Chapter Sixteen
"Bridget, you have to take me to him." Deborah stood on the steps of John's cabin, her hands resting on her hips.
"Take you to who?"
"Tshingee. I know he's alive and I know you know where he is."
Bridget shifted her weight from one foot to the other in obvious discomfort. "How do you know?" Mary peeked from behind her mother's homespun skirts, but remained silent.
"John told me he knew in his heart that his brother was not dead. He told me I must find him."
"I can't believe John'd want you to have any more to do with his brother or him." Bridget brought her fingers to her pale lips. "Don't you think you've done enough harm?"
"I've done nothing. My father's actions are his own. I love Tshingee. He would come to me if I were hurt. I have to do what I can for him."
Bridget shook her head. "Nothing can be done for him. He's fevered bad. He's dying. He's got musket balls in his back." She brought her worn shawl over her shoulders. "Only the Lord can save him now."
"God's teeth, Bridget." Impatiently, Deborah pushed her way through the door. "Don't start with that again. I fully believe in the Lord's powers, but he put heads on our shoulders for a purpose. I'll not let Tshingee lie out there in the snow and die as long as there's breath in my body." She pulled Mary's cloak off the cabin wall and tossed it to the little girl. Next she handed Bridget hers. "Now get this on and take me to Tshingee. I've brought medicine, warm blankets, and food. I can't be gone long. My father is already suspicious of my disappearances."
Bridget pushed back a stringy lock of flaming red hair that fell forward over her forehead. "If I take you to him, the Earl's men will follow us. They'll kill my husband's brother."
"If you don't take me to him, he'll die anyway," Deborah countered.
Mary slipped on her cloak and tied the hood tightly around her neck. On the front of the cloak the silver broach Deborah had given her months ago was prominently displayed. "If you want, Mama, I could show Deborah where my uncle is."
"You could never find it," Bridget stated hopefully.
"Oh, but I could, Mama. My uncle taught me to always know where I was going and always know where I'd been." She took her mother's hand. "You could stay here where it's warm and bake our bread while I take Deborah."
"Yes, Bridget, why don't you stay here? Mary and I will be fine."
"I . . . I don't know."
"Bridget." Deborah took her arm "John trusts me. You have to trust me too. I would never let any harm come to your daughter. She can just lead me to Tshingee and then come right back."
"No. I don't want her in the woods alone. Wild dogs."
"All right. Then I'll bring her back before I return to Host's Wealth." When Bridget gave no immediate reply, Deborah added, "It's what John would want you to do. I'm sure of it."
"You give your word that if I let her go, you won't let any harm come to her?" Bridget conceded.
"I give my word. I wouldn't take her if I thought she'd be in danger." Deborah rested her hand on Mary's shoulder.
Bridget knelt, brushing her fingers across Mary's cheek. "You go and take Deborah to your uncle, and then you make her bring you right back. You understand?"
Mary nodded solemnly. "We'll hurry, Mama. I promise."
Bridget kissed her daughter on the cheek. "Take care that no one sees you in the woods," she said, tightening the little girl's hood. "If the Earl's men find your uncle, they will kill him."
"We'll take care, I promise you," Deborah said, opening the cabin door.
Bridget rose, nudging Mary gently. "Go then, and God be with you."
"Bye, Mama," Mary called running through the snow to catch up with Deborah. She waved a mittened hand over her head.
Bridget stood in the doorway, twisting her hands in the folds of her apron until the two disappeared into the snowy forest.
Mary pointed and Deborah dropped onto all fours then crawled through the hole in the brush. "Dear, God," she murmured in disbelief.
Tshingee was curled in a tight ball, a moth-eaten blanket thrown over him. His face was slack and hollow. A jug of water and a slice of bread lay near his head.
"Tshingee! Tshingee," Deborah cried, lifting his head to her lap.
Tshingee moaned, stirring.
Deborah smoothed his haggard bronze cheek, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He was burning with fever.
"Tshingee can you hear me? Can you hear me, love?"
"N'palsi," he murmured weakly. "K'daholel."
"I can't understand you." She pulled up the blanket, covering his shoulders. "I don't know what you're saying."
Mary stuck her head into the brush cavern. "He says he is sick." She giggled. "He says he loves you."
Deborah pressed her lips to his damp hair. "I don't know how he can be so hot with it's so cold outside."
"This is the home the doe makes when she has her little ones." Mary creeped just inside the bramble patch. "Here the deer is safe from the wind and man. She saved my uncle."
"Hand me my pack, Mary. We haven't long. I need to start a fire, but I don't dare. Not today at least." In order to get away from the house she had told her father she was going to see Thomas. It had been all she could do to wait until after they'd eaten their morning meal to go.
