Journey Home Chapter Seven

            Rachel caught Raeanne’s elbow and backed with her slowly away from the door.  As she did, several martial looking men entered the Wild Wood Inn.  Two wore American uniforms from the late war with England.  The other four were fitted with multiple weapons worn over clothes mostly in the current fashion, but with a decidedly native flair.  Bright and colorful sashes decorated their waists and heads.  Their coats were edged with beads and other embellishments.  Each man wore at least one silver ear-bob, and several of them many more.  About their necks were multiple silver chains among which, thankfully, she spotted a Christian cross or two.  As they entered the common room, they paused and the chief among them – a pale native, one of the men in uniform – spoke.

            “I am White Wolf.  These are my men.  We mean you no harm.  Please, do not be afraid.”

            Rachel took Verity’s hand.  Her daughter, who remained behind her just near the stair, was still delicate.  The loss of her husband during the War of 1812 had been a hard blow.  This could not help but bring back memories.

            “I’m all right, Mama,” Verity said softly.

            Raeanne had remained near the door, so she was the closest to the newcomers.  As Rachel watched, the other woman stiffened her spine and marched right up to White Wolf, asking him the question that was on all of their minds. 

“Are you a party to all of the violence taking place in this vicinity?” Raeanne demanded.

            Her boldness brought a smile to the man’s lips.  “No.”

            “You do not work with this man, the Wyandot renegade, Hawk?”

            “Hawk?”  A shadow of something passed over White Wolf’s face.  When he spoke again, Rachel sensed it was with less honesty.  “No.  I do not know this man.” 

            “May I ask then, why you are here?”

            One of the others, a slender young native wearing glasses stepped forward.  He seemed agitated.  As he spoke, Rachel realized why.  “My wife is in need of aid.”

            White Wolf glanced at him.  He spoke a few words in another tongue, and then turned back to them.

            Raeanne’s lips curled in a smile.  “It is never improper to ask for help, sir.  You should not tell him to be quiet.”

            The man turned back toward her.  “You speak Myaamia?”

            “Yes.  I lived among the Miami for the first nine years of my married life.”  Turning then to the young man, she asked, “Where is your wife?”

            He glanced at the older man who nodded, and then answered.  “Without.  With the other women.”

            “We were on our way to the village, but Sweetgrass’s time has come before it was expected.”

            “She is in pain,” the young man added, his voice breaking with concern.

            Rachel had been listening to the exchange with interest.  Raeanne never ceased to amaze her.  And she wondered about these men.  Kitted out for war as they were, what were  they planning on doing in the village?

            “Verity,” she said, squeezing her daughter’s hand, “put some water on to boil.  Bring your wife in –  I’m sorry, what is your name?”

            “Jacob,” the young man answered.

            “Well, Jacob, I promise you she will be in very good hands.  Between us we have birthed at least a dozen children..  As you can see, Raeanne has another on the way.”

            “Thank you,” he said, and was gone.

            As Jacob vanished through the door, Raeanne’s smile turned to a frown.  “Rachel, I can’t help you.  I must go.  I have to look for Stephen.”

            “The forest is no place for a woman this day, in any condition,” White Wolf remarked enigmatically.  Then he asked, “Who is Stephen?”

            “My eldest son,” she answered.  “He has taken off on his own in search of my other boy who was…taken by Indians.”

            “By this man, Hawk?”

            Raeanne nodded.  “I believe so.”

            The native seemed genuinely distressed.  “This is not good.  These men are jackals.  They do not care who they kill.”

            “I thought you didn’t know Hawk,” Rachel injected quietly.

            The native turned and met her gaze squarely.  “I did not lie.  I do not know him, but I know of him.  Hawk’s actions are the reason we have come to the village.  Because of him our chief lies in the white man’s jail.  They will hang him soon.”

            “You have come then to defend him?” Raeanne asked.

            “We come to free him,” White Wolf answered, emphasizing the statement with a clenched fist.  “He will not die.”

            At that moment Jacob entered the inn with his wife, who was holding her swollen abdomen and moaning.  Behind the pair trailed two other women.  The first wore a simple green dress – a bit out for fashion – but obviously store-bought.  The other was clothed, remarkably, as a man.  Rachel recognized her as what her husband would have called a ‘war woman’.

            White Wolf held out his hand and proved that he could smile.  The younger of the two women, the one in the faded green dress, came forward to take it.  “This is my wife.  Waw-pop-a-taw.  Your people call her White As Snow.”

