Thorns in Eden and the Everlasting Mountains (46 page)

On
they traveled along the Potomac’s north branch, the mountains shadowing the
water in lush splendor. Another river they met, the Savage, as it tumbled and
spilled into the Potomac. They crossed to the other side, walked through great
forests, rested beside gurgling streams with rocky waterfalls, where the trees
were enormous.

Over a crest, they
came to an Indian village. The women looked down at the lodges, the campfires,
the children romping in the grass, the Indian women cooking over a fire.  Rebecah
wanted to die then and there. Then she felt her baby move and set her hand
across the tiny imprint of a foot. Tears sprang into her eyes.

Maddie put her arm
around her. “It’ll be alright. At least we are together.”

Theresa laid her
head on Maddie’s shoulder and together the women, clinging to each other, made
their way toward the village.

I must be
strong. I mustn’t let them see me cry.

 “I
have found their trail,” Black Hawk said, as he walked through the fog of the
forest. He studied the prints along the ground, the disturbed leaves and broken
twigs. He moved to the right, paused a few yards off from the others.

“They
traveled west along the ridge.” 

“Nash
and Clarke, you think? Or the women?” asked Maldowney.

“Both.
Many signs here.” He hovered his hand over the path. He bounded ahead and the
men followed. Black Hawk froze and raised his hand to halt. He turned.

“Turn
away if you cannot look upon the face of a dead man.”

“Who
is it?” asked Dr. Pierce.

“It
is Mr. Clarke.”

Maldowney
moved ahead. Dr. Pierce and Mr. Boyd followed a few yards back. And that is
when they saw the body of Andrew Clark, his bloody head hanging low upon his
breast, his hands clenched at his sides. 

 “Ah,
poor Mr. Clarke.” Mr. Boyd looked away.

Robert
Maldowney sunk to his knees beside the lifeless heap of misery.  Black Hawk
crouched beside him.

“Warriors
have done this. My brother fought them here.”  Black Hawk pointed with his hand
northward. “If they had killed him, he too would be here dead.”

“Then
Nash has been taken prisoner?” Maldowney said.

Black
Hawk nodded. “They will kill him.”

Maldowney
straightened out Andrew Clark’s limbs and crossed his hands over his chest. After
he spoke a prayer, they left him lying in the forest with the leaves of past
autumns to cover him.

* * *

Logan
listened to Angry Bear’s discourse. He’d captured a white man, triumphed taking
the scalp of another. Logan raised his hand. Angry Bear acquiesced. 

When
Logan turned, Nash raised his bruised face. He looked over at the war chief
through the strands of sweaty hair hanging over his eyes. His breath heaved.
Sweat beaded upon his forehead and trickled down his face, mingling with the
blood upon his lips.

He
could not attempt to approach him, for he was still bound hand and foot, but
free from the threat of being burned alive—at least for now. Logan loved him
once as a son, even now spared him. But would he give in to Angry Bear’s
demands?

His
body was weak from hunger and torture, and yet he stood before the sachem. The
old man walked around Nash, paused and made a mystic gesture with his hand. Over
his chest hung a gruesome deerskin thong of bones and painted red figures. The
scalplocks of his enemies hung from his belt. His face, painted white, appeared
ghost-like. He shook a rattle of turtle shell and weaved around Nash. 

Nash
did not move when Angry Bear leaned near.

“He
has powerful medicine,” Angry Bear said with a curled lip. “The words he speaks,
he speaks to all white men.”

“I
don’t fear his magic,” Nash said. “God, who made earth and sky and sea, guards
me against his evil words.” 

Around
Nash crowded warriors. From the woods they came, from the rocky crags
overlooking the river. They crouched on the ground around Nash. Most were young
men edgy for battle. There were twenty-three of them, including Angry Bear,
twenty-three lithe braves, stripped to their belts, oiled with the fat of the
bear, their hair dressed in eagle feathers, painted for war. 

Angry
Bear fisted Nash’s musket. A fresh scalp hung from his beaded belt, no doubt
the scalp of a man who had once been Nash’s friend. Clarke had fought beside
Nash, drank ale with him, broke bread at his table, laughed with him, debated
him.  The gruesome sight caused his soul to lurch. Grief and rage dug its
talons deep.