"Can't we bring him to our cabin? My uncle would be warm there."
Deborah shook her head, digging through the pack. "No. We can't take the chance that my father's men will find him. They keep too close an eye on you and your mother." She smiled at the little girl. "But good thinking."
Removing a small paper packet from the leather pack, Deborah opened Tshingee's mouth and sprinkled some of the precious white powder on his tongue. He grimaced but was too weak to protest as she brought a water skin to his lips and forced him to drink. Much of the warm tea ran out of the corner of his mouth and onto Deborah's cloak but some of it managed to get down his throat.
"What is that you give my uncle?" Mary asked, wide-eyed.
"A powder for fever. If I leave it here, do you think you could return this afternoon and give it to him again? Just a sprinkle on his tongue."
"I could do it. But Mama . . ."
"I'll speak to her. Maybe both of you can come." She smoothed Tshingee's dark hair. "I will come again late tonight if I can sneak out of the house." Laying his head back on his cloak, Deborah rolled him over carefully so that she could see the extent of his wounds.
"Are they awful bad?" Mary asked.
"Bad." Deborah ran her hand over Tshingee's calf as she mentally counted the wounds. Two in his right leg, one in his lower left back, one in his left shoulder. "But if he's lived this long, I think he can make it."
"Will you take out the musket balls?" Mary crawled deeper inside the bramble cave to get a closer look.
"I'll try, but I can't do it now. I don't have the proper instruments." She ran her fingers over the wound in his shoulder. Remarkably, there seemed to be little festering. Slowly, she rolled him back onto his side and covered him with the old blanket. She added a second one she'd taken from Lady Celia's linen closet.
"There," Deborah whispered. "There's little more I can do for him now." She ran her hand over Tshingee's sunken cheek. It was so odd to see him like this, weak and unprotected. She wanted to stay here with him, to hold him, but she knew she couldn't. If her father suspected he was still alive and on his property, he'd not give up until he found him. Then Tshingee would be a dead man.
"We'd better go." Little Mary laid her hand on Deborah's arm. "We told Mama we wouldn't be long."
Deborah nodded. Leaning over Tshingee, she kissed his lips. "I'll be back," she told him. "Do you hear me, love? I'll be back." Tucking the blankets tightly around his shoulders, she backed up, crawling out of the hiding place.
Standing, Deborah watched as Mary picked up a branch and began to sweep at the snow near the briar patch. Deborah slung her pack over her shoulder. "What are you doing?" She had to laugh. The branch was bigger than Mary was.
"Covering tracks."
Deborah smiled. "You're a clever little girl. Did your papa teach you that?"
She shook her head. "My uncle. We play secret games. I can snare a rabbit and paddle a dugout. Papa and Mama don't like it. Mama says Tshingee will make me into a heathen." She giggled. "So we don't tell."
Deborah dropped her hand onto the little girl's shoulder and kissed the top of her red head. "Wise beyond your years. Your uncle's taught you well."
"You walk ahead and I'll follow. We have to hurry, or Mama's going to be mad."
Laughing, Deborah started for the cabin.
Smoothing her wrinkled cloak, Deborah released Joshua's reins, allowing a stable boy to lead him off. Taking a deep breath, she started up the front steps of the house at Deliverance. She had no desire to see Tom; she was too worried about Tshingee to deal with her fiancé's nonsense, but she knew, just as Mary had covered their tracks, that she must cover her own. Deborah had told the Earl she was going to visit Tom, so visit him she must. She rapped on the door, and too soon, it swung open.
"Lady Deborah, what a pleasant surprise." Lady Hogarth smiled, offering her hand. "Do come in." Lattice Hogarth was a petite woman with thinning dark hair. "Thomas will be so pleased you've come. He's in the office doing the accounts. Silly men's work, you know."
"Oh. If he's busy, you needn't disturb him," Deborah said hopefully. She followed Lady Hogarth into the airy front hall. "I was out riding. I just stopped for a moment."
"Don't be ridiculous. Thomas would never forgive me if I didn't call him!"
Deborah brought her hand from beneath her cloak. "I brought you some of Cook's apple butter. I know how much you like it."
The elder woman accepted the small crock. "Thank you so much, what a dear. I can't wait until you and Thomas are married. It will be so nice to have another daughter in the house. Now give me your things and go warm yourself in the parlor. I'll have something warm brought to drink. It's a wonder you're not frozen through!"
Deborah allowed Lady Hogarth to help her remove her cloak and then she went into the parlor. She knelt before the fire, thrusting out her numb hands. All she could think of was how Tshingee was lying there cold and injured in the forest while she warmed herself.
