“Friend, not foe, then.” The man ran a sleeve across his damp brow. He was so heavily bearded Bleu couldn’t tell if he was young or old. The pronounced lump in his cheek foretold tobacco. “You’re a far piece from the north territory.”
“I quit Fort Pitt recently and am headed to the Rivanna River.”
“I’m coming back from Cumberland country.” He spat into the laurel. “And I’m done in. My horse threw a shoe about half a mile back but I remember a blacksmith being in the next settlement.”
They made camp near a thin ribbon of creek away from the main trail. Dusk gathered with all its accompanying sounds and shadows as they talked in low tones. This man—Uriah Stone—was a Longhunter who knew the Virginia frontier well but had his sights on Tennessee and Kentucke.
“What news do you bring from Pitt?” he asked, passing jerked meat to Bleu. “Peaceable in that part of the country at long last?”
“Peaceable enough that Pitt’s commandant is busy making a deer park and garden and bowling green instead of bullet lead—or was.”
Stone chuckled then sobered. “Any truth to the rumor that Detroit’s Indians are calling for uprisings up and down the frontier?”
Bleu nodded and swallowed the jerky. “The Seven Years’ War may have ended for the British and French but no tribe will rest when overrun by the enemy and treaties are violated.”
“So, what will you do once you reach the Rivanna?”
“Visit my sister and her family.” Even now Bleu envisioned his nieces and nephews clamoring for attention, the youngest climbing his buckskin-clad legs like a tree.
Talbot, Amélie, Corbin, Madeleine, Morgan and Jolie.
By now Sylvie might have had another. His last visit was more than a year ago.
“What’s the name?”
“Blackburn,” Bleu replied.
“William Blackburn of Blackburn’s Rangers?” Respect rode Stone’s bearded features. “Started a settlement in central Virginia. Even wrote a book if I recollect rightly. And you?”
“I’m a former trader with Hudson’s Bay Company turned scout and interpreter during the last war. As for the future, I’m at a crossroads.”
“Maybe you could pen a book about your exploits like Blackburn.”
Bleu shook his head. “Myhistoire captivantewould fall far short of his.”
“I beg to differ.” Stone took a long drink from his flask. “I’ve heard tales of you Canadians and the like. Your Hudson’s Bay adventures would fill more than one volume.”
“I’d rather forget. Start afresh.” Bleu took a drink from his own flask. “Canada holds a bitter taint.”
“You wed?”
“Wedded to the wilderness.” Would there ever be aMadameGalant? He doubted it. “And you?”
“Nay. Few women would put up with my tramps that last two years or better.” He studied Bleu shrewdly. “I could use a hand with trapping and trading if you’d reconsider the Rivanna.”
As a Longhunter? It held little appeal. He’d rather survey alongside his brother-in-law instead. Finish the house he’d begun in the foothills near his and Sylvie’s home, Orchard Rest. Forge a different sort of life.
Perhaps even come to terms with all that had been lost.
“For now I need to see central Virginia. I’ve been away long enough my sister might be wondering if I’m still alive.” Bleu looked through the trees where the sun was setting in a fiery show. “I may well tarry awhile this time. Nothing is more important than family. When you’ve lost much you treasure those who remain.”
3
Midnight brought stars so bright they seemed silver thread stitched into a black-silk sky, reminding Brielle of a gown worn by her mother long ago. She climbed to the attic up a back stair, her tiny room boasting a tinier window. On nights she wasn’t too weary she liked to watch the moonrise, but tonight her very bones seemed to ache to say nothing of her heart.
Earlier, Griffiths in a drunken fury had taken a lash to Titus over some minor matter. Now the lad was so sore he could barely move. Brielle had gently bathed the back of his spindly legs then applied yarrow salve while a shaken Tamsen—Titus’s sister—finished his evening chores. Afterwards, Titus and his sister retreated to their room opposite Brielle’s beneath the attic’s eaves. But pained as he was would he be able to sleep?
Once, early on, Griffiths had lashed her. Afterwards she’d been too bruised and bleeding to do her chores thus he’d not repeated it. She’d forgotten why he’d turned on her though the memory stayed sore. Titus’s misery reminded her of it all over again.
