Jenny's Trail, Part 2
V. Cordelia
It was really only a matter of time before Aunt Jen gave out the news that she already sensed was bad. Cordelia was very sensitive about coming things. She saw the future sometimes, and that made her wicked.
Her older sister, Alice, told her never to think thoughts about anything but goodness and happiness. Alice had no way of knowing that her sister could tell what was going to happen. Katherine, or Kate as she was often called, was normal. That was a real relief to Cordelia because Kate was so weak; she probably couldn’t handle a gift of second sight.
Cordelia herself didn’t guess that her cousin Ophelia was thinking the same thoughts. Each hid her secret from each other and the world. But instinctively, each knew the news without looking at the note or the expressions on their families’ faces.
The witches’ scene in "Macbeth" was just pretend, but they wanted to make it realistic, so they made a small fire in the hand-heater. They set one of Florence’s old play stewpots over the fire and filled it with water. Then they chanted the words:
"Double, double, toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble…"
As they said this, the water began to boil and the fire flared up. Cordelia knew this wasn’t right; fire didn’t boil water that quickly. She dipped a finger in and found lukewarm liquid. Cordelia thought it was her fault and Ophelia prepared herself to take the blame. "It was my fault; I’ll explain this," blurted the two older girls. They stopped and looked at each other. "You?" they asked in unison.
"Yes, me," said Cordelia. "Florence, could you leave us for a while?" Florence backed away, not wanting to get tangled in some secret or another. "All right, Ophelia, I think I can trust you. One day the evil stepmother," –that was how Cordelia referred to her adoptive mother- "set me to cleaning the house. I had finished the common room and had just started on Evil Alice’s when I uncovered this little book in the fireplace. It was old and dusty, and it had witches’ spells inside. I tried a spell to clean the room and it worked!"
Ophelia gasped. "You can’t be telling me the truth, Cordelia Rose," she said. "You must have been spying on me that day!"
"What day?" asked Cordelia. "I only remember finding the book and trying the spell!"
"Well, if you’re so smart, what date was it?" hissed Ophelia.
"August 10th, 1861, and I wrote in my diary at 1 pm, that’s how I know I wasn’t at your house. I never take my diary anywhere," retorted Cordelia.
"You are telling the truth, then," breathed Ophelia. Her dark, dramatic face went whiter, her gray-green eyes widened, and her dark brown straw-straight hair stood out just a bit more. She looked over at her uncharacteristically fair cousin, whose own wine red curls were puffed. Cordelia’s eyes were different from anyone else’s she had ever met, with one a vibrant blue and the other a grass green. It was like having a sapphire and an emerald for eyes. Cordelia was, indeed, telling the truth.
Ophelia knew she wasn’t lying, because at 1 pm on August 10th, 1861, Ophelia had been cleaning her own room and she had found the little book at precisely that time. She tried it as a joke but amazingly enough her feet fluttered behind her and she was floating belly-down over the wooden planks. She asked her cousin, "Do you have the book with you?"
In response Cordelia lifted a leather pouch from a cord around her neck. She opened the purse and pulled out a thick brown book. Ophelia, hands shaking, reached behind her and untied her apron. There, tied at her waist and below her bodice, sat a small pouch identical to Cordelia’s.
It held the exact same book.
VI. Jack
Jack was, at that moment, unaware of anything beyond a small Indian tent in the western plains. His head throbbed painfully, and he was aware of every inch of his aching self. He’d been beaten, starved, and ridiculed in front of an entire group of renegades. "Jenny, don’t ever come west," he thought. "It will kill you!"
Jack lay, tied by the ankles and the wrists, to a large object of some sort. If he only knew what it was... oh, but there was no light in the tiny room. That was just to break his already sagging spirit.
He knew the plan. They were sending word east to the family to fetch them a diamond. Then, once the diamond was safe in their hands, they would kill Jack in every way possible. First they’d brand and burn his limbs, then they’d shoot them full of arrows. They’d kick and beat his torso, breaking organs and blood vessels. They’d fracture his skull, yank his teeth, and poison him. The renegades would hang him then, one swift and stylish drop. It would leave him paralyzed from the neck down, and then they’d chop his limbs off one by one, remove several vital organs, and chop off his head. Only then would they burn his broken body.
He prayed that he’d succumb to unconsciousness after the initial branding. He prayed the pain would be blocked by sheer panic and terror. But mostly he prayed that his family would not come, so they wouldn’t risk the same treatment. Above all, he prayed for Jenny and his brothers, and the entire Mousefield clan.
VII. Ophelia
The group had decided on a plan of action: send the diamond west with various family members. They would take three months to move into positions, and then the first group of five would start off. Ophelia was part of that group.
