Beyond the Valley, page 19
“Please, God. Do not take her.”
Ilene drew in a breath and slowly released it. Sarah caught up her hand and spoke words of entreaty. “You mustn’t go, Ilene. Stay, my darling. Do not leave. Do not go.”
With Ilene’s hand in hers, with her agonizing gaze upon the face of an angel-child from which the light of life slowly faded, Sarah poured out her anguish. She shook with crying and the candle in the room guttered. A whirl of smoke rose from the charred wick.
Fiona put her arms around Sarah, but she refused to be led away.
29
Alex stripped off his deer hide leggings and shirt and stepped into a pool of water up to his waist in the Savage River. As he lowered himself, the current rushed over his shoulders, soothed his tired body. He felt the summer grit wash off his skin.
He’d given all he could for the Glorious Cause, moving north from Fort Frederick to Fort Pitt with the patriots, all this time the memory of Sarah lingering in his mind. His love for her had not lessened, but remained a constant flame.
After eleven months, he requested release from his duty and, having been granted a departure, rode out into the wilderness upon Charger in search of her. Having gone as far as the river through the Alleghenies, he began the long trek home with no success. He had to see his nieces and aunt, to insure all was well with them, and hire another tracker, this time one who knew the woods and the Indians far better than Riddance and had a reputation for finding runaways and captives.
After changing into his military garb that he had kept folded in his saddlebag, he rode east along the National Pike, paused at a tavern for a hearty meal and a good night’s sleep in a real bed, then headed for Annapolis in the morning. An hour before nightfall, he saw the town on the horizon bathed in golden dusk. Spurring Charger, he galloped toward it, and the horse whinnied when his hooves crossed over from the dirt road to cobblestones. He rode past red brick buildings, houses, and shops. Along the streets, lamps glowed and people tipped their hats as he rode past. Servants carried baskets of goods homeward, and merchants were closing their shops for the day.
Dismounting in front of his aunt’s house, he bounded up the steps to the door and eagerly knocked. A middle-aged woman opened up. Her large ebony eyes glanced him over.
“Yes, sir?” She set her hands demurely over her starched apron.
“Is Mrs. Burnsetter at home? I am her nephew, Dr. Hutton.”
Before he could step inside, his aunt came into view. She raised her brows, which skimmed the edge of her white mobcap. “Who is it, Millie?”
He smiled. Millie replied, “He says he is your nephew, ma’am.”
“Forgive my tattered appearance, Aunt,” he said, dragging off his slouch hat. “I did not expect you to know me on first glance.”
“My Lord, it is Alex!” She opened her arms, pulled him inside, and embraced him. With a happy sigh, she stood back. “Millie, take my nephew’s hat.” She turned to her maid, finger on her chin. “Have we anything left from this evening’s supper?”
“We got ham and taters—cornbread biscuits with lots of butter and honey.”
Aunt Moria slapped her hands together with joy. “Wonderful! Fix my nephew a heaping plate, and brew some hot coffee. Oh, and what about pie? He must have some pie.”
“We got half an apple pie.”
Alex could not help but smile at the attention given to his appetite. “Well, Millie, you best bring it on. I am famished and will not give up the chance to try a woman’s cooking. It’s been some time since I had home fare.”
“Oh, poor Alex,” cooed his aunt. She poked his ribs and frowned. “Millie’s pie is just what you need to put a bit of weight on your bones.”
Smiling, Millie threw back her shoulders and put her hands on her hips. “How could I have forgotten that pie? I make the best in all of Maryland, sir. Why even General Lafayette has had my pie. Said they had nothin’ like it in all of France.”
“When did you ever serve General Lafayette pie, Millie?” said Aunt Moria.
Millie leaned forward. “When he came through Annapolis in secret.”
“I believe it is a fable.”
“No, it is true, ma’am.”
“Someone told you he was General Lafayette and had a French accent and you believed him.”
Millie shrugged. “Don’t matter. He sure did like my pie though—whoever he was.” With a skip in her step, she returned to the kitchen.
