North Woods Love

By Diana Tobin

At the beginning of the 18th century 12 year old Evie is kidnapped by Indians, taken to Montreal, and forced to marry an older Mohawk man. Years later she escapes and stumbles upon a man with red hair and sun-kissed skin. Adam Webster, eldest son of an Irishman and an Abenaki woman, discovers the wild child he captures, and vows to protect, is really a young woman who barely remembers English. Evie’s gratitude to Adam soon turns to love, but she fears she can’t give him the family he deserves. After Adam’s cousin, Tabid, rescues her from a bear attack, he requests marriage as his payment. But Evie’s heart yearns for Adam. Before she can make a choice a deceitful white man may make it for her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Oct 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781509216963

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Chapter One

Pejepscot, Maine, March 1700

Evelyn Lockwood did not want to milk the cows.

It might be only three months into a new century, but she was doing the same thing she’d done the past seven years. Up before dawn, head out to the barn, no matter the weather, milk the cows, fill their water trough, and give them feed. In good weather she led them out to the fields to graze.

She shivered, pulling her gray shawl about her. This was not good weather. Snow covered the ground hiding any grass trying to reach for the warmth of the sun. There’d be little warmth today. Evelyn wanted to crawl back into bed. Would it hurt for her younger brother to do the milking chores once? To do any chores?

She had turned twelve the beginning of winter, but woke earlier than usual this morning to discover she’d begun her monthlies. The sight of blood on the sheets had made her lightheaded and fear she was dying. Her sobbing screams for her mother had frightened her younger sister, with whom she shared the bed. Louise promptly wet the bed and sobbed along with Evelyn.

Goodwife Lockwood calmed little Louise, helped her put on a dry nightgown and sent her to sleep in her brother, Malcolm’s, bed. Meanwhile, her mother chastised Evelyn for creating a ruckus over nothing, made her take care of the sheets and both nightgowns, and told her to start her chores.

Little Louise got a hug and kiss and sent off to a dry bed. Evelyn was told to be the adult she’d now become and ignore the ache low in her belly.

She didn’t want to be an adult. She wanted a hug, a kind word, to be allowed to rest and have someone else do chores. Just once.

Evelyn leaned her forehead against the warm hide of the cow she milked. My brother scrapes his knee, howls like a wild Indian, and Mother pets and soothes him. I feel like you’ve been stomping on my belly and I’m to ignore it. She let out a trembling sigh. It’s not fair, Gertie. You probably don’t feel it’s fair to be milked each day. Then, again, mayhap you don’t mind. She patted the lean flank. My bosoms have been hurting. Is that part of it?

She would have asked her mother, but the woman would only say, We don’t talk about that, Evelyn. It is a part of life you need to accept.

Finished with Gertie, Evelyn rose from the small stool to set the bucket aside before moving on to the next cow. A movement at the side had her looking up and freezing in place. A dark-skinned man with long black hair stood inside the barn door. A swath of deerskin hung from his waist. More covered his legs and a drab brown blanket was over his shoulders. You come me.

Evelyn dropped the bucket, ignoring the milk that splashed over her feet. She shook her head and shuffled back a step.

The Indian motioned with his hand. "You come. Allez!"

P-please. She held a hand out in front of her as if to ward him off.

The man took two long steps, grabbed her arm, and forced her out of the barn. She opened her mouth and his free hand slapped over it, muffling her scream. He tucked her under his arm, tight to his side. Evelyn had to walk on her toes to keep from being dragged as he took her away from her home.

Wh-where are you—

No talk!

Soon they were deep in the woods on the outskirts of the small village close to her family’s home. A dozen or so of her neighbors were gathered. The oldest, Goodwife Barnes, leaned against her youngest son, Benjamin, who was four years Evelyn’s senior. The youngest was five-year-old Jacob Mathis. There were as many Indians as whites.

The Indians said nothing, seeming to communicate with each other silently. They surrounded Evelyn and the others, prodding them to move in a line through the forest.

A boy, about ten and six years, demanded he be allowed to return home. One of the braves clubbed the boy with his musket. Goodwife Barnes cried out, throwing herself over the injured boy. She was given a whack in the middle of the back with the same musket. Then both were shoved under the brush while the rest were herded along.

Evelyn couldn’t stop the tears running down her face. She wrapped her arms around her chest, pulling her shawl tight. Never had she been so frightened.

Benjamin Barnes stepped up next to her placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. She made no mention of the tears coursing down his cheeks, merely placed her small hand over his larger one, grateful for the shared comfort.

Evelyn was convinced she would die this day after all.

****

Evelyn did not die that day, but by late afternoon more than her belly ached. She tried not to think as she forced one cold foot in front of the other. Snow dripped down her neck as it fell from branches. Even her hair hurt because when any of the Mohawk and Iroquois, as she’d come to learn, came close, they shoved their hands through her pale locks. Surely, they’d seen others with blonde hair. After all, these Indians seemed to know her village too well.

