Author: Elizabeth Grayson
Category: Western
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/elizabeth-grayson/page,20,76810-a_place_called_home.html
Fresh tears spilled down her face, and he realized she'd asked herself that question a thousand times.
"David didn't give me that pistol to defend him," she whispered, culpability firing up in those wide, wet eyes. "He gave me the pistol to protect our children!"
As Reid fumbled for words, Tad's voice rang out from the cabin's loft.
"Ma, are you and Reid arguing again?"
Livi straightened and swiped the tears from her face. "It's all right, Tad," she assured him. "Don't we always argue?"
Tad must have been satisfied by her answer because the cabin fell silent.
Reid shifted uneasily on the steps. He'd asked too much of Livi tonight, demanded that she poke through the last desperate moments of David's life. He could see that like shards of glass, each of those memories had sliced deep, drawing blood. He knew the pain of doing that would linger deep into the night and steal her sleep.
But there was one more thing he needed to know. He rose to stand over her. "I want you to tell me exactly what the men looked like, what they said."
In the moonlight she looked pale as chalk, her hair streaming from her topknot in gossamer strands. Her eyes liquid with tears.
"Please, Livi! Try to remember."
She drew a breath and scrubbed at her face with her hands. "There were six or eight Indians altogether," she finally went on. "Their faces were marked with black and vermillion. They wore breechclouts and leggings. Their shirts were trade cloth, bright and new."
As if they'd just come from trading with the British.
"One wore a matchcoat around his shoulders, and there was a medallion at his throat."
That confirmed Reid's suspicions. "Tell me about their headgear, about their hair."
Livi furrowed her brow and frowned. "Most of them had scalp locks trimmed with quills and feathers. Several wore their hair longer, hanging loose."
"What weapons were they carrying?"
She glared up at him. "Muskets and war clubs, I suppose. At least one of them had a rifle."
"And what did they take?"
"Nothing."
"Indians never raid a camp without taking something."
He could see she was trying her best to remember. "After David fell, they picked up the man he'd shot and crept away."
"Did they threaten either you or the children?"
Livi shook her head.
"Tad cursed them and tried to go after them. I grabbed him and held on as tight and as long as I could."
"If they didn't take goods," Reid murmured, trying to work out who these men were, "they must have taken livestock."
"Not even a chicken was missing."
"Goddammit, Livi, this makes no sense!" He paced across the width of the steps. "War parties don't raid that far east. Indians hardly ever attack in the middle of the night. And they never ransack a camp without taking anything. Are you sure there was nothing missing?"
"We emptied the creels when we reached the cabin."
"And you didn't find anything—unusual—in the packs?"
Livi shook her head.
Reid stared out at the greening fields, at where the treetops were shushing in a lazy breeze. He was missing something; that certainty nagged at him.
How was he to discern who had attacked the Talbots from a snatch of garbled speech, Livi's description, and actions that seemed inconsistent with every tribe he knew.
Surely Livi hadn't told him everything. And even if she had, there was something more.
He'd talk to the scouts at the stations up north, he decided. One of them would know what Indian bands had been raiding east of the mountains back in March. He'd check with John Anderson at the Block House. He'd ride the Wilderness Road up toward the Ohio country and follow the Warriors Path down the back side of the mountains. He owed it to his dearest friend to find his killers.
Then all at once, Livi gasped.
When he looked down at her, she was sitting utterly still, her hands cradling the rise of her belly. Reid's heart snagged at the base of his throat.
"Tell me what's wrong!"
Jesus, God! If he'd pushed her too hard with his questions, demanded too much—
Livi lifted her wide-eyed gaze to his. He saw fresh tears on her lashes. "It's moving," she whispered. "The baby's moving."
Reid could do no more than stare at her.
"I was so sick at the beginning of this pregnancy," she went on, laughing and crying all at once. "Then we went through so much on the trail that I thought..." She smiled up at him, looking luminous in the half-light. "David's baby is moving inside me. That means it's healthy. It means it's all right!"
