Chapter 18
That led them through the deep, as an horse in the wilderness, that they should not stumble?
Jacob blinked, the edge of the Licking River and the carnage of the battle coming into view. His ears rang, and his body protested as he lifted his torso from the hard earth, but he was alive.
Thank You, God.
Edmund. The events before he blacked out came flooding back to him. He glanced around. There. Several yards away, where he had fallen from his horse and been trampled, lay Edmund’s body. Please, no.
Jacob scrambled over on hands and knees, ignoring the pain that seared through his leather-burnt hands. When he reached Edmund’s body, he flipped him over onto his back. But instead of wide, staring eyes, a pained grunt greeted him. His face split into a grin.
“You are alive!”
Edmund groaned again and nodded, his arm wrapped around his middle. “Barely,” he breathed, his voice raspy. “I think my horse tried to finish the job that arrow started.” Edmund coughed, and Jacob’s eyes widened at the sight of crimson blood on his lips.
“Come on. We need to get you back to the fort.”
“Ah, to Mrs. Brooke, our faithful nurse. She is a beautiful one.” Edmund’s eyes were closed now, but he only seemed to be focusing on breathing and not allowing the pain to take over his senses.
“Yes. And a widow.” At least the man still had his humor. “I need to find us some mounts, then we will leave.”
First, were they still in danger? He glanced up the hill, across the river.
He should have thought to do so sooner, but his concern over Edmund had clouded his judgement.
The enemy, as well as most of the survivors, must have retreated, for on the hillside across the waters, a handful of men worked to dig what likely would become a mass grave.
Still, he would feel better once they were out of this open valley.
Jacob slowly worked himself to standing, where he wavered.
His head pounded and his vision swam. Once he steadied, he looked behind them.
To his amazement, there at the edge of the tree line, stood Samson.
And beside him, the brown horse he had guided from the river.
Jacob’s mouth fell open. The good Lord above was certainly looking after them.
As he took a step, pain shot through his left ankle.
He hissed out a breath, then continued, focusing on his destination rather than the pain.
His body ached as well from his impact with the ground, but his stiffness seemed to ease a mite with movement.
When he reached the horses and gathered up their reins, the leather bit into his hands.
But nothing would stop him from returning to Edmund’s side.
Once there, he knelt and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Edmund, are you still with me?” The man nodded, his mouth and eyes both pressed shut in agony. “I have to get you up on top of this horse.” Another slow, measured nod.
Jacob positioned the chocolate-colored horse right next to them.
Then he moved closer and worked his arms under Edmund’s arms. Together, they managed to haul him upright, though Jacob supported most of the other man’s weight.
From there, Jacob used Edmund’s legs as leverage to push him on up onto the saddle.
Edmund loosed a long, loud groan as the arrow penetrated deeper into his body.
But for the moment, the shaft seemed to staunch most of the bleeding.
So despite the pain that would likely slice through the man with every step of his mount, it would have to stay put.
Jacob walked around to the other side and pulled himself up into his saddle with a grunt of his own. He tied the brown horse’s reins onto his saddle, then took Samson’s reins between his fingertips. Squeezing his legs, he urged the horse to walk on.
With the setting sun at their backs, and trusting that men digging the grave would check others for signs of life before placing them in the ground, they started toward the fort.
Toward Dawn and Mary and a bright future together.
Dusk would soon engulf them in darkness, but he trusted Samson and the good Lord above would see them through the night and they would come out the other side closer to home.
As they drew near the tree line, Jacob stopped and turned in the saddle.
For a moment, he simply sat, taking in all the bodies scattered over the hillside and along the shores of the river.
Every single one died fighting to protect this life of freedom they were so blessed to live.
Always, he would remember their sacrifice.
And never again would he take a single day for granted.
Or a single moment spent with those he loved.
He gave Samson his head, allowing him to lead them on.
Every sway of the horse’s gait made his body ache and his head throb, but he imagined it was only an ounce of the pain that Edmund bore.
Every so often, he glanced over at his comrade, but with the dark of night and the movement of the horses, it was difficult to tell if he still breathed.
Finally, hours after nightfall, Jacob halted the horses at a creek and slipped from the saddle.
A groan from Edmund’s direction let him know the man was still alive.
Jacob moved between the horses while they drank and over to Edmund.
He opened his canteen and lifted it to the man’s face.
“Here, take a drink of water if you can.”
Edmund turned his head without opening his eyes and drank a couple of swallows of the liquid.
Then he sagged back against the saddle. Jacob removed his waistcoat and laid it over Edmund’s body.
He took a swig of the water, then refilled the canteen.
What a blessing that he always carried his canteen slung across his body.
After, he climbed back into the saddle and turned them toward home again.
As the crickets singing in the night became his only company once more, he was transported back in time, to the day he and Joseph had joked about the crickets and the owls. How he missed his brother’s smile.
For the first time since they had parted ways from his family, his chest ached with the pain of missing their company, their personalities, and most importantly, their love.
With only the deep darkness looming ahead, the vibrancy of his family suddenly seemed the greatest blessing.
One he had thrown away in his haste to prove himself.
Jacob scoffed. The only thing he had proven was proving to himself that family was more important than anything.
Dawn and Mary meant more to him than anything in the world, more than any battle he could fight or accolade he could win.
Nowhere he could go and nothing he could do would ever mean anything without them by his side.
As soon as he made it to the fort and saw that Edmund was cared for, he never wanted to spend another moment away from his family.
With Edmund releasing Mary into their care, would that mean they were free to go where they wanted and live where they wanted?
Could they seek out his land and rejoin his family?
Jacob released a contented sigh. Though he was not sure what Dawn’s stance would be on the matter, a new dream bloomed before him—to unite his new family with the one he grew up with.
As Samson plowed forth into the darkness, Jacob resolved that he would speak with Dawn upon his return.
And that hope, the dream of that future, in the bright and beautiful wilderness with Dawn, kept him holding on.
* * *
August 21, 1782
Dawn swallowed as Mrs. Brooke closed Mr. Taylor’s wide staring eyes and stepped away from the bedside.
Beside him, his wife began to wail. Tears formed in Dawn’s eyes, and she turned away.
She started to retreat from the cabin, but her hands were covered in blood.
So instead, she huddled around the washbasin with Mrs. Brooke and Mrs. Abbott, scrubbing the stains from her skin.
When finally her hands were clean and dry, Dawn slipped onto the porch.
She pulled her blood-stained apron from over her head and crumpled it into a ball, dropping it onto the ground beside her as she sat on the edge of the porch.
While Mrs. Taylor’s wails drifted through the door, Dawn crossed her arms over her knees and buried her face in them, allowing her own tears to fall.
All day, they had remained pent up inside her.
When the first round of militia arrived that morning, she could have been among the many wives that crumpled into hysterics when their husbands were not among the ones to return.
Every time stragglers came through the gates, her heart would lift, only to plummet.
Still, she had blinked back her tears and remained strong.
But no more. She could not stand to keep her hopes up any longer, only to have them dashed time and again.
They had worked to patch up one soldier after another.
Lead balls had been retrieved from arms and legs.
Another from Mr. McBride’s side, above his hip.
There had even been a man who had to be sewn up after having removed an arrow from his arm himself.
But Mr. Taylor had been the first to arrive, amazingly still alive after taking a bullet to the abdomen.
The surgery had proven too difficult, too bloody, though, and he had succumbed to his injuries.