Thorns in Eden and the Everlasting Mountains (50 page)

LaRoux
ran his eyes over her. “You’ve had your child?”

She
nodded.

“Then
you know what will happen to it if you cry out.” He removed his hand from her
mouth.

“Yes,
I know what cruelty you would show, even to a child.”

“You
will not speak again, but come with me. They will all die if you do not. It
would not be hard to do. There’s but one man and I watched him go into the
woods to hunt.”

He
touched her hair, brought a damp curl over her shoulder. Then he brought it to
his lips and kissed the silken strands. His touch frightened her, repulsed her.

A
strange light shone in LaRoux’s eyes, a light that said he believed himself
triumphant, that he had gained what he desired, and soon would conqueror her.
Rebecah looked away and stood back. LaRoux put out his hand and motioned for
her to come. It was then she noticed the blood on his jacket.

LaRoux
laughed. “Ah, you see my wound? It’s but a graze. Do you wish to know how I
came by it?”

“Why
should I?”

“You
will want to know the name of the man who did this.”

“It
is unfortunate he missed his mark.”

“You’re
sorry he did not kill me?” He drew close and grabbed her by the arm. His mouth
curved into a cruel sneer. “I tell you this. I will kill him if we meet again.
You will watch him cry like a woman and beg for his life. You will watch Nash
die.”

Her
heart slammed.
Jack!

When
he took her by the arm to lead her away, she looked back at the peaceful
dwelling on the knoll, and wondered if she would ever see the ones she
loved—her child and husband—again.

The
three men hurried on without speaking, keeping their eyes keen and their
hearing sharp. They had no time to cover the footprints they made, but made
every effort to conceal their going, by mounting great rocks and making over
them, rushing over leafy turf, and avoiding the slim, protruding branches of
the younger trees so not to break them.

Black
Hawk discovered a fresh trail. Moccasin tracks and boot tracks were evident.
Several yards ahead, Nash looked out across a glade. What he saw made his blood
run cold.

From
the shadows of the trees emerged warriors. Fringed scalplocks hung from their
leather leggings. Feathers in their hair were those belonging to the eagle and
hawk. Hatchets at their belts glinted in the sunlight. Quivers strapped on
their backs were full of arrows.

Nash
moved back with bravery rising in his heart. Through the black war paint that
crossed the Indian’s eyes, Nash recognized Angry Bear.

For
a moment, he watched the picturesque warrior. He studied the direction of the
Indian’s eyes, how he planted his feet firm and apart. The warrior’s face
appeared chiseled with that granite warlike expression that thrives in the
heart of the vengeful.

Angry
Bear’s eyes fixed upon the grove of trees. He held up his hand to his warriors
and waited. His eyes narrowed like those of a panther.

“For
though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,
for thou art with me.” Maldowney whispered the verse and drew in a breath.

“We’re
outnumbered,” said Nash.

“I’ll
go out to them, and when I do, you must hurry from here,” Black Hawk said.

Nash
yanked him back. “Are you out of your mind, my brother? They will kill you.”

Black
Hawk hurried out from the trees. Instead of raising his tomahawk and crying out
the war whoop, Angry Bear lifted his face and hand.

Nash’s
nerves were as taut as a bowman’s string. Having kept his musket aimed at Angry
Bear for several minutes, he blinked his eyes to stay focused. If the Indian
warrior raised his weapon to strike Black Hawk, Nash was prepared to cut him
down. He was ready to face the consequences, for the sake of his Indian
brother’s life. But it appeared the two men were speaking to one another with
mutual respect, and it baffled Nash. He watched Black Hawk stretch his arm over
Angry Bear’s, and they laid hands on each other’s shoulder.

“A
truce you suppose?” Maldowney said.

“It
looks that way. But I won’t trust it.”

Black
Hawk turned and walked back to where Nash and Maldowney waited.

“My
brother, you must speak with Angry Bear. He has not made war on you, and has
sworn his life is yours for sparing his. You must come and listen to him.”