David and Livi's baby.
Until that moment Reid hadn't entirely grasped what that meant. It seemed impossible that this bit of David Talbot was alive in her—and yet the seed he'd planted was growing. Though David was gone, Livi would hold everything in the world that was left of David in her arms. In this child and in Tad and Cissy, Livi had bound herself closer to David Talbot than anyone else ever could.
A jolt of resentment shot through him. And all I have to remember him by is the obligation to revenge his death.
To envy Livi in the midst of her sorrow was scurrilous, unworthy—but Reid couldn't seem to help himself. Hot color ran up his neck.
"I—I'm—pleased for you," he fumbled, scrambling for equilibrium. "This news is—very—"
To his immense discredit, Livi saw right through him. He watched her disillusionment dawn and doused the relief and joy that had lit her face.
Gracefully and with complete contempt for him, Livi rose to her feet, shook out her skirts and went into the cabin without saying a word.
Reid stood staring after her. He heard the door closed and the latch drop into place. He might own the cabin and the land. He might have the authority to send Livi and the children away, but she had what mattered most.
Livi was carrying David's child.
Chapter 13
Reid looked up from the log he was splitting just as Tad rounded the corner of the cornfield. The way the boy's stride lagged when he saw Reid already at work seemed to indicate that Tad had more than split-rail fences on his mind. Reid took another swipe with the maul, anticipation brewing in his belly.
He'd come out here just before dawn, figuring this was as good a way as any for a man to expend his energy if he couldn't sleep. Already a score of logs lay split into fence-length rails.
"Is Eustace on his way?" he asked as the log he had been working groaned and fell apart.
"I guess," Tad answered, peering out from under the brim of his battered hat. "But before he gets here, I've got something I need to say to you."
Reid set the handle of the maul against his leg and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. "Oh?"
The boy's mouth narrowed before he spoke. "I—I just wanted you to know that—that you really don't have to stay on here if you've a mind to go."
Reid's breath hitched in surprise. "And why is that?"
"Well, with Eustace and Violet here, we're doing well enough, and Ben Logan promised to help us raise a barn come fall. So I reckon we can do without your help."
Reid looked at the boy and saw in him the echo of the man his father had been. Tad had the wheaten hair, the butterscotch-colored eyes, and the beginnings of that powerful build. He even had the stubborn stamp to his jaw, the one David always wore when he knew he was about to do something crazy and intended to go ahead with it anyway.
"So you want me to leave?" Reid asked.
"I think it's best."
"Best for who?"
"Best for all of us." Tad lowered his eyes. "Best for Ma."
"You heard us arguing last night."
Tad nodded.
"Your ma and I always argue."
"I know," the boy acknowledged. "But with the baby and all..."
With the baby and all. Concern for his mother's welfare was reason enough for Tad to ask him to leave. It was also reason enough to
give Campbell pause. It they were Creeks, there wouldn't have been any question about where his obligations lay. A man took responsibility for his brother's wife and children. But what would David expect of Reid in all of this?
He'd lain awake half the night pondering that. Reid had no doubt that with time and persistence, he'd track down David's killers. Someone knew who they were and why they'd attacked the Talbots. Eventually he'd find that out and avenge David. Reid had always excelled at tracking and killing.
But after talking to Livi last night, something stayed him. Something that went against every instinct he had. Something that brought him perilously close to accepting responsibility for someone beside himself. No matter how hard she might try to deny it, no matter how hard he tried to deny it himself, Livi needed him. It was acknowledging that that made him so itchy and hot this morning.
"Jesus!" Reid said under his breath.
The curse brought Tad's head up so Reid could see that his eyes were level, matter-of-fact. They were the eyes of a child who'd become a man before his time.
"It's not as if Ma's ever wanted you here," Tad told him. "I can look after her well enough."
It was convenient having everyone's permission to leave. Livi didn't want him here. She'd made that clear enough the day he rode in. Now Tad was telling him he could go. Then why the hell wasn't he back at the cabin packing his saddlebags?
