Wilderness Trail of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 1) (7 page)

Jane vigorously attacked the blood on the porch’s wooden planks with a bristle brush and strong lye soap. The morning sun bathed her as she worked, the good light aiding in her cleaning efforts. Wanting to rid her home of the last traces of the ordeal, she scrubbed as she had never scrubbed before. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead.

She wished she could wash Bomazeen away from her mind as
easily. She pushed a long strand of hair out of her way, so she could see more clearly. She stopped abruptly. Hair. The white hair on Bomazeen’s belt belonged to Widow Andrews. She gasped in horror. Choking back sobs as she remembered how lovely that silver white hair had been. She could see it clearly in her mind as she remembered Mrs. Andrews. “You son of a …,” she hissed aloud and smacked the porch with her wet brush. She wished she had killed Bomazeen. “You deserve to burn in hell. Burn forever. Burn without dying. I hope the first thing to burn is the hair on
your
head.”

The unpleasant task completed, she stood and stared down at the scattered pieces of her treasured teacup, finding it hard to focus on them through her tears. She slowly gathered the larger pieces up in her apron, then found a shovel and buried the broken shards beneath her favorite tree.

Returning to her bucket, she threw the dirty water as far as she could, hot angry tears pouring down her checks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.

The girls, exhausted from the trauma, still slept upstairs so she took the time to wash herself, comb her hair, and change into a fresh dress and apron. Still uneasy, and with Stephen at the barn, she put her pistol back under the baby’s mattress and stuck a knife in her apron.

Next, she cleaned off the mess Bomazeen had made of her table and washed the water bucket and dipper. She got fresh water from the cistern and started a pot of coffee before going out to the hen house, feeding the chickens, and then gathering their eggs. She appreciated how the chickens ate the bugs around the place and turned them into food for her family.

Her sack of potatoes was still half-full and she peeled a dozen and started them frying on the iron skillet. Doing these ordinary
things kept her mind busy and off her ordeal. She’d taken these simple tasks for granted in the past, but today these small chores had more meaning. She realized how close she had come to not being able to do them for her family.

Jane finished kneading biscuits and put them in her Franklin iron furnace. Whenever she used the stove, she silently thanked Benjamin Franklin who had invented the new style of stove. It had a hood-like enclosure and an air box in the rear, allowing a fire that used a fourth of the wood used by cast iron stoves. She smiled. Stephen had saved for a year and ordered the stove for her to celebrate their fifth anniversary.

She sat in her wooden rocker to breastfeed Mary. As the milk flowed, profound relief slowly filled her. Her baby was safe, snuggled securely against her. Only Bomazeen’s scratch across her breast remained to darken the moment. But the wound would heal soon. She cuddled Mary against her and softly kissed the baby’s head as she fed. She wanted to weep again, but this time from overwhelming relief and thankfulness.

The delicious smell of the biscuits baking and potatoes frying with onions filled the house. The girls soon woke, calling for her. She detected fear in Martha’s voice and couldn’t blame her. But children have a way of bouncing back and she prayed they would soon forget the trials of last night.

“It’s safe girls. Come on down now.” She pulled a well-satisfied Mary away from her breast and laid her back in the cradle.

The girls slowly descended the stairs. Martha held the hands of both her sisters. They peered wide-eyed, warily looking around the room.

She went to them, hugging, and kissing each one. “Don’t worry,
your father came back early this morning with Uncle Sam. He’s out at the stable now feeding the livestock,” Jane said. She deliberately didn’t mention Bomazeen or that Sam was tracking him.

“Are you okay Mama?”

Martha asked the question so sweetly it made her want to weep again. She turned away from her daughters so they could not see her eyes brighten with tears. “Yes, dear. I’m just tired. Will you girls help me with baby Mary? Her cloth needs changing and I’m done feeding her now.” She hoped taking care of their baby sister would help the girls get back to normal. She needed to talk to them about the ordeal, but she wasn’t ready just yet. Soon, but not now.

