Through the gloom, the Bell household and barns remained untouched. Odd. Perhaps the Indians had not cared. At least, Caroline would have a home to return to with her children.
A twig cracked. Bushes rustled. She and Thomas backed farther into the shrubs. A wraithlike figure crawled from the hollow of a log.
“Grace,” Thomas squeezed the shaking girl in a tight hug. “I feared you were dead.”
“I took refuge in the pantry, slipped a window open, dropped to the ground and ran. There were so many of them. With the glow of fires, Indians passed back and forth from where I hid, but never detected me.”
Sheltered in Thomas’ arms, Grace whimpered. “So many mercilessly killed, beggin’ for their lives. They lined up many prisoners, stripping the men naked where they suffered fiercely from the cold and forcing them to carry heavy loads of the stolen goods. There was no sympathy for the infirmed or weak, hurried along at the points of jabbing spears.”
“Old Mrs. Leppers,” Grace shook her head. “Could not keep up and stumbled. A warrior whipped out his tomahawk and chopped the elderly woman across the back of the neck, severing her spine. He scalped her and left her lying where she had fallen.”
“Then they herded the horses, cattle and sheep that could be herded.”
“Do you think they have left for good?”
“I saw them all leave, but was too afraid to come out until I saw you.”
A cannon boomed from the fort and they flinched. “Soldiers continue to defend the fort but I’m too afraid to make a run for it after what happened to Colonel Allerton. If only they had listened to you, Miss Juliet,” she cried and turned into Thomas’ chest while he consoled her.
So much for the folly of men and the misfortunes they reaped. “Stay here. I’m going to scout the Bells’ home.”
Grace grabbed her. “No, don’t. What if they return?”
“I doubt if they will return. Three days have passed and they would be fearful that word had gotten out to surrounding areas and a counterattack mounted against them. I’ll be back. I promise.” Juliet picked up her gun, less sure of what she’d encounter.
* * *
On the hill above the Bell home, Juliet crouched and listened. Nothing stirred except for the horses whinnying for food. Thank God, she had released them so the Indians didn’t slaughter them. Lancelot and Guinevere must have been smart enough to run off and now had returned home for food.
Probing her surroundings, she waited, head cocked for any sound. Nothing. She rubbed her mud-caked hands to get the circulation going. Senses heightened, she edged with slow, cautious movements to the back of the barn.
The grim sleet gave way to a dense enshrouding fog. Her garments were soaked, and she yearned for the comfort of the house. The seductive force to start a fire and snuggle deeply beneath a cozy feather tick waxed before her. She shivered. To be warm again. So close.
She leaned against the barn, clutching the growing spasm in her stomach and peered through the layers of thick fog obscuring the house. Silent. Empty? Strewn across the yard was a broken spinning wheel, books, paintings and kettles, everything the Indians decided not to take with them apparently satisfied with the booty from the town. No movement in the house. Oh, she could run to the house. Yes. She could savor the warmth and security, and hadn’t Grace said she’d seen them all leave?
Lancelot and Guinevere whickered. Were the horses warning her? They were hungry, her wary mind rationalized. Suddenly their nostrils flared, tails flagged, heads elevated, ears flicked forward and backward, and then ran from the paddock. Her heart thudded wildly.
Seized by her hair, she was jerked viciously upward. Above her, Onontio’s lips stretched in a cruel smile. The red and black stripes painted on his face ran together in a ghoulish mishmash. Cold, dark fear jagged up her spine. Onontio wrenched her arm.
“I will have her,” shouted Snapes, stepping off the porch.
Juliet shot daggers at Snapes. The man who had brutally tortured Sarah. She did not shake with fear but with anger at herself.
“No,” said Onontio. His braves crowded around him. “The woman is mine.”
Snapes stepped in front of the gigantic Indian. “We are taking her to Fort Niagara with the other captives. The commander will pay money for her.”
“No.” Onontio threw her to the ground and lifted his breechclout.
In one swift move, Juliet kicked with all her might, struck him in the groin, rolled over, scrambled to her feet and ran into the woods. Branches slashed at her skin, tore at her gown. Roots hidden by treefall tripped her and she went sprawling, her hands skidding across sharp rocks. Palms smarting, she picked herself up and ran across a meadow until her heart exploded, until her legs were made of lead, until her breath came out in whimpers. Stumbling, tripping, someone grabbed her hair again and slammed her to the ground. Her breath whooshed out of her. Her head swirling, she rolled.
Onontio, on top of her, suddenly jerked up. His eyes hardened.
Clutching her mother’s golden cross around her neck, she twisted her head to see what distracted him.
“Joshua!”
Sitting on his stallion, rage and relief surged through Joshua’s veins. Onontio dared to raise his breechclout. The War Chief would die.