            The woman inclined her head.  “Win-kaw-poe nee-tawp.”

            “White as Snow welcomes you.”

            Rachel inclined her head.  “Thank you.”

            As she spoke, the war woman stepped forward.  She was tall for a woman; well-muscled and lean as a cougar.  Her skin was tanned a rich gold from the sun.  She wore her black hair in a tail fastened with a leather band.  It was festooned with beads and other native ornaments.  At first Rachel took her to be native.  It was only when she noticed the woman’s hazel eyes and realized that her hair was not black, but obviously dyed, that she realized she was of mixed parentage.

            White Wolf smiled at her puzzlement.  “This is Rebekah.  Eldest daughter of our chief.”

            Rebekah.  And White Wolf.  Abruptly, Rachel was thrust back in time some twenty-five years.  White Wolf had aged, as had she and Mingo, but suddenly she knew him.  And Rebekah…could it be?

            “Is your name Rebekah Boone?  And is your father Israel?”

            Pain narrowed the woman’s clear green eyes and her jaw grew tight as a drawn bowstring.  She nodded once.

            Rachel turned to White Wolf.  “Your chief is Israel Boone.”

            “You know him?” the native asked.

            The hand of Providence was indeed mysterious.  “We are of old acquaintance.  My name is Rachel Moray.  My husband is Kerr.  You would know him as – ”

            “Mingo,” Rebekah finished for her.

            “Yes.”

            “Mingo is here?” the tall woman asked, smiling for the first time since she had entered the inn.

            “Yes, he is here, but – like Raeanne’s son – I fear for him.  Mingo is in the forest seeking this man Hawk.”  Rachel paused, wondering how the young woman would take the next bit of information.  “As is your grandfather, Daniel Boone.”

            She seemed stunned.  “My grandfather.  He is still alive?”

            According to Mingo, Daniel Boone had never seen Israel’s children.  Though father and son had mended their differences back in 1796, Israel had refused to leave Kentucky when his father did.  At first they exchanged letters, but as was inevitable when corresponding with a child who chose to live as a native in the wild, the letters grew few and far between and then stopped.  Daniel had mentioned to Mingo recently that he did not even know if his beloved son was alive.

            “Yes.  Daniel is an old man, as is my husband.”  She laughed.  “As I am an old woman.”

            “Mother?” a light voice called.

            “Yes, Verity?”

            Her daughter came down the steps to her side.  She had taken Jacob and his wife to a room upstairs.  Pitching her voice low, she said, “I believe the babe is breeched.  I need you.”

            Rachel nodded.  “Raeanne, will you come?”

            John Johnston’s wife held back.  “Stephen…” was all she said.

            “Where was the boy taken?” White Wolf asked.

            “I don’t know for certain that he has been,” she sighed.  “Stephen left without permission to seek his brother.  Robinson was abducted in the woods about ten miles to southwest of here.”

            “We can follow the trail.  We will find him,” the native promised.

            “No!”  Rebekah spun to face him.  “We must rescue my father!”

            “There is nothing we can do until after night falls.  We will travel light and fast and return in time to free Whitehair.”

            She shook her head.  “I will not go.  You might not return.”

            White Wolf nodded.  “That is your choice.  Will you, then, guard these women until nightfall?”

            Rebekah scowled, but nodded her agreement.

            “Good.  Wait until midnight.  If we are not back by then, do what you can.  Only…” White Wolf paused, “be careful, my chief’s daughter.”

            “Raeanne?  Is that acceptable to you?” Rachel asked.

            The dark-haired woman was obviously torn.  White Wolf crossed to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.  “You do not want to give Hawk another hostage.  Remain here, where you are safe.  I will find your sons.”

            A cry from above stairs turned their attention back to Verity.  “Mother, please…” she said and then hurried up steps.

            Raeanne reached up and touched the cross that hung about White Wolf’s throat.  “Are you a Christian, sir?”

            The native caught the relic in his fingers.  “He is our chief’s God, and so He is my God.”

            “May He watch over you then,” she whispered, and then followed Verity up the stairs.

            Rachel waited until Raeanne had disappeared, and then crossed to the door.  Framed by it, she watched the half-dozen Indian men disappear into the shadows beneath the trees.  It was a mark of their trust in Rebekah’s strength that they left no other behind to keep watch. 