Aunt Moria set her hands on Alex’s shoulders. “You have had a rough time of it, I see. Your hair has a bit of gray in it now. I’d wager you shall be happy to have a warm bath and sleep in a feather bed.” She went to the bottom of the staircase. “Girls, your uncle has come home!”
Down the stairs barreled Rose and Lily. They threw their arms around his legs, and he crouched down to embrace them. “Look at you girls! You are both a little taller since I last saw you. And so pretty, too.”
Rose looked up at him with wide eyes. “Did you bring us anything?”
“It is rude to ask such a question, Rose,” said Aunt Moria. “Your brave uncle has been away doctoring the patriots.”
“Uncle Alex, did you?” asked Lily.
“But of course. I could not come home empty-handed.” He reached inside his waistcoat pocket, took out two coins, and dropped one into each palm. Their eyes lit up and they danced about the room holding up their shiny coppers to the light.
Alex laughed. “We will go to a shop tomorrow and you can spend those.”
Aunt Moria threw her arms around the girls to keep them from spinning about like a pair of tops. “Calm down, my dears.” Immediately they obeyed her, but the excitement lingered in their eyes and wiggled through their limbs. “Now go upstairs and put your coins away for safekeeping. Your uncle is weary from his journey and needs supper.”
Off they dashed, thanking him as they climbed the staircase. Lily turned and looked at him with questioning eyes. “Uncle Alex?”
“Yes, Lily. What is it?”
“Where did the lady with the red hair go? I have missed her and you said you would bring her home with you.” Her little pout cut him to the quick.
Amazed that she would even remember his words, he gave Lily a sad smile. “I know I did. I have looked for her. But I do not know where she has gone. Someday I will find her.”
That night, when he had finished two plates of supper and a hunk of Millie’s pie, Alex sat with his aunt in the parlor with his boots up. The girls were tucked in bed, and a gentle breeze blew through the window. It smelled of saltwater and cool, misty air. Absent were the scent of hemlocks and rotting leaves, the songs of woodland birds, and the cries of the bucks, which he had come to know in the wilderness. His time spent searching for Sarah had taken the city out of him, and he yearned to return to his brother’s house in Virginia where at least he could farm the land, set up a practice, and live away from the bustle of people.
Moria looked up from the pair of pale yellow mitts she was knitting. “What are you thinking about, Alex? You look far away.”
He stretched his arms behind his head. “What I always think of.”
“Sarah?”
“I cannot help it. My soul is tied to hers.”
The expression on Aunt Moria’s face was one of deep concern. “I liked her, I admit. I could tell she was a good person and one who did not deserve her lot in life. You must have traveled far in search of her. Was it a hardship?”
“I will not complain. But out there, I saw and heard things I never had before.”
“I worried over you. Some nights I could hardly sleep a wink.”
“Why? There was no danger for you to fret over.”
“You are trying to comfort me. I thought of the Indians . . . the war.”
“As long as I had something to offer the Indians, they were kind. I helped their sick.”
“And the British?”
“I had no confrontations with any redcoats that mattered.”
“And no word of Sarah?”
“An old squaw told me she had seen her, that she went into the forest and was never heard from again.”
“Oh, poor girl. How could she survive such an ordeal?”
“I have prayed she found people. I am going back to look for her.”
“So soon, Alex?”
“The longer I wait, the worse my chances are. I will stay here a few days.” He patted her hand and stood, then kissed his aunt’s cheek. “I am tired. Good night, Aunt.”
She touched his arm. “God’s will be done, Alex. I shall pray for Sarah this night, and for you, that God guides your path to her.”
30
Two days later, at the break of dawn, Alex rose and pulled on his buckskin jacket and leggings. His moccasin boots reached his knees, tied with four-inch thrums and decorated with blue and red beadwork. His first night home, Millie brushed down his regimental blue coat and hung it in the wardrobe. His beige breeches and linen shirt were folded in the drawer, and his black riding boots sat on the floor beside the dresser.
