A Place Called Freedom (1995)

The man picked up the severed hand and, with a formal air, presented it to Fish Boy.

He took it solemnly. Then he turned around and hurled it away. It flew up into the air and over the trees, to fall somewhere in the woods.

There was a murmur of approval from the Indians.

“A hand for a hand,” Mack said quietly.

“God forgive them,” said Lizzie.

But they had not finished. They picked up the bleeding Lennox and placed him under a tree. They tied a rope to his ankle, looped the rope over a bough of the tree, and raised him until he was hanging upside-down. Blood pumped from his severed wrist and pooled on the ground beneath him. The Indians stood around, looking at the grisly sight. It seemed they were going to watch Lennox die. They reminded Mack of the crowd at a London hanging.

Peg came up to them and said; “We ought to do something about the Indian boy’s fingers.”

Lizzie looked away from her dying husband.

Peg said: “Have you got something to bandage his hand?”

Lizzie blinked and nodded. “I’ve got some ointment, and a handkerchief we can use for a bandage. I’ll see to it.”

“No,” Peg said firmly. “Let me do it.”

“If you wish.” Lizzie found a jar of ointment and a silk handkerchief and gave them to Peg.

Peg detached Fish Boy from the group around the tree. Although she did not speak his language, she seemed to be able to communicate with him. She led him down to the stream and began to bathe his wounds.

“Mack,” said Lizzie.

He turned to her. She was crying.

“Jay is dead,” she said.

Mack looked at him. He was completely white. The bleeding had stopped and he was motionless. Mack bent and felt for a heartbeat. There was none.

“I loved him once,” Lizzie said.

“I know.”

“I want to bury him.”

Mack got a spade from their kit. While the Indians watched Lennox bleed to death, Mack dug a shallow grave. He and Lizzie lifted Jay’s body and placed it in the hole. Lizzie bent down and gingerly withdrew the arrows from the corpse. Mack shoveled soil over the body and Lizzie began to cover the grave with stones.

Suddenly Mack wanted to get away from this place of blood.

He rounded up the horses. There were now ten: the six from the plantation, plus the four Jay and his gang had brought. Mack was struck by the peculiar thought that he was rich. He owned ten horses. He began to load the supplies.

The Indians stirred. Lennox seemed to be dead. They left the tree and came over to where Mack was loading the horses. The oldest man spoke to Mack. Mack did not understand a word, but the tone was formal. He guessed the man was saying that justice had been done.

They were ready to go.

Fish Boy and Peg came up from the waterside together. Mack looked at the boy’s hand: Peg had made a nice job of the bandage.

Fish Boy said something, and there followed an exchange in the Indian language that sounded quite angry. At last all the Indians but Fish Boy walked away.

“Is he staying?” Mack asked Peg.

She shrugged.

The other Indians went eastward, along the river valley toward the setting sun, and soon disappeared into the woods.

Mack got on his horse. Fish Boy unroped a spare horse from the line and mounted it. He went ahead. Peg rode beside him. Mack and Lizzie followed.

“Do you think Fish Boy is going to guide us?” Mack said to Lizzie.

“It looks like it.”

“But he hasn’t asked a price of any kind.”

“No.”

“I wonder what he wants.”

Lizzie looked at the two young people riding side by side. “Can’t you guess?” she said.

“Oh!” said Mack. “You think he’s in love with her?”

“I think he wants to spend a little more time with her.”

“Well, well.” Mack became thoughtful.

As they headed west, along the river valley, the sun came up behind them, throwing their shadows on the land ahead.

* * *

It was a broad valley, beyond the highest range but still in the mountains. There was a fast-moving stream of pure cold water bubbling along the valley floor, teeming with fish. The hillsides were densely forested and alive with game. On the highest ridge, a pair of golden eagles came and went, bringing food to the nest for their young.

“It reminds me of home,” said Lizzie.

“Then we’ll call it High Glen,” Mack replied.

They unloaded the horses in the flattest part of the valley bottom, where they would build a house and clear a field. They camped on a patch of dry turf beneath a wide-spreading tree.

Peg and Fish Boy were rummaging through a sack, looking for a saw, when Peg found the broken iron collar. She pulled it out and stared quizzically at it. She looked uncomprehendingly at the letters: she had never learned to read. “Why did you bring this?” she said.

Mack exchanged glances with Lizzie. They were both recalling the scene by the river in the old High Glen, back in Scotland, when Lizzie had asked Mack the same question.

Now he gave Peg the same answer, but this time there was no bitterness in his voice, only hope. “Never to forget,” he said with a smile. “Never.”

Acknowledgments

For invaluable help with this book I thank the following: