Thorns in Eden and the Everlasting Mountains (48 page)

Holding each
other’s hands, they slipped into the forest, entering it with hearts beating,
fearful of discovery as they began their long journey home.

They hurried as
fast as they could through the dense forests, crossing streams and climbing
steep hills. They rested when too tired to go on, and when dawn rose, they
stood on a crest and looked out at the vast mountain range before them.

So far to go.
She then wondered if they would make it home, or
perish somewhere in the mountains. Maddie’s hand grasped hers. Theresa put her
arm around her shoulder.

“Look at that,” Maddie sighed. “Ain’t God wondrous?” She pointed to a
silver thread in the distance. “There is the river.”

The wind brushed Rebecah’s face and she drew in a deep breath. “The
river will lead us home.”

They walked on, pushed until nightfall. Too dark to go on, they huddled
together in a grove of hemlock until sunrise. 

As
the hours came and went, the sun moved across the sky to the zenith. Rebecah
felt the first grips of birth pains in the late afternoon, mild at first, then
growing more intense.

Jack
will find us. He’ll come through the woods and run to me, lift me in his arms
and take me home.

Maddie
knelt beside her. “I had five babies in my young days. All sold to other
masters by the time they were six years old. But I ain’t gonna cry over that
now, Miss Rebecah. I’m gonna help you birth yours.”

“I’m
afraid, Maddie.”

“The
Lord made you a strong woman.” She checked the baby. “You’ll do alright. Your baby’s
head is down.”

“That
is good?” Rebecah panted.

“Very
good. But you mustn’t cry out. For all your might, you got to be as quiet as
you can.”

Rebecah’s
hands clung to Maddie and Theresa like a vice. She drew up her legs and bore
down. She thought how awful it was to be giving birth in the wilds. She thought
how any moment the child would slide forth, and she’d carry the babe nestled
against her breast through the woods, across streams, over the mountains, with
the hopes that her milk would be enough, that her strength would return.

She
pushed again, and thought her teeth would shatter with clenching them.

“You’re
doing fine. I see the head now,” said Maddie. “Push again, Miss Rebecah.”

Bearing
down, Rebecah bent forward, her hands bracing her knees. A moment later urgency
was replaced with joy.

“You
have a baby girl, Miss Rebecah.” Maddie’s voice rang with joyous laughter along
with Theresa’s as she wrapped the child in torn cloth from her petticoat.

Rebecah
reached for her newborn. “Is she alright?”

Maddie
laid the bundle in the bend of Rebecah’s arm.  Tears fell from her eyes as she
gazed at the black eyes, the sweet bow mouth, and the tiny fingers.  “Indeed
she is.”

“But
her cry is so weak.” Tears sprang into Rebecah’s eyes.

“Now
don’t you worry, she’s beautiful. She looks like you.”

With
her heart swelling, Rebecah looked down into the sweet face, moved aside the
cloth from her baby’s cheek and smiled. “I shall call her Abigail.”

“The
prettiest babe I ever did see.”

“I
think so too, Maddie. Ah, her hands are so tiny.”

“And
you did so well. You’ll have your strength back in no time.”

“I
couldn’t have done it without your help. Thank you.”

“No
need for thanks. Just promise me you’ll let me watch this babe grow, let me
help take care of her.”

“You
will be Aunt Maddie to her and stay at Laurel Hill forever. Oh, but she is
pretty. Poor child—to be born in the wilderness.”

Theresa
touched Rebecah’s shoulder. “It was better to have had her here than in the
village. One of Grey Wolf’s wives could have claimed your baby.”

“You’re
right, Theresa. She is mine, and no one can take her from me.”

Theresa
sighed. “This was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. I’ll never forget this
day for as long as I shall live.” 

 “We
shall guard her well and bring her home,” Rebecah said. “Jack and I have a
little girl. Now I know we shall make it back.” 

She
rested the remainder of the day, but at sunrise, the women rose from their beds
of moss and leaves and made their way along the woodland path toward the east.

Rebecah
carried the infant near her breast. She envisioned each step brought her closer
to home. She looked up through the trees to the blue sky. Her stomach ached with
hunger, but her heart was full.

They
stopped beside a stream and drank. Kneeling upon the mossy brink, Rebecah
cupped her hand and dripped it into the water. The water tasted sweet and
cold. 