“You’re
quick to trust the man. I’ve seen the hate in his eyes, and it causes me to
doubt any pledge he might make. And what about Robert? Are we to risk his life
as well?”

“He
will not break what he has sworn—and he has word of your woman.”

Maldowney
laid his hand on Nash’s shoulder. “If it’s true he brings word of Rebecah and
the women, then you must hear him out. But be vigilant. Black Hawk and I will
stand with you. Won’t we Black Hawk?” 

The
Indian nodded.

For
a minute, Nash made no answer. Then, rallying all the courage he had, he moved
out from the trees and walked toward Angry Bear. Angry Bear drew an arrow
through his hands and snapped it in half. He held out the pieces. Nash took the
broken arrow in his fist.

“I
gave my word I would not take your life. I have given you the broken arrow as a
sign there is no war between us.”

“There
are those of us who wish to live in peace. I desire it, Angry Bear.”

“I
have heard of your woman. I will tell you this because I too have a woman.”

 “What
do you know of my wife?”

“Two
women are in a cabin not far from here that escaped those who took them captive.”

Only
two?
“How do you know this?”

With
his expression impassive, the warrior pointed to a mountain that loomed over
the valley. “Over this ridge we met LaRoux’s men. It is them that say LaRoux
has taken a white woman and left her friends. They have broken their pack with
him and gone back to their people. You must follow this path along the river.
It will take you to the cabin—to the others. There is an infant there they said
is the woman’s.”

His
heart slamming in his chest, Nash fixed his eyes on Angry Bear. “We will go to
this place. Swear to me, you will not harm those who live there.”

Angry
Bear squared his shoulders and nodded.

“For
this I owe you a debt, Angry Bear.” He held out his hand. Angry Bear raised his
arm from his side and took hold of it.

Rebecah
pressed her back into the large boulder behind her, deluding herself that
somehow it would keep her safe from the unimaginable danger she was in.

LaRoux
sat around a campfire tearing pieces of the rabbit he had killed and roasted,
between his teeth. He stared at her and tossed the bones into the brush.

“Come
with me,” he said, standing over her.

“I’m
weary of walking.”

“Get
up. There’s a brook at the bottom of the hill. I’ll take you there to drink and
to wash.”

She
must obey him, or else he would force her. The hill was easy to descend, and
below it, the stream flowed through the forest floor of dead leaves. Rebecah
got on her knees, cupped her hand and drank. She washed her face and dried it
with her ragged sleeve.

She
turned to go back up the hill, but as she moved, LaRoux grasped her wrist from
behind. The strength by which he held her was gentle, yet with the unyielding
hold of an iron shackle.

Looking
back, she caught sight of a band of bronze encircling his forearm. Sunlight hit
it. Its similarity to the one Black Hawk wore was striking. Below it, she saw
the place where her husband’s bullet had grazed him. She tried to pull free,
but could not match his strength.

“Let
your gaze be for me.”

She
frowned. “I’ll have none of you.”

“You
must decide to either have me or be the wife of an Indian.”

“I’ll
never be persuaded any other way, for I know you for what you are.”

“And
what am I?” he said drawing closer.

“A
thief and a murderer. A kidnapper.”

“I’ll
not deny it. But there are worse sins.”

“You
have taken me away from my child.”

“You’ll
forget. You’ll have others.”

“I
shall not forget. Do you expect me to love you when you’ve taken me from my
baby and brought so much pain to my life?”

LaRoux
released her hand. “You
will
forget.”

Rebecah
shook her head. “There is one thing you cannot take from me, Monsieur LaRoux—my
memories. I wonder. What was it that made you the kind of man you are? Why do
you hate so much?”

His
face twitched. She had hit a nerve.

“Hate
keeps me alive. Hate causes my blood to rush through my veins. Hate triumphs
over my enemies.”

For
a moment, she felt sorry for him. How sad it was for a man to live his life
prone to hate and opposed to love.

“Hate
brings a man to an early grave, alone, friendless, without another human being
to mourn his passing. Is that what you want?”

An
angry fire rose in his eyes and he flung her back. “I will tell you what I
want. It is you, Rebecah. But I will wait for you to come to me. I know you
will—eventually.”

