my people."
"With the help of your neighbors or the Continental army or both, you will discover the men more quickly and easily . If you wait, they may be transferred to another part of the country. Then it will be impossible."
"Oh, I will locate them, no matter how long it takes ."
"Why wait? Why not strike while your blood still boils at the atrocities?"
"Unlike you, an Indian waits and waits, but will reap his revenge."
"If you change your mind…"
"I thank you for your help. Tomorrow, I will send Brave Bear over. We will buy our next month's supplies from you."
"Agreed, but only if you allow me to give you the seed for the spring planting ."
"Thank you ." Again, Jeremiah showed his friendship, refusing to accept the change in their relationship. It galled Wolf to take the offer, but the expense of feeding his people would leave little money for next year's crop. Wolf's pride must surrender to necessity.
While they had been speaking, their neighbors had gathered their tools and the women had returned from the fields, preparing to leave . Although he hated his dependency, he admitted his appreciation and his indebtedness. Before they departed, he spoke to each one, expressing his gratitude for their generosity. At first, he uttered the words with difficulty, yet the more he said them, the easier they came. Watching them depart, a sense of confusion flooded over him. Previously, the whites had banished or killed his people. Today, they had helped an Indian who had not wanted them on his property. A bitter thought remained amid his reluctant gratitude. How long would his neighbors stay friendly if they wanted his land?
* * * *
Sarah awakened and heard noises below. Wondering who could be in her house, she searched for the telephone to call the police. Unable to find it and not seeing her familiar Art Deco furniture, she realized the dream hadn't ended with her night's sleep. The 18th Century still ruled her life. The thought gave her mixed reactions. Savoring the unknown adventure that lay ahead excited her, but losing control of her existing life scared her. Lying in bed served no purpose and the sounds coming from downstairs pricked her curiosity. Since she had no idea who might be there, after stepping out of bed, she grabbed a wrought iron poker, and edged down the stairs.
She pressed her back against the stairwell and glanced around the living area . Not seeing anyone, she headed toward the public section on the other side of the wall. Peeking around, she saw Benjamin bending over the hearth, building up the fire.
The sharper light of morning caught the gray of his un -powdered bushy hair. She judged his age to be late forties, not as old as she had thought last night. A somber, hip-length, gray waistcoat partially covered his white shirt, but he had not donned the green baize apron he had worn the previous evening. His worsted stockings matched the vest. The brass buckles on his shoes had been burnished instead of polished. This, she knew, was the way of the 18th century Friends.
"Since I was up and Daniel has not returned, daughter, I decided to add wood to the fire and put the kettle to boil," the innkeeper said. He straightened effortlessly. Dusting the dirt from his hands onto his woolen breeches, he glanced at her.
"Why do eth thou carry a poker?" Benjamin asked.
"I heard a noise. "
Briefly, he smiled before frowning . "With Daniel gone, thou wondered who might be in the tavern."
She nodded, although his statement wasn't totally correct .
"Had thou planned to use that?" He gestured toward the poker.
A wave of heat rushed over her . Remembering the non-violence code of the Quakers, she knew no daughter of a member of the Society of Friends, even one who could no longer attend meeting, would use a poker as a weapon. Still, she would not lie. "Yes," she squeaked.
Benjamin shook his head . "Daughter, how could thou consider harming anyone?"
Easily, she thought,