When
he thought of Rebecah and her plight, and what might lie ahead for her, his
heart groaned. 

Sunlight
fell upon Chief Logan, and it bothered Nash to see how old he now appeared. He
had gone from peacemaker to war chief in the prime of his life. Cruelty shone
in his eyes, not the warm and wise look that Nash had known before.

Logan
motioned to Nash to speak. 

“Many
moons ago we smoked the peace pipe in your lodge, you gave me the honor of an
Indian name, you welcomed me with open arms.”

“I
did those things. You are still a son to me.”

Nash
sighed. “I am thankful you still love me as your own, and since I have taken a
wife, she is also part of your family. I seek her among the tribes. ”

Logan’s
impassive stare etched with interest. “You have taken a wife?”

“Yes.”

“Why
do you seek her among the tribes?”

“She
and two other women were taken. You know the pain of losing those you love.
Hear my cause and let me go free to find her. She carries my child. Let the
peace that we’ve had between us remain strong.”

Logan’s
troubled eyes peered at Nash through the smoke. He turned to the men around
him. “The white man seeks his wife among our people. How many of our women have
been taken? How many children murdered and left for the wolves and vultures?”

“There
have been many,” Nash said. “Must my wife and unborn child be counted among
them? If you let me live, I will
find her, and I
will speak of the mercy of Logan and of his wisdom.”

“I have heard of three women taken from the valley
near the great river by a man not of the Nations, not of the English.”

Stunned, Nash stared at Logan.
LaRoux!
Although
he knew, he asked, “Who is this man?”

“Jean LaRoux—your enemy and mine.”

“Then let me hunt him down. Let me save her and the
others.”

Logan swung his hand forward. “Let him go.”

Angry Bear stood. With ruthless eyes, he drew his
tomahawk and threw down a challenge. “Let us see how brave this man is you call
a son. Let him prove he is a better warrior than I.”

Angry
Bear let out a loud cry, raised the tomahawk above his head. He ran toward Nash.
Nash caught him by his wrist. Locked together, the two men struggled against
each other with barred teeth. Nash wrestled Angry Bear to the ground, pressed
his arm toward the hot coals. The tomahawk fell from Angry Bear’s hand when the
blistering heat touched his flesh.

The warriors cheered them on, and Logan watched in
silence. With his knee against Angry Bear’s chest, Nash grabbed the tomahawk
and raised it. He could have buried the blade into Angry Bear’s skull, but instead
he struck it into the ground an inch from Angry Bear’s temple. 

“I’m
no murderer,” Nash shouted at the stunned warrior. “You wanted my death and you
killed my friend. I have spared yours. You’re indebted to me the remainder of
your life.”

Angry
Bear drew himself up, squaring his shoulders. He nodded, acknowledging his
defeat. Nash turned to Logan. Logan held his arm out to Nash. 

“My
soul is grieved for your family, my brother,” Nash said, taking hold of the
chief’s arm, looking into Logan’s eyes.

“I
know your words are true and from your heart.” Logan swept his hand toward the
forest. “Go and find her.”

And
so, Nash went into the forest, his musket, powder horn, and shot restored to
him, his eyes fixed west toward the everlasting mountains in search of the
woman he loved and the man he meant to kill.

Though
Jean LaRoux had led this band of renegades through the frontier to rob, steal,
and murder, he was not their leader in Grey Wolf’s village. His face was new to
them, but word of him had reached their ears many moons ago, before the flowers
of the woods had bloomed and the locusts twilled in the heat of day.

Grey
Wolf was chief, and he welcomed Rebecah and Theresa into his lodge, to dwell
with his wives, Open Flower and White Fawn. Theresa was terrified of him, but
Rebecah showed no fear and much respect. Grey Wolf did not wish them as wives
for he laughed he had enough and plenty of children to feed. They were the
slaves of his wives, and work they did from before the sun rose to long into
the night.  

The
day they were brought to the village was a frightening one. The people gathered
around a fire. The women sang and then were silent. It was a time of testing to
see which among the women were the strongest. Thrust into the dirt beside the
fire, their arms went around each other, until they were yanked apart.