Theresa
knelt beside her. “Are you tired, Rebecah? We can stop if you want to.”

“A
little farther I think.” The babe lifted a fist and cooed. “There is still much
daylight left.”

“Do
you think they will follow us?”

“I
don’t think so. We’ve gone quite a distance.”

“I’m
glad. I feared our captors more than the dangers of the wild, especially
LaRoux.”

“So
did I. Now we mustn’t fear, for he is far from us and we will never see him again.
We must hasten on, and make as many miles behind us as we can.”

“We
are close to the river,” Theresa said, as they walked on. She paused and lifted
her hand. “Look there—a break in the forest and a field before us.”

The
three women emerged out of the pine grove to a dell of grass and purple
thistles. Goldfinches fluttered from the stems to the downy heads. Bumblebees
darted here and there, and hovered. A meadowlark sang, and a great hill rose
beyond the field, destitute of trees. 

Through
the field they went, their attire catching the course caresses of the thistles
and tall grass. They climbed the hill and reached the summit. Breathless the
three women stood silent, looking at the wide vista of row upon row of
mountains. The wind fanned their faces. It smelled of pine and wildflowers.

“Have
we missed the trail?” Theresa said.

“I
hope not.” Rebecah raised her hand above her eyes.

“The
mountains look as if they go on forever.”

Rebecah
turned to her friend. “Come, we must cross them.”

Theresa
moaned. “I’m weary.”

“We
all are. But we cannot give up.”

Rebecah grabbed
Theresa’s hand, and together with Maddie, they plunged into the heart of the
mountain range toward the river with hope in their hearts.

By
mid-morning, the sky grew heavy with clouds, the forest dark and brooding. The
birds hushed. Anxious and frightened, Rebecah stared at the ominous sky. A
storm was coming.

Her
babe whimpered and she held her closer. The sucking calmed the infant. She
loved her tiny Abby beyond what mortal words could describe, and the desire to
protect her was as strong as a mother lion’s. Where could they go for shelter? She
searched the surroundings for a cave, an overhang of rocks, anything that would
provide protection from the elements. She turned to Maddie and Theresa, her
hair floating away from her face.

“We
must find a safe place before the storm comes,” she called over the howl of the
wind.  “We haven’t much time.”

The
others nodded and moved ahead at an arm’s length.

Thunder
rolled in the distance, like a giant wave of the sea moving to shore, then
crashing upon the world. The forest was thick here, laced with heavy vines that
hung from the elms. The sky grew pitch. Rebecah shivered. The thunder was
fierce, the lightning blinding. 
 

They
were blessed and did not doubt they were watched over. They found in the broken
limestone a cave large enough for them all. 

“Here!”
said Theresa, who first saw it. “We shall be safe enough here.”

Maddie
poked her head inside, and went in with the sturdy walking stick she carried.
“No snakes or animals,” she called back. “Though if there were animals, we
could’ve eaten them.”

“I
think I could eat anything at this point.” Theresa helped Rebecah sit next to
Maddie, and dropped beside them. Three friends, three sisters they had become
with their arms around one another.

The
cave had dry twigs and moss. Outside were cones and bark. Maddie and Theresa
gathered as much as they could. Maddie set to rubbing one stick against
another. It took some time, but soon the moss was smoking. The cave glowed with
firelight, and their shivering bodies grew warm. The storm rushed through the
forest.

“Theresa,
take my knife.” Rebecah pulled it from the sheath attached to her calve. “Fasten
it to Maddie’s stick and make a spear.” 

“Seeing
game is one thing,” Theresa said. “Killing it is another. I have never hunted
before. I don’t know how.”

“We
are hungry. One of us must find something.”

Theresa
blinked back her tears. “I’ll try.”

From
her dress, Theresa tore strips of cloth and bound the knife to the end of the
stick. It was light, sharp, and strong.  

Rebecah
was starving, and her baby needed her milk.  Maddie was growing weak from a
lack of food, and the arduous journey.  Theresa’s eyes were glazed with hunger.

Rebecah
took pity on the poor girl. “Here, you take Abigail. I can do this.”

“You’re
sure?”

“Keep
Abigail close, and if she begins to cry lend her your finger.”

