Thorns in Eden and the Everlasting Mountains (21 page)

At
night they camped near the water’s edge, broiled fish over the open fire, slept
under the stars. Before sunset, on the third day of their journey, they came to
a precipice of limestone. Nash dismounted, and with Black Hawk moved to the
edge and looked into a canyon of trees to a rushing stream littered with rocks.
Black Hawk pointed at a band of Cayuga warriors passing through the trees. When
they had gone, they carried on, going into the deeper cover of the forests
until they reached the Allegheny Passage and traveled across the Youghiogheny
River.

When
they reached Logan’s camp, a dog ran alongside Meteor’s flanks and barked. The
horse sidestepped and snorted. Nash loosened the reins and went to climb down
from the saddle.

Black
Hawk forbade him. He walked into the center of the village, was met by a dozen
or more braves dressed in deer hide loincloths and beaded moccasins. Their
chests were bare, gleaming in the sunshine from the bear fat rubbed upon their
skin. Scarlet cords held their hair in tails and feathers adorned them. Circled
around their biceps were copper bands and war paint riveted down their bronzed
skin.

Black
Hawk spoke. Savage eyes turned upon the white man. Nash felt the beat of his
heart quicken and pound against his chest. A warrior stepped forward wearing
the mask of the wolf. Clenching his teeth, he spoke a harsh word that could not
be stripped of its bloodthirsty intent. He threw back his head and shook his
fist.

Black
Hawk stood in front of his white brother’s horse. In an instant a breathless
hush fell. Tense like the loll before a storm, it struck the anxious heart of
John Nash as his palms grew slick.

“Hear
my brother’s words.” Black Hawk raised his arms. The warriors listened with
stern faces. “Talgayeeta has sent for him.”

Their
leader shook his head. “Lies. He is of the same mind as Cresap. He will die, as
will all white men for the deaths of Talgayeeta’s family.”

“My
ears do not hear your words, Angry Bear, that I’m to die,” Nash said. “My ears
hear the weeping of your women for Logan’s children, for Shikellimus his noble
father, for his sister Koonay, and his beloved wife Mellana. Logan has sent for
me and I’ve come.”

“Lies!
You come from Cresap. You come to kill our chief and our people.”

“Logan
is my friend,” Nash told him, sliding off his saddle. “You will dishonor your
slain by killing me. Will you will betray Logan in this way?”

Black
Hawk moved beside Nash. “He speaks the truth. Honor your slain.”

The
Indians stared at Black Hawk.

“He
is my brother,” cried Black Hawk, with marked authority. “He saved my life. Talgayeeta
smoked the peace pipe with him. Will you, when you sit in his lodge answer when
he asks where his friend is? Brothers of a war chief, are you fools or men?
Will you strike the war post?”

“The
war post has been struck.” Angry Bear threw his fierce look at Black Hawk and drew
his hunting knife. “He must die.” 

Black
Hawk shook his head, forbidding him to continue. “Because of the paleness of
his skin you would send him to his death? Your words are not wise, my brother.
They are mixed with bitter water.”

Nash
steeled himself and approached the throng, fixing his eyes on Angry Bear. “Go
tell your chief I’ve come. Ask him if he demands of me my life this day. See
what he will answer.”

The
Indian sneered. “I will go to him as you ask. But stay clear of my knife, white
man.”

The
warriors fell back as Angry Bear turned. He headed into the forest, slipped
into the shadows and was gone. A moment passed until Angry Bear was seen again
coming through the trees. Chief Logan, known as Talgayeeta, appeared behind the
warrior. He wore soft doeskin leggings and moccasins. Four white-tipped eagle
feathers thrust through his scalplock quivered in the breeze. A row of beads
hung around his neck, and upon his youthful forearms were bands of beaten
silver.

Logan’s
face was scarred and lined with sadness. For a moment, no words were exchanged.
Logan stared up into the canopy of leaves. Then he lowered his eyes and stood
on a rise of ground in front of Nash.

 Nash
made the sign of brotherhood. “It has been a long season since last we spoke,
and by the cinders on your brow you mourn for the dead. I too mourn for them.”

