Dance with Destiny Page 2

  “You can’t possibly be on hand and come running up here if a stranger finds his way to my doorstep and attacks me or the children. If some animal decides my children will do just fine for their dinner. If one of us falls and breaks a leg. I appreciate what you can and will do for us, Sully, but it’s not the same as having a man here by my side.”

  “You’re a strong woman, Susannah. William has faith in you. It’s a shame you have so little faith in yourself.”

  Susannah brushed her hands over her eyes, urging the threatening tears to stay at bay. Sully already had the opinion she was weak. No sense in proving it in front of him.

  “I am a strong woman, true. But I also am realistic, and I can’t run this farm by myself. So unless you’ve got a solution, maybe a sharecropper up your sleeve, I see no way out of this current situation.”

  Sully left as quickly as he could. He had no answers that would appease her. Once he headed back to town, she opened the letter. William had made it to DC without incident, and was patrolling the capitol grounds there, keeping it safe from the Confederacy. Her history lessons in school taught her how the capitol had been burned by the British during the Revolutionary War. Maybe William was indeed doing a good thing by defending the symbol of the United States.

  She still wished he were at home, helping to take care of his children. Life on this mountaintop was fragile, as the two small bodies buried up on the hill attested to. Tears smarted at her eyes. William’s letter made it sound as if he was enjoying this break from his duties here at the homestead they'd carved out of the land with their hands. What a lark it must be for him, to be unshackled from the constant worry about how to care and feed their brood of youngsters. Pride at his service warred with anger at being abandoned. Fury won out.

  Susannah refolded the letter and threw it across the room.

  "Damn you, William!"

  She wiped the tears from her eyes and marched across the small space to retrieve it. The children needed to be read the letter, and to be assured their father was safe. She was grateful none of them had seen her outburst. Only after she'd read the letter to them could she do what she really wanted and toss it into the fire. Or put it under her pillow tonight as she lay in bed alone. Fury and pride continued to do battle with her.

  They sat around the table after supper and, by the light of a single candle, she read the letter to the children. Even the baby, George, paid attention. When she finished, and gave each child the kiss William had sent their way, she placed the letter on top of the rough-planked table. Hannah picked it up and began to cry as she ran a finger over the familiar writing.

  "May I keep this, Mama?"

  Susannah gritted her teeth and took a deep breath as she gazed at her eldest. Hannah had always been her daddy's girl, so naturally she'd want this connection to him. As much as she wanted to toss the letter into the fire, Susannah needed to do what she could to keep William front and center in all her children’s lives while he was gone. Despite her fatigue, Susannah needed to hold her anger at her husband in check, for the sake of her children.

  "Of course you can, Hannah. Find some place where it will stay dry, and safe. Then, any time you're missing your daddy, you can pull the letter out and read it. In fact, tonight would be a good time to tell you all the story of how your father and I first met." She handed the letter over and began her story, which the children were familiar with already, but were eager to hear once again.

  “We were at a barn-raising in the valley not far from here. I spied your daddy right away when I got there with the food. He was so handsome and muscular. The older ladies put me in charge of the drinks and told me whoever I poured lemonade for first would be my future husband. Of course, I poured for your daddy before anyone else. We courted for a few weeks, but we both immediately started talking about making it permanent. We were so in love. We got married a month later, and moved up here to the mountain.”

  Susannah noticed her children were drooping in their seats, and decided to put an end to the conversation.

  "Now, we must talk about tomorrow's chores. It's coming on summer, time to take Bossy to the pasture every day. It'll mean you'll be trekking up there twice a day, Hannah, to take her to and from the barn. Can you do it every day and handle the milking?"

  Hannah's shoulders squared as she sat and fingered the letter. "Yes, I can do it. I'm very capable. That's what Daddy always said."