How long would it take to get over the wound Bomazeen inflicted on her mind? Maybe it would eventually just be an ugly scar. That was the irony of it. Physical injuries often heal with little or no permanent damage. But traumas of the mind are not so easily erased. Some never go away. They are always there, just below the surface, capable of returning unbidden with fresh intensity and pain. She stirred the potatoes and banged the wooden spoon against the side of the pan so hard it cracked.

Stephen unsaddled Bear’s horse. After their long journey, the worn out mount would need a good rest. Scowling as he worked, he tugged at the saddle leathers more aggressively than needed, releasing the girth. The gelding sidestepped and he realized that he was making the poor tired animal nervous. He stroked the horse’s neck soothingly and then got him a generous portion of feed and fresh water.

He paced across the barn, as an icy apprehension twisted around his heart. He wasn’t worried for Sam. It was unlikely his brother could catch up to Bomazeen, and if he did, it was Bomazeen that
needed to worry.

What had his stomach in knots was that Jane had only wounded Bomazeen. The fiend will likely come back for her. The threat wasn’t over. It was worse now. Men like Bomazeen don’t give up.

Well he didn’t either. He would find a way to keep her safe.

CHAPTER 8

A
s the sun contemplated setting, Bear pulled up, the wagon team covered in sweat and breathing hard. “I pushed them as much as I dared. Is everything all right here?” Bear yelled.

Stephen had been waiting alone for Bear on his porch, thinking through their predicament. He did not want to worry Jane. She had endured enough already.

“Jane and the girls are safe, but no,” he said, coming down the porch steps. “I’ll explain later.” Thankfully, Bear didn’t press him.

They unloaded the supplies—seed, coffee, flour, cornmeal, honey, salt, cheese, oats, and the cloth for Jane.

“Hope she’ll be likin’ the fabric. ‘Twas the first time I ever bought cloth. And I surely hope it will be the last,” Bear said.

Stephen grimaced, remembering Jane’s torn dress and what nearly happened to his wife. She would need the new cloth to replace the torn gown. Cackling chickens scattered out of their way as the two men took the wagon and feed to the barn, then stacked the sacks in neat piles. His barn was more orderly than most, and
he took pride in its upkeep.

“I’m in your debt Bear for bringing our supplies and for the loan of your horse,” he said as they finished unhitching and caring for the wagon team.

“’Tis my pleasure to be of service,” Bear said. “Tell me what’s happened then. I can tell ye’re worried.”

“Bomazeen,” Stephen snarled. “He was here and tried to steal Jane and Martha.” The words made him want to choke. “He nearly had his way with my wife and wanted to trade her to the Pennacook Chief. He would have killed the three youngest. Jane managed to sneak out her pistol and she shot the bloody bastard.”

“She killed him?” Bear asked, his eyes widening.

“She thought he was dead, and drug him outside, but the bullet must have just grazed him. Someone helped him and they left on horseback. Sam went after them. He’s been gone since early this morning. He wanted you to follow him, but you’ll have to wait until morning. It’ll be dark in less than an hour, impossible to follow their tracks.”

“Och! The men of this state have tried to track that beast through the woods for years and Jane manages to shoot him,” Bear marveled.

“I’m afraid she’s in danger. Bomazeen will come back for her.”

“Aye. Disease decimated many of the Pennacooks. Not many remain in the White Mountains. Smallpox killed most of the women of the tribe last year. I just heard in Durham yesterday that they started raidin’ from here to the Canadian border, takin’ women captive. They’re difficult to stop because they sneak in and out quickly, leavin’ nothin’ to follow. These natives like strong women. They do most of the work and tend the crops. Aye, the threat is real.
The Chief could send Bomazeen and more braves after her again. I’ll stay with you until we know ‘tis safe,” Bear offered.