Over his shoulder he slung his powder horn and bullet pouch, and then slipped his knife into the clout pocket. He picked up his musket, and before walking out the door, caught his reflection in the old, mottled mirror beside it.
He’d changed so much. His hair fell to his shoulders, a touch of silver near his temples. No longer did he appear the finely dressed physician with a silk cravat at his throat. Instead he had been shaped like a piece of clay, conformed to the task he’d been called to. Some would have said he was out of his mind for struggling on to find such a girl. But he knew if he did not, he would be awash with regret the rest of his life.
Without making a sound, he stepped out into the hallway, and walked past the room where his nieces slept. His heart grew tender at leaving them again, and he hesitated a moment, set his musket against the wall, and slipped inside. The girls were sound asleep, with dawn coming through the window and alighting upon the curls of their hair, and he bent down and kissed their foreheads. Rose did not stir, but Lily’s eyes blinked open.
“I must go away again,” he whispered. “Be good for Aunt Moria. Tell Rose I love her as I love you and I shall return.”
“Where are you going?” she calmly asked. Lily was always the levelheaded one, but ever curious. If Rose had awakened, she would have clung to him and cried.
“To find Sarah and bring her home.”
“Oh, good.” She smiled. “You promise to come back?”
“Nothing shall keep me away. Now go back to sleep.” He tucked the covers closer to her chin and she shut her eyes. Then he slipped out and crept by his aunt’s room down to the lower level of the house. He smelled coffee and cooking, heard the quick patter of feet come up behind him.
“You ain’t leaving without breakfast, Dr. Hutton.” A hand touched his shoulder.
He turned and fixed his eyes on a worried brow. “I am sorry, Millie. But I cannot spare the time.”
“I knew you would say that. So I packed this sack for you. There are biscuits and jerky in it.” For a moment she stared at him with her great, glistening eyes. “I have heard the wilderness is a fierce place. I’ll worry about you, and be praying every night to the dear Lord that He protects you.”
A grateful smile tugged the corner of his mouth. “Thank you, Millie. I have survived these past years. No need to worry. But I do covet your prayers and those of my aunt’s.”
“Alex, you are leaving without saying good-bye?” Aunt Moria called from the top of the staircase. The hem of her long silk robe made a soft swishing sound as she hurried down the stairs.
“I hated to wake you, Aunt Moria. It’s so early.”
“Why? You know I cannot let you go without an embrace from me.”
He went to her, and when she took the last step, he put his arms around her. “Please do not worry.”
“I cannot help it. Come back as soon as you can with your bride.” On tiptoe, she leaned up and kissed his cheek. She rubbed his jaw and smiled. “I am bound to buy you a new razor for when you return. Godspeed, Alex.”
Without another word, he nodded, then went out the front door into the morning haze and climbed onto Charger’s back. The restless horse stomped its front hooves and paced. He turned the horse and rode south, urging Charger to a gallop. To find a tracker, he needed to head away from the city and villages, into the countryside along the river where trappers were bound to be. The riverbanks were abundant with beaver and otter and the selling of furs was brisk at the trading posts.
The day grew excessively hot. Alex paused to let Charger drink from a stream. He dismounted and filled his canteen, then splashed water over his face and head. By dusk the sky turned magenta and sapphire along the horizon. Swallows darted above the darkening treetops in search of insects, and crickets chirped in the tall grasses.
Along the dusty road stood a log tavern with broad mullioned windows and a smoky chimney. A number of horses were hitched outside, swishing their tails to shoo off the bottle flies. A sign above the door read The Eagle Ale House.
Alex looped Charger’s reins over the split rail post and went inside. The light coming through the windows sparkled with dust motes. Tin lanterns hung from blackened beams over heavy oak tables and benches where men sat with tankards of ale and pewter plates heaped with food.
The tavern keeper greeted him. “Good evening, sir. Thirsty?”
Alex drew off his hat. “Do you know where I might find a tracker in these parts?”
