Chapter Fourteen
The instant Tshingee heard Deborah's voice, he dove for the cover of a pine tree. Horses reared and men shouted, drawing weapons.
"John!" Tshingee cried out.
John raced forward, dodging horses' hooves as he made his way toward his brother.
"Get them, damn it!" the Earl bellowed, wheeling his steed around.
Deborah rode through the center of the mounted men, shouting and waving James's musket. "Run, Tshingee," she shouted. "Run, for God's sake!"
Spotting a bondman riding straight for John, Deborah sank her knees into her horse's side. "Look out, John," she warned. But it was too late. The bondservant swung the butt of his musket, cracking John in the head.
"Noo!" Deborah urged her horse forward as John crumpled to the ground, his head smeared with blood.
"Deborah, come back here!" the Earl demanded. Deborah ignored her father, heading straight for the clump of pines she had seen Tshingee disappear into.
The Earl shook his fist in anger. "Stop her, Lester!"
Lester rode up beside Deborah and she swung the unloaded musket at his head. The overseer ducked, cursing as he reached out and yanked her out of the sidesaddle.
"Let go of me!" Deborah screamed, flailing her arms wildly. The musket fell from her grip. "Let me go, you son of a bitch! Tshingee!" She pummeled her father's henchman with her fists, causing him to lose his balance, and both of them tumbled from their horses to the ground.
Deborah looked up from the bed of fallen leaves to see Tshingee running toward the river. Instinctively she reached out to him with her hands.
A shot was fired, followed by two more and Tshingee's body jerked unnaturally. Deborah watched in mute horror as he went down on one knee only to struggle to his feet again, his back crimson with blood. The air echoed with a barrage of gunshots and Tshingee was hit again as he dove off the bank and into the river.
"Don't let him get away!" the Earl shouted.
"Kill the red bastard!" James echoed, riding behind his father.
Sinking her face into her hands, hot tears ran down Deborah's cheeks. Lester rolled off her but she just lay there sobbing as the men on horseback raced for the river bank.
"Shoot the red bastard when he comes up," a man shouted from the group.
"We caught him two or three times! How far can he get?" added another.
Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, Deborah forced herself to her feet and headed for the river. Lester reached out to take her arm but she jerked away. "You touch me again," she threatened viciously, "and I'll kick you in the teeth!"
Lester's eyes narrowed with hostility. "Someone's going to teach you a lesson one of these days," he called after her, wiping his bloody mouth.
Running toward the river, Deborah circled the knot of men still on horseback. They all stood at the bank, staring at the rushing water.
"Drowned, eh, Father?" James asked.
"Had to. No man could survive that and still get away. Not even one of those red devils."
Deborah looked from her father to the water again, staring in mute shock. He has to be alive! she thought numbly. He can't be dead, not after all he's been through.
"Walk along the river, Stuart, and look for the body," the Earl ordered impatiently. "I want that body!" He wheeled his horse around, perusing the group of men. "Thomas!"
"Yes, sir?" Thomas came riding toward the riverbank.
"Get Deborah on her horse and get her the hell out of here. Take her back to Host's Wealth and James with you."
"Yes, sir." Thomas dismounted, leading his horse to where Deborah stood staring into the icy water. "Deborah." He touched her arm lightly when she didn't respond, but she jerked away.
"Don't touch me," she whispered, drawing her hide cloak closer.
"Deborah. It's nearly dark. Let me help you onto your horse and take you home," he said compassionately. A bondman led Joshua over and Thomas accepted the reins. "Deborah, please."
Suddenly, she was so tired that she thought she would faint. Her mind was numb. "All right," she whispered.
Thomas brought her horse around and put out his hand to help her up. "Up you go."
Mechanically, Deborah obeyed.
Without another word, Thomas mounted and led her through the clearing past John's prone body.
"Is he dead?" she managed weakly.
"No." Thomas righted his cocked hat. "He'll have his trial as set down by English law . . . then he'll die."