"Deborah!" Thomas came into the parlor, taking her hand and helping her to her feet. He brushed his lips against her cheek. This was the first time they had seen each other since they had had words after Tshingee had brought her home. "You look radiant."
She forced a smile. "I was out riding. I only stopped for a minute."
"Stay for dinner." He held her hand tightly in his. "I've missed your company."
"I can't." She pulled away. Somehow, even standing here beside Tom made her feel as if she was betraying Tshingee. It didn't matter that they had parted; it didn't matter that Tshingee had told her she must go on with her life. All that mattered was the love that burned between them.
At a loss as to what to say, Tom suddenly brightened. "Good news, dear!"
"Oh?" Deborah studied him suspiciously.
"Father and the Earl have been talking. They've decided to move up the wedding date. We're to be married on Christmas day."
"Christmas day?" Deborah felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. "So soon?"
"They thought it best . . . under the circumstances." He watched her walk to the window.
Deborah sighed, scratching at the frosty windowpane with her finger. "Tom, I can't marry you."
"We've been through this before."
"And all along I've told you I can't marry you. I didn't want to marry you before I was taken and now . . . now I just can't."
"Deborah, I don't care what happened." Thomas took a step forward, then a step back. "I told you that. It's not important. All that matters is that you're safe now. Time will pass, you'll forget it all."
Tears glimmered in her eyes. "But I don't want to."
He groaned. "It's not as if you had a choice with this match . . . as if either of us did."
She turned to face him. "Meaning?"
"Meaning it was a business arrangement, we both knew that. But you and I have always gotten along. It's a good, solid alliance between our families."
"Your father's words," Deborah scoffed. "You're a pawn as much as I am!"
Mustering his courage, Thomas came to her, taking her around the waist. "That's not a true. I was given several choices. You are my choice as wife. I'm in love with you. You know I always have been."
She shook her head sadly. "You're not in love with me, Tom. You're attracted to me; you desire me. But that's not love. It's not what's in your heart." She tapped him on the chest.
"You'll make a good Tidewater wife."
"I'll make an awful Tidewater wife. I'll never say or do the right things. I'll not be servile, not to you or anyone. I'm not what you want. Why are you doing this to yourself?"
"I've wanted you since we were thirteen," he declared passionately. "Do you remember when you kissed me behind Charlie's barn?"
She chuckled. "You were the third boy I'd kissed that day. I was only trying to make Charlie jealous."
"Don't say that. I told you I loved you then, and I still do."
"You asked me to marry you. Thirteen years old and your father was already pointing out good choices for good alliances!" Her voice had taken on a sarcastic air. "Just because you don't mind being jerked by your father's strings, doesn't mean I don't."
He dropped his hands. "And what will you do if I don't marry you? Who will have you?" His injured feelings were turning to anger and spite. "Who will have you after your red man, tell me that, Lady Deborah."
"I don't care! No one, I hope!"
"Your father won't stand for it. He'll marry you to some ancient relative and ship you off to England to rot in some crumbling estate!"
"I'm leaving. I don't have to listen to this."
"You'll waste away, Deborah. I'm your only chance," he called after her vindictively. "Marry me or your life is over."
Not waiting for her cloak, Deborah threw open the front door and ran out into the snow. "I won't marry you, Tom, I won't do that to you. I won't do it to myself."
He came down the steps after her. "All right! Have your way. You always have. I'll tell my father it's off. There'll be no wedding!"
Deborah stood in knee-deep snow, waiting for the stable boy to bring her Joshua. The wind cut through her wool dress but she took no notice of the biting cold. Her dark hair tumbled from the red ribbon, sending it fluttering over her back.
"This is your last chance, Deborah Montague!" Thomas hollered. "You can't come back in a month begging me to change my mind!"
Deborah laughed, leaping onto her mount with the aid of the stable boy. She snatched the reins from the boy's hand. "Have no fear of that!" Her voice carried on the wind. "It'll be a cold day in hell before I beg any man to take me as his wife!" She laid her crop to Joshua's flank and the horse leaped forward, galloping down the drive.
Pushing her leather bag and a flour sack through the hole in the bramble patch, Deborah crawled in. Fumbling in the bag, she found a candle, a puff of raw flax, and a tin box containing flint and steel. Igniting the ball of flax, she lit the candle. "Ouch!" She stuck her burnt finger into her mouth.
"Deborah?" Tshingee called weakly.
"Tshingee!" Deborah turned, holding the candle over his head. "You're awake."
He tried to laugh, but his chest hurt so badly that the rapid intake of air nearly stunned him. He lowered his head onto his arm. "I think so," he managed.