One man heard his question and stood. “If it’s a tracker you need, sir, then search no longer.” He slapped his hand to his chest and bowed short. “Christopher Cread at your service.”
Cread’s eyes, dark as the tobacco in his pouch, gleamed in the lantern light. Deep lines fanned out to his temples. His hair was long, streaked gray and oaken brown.
“May we talk business, Mr. Cread?” Alex moved to a table near the window.
“If you think it worth my time, why sure.”
Grabbing his mug of ale, Cread strolled over to the table, his rifle set in the hollow of his left arm. He was dressed in beaded buckskins and a coonskin cap, whose feathery tail fell over his shoulder and blended with his beard.
“Well, sir,” he said, scratching his beard. “You look to be a man born to the wilderness and should be skilled enough to hunt elk and deer. What do you need someone like me for?”
“I have been searching for someone—a long time.”
Cread sat down and leaned back against the bench. “Oh. Captured by the Indians was she?”
Alex, astonished that Cread surmised it was a woman, nodded. “Aye. I hired a man to find her, but he would go no further than Fort Frederick.”
“Why not?” Cread asked, eyeing Alex with frank curiosity.
“Winter. And he thought it would be in vain. He proved right. I tried to find her but had no success.”
“Why, I would have found her within six months. That tracker led you down the wrong path. It takes a lifetime of experience to know the wilderness. Where’d he take you—exactly?”
“Up the Potomac on the Virginia side. She had been taken to a cabin owned by a trapper.”
“Indentured or kidnapped?”
“Indentured. But before that, kidnapped from England.”
Cread let out a low whistle and shook his head. “A bad business. What happened after you found this cabin?”
“She was gone—the cabin burned to the ground. The man was dead, and another woman. Tracks showed it was Indians.”
“Shawnee, I suppose. What next?”
“I went on to Fort Frederick, then Fort Pitt. When the war was over, I tried to find her on my own. But I am no tracker.”
Setting his arm across the table, Cread leaned in. “What are you then?”
“A patriot and a physician.”
Cread slapped his knee and laughed. “Who would’ve thought? A doctor, dressed like a backwoodsman, tripping through the woods in search of a girl. You must be crazed with love to go to those lengths.”
Affronted, Alex felt the blood rush to his face. He gritted his teeth and said, “You mock me, Cread? I will have none of you then.” Refusing the tin of ale the tavern maid set down, he stood to leave.
Cread put out his hand. “Sit back down. I meant nothing by it.”
“I am easily offended when it comes to that kind of comment, Cread.”
“Sorry. Truly I am.” Cread held his hand out for Alex to shake. And when he did so, Cread looked more serious.
“You learnt nothin’ the whole time out there?”
Alex slowly resumed his seat. “I found an Indian village of old men, women, and children.”
“And what did they tell you?”
“They said an Indian named Black Fox had a woman with red hair, that she escaped and he and another brave went after her. They were never seen again.”
Cread squinted. “And where was this camp?”
“Along the Youghiogheny.”
“Well, they do move around. Most likely they ain’t there now, but west of the Ohio. I doubt they could have told you any more than they did. I bet she headed east to the Potomac and those warriors caught up with her.”
Alex’s gut twisted. “Then she is dead you think?” he said with quiet sadness.
“They’d punish her, not kill her. But if those warriors did not return to their village, they’re no more. That much I can say with certainty.”
“Can I rely on you?”
“Ask any man here what they’ve heard of Christopher Cread, and they’ll give you two words—honesty and talent. I can find just about anything.”
“Even a girl who was taken captive years ago?”
“I’m sure of it. I helped a settler find his wife and two children six months ago. They were in bad shape, but he was glad to have them back. Part of it has to do with reading the woods, things left behind. What did you pay the last man?”
“Four gold pieces.”
“Well, I don’t want money. I thrive on the experience alone. Pay me in food and supplies, and I’ll do it.”
“You are a man of honor, if money is not your goal.”