 “Long
ago you gave me cause to fear you,” she said. “Now you wish me to hate you even
more?”

“I’m
not fond of that idea.”

“Let
me go.”

 “No,
you will go with me beyond the mountains where no one will find us.”

“I
will not go with you!”

 “You’ve
no choice.”

“I
do. Drive your knife into my heart. I will not go from this place.”

LaRoux
drew out his knife and threw it down. Then he crushed her to him and kissed her
lips. She would not yield. He pushed her back toward the campfire. She could
smell the meat upon the spit, the rancid smoke rising from it.

“Sit,”
he said, motioning with his hand for her to take some meat.

“I
know better than to eat anything offered to me by my captor.”

“Very
well, go hungry,” LaRoux told her. “Soon you will learn to depend on me.”

Unable
to take any more, she turned away with her hands over her face. She hurried to
the rock and fell upon her knees under it. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She
dashed them away, and drew herself up.

She
must run—run for her life—run for Abigail, for Jack her beloved—even if it
meant her life.

Her hair fell free about her shoulders, and she shoved it back from off
her face. It felt heavy and dirty. She stood. The ground was soft, but peppered
with pine needles and cones, stones and bits of wood. She stepped back, grimaced
with pain. The soles of her feet were bruised and bleeding. Not long ago she
wore satin slippers and silk stockings. Now she wore rags and there were holes
in her shoes. Her legs were bare and dirty, her dress in tatters.

She
reached up, touched skin that had once looked like ivory. Now it was burnished
by the sun. Each strand of her hair lacked the silken luster Nash loved. Her
hands were chaffed.

She
wondered if she were ever to hold her babe in her arms again. And would she
feel her husband’s arms around her? Oh, his arms. The moon climbed the sky and
she closed her eyes from the world around her and thought how warm and
protected she felt in them.

Starvation
got the best of her, and baring the pain gripping her stomach, she took some
meat from LaRoux and ate it. Darkness set it, and with it despair and loneliness.
Nothing would abate it, not even the soft, fragrant glow of the fire that
warmed her.

She
stared at the red coals. LaRoux said, “When we reach a village, I’ll see to it
you have new clothes to wear. Will that please you?”

She
did not answer.

“Take
off your shoes.”

She
glanced up at him. As his eyes bore down upon her, she slipped them off. He
took them. “I will give them back later. You won’t dare try to leave without
them.”

His
hand fastened upon her arm and pulled her up. When he leaned close, she scurried
back. Through the firelight, his face was burnt umber and ablaze with want. Fear
surged through her.

“It
would be easier if you were to give yourself freely,” LaRoux said.

“Don’t
you believe in God?”

“What
a strange question.”

“You
should fear Him. What you are about to do…what you want to do…”

He
grabbed her and pulled her against him. She pushed back, beat him with her
fists. He pushed her to the ground. She hit him with the full force of her knee.
He rolled over onto his side in agony, and she struggled onto her hands and
knees. He reached for her as she crawled away, swearing he would kill her if
she did not come back. Her heart pounded against her chest and she gasped for breath.
He lunged at her. She picked up a handful of dirt and flung it into his face.
He fell back blinded.

Time
not sparing, Rebecah got to her feet and ran. Sobbing, her hands stretched out
into the darkness, her feet stumbled over roots and twigs, stinging with pain.
LaRoux shouted behind her, swearing he would catch up to her and then she would
see who her master was.

It
was a hill she climbed. The pine needles were like thorns beneath her feet to
slip her up and cause her to fall, and cut into her soles. She dug at the earth
with her hands, pulling herself up the hill, kicking her feet out behind her
until she reached a great outcropping of rock and crawled through cast off
leaves and branches until she reached the top and swung herself over. 

The
ridge of blackened stone escalated into a great precipice overlooking the
river. She hurried across the rocks, slips of lichen and moss, tuffs of coarse
weeds growing between the cracks.

She
raised her hand to her heart, felt it beat some warning to stay true to her
flight. She must go on, lose herself in the depths of the forest.