Broken Pledge Page 16

  “Elizabeth...” Caleb tried again.

  “Oh, for pity sakes, Caleb, hush! This is my house and I’ll invite whomever I please.”

  “Your house? My dear Elizabeth...”

  “John,” Adam interrupted, “I’ve been thinking. Would you mind if Rose and I joined you in Kentucky?”

  “What?” Rose and Elizabeth demanded at the same time.

  Adam quickly reeled back, “Not now, naturally, later.”

  The glare on Rose’ face had grown as hot as her mother’s. “You have not said a word of this to me.”

  Adam calmly folded his hands in his lap. “My dear Rose, I am surrounded by governmental madness which no man could abide for a lifetime. That reminds me, I have not told anyone about the land ordinance.”

  Rose narrowed her eyes. “Well, do go on. Far be it from me to intrude on a subject so grand and fascinating as that ridiculous land ordinance.” With that, she lifted her chin, turned her head and looked away.

  John meekly glanced around. “Forgive me, cousin Rose, but I would like to hear about the land ordinance. Does it concern the Kentucky Territory?”

  “Well, yes,” Adam answered, resting his arms on the edge of the table. “The Territories are to be divided into townships six miles square. The townships are then to be divided into thirty-six parts and sold. Those who buy the aforementioned thirty-six parts, will then divide it and...”

  “Caleb,” Elizabeth interrupted, “I want to paint!”

  “Paint what? We only just whitewashed the house before the war.”

  “Our children are leaving us,” Elizabeth’s tears finally began to flow freely. “I have nothing to do.”

  “She wants to paint pictures and so do I,” Caroline said.

  “By all means then,” said Caleb.

  “Oui,” Nicholas quickly added.

  “Good,” Caroline said, handing Elizabeth a kerchief.

  He hadn’t noticed it before, but Adam suddenly realized everyone was watching him. Suspicious, he turned to his wife, “Rose, you don’t think to throw your pastry at me, do you?”

  “No, but yours somehow fell into your lap.”

  CHAPTER 8

  “He sleeps – at last,” said Uriah, pouring himself a cup of tea and then taking a seat near the warm hearth in Mahala’s small sitting room.

  “You look tired,” Caleb said, laying his book aside. “Go to bed, I’ll see to him.”

  “I will, in a little while. I tell you, brother, my greatest fear is that he’ll be off somewhere alone when the fever comes. It consumes him so. How could he survive without someone to see he takes water and food?”

  “He survived alone for seven months, and in the circumstances of war. He is more resourceful than you think.”

  “Is he? In the war, he would have endured anything to come home to Hester. Now Hester is dead and he thinks Polly is too.”

  Caleb got up, walked to the table, reached into Elizabeth’s sewing basket and pulled out a bottle of rum. “Tell me, in his fever, does he think Polly is dead?”

  “No, he cries out for her still...over and over. Then he talks to her as though she sits by him on the bed. ‘If only you were not so young,’ he says.”

  “And you,” Caleb asked, replacing his brother’s tea with a glass of rum, “do you believe she is alive?”

  “I want her to be alive so fervently, I allow myself no other thought.”

  “But it has been two years.”

  Uriah downed part of his rum and then lightly bit his lower lip. “Two years and seven months.”

  “Perhaps something happened to Laughing Rain.”

  “Sadly, I can think of no other possibility.” Uriah closed his eyes and bowed his head.

  Suddenly, Adam burst through the door in his nightshirt, one slipper on and one off. “Papa, the baby comes!”

  “Praise be,” Uriah said, quickly getting to his feet.

  But Caleb did not even bother to move. “My boy, I hardly think I am the one to tell. Wake her mother. She’s acquired considerable experience in matters such as these.”

  “Right,” Adam said, rushing away.

  Caleb took a long, deep breath and sighed, “And there’s an end to it. We’ll not see a full night sleep for months.”

  JUST BEFORE DAWN, THE nineteen-year-old Shawnee, Tecumseh, paused at the edge of the trees to listen. The forest was still. He cautiously walked his horse up the road, stopped just out of sight of the cabin, and then twisted the upper portion of his body. Putting one strong arm around her, he gently lowered a white woman of his same age to the ground.

