Runaway (48 page)

“Naomi, this can’t last forever.”

She sighed deeply. “We have to fight forever—or let them send us west.”

“But they can’t force James to do anything, they can’t! His father—”

“Tara! You know that James will not call himself white to gain a foothold when his people cannot surrender!”

She did know it. And she was outraged for these people, just as she had been horrified about the settlers who had been burned out and killed.

And she had tormented Jarrett on this very point, when she felt the tearing anguish of it herself! She wanted to sit down in the center of the cabin and cry. If she could only go back and unsay so many things!

She couldn’t. She could only pray that he wasn’t too disappointed with her. That he wouldn’t decide he was weary of battling her, that he no longer wanted a wife.

“Let’s not think of the future for the moment. Come inside and visit with Mary. Then, if you wish, you can help me pack.”

“Can someone start me a fire in Jarrett’s cabin? I would do so myself, but I’m afraid of burning it down,” she told Naomi.

“Anyone would be glad to help you. You’re welcome to sleep with us. No, I think you’d rather be in his cabin.”

Tara smiled, slightly startled by Naomi’s intuition. “Yes, I guess I would.”

“He will be safe, you know.”

“I hope.”

“Osceola will never hurt him. I know you think that Osceola is a vicious murderer, but he is a man of great convictions, and he keeps his word. He would not fight Jarrett.”

“Thank you for the reassurance. But there are other warriors out there, men who may not agree with Osceola.”

“More so than the whites, the Indians cherish a man they can trust. Even if he is, by the color of his flesh, the enemy. But come now; Mary will be delighted to see you.”

Tara shared
koonti
bread and fresh cow’s milk with Mary—who greeted her as warmly as if she were, indeed, a daughter—Naomi, and the children. Two of the village boys came to assure them that they would light her fire for the night. Mary then returned to her own cabin to rest, the girls went out to play, and Naomi looked about the cabin, sighing as she saw what she still had to pack.

“How will you live?” Tara asked Naomi unhappily.

Naomi shrugged. “We have run before. And we will not manage so badly. We will sleep in our
hooties—
”

“What?”

Naomi laughed. “A
‘hootie’
is like a lean-to, quickly thrown up, roofed by cabbage palms. Easy to leave again.”

“Oh, Naomi!” Tara said unhappily.

“I’m just grateful that you came to say good-bye. We’ll break this camp just as soon as James returns. It won’t be so hard again, because we’ll stay ready to run.”

“I just wish—I wish there were something I could do.”

“There isn’t.”

“Then I wish that I could help.”

Naomi smiled. “Then perhaps you’ll take a walk with the girls. They’re underfoot when I’m trying to pack up the things we will take.”

Tara smiled. “Children are like that everywhere,” she said softly.

“They do their share of the work, little as they are. They weave cabbage palms, they even do well with cleaning skins. We learn young here. But you’re right, children remain children, and they are very much aware of the move, and they are more hindrance now when they try to help.”

“Little white ones are much the same!”

“I imagine, though I really know little about white children. I was so anxious to hold Lisa’s white baby—oh, I’m sorry, Tara.”

Tara shook her head and Naomi set a hand on her arm. “You mustn’t be afraid of having children because of Lisa. The circumstances were tragic but accidental!”

Tara shook her head again. She didn’t want to tell Naomi that she wasn’t afraid of having children, she was simply afraid that her husband might not want them very much anymore—not with her.

“You have white blood in you,” Tara reminded Naomi with a smile.

“Diluted!” Naomi said with a laugh. “In fact, I could just imagine trying to tell one of the white soldiers that I was part white!”

“Naomi …”

“I know!” she whispered. “I know that Osceola and Wildcat and other warriors attack plantations and kill your people. I wish that—I just wish that the war would end. And that we might all be allowed peace. But—I don’t think it can ever end. I think we’ll be running forever.

“Oh, Naomi.”

“Go with the children, please. They love you, and they’ll be distracted for a while. For now, we are only moving deeper into the marshland, and we will still see each other now and then!”

