Thorns in Eden and the Everlasting Mountains (51 page)

Stars
studded the sky and the moon shot its beams through the sycamores. Rebecah
could see ahead a short distance. She bit her lip as she moved on, for each
stepped seemed more painful than the one before. She looked to the right, then
to the left, trying to know which way to go.

So
this is what it has come to. This is how it will end. Jack will never find me,
for I am to die here in this wilderness.

Before
her lay a natural path made by deer. It cut straight through the grove of
evergreen.

“
Hide me, Jesus, in thy name.”

Would he send angels to take her from the world, to rescue her from her
miserable flight? Would she not see them stretching out their arms to lift her
away?

She crept forward at the top of a cliff overlooking the Potomac. Laying
on the rock, she watched it move below in the growing moonlight. How it swirled
over the rocks, how the trees shadowed it along the banks.

Sick, hungry, and shattered, she breathed out. “I am a child of the
wilderness at last. How quiet it is, how still.”

Peering over the edge of the precipice, she saw a shadow fall along the
bank, and then movement in the trees.  

LaRoux!

Scrambling back, she got to her feet, and hurried into the woods,
plunging through brambles of wild rose and grape, stumbling over roots that
ensnared her ankles. Her bruised and bleeding feet slowed her, and she tried to
endure the pain as she hurried.

She stood still when she heard him shout her name. “Rebecah! I will
find you.”

She turned full circle, looking for anything that could protect her.
What could a stick or rock do now? Desperation filled her. The darkness
overwhelmed her. Her mind flooded with crazed fear like a cornered creature.

She turned to the right. A fallen sycamore.

She ran toward it, fell into the leaves, tucked her body beneath it.
She gathered leaves around her, pulled down the branches.

Winded, she drew her arms over her head and her knees to her chest. Suddenly
the woods were silent. Not a sound, not even wind.

She felt him near, closer and closer. She heard the crunch of a leaf,
the snap of a twig. Then she heard his heavy pant, and held her breath.

LaRoux was within yards of where she lay.

Help me, God. Do not let him find me.

She shut her eyes tight, trembled.

Wait
.
Don’t move. Stay still.

Slowly she exhaled. Her heart pounded. For an hour, she did not move,
frozen with fear. Looking through the branches she watched the moon and
realized death had passed her where she lay. But how far death had gone, she knew
not, and wondered if he might not turn back and find her.

A quickening of the heart jarred her. With an aching she remembered why
she had left England and come to this wild, unforgiving place. A little smile
crept over her mouth.

My beloved.
Oh, how she loved him. She crossed
the ocean and traveled to the frontier to see him again, to love him again, to
be his wife forever and ever. They had a daughter. They were a family.

She
pressed her body tighter within her hiding place, imagined her beloved’s arms
about her. Her body shook with the want to cry. Her hand covered her mouth, the
other her eyes to wipe away the tears.

 “Two
white men and an Indian approaches!”

Mrs. Monroe hiked
her skirts above her ankles as she dashed from the back of the cabin to where
her husband worked cutting firewood. He dropped his axe and grabbed his musket.
Nash, Maldowney, and Black Hawk halted when he raised it and cocked the hammer.

“My name is John
Nash. We are looking for my wife, and two others.”

Monroe lowered his
weapon. “You got an Indian with you, sir, and…”

Nash walked toward
him. “Black Hawk is my blood brother. This is Robert Maldowney, a man of the
Gospel.”

“Come inside.”
Monroe showed them the way. Mrs. Monroe gasped when Black Hawk ducked his head
through the door. Her husband assured her all was well.

Theresa sprang up
from a chair. “Captain Nash!” She threw her arms around him. “Oh, poor Rebecah.
She has been taken, sir—down by the river. I’ve been praying…”

“Do not worry,
Theresa.” He looked into her face and touched her cheek. “I will find her.”

Maddie smiled. “The
Lord will direct your path to Miss Rebecah. He has got to, sir, cause look here
who needs her mama.” In her arms, she held a baby and drew back the blanket
from the child’s face. “Here’s your child, your little girl.”

