A Place Called Home Read online

  After unrolling the main body of the tent, Livi and Tad dragged the stiff, linseed-oil-treated canvas over the pegs at the top of the frame. They spread the wide white wings of cloth and pegged the edges into the earth. Though their finished tent listed a bit, Livi and her son were bursting with pride at their accomplishment.

  Tad had just barely begun to lay and light the fire when a gust of wind swept up the rise. It caught the underside of the tent and set it to billowing. The roof swelled like dough put out to rise, popping the tent pegs out of the earth. The whole structure lifted for a moment like a huge white bird. It fluttered, dipped sideways, then dropped with a graceless thud.

  Tad and Livi stared at their ruined handiwork.

  "Must be your side wasn't pegged properly," Livi mumbled.

  "Could be you didn't pull the canvas tight enough."

  "It wasn't a tug of war."

  "And if it was, do you really think you could best me, Ma?"

  "I might not be able to best you in a tug of war, Thadius, but there are other things I do better than you—like play checkers and do arithmetic and make biscuits."

  "How about riding bareback, Ma? Or cleaning fish?"

  Livi made a face at her son.

  Whether it was her expression or the jumbled wreckage of the tent that set them off, both Tad and Livi began to giggle. Why a twisted ridgepole and pulled-up tent pegs was so funny neither Tad nor Livi could say, but a moment later they were staggering with mirth and holding each other up. They drew Cissy into the circle, and with arms linked and faces turned to the darkening sky, they howled with laughter.

  The bout of hilarity ran its course.

  "Oh, Lord, but we're a sorry pair," Livi finally muttered, wiping her eyes.

  "Did Pa ever tell you about the time the tent collapsed on him and Reid?" Tad asked her. "They woke the whole of Colonel Clark's camp with their shouting before they figured out it was the wind that knocked it over—not a British attack."

  David would never have told her, not a story with Reid Campbell in it.

  "I guess we didn't do so badly, then," she conceded, but it Livi could barely see her hand before her by the time they erected the tent a second time.

  Tad turned his attention to the fire, building it higher than was necessary to push back the dark while Livi tended the cow, and began supper. She mixed milk with salt and cornmeal into a thick yellow batter she would pat into loaves and fry in bear grease. As she began crumbling dried herbs and jerked deer meat into the mixture, sudden nausea twisted her insides. Hastily handing the bowl to her daughter, Livi staggered into the trees and lost what little food she had managed to eat when they'd stopped at noontime.

  She'd been sick first thing this morning, first thing the day before, and the day before that. She'd never had a pregnancy like this one, not with Tad or Cissy, not with any of her miscarriages, not with either of the two dear babies she'd left in the churchyard at Lynchburg. She knew there were hollows beneath her cheekbones, and her ribs and collarbones stuck out. She'd been sick so often this past month that Livi wondered if the babe was growing at all.

  Closing her eyes, she steadied herself against a tree and waited for the light-headedness to pass. David had been delighted when she announced she was pregnant again. He'd been positively joyous and filled with plans. Inured to loss and dreading the journey ahead, Livi had vowed not to think of the baby at all.

  But now she had to think about it, had to accept that the child she carried was the last act of love and creation she and David would ever share. It was a gift more precious than anyone had ever given her, but it was also a terrible complication to all that lay ahead. Was she mad to press on to Kentucky with this babe growing inside her?

  "Ma, are you all right?" Tad's voice broke into her thoughts. "The fire's really going good."

  Livi took a shaky breath, turned back to where her children were waiting and read the concern in their faces.

  "I'm fine," she reassured them. "It's the baby that makes me so ill. Sometimes it takes a while for one to settle in."

  Tad nodded warily. Like most men, he didn't want to know about the mysteries of pregnancy and childbirth. Men cared only about the pleasure that gave a babe its start. They protected their women well enough while they were breeding, but left them alone when it came time to pay the price for sharing their seed.

  Bending over the fire, Livi chided herself for lamenting something God Himself had decreed. As her mother had always said, a woman mustn't think too much if she was to be content with her lot.

