MacFarlane's Ridge (43 page)

“You made it!” whispered Wanda with a smile. “I’ve got it loosened enough that I think you can just pull it out.”

Ambrose Meador wrapped one huge paw around the bars of the window, and gave a gentle tug to see what would happen. There was a soft grating noise.

“D’ye need help, then?” asked Rob.

Meador shook his head, placed his other hand on the window, and heaved. The barred frame within the window slid out effortlessly.

Cam placed her boot in Peyton Basham’s clasped hands, and he lifted her easily to the window. She fell right on top of Ambrose Meador, who promptly handed her to Rob.

He’s real, was her only thought as his arms enveloped her. She breathed in the musky smell of him, the scent of woodsmoke mixed with sweat, and ran her hands through his tangled hair. He clasped her face in his hands and turned her to him.

“Welcome back, Cameron Clark,” he whispered, and kissed her hard.

“Mmrph,” came a discreet cough from behind them. Wanda and Peyton Basham were now out, and Meador was propping the frame back into its place.

Cam tore herself away from Rob’s mouth. “Um. We need to go.”

“Ambrose, can you get us away from this place?” asked Wanda.

He nodded in assent, and they slipped into the forest. It was getting late, and soon it would be dusk. The hangin’ time, thought Cam. They had to put as much distance as possible between themselves and Fort Wyndham before sundown.

July 18, 1777 –

Most exciting news! Angus is back home with us now, and tells me that the Continental Congress has authorized a national Flag of our own – we are now truly a United States rather than an oppressed collection of Colonies! A Mrs. Ross has been commissioned to design our new Flag, and one can only hope she shall devise something Memorable and Elegant.

Angus has said that his wife has disappeared into the wilds of New Jersey, and yet he seems to think she shall return here to the Ridge whenever she is finished doing whatever it is that she does. I am not entirely sure I trust the woman; she is quite enigmatic and yet I think that is an appearance that she cultivates intentionally. I think Angus in particular felt the need to come back to provide some guidance for young Jamie, who has been quite grumpy lately. After speaking with the boy, I learned he misses his old life at sea. The Ridge must seem quite dull to a lad who has sailed around the world.

With summer in full swing, we have leased out land parcels to several new families on the Ridge, including young Gerthe Wagner and her new husband. Gerthe is a wonderful cook and I think I shall begin to get fat if I continue to borrow receipts from her! One of the Kerr girls is to marry a McGregor lad soon as well, so there is much ado about MacFarlane’s Ridge. Our apple orchard is in full bloom, and we shall have more cider soon than we know what to do with.

Wee Sarah and her brother Hugh are not so small anymore. Sally Kerr says that Hugh in particular weighs as much as a good smoked ham, and Sarah is not far behind. They are both hungry constantly, so I spend a good deal of my day tending to their ravenous needs. Ian has been most understanding and tries to help me with them and with Hamish as much as he can. He has been plowing a few additional acres for tobacco this year, and has hired on two of the Kerr boys as labor.

I nearly forgot -- I have an occupation now! Yes, Mrs. Mollie MacFarlane’s Bayberry Soap has become quite the fashion in the settlement of Liberty, and Mrs. Polly Basham, who runs a boarding house, is quite enamored of it and has placed some very large orders for her establishment. Morag Kerr is quite artistic and draws pictures of a lovely lady on the paper wrapper for me, and then we tie it up with string and send it off, pretty as you please, to both Mrs. Basham and the local mercantile. Dare I even say it, but I believe Ian and I are actually becoming quite prosperous!

I truly hope we hear from Winnie some time soon. Angus misses her greatly, and thus I will be pleasant to her because he loves her so deeply.

Meador was in the lead, with Rob at his heels. Rob pulled Cam along, holding her hand with such ferocity that she was sure her fingers would break some time soon, but she didn’t care. Wanda and Basham were close behind her. As they plunged through the brush, brambles caught in Cam’s hair, and small branches scratched her cheeks.

There was no sound but that of her own breathing, and the hurried squashing sound of their footsteps in the dirt. The dim light in the forest soon gave way to darkness, and it was only Robert’s steady hand that helped her keep her balance. Finally, Ambrose Meador came to a stop in a small grassy clearing.

“We need to rest for the night,” he said softly, looking pointedly at Cam and Wanda. “This ought to be as fine a spot as any.”

