Thorns in Eden and the Everlasting Mountains (18 page)

“Aye,
they were facin’ bankruptcy. Those Parliament men put a tax on tea.”

“Yes
I heard. It isn’t right.” Nash sat in the middle of the bench. “But you men
don’t drink tea, do you?”

“No
but our wives do.” A toothless man seated across from him slapped the table and
roared with laughter.

Tobias
blinked. “Well those patriots up in Boston gave them a real nice tea party in
the harbor lettin’ them know what they think of their tax.”

In
a more serious tone, the men talked about the angry southern Regulators, the disputes
that brewed between Whigs and Tories, how debates rose to a fevered pitch at
local town meetings. Marylanders remained in the thick, while crops prospered
and the tobacco trade increased.

“Don’t
think, Jack, that it’s been nothing but peace and plenty around here. That’s not
all that’s been on our minds.” Andrew Clarke surrounded his mug with callused hands,
and his angry eyes looked at Nash.

Nash
set down his mug of ale. “What has happened to make you so livid, Andy?”

 “The
British are bribing the Indians with the promise of guns and food.” Clarke
leaned forward. “We’ve had Indians attacking innocent folk west of here and
their heading down this way. We’ll be fighting two wars. Word has it some of
the chiefs want to kill every white east of the Allegheny.”

While
he spoke, the tavern door opened and through it stepped a dark figure of a man.
Jean François LaRoux tossed a dozen or more otter and beaver pelts onto the counter.
He looked at the tavern keeper with a cruel twitching of his lips, his bronze
face hard as clay, his eyes black pools.

“I’d
have no dealings with the likes of him, Jack,” said Tobias. 

“It’s
LaRoux, isn’t it? I’ve heard of this man.”

“Aye,
who hasn’t?”

LaRoux
was a man without boundaries, without an allegiance, or a nation of his own. He
was his own ruler and refused to believe a higher authority existed. He did as
he wished, took what he wanted, and went were he liked.

Tobias
wiped a trickle of sweat off his temple.

“The
man makes you uneasy. Why fear him? He blows into town with his furs and leaves.”

Picking
up his pelts, LaRoux stalked out of the tavern. The tension in the room went
with him.

Clarke
scooted forward. “Word has it there was a massacre near the Ohio. Maybe LaRoux
was involved. That’s why the Indians are on the warpath.”

Deeply
troubled by this news, Nash shoved his plate aside. “What have you heard?”

Tobias
clenched his mug. “Nine of Logan’s family was murdered including his wife and
his sister who was with child, and Shikellimus.”

Nash’s
heart trembled. “Logan’s father? Mellana and Koonay?”

“Aye.
You don’t want to hear what they did to Koonay. Only the wickedest of men could
have done what they did.”

A
chill ran through Nash. He knew these people, had known the warmth of their
hospitality and their peaceful ways. He had heard Shikellimus speak to the
elders, words so wise men were left in awe and reflective. Chief Logan was a
man of peace. But with his heart and spirit broken, he would revenge his
people. 

“Shikellimus
was a peaceful man.” Nash frowned, the news unbelievable to him. “Mellana and
Koonay were among the gentlest women. Why would anyone want to hurt them?”

“The
blame has been put on Michael Cresap.” Clarke’s mouth twisted. “He may have
held the Indians in some contempt, but to butcher women and children and an old
man? Cresap is a wiser man I believe.”

 “They
should have been left alone.” Nash lifted his eyes and looked around the room.
“Can any of us blame Logan for wanting revenge? He loved his family as much as
any man. How many of us could stand such a loss as his?”

 Grim
silence followed his words. Then, among the men at his table, others spoke what
they knew as well as their minds.

“Some
of Cresap’s men have straggled back across the border and have spread the news
of the massacres.”

“Aye,
and Lord Dunmore appointed Cresap as major-general of militia.”

 “And
wants a thousand savages to serve under him in the event of rebellion.”

“Cresap
would never fight for the British once Revolution is declared.”

“He’s
a traitor and a coward!”

“He’s
been wrongly accused, Andy. It’s Greathouse that’s the guilty one.”

“Logan
and Cornstalk won’t join forces with Cresap, either way. Dunmore is out of his
mind.”

“Dunmore
is crazed alright. He’s promised twelve pounds sterling for every rebel scalp
taken by the Indians.”

“We’ll
have to wait and see how God sorts this out. The killing of women and children
will incur His wrath.”