  Bending over the footed frying pan that had been heating in the coals, Livi set the cornmeal loaves to sizzling. When they were done, she divided all but one between Tad and Cissy and ate it herself. Washed down with a cup of her precious tea, the simple fare warmed her after the cold, wet day and settled as well as anything had in weeks.

  The rain had sputtered to a stop shortly after they made camp, and as soon as they'd stowed their supplies and utensils, Livi banked the fire and ushered the children into the tent. Exhaustion dragged her down onto her own pile of blankets. Her head was fuzzy and her bones were melting with weariness. She couldn't remember when she'd last slept.

  Last night Cissy had needed to be held, and the night before—Livi curled into a ball and pulled up the blanket. She couldn't let herself think about the night David died. She resolutely closed her eyes.

  Cissy's voice woke her what seemed like only a few seconds later.

  "Mama?" Livi could tell by the sound that the girl had a knuckle jammed in her mouth. "Indians won't come around tonight, will they?"

  "You'll be fine, Cissy. Go to sleep," her big brother assured her.

  "Mama?"

  Livi was overwhelmed by the expectation she heard in that single word. How was it that David had borne the responsibility for this family's welfare so effortlessly?

  "Tad's right," she answered and scuttled across to hug her daughter. "We won't let anything happen to you."

  Because she could feel her daughter shivering, she slid in beside her. When Livi finally crept back into her own pile of blankets, she positioned David's long rifle at her side and nestled his loaded pistol between her breasts. The firearms were less than ideal bedfellows, but necessary.

  Yet instead of being comforted by their presence, Livi's senses seemed to sharpen. She watched the pale orange glow at the front of the tent fade as the fire died to embers. She smelled the sharp, clear scent of pine and then the biting musk of a skunk passing through the woods. The wind picked up, humming a little in the trees, making the roof of the tent flutter.

  She curled deeper into her blankets. Tad snored softly. Cissy whimpered in her sleep, and Livi reached out to soothe her. Her eyes burned, her ears rang. Gradually her thoughts drifted and swirled toward sleep.

  A crackling of brush jerked her out of a doze.

  Livi rolled onto her knees and peered outside. The crackling sound moved closer. A footfall sounded, the rustle of slippery leaves. Was she hearing the approach of a bear, a deer, an Indian? Her heartbeat reverberating against the wall of her chest.

  An owl hooted. Another answered. Hadn't David warned her that Indians signaled just this way?

  She crept toward the back of the tent and reached for Tad. He started awake.

  "There's someone out there," she breathed.

  "Who?"

  "Indians, maybe."

  Tad nodded, took up his father's rifle, and crept toward the opening at the head of the tent. The crackling came closer. Livi crept up beside him, her muscles strung tight, her breathing repressed.

  "What do you think we ought to do?" she whispered.

  "Wait it out. See what they want."

  Livi cocked the pistol anyway.

  The crunch of leaves, the snap of branches, came from just beyond the fire. Tad and Livi both stopped breathing.

  With ears laid back and noses twitching, three of the biggest raccoons Livi had ever seen gamboled into the clearing.

  "Rac
coons," Tad breathed, wilting with relief.

  The creatures sniffed their way around the campsite, looking for food.

  Livi gave a fluttery laugh. "I never thought it might be—"

  Something thudded onto the tent, right above their heads. Both of them jumped. The pistol in Livi's hand went off, blowing a hole in the roof.

  Tad rolled sideways, covering his head.

  The raccoons hightailed it into the trees.

  Cissy woke up screaming.

  "It's all right, Sugar." Livi handed Tad the smoking pistol and caught her daughter in her arms. "My gun went off accidentally. Tad, tell her it's all right."

  But Tad was poking around outside. She could hear the crush of his feet on the pine needles as he circled the tent. When he got back he was grinning from ear to ear.

  "Looks like you blew the hell out of a pine cone, Ma."

  Heat flared in Livi's cheeks. A pinecone? Was that all?

  "Don't swear, Tad," Livi admonished him. "Tell your sister that's all it was!"

  He did as he was told, but Cissy clung to her mother like moss to a tree.

  She sobbed against Livi's neck. "I want Papa! I want to go home."