  Moccasins were on her feet, skins were laced around her calves, she wore a dress of fringed deer leather and her auburn hair was in braids. With adoration in her eyes, the woman untied a heavy bearskin cloak and held it out to him.

  Tecumseh did not quickly take it. Instead, he tenderly touched the side of her face. “You pray?” he asked.

  “For thee and thy people always,” she answered, handing him the cloak. She smiled one last smile and then watched him turn his horse back into the forest.

  At long last—the Quaker Polly Lewis was home.

  In the brightening sky, she could hardly control her excitement as she marched around the last bend. She was about to cross the yard when she glanced down and came to an abrupt stop. “Suppose he mistakes me for an Indian? Suppose he shoots me?”

  Instantly, she darted past her favorite stump, dashed into the forest and hid behind a large fur tree. It was several long moments before she gingerly moved a branch. The house had two new rooms. Smoke drifted from an old and new chimney, more land had been cleared and in the air was the smell of... “Bacon,” she muttered, swallowing hard. Polly renewed her bravery, stepped out and started into the yard. But then another thought occurred to her. “Suppose it is not them at all? Suppose they moved on?” In a flash, she was back in the forest, but this time, her swiftness alarmed the chickens, making them flutter and squawk.

  Polly held her breath and watched the door open. The muzzle of a musket appeared first and then a man come out. “Thou has aged,” she whispered, her eyes glued to Ezekiel’s graying hair. She thought to call out, but he went back inside and closed the door.

  “Thou looks mean. I will wait until thee has eaten,” she said, finding a fallen log to sit on. She plopped herself down and folded her arms. Once more, the smell of bacon filled the air and immediately, she stood back up. “I’ve waited long enough!” Pausing only a moment to think, Polly grinned, filled her lungs with air and began to sing her father’s favorite hymn:

  “Fairest Lord Jesus, ruler of all nature,

  Oh thou of God and man the Son.

  Thee will I cherish, Thee will I....”

  His musket still in hand, Ezekiel slowly opened the door and stepped through the doorway. Soon Israel, Jesse and Melba were peeking around him, but Polly had stopped singing.

  “Polly?” Ezekiel called out. When she did not answer, he walked to the middle of the yard and slowly turned to scan the edge of the forest with his eyes.

  “Papa, don’t shoot,” Polly said finally. She waited until he turned toward her before she carefully revealed her hiding place.

  “Polly?” Ezekiel asked again. His eyes grew larger as he watched her walk toward him.

  “Thou doth not recognize me?” Polly asked, stopping just a few feet away.

  “Thee got old,” Melba said.

  “I got old, look at thee. Thou was only four when last I saw thee.”

  Suddenly, Ezekiel threw open his arms and tears began to stream down his cheeks. “Come here, daughter.”

  Hidden in the forest, Tecumseh watched as Polly embraced each member of her family. He smiled when their voices became loud with jubilation and was about to leave, when their expressions suddenly changed. Polly’s eyes filled with horror and her mouth dropped wide open. Then she abruptly spun around and ran back into the forest.

  Alarmed, Tecumseh slid off his horse and raced through the trees to
intercept her. She stumbled, caught herself and dashed on. She was about to fall again when he grabbed her arms and turned her to him. Her mouth was still open, her face was rigid and she wasn’t breathing. Tecumseh shook her shoulders. Nothing. He shook her again, only harder.

  At last, Polly drew a deep breath, tightened her fists and screeched, “Mama!”

  FOR URIAH, THE PASSING of the winter months was painfully slow. Late one afternoon, he used his jacket sleeve to clear fog off a small windowpane in Mahala’s study and peeked out. “Snow...in the middle of March,” he muttered, trying unsuccessfully to see anything but white. “We’ll never see spring.” Giving up, he went back to his seat, pulled the quilt over his legs, put on his reading glasses, opened the Bible, and began mouthing the words. Two passages later, he paused to gaze upward. “Perhaps Laughing Rain is—”

  “MacGreagor has come,” Elizabeth interrupted, opening the door wide and standing aside.