She had given up hope they would stop for a rest and a meal, convinced the plan was to march them all to death. She normally didn’t break her fast until after morning chores were completed, so she’d not had a bite, not even a sip of liquid, since early the previous evening. How could their captors keep going without nourishment?

She had no idea where they were, or where they were going. Benjamin whispered they were headed north, but it meant little to Evelyn.

She was grateful for his presence. He helped her over difficult parts of the mysterious trail they followed, and encouraged her to keep moving when she didn’t think she could take another step. If she fell down, would she be shoved to the side as had his mother? She feared the answer as much as she feared what lay ahead.

The group did not stop until dusk the second night. By then, Evelyn was swaying on her feet, only Benjamin’s arms keeping her upright. He led her to a log, urging her to balance upon it rather than allowing herself to drop to the snow-covered forest floor.

You will freeze to death, Evelyn, if your clothes get wet, he told her.

Their captors allowed only one small fire, heating some sort of soup over it. The captives ate last, sharing the few containers provided.

Half the braves rolled themselves into thick blankets, promptly going to sleep. The rest remained on watch. None of the captives were provided with blankets, and kept warm huddling together as near the fire as they could manage.

Evelyn shivered, pressing close to Benjamin’s warm body. Her mother would be appalled to see her in such an intimate position with a man. But, then, Evelyn’s mother was appalled and disappointed with her most of the time. Her mother would rather she lie in the snow and freeze to death than try to survive whatever was to come.

By the fifth night, the band of braves didn’t keep such a close eye on the captives. Evelyn supposed they no longer feared rescuers coming to their aid and believed none of the captives dared an escape.

Benjamin proved her wrong. He and a few others made plans. He urged her to go with him, promising to get her safely home. But she was afraid. What would happen if they were caught? Look what had happened to his mother trying to protect an injured boy. Evelyn couldn’t risk it.

The absence of Benjamin’s warmth woke her before dawn. She had come to rely on his strength each time they were allowed to rest, curling herself into his arms. Thinking he was making a privy call, Evelyn sat waiting for his return. Eventually, she drifted back to sleep, shivering.

A rough shove to her shoulder brought her wide-awake. Where man?

She looked up into the hard face of a brave. Wh-what man?

Walk with you. Sleep with you.

I-I… Oh, you mean Benjamin? She gazed around the encampment for her friend. Not only did she not see Benjamin but four others were also missing. Wh-where is he?

The man grabbed her arm yanking her to her feet and pulled her to the leader. "Where is your man, la dame blanche?"

What? Where? Fear was a cold knot in her belly.

You spend much time with one man, White Hair.

Her hand went to the tangled mess atop her head. White Hair? Slowly, his words sank into her confused mind. Benjamin? He’s been helping me. Where is he?

Where is he? the leader mimicked.

What have you done with him? Her gaze traveled from one Indian to the next and the truth hit. Benjamin had left her. He’d asked her to go with him, but she’d been a coward. She hadn’t really thought he’d leave without her.

Tears trickled down her cold face as she realized how alone she was. Somehow she’d have to learn to rely on herself to survive this grueling trek and what lay at its end.

The trip was long and arduous, made more so without Benjamin at her side. At times she allowed some hope; hope that Benjamin and the others would make it back to Pejepscot and lead a rescue party to save them. Hope dwindled with each passing day.

Now, she was kept separate from the other captives. The few times she was allowed to mingle with her neighbors, one of the braves remained at her side. Evelyn had no idea why she was singled out, unless it was the color of her hair. She was the only blonde in the group, the only one referred to as la dame blanche. Did that make her revered…or feared? She didn’t know, and couldn’t care less right now.

She had no idea where they were. She didn’t know north from south, or which way was home. Gradually, she realized the sun rose in the east and set in the west. Simple, yet something she’d never heeded. She wished she’d listened to Benjamin.

Finally, the trip came to an end, at a small village near Hochelaga, or Montreal, in New France. A Jesuit priest, speaking broken English, explained to the captives they would be adopted by families in the area. They would learn to speak French and should forget their previous lives.

Evelyn was the last to be adopted. Her new family, all Mohawk, had three sons and lived outside the village. They renamed her Cheveux Blanc: White Hair.

She wasn’t dead, even as she wished for death. Life as she had known was forever over.

Chapter Two

Near the Webster Homestead, Maine, June 1708

The moment he stepped over the threshold, Adam Webster knew someone had been in his home. He stood at the door letting his gaze roam over the small cabin. Whoever it had been was no longer inside, but he knew without a doubt someone had been there.

Again.

Firmly shutting the door, his eyes adjusting to the dimness, he performed a thorough search to determine what was missing this time. He knew every inch of the one-room cabin. He’d finished building it a decade earlier with help from his family. It had been his home for nearly as long.