She, Cordelia, Rab, Lynn, and Michele were going to get the diamond from Mouser Farm to Buffalo. Then it was off to the Plains, along the Platte River, where they would receive the diamond once more and deliver it to the next group at the Rocky Mountains. And so here they were, heading west.
The horse, Moonlight, seemed to be bouncing and jouncing more than ever. According to Rab, however, it was just a light trot. "Oh, joy," groaned Cordelia. "Is there such a thing as horsesickness?"
"Don’t be such a coward, Cordelia... oooh!" exclaimed Ophelia before depositing her lunch by the creek. Cordelia’s own mare, Sunfire, tended to gallop now and then. Well, the two were just going to have to get used to horseback. These horses would carry them all the way to the Rockies.
Midnight approached, and the diamond was successsfully handed off to Christina Garland, traveling with Jen Mousefield, Katrin, Dot, and Kate. Christina, on Starfire, and Jen, on Witchfire, seemed all right. Ophelia wondered why she was so sick while riding and her cousins (or aunts or whatever) were perfectly fine.
VIII. Katrin
To Katrin, a trip from Buffalo to Chicago was just another adventure. A fun one, too, with her best friend, Dot, along for the ride. Katrin’s doll, Gillian, rode in a little pocket Caroline had sewn into her dress, inside the bodice where no Indians could reach it. Dot, upon seeing this ingenious invention, begged Ma Diane for something like it, and being the youngest, she got her way. So Dot’s doll, Juliana, had her own little pocket. Now, the girls raced each other, with Katrin urging Seawind on and Dot hopping behind with Lakewind. Kate, Cordelia’s sister, was the only one not speaking or doing anything. She rode silently along, on her childhood pet, Mist i’ the Pond, or Misty for short.
Dot’s fire-red hair streamed behind her and her bright gray eyes glittered in anticipation of the glory of winning over Katrin. "Not so fast," thought Katrin, pulling ahead at the last second, winning by one strand of honey colored locks. Her own brown eyes were kind, however, and she shared the prize (a pot of honey and cinnamon swirl bread) with Dot. It was only fair. Dot had almost won the race.
Jen and Christina looked on from the great oak tree at the edge of the clearing. "Do you think we’ll be able to save Jack?" asked Jen. "I do hope we aren’t too late to get him out of the scrape he’s in."
"We’ll be on time," said Christina confidently. "We have to be!"
"Are you sure you’re all right, so recent a widow and all?" asked Jen, thinking of her late brother, Jamie. Oh, how they both wished it had been a mistake. But it wasn’t.
"Just fine, I assure you," answered Christina. The noon sun beat overhead and they knew it was time to go meet the others in Chicago, not more than 100 miles from the clearing. "On, Starfire! On, Witchfire!" chorused the sisters-in-law and best friends.
IX. Kate
Quiet solitude was all that Kate needed. She cursed silently at having gotten lost, but at the same time, was happy to be free of those boisterous relatives. Katrin and Dot were just too young to talk to. Jen and Christina were grown women. Cordelia was too strange and Alice too mean to talk to. And Sadie and Sam were just plain wild. Surveying the riverbank, she picked a spot and tied Misty to the tree nearest it. Her sketchpad and charcoals she propped up against a rock. She kept her oil paints in Misty’s saddlebag, where they would be within reach.
She sketched the river for a while, then pulled out her book and began to read. She was still on the first act of "Love’s Labors Lost," a wonderful play by Shakespeare, but it was already exciting enough. She had just made it through Act I when out of nowhere, there appeared a stranger.
"Eeek! Get away or I’ll throw this rock," screamed Kate, picking up a stone from the riverbed. The stranger was tall and quite dark. His coal-black hair and eyes added an air of mystique to him. Kate, always a romantic, began to wonder whose wife he’d fallen in love with; whose friend he had murdered, or whose father he had robbed blind.
As if his coloring wasn’t enough, his black pants and white shirt gave him the look of something straight out of the play she was reading! He could be anyone. But who?
"Who the hell are you?" she asked. She’d catch it later if she ever found her family again, but that was a gamble she was willing to take.
"Sir Trevor Wood, duke of Fairtree, near London. More recently, the owner of a plantation, the bounds of which extend out here. Just to the river," the stranger explained. "You are trespassing. What’s more, you’re coming with me."
Kate wondered now if her life could get any worse. She opened her mouth to scream, but nary a sound came out. Didn’t she want to be rescued? Maybe not, she realized, as she gathered her things and put them back in Misty’s saddlebag. She settled her white ermine fur around her shoulders and climbed onto Misty.
"Lead the way, my lord," she said, using what she hoped was the correct form of address for a duke.