"Dear heavenly father," Elizabeth groaned, shaking her head. She crossed the bedchamber to her sister, taking her hands and pressing them to her lips. "If Thomas hadn't told me it was you, I'd never have recognized you. You look like some half-crazed redskin!"
Deborah stared, her eyes dull and lifeless.
"What have they done to you, dear sister?" Elizabeth pulled the cloak off Deborah's shoulders and let it fall to the floor. "Deborah, it's Elizabeth, can you hear me?" She took her sister's cheeks in her palms, peering into her face with fright.
Deborah sighed. She knew she had to get control of herself. Tshingee would have wanted her to remain brave. "Yes, I can hear you, twit." She pushed Elizabeth's hands aside.
Elizabeth took a step back, her eyes wide with surprise. "Are . . . are you all right? What a silly question. Of course you aren't! I can't believe you're back. I thought surely after all this time you were dead, praise the good Lord!"
Deborah studied her bedchamber, ignoring her sister. The room she had loved once upon a time seemed so foreign now, so confining after Tshingee's wigwam and the open forest. "Could you call me a bath?"
"Done." Elizabeth nodded. "Supper too. Cook made apple pie. I told her to send up a big piece."
"I'm not hungry." Deborah walked to the window and pushed it open, letting in the frigid night air.
"What are you doing?" Elizabeth hurried across the room, her heeled slippers tapping on the hardwood floor. "You'll catch your death."
"I can't breath in here. It stinks." Deborah opened the window a second time.
Just then a knock came at the door. "Come in." Elizabeth called.
A strapping young man came in carrying a brass bathtub, followed by two negro boys bearing buckets of steamy water. The women stood in silence until the tub had been filled and the servants departed.
Deborah stripped off her clothes without hesitation and Elizabeth gave a gasp, turning away. "Dear sister! Where's your modesty?"
"And where's my tongue-tied sister? You've said more to me in the last half an hour than you have in the past year. What's gotten into you since I've been gone? Found a man, have you?" She dropped her deerskin dress to the floor and slipped into the tub.
"Don't be ridiculous!" Elizabeth hurried across the room to where Deborah's cloak lay on the floor. "What have those heathens done to you, dressing you in this thing?" she asked, trying to cover her embarrassment. "It's probably crawling with vermin." She picked up the cloak and tossed it out into the hall in disgust.
Deborah sat in the tub, running the water-logged sponge over her breasts. "Done to me? They did nothing but treat me with kindness."
Elizabeth kept her back to her sister for decency's sake. "Father said you might be like this when you came home, but I had no idea!" She busied herself arranging a sleeping gown on the bed.
"Like this? Like what?" Deborah leaned back in the tub in exhaustion. She couldn't allow herself to think of Tshingee, not now.
"Father said that when captives are returned, they . . . they have a tendency to feel some alliance with their captors. It's happened with the redskins before. Father said there are even extreme cases where women have tried to return to the savages!" Elizabeth shuddered.
"Extreme cases, hmmm?" Deborah got out of the tub and reached for a linen towel.
Elizabeth brought her the sleeping gown. "Here, put this on. I can stay if you want, until you're asleep." She kept her eyes discreetly averted as Deborah dropped the towel and walked to her bed stark naked.
"I don't want the sleeping gown and I don't want anyone sleeping with me," she answered in a tired voice. "I just want to be left alone."
Elizabeth nodded. "I understand. You've been so brave. But don't worry, you're safe now." She waited until Deborah had climbed beneath the sheets and then laid the sleeping gown out on the end of the bed. "The Earl has a man outside guarding your windows and Lester will be sleeping in the hall. No one can harm you now.
Deborah squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the smell of the room, the feel of the mattress beneath her. All she wanted was Tshingee and he was gone. She felt so empty, so alone. "Elizabeth."
"Yes?"
Deborah choked back her tears. "Could you blow out the candle and go?"
"Of course." She blew out the candle and tiptoed out of the room, leaving Deborah in darkness.