  Despite her conflicted feelings toward William, Susannah smiled at Hannah's words. She cradled her child's head, covered in sandy brown hair, which resembled her father's coloring and tucked a stray lock behind her ear. "Yes, you are. Thank goodness. Now, get washed up and hop into bed. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow."

  ♥•♥•♥

  Today, a cow appeared in the pasture. Lone Wolf kept to the shadows as the cow moved through the fenced-in area, chomping on the new spring grass. It had only been one week since he'd last checked the pasture, and there had been no cow to be found. But today, there it was. Fat, with a black and white coat, and with a full udder that swayed every time she took a step, taunting him. He wanted milk in the same way another would want a much stronger liquid. He waited in the dense woods to see if anyone would come up the hill to tend the cow, his mouth dry. The mere fact a cow was here indicated someone lived close by. So far, he had kept to the woods, exploring the area around his cave, and had not ventured down the hill from the pasture, even though he had seen a pathway leading away.

  If he were to steal even a little bit of milk, he might get caught. And some folks did not take kindly to sharing, either milk or land. Especially with someone who resembled an Indian. He could end up with some buckshot in his body, or worse. Was a sip of milk worth the risk? Worth being discovered? Worth being forced to leave this little mountain before he could fulfill his reason for ending up here? He had yet to discover the reason, but his horse had led him here on purpose. Of that much, he was certain.

  He waited, and kept guard on the pasture and cow for a long time. When no one showed up, his need for milk overcame his sense of caution and he climbed over the fence, taking the old milk bucket from the lean-to. He would take only enough milk to satisfy his thirst. A little bit would not be missed. Just enough to satisfy his craving.

  "Aaniin, good bizhiki. Hello, good cow. Even though it is not time for you to be milked, may I have a little? Daga?"

  He ran his hand over the cow's wide haunch before crouching beside her. She hadn't yet raised her head from the grass. He wrapped his hand around one teat and began a rhythmic pumping, greatly gratified when the cow gave up some milk, and a stream of warm, frothy liquid hit the side of the bucket. After tugging on the cow for a few minutes, there was enough milk to slake his thirst. He drank directly from the bucket.

  Too late, he became conscious of the fact he had brought no water to clean the bucket, so he would be forced to leave behind a trace that he had been there. He lowered the bucket from his lips and pondered what to do. Maybe he could take the bucket, clean it out in the creek that flowed by his cave, and get it back before anyone noticed. Or maybe the water bucket in the lean-to had been filled. He could easily rinse the bucket and replace it before anyone was the wiser.

  The sound of footsteps reached his ears before he could decide what to do with the dirty bucket. Someone was coming up the hill. He needed to move, and be quick about it. He placed the dirty bucket on the shelf in the lean-to, hustled around the corner and jumped over the fence. He blended in with the woods within a few steps. Then he turned, crouched down and waited to see with whom he was dealing.

  A tiny girl opened the fence gate and let herself into the open pasture. Surely, someone else was coming to help her. Lone Wolf did not dare move. The girl went straight to the lean-to and picked up the same bucket he had just put away. She stared at it for a long minute while Lone Wolf held his breath. She squinted her eyes as she searched the pasture and the woods. Her long light brown pigtails fluttered in the breeze as her gaze slid pa
st him, faltered, and stopped. Then returned to him. Her cornflower blue eyes grew wide as she stared in his direction. She could not possibly see him in the midst of the dense foliage, could she?

  He could feel the heat from the afternoon sun on his face as a bead of sweat made its way down his cheek. Strands of his long hair blew across his cheek with the slight breeze. His facial muscles wanted to flinch, but he held steady. The girl finally broke her stare, backed away from him and went to the cow.

  As she busied herself moving the cow from the pasture, Lone Wolf slipped into the forest without making a sound. That had been way too close. But he was almost positive the girl had not actually seen him. She was aware enough of her surroundings to figure out there had been something or someone unusual in the woods, but having an Indian steal milk from her was too far- fetched to even be considered. Lone Wolf was certain of it. But he had let down his guard for a moment, and it could have been enough for him to be exposed. To be killed. He must revert back to his Indian heritage and be able to exist in the woods without notice. Even as he admonished himself, he recalled how good the milk had tasted–rich and creamy as the warm liquid coated his tongue and belly. He would be back for more soon.

