Crow Hollow (19 page)

“What will Master Cooper do when he makes contact with the king’s agents in New York?” she asked.

“He means to raise help so our return to Boston won’t see us climbing the gallows.”

“They wouldn’t hang us, would they?”

“No,” he said after a moment of thought. “Too public. Rather more likely they’ll murder us on the road. Or try, anyway.”

“At least then we’d have a chance.”

“Without horses or saddlebags? Without ball or powder?” He shook his head. “I’d as soon take my chances with the Indians.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
F
IVE

The flying squirrel gave no more than a mouthful each. James was almost relieved. It tasted like a gamey piece of venison, only with a distinctly muddy aftertaste. So much for his hope that “sugar squirrel” meant it would taste vaguely of maple-tree sap.

When they finished, Prudence wasted what seemed like valuable time searching for a moose trail. But when she found it, he was soon glad she had. It led over the ridge, picking through the trees, avoiding snags and rocky knolls. The snow up top must have been three feet deep, but the animals had packed it down and saved James and Prudence from wading through the snow. After a couple of hours of tromping, James felt almost warm. All except his feet, which had become blocks of ice.

They continued trudging along the ridge until it came into a little vale, carved by a stream that had frozen into a white ribbon as it cascaded over the rocks. Birch trees glistened in the midday light, with each branch and twig coated with a fine dust of white. The rocky walls on the opposite side of the little valley gleamed with a vast icy sheet several feet thick.

James was lightheaded with hunger. He’d spotted some sort of partridge or quail earlier, but had declined taking a shot with his remaining loaded pistol. Now he was regretting that decision.

He eyed the stream. “You don’t suppose if we broke through the ice we could fish for trout, do you?”

“I spent last winter with the Nipmuk. We were on the run and hunger was a constant companion. They never tried it. In a pond, yes, but not a little brook like this.”

“Meaning it can’t be done?”

“Not likely, or they would have tried.”

Prudence didn’t sound worried, and he looked her over, surprised. She seemed vigorous and full of energy.

“Aren’t you faint with hunger?” he asked.

“I’m famished. And my legs are ready to collapse.”

“You sound pleased with that. I’d half expected to be carrying you by now.”

She’d been studying the little valley, as if trying to orient herself, and now looked at him with a smile. “Aye, but I entered the woods fat and content. Last time I stood in this spot I’d gone two weeks eating nothing but insects and tree bark.”

“That doesn’t account for the smile. Come now, you’re hiding a secret.”

“Perhaps I am, James. Follow me.”

She led him alongside the bank of the frozen stream. They trudged through the snow until they reached the end of the valley. It was a little meadow marked here and there with mounds of drifted snow and ringed by a steep, rocky slope that blocked their passage. It was a discouraging sight. What now but turn around?

Prudence bent and pushed snow from one of the mounds. “Lend me a hand.”

Together they cleared the snow from what turned out to be an Indian house of sorts, its internal structure of cut poles collapsed and the deerskin roof and walls gathered into a pile. They pried the skins from the frozen ground to reveal a mat of frozen rushes that had once served as the floor. Prudence tromped around for a minute before she stopped and shook her head.

“Not this one,” she said. “But keep cheer, it’s under one of these.”

“What is?”

“There is a basket of corn seed hidden in a hole beneath one of these wigwams.”

“Is this Sachusett? I thought it would be bigger.”

“This? Bless me, no. This was a refuge. Mikmonto knew Sachusett would come under attack as soon as the militia freed Springfield from the siege. But he first needed permission to travel north—the Verts Monts Abenaki were neutral in the war. Until that happened, he needed somewhere to hide. He led a false trail west and came here to hide. We stayed here until the food ran out.”

“Then how can there be corn?”

“No matter how hungry, you cannot eat all the seed. Someday, Mikmonto thought, the English would be driven off, and they’d need something to plant.”

As they were talking, they’d knocked the snow from another mound and peeled it back. This one also gave no indication of disturbed soil beneath. At this rate it would be after dark before they got all twenty or so mounds cleared. Prudence trudged through the snow, examining each of the mounds in turn and looking up at the hillside to reorient herself.

“This one!” she cried. “Over here. I remember now.”