Tshingee's breath came in shallow gasps; his heartbeat was rapid. Under the cloak of darkness he lay on the river's edge battling the unconsciousness that had taken him again and again in the last few hours. It was so cold. Tshingee lifted his head from the frozen bank of the Migianac, trying to get his bearings. How far downriver had he come? He dropped his head to the ground in utter exhaustion.
I must find shelter, he told himself. Find shelter, Wildcat of the Wolf clan, or your spirit will walk the heavens by dawn's light. The thought of death was strangely appealing to Tshingee. Without Deborah, what was life? But there were still his responsibilities. There was John. He had sworn to John that he would do everything in his power to rescue him. It was an obligation he could not release himself from.
Rising up on his elbows, Tshingee fought a wave of nausea. When the dizziness passed, he pushed with his knees, crawling up the bank to higher ground. A hot, molten pain seared in his chest, radiating through his limbs. He didn't know how many times he had been hit by the white men's musket balls, but he knew his situation was grave. Slowly he made his way along the river, not knowing where he was headed, only knowing that it was not safe here. If the white men came looking for him, he would be unable to escape. Spasms of searing pain mingled with the cold that seeped through his being and Tshingee began to shiver violently.
Twice he tried to stand, but he could not. His legs refused to hold his weight. Gasping for breath, he rolled onto his back, staring up at the full moon that hung overhead. Impulsively his hand went to his neck. Beneath his sodden cloak and shirt he found the strand of Deborah's hair he wore braided in a necklace. A near smile rose on his lips and for a moment his heart was filled with joy. "Deborah," he said quietly. "Deborah." He repeated her name again and again, gaining a strength from her that made him roll onto his stomach again and crawl forward.
Inching his way along the forest floor, Tshingee crossed the path of slithering snakes and curious white-tailed deer. Owls hooted high in the tree tops and small nocturnal animals scurried through the brush. Once, when Tshingee was resting near a hickory tree a raccoon wobbled past him, stopping to stare curiously at the human.
Tshingee smiled, making a clicking sound between his teeth. For several minutes the masked creature studied him before finally wandering off. His spirit refreshed, Tshingee moved on.
He didn't know where he was headed, but he knew that if he lay still, he would sleep and deep in slumber he would die. Taking an inch of the frozen ground at a time, he crawled on. Sometime in the night a numbness overtook him and the pain of the gunshot wounds and frigid air dulled. His mind was so hazy that he could not think. Mechanically he pushed forward, navigating blindly through the dark forest. When his head hit a clump of briars, he fell over, rolling into a fetal position. The bleeding had started again. He could feel a warm liquid oozing down his back.
With a final effort, Tshingee lifted his head, taking in his surroundings. By the light of the moon he could see the bramble patch that loomed above him. By sheer luck, his gaze fell to a small opening. With a last surge of energy he dragged himself through the hole. To his surprise there was enough room inside for a man to sit up on his knees or stretch out. In the center of the hollow in the brambles was an indentation in the leaves made by a large animal. The smell of deer hide rose up from the ground as Tshingee lay wearily in the animal's sleeping hollow. With a sigh, he pulled his wet cloak over his head and fell into an exhausted sleep.
"Deborah, at least talk to him." Elizabeth sat on the bed next to her. "This is the third day in a row he's come to see you. He's deathly worried."
Deborah flung herself back on the bed, staring up at the plastered white ceiling. "I want nothing to do with Thomas Hogarth."
"You can't just lie here in your shift forever." Elizabeth twisted her hands in frustration. "The Earl is losing his patience. He says you have to come down and speak with Thomas today, or he's coming up to get you."
Deborah wrinkled her nose. "That's a sight I'd like to see! The Earl of Manchester managing to get me and himself down the steps without killing the both of us! He hasn't picked up anything heavier than a tea cup in years."
"Please. Just come down for a few minutes. What harm can it do?" She got up off the bed and went to fetch one of Deborah's favorite gowns. "You can't sit here on this bed forever."