As soon as the men had disappeared, she turned toward the tall woman.  Rebekah Boone had crossed to the inn’s counter and was filling one of the bags that hung from her hip with the dried fruits and nuts she had found there.  “Perhaps they will find Mingo and your grandfather as well.  Who knows, you two might meet before the day’s end.”

Rebekah turned.  “Mingo I would welcome as a friend,” she said. “I do not care if I ever set eyes on Daniel Boone.”  And with that the war woman walked straight past her and out the door. 

As Sweetgrass cried out again, Rachel closed it and locked it behind the young woman.

Now what was that all about?

~

           Mingo shifted and pulled against the ropes binding his wrists.  The action brought a groan from his old friend, who was similarly bound and tied to the same tree.

            “Daniel,” he whispered in reply.  “We need one of your legendary plans.”

            “I missed my nap, Mingo.  Can’t you let an old man rest?” came his friend’s reply.

            “Old man.  You will be an old man, Daniel, the day they lay you in the grave,” he answered with a grim smile. 

            “Oh, come on, Mingo.  Four score and more?  Even our friend there with the gun knows an old man like me ain’t got the energy to try anythin’.  Ain’t that right, friend?”  One of Hawk’s lieutenants had been set to watch them.  The man was leaning against another tree, half asleep.  When he failed to respond, Dan quipped, “Sure don’t make Shawnee like they used to, do they, Mingo?”

            “Thank the Creator,” he replied under his breath.  “What do you think Hawk is up to?”

            “Bein’ Hawk.  Hatin’ everyone and everythin’.”

            “No, I mean with Johnston.”  The younger man had been separated from them an hour or so before they had been bound to the tree.  “Do you think the agent is still alive?”

            “Hawk likes to play games, to use them to make himself seem more important, more intelligent than the white man.  I imagine he thinks John Johnston is the mouse to his smarter cat.”

            “You think that is why he took his boys?”

            “You know, Mingo, the more I think about it, the more I wonder if Johnston wasn’t Hawk’s reason for comin’ to this area.  You think he could have known the man was here?”

            Mingo thought a moment.  “It’s reasonable.  Letters can be intercepted.  People talk.  The world is not so small as it was when we were young men.”

            “Nor so big…” Dan sighed.  “Johnston is a man of authority among both the Shawnee and Wyandot.  It seems too much of a coincidence that Hawk – who wants to raise an army from both those peoples – would just happen on him.”

            “I agree.  But what are we going to do about it?  We are, as you said, old men.”

            He could hear the crooked smile in his friend’s laugh.  “We ain’t in the grave yet, Mingo.  Not by a long shot.”

            “Daniel….”

            “What?”

            He wondered if his friend could feel the tension in his old bones.  “Hawk.”

            The renegade Wyandot approached them slowly.  Two younger men dogged his heels, acting as bodyguards.  Hawk was an old man too, though the fact that the native was still alive – and living as a native – said volumes about the man’s strength and stamina.  Hawk paused a yard away from them and sent the younger men out of earshot.

            “For many years I dreamed of such a scene.  Both of you, bound and tied to a stake.”  Hawk drew closer and crouched beside them.  “I dreamed of the fire I would light beneath your feet.”

            “How did you escape Hawk?” Dan asked.  “How come you ain’t dead?”

            “My men thought I was when they found me – just as the man who stole Little Bear from me did.  Thomas Jimson left what he thought was my corpse for the wild birds and jackals to feed upon.  Those who had followed me took up my body and bore it away in honor.  The woman that was mine at that time was cleaning and preparing me for burial when I awoke.  She called the healer who fought against the devils that sought to claim me.  In the end, I was triumphant!”

            “But that was decades ago.  Where have you been?”

            “I was weak for many moons.  When I was finally strong enough, I returned for Little Bear, but he was not there.”

            “Nope.  The Jimsons moved shortly after that,” Dan said.  “Right smart of them.”

            “I followed them, but when I found they had taken my son to one of your great cities, I knew I could not find him.  He was lost to me, as were the ones who took him.”

            That would have been about the time he had first returned to England, Mingo thought, and Daniel and Rebecca followed him there.  The Creator’s hand again, surely, saving them all.

            “Where did you go then?”

“Back to my people at first.  But the chiefs, old men who could chew meat no more, would not have me.  I wandered until the god of the forest brought my to the Wendat, who adopted me as one of their own.”

            “So you have lived among the Wyandot?”  They had, of course, heard rumor of this.

            “With those who remain true to what the Indian is!  We have watched as the others have adopted white ways and given in to the white man.  Something they will soon do no more.”  His tone was ominous. 

