For Love or Loyalty: The MacGregor Legacy | Book 1 (29 page)

Dear Mother and Malcolm,

We are so grateful you are both well. We hope you will soon find Carleen. Graham is much better, but he no longer talks or jokes as he used to. I miss his energy and wit. He spends much of his time sitting on a boulder overlooking a nearby loch.

Mother, you will be pleased to know Graham started attending church again on the last Sabbath.

Once you find Carleen, let us know where you settle and we shall join you directly. I think a change of scenery and having our family reunited will cheer Graham. I think he blames himself for failing to protect Mither and Carleen, as well as for not preventing William’s death. I have tried to tell him it is not his fault, but he is about as stubborn as Malcolm.

We are eager to receive your next letter.

With much love,

Thomas

Chapter 16

16

B
y the third day, Malcolm was convinced most of the scenery looked all the same: thick woods, bushes, and fields of wild weeds and flowers. By midday they came upon several small huts that mirrored log cabins without windows. Small children with black hair and dark brown skin played nearby. Their clothes were tan leather and exposed more skin than they were used to seeing. They were about to meet Indians for the first time.

His mother grabbed his arm, her nails digging into his skin. At least, Lauren rested inside. He didn’t think he could survive multiple nail attacks.

“What do ye suppose they want?” she whispered.

“Well, I imagine it might be the other way around. Since we are here on their land, they might be wondering what we want.” Malcolm lowered his voice and kept a watchful eye on the people who stopped what they were doing to either watch them pass or point at them and talk in their language. He had no idea what they were saying, but he could imagine. “Let us hope they are friendly.”

They followed the dirt road that led right into the center of the village. Indians gathered around them, making their progression difficult. Malcolm didn’t want to hurt anyone so he slowed the horse until they came to a complete stop.

Bursts of conversations floated through the air. Malcolm smiled and nodded, hoping they interpreted his expression and behavior as friendly. More Indians crowded around their wagon. Malcolm exchanged a bewildered look with his mother. It was impossible to continue.

“Does anyone speak English?” Malcolm asked. No one responded. Disappointment stirred his gut with unease. How was he to communicate that they had to move on without offending them?

A group of six men came toward the wagon. They were different from the rest with more adornments around their necks and heads. Gray streaks blended in their black hair. They walked with an air of authority as the crowd parted for them. Malcolm tensed. What did this mean?

A piercing cry ripped through the air. It came from the back of the wagon, and the woman’s voice was all too familiar. Fear ignited in Malcolm’s gut.

“Lauren?”

Lauren stared at the half-clad Indian peering in the back of the covered wagon. She pulled her blanket up to her chin in spite of the heat and scooted as far away as possible. What was he doing here and what did he want?

“Lauren, are ye all right?” Malcolm’s voice carried through the front flap.

Just hearing him calmed her nerves. “There is an Indian watching me!”

“Aye, try not to panic, but they have surrounded us.” This time she recognized the worry in Malcolm’s tone. “Why do ye not come up here so I can see ye?”

A second dark head appeared, a wide grin upon his face. Lauren searched for a weapon, but everything was secured in the trunk. They would be over the side and upon her before she could manage to get one of the lids open.

“Another one is here,” she said, afraid to take her eyes off them long enough to crawl up front with Malcolm and Iona.

“Come on, Lauren.” Malcolm reached a strong arm through the flap. Lauren clutched him, rose up on her knees, and tried to maneuver onto the bench without hurting her ribs. Once Lauren was settled beside Iona, her heart lurched, making it hard to breathe. An entire tribe surrounded them with six formidable men standing in front. Their arms were crossed over their chests, and they had somber expressions. If they intended no harm, would it hurt them to offer a smile?

“Lord, please have mercy on us,” Lauren whispered.

“I see ye’re on speaking terms with God again.” Malcolm rubbed his chin as he continued to stare at their company.

How could he tease her at a moment like this? “I have always been on speaking terms with God, especially now.” Lauren wrung her hands together and took a deep breath to ease her trembling. She feared her ribs would soon start aching again. “God and I just had a few weeks of silence. ’Tis now over.”

“I am Speaking Arrow,” one of the men in front said. “Have you come to see us, or are you passing through?”

“Ye speak English?” Malcolm wiped his brow, a sigh of relief escaping his lips.

“Some.” The man nodded. “We are Cherokee.”

“We are passing through to Wilmington, North Carolina. We are peaceful.”

“We did not want to scare your woman.” The man pointed at Lauren. “Look for armed men inside.”

“Oh, he is not—”

Malcolm reached across his mother and clamped a hand on her arm in a firm grip to silence her. “I thank ye. Will we be allowed to pass through?”

“Yes, you eat with us. We make sorry to woman. We have deer meat.” He pointed toward a circle of their log cabin homes where smoke drifted into the air. “Come, eat. We trade.”

“All right.” Malcolm shrugged and set the brake. He assisted his mother and Lauren down, keeping a firm grip on the hands of each woman as the crowd closed in on them.

“Move back!” Speaking Arrow commanded, and people dispersed, creating a wide circle of space. Malcolm couldn’t remember meeting a man who commanded so much respect. Their obedience to him was instant. As he marveled, Speaking Arrow led him through their village to where the deer meat cooked over a fire. The animal’s skin hung to dry, stretched and tied to two poles. He hoped they would be sitting in a location where the image would not be in view. Lauren and his mother needed nourishment, and such a display might make their stomachs queasy.

