Chase (ChronoShift Trilogy) (15 page)

The boy was young and innocent.

John Wilshire's youngest child had no idea he was being followed.  He'd been gathering kindling in the forest, no doubt to take home to his mother.  He'd strayed a little farther than he'd needed to because he was also checking his father's traps, hoping to find a rabbit.

The stalker intent on destroying the boy was a powerful male of the Wampanoag tribe.  Lightly tanned buckskin leggings were laced around his thighs and calves with rawhide strings and looked very similar to a pair of pants.  Those together with a breechcloth and a fringed buckskin shirt with no sleeves completed his attire.  Each item was adorned with small seashells dangling from the ends of braided leather strips.

His skin was bronze, his stature muscular.  He'd covered his skin with a mixture made of animal fat and a reddish pigment, a practice common to the Wampanoag which added a maroon hue to their golden skin.

This warrior had also applied bright scarlet paint to his forehead and cheeks and shaved the sides of his head, leaving a long, raven-black mohawk down the center.  This hair was braided in the back.

A tattoo of a wolf was visible on his right cheek and another round design had been tattooed onto his right breast.  The more unusual designs created from yellow and black paint that adorned the length of his torso indicated he was on the warpath.

Stealthily, the warrior had tracked the boy, having come across his sign about five hundred feet back.  Once he'd spied the tracks, he had changed course to pursue.

She guessed his intent was slaughter, but it could be kidnapping.

Abbie didn't refer to the Wampanoag as savages like many of the others, but she did condemn a number of their practices that way.  They were a people still enslaved to sin, as evidenced by their bloodlust which surfaced at times like these.

As the boy was blissfully ignorant of his would-be assassin, the Wampanoag warrior was also unaware of her.  She'd found his sign several miles ago and had moved ahead to intercept.  This had been her fear, that his mission was not a peaceful one.  He was far from his own village, and the war paint didn't bode well.

She was perched overhead in the limbs of a tall tree.  Her clothing was designed to blend with the colors of the early autumn foliage surrounding her.  She would not be detected by either party before they collided, and that looked like it would happen almost directly below her.

The Wampanoag drew closer, hunkering low behind brush as he advanced.  His moccasined feet stepped lightly and silently as he swept through the forest toward his prey.

The child stooped to examine an insect, distracted by a type he'd never seen before.

Her hand was taught on her bowstring.  She would wait until she was sure.  She did not desire spilt blood, much less innocent blood.  If it could be helped, she preferred to take no life.

The Wampanoag had almost reached the boy's position now.  So far, he'd made no motion to attack with either bow or hatchet.  Maybe his purpose was kidnapping after all. 

Suddenly, he rose up, arm extended, a knife in his fist glimmering wickedly in the afternoon light.  She could not allow a kidnapping any more than she could a murder.  The penalty in Scripture for either was the same.

Her fingers released the bowstring, a soft twang the only sound accompanying the launch of her arrow which soon found it's appointed place in the attacker's spine.  The Wampanoag shrieked abruptly, then collapsed onto the path and fell silent, broken branches of a bush pushing up pointedly at his naked belly.

Startled, the boy screamed at the sight of an armed, dying Indian falling toward him and ran off down the path back toward his home.  He would be all right now.  There weren't any other Indians around, nor wildcats for that matter.

She would retrieve her arrow and lay out the dead man in a more respectful pose.  The villagers would find and bury him before the day was over.

***

April 20
^th
1675, Swansea, MA

"Her?  She's a witch."

The boy looked alarmed to be asked about the woman.  She was one nobody liked to talk about, and when they did it was in hushed whispers outside the ears of children.

"A Witch?  You're kidding, right?"

"She be one, I swear it.  Everyone knows it."  The boy waved his hand around the village to indicate who he meant by everyone and ran off to some destination out of sight.

Mark turned to a shoe cobbler who'd emerged from his tiny shop to sweep his front stoop.

"What do you say about her, sir?"

The cobbler paused, "I've not seen ye before, have I, sir?"

"Tis true, I am a stranger to this town."  Savannah had given Mark a brief dialect lesson before he'd left so he could make his speech sound more familiar to Puritan ears.

"May I inquire as to the nature of yer interest in the lady?"

"Nothing nefarious, I assure you, kind sir.  She seems such a gentle soul, yet all I've been told so far smells of slander."

She was oblivious to their conversation, being a good hundred feet away and fully engaged in a discussion with a man further down the row.  She appeared to be trading some rabbit meat for a basket filled with a variety of vegetables.

"Her name is Abigail Cooper."

"Do you also say she's a witch?"

"Ye will not hear me say that.  No, sir.  She's a godly woman.  Kind-hearted, like her father and mother before her."

"And they?"

"The good Lord saw fit to take her mother when she was young, her father just last year.  She's got no other family here in Massachusetts.  Perhaps there be some back in England, I do not know."

"Why do people call her a witch?"

A>Cause she refused to marry Clem Bradford and lives by herself out in the woods.  Truth be told, she refuses to marry at all.  Folk just don't understand that kind of thinking.  Keeps to herself.  People attack what they don't understand.  It's the sinful nature."

"Tis a shame."

"More so when ye know what she really does out in those woods."

"What's that?"

"She protects us.  Watches for savages, wild animals, and other threats to the village.  Tis not just a few villagers who've been miraculously saved from certain death on the trails since she took to a solitary life.  We've not lost a soul since.  She saved my sister's son.  He narrowly escaped being murdered at the hand of a Wampanoag.