Deborah sat back up. As much as she hated to admit it, her sister was right. She couldn't sit here in her bedchamber and rot like an old bit of linen. It just wasn't in her. It wasn't the way she knew Tshingee would have wanted her to behave. He was gone and she had to learn to live with that pain. But so could she live with the pleasure of his memory. Just the thought of the sound of his laughter brought a smile to her lips.
"You'll come down?" Elizabeth held out the emerald green woolen gown hopefully.
"I'll come down," Deborah conceded. "But only to get out of this house and breath some fresh air. If Tom wants to speak with me, it will have to be outside. I think I'll walk down to the river and back."
"Oh, Deborah, that's much too far to go. The Earl will never—"
"The Earl will never know as long as you keep your tongue in your head."
Elizabeth dropped the woolen gown on the bed and ran to retrieve a pair of stockings and a corset for her sister. "Let me help you dress." She tossed the dark wool stockings on the bed and held up the corset.
Deborah laughed. "I'm not putting that thing on."
Elizabeth stared in shock. "Well of course you are. You've been wearing a corset since you were five." Deborah sat on the edge of the bed and began to roll on her stockings. "Yes, and I'd forgotten what it was like to take a deep breath."
"The gown will never fit!" Elizabeth protested.
"Then I'll go down in my shift."
Elizabeth responded with a wordless roll of her eyes.
Ignoring her sister, Deborah pulled the green woolen gown over her head, lifting her breasts up before she tightened the strings of the bodice. Though the gown did not fit quite the way it once had, it fit and she could breathe. "There, you see." She lifted her arms in demonstration. "I'll just tell Thomas I got fat. She dropped to her knees to retrieve her leather boots from beneath the bed. Slipping into them, she started for the door. "Well? Are you coming? Surely you wouldn't want to miss the great reunion."
Elizabeth's cheeks burned with a mixture of anger and jealousy, but she said nothing, following in her sister's footsteps.
Deborah walked through the parlor, passing a seated Thomas. "I'm going out for a walk. You coming?" she asked, not waiting for a reply.
Thomas popped out of his seat, creasing his forehead questioningly in Elizabeth's direction.
Elizabeth shrugged. "She says she's going for a walk. You'd better go with her. The Earl doesn't want her out alone," she said as Deborah disappeared down the hall and out of earshot.
"You come too." Thomas took Elizabeth's elbow. "I'll feel better if you're there. I . . . I'm not sure what to say to her."
Elizabeth's facial features softened. "All right, Tom. If you really want me to."
There was a scurry of activity among the servants and in a few minutes' time Thomas and Elizabeth were out the door, following Deborah's footsteps in the snow. It had snowed last night, leaving a soft glistening blanket of white to cover the ground and laden the trees.
"Deborah, wait for us, Thomas called, hanging on to Elizabeth's elbow to guide her through a snowdrift.
Deborah stopped, waiting impatiently. Cupping a handful of snow in her woolen mitten, she flung it at the side of the smokehouse.
"Deborah." Thomas breathed heavily, clouds of frost rising with each word. "I'm so glad to see you out and about. I've been so worried."
Deborah scooped up another handful of snow and packed it carefully. "That was a dirty thing you did back there, Thomas Hogarth. The agreement was that the red men would go free." It hurt her not to use Tshingee's name, but she knew she had to be careful of what she said. "That's the kind of thing men burn in hell for, Tom."
"I had nothing to do with it. You must believe me. All the Earl said was that I was to get you mounted and out of there as quickly as possible."
Deborah scowled, throwing the second snowball. She knew Thomas was telling the truth—not that it made her feel any better.
"But it's all over now, Deborah," Elizabeth assured soothingly. "You're home safe. Everything's going to be all right, isn't it, Thomas?" She couldn't keep her lower lip from trembling as she spoke.
"Elizabeth is right. Everything is going to be fine." Thomas touched Deborah's arm lightly. "The contract's not been broken if that's what you're concerned about."