This mound was no bigger than the others, but the skins had frozen on top of each other and seemed positively cemented to the ground. It took a good deal of digging with numb fingers and yanking back and forth until they finally got it loose. Then a layer of rushes, partly rotted and completely frozen. They had sagged over the top of a hole, as Prudence had said. Excited now, they dug away until they got the rushes out of the way.

And then stared in dismay. There was a hole, all right, neatly scooped from the earth and cleared of roots and stones. But it was empty.

“I don’t understand,” she said, her voice defeated. “I saw Mikmonto’s wife lower the basket in herself. This is right where Laka left it. Could it be animals got here first?”

“Except the floor was undisturbed,” he said. “A bear would have torn up the floor. Rodents would have left the basket. One of the hungry Indians must have come back around for it.”

“No,” she said. “They’d have never done that. And when? We never came within thirty miles of this spot until the return to Crow Hollow.”

“Someone must have done it.”

“I suppose so.”

Prudence, to her credit, didn’t moan or complain, though he could tell from the slump of her shoulders that she was discouraged. She walked thoughtfully among the other snow-covered wigwams.

“Let’s look for the trail,” she said. “It leads up through the woods.”

Soon enough they found it. Like the other trail, this one had also been used by animals. Deer droppings marked the ground, together with the prints of their cloven hooves. Other tracks: little five-fingered hands with claws, like a weasel or maybe a raccoon. And then the paw of some giant cat, which Prudence called a catamount, which was some kind of lion.

“Only not so big as the ones that live in Mohammedan lands,” she said, “nor as dangerous.”

“I’ll trust your word on it.”

They’d crested two more hills, and it was already late afternoon. By his estimate the date was December 23, one of the shortest days of the year. And only two days from Christmas, he thought gloomily. If he were in England, he’d have taken leave of the king’s service to visit his parents in Lewes. He would sit in front of a fire drinking mulled wine, smoking a pipe with his brother and father, perhaps eating a generous wedge of his mother’s fruited cake, soaked in brandy since the autumn. His nieces would gather around, insisting he tell stories about his time among the wicked French. This he would do with relish, inventing lurid details when necessary.

Instead, he was in this frozen wasteland. To slake his thirst, he ate snow, but this only made him shiver more. They hadn’t yet made camp, and if the temperature fell before they were able to light a fire, they could find themselves in serious trouble.

You’re already in trouble, friend.

For some reason, the words came to his mind in Peter Church’s slow, questioning tone. Why he was thinking of the murdered Indian now, he couldn’t say.

Prudence stopped and squatted. “Look.”

She brushed snow away lightly with her fingers to reveal the left half of a single, human-shaped print where it touched the edge of the trail. The outlines were indistinct, and the shoe or boot had no heel. Neither was it the mark of a wooden clog like people wore in town.

“Indian?” he asked.

She nodded. When she rose, her face shined eagerly, though the confirmation filled James only with dread. As they continued, Prudence picked up the pace until he could scarcely keep up with her.

Prudence stopped only when he insisted, pointing out that if they waited any longer, they wouldn’t be able to light a fire.

This time, Prudence searched out a drift of snow pushed against a rock, then packed it down and used a stick to hollow out an opening while James gathered wood. She showed him which tree to scrape for its bark. After that, he was able to light the fire himself. He didn’t like their position on an exposed ridge, worried that the fire would be visible for miles. But it was too late to search for another spot.

When he had the fire going, he found Prudence on her hands and knees, her head and shoulders in the cave. She shoveled out snow, pushing it behind her like a badger digging in the dirt.

“We’re spending the night in there?” he asked, doubtfully.

“’Twill keep us warm.”

“Sleeping in the snow will keep us warm?”

“It’s not the same as climbing beneath four blankets in a freshly warmed bed,” she said, “but it will be no colder than the temperature at which water turns to ice.”

“That sounds frigid enough to me.”

“Trust me, James. It’s what animals do, and it’s how a Nipmuk will survive in the woods if he’s caught out and there’s plenty of snow. He makes a snow cave. We’ll stay warm enough.” She took a stick and punched two holes in the roof of the cave.

“Then why are we lighting a fire?” he asked. “We have nothing to eat and we can’t use the warmth if we’re sleeping in that hole.”