Nash’s
blood boiled. The more the men talked, the more enraged he grew. He could not
help but picture the fear in Mellana’s eyes, hear Koonay’s screams, and Shikellimus’s
pleas for mercy. And the children—oh, what they must have suffered. And
Koonay’s unborn child—

Now
settlers were reaping what wicked men had sewn.

Nash
stood, his fist clenched. “So Dunmore sprung his trap. By this, he started a
war that will turn the Six Nations against us. If it is treason to make a
stand, then I’m guilty. We must resist these bullies who say they have a divine
right to govern us.”

The
room roared with cheers.

“We
are with you, Jack!” 

“Liberty
or death!”

Nash’s
speech was heated and the men listened intently. It was now a life for a life,
and many scalps now decorated an Indian’s belt. That night, the black horse ran
through the wilderness and made its way down the banks of the Potomac, across
the mountains into the westward frontier.

Tossing
the waiting girl a coin to pay for his ale, he picked up his hat. “I’m looking
for Joab. Do any of you know what he’s been up to?”

“He
didn’t run off, Jack,” Tobias answered.

“I wouldn’t
think so. But he isn’t at Laurel Hill.”  

“Mrs.
Cottonwood has him. She figured he’d be idle out there at Laurel Hill and so
asked him to work for her until you’d come back. We heard she promised to pay
him for his labor, seein’ he’s a free man.”

 “Did
she now? Well, I’ll make sure she does.” Nash put on his hat and stepped out
the door.

*  *  *

After
making a round of visits to friends, all of which greeted him home with the
warmest of welcomes, Nash made his way to the Cottonwood house moments before
sundown. Shadowy silhouettes pranced like marionettes behind the white muslin
curtains of an upstairs window. Bounding up the stairs, he knocked upon the
black oaken door and waited.

When
it opened, Mrs. Cottonwood raised her arms and let out a shriek. She howled so
loud, Nash feared she would rouse the neighbors. But they were accustomed to
her screeching, for she performed it whenever company arrived.

‘Beware,
Mrs. Cottonwood’, they warned. ‘You’re like the boy that cried wolf.’

She
was a widow in her middle years, her hair steel gray in tight curls about a
face that resembled a full moon.

“Bless
my soul! ‘Tis you, Mr. Nash! Come home have you?” Her voice sounded like she
was stricken with a nasal cold. “And so far a journey. I did not expect to see
you. My, the night is a balmy one, and how the stars do shine. Do come inside.”

With
her mobcap on her head, and her tiny almond-shaped eyes blinking, she snatched
Nash by the sleeve and pulled him in. Hurriedly, and with a catch of her
breath, she shut the door.

“I’ve
come for Joab, ma’am.” Nash turned his hat in his hands, anxious to get this
over with.

“Oh,
I see.” Pausing a moment, she wiped her nose with a handkerchief.  “I figured
as much.”

Nash
smiled politely. “I’m sorry, but this is not a social call.” He followed her
into the parlor. “I’ve only been home a day.”

“A
day, Mr. Nash?” She turned on her heels and leaned toward him. “And weary to
the bone from your journey, I imagine. And you’ve brought no wife home with you
from England?”

“As
you see, I am empty handed.”

She
laughed. “It would be better if you found a nice girl from here, like my
Drusilla.” With a heave, Mrs. Cottonwood sat in her best chair. “Do be seated,
sir.”

“Forgive
me, but I cannot stay. Where is Joab?”

“He
has been a great help to me. I shall compensate you for his time.”

“There’s
no need, Mrs. Cottonwood. Joab is a free man. Compensate him.”

“Yes,
I forgot. Since my husband passed on the work, well you know. A woman cannot do
such tasks. The girls spend their time doing needlework and practicing music,
as girls should. Good breeding is so important.” She sniffed.

“Of
course.”

“I
hope you’re not angry with me, Mr. Nash. I may have spared you a lot of
bother.”

“How
so, ma’am?”  He grew irritated by the wait and shifted on his feet.

“Joab
might have left the county,” Mrs. Cottonwood explained.

 “I
arrive home and my house is a shambles. If he had stayed, I doubt I would have
found it so.”

“I’m
sorry to hear your house is not up to your expectations. There was nothing for
him to do out there alone. You know what they say?”

“No,
Mrs. Cottonwood, I do not.”