"The contract!" Deborah whirled around.
"It's all right, darling. I'm still going to marry you. I know that whatever happened to you among the savages wasn't your fault." Despite the frigid air, his forehead was beaded with perspiration. "You were just an innocent victim of their debauchery."
Deborah's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Just what are you saying, Tom?" She pushed back the hood of her cloak, letting her dark hair whip in the wind. Her smoldering eyes bore down on his nervous, darting blue ones.
"Just . . . just that . . ."
"What Thomas is trying to say in the most delicate way possible is that he doesn't hold you responsible for whatever" — Elizabeth's cheeks colored. — "for whatever they might have done to you or made you do."
"I'm still not following," Deborah said, a silly smile on her face. "Could you be more specific, Tom, as to what you're inferring the savages might have done to me?" A warning light went off in her head. She knew she should keep quiet, but the fury that was rising inside her was overpowering.
"You know what I speak of," Thomas said, emphasizing each word. He was growing angrier by the moment. "Must I come out and say it in front of your dear, innocent sister?"
"Why not?" Deborah took a step forward, peering into his face. "I get the idea the two of you have discussed it before!"
"Elizabeth," Thomas snapped. "Please excuse us."
Elizabeth caught Thomas's arm. "Please, Tom," she begged. "Just leave her. She doesn't know what she's saying. You don't know what she's been through!"
Thomas gently removed Elizabeth's arm from his. "Beth! Excuse us."
Tears trickled down Elizabeth's face as she backed off and then turned and ran.
"Coward, Tom! You're a coward! Say what you mean instead of making these inane insinuations!" Deborah dared. "Because I'm sick of it! All of you have been tiptoeing around me like I'm a thread of spun glass. Everyone's been so busy fabricating a good story that no one's bothered to ask me what happened! No one asked how I was treated! No one gives a damn about me!"
"What do you mean, no one gives a damn? What about me?" Thomas's face grew hard and craggy. "What other man would take a woman soiled as you are?"
"Soiled? Why, you son of a bitch!" Deborah slapped his face so hard that she left a raised red welt on his cheek.
Elizabeth turned at the sound of the loud crack and came running back toward them.
Thomas's hand immediately went up to strike Deborah back.
"Don't hit her, Tom! Please don't hit her!" Elizabeth cried. "She doesn't know what she's saying!"
"Go ahead," Deborah taunted. "Strike me. It's what all of you white men do when you don't get your way, when people don't say what you want them to."
Thomas lowered his hand. "Shut up," he ordered. "You're making a scene. Someone might hear you!"
"And what, taint the Hogarth name? Well, I'm not going to shut up! You want to hear something," Deborah raged. "You want to really hear something?"
"No, no, Deborah, please!" Elizabeth begged, pulling on her sister's arm. "Just come inside. Please don't say anymore. You'll ruin everything. He's going to marry you, that's all that matters!"
"He's going to marry me?" Deborah scoffed. "I have no intentions of marrying him!" She brought her face only inches from his. "Because I can't bear the thought of having to lie with him! Not after Tshingee! Not after being loved by a real man, a man who cared for me, a man who loves me!"
"Oh! Oh!" Elizabeth cried, throwing back her head.
Thomas stood in shock for a moment, staring at Deborah. Then his gaze fell on Elizabeth, who swayed precariously on her feet. "Elizabeth! Beth!" He grabbed her arm to support her.
"Oh! Oh, dear." Elizabeth's hand went to her forehead, her eyelashes fluttered and she dropped into Thomas's arms.
"God's teeth!" Deborah muttered, getting a hold of herself. Don't just stand there! Take her to the house, Tom. Someone will know what to do with her there."
For a moment Thomas stood in the snow with Elizabeth draped in his arms, just staring at Deborah. "I . . . I don't know what to say."
Deborah sighed, pushing a stray lock of dark hair off her cheek. "Don't say anything, Tom, just go on up to the house. I need to be alone. Just go."