Nash’s heart
leaped and he hurried over to Maddie, looked down into the sweet face of his
daughter. Immediately she seized his heart. He handed his musket to Maldowney
and took her into his arms.

“My girl,” he
said, tripping over his words.

“Miss Rebecah
named her Abigail. Had her in the woods while we escaped. Ain’t she beautiful?”

“As beautiful as a
spring day. Look Black Hawk. Look Robert. I’ve a daughter.”

Black Hawk,
impassive as ever, raised his brows. Maldowney stepped up to have a look. “A
fitting name for her, Jack.
Abigail
means a father’s joy.”

“And so she is.” Nash
kissed the little head, and then turned to Monroe. “Sir, I know my wife was
taken. Will you show me the place? I and my brother will follow that trail and
find her.”

Monroe nodded.
“It’s just down the hill at the riverbank.”

“I have one other
request. Do you have a horse?”

Monroe shifted on
his feet. “I do.”

“Will you lend it
to my friend here, so that he may ride to Fort Frederick? Miss Boyd’s father
and intended are there. He will bring them back with mounts and supplies.”

“A good plan, sir.
For the women are too worn out to travel by foot. My horse is in the barn.”

“I will saddle him
and be on my way,” Maldowney said, and went out.

Nash turned to
Theresa, saw a mix of concern and hope in her eyes. “I will pray, sir, God will
make your feet as hinds’ feet, that you are swift to find Rebecah and bring her
back to all of us.”

* * *

Standing
above the river on a precipice of rock, they could hear deer crashing through
the forest. Black Hawk drew out his long knife. Nash’s finger looped inside the
trigger of his musket and his thumb pulled back the hammer. He looked down at
the river. The muscles in his arms contracted when he saw a lone figure pass
between the trees and disappear.

He
glanced at Black Hawk. “LaRoux?” he said, speaking low.

Black
Hawk nodded. “A man, yes.”

Together
they moved ahead, silent and with stealth. “Look,” said Black Hawk. Looped over
a branch he found a strip of linen. He pulled it free. “She’s left a sign.”

Nash
looked back at the precipice thinking how she had to have stood there. She was
near. He wanted to call out to her, but if it were LaRoux he risked endangering
her.

Stay
where you are, Rebecah. I’m coming.

With
his musket in hand and his heart pounding, he sprinted ahead. He knew LaRoux
too was searching for her, and he prayed he would find her before his enemy.

* * *

Rebecah
feared if she were to stay curled under the fallen tree that she would give
into the desire to close her eyes for good and never wake again. She lived, but
she had become a gaunt being, hardly able to go on. And her mind was weak along
with her body. If help did not come soon, she knew she would not be long for
this world.

She
crawled forward, knowing it were a danger. Yet, the darkness hid her from
LaRoux. Perhaps he had gone far ahead of her by now.

Moaning
and biting her lip, she crawled out. Sunlight poured through the trees. Her
body stiff from not moving, she stood trembling with the realization she had
come close to the edge of a great cliff. Rough pines jutted through its face.
She looked at the gorge below. Ribbons of mist moved in the lowlands. She turned
east toward home.

“Rebecah!”

Startled
she shrunk back. She breathed heavy and looked at the ground wide-eyed and
frightened. Then she ran in the opposite direction of the voice, stumbled, and
fell. Clambering up, she struggled on.

Sudden
as the wind, startled deer bounded past her and scattered into the forest. Then
she saw a face she hoped never to see again. LaRoux had climbed the hillside.
He stood there in the gray light very close. His dark eyes contracted with a
sudden burst of sunlight.

Rebecah
knew if she were to run, he would stop her. Trapped, she struggled not knowing
what to do. Her eyes glanced to the left where the rock fell away into a cliff-side.
She inched her way toward it.

LaRoux’s
eyes were fixed upon her. He held out his hand to her. “That would be a foolish
way to end your life.”

“Would
it?” Her voice trembled, her hands shook. The wind blew her hair back from off
her face and shoulders. She moved forward and stood at the edge. Her battered
feet felt the sharpness of the rock. 