  ♥•♥•♥

  He wanted milk, but controlled his impulse to take more from the cow. Instead, he spent his time learning the girl’s habits. She made her way to the pasture every morning and evening, bringing the cow up from what he supposed was a barn, and then retrieving it each evening. She always came alone, and always scoured the woods before she set herself to her task. Lone Wolf kept an eye on her from his hiding place. She must live nearby, and he was curious. How long had it been since he'd talked to another human? Over a month, he was sure.

  He trailed her on the way back to where she'd come from, curious to familiarize himself with her surroundings, to see if they posed any threat to him. The girl had been so busy trying to keep the cow moving forward as she walked, she paid no attention to the woods on her right side. It wasn't long before she came into a clearing, where there was a barn and a log house. And a garden, just beginning to sprout. They were growing corn, tomatoes, green beans, and potatoes, by his guess. His mouth began to water at the cornucopia of delight in front of him.

  A woman emerged from the house, her head covered by a wide-brimmed hat, and put her arm around the girl's shoulders. Other children emerged from the house and barn. He counted four youngsters and regretted his impulsive act of stealing milk from them. Two buckets of milk a day would not go far in this large household. He wondered where the man of the house was.

  Since he had plenty of game stockpiled for food and nothing better to do, he returned the next day and sat in the woods, observing the goings-on. The woman kept busy all morning doing the laundry over an open fire pit in the middle of the clearing. A small boy had a hoe and worked in the garden. There was another girl, even smaller than the one he observed in the pasture, whose job was to pick rocks out of the freshly turned dirt. And the baby, a toddler, played in the dirt beside his mother.

  There was no sign of a man. But the children were an indication that a man had been here. Lone Wolf needed to be cautious. As the family went indoors for their noon meal, he rose and left his hiding place. His own stomach growled. He had leftover rabbit stew he could warm up on his own fire. The mushrooms he had managed to find yesterday gave the stew a nice taste. If he could have some milk to go with it, it would taste even better. But now his conscience would not allow him to steal any more from this family. They needed the milk more than he did.

  And they needed more wood. The pile of wood by the side of the house was pitifully lean. Pieces had been drug in from the forest, and every time the woman took a break from her laundry chores, she went to the pile and grabbed her axe to chop up more so they would fit into the wood stove inside the house. They needed much more wood to get them through the summer.

  Winter would be another set of circumstances altogether. It was the least he could do for the beleaguered family. He could collect wood during the day and drop it off to the woodpile after everyone slept. That way, he would go undetected and they could continue to have firewood. He wondered if the woman would notice if the pile never diminished. He dare not add too much at one time, but he could help remove that slight burden from this family's shoulders.

  He stopped in the field in front of the cave dwelling and spoke to his horse. Because he had seen evidence of bears in the woods, he had unshackled the horse, but Ziigwan did not seem inclined to leave the area, for which Lone Wolf was grateful.

  "Why did you lead me to this place anyway, Ziigwan?" He ran his hand over the horse's flank, over the markings, and crooned an Indian chant to him. Maybe he would figure it out, maybe not. As long as he could find food and water for himself, and enough wood for both his own needs and that of the family he had found, he would be content. The woman seemed familiar, though he couldn’t put a finger on it. So, he’d be content with things for now. Come winter, though, he might want something warmer than a cave.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  May became June and the only change in Susannah's world was the heat of the sun and the longer days. Days that were still relentlessly hard, with four children to care for. Sully appeared twice in the last month, with a portion of a slaughtered pig, so the family had pork chops and bacon to eat, anyway. The crops grew tall and soon, they'd have tomatoes and later on, corn and beans. Susannah stirred the bedding in the huge cauldron over the open fire, looking out over the bountiful crops, thankful God kept them watered with sweet-smelling regular rain and didn’t increase her worry or her workload by having to haul water to keep the crops growing. She sent a brief prayer skyward to show her appreciation.