  “It is about time,” Uriah scoffed, setting the book down and quickly removing his glasses.

  MacGreagor hurried past Elizabeth and headed straight for the hearth. He pulled off his glove with his teeth and put his hand nearer the flame. Soon John, Caleb, Rose and Adam followed him in.

  “Might ye have a wee bit of rum?” MacGreagor asked.

  “We do,” Caleb answered, eyeing his wife cautiously.

  “Do we now?” Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Did you not say the one opened Saturday was the very last?”

  “Aye, but fortunately, I found another one,” said Caleb, taking two books off the shelf. He reached in and pulled out a full bottle.

  In a huff, Elizabeth sat down in a chair near the door and took little Christopher from Rose. “Fortunately indeed.”

  “Thank you, Mama, he’s been a fuss all morning,” Rose said, taking a seat between John and Adam on the davenport.

  “And where might your fine Gideon be?” MacGreagor asked.

  “You just missed him,” John answered. “He went off again this very morning.”

  MacGreagor turned around to warm his backside. “Then he’s not found his wife?”

  “Not yet,” Rose answered.

  “Pity. Did warm me heart to hear of her,” MacGreagor said, taking the glass from Caleb and quickly downing half.

  “He told you about Cesha?” John asked. “He’s hardly said a word to me.”

  “Well, did ye think he might be a bit more friendly with a Scotsman?”

  “Never mind all that,” Uriah interrupted, “did you see Thomas Rodes?”

  MacGreagor slowly emptied his glass and held it out to Caleb for more. “I did.”

  “Great glory, man, tell us,” Uriah demanded, “what did he say?”

  MacGreagor ignored the question, set his drink down, took off his heavy cloak and laid it across the wood box. “Thomas Rodes be a wealthy man.”

  “What?” Uriah asked. “How?”

  “He did’na say. He’s cleaned the place; the grounds be replanted, the silver polished, the carpets swept, the chimneys cleaned, and he’s restored all the furnishing. The place be fit from bow to stern.”

  John got up, helped himself to a glass of rum and sat back down. “He let you in then?”

  “He did, and he was right pleased ta see me.”

  “I don’t understand, isn’t he angry?” John asked.

  “Not that I could tell. He has twenty servants, if he’s a one. He wears the finest clothing in all England, and he’d not let me escape till I’d seen every room.”

  “Even the ballroom?” Rose asked, snuggling closer to Adam and smiling when he kissed the top of her head.

  “Aye,” MacGreagor answered, taking another sip of rum.

  “Oh, do tell us,” Rose pleaded.

  “Well, never in me life did I see the likes of it. There be three candelabra hanging from the ceiling...each the size of me own ship. The chairs be red velvet and there be white satin curtains all round. The curtains be tied apart where there be windows on the one hand, and glorious painting of me Scotland on the other.”

  “It’s just as I remember,” Uriah mumbled.

  With all the chairs taken, Caleb remained standing, ready to refill MacGreagor’s glass. “He freed up the inheritance somehow.”

  “That he has,” Uriah groaned.

  “Yet, there be the one room,” MacGreagor went on, “he’s not laid hand on still. ‘Tis the wee girl’s bedchamber. The door be shut when he took me on the grand tour, and he be about to pass it by when he stopped. With nary a word, he opened the door, allowed me a look-see and then closed it back again.”

  “He’s not even cleaned it?” John asked.

  “Not set foot in it. It be just as it was.”

  “Didn’t he explain?” Adam asked.

  “No, but he did say he wants a list.”

  “What sort of list?” Uriah asked.

  “A list of remembrances ye desire from him.”

  Uriah was speechless and deep lines were furrowed in his brow. The fire crackled, MacGreagor downed the rest of his drink and Rose cuddled closer to Adam. Little Christopher was asleep in his grandmother’s arms. Finally, Uriah spoke, “Do you mean he will send them to us?”

  “Aye, and pay the expense. He’ll freely send all you ask – except the storybook.”

  “What storybook?”

  “He said to say, ‘In the storybook be all the answers.’”

  “He entices us back?” Caleb complained. “I don’t believe it.”

