The rain stopped; he could again hear the audible marks of his movement and realized he was making too much noise. He slowed down, then stopped and listened.
No other sounds.
It started to rain again, so he ran for several more minutes until he came to the break in the woods where he was certain the Northerners were likely to portage away from the river.
He then stopped and listened again, waiting for the rain to quiet.
It finally did.
Nothing.
He was about to move again when he heard it—behind him the muffled snapping of soggy twigs being broken by footsteps.
Had he been discovered?
He cocked the pistol under his sealskin, unlatched his knife in its sheath, and stopped. Listened.
No more sounds from the direction of the encampment, but there definitely was something coming through the brush off to his right.
Animal? It was too dark to make out anything. Too much time lost. He had to run now, and as he did so, he felt a bitter terror at the thought of being overtaken by one of the Northerners, possibly Anah himself, and then being cut down short. Failing.
He threw down the pistol—too much to risk on wet powder—then ran as fast as he could. There would be no time for a fight, in any case. If a Northerner sentry was pursuing him, his only chance was to make straight for the fort. And then he would have to avoid being shot down at the fort’s gates by a sleepy soldier sentry.
He wondered if he would survive.
Running harder now, he pulled his knife out of its sheath and smiled at the irony of it all.
Chapter Forty
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
Emmy and Anah
Emmy was exhausted. Still, she lay awake most of the night waiting.
When she did nod off, she drifted into the day and saw herself facing the Northerners, spiriting Jacob away from them. Then she and Isaac were together again. He was disagreeing with where they should go with Jacob, and their son was confused, and she heard the Northerners coming back to her home on Whidbey again.
This time she told Isaac, who was hurt, to lie down and hide because she would take care of Jacob.
Then the Northerners were pounding at the door again, and Rowdy her dog was trying to help, and the children were safe, and Isaac was safe.
She startled awake, regained her bearings, and pulled out Isaac’s pocket watch. It was five in the morning, and Jojo had not returned.
She could contain herself no longer. She turned to Sarah and gently woke her.
“Sarah, I have to see what is happening to Jacob. You must remain here and wait for Jojo. When he comes, tell him I am moving closer to the Haida. Tell him I will stay close to the river.”
Sarah understood and nodded.
Emmy smeared mud on her face and hands, pulled her sealskin tightly around her body, cinched the belt on her breeches, and moved downstream.
She walked carefully, and by early light, after a one-hour trek along a deer path that bordered the river, she found the camp.
All the men were still asleep under the canoes they had moved fifty yards up from the river in preparation to portage past the stretch of river that bordered the fort.
Jacob was off to the side, tied to a tree, just as Jojo had described.
The sight of her boy, alive after three months, overwhelmed Emmy, and she began to weep silently. Then she shook herself and regained her composure, watching for a few more minutes.
No one was stirring. They might not awaken for a few more hours, she reasoned. If she could get Jacob before they moved inland and carry him back upstream, they could meet up with Jojo when he returned. If she waited, they might move away into an area where she was certain the soldiers would not follow. Then she would lose Jacob again. Perhaps forever.
She waited five more minutes. No sign of Jojo. The warriors still were not stirring.
She decided.
Holding her breath and fighting the urge to run directly to her son, Emmy moved in measured steps, knowing that one foot caught on the underbrush might awaken the sleeping captors.
She became dizzy and forced herself to stop; take a deep, quiet breath; and let the pounding in her chest subside. With Jacob so close to her, the deliberateness of this caution, with each agonizing, careful step, was punishingly cruel, she thought to herself.
And then, when she got close enough to make out his features, she saw he was gagged, uncovered, soaking wet, and slumped over. And for a painful, sinking moment, pushing her hopes down toward the abyss of despair, she saw that Jacob wasn’t moving, and she thought she had failed—that her little boy was dead.
But then he sighed and her heart began pounding again.
With contained, focused, and agile movement, Emmy untied him. He was barely conscious.
She kept the gag in his mouth, pulled him up, and threw his small body over her shoulder, noting to herself that he had lost weight since he had been taken.
She turned and started to move away from the camp, quickly, so that she almost walked directly into two long stakes jutting out at the river’s edge. In the early dawn light breaking through the trees, she saw that the poles had heads on them: Marté and Cull.
She shuddered and moved upstream.
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
Anah had slept fitfully, despite drinking heavily that night. He was not accustomed to whiskey and had always preferred to watch others lose their composure when they drank it. He could take advantage then.
But on this night, he had felt anxious and was still angry that Marté had not come to him with information that would have given him an advantage over Ksi Amawaal. He had gold from the sale of his slaves, enough to buy two cannons from the French, who did not accept slaves as currency anymore. They would sell him the weapons willingly because they hated
