* * *
Someone was urgently shaking her by the arm. “Wake up, Prudence! Quickly!”
She blinked her eyes open – but still she did not see anything. The wigwam was pitch black. Only the faintest outlines of shapes presented themselves to her.
Morning-Dove’s voice resolved into recognition. “You must get up. The tribe is moving.”
Prudence wearily pushed herself to sitting. “Father?”
“He is outside talking with Machk. He is trying to convince our sachem to stay.”
Prudence could now hear the murmur of voices outside. She quickly found her feet and strode out, Morning-Dove right behind her.
The entire tribe was gathered in a shifting mass around the campfire, bags packed and carriers loaded. At the center was her father and Machk, with Sokw and Askuwheteau close at hand.
Machk shook his head. “I have heard your words of recommendation. And I appreciate the depths of your feeling. But my decision is final. We are leaving now. If you wish, you are welcome to join us.”
Sokw’s mouth turned down. “They cannot move quietly as we do! They will endanger our entire community.”
Askuwheteau’s lips pressed together. “No more than our carriers will, traversing the trail in pitch dark. And having them with us might do us well should we be encountered by the colonial militia.”
Sokw’s tone turned sharp. “We wouldn’t have this problem at all if the English had stayed where they belonged! If they had never cursed our lands with their presence!”
Machk shook his head. “It no longer matters how we have reached this point. What matters is the survival of our tribe.” He looked out across the group. “We go.”
A wave of nods followed this statement, and the gathered turned toward the west, forming into a line and delving into the forest.
Minister Lockwood pressed his staff into the ground. “Then I shall stay. I will talk with the English once they arrive here. If nothing else I can assure them that you are peaceful and should not be chased down. It will help ensure you reach your winter grounds without trouble.”
Askuwheteau’s gaze was shadowed. “The English did not seem as if they were in the mood to talk,” he warned the minister. “I believe they are on the warpath.”
Lockwood’s eyes blazed. “We do not go on the warpath! We are civilized folk.”
Askuwheteau turned to Prudence. “At least you should come with us, as your father attempts his negotiation. He can then catch up to us when he is done.”
She shook her head, moving to stand alongside her father. “I have been a part of my father’s ministry from the moment I could crawl. I will not leave his side now.”
Askuwheteau’s shoulders tensed. “If you two are going to remain –”
His father spoke over him. His voice held the tone of command. “Then, Askuwheteau, it is time you help the elderly with their packs. I want not one villager within sight or earshot by the time the English arrive here.”
Deep emotion billowed behind Askuwheteau’s dark eyes, but he nodded. “Of course, Father.”
He turned to Prudence, his jaw tight. “Be careful, Prudence. The English seem out for blood. They may not care whose it is.”
Minister Lockwood raised his staff. “I am a minister! I will talk with them and we will get this all sorted out. Just you wait and see.”
Askuwheteau gave one last, long look to Prudence. Then he turned and set into motion. It seemed a heartbeat before the last of the praying village had slipped into the deep shadows of the woods, lost wholly to sight.
The silence pressed in on Prudence. Usually in the woods there were the soft calls of the crickets; the occasional cry of a coyote. But it was as if the very Earth held its breath. The darkness lay on her like a heavy blanket, and she was suffocated … suffocated …
There. A noise.
It came from the direction of the summer grounds. Where now only the burnt-out husks of wigwams and cabins remained.
The party moved like a herd of buffalo crashing through the forest. As they approached she saw the occasional glimmer of lantern and heard the sharp swears as someone tumbled over a root or was hit by a branch. The group grew closer … louder …
A party of about fifteen stumbled into the clearing, their faces bright with satisfaction. They appeared to be farmers and shopkeeps, armed with pitchforks, knives, and a few guns. Their clothing was rough and well worn. The red-headed one spoke up. “See! I told you we’d track them down. Now we torch their homes while they sleep!”
Minister Lockwood stepped forward, his hands raised in a sign of peace. “The tribe which traveled through here is a praying village. Manchaug. They are good Christians and have not caused any harm.”
Red rounded on him. “And who are you, injun lover?”