Rob looked at Cam uncertainly. “D’ye wish to stop?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head, but the look on her face told him otherwise.

“Stop we will, then, aye?”

Building a fire was out of the question, so they merely sat in a huddle. Meador took the first watch, and Cam burrowed herself next to Rob, letting the exhaustion take her.

“Will you be goin’ back? To your place, I mean?’ he asked softly.

“Hm?”

“Now that ye’ve stopped me from swinging from the gallows, will ye be heading back?”

“I don’t know.” She felt him stiffen, and lifted her head up slightly to look at him. She could barely see his face in the pale moonlight. “A part of me,” she said slowly, “a part of me says that I should. That I should tell you goodbye and go back where I belong.”

“Ah. And the other part?”

She rested her head on his chest again, feeling the pounding of his heart beneath his dirty linen shirt. “The other part tells me that now that I have you back, I shouldn’t be such a fool as to let you go again,” she said simply.

His fingers stroked her hair delicately. She opened one eye and saw that Wanda and Peyton Basham were fast asleep, then closed it again.

“Tis I that’s the fool,” he said gently. “Perhaps ‘tis selfish, but if I canna keep ye for myself, I think I’d go mad with missing you. D’ye ken what it is, to feel that, Cameron Clark?”

She smiled into his chest. “Aye,” she said, and drifted off to sleep.

Cameron was awakened much later by the sound of gunshots and a scream.

“Bloody hell!” screamed Wanda. “Shit! Oh, shit!”

Cam leapt to her feet, not knowing what had happened or where the shots had come from, but it was obvious in the dim pre-dawn light exactly where they had found targets.

“Shit,” said Wanda again, gasping. She was pulling at the cloak she had been using as a pillow, and Cam saw a dark stain on the front of Wanda’s light blue dress. Frantically, she glanced around. Ambrose Meador was nowhere in sight, and Peyton Basham lay in a crumpled heap nearby, pistol in hand. Even in the murky light, Cam could see the exit wound in the back of his head. She gagged, and tried not to vomit.

Where is Robert? she thought anxiously. She couldn’t see him, but she could hear the shouts of men, and heavy boots crunching in the underbrush nearby.

“Oh, Wanda,” she whispered, watching as the stain spread. She scooped up the discarded cloak and pressed it to Wanda’s chest.

Wanda looked around wildly. “Bloody hell, they got Peyton too! General Washington is gonna be pissed. Peyton was supposed to warn – ahh!”

“Wanda,” hissed Cam. “Lay still, for God’s sake. Maybe we can stop the bleeding,” she said, thinking if she wished it hard enough it might be true. Her hands were becoming sticky through the soft cloak.

“Ahh,” Wanda laughed softly, and Cam heard an unpleasant gurgling noise in her throat. “Oh, Cam, I can’t believe this. Damn it, damn it.”

“Shh,” Cam whispered, blinking back tears. Peyton Basham was apparently quite dead, Wanda was well on her way, and Robert and Ambrose were missing in the woods.

Cam felt very alone.

“Don’t talk,” she said. “Just lay still, okay? Please, Wanda?”

There was a sound behind her, and she turned, not taking her hands from Wanda’s chest. It was Meador, and he was bleeding from the shoulder.

“Ambrose?” she asked. His face was ghostly white. “Where’s Rob?”

Meador nodded his head in the general vicinity of the commotion in the trees. “He’s comin’ soon, Ah think.” For the first time, he noticed Peyton Basham’s body on the ground. The big man squatted down next to his brother-in-law. “Oh,” he said softly. “Lucy and Rachel’s gonna be mighty sore about this.” He gently closed Basham’s eyes, and sat with him, cradling his head in his large lap and stroking the fallen man’s dark hair.

“Cam,” said Wanda in a hoarse whisper. “You need to tell Angus.”

“Oh, no, Wanda, you’ll get to tell him things yourself,” Cam lied.

“Horseshit, Cam. You need to tell him – ah,” Wanda gulped.

“Okay, Wanda, it’s okay,” she sobbed. “Tell Angus what?”

Wanda smiled. “Tell him I’m all right. Tell him it didn’t hurt when I died, okay?”

Cam stared at her incredulously. “It doesn’t hurt?”