Stephen had little respect for some of the Algonquian tribes. He had heard many stories from Sam. On more than one occasion, Sam saw them fight alongside the British during the Revolution. During a battle in the Mohawk Valley, decimated Continental troops suffered more than 400 casualties, many at the hands of the natives. Sam had not forgotten, and neither had he. But, he also knew that other natives had helped many colonists. Some built trusted relations with them and even owed their lives to the aid provided by friendly Indians. But the British purposely tore through those bonds of trust and kept tensions high, making peaceful relations with the tribes difficult. And it rankled him that men like Bomazeen kept the pot stirred, sometimes to over boiling.

“I’m not sure it’s ever going to be safe,” Stephen said. “The British continue to arm these natives and encourage them to resist us. You’re right, they are exceedingly difficult to fight—they grab women quickly and then disappear without a trace. Bomazeen targeted Jane for the Chief. The fact that she shot a man like Bomazeen will only make her more desirable to the Chief. Bomazeen’s wounded pride will make him come after her as soon as he’s able.”

“They do admire strength. I agree there’s reason to believe they will come again.”

“Let them come. Better yet, let’s take the battle to them,” he growled through gritted teeth. “We can get others to help. We’ll leave in the morning.”

“Ye’re na thinkin’ right, man. You’re talkin’ out of rage,” Bear said. “That’d be suicide. They would know we were comin’ a mile away. They’d set traps for us. Tryin’ to fight them in the timber and
mountains is near to impossible. It’d be like elk tryin’ to hunt a mountain lion.”

“Damn it. Defending my family is my job—not Jane’s. The bastard nearly raped her. She’s my wife. It’s my duty to protect her.”

“Then start.” Soundlessly, Sam had sidled up behind the two.

“What happened? Did you find them?” Stephen demanded.

“I found where they had stopped to rest their mounts.”

Stephen and Bear waited for Sam to continue.

“Looks like Bomazeen is on his way to the Pennacook village. I lost his trail in the rocks. Searched for some sign of them for hours, but to no avail. It was getting late and it would have been ill-advised to continue, so I turned back.”

“How can a man be so cruel?” Bear asked.

“Some say it’s the French in him, some say it’s his Indian blood. I tend to think he’s just a mean sick bastard,” Sam said.

“I hate to even say this, but I think Bomazeen will come after Jane again. She made him look weak to the Chief,” Stephen said.

“I agree, but I am afraid next time he’ll not only seek to kidnap her, he’ll want to torture her. He’ll make her pay and he won’t give up until she has,” Sam said.

“That’s not going to happen,” Stephen snapped.

“We’ll keep her safe and yer wee bairns too,” Bear swore. “The question is how?”

“I’ve been trying to figure that out all afternoon,” Sam said. “We’ve dealt with Indian uprisings before, and we’ll do it again if necessary. But this isn’t an uprising. This is Bomazeen. He’s unpredictable and vicious.”

Stephen raked his fingers through his hair. “The problem is we don’t know when the sneaky devil will attack or attempt to get Jane again. I don’t want her living in fear every minute of her life and I can’t stay here at the house all the time. But now, I can’t leave them alone either.”

“We could take turns standing watch,” Bear suggested.

“But how long—a week, a month, six months?” Sam asked.

“Could she stay with kin?” Bear asked.

“Her folks have both passed, and she has no other relatives near here,” Stephen said.

“You could move into Barrington, near Edward,” Sam suggested, “but there’s no guarantee she would be safe there either. And how would you care for your livestock or keep someone from stealing them.”

Stephen’s heart beat faster. He realized what they needed to do. “There is a way to keep her safe, or at least to get her away from this threat. We go west. You both wanted to go anyway. Maybe this is God’s way of telling us it’s time. His way of spurring us on.”

“I beg ye na to take offense man, but is it possible that ye are usin’ this as an excuse to leave?” Bear asked. “Would ye have decided to go anyway? Ye told me ye were worried about the risks. About being reasonable.”

“Damn it Bear, what would you have me do?” Stephen tried to throttle his anger. “You’re the one who made me realize a decision like this has to be made from faith and courage not from what is rational and safe.”