4
Skenandoah held tightly to the woman in his arms. She was a delicate little thing, and, despite her ragged clothing, she was quite pretty. Night had come to the land of the Oneida at last and, even now, the stars overhead were reflecting down upon the long length of the woman’s dark-brown hair, causing it to glimmer. The colors of brown and the gleaming white of the light fascinated him.
There had been a white cloth tied around her hair. But, it had come loose in her sleep, and it now hung from around her neck.
He remembered her eyes being a deep fawn color of brown, reminding him of his sister’s dark-brown eyes. But, this woman was not in any other way like his sister.
This woman in his arms was in trouble. But, what kind of trouble? And, who was she really?
Oddly, he was quite taken with her, although why this was so, he didn’t know. There were many beautiful women within the different clans of his tribe, but he couldn’t remember being as attracted to them as he was to the woman he was now holding in his arms.
Was he fascinated with her because his arms were around her and her head was on his shoulder? It could be. After all, the warm scent of her femininity tickled his nose, and he thought it odd that here, within a large maple tree and amid deep trouble, he was becoming enchanted with a woman so foreign to him.
Yet, he didn’t even know her name, let alone who she was nor what she had done to deserve this kind of fate.
The dogs and the men hadn’t yet left. They were not within his view, but he could smell their fire and hear their deep voices. Now and again, a dog yelped at something.
Why hadn’t they left to retrace their steps to the inn? Was it because the woman who ran the inn for Mr. Wilson was as mean as the day was long? What had the one known as Miss Stockenridge threatened to do to these men if they didn’t return with the girl? And, why was it so important they catch her?
The girl whose name he hoped to soon discover moved about a little and he tightened his hold upon her. It wouldn’t do for her to fall from the tree. As her head was leaning back upon his shoulder, he experienced a delightful sensation, one which swept over the whole of his body.
Delightful? The emotion confused him.
True, his eye had often caught and held on many of the beautiful faces of the Oneida women. But, he’d not felt the urge to take any one of them as his own. Indeed, from his viewpoint, his journey within his life was to become renowned within the tribe. He had always assumed he would not marry until he was older and well-established as a man of his people.
He didn’t know this woman, and yet he had committed himself to see her safely to Fort Stanwix, a fort run mostly by his own people, although more recently the Americans possibly numbered more than the Oneida. And, he had pledged himself to the task of taking her safely there, unknowing at the time of the personal danger she would present to him: the risk being the peril of his attraction to her.
She whispered, “No! No more! I can take no more!”
He placed his hand over her mouth, it causing her to awaken. Her eyes wide, she looked up at him, and as he searched her face, he felt as though he lost himself in her simple gaze.
“We must be quiet,” he whispered. “They are encamped close to us. When they earlier spoke of returning to the inn, they meant to lure you out of hiding and then capture you.”
She nodded, and he lifted his hand from her lips.
“But, why are they so persistent?”
“What means this word, persistent?”
”It means,” she mouthed, “they do not easily give up.”
He shrugged, as though she were only stating what he already knew. Then, looking down at her, a sliver of a white misty moonbeam caught in her hair, the beauty of both hair and light intriguing him. He held his free hand up, his palm and fingers open as though he might stroke her hair, though he didn’t touch a single hair. He muttered, “Like the golden leaves of autumn, it is in your hair.”
“Is it?” she asked as silently as possible.
He didn’t answer. However, after a short while, he mumbled, “The men down there will soon tire and will go home. But, until they do, we must remain here. You sleep. I will awaken you when they are gone.”
“And, what if you go to sleep?”
He grinned. “I am Oneida. A scout, as well as a warrior if I need to be. I will not sleep when there is danger about.”
When she wiggled a little, obviously seeking a comfortable position, his arm tightened around her. With her head against his shoulder, she looked up to him and said softly, “Thank you for what you have done for me, Mister… I do not know your name.”
“Skenandoah,” he answered in a whisper.
“Skee-nan-doe-ah?”
“White men call me Skenan.”
“Skenan,” she repeated, and he thought he had never heard his name whispered so sweetly. “I thank you for coming to my aid, Mr. Skenan.”
“And, what should I call you?” he asked softly.
“Abagail,” she said.
“Abagail,” he repeated in as low a voice as he could muster. “It is a beautiful name.”
“Thank you, Mr. Skenan. And now, if you will, I believe I will do as you say and try to sleep. You won’t drop me, will you?”
He smiled down at her. “I will not.”
She grinned back at him, showing straight white teeth. A beautiful smile it was, and he was at once even more fascinated with her. Perhaps he was too taken by her.
She whispered, “I believe you when you say you will stay awake, though you give me leave to sleep. I trust you, Mr. Skenan.”
Under her compliment, Skenan thought he might have grown a little taller. However, he simply smiled. “You sleep now,” he said. And, as his fingers touched the soft skin of her arm, he knew he was lost. He sighed. He would take her to the fort and he would leave her there while he returned to his home. After all, he had no room in his life for the problems a white woman would bring him.
But, he feared he would always remember her.
“The woods are alive with the English man’s war.”
Abagail had been following closely behind Skenan as they traipsed though the woods. The trees were so dense in this forest, the light of the moon couldn’t shine all the way to the ground because the many branches above were seemingly hungry for and swallowed up the moonlight. Indeed, so dark was it here on the ground, she was forced to hold on to a piece of Skenan’s jacket so as to not lose him amongst the shadows.
She’d heard what he’d said, but because he had stopped so suddenly, she ran into him. If he noticed or objected, however, he didn’t show it.
He said, “We must find shelter quickly, or we will be discovered by enemy scouts.”
“Enemy scouts?” she asked in a whisper.
His answer was a mere nod.
“But, I thought—“
“Sh-h-h. Come, follow me,” he said. “I know these woods better than the enemy’s scouts. I will take you to a safe place where you can rest without fear of being found while I go back over our trail.”
“Go back over our trail?”
“Enemy scouts will find it and follow it to us. I must erase our footprints from the land.”
“Oh,” was all she uttered. “How can you erase a trail?”
“Easily,” he whispered. “Now, no more talking.”
She nodded, although even she knew he couldn’t see it and for a simple reason: she was behind him.
He led her through the woods, away from the water, the one place where she had felt safe in this wilderness, the place where he and she had found temporary refuge. Although the deep woods never ended, they began to climb upward. Up and up they stumbled until they, at last, came to the face of a rocky cliff. Scrambling up the cliff in the moonlight was certainly rigorous and a little frightening.
What if she were to fall?
At last, however, they came to a section of the cliff that opened up to reveal a cave leading back into the solid rock. Turning to her, Skenan said, “It is not cold enough yet for a bear to make this cave its home. I think this place will be safe enough for us to rest and let the enemy scouts and the Loyalists they serve go their way, not suspecting we are here.”
The cave opened up from a high ledge, and nearby fell a waterfall, though it was barely as tall as a raccoon standing on its two hind feet. At its base on the ledge was a narrow stream running quickly down the slope. At last, climbing up to the ledge, they both stood up and looked backward at the cave’s opening.
She muttered, “It seems there are so many of the Loyalists and enemy scouts in these woods. One would think the war had come to these woods.”
“And, so it has,” Skenan answered. “There is war occurring in Oriskany, a place very close to here. I do not know how the war goes, but if there are enemy scouts about in these woods, I fear it has not gone in our favor.”
“By ‘ours’ do you mean the American forces?”
“Of course I do. The Oneida have long been friends of the Americans,” he answered. “Come, let us enter this cave, where you can rest while I go back over our trail.”
Giving him a gentle smile, she complied.