Rebecah
sat upon her knees. Her hopes of being treated with kindness were dashed by
what she witnessed, and what was to come. She stared in horror as Theresa was
dragged closer to the fire, her hands and feet bound with strips of leather
cords. Listening to Theresa weep, she shook with fear for her friend’s life.

She
dug her hands into the dust. Her eyes remained fixed upon Theresa. The panic in
the young girl’s eyes was unbearable to see. Rebecah pleaded with Grey Wolf,
but his face never turned to hers. She looked back at Theresa and stretched out
her hand.

“Be
strong,” she said. “They will not kill you. Be strong.”

A
whimper escaped Theresa’s lips. All color drained from her face. “Do not come
near,” she managed to say through her tears. “Look away.”

Four
braves and a squaw surrounded Theresa. The braves held her down. The squaw bent
over and scratched Theresa’s limbs with a stick covered in thorns. Theresa
cried. Thin trickles of blood ran along her legs into the dirt.

Her
heart pounding, Rebecah struggled to stand, being great with child. Her mind
raced and reeled. She called out to Grey Wolf. LaRoux stood beside him with his
arms folded.

“You
must stop this! She is but a girl,” she pleaded. “She has done no harm to any
of you.”

Grey
Wolf lifted his head and made a motion with his hands to the people.

When
it was over, Rebecah and Maddie washed Theresa’s wounds and applied the healing
salve an Indian woman had supplied them. Maddie cradled her in her arms and
hummed.

From
that first day, every bone in Rebecah’s body ached.  She worked in the garden
and washed clothing in the stream. She stood in the morning light at the edge
of the water, her hand against the small of her back. LaRoux sat on a rock
watching her.

 “You
should not be a slave. It would be wise to have a husband.”

“I
have a husband.”

“After
the child comes, I may want you.”

“Then
I pray God takes me before that time.”

LaRoux
plunged his knife into the ground. “And if God does not?”

She
paused and pushed back her hair. LaRoux stood. He lifted her up by her arms.
Pressing her against him, she trembled. His fierce eyes searched hers. 

“I
would have had you that day on the road if it had not been for the man in the
trees.”

Enraged,
she shook herself free from his grip. She went to lift her basket to go but he
yanked her back.

“You
would have warmed to me, Rebecah. I would not have needed to force you after
the first kiss.” Then he pressed his lips hard against hers. Disgusted, she
shoved him back and he laughed. “It is too much for you?”

She
wiped her mouth. “You disgust me.”

LaRoux
took a step forward. “I am weary of this game,” he shouted.

She
hurried away with tearful eyes. Sunlight poured through the trees and warmed
her face. But her hands, oh how cold they felt, and the sick feeling from that
forced kiss would never leave her.

Jack.
Oh, Jack, my love. Find me.

Beside
Grey Wolf’s lodge a kettle hung on crossed sticks simmering over a fire. Open
Flower and White Fawn sat on the ground beside it and smiled to Rebecah.
Neither looked as poetic as their names. Their white deerskin clothing was
striking and they kept their hair in a single braid, but life in the wild had
marred their faces.

“Good
day, English woman,” Open Flower said.

“Good
day,” she said and paused.

White
Fawn made a graceful gesture with her hand.  “Come, sit with us.”

“I’ve
much work to do.”

“Mother
has worked enough. You must rest now.”

Rebecah
nodded in assent. “I’ll go and rest, but inside the lodge.” 

Maddie
was tending a child who had fallen and scraped his knees. She had become a
medicine woman, and her skills kept her from being traded to another village.

“I
shall go mad if I must stay her another day,” Rebecah said, and explained what
LaRoux had done.

“You
must tell Gray Wolf,” said Theresa. “Perhaps he will send LaRoux out of the
village.” 

“Gray
Wolf would not understand.”

Maddie
shook her head. “No matter where I go, there’s trouble. But we’ll cross over
Jordan in the good Lord’s time.”

Rebecah
looked at the old woman with wide eyes.  “What are you saying, dear Maddie? Are
we to die in this place?”

“We’ll
live. You’ll see.”

“But
LaRoux—”

“Now
don’t you worry about LaRoux.  He’ll not last long, an evil man like that. You
got to think about your babe.”