Instead Reid bent to pick up the wedge and glut and rolled another log into place with his foot. "Is this something I have to decide here and now, or can we get this fence laid up first?"
Tad let out his breath. A grin tweaked the corners of his mouth. "Ma gets mad as hell when one of the animals gets into the field. I guess we'd better work on the fence."
Reid wished he hadn't been able to hear the relief in Tad's voice.
Well, relief or not, he sure as hell meant to give leaving some serious thought. With every hour that passed, that course looked more inviting. Out in the woods he was free, his own man. He had no alliances, no responsibilities. Out there he'd only have the guilt of abandoning David's family to carry around like an extra bag of shot.
He set the wedge and tapped it into the log with the maul.
He'd have a damn sight more than guilt dragging at him if he stayed at the cabin. He'd have Livi and her hostility. He'd have two children and whatever mischief they managed to make. He'd have the fields and the house and the animals. And in an odd way, even Eustace and Violet would come under his care.
Damn it, David! You know I'm not cut out for this.
He drew back the maul and hammered the wedge for all he was worth. At the edge of his vision, the cool, dark forest beckoned.
I'm going to go, he promised himself. Just as soon as we get these goddamned fences built.
* * *
The dog was barking, sharp, insistent yaps with a puppy's yowl at the end of them. Livi glanced up from the corn pudding she was mixing.
"Dog's puttin' up quite a fuss," Violet said from the far side of the table, where she was cutting up the last of the turnips for dinner. "Haven't heard much from him 'til just now."
"I'll get him," Cissy offered from where she was practicing letters on her slate.
"No, I'll go," Livi said, wiping her hands on her apron. "You keep after that writing."
"Dog prob'ly got wind of a possum off there in the woods," Violet murmured.
It was warm in the cabin, and Livi welcomed the breath of breeze as she stepped outside. She could hear the menfolk splitting rails across the creek. The fence they had begun the previous day had already progressed to encompass the front and half of the left side of the nearest field. With a nod of satisfaction, she turned down the breezeway to where Tad had tied Patches to keep him from running off.
"You certainly are making a lot of noise for such a little dog," Livi complained as she hunkered down to untie his rope. Instead of Patches greeting her all wag and slobber, he yapped and growled, straining in the direction of the woods behind the house.
"Patches!" Livi admonished, then lifted her gaze to see what had him so riled up.
For an instant all she could see was the shimmy of brush along the face of the ridge. Then a lithe brown body broke cover halfway down. He moved diagonally along the bank. A second and a third man stole along a dozen paces behind him. Two more eased over the crest of the hill.
Indians!
A ripple of dread shot the length of Livi's spine. She left the dog yowling and bolted into the cabin.
"There are Indians out back!" she yelled.
Violet leaped to her feet. Cissy wailed in fear. Livi's first impulse was to slam and bar the cabin door. It was knowing the men were working across the creek that stayed her hand. They had to be warned. They had to have time to reach the cabin if they meant to mount a defense. Yet she couldn't leave Cissy and Violet alone in case the Indians doubled back.
The trapdoor to the turnip hole gaped open in the floor of the cabin. Without taking time to think, Livi grabbed Violet's arm.
"Down there!" She pulled the smaller woman toward the opening. "You and Cissy hide in the turnip hole while I go warn the men."
Violet's eyes lit with dread, though she leaped into the yard-deep, stone-lined hole without a moment's hesitation. She reached for Cissy as Livi gathered up the child and tried to hand her down.
Cissy balked. "No! No!" she shrieked. "It's dark down there. There are snakes—and spiders!"
"There are no snakes or spiders," Livi assured her. "And it's not all that dark. Light comes through the floorboards. Violet will be there with you. Please, Cissy, all I want is to keep you safe."
Snuffling, the child looked from her mother to where Violet stood chest-deep in the hole. "I don't want to," Cissy whined, but she didn't resist when Livi eased her into Violet's arms.