Tara embraced Naomi. Naomi called out for the children, and Jennifer and Sara hurried into the cabin. They cried out with delight when they heard that Tara was going to play with them. “I guess we’ll start with a walk!” Tara told the two, glad of the complete love and trust in the huge, beautiful eyes that turned up to hers.

“Don’t get lost,” Naomi warned.

“We’ll head west,” Tara said, thinking that she would follow the trails that went just beyond the stream she knew so well. Indian country. She’d be safe with the girls there.

“Don’t wander too far,” Naomi warned.

“I’ll stay close.”

Tara started away from the village with the children, telling them that they shouldn’t be worried, their parents would be taking them on a big adventure.

“We’re running away from the white soldiers!” Sara told her gravely.

“You are going to where it’s safer,” Tara agreed. “But perhaps it won’t be for very long. Or perhaps you’ll like your new village better.”

Jennifer sniffed. “It will be away from you.”

“Not so far. You’ve got me now; you won’t lose me so easily!” she teased.

Jennifer, holding Tara’s hand, set it next to her cheek and rubbed against it. Tara bit into her lip, wishing there were something else she could say to the children.

“Hey! Let’s play a game. It’s called hide-and-go-seek. You two go forward a bit into the trees, then I’ll come running after you and find you.”

“All right,” Sara agreed, eyes alight. “Come, Jennifer, take my hand!”

Jennifer let go of Tara and went running after her sister. Tara didn’t want them really getting ahead, so she gave them only a ten-second head start. She caught up with them, spun them, hugged them.

They ran off again. She caught them the same way. Delighted, the girls demanded that they get to play one last time.

“All right, then, run along!” she said. She gasped for a few minutes, catching her breath. Then she started after them for the third time.

But just as she slipped onto the trail, she paused with a frown. She could feel something, a beat, a rhythm of the earth. Then she realized that horses were coming, a number of them.

She didn’t think that there should have been so many horses. Many of the Indians had mounts, but James was away with several of his warriors.

Some inner sense suddenly warned her that a terrible danger was approaching.

“Jennifer, Sara, come here! Now. We aren’t playing!” she called out. She heard a giggle. The threat of tears
seemed to tighten her voice. “I am not playing, you must come to me, now!”

They sensed the danger. Both little girls streaked out of the trees, huge eyes on Tara.

Her first instinct was to run for the village. But through the trees she could see blue uniforms. Soldiers.

She didn’t want to lead them to the village.

Instead she swooped up the children and started running as fast as she could in the direction of Cimarron. Foolish! she thought. She could never make it. With a horse, yes, but her mount was in the village. She was simply determined now to get as far from here as she could.

She ran down the trail, gasping for breath. With a child clasped in either arm, she was wearing down quickly. Yet still, she thought that she could reach one of the marshy copses she was coming to know, perhaps hide until the soldiers had passed by.

She wished that she had headed east—that she were on her own property. She would have some rights that way. But this was Indian land—or, at least, according to the Treaty of Moultrie Creek—it had been Indian land.

That would make the soldiers feel they had every right to be here.

Just when she thought she might have escaped, a blue-clad soldier on a handsome army horse suddenly came down the trail straight toward her.

She was trapped.

She came to a dead standstill in the center of the trail, clutching the children to her.

The man was regular army, Tara thought, one of those sent here with the thousands from the federal government. On his horse he seemed tall. He was slender with a sharp face, a goatee, and a slick-curled mustache.

“Well, well, well!” he called out. “What have we here!”

He drew his horse to a halt, dismounting. Tara could hear other soldiers draw up behind her. She didn’t turn. She kept her eyes on the man who had accosted her first.

“What do you want?” Tara demanded, trying very hard not to show how she was shaking.

The man pointed to her arms. “The Seminole brats!” he snapped out.

“Why?” she asked imperiously.

“Why?” he repeated, stripping off yellow gloves as he took another few steps toward her. He looked behind her to the mounted men in his company. Tara turned slightly. That’s what it was. One company, she thought. Scouting? Perhaps just looking for small villages, eager to slay everyone within them and burn them to the ground.

They would know that most of the warriors were out, following the war chiefs. It would be a good military tactic to many to sweep down and kill old men, women, and children.

