“In light of your courage, knowledge, and skill, I am prepared to advance you to the rank of captain and charge you with creating your own company of rangers.” Bouquet spoke the words as if he were offering Nicholas all the kingdoms of the world. “It is a great honor, one I do not offer lightly. Your wife and daughter will, of course, be escorted safely to Ligonier and housed as comfortably as possible until this rebellion has been quashed. What say you?”
Nicholas looked both men in the eyes, allowed his contempt to show. “I’m afraid I must decline. I’ve seen enough death and brutality—on both sides, gentlemen—to last until the world’s ending. What I cherish travels east, and I go with her. Good day to you both. I leave you to yourselves.”
***
The night before they left Fort Pitt, there was a commotion on the walls, and the colonel sent for Nicholas.
“One of the faithless savages is standing across the river. We’ve fired at him, but he won’t budge. He has asked to speak with you.”
Nicholas climbed to the top of the ramparts, looked across the Monongahela.
Atsan.
“I must go across and speak with him.”
Taking only his knife, Nicholas paddled a canoe left by the retreating Delaware. Across the river, Atsan stood alone, his war paint washed away.
Atsan spoke first, using the Wyandot tongue. “You live. I feared that tomahawk had split your head.”
“You tried to warn me. Why?”
“I do not wish you dead, Sa-ray-u-migh. Had you stayed with my people, I would have treated you as an honored son.”
“I know.” Nicholas had to tell him. “Mattootuk is dead.”
“You killed him.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Aye. He tried to kill my wife and daughter. He left me no choice.”
The old man’s body tensed, but no sign of emotion played on his face. “Mattootuk was angry with you over Lyda’s death. They were both prideful—a failing they received through their mother’s blood. Mattootuk refused to see what was clear to everyone else—that his sister brought her end upon herself.”
Regret as sharp as a knife sliced through Nicholas, forced the breath from his lungs. “I did not seek her death.”
“There was a time when you would gladly have killed her.”
“Not while she carried my child.”
“No, not while she carried your child.” Atsan lifted the talisman that hung around his neck, the sign of his house, draped it over Nicholas’s head. “Mattootuk was my last surviving son. It is right that you take this. Go in peace, Long Knife. Father many children.”
“Go in peace, Atsan.”
Atsan looked at him through eyes that seemed older than the forest. “There will be no peace for us now. Only war. It is over.”
Then the old man turned, disappearing into the trees and leaving Nicholas to sort out the tempest inside him.
Chapter 27
Bethie’s stomach pitched and rolled. The cabin where she’d lived the worst years of her life came into view around the bend, grew larger with every passing second. She took a deep breath, reminded herself that she wasn’t here to stay, that Nicholas was with her, that nothing could happen to her.
Nicholas reined the wagon to a halt, took her hand in his, his eyes dark with concern and misgiving. “You don’t have to do this, Bethie.”
“But I must. I must tell them about Richard. And I... I want to see my mother.”
“Then let’s get it over with.” Nicholas gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, released it, took the reins, snapped them over Zeus’s rump.
They had left Fort Pitt with everyone else deemed a burden by Colonel Bouquet and traveled to Ligonier, where Nicholas somehow managed to buy a wagon. Then Bethie had bade her new friends a sad farewell. Most would remain in Ligonier until the frontier was safe once again. They had poured too much blood and sweat into their farms to leave them—and they had no place else to go.
Hardest of all had been saying good-bye to Annie.