Livi waited until the two of them were settled amidst the baskets of vegetables. "Don't come out unless one of us says it's all right," she instructed. "Or you smell smoke."
Tales of Indians torching cabins over the settlers' heads were rife along the frontier. If Livi had a choice, she'd rather see Cissy and Violet captured than burned to death.
Livi was just easing the trapdoor in place when she heard a yell and the crack of rifles from across the creek. Shoving the table over to hide the seams of the turnip hole, Livi snatched up her pistol and raced outside.
From the top of the steps, she could make out half a dozen Indians swarming over where the men had been working on the fence. With fear backing up in her throat, she charged down the rise. She raced across the bridge and ran the breadth of the field, cradling her belly with her left hand. By the time she reached the corner, she was gasping.
Beyond it, smoke blurred the struggling, half-naked bodies. Since Tad and Reid and Eustace had stripped off their shirts as they worked, she could barely discern who was who.
As she pelted along the perimeter, she saw Eustace beating back several of the Indians with his rifle. Reid fought off three attackers with nothing more than the wooden maul. Wielding the long-handled mallet as if it were a weapon he'd been trained to use, Reid struck a vicious backhanded blow, hammering one Indian's ribs and sending him sprawling. He slammed a second man in the chest.
Crouched at his feet, Tad rammed a load into Campbell's rifle. Reid blocked one of the Indian's war clubs as Tad aimed. The gun spit fire. The blast boomed through the woods and fields. One of the Indians attacking Eustace yowled and fled.
But Reid wasn't quick enough to bring the mallet around to defend himself from a new attack. Tad dropped the half-loaded rifle, ready to launch himself into the fray.
Livi ran forward, raised her gun and fired at point-blank range. The impact of the ball spun the brave backward. She watched him fall. Blood poured from the hole in the man's bare shoulder, bright against his dusky skin.
She caught her breath. Her stomach heaved. She had a fleeting impression of Reid jerking around and caught a look of astonishment on his face.
Then one of E
ustace's attackers threw himself at Reid, and the two men went down in a tangle of arms and legs. The battle ebbed and flowed around her, but Livi could only stare at the Indian on the ground. She didn't know whether to crouch down and help him or knock him senseless with her empty gun.
He finally struggled to his feet and staggered off.
Off to her right, Eustace bellowed and battered his own knife-wielding attacker aside. The man Reid had been fighting gave up and scrambled away. Both braves ran for the woods.
As they vanished into the trees, everything stilled. The breeze died. The sun beat down. The acrid taint of powder hung heavy in the air. The Negro, the trapper, the boy, and the woman stood waiting, not knowing if they had won a decisive victory, or if more Indians would come howling out of the forest.
The stillness held. When he was certain there was no imminent threat, Reid bent to examine the two Indians who lay in the trampled grass.
"Shawnee," he said. "A raiding party come from up north. Two dead, one wounded, and five who'll be back to claim the bodies—if they can."
Livi could barely make sense of his words. She looked at the smoking pistol in her hand. She stared at the bloodstains on the ground. She couldn't believe she'd shot a man. That she'd done it to protect her own somehow didn't justify the brutality. Beneath his paint, the Indian she'd wounded had seemed so young, only a year or two older than Tad.
Suddenly the gun in her hand seemed too heavy to hold; she dropped it with a thud to the ground. Light flared before her eyes. Numbness rose through her. She heard Reid curse and shout her name, but she couldn't seem to answer. Darkness billowed in Livi's head and carried her away.
* * *
Voices drifted over her, soft and muffled with concern. Somewhere a child was crying. Livi was too tired to wonder who. It took nearly all her strength just to lie there and breathe.
She opened her eyes anyway and blinked the world into focus around her. Violet was perched on the edge of the bed, a bowl of water in her lap and a cloth in her hand.
"Miz 'Livia? You all right?"
"M-m-m-m," she answered. "Did I faint?"
"Dead away."