James had been right. The war was coming after him whether he wanted it or not.

“Why?”
the soldier began again, directing his men. “Why on earth!” he said, laughing, and came nearer Tara, thrusting his face toward her. “Because little brats grow up to be big Indians. With rifles and knives. Because I don’t want to see a white scalp on one of these little heathens’ shirt sash in another twelve years, that’s why!”

“These are little girls!” Tara said angrily.

“Little girls—little Injuns, lady. They’ll grow up to make more redskins. Hell, ain’t you realized it yet? There is no good Indian but a dead one, and it don’t matter
what its age! Who the hell are you and what are you doing out here anyway?”

“Tara McKenzie, and we are bordering my land!” she snapped back.

“McKenzie?” The name took him aback. One of the other soldiers rode forward.

“Captain, sir, can I speak with you?” he said anxiously. The captain followed him a few feet away.

“He’s going to kill us!” Sara said, trying to sound wise and unafraid. “He’s going to swing us around and around, and bash our heads in against a tree!” she said in a hush. No matter how brave a little Seminole girl should be, she was trembling with fear and tears filled her eyes.

“Sweetheart, he will have to kill Aunt Tara first, I swear it,” she promised, planting a quick kiss on each little forehead. How things changed! It had not been so very long ago that the very idea of a Seminole had sent her into terror. She had almost believed it herself that the only good Indian was a dead one! The white soldiers didn’t know; they hadn’t seen that people were people, with desires, hopes, dreams, fears. Born to love, to hurt, to age, to die.

“Aunt Tara—” Jennifer began.

“Shush!” Tara said quickly, because she had to hear what the men were saying.

“He’s an important man in the territory, owns all kinds of land, no title, but he sometimes works for the army, for Zach Taylor, straight through Andrew Jackson! If she’s his wife …”

The mustached captain gave an impatient wave. “They told us to clean out the Indians, didn’t they?”

“Mrs. McKenzie, with all due respect,” he said to her, yet his eyes flashed, and there was no respect intended at all, “hand over those children.”

She clutched the little girls tighter against her and stared at the blue-clad soldier on his horse. “These children are staying with me.”

“We don’t want to hurt you, ma’am.”

“Then you had best not.”

“I’m an officer with the United States Army.”

“Then perhaps you should behave like one. I don’t recall the murder of children being among the duties of army officers!”

The captain sighed, truly aggravated. “Sergeant Dicks, get down, and take these little vermin from the lady.” His eyes narrowed. “And if she isn’t careful, she’ll find that she is pleading for herself!”

She felt a shiver race up her spine. He wouldn’t dare touch her! But he had that look about him, she thought. He was a cruel man, and his uniform allowed him to vent that cruelty.

Thank God it seemed that Dicks was no fool. “Captain, I cannot wrestle with a lady!” he said.

The captain swung around. “You’re disobeying my orders?” he demanded of Dicks.

“No, Captain!” Dicks said with dismay.

“Move on!” he suddenly told the company. “Move on. I’ve a few more words to share with Mrs. McKenzie, then I’ll be with you.”

Dicks looked to Tara unhappily. He was a young man, barely shaving, she thought.

“Move on!” the captain roared.

“Sir—”

“That’s a direct order.”

Dicks and the other mounted men began to move past them. Tara was tempted to run, yet she thought that perhaps against this man alone, she might have a chance.

Besides, she couldn’t run with the children. She could barely hold their weight any longer.

In a matter of seconds the cypress forest was silent.

“Now!” the captain said. “Hand them over, lady.”

She shook her head slowly. “These children are my husband’s blood.”

The captain seemed surprised, then he sneered at Tara. “He’s got you, and he likes a bit of red as well—he keeps a Seminole mistress?”

Tara fought her fury. “They are his nieces.”

“Give them to me. Perhaps if you do so swiftly enough, I won’t be tempted to hurt you to get them. Nor to hurt you in getting what I want
after
I get them!”

“You have to be insane!”

“Lady, one way or another …”

She drew herself up as tall as she could, thinking desperately now. She was stunned. He meant to kill the children—and rape her!