"Tis not all either.  She comes and trades, like ye see there, an' she always takes the worst end of the deal.  I guarantee Mr. Tanner over there will come out ahead on the trade he's striking with her now.  People don't see that though.  They cannot stand it that she won't take the yoke they want to lay on her."

"That's too bad."

"People are odd.  Some villages would have no problem with her choice.  This one needs more teaching from the Scripture."

"The Scripture?   I would think teaching from the Scripture was the problem."

"Blasphemy, man!  Hold your tongue.  I pray ye hold no base opinion regarding the Word of God!" The man shook his head.

"No, sorry.  That's not what I meant."

"Then, ye be as ignorant as the rest.  If this village were taught the Scripture well, they'd know God does not intend for all to marry."

"I'm glad to see someone thinks well of her."

"I try to judge correctly, nothing more.  I shun gossip.  Tis an evil that harms all involved.”

Mark extended his hand to the man.  "Thank you, Mr..."

"Fuller.  William Fuller."  They shook.

"Thank you, Mr. Fuller.  You've been very helpful."  Mark studied Abbie's quick smile and bright eyes as she conversed, his eyes lingering longer than necessary.  She'd finished her business and would probably head home shortly, which he now knew was not in the village.

There was no doubt about it, she was the beautiful woman from his nightmare.  Somehow, he needed to turn that nightmare into a dream.

April 20
^th
1675, Massachusetts Woodland
s

Mark could remain hidden for hours, for days really, if he needed to.  He was in his element again, blending in with the vegetation, stalking prey.

His prey this time was Abigail Cooper.  He wasn't really stalking her though, just waiting for the right moment to approach.

She squatted by a rabbit trap just off the trail, freeing her latest catch, which would probably be her dinner.

Her attire was simple and rustic, yet it graced her form delicately.   He marveled at the extraordinary mental strength she must have to survive as she did in the wild by herself.  She obviously did well at it.   She not only fed herself, but caught enough meat to trade with the villagers too.  The fact she served as their unseen protector impressed him even more.

Her lifestyle showed obvious strength of character and a tremendous amount of grit, yet she'd taken time to smooth her skirts beneath her when she'd knelt by the trap, a distinctly feminine gesture.  Her nimble fingers worked delicately to free the rabbit.

Stepping lightly from the woods, Mark called her name.  "Abigail?"

He'd feared she might startle, appearing so suddenly, but she didn't even blink.  Just continued working on the trap.

"I hope I didn't scare you."

"Ye did not scare me," she said, not even looking up, "If ye had not emerged soon I would have come in after ye."

"You knew I was there?" Mark was incredulous.

"Ye first watched me back in the village.  On the trail, ye were quite inconspicuous, I'll give ye that.  Still, I always knew where ye were.  Now, what do ye want?  I pray ye art a gentleman.  It oft portends evil when a man pursues a woman through the woods."

"You weren't scared?"

"I care for myself."

"So I've heard.  I mean you no harm, I swear it."

"No need to swear, sir.  A man's word should not require it.  I've asked ye before, and I'll ask once more, what be yer business?"

He hesitated.  He'd prepared an elaborate speech for just this moment, but her forthrightness threw him off.

"Ms. Cooper," Her propriety automatically evoked an unnatural formality in him as well, "I am here to warn you.  There is a dream...a dream that I’ve had, not once, but many times.  I've seen you in that dream over and over again."

She blushed a deep shade of red.  "Forwardness is
not
a virtue, sir."

"It was not that kind of a dream.  It was a nightmare, of the worst sort.  It plagues my sleep, and in it, I see you die every time.  Until today, I'd never met you before in my life, but there's no doubt you're the one I see.  I had to find you, to warn you."

His words, of course, were completely unexpected.  Her eyes dropped, her expression pensive, contemplating.

"This is no joke, Abigail.  I would not tease you in such a way."

"I've no doubt of yer sincerity, sir, tis clear in your eyes."

"My name is Mark."

"Well...Mark.  If what ye say is true, what good does this omen do?  Do you not believe in the sovereignty of our Lord?  If he wishes to take me, should I doubt His judgment?"

"If my dream is from Him, might not His intent be one of forewarning?"

"Might be at that," she acceded.

"In a few months, Indians will attack a village near here.  You'll be killed trying to save a baby.  You must either stay away from that attack or we must find a way to save you."

"There be a third choice, to die in the noble act of saving a life."

Mark bowed his head, shaking it.  "You don't save the baby.  That's the worst part of the dream."

She was visibly shaken.  "Tell me, sir.  Do you ever see the face of my killer in your dream?"

Mark nodded, eyes glued to the ground.

"Can ye not find a way to kill him before he kills me?"

"I can try," he muttered half-heartedly.

"There is something ye have yet to reveal.  The Spirit has graced me with the gift of discernment, an' I sense you hide something still."

"Spirit? Gift?"

"From the Colony, ye are not.  Am I correct, sir?  Yer clothes are right, but your speech be off.  An' any man raised in New England would know of the gifts of the blessed Holy Spirit."

He blushed, caught dead to rights, yet still not wanting to tell all.

"Mark, how do ye ask me to trust yer words when ye are not fully truthful?"

"Fine. There is something I haven't said, but you'll never believe me."

"Ye cannot know if ye do not try."

"I will have to show you.  Understand, what I am about to do is not magic, it's science."

"Science?"

"Yes...uh...science...it's...well, does your village have any tools now that did not exist when your parents were young?  Or have any of the common tools in use been improved upon since you can remember?"

"Of course.  I know what science is.  It means ’knowledge'.  I do not understand what ye mean when ye say ye will ’do science'.

Mark moved toward her and held out his hand.  "I'm going to put my hand on your shoulder."