With
the weapon in hand, she stepped from the mouth of the cave. She walked under
the trees, her feet sinking into layers of leaves. Her mind tossed with her
condition and plight. She was dirtier than she had ever been in her life. Her
mouth parched, and the lips her husband relished to kiss were cracked. The skin
he once caressed no longer felt silky, her hair a mass of tangles. The need to
cry overtook her, yet she pushed it back, deep, down, hidden. 

She
had to remain strong.  She could not give in.  

The
desire to laugh rose. She closed her eyes and envisioned herself a year ago, dressed
in soft linen and lace, her body perfumed and her hair shimmering. She was at
Endfield dancing with the handsome colonist that pursued her. She remembered
how she looked the day she stepped from the coach in Fredericktown. Oh, how the
men’s eyes followed her. 

The
wind pushed her back and she said aloud, “Look at me now. Look at me, God.” A
tear escaped and riveted down her cheek. 

Deer
crashed through the forest, leapt over fallen trees, disappeared into the
brush. She heard an animal cry. Her hand tightened upon the spear. She raised her
arm. The rabbit was two yards from where she stood, caught in a tangle of
bramble. She stepped slowly, silently. A lump grew in her throat. She had never
killed a thing in her life. But it had to be done. She swallowed and before the
rabbit could catch her eye, she drove the knife into its side.

Soon
the meat simmered over the fire. Rebecah felt strength returning.

“We
will make it now,” said Maddie in a soft whisper.

Theresa
laid her head in Maddie’s lap. Maddie’s hand smoothed Theresa’s hair, like a
mother would do. 

Rebecah
watched the old black woman close her eyes and settle back. She then realized Maddie
had hardly eaten a morsel and feared she was dying.

Standing
alone on the edge of a cliff made of black shale, Nash watched the sun set in
the west over the mountains.  Magenta light shone through the trees and faded
as a sky of cobalt blue descended. 

The
breeze strengthened, and he smelled the scent of rain and evergreen. His blue
eyes lifted, and he watched a flock of geese fly toward the river. His heart
was sick for his beloved. The wilderness was so vast.  How could he find her? 

Feeling
his chest tighten with anxiety, his pain deepened. He sunk to his knees. His
soul cried out for help. What could he, a mere man, do to find the lost in
these formidable mountains? There was only one who knew, and he begged his God
for guidance, for aid, for wisdom. 

“Show
us the way, Lord.”

A
hand fell over his shoulder and he turned to see Black Hawk. “Do not worry, my
brother.”

“We’ve
lost the trail, haven’t we?”

“I
shall find it again. I will watch the birds and the animals in the forest. They
will show which path to follow.” 

He
stood beside Nash with his arms folded over his chest.  The tassels of his
leggings blew in the light breeze.

“You
make it sound so easy, and for you I’m sure it is.” 

“An
Indian knows these things.”

Nash
paused and watched an eagle bank across the sky.  “What we need is a miracle.”
He kicked a stone over the edge.

“Mr.
Boyd looked not so good,” Black Hawk said.

“I’m
glad Pierce took him back to the fort. For if his daughter is dead in the
forest, and he was to find her…if I found Rebecah…”  

“My
brother mustn’t think too hard.”

Nash
got up and brushed the side of his buckskins. Maldowney drew up beside him.

“Which
way now?” he asked.

“West
toward that range along the river.”

He
searched the westward ridge. Venus stood out above the mountains, and the moon
rose above it. Black Hawk opened his arms toward the heavens. Nash took a step
back, and looked on with his heart breaking for his wife. 

Black
Hawk sang in a clear golden voice that echoed across the deep ravines and
recesses of the mountains.

Lord
of Heaven and of Earth, show us the path!

Ehu! 
Ehu!  Ehu!

Master
of Heaven and of Life, give us strength!

Ehu! 
Ehu! Ehu!

Upward
Nash gazed, and what he saw took his breath away.  The lone eagle he had seen
before flew across the face of a great cloud etched in the last silver light of
sunset. Its outstretched wings caught the wind and it flew higher. Swooping
down it screeched, and something powerful rushed into his soul. He felt her
near, smelled her perfume on the breeze, felt the strands of her hair brush
over his cheek. He heard her voice faintly, and even fainter that of a babe’s
cry. He had to find them even if it meant laying his life down, hoping Jean
LaRoux would fall into his hands.