is kind
but cared not for my happiness in love. She cared not for her own, so why
should she have wished anything else for me? She sat silent while my father
commanded me to marry where I did not love.”

“Why
did they reject your choice?”

“My
father supports the King. William has revolutionary ideas.”

“Ah,
my husband faced the same problem while in England. That is where we met. How
did you get away?”

 “William
came to my window during the dead of night.
He
pulled me out and we stood together beneath the stars in each other’s arms. How
could we be parted? So we escaped and came here…Tell me your story.
It
must’ve been frightening to have been taken by the savages.”

Rebecah
told her all that had happened, from the day of her father’s death to her
leaving England to come to the man she loved. She then said, “I fear for my
husband.”

Morning
sunlight drenched the trees of the forest. A night passed beneath a roof,
refreshed by food and drink, and a warm blanket. Theresa cared for the woman
who once nursed her back to health. Maddie was resigned to whatever was God’s
will.

“I’ll
stay or go,” she said. “It don’t matter to me. I’m old and weary and destined
for Heaven.”

Standing
outside on the porch, Rebecah looked toward the river. She wondered if she
should risk a washing. The grime on her body irritated her, and she felt ill
from it.

She
looked back inside the cabin and told Liddy, “I wish to go down to the water’s
edge and bathe.”

“It’s
what I do on warm days,” Liddy said. “The water will do you good if you find
the right pool. You go on. There are plenty of us here to watch your Abby for a
while.”

She
followed a narrow path. Birds stirred in the trees. Dragonflies rested upon wet
stones, and a single cabbage moth fluttered over the dying flower of a pink
lady slipper.

She
listened to the breeze and the gurgle of water moving over the rocks. She
glanced up, hearing the caw of a kingfisher. He stood upon a branch, blue-gray
in the light, a minnow in the claw of his foot. He whipped it up to his beak
and swallowed it, and rising from the branch, flew away. 

Awed,
she drew off her dress and careworn shoes, and stepped into the water. She
scrubbed her limbs, bent over letting the water rush through her hair, through
her tattered chemise. Tears came up into her eyes and she began to weep. She splashed
the water over her face, and stood there trembling. The torments she had been
through surfaced and overflowed.

She
walked up the bank and sat beneath a willow.

“God,”
she whispered, “I will go on believing he is searching for me. Until I reach
home, I’ll go on believing. But you must make me strong in my faith, gird me up
so I do not stumble.”

Suddenly
her skin prickled. Something near. Something dark and dangerous. A shadow fell over
her as she lay in the grass. It blocked out the sunlight that touched her
eyelids. It forced away the warmth of the sun on her skin. She gasped. Her eyes
flew open and she saw a man standing over her, the thrums of his buckskins
quivering in the breeze.

Scrambling
away, her feet pushing against the earth, her hands reached for something to
protect her. Rebecah tried to cry out, but could not.

 As
she moved back the man followed, taking deliberate steps until the trunk of a
tree prevented Rebecah from going on. She twisted to the right and tried to
stand, but he held her wrist.

Then
he spoke to her. “Did you think I would not search for you? Did you think I
would not find you and take you back to where you belong?”

Rebecah
struggled against the man who held her wrists. With swift cruelty, he clasped
his dirty hand over her mouth before she could cry out. In horror, her eyes
fixed upon his dark ones, and filled up.

Even
though her heart was pounding, Rebecah worked her mind, and knew her choices
were few. Either struggle and risk LaRoux’s knife, or submit and live. If she
were to alarm the others, they could fall prey to him. She could not bear to
think of her precious infant dead because of her. The Monroes had shown a great
deal of kindness. They too had a child. Then there was Maddie and Theresa. No,
she would not resist him. She would do whatever he demanded in order to save
the lives of the others.