  Sitting cross-legged in the nest of blankets holding Cissy close, Livi soothed her as best she could. It didn't help that Livi hated the world outside the tent, the noises in the night. She hated what lay ahead, hated that she must face this world of dangers alone.

  After reloading the pistol, Tad stretched out on his blankets. She could hear the smile in his voice as he said good night.

  David would think this was funny, too, Livi thought with a surge of impatience. He would have chuckled under his breath and teased me about the pinecone for weeks.

  But Livi didn't share her menfolk's humor. Like Cissy, she was scared to death—and it was hours yet 'til dawn.

  * * *

  "We stopping at noontime, Mama?" Cissy asked and shifted slightly in the saddle behind her mother.

  "You hungry, Sugar?" Livi dug into the deep canvas pouch she'd taken to slinging across one shoulder and passed her daughter a strip of jerky.

  "Tad said maybe I could ride Papa's horse for a while this afternoon," Cissy wrangled. "Do you think I can?"

  She'd scrapped with Cissy about riding David's horse just this morning, and Livi's opinion hadn't changed. Only her willingness to argue about it had.

  "Your brother had no right to tell you that."

  "But Papa would let me..."

  David probably would have let her ride the gelding, Livi thought.

  Fathers allowed their children to do all sorts of things mothers never did. Perhaps that was why God gave children two such disparate beings for their parents—one to encourage a child to challenge the world and one to offer comfort if things went wrong. In any case, Livi had no intention of letting her four-year-old ride David's skittish gelding, especially on a road that was little more than a quagmire.

  The track they'd been following since dawn churned thick with mud, the earth beneath their mounts' hooves slick and treacherous. As the land rose before them, the horses puffed and blew, slipping and sliding in the muck, fighting their riders and their leads.

  "Please, Mama, can I ride Papa's horse?"

  "Absolutely not," Livi answered with what she hoped was a note of finality.

  Slowing her pace, Livi looked over her shoulder to check the packhorses tied to the back of her saddle. Both Tad's string and her own bobbed along in the same syncopated time. The milk cow mooed discontentedly at the end of her rope, the piglets in their crate snorted a constant lament, and the chickens cackled softly as if grumbling among themselves. The animals weren't any more sanguine about this trip than she was.

  Pulling her horse to the side of the road, Livi slung her daughter down and dismounted into ankle-deep mud.

  "Are you going to let me ride Papa's horse?" Cissy piped up.

  Livi ignored her and made her way back to where Tad was waiting. She produced more jerky from inside her pouch, added a hoecake and a handful of parched corn for each of them.

  "I figure, with the shape this road is in, we won't make the Block House until day after tomorrow," Livi said around tiny bites of corn cake.

  The Block House was where David had intended to meet up with other settlers bound for Kentucky. The dangers and hardships of the trail that scaled the Cumberland Gap were legendary and made travel in large groups mandatory. Though he'd made the trek before, even David hadn't been willing to travel Boone's Trace alone.

  "Pa said we had to be at the Block House by noon tomorrow if we were going to get over the mountains by the first of April," Tad offered, reciting his father's timetable. "I think we can still do that if we try."

  Livi compressed her lips. "Your father hadn't taken the weather into consideration, for one thing. And besides, we just can't travel as quickly without him."

  Or as safely. Or with as much food, Livi amended, sorely missing her husband's hunting skills. What she wouldn't give just now for a few bites of rabbit stew!

  "And, Tad, I want you to let Cissy ride with you this afternoon."

  "Aw, Ma! I don't want her with me. Let her take Pa's horse."

  Livi ignored both her son's comment and the eagerness that shone in Cissy's face.

  "I'll take two of your pack animals and the cow behind me if you let her," Livi bargained.

  Without waiting to hear a counteroffer, she headed off to water her horses at the roadside stream and realign the animals. A short time later, they moved on.

