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She stooped to enter the dark opening. In the dim light, she spied several tightly woven baskets surrounding a small bundle wrapped in a blanket and propped up against the back wall of the cave. Fists waving angrily, a swaddled Indian child shrieked at the top of her lungs.
Asila rushed to the child’s side, bursting into tears once again when she saw it was Salai, the daughter of her eldest sister. The little one was barely a year old, just beginning to take a few hesitant steps. Noya, the child’s mother, had hidden her in the cave, hoping Asila would find her in time to save her life.
Asila rocked the little one, singing to her, all the while imagining the grief and pain Noya endured when the soldiers came to herd them away. With three small children, Noya must have feared she couldn’t keep all of them alive on the long march. Salai, the tiniest inhabitant of the village, was the most vulnerable.
Noya had taken a huge risk, likely stealing away during the confusion of the raid to rush to the cave with her precious baby and a few hastily gathered supplies.
“Your mama knew I would return soon,” Asila crooned. “She trusted me to care for you until she can be with you once again. You and I are all that is left of our clan here in the mountains. I will keep you safe – and you will give me a reason to live.”
Asila and the baby stayed in the cave for several days. Then, late one afternoon, she heard soldiers calling out to each other as they combed the woods. She overheard enough to realize they were hunting two Indians who had escaped from Fort Butler. Any trace of recent habitation would have them relentlessly scouring the area.
Working frantically, she buried the coals from the small fire she’d kept burning at the mouth of the cave. She piled together a few supplies and tossed the rest of their food into the woods, where animals would soon make it disappear.
Grabbing whatever she could carry, she slipped the child’s sling over her head and headed for a deer path over the mountain. It was too steep and too narrow for men on horseback.
She’d only gone a short way when she turned and dashed back inside the cave. Grandfather’s bow and arrows lay in a corner where she’d dropped them the day she found the child. Asila snatched them up, tossed the quiver over her shoulder, and ran silently through the woods.
Ever since, she and Salai had been hiding in the forest, never staying more than a day or two in one place. Asila hoped to make her way across the mountains to the village of Cherokee. She’d heard the tribe from that village had been granted the right to stay on their land, and she planned to seek refuge among them. But Cherokee was miles away, and she dared not use the well-traveled paths of her people.
Moving through the deep forest on foot, mostly at night, carrying all their supplies and a small child, it was taking many more days than if she’d been making her way alone. Sometimes she was forced to detour for hours to avoid being discovered by occupants of the occasional white settlement carved out of the wilderness.
As the days passed, it became evident Salai had fallen ill with the dreaded Fever that claimed the lives of settlers and Cherokee alike. The child grew weaker with every mile they traveled.
Out of desperation, she had deliberately sought out the home of a white man, a place where she could safely tend to the baby’s needs. She steered clear of one with the sounds of children, fearing that young ones playing in the woods might stumble on their hiding place. It took several days to find this farm and scout it out by day and night.
Asila was confident the man lived alone. She hadn’t seen a woman fetching water or doing chores, nor had she heard the cries of an infant that might keep her inside. When the farmer came home, she never heard him speaking to another person. She could work here undisturbed for the short time she needed.
***
Gabriel cursed. He knew the dangers lurking in the North Carolina mountains. Bear, wolves, vicious wild boar – and snakes. Rattlers moved silently through the tall grass in open meadows on hot summer days. Copperheads sheltered in the cool darkness under logs and stones.
“Stupid! No, damn stupid!” He said it out loud, hands shaking as he tied a blue bandana around his calf. The knife-like pain from the sudden strike was already turning into liquid fire, spreading up his leg as the venom flowed through his veins.
Months of solitary life in the wilderness, days spent toiling alone under the hot sun – he’d quit being watchful, quit caring about safety. He’d grown weary of the effort it took to stay alive. If he died, his pain would cease. Not the pain of the snakebite, but the pain in his heart. Was this God’s answer to his grief-stricken prayers?
Gabriel longed to lay his head down in the soft grass and close his eyes. Yet somehow, he couldn’t allow himself to give up. The Lord had taken everything he’d held dear, leaving him alone. But the Lord had let him live. Surely the Almighty had some reason for sparing him, some task he was meant to accomplish. He bowed his head, asking forgiveness for his moment of weakness, then forced himself to begin the long trek back to his cabin.
Every step he took sent the rattlesnake venom coursing faster through his veins. His leg had begun to swell and it throbbed in time with the beating of his heart. It was nearly ten miles to the nearest doctor in the village of Unaka. He prayed he’d have the strength to make it to the barn and get his horse saddled.
Barely able to stand, he rounded the last bend and came in sight of his cabin. Vision blurring, he stumbled up the steps. The part of his brain still functioning screamed,You can’t stop here! You can’t rest.
“Only a moment. I just need to lie down for a moment,” he muttered aloud.
The door stood open. Despite the fog that had taken over his mind, he realized that was odd. Then he saw his beloved Abigail crouching at the hearth, tending the fire. The long dark tresses he loved were unbound, flowing down her back nearly to her waist.
He rubbed his eyes in disbelief. She wore a strange garment, a short skirt made of animal hide that left her lower legs bare, instead of her soft blue gown.
But what she wore didn’t matter. His heart soared at the sight of her, back home at last.
***
Asila knelt by the fire and stirred the last of the herbs into the boiling water, softly chanting the ancient prayers. She’d learned them as a child from her grandmother. The words were as important as the potent herbs in making her Medicine strong.
“Abigail!” The shadow of a large form blocked the sunlight streaming through the open door.
Asila whirled around, ready to scoop up the coffee pot with its steaming contents and hurl them at the intruder. To her shock, the young farmer stood in the doorway, clinging desperately to the wooden framework. He was drenched in sweat, his legs trembling.
“Abigail?”