  While she did laundry today, Susannah counted up the days that had passed since William's departure. They were nearly halfway to the ninety-day mark. Jacob worked with the hoe in the garden, and Susannah studied his little body. Even as slight as he was, she could see his body filling out from the hard work he'd been doing since William left. He never once complained about the workload, accepting the mantle of responsibility that had been placed on his shoulders, but he also never turned down a back rub.

  She scrubbed Jacob's trousers with vigor, hot water slapping at the sides of the cauldron as she worked with the washboard. They were the ones he used when he cleaned out the barn, and they were quite smelly. Bile rose to her throat at the stench she was creating and she backed away from the pot momentarily, wiping her brow with her forearm.

  Hair stood up on the back of her neck, all of a sudden. She scanned the woods on the other side of the clearing. Someone, or something was staring at her and her baby, crawling in the dirt near her feet. Her skin broke out in goosebumps and she strained her eyes while she studied the woods opposite the clearing. For days now, she had the feeling someone or something else was roaming around the farm. Her sleep was interrupted nightly, as tremors overtook her. Why had William left them alone?

  She couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. But not being able to see anything didn’t mean there wasn’t danger afoot. After all, if what was hiding in the woods across the clearing was an animal, her baby or her flock of chickens would be a tasty morsel. She'd been privy to the awful tales of how more than once a child had been swooped up by an eagle and never seen again. Or of the hen house being cleared out in minutes by a cagey fox or a large bird.

  "Jacob," she yelled at her son in the field. When he glanced over at her, she continued, "Take a moment and watch the baby, will you? I have to go into the house."

  He put down the hoe eagerly and left the field, crouching in the dirt alongside George. While her boys played in the dirt with a toy, she ran into the house for her rifle. She took it down from its shelf and checked to make certain it was loaded and ready, then returned to the yard.

  She propped the rifle within an arm's distance of where she worked. She would take an animal any day over a stray mountain man or an Indian, both of whom had made the woods home
once upon a time. Without a man to protect her and her children, she was vulnerable. She squared her shoulders. Well, mountain lion or mountain man–it didn't matter. If he showed his face in the clearing and came anywhere near her or the children, he'd be dead. She only appeared vulnerable. If she kept telling herself that, she might someday accept it.

  She kept stealing glances at the woods, searching for any slight movement, but could find nothing. The hair on her neck was once again calm and she continued on with her chore. Perhaps whatever it was that had frightened her had moved on, and they were safe, for the time being. Yet she could not relax her vigil. Without William, she had too much to lose to be lulled into a false sense of complacency. Her children, her homestead, her crops, her livelihood, were all hers alone to defend. She’d keep the shotgun loaded and handy from now on.

  Another wave of bile rose to her throat and this time, she vomited into the fire. When she finished, she stood, one hand on her middle, the other on the side of her head. She scooped up a ladle of water from the bucket beside the fire and washed her mouth out, clearing out the taste of vomit. She'd had too many children not to recognize the signs. Her last night with William had left her with something other than a fond memory. She was with child. If she counted correctly, the babe would be born in the middle of winter. One more mouth to feed. Thank God William would be home long before then, and would be able to get things organized. She'd tell him the news of another child once he returned from Washington, DC.

  When the last of the laundry was done, Susannah moved to the pile of wood brought in from the forest. She needed to chop up some into smaller pieces to fuel the wood stove so she could make dinner. The outside temperature made it unbearably hot inside the house, but in order for there to be food in her little one's bellies, she had to stop slaving over the outdoor fire, which, although hot, at least had the benefit of an occasional breeze, and slave over the stove and Dutch oven inside.