"I was beginning to think you were just going to lie like that forever. Two days ago I took the lead shots out of your leg and shoulder. You nearly killed me with your thrashing, then you haven't moved since." She laid her hand on his forehead. "Fever's gone."
He raised his head again to look at her. "Where am I?"
"Inside a briar patch. Mary says it's where the deer hide." She reached into the flour sack and brought out a water bag filled with herbal tea.
"How did I get in here?"
"Walked? Crawled? I don't know. Mary and Bridget found you while they were out gathering kindling." She raised the water bag to his lips, thankful to have something to do.
He lifted his head and sipped from the bag. "John?"
"Careful, it's hot. Still being held. I'm doing all I can, but I'm not exactly on good terms with the Earl. I've demanded the authorities be called. They can't just keep him in MacCloud's barn forever."
"What does the Earl say to that?" Tshingee took another sip and lowered his head to his arm again.
"My father says the proper authorities have been notified. They just haven't come for John yet. Of course my father also said that his men found you dead, eaten by wild dogs." She spoke matter-of-factly, keeping her emotions under control.
She reached for the flour sack, but he caught her hand. "I never thought I would see you again." He smiled sadly. "Not at least in this world." He brushed her hand against his cheek lovingly. "You look like some biblical angel, Red Bird, with your hair thrown over your shoulders and the light of the candle around your head."
"I think the fever still burns. You're talking nonsense."
He kissed her hand before releasing it. "How bad are my wounds?"
"Two shots in your calf, one in your shoulder, one that went in your back and came out the front. You'll be a while healing. I want to take you somewhere where you'll be more comfortable, but John's cabin isn't safe."
"You were wise not to take me there. This is fine."
"But it's cold!"
"Not too cold. I'll not freeze. These briars have protected the doe and her young. They will protect me until I'm strong enough to go."
And then what, Deborah wondered. But she didn't voice her thoughts. All that was important now was to get Tshingee well . . . and to have John released. She busied herself tearing off pieces of soft bread to feed Tshingee.
"You look tired," he said softly.
"I am." She lifted his head to cradle it in her lap. "Between coming here to see you and going to John at night, I've not gotten much sleep. My family thinks me depressed, sleeping in half the morning."
"You have seen John?"
"They keep him in MacCloud's barn." She fed Tshingee a piece of bread. "I take him food, water, word from Bridget and Mary."
He chewed slowly, even the movement of his jaws sapping his energy. "How is my little Mary?"
"Fine. They were out of wood, but we took care of that. My father's men stole their food, but I've just been stealing it back." She offered him another bit of bread.
"I cannot thank you enough for all you have done for myself and for those I love."
"I don't want thanks." She lowered her head to kiss his cheek. "All I want is your love."
"You have that, ki-ti-hi. Now, always."
A comforting silence stretched between them as Tshingee nibbled at the bread and cheese and drank the herbal tea. When he'd had his fill, she lowered his head back to the hide mat she'd brought for him to sleep on.
"I have to look at the wounds now. Can you roll onto your stomach?"
He rolled over immediately, but couldn't stifle a groan that escaped his lips.
Giving him a moment to catch his breath, Deborah peeled back the leather of his leggings and lifted the candle to take a look at his calf. First she removed the bloody cloth bandage. Then, taking a small lump of paste from a crock, she rubbed the salve into the entry wounds. Tshingee flinched, but said nothing. Covering her handiwork with a clean bandage, she moved on to the next wound.
"The holes are pretty big." She helped him roll back onto his side. "But they're clean now. I had to cut away some dead flesh, but now that the lead ball is gone, you'll heal nicely."
"You would make a good medicine woman. I did not know you knew of herbs."
She shrugged. "I don't. Not much. But no one cares for father's servants. They've always come to me with their aches and pains." She emptied the flour sack and rolled it up, placing it under his head. "I have to go soon. But Bridget and Mary will be by around noon. I'll come again tomorrow night."
He took her hand. "Take care, my Red Bird. Do not put yourself at risk for me."
"There is no risk to me." She gathered the dirty bandages and stuffed them into her leather bag. "But I have to sneak around at night because my father has me under house arrest." She laughed, trying not to make her situation seem too bad.
"And why is that?" Tshingee had lifted his head again and was staring at her intently.
The intensity of his pitch black eyes made Deborah look away. "Thomas has called off the wedding . . . because of some things I said. My father and his father still say it will take place."
"You said this Thomas is a good man," Tshingee said gently. "You should marry him."
Deborah brushed a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. "Rest and I'll see you tomorrow night." Before Tshingee could speak again, she was gone.