Prudence’s father serenely nodded. He added richness to his tone, as if he were giving a Sunday sermon on brotherly love. “I am the Minister Lockwood, and these lands you travel are my pastures. I tend to my sheep here. The Manchaug are good, fine Christians. My daughter and I have been visiting them for nigh on seventeen years now. They study the Bible and believe in the Word.”
Red’s brow creased. “Those injuns are tricky folk. They claim to do this or that to lure you in. And then when your back is turned – wham! They drive a hatchet deep into your heart.”
Minister Lockwood shook his head. “My Nipmuc are not like that,” he promised. “They have good souls. They are a peaceable group.”
Red nudged his head toward a greasy-haired, thin man with long, dark hair. “Josiah here says several of your peaceable group headed south to join up with Metacomet. They were seen at the crossing.”
Prudence’s heart hammered against her ribs. Indeed, Askuwheteau had mentioned that several of the warriors had decided that fighting was the only solution.
Minister Lockwood was not perturbed. “There will always be a small divisive element in any community,” he pointed out. “That is why they are no longer with the praying village. For the village promotes peace.”
Red barked out a laugh. “Peace? From the Nipmuc? Tell that to the slaughtered at Brookfield.”
Prudence gasped. Brookfield was a regular stop for them in their travels. The tavern keeper’s wife had always been especially kind to her.
She stepped forward. “What happened in Brookfield?”
Red leered. “After the Wampanoag heathens attacked Swansea, Boston sent Curtis and his men west to meet with Muttawmp of the Nipmuc. To make sure our peace with them still held strong.” His eyes narrowed. “But Muttawmp was a lying cheat.”
Prudence could barely breathe.
Red seemed to enjoy the attention he now had. He strode forward and spread his arms, much as her father often did during his sermons. “Muttawmp deceived Curtis and said he would maintain the peace. But when Captain Hutchinson journeyed to New Norwich just two weeks later, the heathens had deserted their village. Captain Hutchinson pressed forward to where he thought the Nipmucs were.”
He paused for effect, his smile wide.
“Without warning, without cause, our forces were ruthlessly ambushed.”
Prudence staggered back and shook her head. “Maybe it wasn’t by Muttawmp’s tribe.”
Red grinned. “You would say that, you injun-lover. But those who survived the ambush retreated to Brookfield. They gathered up the townsfolk and took shelter in the strongest building in the town. It wasn’t long before Muttawmp and his gang arrived. They burned the entire town. Tried to break into the building, too, but thank God the colonists held strong. Muttawmp lay his siege for four long days before help finally arrived and scared him off.”
Prudence wrapped her arms around herself. “Was anybody in Brookfield killed?”
His teeth shone in the lamplight. “A few of ours, and more of theirs.” His gaze darkened. “We’ll make sure they learn their lesson. They’ll learn that decent, honorable folk will rise to band together and wipe them off the face of the earth.”
&
nbsp; Her father’s face shone red. “No! We must come together in peace! This madness must stop.”
Josiah shook his gun. “This here’s the only thing those heathens understand. And we’re gonna teach them that lesson until it gets through!”
Minister Lockwood shook his head. “No. The Manchaug are Christians! They are innocent in this!”
Josiah’s eyes turned dark. “As innocent as those townsfolk in Brookfield who were under siege for four long days? As innocent as those who were slain in Swansea? There’s only one language these wolves understand, and it’s the language of blood.”
Minister Lockwood stepped forward. “I won’t let you harm my flock.”
Josiah’s rifle came up to bear. “You injun lover – what are you playing at? Are the warriors surrounding us for an ambush? Have you been stalling us for time?”
Red turned his head. “Josiah, calm down –”
Minister Lockwood’s gaze was sharp. “They are Christians, I say! They would never ambush anyone!”
Josiah’s growl filled the clearing. “Tell that to the dead in Brookfield.”
Minister Lockwood took another step forward. “As a man of the cloth, I tell you –”
There was a crunching of foot-on-branch behind the men.
Josiah spun, firing his rifle.
Panic filled Prudence’s soul. “Askuwheteau!”
Minister Lockwood staggered forward. “My God! What have you done?”
He grabbed at Josiah’s arm.
Josiah threw down his rifle and drew a hunting knife from his hip.
He drove it deep into Minister Lockwood’s chest.
Prudence’s vision