Logan
held out his hand. Nash took it. Relieved by the gesture, and with pity in his
heart, he met the eyes of this noblest of men, a peacemaker bereft of his loved
ones.

“Sit
with me, for we must speak.” Logan turned and stepped through the doorway of
his lodge. “Black Hawk must come to.”

Together
they sat upon soft, fine skins. A squaw brought them smoked fish and corn cakes.
A mockingbird sang in a tree outside the door, and Nash felt a sense of dread
fleet through the air. 

Logan
handed the calumet to Nash and blew blue smoke into the air. Lines on his face
deepened into crevices and the shadow of his eyes into dark pools clear and
determined. 

“For
many moons I’ve not seen you.”

“I
was in England.”

“I
dreamed you had forgotten your Indian brothers. It brought me much sadness.”

“I
had not forgotten.”

“Why
did you go to England?”

“To
see my father and his wife.”

“I
remember now. They are well?”

“Yes.
I gave my stepmother your string of beads.”

“She
did not reject them?”

“No,
she sends her thanks.”

Logan
pitched his brows. “Your father and his lady are noble people. But some whites
in my country are not.”

“You
speak the truth, brave chief.”

“There
is liberty in truth.”

“Yes,
and suffering in war.”

“You
understand this?”

“I
do, for Dunmore, Cresap, and Greathouse all declared war upon you and the Five
Nations.”

 Logan
balled his fist. “Their hands are stained with the blood of those they have
murdered. This blood stains the land and cannot be washed away by the rains. I
have great anger in my heart. Once I loved my white brothers, so much my
countrymen said, ‘Logan is the friend of the whites’, whenever they saw me. If a
white man entered my lodge, I gave him meat. If ever he came cold and naked, I
clothed him. If he were wounded, I dressed his wounds. Such was my love for
them.”

“I’m
a witness to your love,” Nash said grieved.

“The
moon, once white and full of peace, is now a moon of blood. I vowed for peace,
but now I seek vengeance. Do you see women about my lodge? Do you hear the
laughter of children? Have you spoken to my noble father, to my wife, and
sister?”

A
tear fell from the corner of Logan’s eye, slid down his cheek, touched the quivering
hard lips.

Nash’s
heart ached. “I’ve heard of their fate. My heart is crushed within me.”

 “When
I found them, great anger swelled in my spirit. I found my wife Mellana in the
dirt, her face covered in blood, her beautiful eyes no longer looking at me
with joy. I saw fear in them and cried out. In my love for her, I gathered her
in my arms and when I touched her lips, I found them cold.”

Shaking
with emotion, Logan drew in a long breath. Sweat beaded on Nash’s forehead. He
glanced at Black Hawk. His eyes were intent, his mouth tightly pressed.

“I
cut free the body of my sister,” Logan went on, speaking slowly as if he were
reliving the event. “They had torn her clothes from her young body—hung her
from a pole with her feet above the ground. They cut open her belly—killed the child
she carried. My father lay dead near his lodging.”

“And
Koonay’s husband?”

“John
Gibson was not there. He has wept bitter tears over Koonay and his unborn son.
His daughter lived and is with him. He is of the same heart as I. He went to
find Cresap—to kill him.”

The
atmosphere was storm and stress. Nash knew what it meant for the settlers
surrounding the dominion of such a powerful man. Blood, tears, and sorrow would
plague the land alongside revolution.

The
squaw reentered and placed a jug of fresh water before Logan. She whispered a
word to him, yet he did not reply, nor did his dull eyes leave their fixed
place upon the ground. Food lay cold within the wooden bowls, and the feathers
on the calumet fluttered.

Logan
looked at Nash. “You must leave me in the morning. You are safe here among my
people for the night. When you return, tell your people hailstones will not
beat me to the ground. Pleasant words will not quench the fire burning in my
heart. Peace is no longer upon my lips.”

“I’ll
do as you ask.” Nash took in a breath to calm the anxiety moving through his
body.

Chief
Logan rose slowly to his feet and made a promise. “My word to all warriors is
they are not to harm you or anyone within your house. You were adopted into my
family. If they harm you, they harm me.”

“You
have my thanks.”