“Of course it hurts, it hurts bad,” wailed Wanda. “I just… I just don’t want Angus to know that, okay? Please?”

Cam nodded her head. She could still hear crashing noises in the trees, growing closer. Meador was still sitting with Basham, crooning softly, and the bleeding in his shoulder appeared to have stopped.

“Oh, Cam, don’t cry,” said Wanda softly.

Cam wiped the tears from her cheeks surreptitiously. “I’m not.”

“Maybe I was wrong before.”

“About what?”

“When I said I belonged here but you didn’t. You do belong here,” she croaked.

“Wanda –“

“Shh, Cam. Listen.” Wanda smiled again, not the mischievous wide grin that Cam was so used to, but a gentle, peaceful smile. “Listen. I need to tell you, oh!” Her eyes widened abruptly. “The baby, Cam. Be nice to the baby.”

“Baby? What baby? Wanda?” Cam practically shrieked.

Wanda squeezed her hand. “It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t hurt anymore.” She closed her eyes then, and the smile returned. “Stay with him, Cam. You belong,” she sighed. Cam watched as the dark stain on Wanda’s dress rose and fell, rose again, and then stopped.

“Cameron?” She turned, and it was Rob. His hands were scratched and there were twigs in his hair. “Are ye alright?”

She nodded. “Wanda. And Basham.” She pointed, and his eyes flickered towards Meador, then back to Cam and Wanda.

“We have to go,” he said gently, prying her away from the limp redheaded form.

“We can’t leave them like this,” protested Cam. “We have to bury them.”

“There’s no time,” he hissed. “It’s Sinclair.”

“What? Where?”

“Not far. He sent his two pups, Stave an’ Tumblesby on ahead. I think Stave was the one who fired the shots, although I canna be sure,” he said grimly.

“Where are they now?” she hissed.

“Tumblesby willna be getting’ up again, Meador saw to that. Crushed his head like a wee egg, he did,” shuddered Rob.

“And Stave?”

“I managed to jab him wi’ his own bayonet, but he slipped away from me when I started heading back to ye. I’m sure he’s lurking nearby, and probably meeting up with Sinclair,” he finished. “Come, the sun’s near up and we need to get moving.”

“Wanda’s dead,” Cam said softly.

“I know, and I’m sorry for it. But we havena’ the time,” he urged, pulling her to her feet. Meador rose from his spot, and gently laid his crucifix atop the inert form of Peyton Basham.

There was a crunching sound behind them, and Corporal Augustus Stave stepped into the clearing. He grinned his toothy grin at Cam, and she felt Robert’s body tense in front of her. There was a movement in the brush behind Stave, and Wayne Sinclair popped into view, his saber drawn. Cam sucked in her breath. He had found them, of course. She had been a fool to think he wouldn’t.

Sinclair’s eyes raked the clearing, and caught sight of Wanda. He chuckled softly. “Well. I didn’t think anything would kill that woman. Nice shooting, Stave,” he smiled.

“What do you want, Wayne?”

He arched a brow. “You’re going back with me to Fort Wyndham. Isn’t that obvious?”

“We willna be goin’ anywhere with you,” said Rob gravely.

“Fine. Stave? Please shoot this man.”

Stave licked his lips and, humming softly, pulled his powder horn from his belt. As Cam watched him, she realized she couldn’t see Ambrose Meador anymore. Once again, he had melted into the forest.

Maybe Wanda was right about changing history, she thought. Maybe I stopped Robert from being hanged only so he could be shot in the woods of Pennsylvania somewhere…

Suddenly, without any forethought whatsoever, she flung herself at Stave, shrieking like a banshee, knocking the powder out of his hand, and tumbling atop him to the ground. His musket dropped to the dirt, and Cam wrapped her arms around his throat. Her rage was a wild and blinding red fury and, caught helplessly in its grip, she sat on his chest and squeezed his neck as hard as she could. Her only focus was that of murdering Stave before he could shoot Robert MacFarlane. And then, for a brief second, as he gurgled and gasped beneath her, she recalled what she had said to Rob the night at his cabin, when he had told her that the simplest
solution to her problem would be for him to kill Wayne Sinclair.
It would change you
, she had told him.
You’d be different and you’d blame me for it, and even if I asked you to do it, it would change the way I feel about you
.