“In case there are any Nipmuk or Abenaki around. It will help them find us.”

“About that—”

“It’s too late for second thoughts, James. We have no way back, only forward.”

“And you’re sure they won’t take our scalps and torture us to death?”

“It depends on how angry they are.”

“I find that less than reassuring.”

“We’re close. My daughter is near. I must find her, no matter the risk.”

There was no arguing. Even if he’d wanted to go back on his word, turning around was impossible at this point. The unsettling thing was how thoroughly their roles had changed over the past day. His confidence was shattered, while Prudence only seemed to grow more sure of herself, more competent, as they plunged deeper into the wilderness.

The wind had picked up, and so they loaded sticks onto the fire and then approached the hole. Prudence dropped to her belly and squirmed forward until she disappeared inside. She called for him to enter. Fighting his fear of tight spaces, he obeyed.

Once inside the snow cave, he was surprised at how comfortable it was. The space was tight, but with room to turn around, so long as one didn’t try to rise above one’s knees. The snow was soft, and while it wasn’t warm, exactly, neither was it frigid.

“As our body warmth fills the cave,” Prudence said, “the ceiling will melt, then refreeze into a crust. That will keep it from collapsing on us in the night. Until then, try not to hit your head against the ceiling.”

He stretched out and accidentally elbowed her in the dark. “Pardon me, there isn’t much room.”

“We should sleep together. To conserve heat.”

They opened their cloaks and embraced each other, then spent a few moments squirming around until they were fully wrapped in both cloaks.

The snow muffled the wind, and all he could hear was her breathing. Her breath was warm against his neck. Without thinking, he lifted a hand to her face. She gasped.

“Pray, pardon me,” he murmured.

She grabbed his wrist and held his hand in place before he could pull away. “Your hand is cold, that is all. But please, I’m frightened. Your touch comforts.”

“You don’t seem frightened. I thought that was just me.”

“I was in good spirits so long as we kept moving. Now that we’ve stopped, the memory of it all comes rushing back. My mind is galloping.”

He held her tightly and cupped her face in his hand while brushing her cheek with his thumb, all in a manner that he hoped was comforting and not aggressive. He wouldn’t want her to think he would take advantage.

But as soon as the thought came to his mind, he couldn’t cast it aside. In spite of the hunger and the cold, the exhaustion and the fear, he soon could think of only one thing. Every time Prudence shifted against him he could feel every curve of her body: the soft swell of her full breasts against his arm and chest, her thigh pressed between his legs, her lips brushing against his neck.

Don’t you think of it
, he told himself.
Only a knave would press himself upon a woman at a time like this.

“Thank you, James,” she whispered.

She moved her hands, and to both his pleasure and his horror, he felt her cool fingers beneath his undershirt and against the bare flesh of his side. She moved her hand up to his chest.

“Prudie,” James said, licking his lips. He was of half a mind to tell her to stop, while the other half wanted to put his mouth against hers and his hand on her breast.

“Pray pardon me. It—it may seem improper.” Yet she didn’t move her hand from his skin. “But we are so cold. It is only for warmth.”

Was she saying that for his benefit, or her own? Either way, he wasn’t fooled. If she’d been huddling here with her sister, she’d hardly rest a hand against Anne’s bare breast.

He cupped her head and pulled it toward his. Their lips came together. Prudence let him kiss her lightly, but pulled away after only a moment.

“Did you have her?” she asked.

“What do you mean? Who?”

“Lucy Branch. Did you have her?”

“No, I already told you.”

“I know, but—” Prudence hesitated. “I thought perchance you had lied to spare my sensibilities.”

“I didn’t take advantage of Lucy. I hope you believe that.”

She let out a low laugh. “I wasn’t worried about
you
taking advantage of
her.
You wouldn’t have been the first young man she’s pressed herself against.”

“No?”

“Lucy is a passionate girl. It gets her into trouble. And you are a man, you are far from home and among strangers. If a comely servant girl were to give you leave . . . but I need to know if you have an understanding with Lucy.”

“I kissed her,” he confessed. “And I almost succumbed. But it did not seem right. Too dangerous for Lucy, and she made feeble protests about her virtue. What’s more, if I had, she’d have expected me to approach your sister to ask permission to marry. She let it be known.”