Adam had visitors over the years: his parents and siblings. He and his younger brothers worked the land together. Adam especially enjoyed visits from his sister, Charity, as she had become a fine cook. Often she brought tasty delicacies and prepared him at least one good meal. Once, one of his visitors had been an unrelated female he’d persuaded to spend the night. A mistake he never repeated since said female began talking of permanent residence.

This recent visitor had not been invited. It was time for these visits, and thefts, to end.

Completing his search, he found a number of his rabbit skins missing. He did not want to think about why he collected the skins. That was in the past and his thoughts were—needed to be—on the future. His future.

During the past few months, the thief had taken tea, the remains of a berry pie baked by Charity, a blanket, and his favorite hunting knife.

Adam would have shared his food, hearth, and roof. But the choice to give, to share, should be his, not stolen by a common thief.

Time to set a trap.

While he planned he checked his barn. Other times, the thief had taken nothing from the barn. Adam couldn’t be sure the thief had ventured into the large building.

When he’d taken possession of the cabin and parcel of land, his first priority had been to clear a space for the barn. His land was heavily wooded, which meant he could provide his own building materials. Of course, that also meant felling the trees and clearing the land, not only for needed lumber, but for growing crops. Still, he kept a section of trees for the needed wood and kept adding land to his holdings.

Adam was the eldest son of six children born to a farmer, Thomas Webster, and his beloved wife, Talaz, of the Abenaki tribe of Maine. From the time he was a small lad, Adam knew he wanted to farm like his father. He’d expected to take over for Thomas one day, but Providence, his first love, and a good friend helped him start on his own path.

His family and friends thought he’d be wed by now, raising children of his own. In truth, so had he. While he’d sampled the wares of some of the local girls, no one had tugged at his heart like Sophie.

He’d loved her from the moment he set eyes on her. At the time he thought her a widow. She was a few years older, but he hadn’t cared. Age was just a number; matters of the heart had no need for numbers. He would do anything for her. In fact, he’d done things he’d never expected during his lifetime, such as breaking her out of jail. Sophie had loved him in return…as a brother.

She’d married a minister from the small village of New Town, Maine. The two settled near the coast, Down East.

Adam no longer pined for Sophie, but he wouldn’t marry just anyone. He wanted the same kind of love his friends shared, the same his parents shared. Even his sister, Sarah, had found the love of her life, boring as he may be. Adam would not settle for less.

Until then he would continue to work, clearing land, planting crops, and reaping his harvests. He and Thomas had combined their properties by cultivating the land between. Adam wanted even more.

The village of New Town, situated at the south end of Great Pond, was dwindling. Some of the townsfolk had moved to larger cities or down to the coastal towns. A few had moved closer to the Websters, enough so there was need for businesses. He had ideas about that—things his family could help provide, things that would bring more people.

The one thing he hadn’t spent much time on was his cabin. He maintained it, keeping it snug and warm for winters, but he’d yet to enlarge it. Until he had a wife, or the prospect of one, he had no need for more than one room.

The few months Sophie lived there she’d slept on a pallet on the floor. Adam had done the same, then decided he deserved a real bed, and built one in the corner near the fireplace. Since he had built the bed into the cabin walls he couldn’t move it during summer when it was too warm to sleep next to a fire. Instead, he built a small fireplace outside for summertime cooking.

His sister, Charity, approved the outdoor cooking area and came often to use it during the warm months. Adam added a table and benches for eating or working.

Life was good.

Except for this damnable thief.

How did he know when Adam wasn’t in the cabin? Did the thief spy on his home, waiting for him to leave? Did he hide in the thick woods watching him work the fields? Surely, he would have felt eyes on him.

The Websters never had problems with Indians in this part of the colony. With his mother being Abenaki, they were more apt to have relatives visit than a raiding party. There had been raids to the west and south, but not by his extended family. A few years earlier, practically the whole town of Deerfield, Massachusetts had been captured by Mohawk—and taken north to Montreal in New France. Skirmishes still occurred in parts of Maine, but here, most of the whites and Abenaki lived in peace.

Adam went to the barn to check his cellar. Even though he’d yet to enlarge the cabin, he’d thought about it, planning what he’d do in the future. In the barn he’d dug a cellar for storing crops over the winter and to keep other things cold during the heat of summer.

The cellar search turned up nothing. No one hiding, no sign of anyone entering. He needed to find a way to catch his unwelcome visitor.

Mayhap one of his brothers would help. Ezra was nearly the same size as Adam, and they shared the same coloring: burnished hair and fair skin. Unlike his brother, Moses, with his darker hair and skin, and who preferred working indoors to being out in the fields. He knew either brother, or both, would aid him if asked.

That meant he’d have to tell his family.

So far, Adam had kept his intruder and the thefts to himself. He didn’t want to worry his family, although he inquired to be sure they hadn’t suffered losses. The closest sheriff was in Augusta, and the sheriff couldn’t do much more than Adam at this point. Adam took care of his own. There would be plenty of time