  Livi let Tad and Cissy take the lead. The land had leveled out, and it was an easy enough trail to follow—the only two-rut road in this part of the country. Closing her eyes, she swayed in time to her mare's plodding footsteps and let her thoughts spin away. Once again she hadn't slept. Cradling Cissy in her arms most of the night, she'd sat tense and listening, wondering if the scratches and rattles heralded the approach of a bear or bobcat, of dangerous white men or hostile Indians. She'd kept the guns well within reach, though after the pinecone incident, how effective she'd have been with either weapon was anyone's guess.

  This morning she'd let Tad take his father's long rifle across his saddle. The boy had proved his coolheadedness the night before, and David had been taking Tad hunting for over a year. In truth, Tad probably knew a good deal more about loading and firing a gun than Livi did. Still, she'd kept the pistol for herself—just in case.

  As the afternoon advanced, the way turned steeper. Hills crested to the west, forcing the road to twist and narrow as they climbed. The talus surface had washed out in the recent rains, turning the way crumbly and uneven underfoot. As they approached the top of the rise, the land dropped off sharply to the left. A ravine fell away far below, and beyond it was a vista stark with scattered boulders and barren trees.

  Slowed by the drag of the additional pack animals and the ache in her bones, Livi realized suddenly how far she'd fallen behind. Up ahead she could see the children riding together and picking their way through the mud.

  Though nothing seemed amiss, a sulfurous singe of disaster burned up Livi's nostrils.

  "Don't ride so close to the edge, Tad," she called out.

  Livi saw him raise one hand in a wave of acknowledgment, fancied that he moved to obey her. As he did, Tad's rear pack-horse suddenly shied, skittering toward the edge of the cliff. The overhanging bank crumbled beneath the little mare's weight. A shower of stones rattled down the wall of the ravine. Larger clods of dirt followed, rumbling and smashing as they fell.

  "Oh, God!" Livi gasped, her chest gone tight.

  Slapping the reins against Nancy's haunches, she urged her buttermilk up the rise. The trailing pack animals anchored Livi where she was, too far away to aid her children.

  "Cissy! Tad! Hang on!" Livi yelled and jerked the knife from the sheath at her waist.

  Up ahead, the little bay was floundering, fighting to keep her feet. Hampered by the weight of the packs, the mare stumbled, fell. More of the road gave
way. Screaming, the horse teetered at the edge.

  Goods tumbled from the baskets on her back. A kettle broke loose and clattered down the slope. A bolt of calico unfurled as it fell. A sack of precious wheat flour detonated at the bottom of the cliff, leaving a powdery stain on the rusty earth.

  "Hang on!" Livi screamed and hacked at the line that bound her to her pack animals. "I'm coming!" Savagely she kicked her mare up the slope.

  The bay's struggles were hauling the other animals in the string toward the lip of the embankment. Clinging to her brother, Cissy shrieked shrilly and long.

  Tad dug in, fighting to overcome the drag. He shouted and flailed his horse with the reins. Pebbles scrambled and rolled. His roan just wasn't strong enough to pull away.

  They skidded backward toward the edge.

  Livi drove her mare harder, plowing into the melee of thrashing animals. The contact nearly jolted her out of her seat. Locking one knee around the saddle horn, she strained toward the flailing horse's lead. The blade in her hand snagged and bit. The taut rawhide snapped back with the force of a whip.

  Deprived of its tether, the little bay pitched backward down the cliff. Freed of its weight, Tad's roan lurched up the slope.

  Livi jerked her own mount away from the edge. Clods flew from beneath the horses' hooves. The air hung thick with the smells of mud and sweat and fear.

  Ahead of her, Tad reined in his roan. It quivered with exertion. Foam speckled its heaving sides. Pulling up behind it, Livi leaped from her mare and snatched her daughter from where she clung to her brother's back.

  "Mama! Mama!" Cissy sobbed.

  Livi crushed the girl to her chest, knotting her fists in her daughter's clothes. Tad hurled himself into his mother's embrace the moment he was out of the saddle. Livi held tight to the solid breadth of him and pressed her face into his unruly hair. The three of them hugged one another, breathing hard.

  How close I came to losing these babies! How precious they are in my arms.

  Relief swelled at the back of her throat as Livi silently thanked God that they were safe. Without her children, she'd have nothing to live for.