Read Online Thieving Forest by Martha Conway - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Martha Conway
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“There’s news! Two of the brethren over at the Christian mission have ransomed a white woman with red hair.”
Still Susanna doesn’t move. A tear rolls out of her eye and down over her jaw.
“What is it?” Liza asks. She quickly goes to Aurelia and puts a hand on her forehead.
“She’s passed,” Susanna says.
Six
Seth is preparing to camp when Cade catches up with him. At this twilit hour the ground is humming with insects, and the clearing, surrounded on three sides by forest, smells heavily of moist decay, as if even air were a thing that could rot. To the west a grove of dying beech trees stands between him and the rest of Ohio. He is following an old buffalo trail, the only way out. At some point he will start coming across soldiers and that means that the string of forts between the Maumee and Fort Wayne has begun.
When he hears hoof beats he stops building his campfire and listens. Sounds like a white man riding, although if someone asked him he would not be able to say why. Sure enough, even at a distance, he makes out his brother’s fair head. As he comes closer, Seth sees that Cade’s face is like the mask of tragedy, his jaw so clenched it seems bound with cloth. He understands even before Cade’s horse has fully halted: Aurelia is dead.
From the beginning it seemed unlikely to Seth that anyone could survive such an attack. He lets Cade tell him, though, and then he says what he can say, knowing that nothing will bring comfort so close to the fact. A good woman, gone before her time, a loss—but Cade is hardly listening. His anger and despair hold most of his attention.
“Couldn’t stay in Risdale.” He rubs his chin up but it has no effect on his expression. He tells Seth the news: a white woman has been ransomed by the Moravian missionaries, and Susanna is fixing to go to their village, called Gemeinschaft, tomorrow. Every settler in the area knows about Gemeinschaft, where a dozen or so white men and women live alongside fifty or sixty converted Indians. It’s a safe haven for the Christian Indians to practice their faith away from liquor and marauding tribes and ill-natured Europeans, a place where they can grow their own food and start little businesses—weaving, carpentry, textiles. There are several of these Moravian villages in Pennsylvania and New York, but this is the first one in Ohio.
“Old Adam found out,” Cade tells him. “He came across a couple of the brethren out prospecting the woods. Guess they’re thinking of clearing more land.”
Seth pulls flint and charcloth from his tinderbox. There is no use pretending that they will do anything else but camp here before they return, for there is no moon to light their way. Besides, the horses are tired. Cade waters them at the stream while Seth gets the fire lit. They boil coffee and eat the cornbread Jonas sent with Cade. Insects rise in a dense, cloudy mass and find little hollows in the land over which they swarm as if trapped there. Seth watches them, staying close to the fire’s smoke, which keeps them at bay.
What Seth doesn’t say is this: he is still relieved that Susanna, out of all of them, was spared. How can he help it? But the feeling sits uneasily on him. He loves his brother and feels his loss. Although they sit side by side with their boot tips nearly touching, Seth feels his brother’s thoughts pulling him away. They will separate. They will go their own ways. Only a week ago the future Seth saw was the two of them in Severne each married to a Quiner. Amos gone or dead, somehow no longer a problem. But Amos has always had so many tricks. Uprooting them from Virginia, as it turned out, was the least of them. But that was when they were too young to venture forth elsewhere on their own.
Seth gives Cade the last of the cornbread even though he could eat it himself and still want more. He will see Susanna through this, he vows to himself. He can’t make up for what Amos did, whatever that was exactly,
Still Susanna doesn’t move. A tear rolls out of her eye and down over her jaw.
“What is it?” Liza asks. She quickly goes to Aurelia and puts a hand on her forehead.
“She’s passed,” Susanna says.
Six
Seth is preparing to camp when Cade catches up with him. At this twilit hour the ground is humming with insects, and the clearing, surrounded on three sides by forest, smells heavily of moist decay, as if even air were a thing that could rot. To the west a grove of dying beech trees stands between him and the rest of Ohio. He is following an old buffalo trail, the only way out. At some point he will start coming across soldiers and that means that the string of forts between the Maumee and Fort Wayne has begun.
When he hears hoof beats he stops building his campfire and listens. Sounds like a white man riding, although if someone asked him he would not be able to say why. Sure enough, even at a distance, he makes out his brother’s fair head. As he comes closer, Seth sees that Cade’s face is like the mask of tragedy, his jaw so clenched it seems bound with cloth. He understands even before Cade’s horse has fully halted: Aurelia is dead.
From the beginning it seemed unlikely to Seth that anyone could survive such an attack. He lets Cade tell him, though, and then he says what he can say, knowing that nothing will bring comfort so close to the fact. A good woman, gone before her time, a loss—but Cade is hardly listening. His anger and despair hold most of his attention.
“Couldn’t stay in Risdale.” He rubs his chin up but it has no effect on his expression. He tells Seth the news: a white woman has been ransomed by the Moravian missionaries, and Susanna is fixing to go to their village, called Gemeinschaft, tomorrow. Every settler in the area knows about Gemeinschaft, where a dozen or so white men and women live alongside fifty or sixty converted Indians. It’s a safe haven for the Christian Indians to practice their faith away from liquor and marauding tribes and ill-natured Europeans, a place where they can grow their own food and start little businesses—weaving, carpentry, textiles. There are several of these Moravian villages in Pennsylvania and New York, but this is the first one in Ohio.
“Old Adam found out,” Cade tells him. “He came across a couple of the brethren out prospecting the woods. Guess they’re thinking of clearing more land.”
Seth pulls flint and charcloth from his tinderbox. There is no use pretending that they will do anything else but camp here before they return, for there is no moon to light their way. Besides, the horses are tired. Cade waters them at the stream while Seth gets the fire lit. They boil coffee and eat the cornbread Jonas sent with Cade. Insects rise in a dense, cloudy mass and find little hollows in the land over which they swarm as if trapped there. Seth watches them, staying close to the fire’s smoke, which keeps them at bay.
What Seth doesn’t say is this: he is still relieved that Susanna, out of all of them, was spared. How can he help it? But the feeling sits uneasily on him. He loves his brother and feels his loss. Although they sit side by side with their boot tips nearly touching, Seth feels his brother’s thoughts pulling him away. They will separate. They will go their own ways. Only a week ago the future Seth saw was the two of them in Severne each married to a Quiner. Amos gone or dead, somehow no longer a problem. But Amos has always had so many tricks. Uprooting them from Virginia, as it turned out, was the least of them. But that was when they were too young to venture forth elsewhere on their own.
Seth gives Cade the last of the cornbread even though he could eat it himself and still want more. He will see Susanna through this, he vows to himself. He can’t make up for what Amos did, whatever that was exactly,
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