  Rose quickly sat up and grabbed John’s arm. “Can we all go this time? I’d adore seeing the house.”

  “So, he will not come to us as we hoped,” said Caleb.

  Uriah suspiciously glanced from side to side. “He’s up to something, but what?”

  “Well—” Elizabeth started.

  Suddenly, Clifton threw the door open and rushed into the room. “Massah John! They’s done whipped Gideon!”

  “Where?” John asked, quickly handing his glass to Rose and scrambling to his feet.

  “Out back. Miss Daisy brung him home,” Clifton answered.

  GIDEON LAY ON HIS STOMACH in the snow at the bottom of the back steps. His coat was missing, his shirt was shredded and blood seeped from deep gashes on his back. A large, purplish lump had risen on his forehead and his left eye was swollen shut. Standing nearby, Miss Daisy looked on. Her coat was sweaty, her nostrils flared and her saddle was drenched in blood.

  When John arrived, Suzanne was sitting on the ground beside Gideon, wiping at the blood with the hem of her skirt. John flew down the steps, quickly grabbed Suzanne and lifted her to her feet. “The bell, Suzanne, ring the bell. He’ll freeze out here.”

  “All right,” she answered, racing up the steps. She ran the length of the verandah, grabbed the cord and frantically began to bang the ball against the inside of the brass bell. One by one, Africans poked their heads out of the slave quarters.

  “It’s Gideon!” Suzanne shouted. “He’s hurt!”

  WELL INTO THE EVENING, everyone’s attention remained on Gideon. Finally, there was little to do but light the candles and wait.

  “I’ll take him on me ship,” MacGreagor said, standing at the foot of John’s bed watching Elizabeth gently wash Gideon’s wounds. “They’ll not find him there.”

  “Carry him back down the stairs, you mean?” Uriah asked, standing watch at a window. “It took every man on the place to carry him up.”

  Elizabeth reached for a bandage and began to lightly lay it on his back. “Lifting him again would surely kill him. He’s not moved a muscle since we found him.”

  John pulled out the stoker and aimlessly poked at the log in the hearth. “He cannot die, I will not let him.”

  “And if he’s killed someone?” Elizabeth asked, putting the bloody cloth in a bowl, wiping her hands on her apron and then beginning to unroll more bandages.

  “I, for one, would not blame him if he did,” John answered. “Papa, can you see anything?”

  “Not a ride
r or a torch in sight, and it’s still snowing.”

  “We’ve God to thank for that,” Elizabeth murmured.

  Caleb quietly opened the door and came in. “How is he?” he asked, handing Elizabeth a fresh bottle of rum. “He’ll be in need of this when he wakes.”

  “Is there no end to it?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Not that I’m aware of,” Caleb answered, pecking her on the cheek.

  John put the poker away and walked to the other window. “The tracks, Uncle?”

  “You need not worry, the snow will cover them soon enough. Besides, even the sheriff has the good sense to stay home on a night like this. Michael brushed Miss Daisy down, broke the ice, and threw her saddle in the river.”

  “Good,” John said.

  “They know he’s injured,” Elizabeth put in. “They will not give up the search so easily this time.”

  “In that case,” John said, “when he is able, we’ll take him where they will not search.”

  “Where?” Elizabeth asked.

  “To the Cherokee.”

  “At last,” Uriah muttered.

  TENNESSEE

  “John, cannot we stop?” Uriah asked. His was the middle horse and pack mule, in the line of three climbing to the top of a lesser mountain in the southern Appalachians. Wearing warm coats and leather gloves, each man held the reins of his horse in one hand and those of the mule trailing behind in the other.

  “Papa, if we stop now, Gideon and I will be forced to endure yet another night of your complaining,” John answered, guiding his horse between two overgrown Mountain Laurel bushes, then ducking beneath a fir limb.

  “Well, I say we stop. Gideon is tired,” Uriah argued, quickly grabbing his hat before a branch knocked it off.

  “For Gideon, is it? In that case, we’ll stop in the next clearing.”

  “Should we ever see another clearing,” Uriah mumbled, leaning left and then right to miss more branches. “Good thing we did not bring Sparky. That dog takes up more room in the saddle than I do.”