Speaking Arrow sat at an angle and crossed his legs, motioning for them to join him. Others sat nearby, and the smoke drifted up into the breeze in the other direction.

“A man came with black book and spoke from it. Good Book. You have black book?” Speaking Arrow lifted an eyebrow in Malcolm’s
direction.

“Do ye know the title? What did he call it?” Malcolm searched his mind for what he could mean. There were many black books in print. How could he possibly know which one? He searched his mind but came up blank. Since he couldn’t read, Malcolm wasn’t very familiar with book titles.

“He called it Good Book,” Speaking Arrow said, blinking at him as if that explained it.

Malcolm glanced in Lauren’s direction for help.

“I believe he is referring to the Bible. So many people call it the Good Book.” Lauren met Speaking Arrow’s gaze. “I have it in the wagon. Would ye like for me to read it?”

“Yes.” He nodded, his somber expression breaking into a smile. Wrinkles framed his dark eyes as excitement lit them. This was most unexpected. She couldn’t deny God’s sense of humor. If the Lord wanted her to read the Bible again, this was one way to do it.

She started to rise, but Malcolm touched her shoulder. “I will get it.”

Knowing he would find it in the trunk she shared with his mother, Lauren settled back down. She adjusted her skirts around her legs and stared at the grass.

Speaking Arrow spoke to the others in their native tongue. A few moments later, Malcolm returned with her Bible. The others stopped talking and gathered around as if waiting for a bedtime story.

Lauren flipped to the Book of Esther and began reading. They listened with more enthusiasm than she would have ever imagined. She wondered if they understood the story.

By the time she finished, a woman served them hot pieces of deer meat. Lauren didn’t mind not having a plate. She bit into the meat and chewed, reveling at the grilled taste.

“I trade for Good Book,” Speaking Arrow said.

Lauren coughed, nearly choking on her food. While she had been angry at God, she wasn’t ready to give up her Bible, especially since it was a gift from Malcolm. “Can ye read it?”

“Read?” Speaking Arrow repeated with a blank look. “You teach me.”

Lauren’s mouth dropped open, but words evaded her. Would God be displeased with her if she refused to trade her only Bible? Was this a punishment for how she had behaved these past few weeks?

“We can trade the Bible, but we will not be able to teach ye to read it,” Malcolm said. “We must leave on the morrow, an’ it will take more time.”

“The Great Spirit will bring someone to teach us.”

His faith pierced her heart as she contemplated her own shallow thoughts. How could she deny this man God’s written word? What kind of witness would she be?

The morning sun shone bright, promising another day of burning heat, the kind that suffocated the breath out of a man. Rob wiped his brow and paused as the birds tweeted and sang in the distant woods. Crates of ripe strawberries filled the wagon. They had a decent size crop, something to bring in a little cash while they waited on the big tobacco crop in the fall. Soon their peach trees would be ready.

He counted the rows and stacks and marked his log. If he counted and logged the numbers at the same time rather than relying on his memory the way Fairbanks did, their inventory was more accurate.

He had given a trusted slave Fairbanks’s previous position. The man could count well and learned his sums and subtraction quicker than Rob anticipated. With a little instruction, Rob would soon have him reading and could turn over the books to him. In exchange for such loyalty and dependability, Rob gave him permission to move his family into Fairbanks’s old house, and to fix it up as he liked.

At first, his father tried to fight him on all the improvements, but he realized that Rob refused to budge on his decisions. He had the choice of disinheriting Rob or waiting until his demise for Rob to implement the changes. In the end, his father decided to step out of the way and lead a life of leisure.

“Mastah Rob!” Henry ran toward him. “There is a group o’ men comin’ up the drive an’ I’s need help to see to all their horses.”

“How many? Do they look familiar? ” Rob wondered if a group of his father’s political friends could be making an unannounced visit.

“Naw,” Young Henry shook his head. “They’s look different. Like that fella that came here with Miz Lauren awhile back. There is ’bout eight to ten o’ them.”

“Malcolm MacGregor?”

“Yes, sir. But it ain’t ’im.”

“Get a couple of men to help you from the strawberry field,” Rob said, pointing to the right where others were still filling crates. “I will go to the main house to wash up and greet them.”

“Yes, sir.” Henry hurried away.

Rob closed the ink bottle and grabbed his quill. After a quick inspection, he ensured the tip was dry and so were the ledger pages before he closed them. He walked to the house. At least, he wasn’t out in the far fields and could make it in decent time. They would only have to wait a short while in the parlor.

He entered the side door and took the stairs two at a time leading to the second-level chambers. By the time he washed and put on a fresh shirt, George knocked on his door.

“Come in,” Rob called.

The doorknob twisted, and in walked George. “Sir, a Mr. Duncan Campbell of Argyll, Scotland, has arrived. He has seven other men with him. I put them in the parlor.”

“Very good, George. I will be down directly.” Alone again, Rob took a deep breath and stared into the looking glass. He appeared more confident than he felt. Lauren’s father had finally arrived. How much should he tell the man? What if Lauren didn’t want him to know everything? Could she have written and already told him what she wanted him to know? Time would tell.