Thomas pulled on her arm.Run! Move your feet now!
Across the hall Juliet flew and shook Caroline awake, and then prodded the servant girl, Betsy to get dressed. Quilts were thrown back and bare feet thudded the floor. Jerked awake, the older children sobered with the cries in the valley and stared out the window.
“Do not look,” Juliet whispered.
Unaware of the ongoing massacre, the smaller children sleepily protested as they were urged into their boots and warm coats.
Juliet stashed bread and a ham in a burlap bag, upending the Nine Men’s Morris game, lying unfinished from the night before. Suzanne cried out, cheated from her certain victory and started picking up the pieces.
“No time for that Suzanne, put on your coat. Remember the drills we practiced?” ordered Juliet. She hooked the food bag and blankets on Thomas’ back.
She checked out the window. Shots were fired from Powers’ upstairs parlor window, and afterwards stopped. Bethany, Charles and the four girls were pushed out of their home by warriors and British soldiers. The family knelt, forming a circle, their hands pressed in supplication to their deliverer. The girls were ripped from their mother and tied to a tree. Charles was tomahawked first, then Bethany. Juliet put her hands over her ears to shut out the girls’ screaming. Their parents and three domestics were hacked and stabbed, and scalped.
Juliet swung a musket and powder horn over her shoulder, picked up Elias and bolted out the back door, her homespun skirts flying behind her. She passed the grindstone and shuddered, like a bleached bone it lay against the well in the meager light. Circling the barn, she stared at the unchinked log outbuildings as if she’d never seen them before. The ancient vine rope dangled like a darkened tendril.
“Can we swing on the rope?” Mary pleaded.
How many seconds before the Indians discovered the Bell home? How many minutes until they caught the murderous cries of Indians on their heels? Guinevere and Lancelot, the two draft horses galloped up to the side of the corral, their eyes rolled wildly white, their ears thrown back. Juliet unhinged the gate, slapping their flanks, and shooed them out. No way would she allow the Indians to a make a meal of them.
Single file, hands linked to one another like a human rosary, Caroline, Betsy, the children, and Juliet plunged into the shelter of the woods. Georgie, the dog, followed at their heels. Juliet worried the dog would commence barking at any moment but the canine must have sensed danger, and padded along quietly. Juliet followed and with a huge spruce branch swished the snow to cover their tracks.
Underneath the shadowy oaks and dusky hemlocks, the air pitched black and gray. The trunks of many trees crowded close and pressed upon them.
A scrabbling of claws against tree bark sounded as an animal raced to the top. Juliet lifted her head to catch a glimpse of bushy tail tucked into the hole of a tree. Even the squirrel had hidden.
Overhanging spear-like branches lacerated her skin. With a trembling hand, she held one back for Caroline and the children to pass. Her breath came out in tenuous white billows shredded by the wind. Rotting wood and the scent of a dead animal permeated the air. She tripped across uneven ground pitted with rocks and roots, righted, grappling Elias close to her chest. The forest had changed from a world of beauty to a world of fear.
The shouts and whoops of the Indians and the screams of women echoed over the mountains. Juliet cringed, imagining what was happening to the townspeople. Then rose the moans of Caroline, her children and Betsy. Juliet regarded Caroline, her face unrecognizable, and twisted with fear. Her hood had fallen and her long brown braid matted to her shoulder with sleet. She bent over, grabbing her abdomen. A gush of water soaked the ground beneath her. She looked at Juliet with terror in her eyes.
Dear God. Not now.
“I’ll help you through this, Caroline. We just need to get to the cave.”
Robin, the four-year-old, took Juliet’s hand and curled into her leg. “Please stop that noise.”
Juliet led the way up the steep path. Smoke filtered through the air mixed with the dampness of leaf mold. From time to time, Juliet glanced behind to see if anyone was following. At the top of the mountain, there was a break in the trees giving them a clear view. “Do not look,” Juliet insisted. “Betsy, Thomas, take the children into the forest.”
It was the Hayes’ massacre again, only worse. In the distance, half a hundred columns of dark smoke rose from homes, barns and outbuildings that had been set afire. Skittish horses, mist pluming from their distended nostrils and snow flying from beneath their hooves, were dragged with other livestock from the barns.
From the homes that were not torched, Indians ran in and out, carrying chairs, bread, paintings, whatever suited their desires. Fights broke out with British soldiers over prisoners and valuables. Occasional shots were fired from the fort.
Was that Mr. Clyde laying across his porch’s railing, his head circumcised? Was it Mr. Starring who had laughed so pleasantly at the Powers’ dance, lying dead next to his two sons, wife and mother-in-law? No. He was safe, with his family in his home, having breakfast. Wasn’t he? Juliet bit on her knuckles to stifle a scream. Was that Crims and his horse who lay dead beside the trough? No. But there on the ground lay Maybelle’s flowered hat.
Mr. Leppers and Mr. Hoyers spurred their horses into the village at a full gallop. Leppers made it to the front of his home before numerous Indians fell upon him and tomahawked him. A ball entered the back of Mr. Hoyers’ back and exited from his chest, leaving a gaping hole. Blood spurted, splashing over the saddle and his horse’s mane and neck. He stayed in the saddle for twenty yards then plummeted to the ground. He rose and drew his sword. His movements were sluggish. Before he could get to his knees, a warrior raced up and buried his tomahawk in Hoyers’ temple.
“Dear God,” said Caroline. “I hope James doesn’t return and is provoked to the same madness to save us.”
“A useless endeavor earning Hoyers’ and Leppers’ their deaths,” Juliet whispered and turned Caroline into the forest, praying Joshua wouldn’t return and risk his life.
Juliet forced her feet to move yet could not feel the earth beneath her shoes. The journey was like a pendulum of the clock in her father’s library—the brass disc swinging relentlessly back and forth, back and forth, heedless of anything going on in the world around it.
Juliet caught up with Betsy, Thomas and the children. Juliet veered a sharp left and pushed through the bracken, thorns tearing at their clothes. Juliet stumbled with the weight of Elias on her hip. Betsy took the rifle from her, relieving her. Some of the children were crying. Caroline bent over with another spasm. Elias wailed for his mother and Juliet came abreast of her to silence him.
“Let’s play hide-and-seek. We must be very quiet and move quickly to our hiding spot where no one will find us,” Juliet instructed the children. She paused and took a breath. The cracked branches and foot falls in the sleet would lead the Indians right to them. “We must travel down the mountain.”
She slipped and slid down the sharp incline, holding Suzanne’s small hand in hers, and descending to where a small creek gurgled. Georgie plunged down ahead of them where he waited. The shoreline had ice crystals on the rocks. “I know it’s cold but we have to cover our tracks so the Indians won’t find us. Thomas and Betsy carry the younger children. The older children will follow.” Juliet tied up her skirts.
Little James sucked his thumb. Juliet picked him up, too, and stepped into the freezing creek. She inhaled, the bone-chilling cold wrapped around her legs.
