Warriors reappeared on the tavern porch, their tomahawks poking at this or that as they walked about. Next they raided outbuildings and took what they pleased, tying goods to the stolen horses, sacks of grain from the storehouse, even smokehouse meat. Then they gathered their dead, the feathers in their dark hair fluttering in a sudden gust of heated wind.
4
The deeper into Virginia he journeyed the more Bleu’s hackles rose. Approaching the Great Road and Fort Loudoun at the northern entrance of the Shenandoah Valley, a passing scout confirmed sign of a war party. Upwards of twenty—and moving fast. Sometimes these warriors came to steal horses or cattle. Other times they ambushed travelers or far-flung homesteads, capturing women and children.
The scout rode on to spread a warning, toward LeHew and Helltown, places Bleu usually shunned given their rough reputation as a ferry crossing. He kept to streams and creeks and off the main trails to hide his own passing. The last time he’d crossed the Alleghenies he’d dispatched a Lenape intent on his scalp. Rarely did he strike but when it was kill or be killed he had no choice.
Wary, he rode on through woods so thickly leafed not even a sliver of light reached the forest floor. The everlasting gloom mirrored his mood. In contrast, his destination—the Rivanna River settlement—seemedle paradis sur terre. Heaven on earth. Settled. Serene. There, from his unfinished house in the foothills, these formidable mountains were a mere smudge of blue to the west.
This was what kept him going yet caused him to lose his way. Preoccupied with his rumbling stomach, he was remembering Sylvie’scretonsandfricotandgateau.And the endearing way shealways rushed to greet him, excited as a girl, the girl she’d been long ago in Acadie. Smiling and laughing, without a care. Those homecomings remained among his richest memories.
Dangerously distracted, he slowed his pace and reined in Windigo at the wood’s edge. He’d nearly ridden into a wide, open clearing with fenced pasture and fields culminating in a crossroads, a three-story structure barely visible beyond a stand of sycamores and oaks.
Long minutes ticked past and no movement nor sound came from what appeared to be a tavern and outbuildings, just the timeless song of cicadas, the rhythmic rattle he’d been listening to all his life. He ran a linen sleeve across his damp brow as his alarm spiked. Something here was awry. The place bespoke danger… destruction.
Death.
Brielle and Titus stayed in the cornfield, unmoving, for what seemed hours as the sun shifted and sank to the west. Finally, reaching out, she squeezed his nearest hand, blinking as black spots filled her vision.
Could one faint from sheer fear?
Their discarded buckets were near and so she managed to drag one toward them, bringing a gourd dipper to Titus’s lips. He drank thirstily and then she did the same, the both of them emptying the bucket of tepid water meant for the corn.
“I’ve never been so affrighted,” he whispered. “I don’t want to move.”
“Somebody will come by soon.” Truly, folks were always coming and going. Eventually some passerby would help. The thought of returning to the tavern amid so much bloodshed made her dizzy all over again. “Perhaps we should wait till then.”
“But what if my sister ain’t dead and needs us?”
That possibility brought Brielle to her knees. Titus did the same, wincing slightly, the back of his welted legs sunburnt.
“What if the Indians come back?” Fear marred his features as he dropped back down to the dirt, raising puffs of dust. “Some of them raiders might still be waiting. Hiding.”
Her gaze swept the frightful scene. Should they crawl to the edge of the field just in case?
“Stay here,” she whispered. “Let me…”
“What? Nay!” His voice became a strangled plea. “We have no weapon other than these blasted gourds.”
Praying silently, Brielle took a deep breath and pushed past her terror. With another look at the tavern, she bent low and started toward it, a prayer on her lips. Every step cost her, her knees jelly. Wiping her damp palms on her apron, she stood upright and crossed the rutted crossroads worn down by countless horses and wagons.
Wind stirred the trees about the tavern, chilling her despite the day’s heat. The sound of rustling leaves held the ominous music of an Indian rattle like the one Griffiths kept in his office alongside his collection of arrowheads. Her stomach cramped as she stood in the shade of the biggest oak and looked at the fallen. Flies were already hovering. Other preying creatures would soon follow. She feared panthers the most.
Her gaze swung wide, searching for any sign of life among the bloodied and battered.
Tamsen lay across the porch steps, her wounds too grave for her small frame.Oh, Titus.She clasped a hand to her mouth as horror clawed at her. Her concern made her careless for her own safety. But surely all the Indians were gone.
Choked, she turned back to the field to make sure Titus was still there. Still safe. Her senses were muddled—stubborn blackspots still a-dance before her eyes—yet she distinctly heard a horse. Had help arrived? She swung unsteadily toward the sound and saw a lone rider coming from the west.
The stranger rode up in a storm of dust and dismounted a stone’s throw away from her, his features hidden beneath the shade of his wide-brimmed hat. Something about him sent her back a step. His many weapons—the tomahawk hanging from his waist—seemed a warning. With a little cry, she stumbled backwards as her jellied knees gave way and the world went black.
Bleu dismounted, torn between what needed tending to first. The fainting woman—or the fallen. So many fallen. Here was evidence of the latest uprising. The war party had struck hard then moved on.
“Stop, mister!”
A shout behind him made him turn, his hand resting on the hilt of his belted knife. But it was only a small boy, the terror in his face vivid as war paint. He came between Bleu and the woman in the indigo dress, arms flung out as if he would protect her. Confusion filled his face as he looked at Bleu who stood stone still. Instinct told him the Indians had struck hours ago and this boy and woman had hidden somewhere, somehow.
Bleu kept his voice low. “I’m here to help, not hurt.”