“Where is John Johnston?” Mingo asked.

            Hawk laughed.  “Safe, for the moment.”

            “Did you come here seeking him?”

            Hawk rose to his feet.  “There were other reasons.  But Johnston was one.  Gray Wing intercepted one of his letters, sent to the chief of my people.  It said he was coming here, to Kentucky.  I knew he would suspect nothing.”

            “What do you want of him?”

            “His voice carries weight with my people.  It will say what I want, or his family will die.”

            “And what do you want with us?” Dan asked.

            “I intend to let you go.”

            Mingo frowned.  “What?”

            “Johnston I need.  You two, I have no use for.”

            Dan shook his head.  “Seems mighty sportin’ of you.”

            “Ah, Boone, you know me well.  I am a sporting man.  And so, I free you and give you a parting gift.  A chance for sport.”

            Hawk’s words caused Mingo’s blood to run cold.  “Sport?”

            “You have a missing son, do you not, Mingo of the Cherokee?”

            “What have you done with Danny?” he growled.

            “He is well and will remain so, until the sun sets on the new day.”

            “What does that mean?” Mingo demanded, struggling against his bonds.  “You’ll kill him in twenty-four hours?”

            “Mingo, calm down,” Dan cautioned.  “He’s baitin’ you.”

            “You too have a son, Daniel Boone.”

            Dan shifted.  “I have more than one.”

            “But only one is here in Kentucky.
            “There ain’t no son of mine in Kentuck – ”  Mingo heard it.  The sound of shock in his friend’s voice.  “Not Israel….”

            “Two nights ago a white man was murdered.  It was the man who murdered my son.”  Hawk’s voice quaked with anger.  “The killer of this man was seen.  One with white hair, worn as an Indian.  A man who is chief to a band of natives secreted in the woods.”  The renegade paused.  “A band that has been burning and killing.”

            “That’s a lie!” Dan shouted.

            “Daniel, mind your own words,” Mingo advised.

            “Whitehair is to be executed.  In Boonesborough.”  Hawk gestured and the pair of natives who accompanied him came forward.  “Which will you save – Mingo’s son who is somewhere in these woods, or your own, who will die at dawn?”

“There are two of us!” Dan countered. 

“Two men, three feet.”  Hawk sneered with triumph as one of the natives approached them, a pair of iron cuffs in his hand.  

“You must choose which lives.” 

~

                       Rachel Moray wiped sweat from her brow as she reached for and opened the door of the Wild Wood Inn.  She glanced out but saw nothing and no one.  Turning back, she was startled when a hand touched her arm.  Pivoting quickly she found Rebekah, who must have been hidden in the shadows on the porch.

            “Sweetgrass?” she asked.

            “Well.  She has a baby girl.  The babe was only slightly turned and we were able to move it.  My daughter has less experience birthing than Raeanne and I.”

            Rebekah turned to look off into the distance.  “That is good.”

            Rachel stared at her for a moment.  She could see her grandmother in her profile, but from dead-on she resembled Daniel more.  Rebekah’s face, if it had not been set in such rage and sorrow, would have had the same open look her grandfather’s always wore. 

            “Why are you so angry?” she asked suddenly.

            “My father is imprisoned.  White men mean to kill him.  Would you have me dance?” she snapped.

            Rebekah wore light paint on her cheeks, which from a distance Rachel had first taken for a modest blush.  About that she had been mistaken.  Everything about Rebekah Boone was severe.  Rachel wondered if it had always been so.  When she thought of Israel, she saw a young man who knew the joy of life and who showed it in his countenance.  It was not so with his child.

            “No, but I am not talking of that,” she continued.  “It is another anger.  Inside.  Deep within you there is pain.”

            “I do not speak of it,” the war woman said, turning away.

            “Why are you dressed as a man?”

            Rebekah’s lip curled in satisfaction.  “To prove I am as good as them.”

            “Them?  Oh, men?”

            “I protect my family.  I will protect my father.  I will save him.  It is my duty.”

            “And what of your duty to yourself?  Have you no desire for a home?  A family?  Have you no man – no brother, or loved one –  to protect you?”

            The young woman’s hazel eyes narrowed.  Rachel thought she saw the first wash of tears.  Before they could materialize, Rebekah turned away and started down the steps.

            “I must patrol.  Go back inside with the other women where you will be safe.”

            When Israel Boone’s daughter spoke the word, it seemed like a curse.