Then
from around Logan’s neck, he drew off his beads. “These are the sign you are
our son and brother. Wear them so you may show any warrior you are beloved
among my people.”

Nash
nearly wept. He took them in hand, drew them over his head and looked into
Logan’s eyes. “Thank you, my father, my brother.”

Logan
called his sentry. Then he grasped Nash’s arm. “I wanted to see your face one
more time before I join my fathers in death. We shall not see each other
again.”

Nash
squeezed Chief Logan’s hand and thought how many lives could have been spared
if men had not hated with such wickedness.

*  *  *

Nash
lay on a fur mat in a lodge kept for guests. The moon rose high and he thought
of the girl he left in England. His heart longed for her and he hoped he would
soon forget. He must invest his thoughts in other things, but while the stars
burned softly, while the breeze whispered through the trees, when loneliness
was most apt to fill a man, he lost the battle of forgetting. She was ever with
him, especially now.

Sleep
eluded him, so he rose with a groan and walked out into the cool night. The
fire that once blazed in the center of the village burned low in a heap of
glowing red coals. He raised his hand to the Indian sentry who sat beside it
with a musket over his arm, then passed on into the forest. 

The
moon poured through the breaks in the trees. Crickets and tree frogs murmured.
Nash stared hard at the stars and the tranquility amazed him. It dominated
forest and sky, and he wished he could take it in his fists and hold it, feel
that sense of peace that passes all understanding. His heart grew heavy and he
walked to the edge of the river where he sank to his knees, his hands upon them
and his head lowered.

“God,”
he breathed. “It seems you’ve given me a commission. I take it, but I need your
help…all of us will. Father, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will
be done. Forgive us…as we forgive…Lead us not into temptation…deliver us from
evil…”

He
raised his hands to meet his face where anguish caused him to tremble. Wind
rose and blew on the other side of the river and rustled through the trees. It
crossed, and the pines surrounding Nash freed their dry needles. They fell to
earth where ancient layers of the same lay rotting. He listened to the sound
they made as they fell, stared at the steeps of pines, while a voice rose in
his being that reassured him of his safety.

He
stood and remained there until the moon sunk beneath the hedge across the
river. The memory of his time in England came back. He could still feel her
touch, hear her voice as if she stood beside him.

Closing
his eyes, he breathed out in an effort to return to the present, which was not
a good place to be.

The
realities of such dangers were unknown to the girl who had lived all her life
sheltered in the English countryside. She had never seen an Indian dressed in
fringed leggings and bright beads, his face painted for war, his belt laced
with the scalps of his enemies. She had not drank from a clear mountain stream,
walked through an all engulfing forest, felt dwarfed by towering hills and
trees, nor experienced both the joys and horrors of wilderness life. 

Today
Rebecah sat in Lavinia’s garden watching insects play over the marigolds.
Worker bees moved from blossom to blossom, their legs heavy with bright golden
pollen.

“The
London papers say war is certain with the Colonies.” Lavinia sat in a white
wrought iron chair and set her teacup on the saucer.

“David
said, John Adams and Benjamin Franklin were slandered for their tough stand on
independence, and Patrick Henry’s orations could cause riots in London. All
loyal Englishmen should agree the King’s army is invincible. David says America’s
revolution will fail in a matter of weeks.” She leaned back against the chair
and sighed. “The worst of it, traitors could either be hung or sent to prison.

Rebecah
wondered what Nash’s fate would be. She admitted to herself she cared what
awaited him. She listened to Lavinia drone on.
Prison, execution,
these
words seized her heart.

Lavinia
groaned. “Rebecah, you haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”

“I’m
sorry, Lavinia. I don’t know what to say.”

“Doesn’t
the news worry you?”

She
swallowed. “No, I’ve had other things on my mind.” But it wasn’t true. She was
worried—terribly worried.

“I’m
anxious for Jack. He will be in the thick of it, I believe. We must pray for
him.”

“It
is not in me to hate him, you know.”

“You
love him, don’t you?”

“I
have tried not to.”

“Have
you forgiven him?”

“If
ever God does a thing for me, I pray He spares his life, for I fear something
terrible has come upon him…something far worse than my not having forgiven him.”