Below
her were elms and oaks, sycamore and spruce. Her eyes filled with blinding
tears. She did not wish to die, but what was left for her now?

Her
tired body shivered. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes. She closed them
and being prepared for either LaRoux or the cliff, she heard her beloved’s voice
whisper on the wind.

“Move
away, my beloved. Move back.”

 Could
it be true? Her eyes shot open and she looked down. Coming up the rocks was
Nash with his musket and powder horn strapped over his shoulder, and Black Hawk
moving to the right of him. She froze with the feeling of elation, wondering if
her mind deceived her.

Digging
his knee into a crack in the cliff, Nash pulled himself up beyond LaRoux’s view.
He stood. His back was to the vast emptiness, and the wind shoved against him.
At last, he faced LaRoux, who turned at Nash with a wild and fierce look. Like
lightning, his knife flashed in his hand, and he passed it in front of him.

Nash
pulled his musket forward and took aim. “Rebecah,” he said. “Move away from his
reach.”

* * *

 LaRoux
sneered. He paced the rock, passing his knife between his hands. 

“To
shoot me like a dog would be murder,” LaRoux said. “Put down your musket and
draw your knife to make this an even fight.”

“You’re
in no position to speak of murder, LaRoux” said Nash. “You’ve done the foul
deed enough.”

“Shoot
then. Or cross my path.”

Nash
lowered his musket and yanked his knife from its leather sheath.

“Know
this white man. If I kill you, I will have your wife, and when I’m done with
her, I will wear her beautiful hair upon my belt.”

Then
he leaped forward and plunged his knife into Nash’s shoulder. Down they went
together near the edge of the cliff. Nash kicked LaRoux off, pressing his hand
against the wound, blood oozing between his fingers. He rolled away from the
dangerous edge and got to his feet.

LaRoux
sprung, caught him by the wrist and throat. In turn, Nash held back the
murderous hand that held the knife, and strove to free himself from another
blow.

Locked
together, they struggled backward and forward along the rocky precipice, the
glare of the sun striking upon their buckskins.

LaRoux’s
eyes were fierce and hungry for blood. He pushed Nash back and struck his fist
against his wounded shoulder. Shearing pain shot through him. His blade dropped
from his hand. He heard the clanging sound it made as it fell down the rocks.

At
that moment, Black Hawk climbed the edge of the cliff and stood forward, his
face stern and concentrated.

“Black
Hawk. Have you come to glut your revenge?” said LaRoux.

Black
Hawk replied by drawing out his knife and staring hard at his enemy.

Nash
noticed the copper bands around each man’s arm. “What revenge does he speak of,
Black Hawk? Tell me, for I will not let him have your blood this day!”

Black
Hawk took a step forward. “We are of the same mother. Yet his blood is not that
of my honorable father. For his evil he crushed the heart of many.”

“Because
of you I was cast out,” shouted LaRoux. “For it, watch your friend die. Then I
will have your life too.”

LaRoux
raised his knife. Black Hawk dove between the two men, and the knife plunged
into his chest. The blood poured out from his body, pooled onto the stones. He
staggered forward, grasped LaRoux by the arm. In the struggle, they fell together
over the precipice. Nash’s heart slammed against his chest. He gasped over and
over, heaved for air.

“Black
Hawk!”
No, my brother. Not you.

With
the horror of it, he staggered to the edge and fell to his knees. Below LaRoux lay
dead, his neck broken, his body twisted. Nearby Black Hawk’s body lay between
two pines.

Tears
blurred Nash’s vision. He balled his fists and struck the ground. “No! No!”

Was
it so wrong for a man to weep at such an hour? Was it wrong for his heart to
plow into the depth of harrowing grief at the sight of his friend lying broken
and lifeless? Was it wrong for him to press his fists against his eyes and cry
out? Black Hawk, his brother, his friend. Black Hawk who had tended him when
wounded. Black Hawk who had loved him as a brother. Black Hawk who had traveled
with him through the wilderness and had laid his life down was gone.

Rebecah
knelt beside him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and cried. He turned to
her, touched her face, her hands, and crushed her to him in a long desired
embrace. Together they wept. Together they grieved.