She
squared her shoulders, bobbing her head like a hen. “An idle mind is the devil’s
workshop. I think that applies to idle bodies as well. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I
would, Mrs. Cottonwood. But Joab is neither idle in body or mind.”

“He
willingly accepted my offer.”

“It
was his to make.”

“Then
you should not be bothered.”

“You
must forgive me. Now if you do not mind, I would like to see him. It’s late and
I have a ways to go.”

Bustling
from her chair, she went to the open doorway. “Joab!” she called, in a singsong
voice. “Mr. Nash is come home. He wishes to see you.”

In
haste Joab appeared. The degree of his imprisonment at the Cottonwood home was
more than Nash expected. Joab’s attire consisted of a black waistcoat, beige
breeches, polished shoes and buckles, and a white cravat. When he entered the
room and saw his friend, he broke into a wide smile.

“Mr.
John!” Jubilant, Joab put out his hand and they shook. “I’m sure glad you’re
home!”

“You’ve
put on a few pounds.” Nash smacked Joab on the side.

“Mrs.
Cottonwood has a good cook, Mr. John. I’m afraid she’s spoiled me—the cook I
mean.”

“You
plan to continue your employment here?”

 “Well,
it was a temporary thing, until you was to come back.”

“Go
get your belongings, my friend, if you wish to come home.”

“I’ll
be right back.” Joab swiftly left the room.

“Leave
the good clothes, Joab,” Mrs. Cottonwood called after him. She turned to Nash.
“Such things cost a pretty penny these days, Mr. Nash. If I get another man to
help, I shall need them.”

Mrs.
Cottonwood followed the pair to the front door. With a cautious glance, she
scanned the neighborhood to see if anyone watched. “Shall we see you in church
on Sunday?” she asked.

Nash
nodded his reply and lifted his hat.

“My
Drusilla is near sixteen now. I expect you’ll see her there and perhaps pay us
a call later.”

In
an upper story of the house, curtains over a front window were pulled back. Out
popped the heads of the Cottonwood girls. Nash lifted his eyes. The three
younger, Lila, Penelope, and Felicia, were fair-haired and skinny, the marks of
adolescence showing on their faces. Drusilla, the eldest, was clear of skin and
bonny, with brown hair to her waist.

Nash
walked out into the street. No one could compete with Rebecah. If he were to
give his affections to a girl like Drusilla, it would be half-hearted. He pushed
back his hat with a sigh and looked over at Joab striding beside him.

“Those
clothes suit you much better.”

“More
comfortable, that’s for sure.” Joab slapped on his hat.

“Please,
tell me nothing has happened to Meteor, that you stabled him in town.”

“I
did, Mr. John,” Joab answered. “Mrs. Cottonwood let me keep him here. He’s around
the corner.”

The
moment Nash stepped inside the cramped stable Meteor lifted his head and
nickered. While he patted the horse’s neck and spoke to him, Meteor nudged
against Nash.

“He’s
sure pleased to see you, Mr. John.”

“I’m
pleased to see him. Thanks for taking good care of him, my friend.”

“As
if he were my own chil’, Mr. John,” Joab replied with a big smile. “I love that
horse.”

“You
wish to ride him?”

“No,
sir. He and I are good together walkin’.”

Nash
climbed into the saddle and walked Meteor alongside Joab. Market Street was
quiet, candles in the windows, a few folks sitting in their rockers on front
porches.

He felt
the coolness of night sink in and tried not to think of war. But his heart
spoke a painful verse, and he considered the girl he loved.

He
imagined she most likely was married to Lanley by now. If Lanley had been a man
half worthy of her, he would have been happy for Rebecah. But for her to be that
conceited blue blood’s wife made his mouth twitch with anger. Memories were
hard to shake and he tried to suppress the pain that gripped him.

“Tell
me what you did while I was away, Joab.” He looked down from atop his horse,
wanting to divert his thoughts. “Perhaps you’ve a few stories to tell?”

For
the next mile, Joab spoke of the Indian and mountain cat, of the storms that
had come over the hills, and of Mrs. Cottonwood and her girls.

“You’re
a free man, Joab. Why did you go there?”

“I’ve
a hard time sayin’ no to folks needing’ help.” Joab walked on with a whistle,
with his hands in his pockets. 

They
came to a bend in the road, an open place where moonlight bathed the land misty
blue. Joab moved closer and touched the side of Nash’s horse.