The Prize Read online

  As several of the occupants of the tavern turned to see who had just come in, Caleb found himself being greeted by men he was familiar with from the blockhouse in the village. The miller waved his two-fingered hand, and Caleb wasn’t surprised to see MacGregor there, among others.

  Several of the men his father had served alongside beckoned Elijah and Caleb over to their table, and the two men squeezed onto the already overcrowded bench.

  “Evening, gents,” old Amos Barber said to them, as they settled down. Caleb noticed that he smelled of rum and his eyes moved as though following the slow progression of a fly around Elijah’s head as he spoke to them. “Come to join us in a drink to the General’s memory, have you?”

  “Perhaps one, Amos, but not more, lest Polly should make us sleep in the barn with the cows.” Elijah smiled at Barber. “I guess your Nellie wouldn’t put you out in the cold, though, would she?”

  “No, she knows ‘tis a rare occasion, and that we mark the passing of a man well esteemed in our company today.” The man’s florid nose belied the rarity of the occasion, but Caleb kept the thought to himself.

  “You speak wisdom, Amos.” Elijah turned to another man sitting across from them. “Nathan, I don’t know if you’ve met my son, Caleb?”

  “I think I may have seen him at the fort once or twice,” said the man, reaching across the table to offer his hand.

  Caleb jumped up halfway from his seat to shake his hand, but as he stood, he collided with something behind him. He heard a crash of broken crockery, which brought most conversation to a sudden halt, and turned to see a familiar pair of flashing blue eyes glaring at him. Her hair was today pinned into a severe-looking bun under a white bonnet, but he couldn’t help but notice a stray tendril loose before her ear.

  “Didn’t we agree, on our last meeting, that you need to pay your surroundings more heed?” The girl’s voice rang out over the momentary silence, and several men chuckled loudly before recommencing their interrupted conversations.

  For his part, Caleb felt as though his blush must extend to his knees, particularly when he caught his father’s amused look before Elijah quickly turned away.

  Caleb protested, “I … I didn’t see you there!”

  “Obviously,” the girl replied tartly. “Had you seen me, I can only guess that your drink and your father’s would now be on the table, and not littering the floor. Indeed, you might even now be raising glass to lip, instead of broom to pan. Come.” She motioned sharply to the rear of the tavern with her chin. “I’ll show you where to find the broom and dustpan.”

  Wordlessly, his face still burning, he rose from the bench and followed the girl. As they reached the back of the room, Captain Mallett appeared from the kitchen area, and upon spotting Caleb, greeted him with a broad grin.

  “Ah, I see that you have met my Lunette! You should be careful, my young friend, or she shall soon come to terrorize you as she already does her Papa!”

  Lunette gave him a fierce look. “You know this clumsy boy? He has broken my cups, and I am showing him where the broom is, that he might at least pick up the mess!”

  Mallett gave Caleb a knowing look, and the younger man felt himself blush even deeper, as unlikely as that might have seemed. He said to Caleb in a conspiratorial tone, “Already it begins, eh? Never you mind, just pick up what’s broken, and she’ll forgive you soon enough.”

  Caleb moved to comply, aware of his father’s eyes and those of several of the other men in the tavern upon him. He could not for the life of him discern what was so interesting—or amusing—about the situation.

  For her part, Lunette stood beside her father, arms crossed tightly and her mouth compressed in a disapproving scowl. However, her eyes were not so hard, and she seemed almost to be restraining a smile from bursting upon her face. Caleb turned away, taking care of sweeping up the mess, and stood with the dustpan full of wet, smashed ceramic, looking to Captain Mallett questioningly.

  He tilted his white-crowned head over to the corner by the door, a small, mysterious smile playing across his lips. Caleb deposited the contents of the dustpan into the barrel there, and walked back over to present the broom and pan to Lunette.

  “There. I am truly sorry that I again caused injury through my inattention. Is there perhaps some way in which I might redeem myself?”

  She regarded him for a moment, and then sighed. “Just sit back down at your table. I’ll bring you a fresh cup.”

  As Caleb slid back into his seat, Elijah gave him a sly glance. “That’s not half so clever as I was when I met your Ma, but you seem to have made an impression on the young lady.”

  Caleb protested and felt his retreating blush make a return. “Da! I hardly think that she has any interest in me, given that I seem to spend all of my time around her apologizing.”

  “That’s not a bad habit to get into with a woman,” his father grinned, and fisted him in the ribs.

  Caleb started to protest again, but it occurred to him that his father might think that he had actually meant to somehow gain the girl’s attention and approval by being a clumsy oaf. “Da, I swear to you, I did not see her behind me, nor did I purpose to run into her, either this time or at the general store.”

  His father’s eyebrows danced along his forehead. “I wondered what she was talking about. So this isn’t the first time that you’ve showed off your grace and coordination?”

  “I’ve not been trying to show off anything, Da. I just didn’t see her, either time, and fortune seems determined to cause me to demonstrate to her only my ability to run into things.”

  Then he froze, a horrid thought occurring to him. “Ma would strike me dead in my sleep if I pursued the daughter of a Frenchman,” he said.

  “That depends upon whether the Frenchman’s daughter permitted your pursuit, or fled for fear of suffering further injury,” Lunette said loudly from just behind Caleb’s ear, firmly setting his cup upon the table before him. “I shouldn’t think that you’ve anything to be concerned about.”

  Later that evening, as he struggled to fall asleep, Caleb wasn’t sure which was worse—remembering his father’s understanding smile when he’d wanted to leave immediately after draining his cup, or reliving the bewitching image of Lunette as she marched away, head held high and proud, and her mouth set in a firm line.

  “They’ve been asking after you at the Fort, Caleb,” Elijah said, over a plain breakfast of bread and cheese. “They wanted assurance that you hadn’t gone down in the lake or some such.”

  Caleb ducked his head and mumbled into his mug, “I’ve been busy with things around the farmstead, and you are better able to gather what news there is of the war, anyway.”

  Elijah smiled tolerantly and replied, “Well, I assured them that you are yet hale and hearty, and promised that I’d send you around soon.” Caleb groaned inwardly, but made no further comment.

  His expression turned dourer now. “Sadly, the news of the war is all poor. Since General Montgomery’s fall, the British have pressed their advantage. We’ve every reason to believe that they will reinforce Quebec with several thousands of Regulars once the ice is out of the Saint Lawrence, and they have enlisted the populace in harrying our forces. What’s worse, the smallpox has taken hold, and carries off many of our men.”

  “I have seen a regular traffic in bateaux coming up the lake, laden heavily,” confirmed Caleb. “Will we hold Montreal, do you think?”

  “I do not see how we can hope to do so without the support of the local peoples. Further, the British have even inflamed the Indians to attack in places, murdering and scalping … ‘tis no way to conduct a war between those who once were brothers.” He shook his head in disgust, and picked up his mug, draining it.

  Slapping his hands on the table and standing, he said, “Well, we must be to our work. We’ve stone to pick out of the corn field before he can hazard the plow in it.” This time, Caleb groaned aloud, but he rose and followed his father out the door.

  After a
couple of hours of picking stone that had risen to the surface of the muddy field over the course of the prior winter, and laying it out into courses atop the growing stone fence that demarked its border with the cow pasture, Elijah declared the field ready enough for plowing. “Of course, we’ll have to wait another few weeks for the ground to dry enough that both horse and plough won’t just sink into the muck,” he added.

  They went back to the cabin, scraped as much mud as was practical off their boots and trousers, and then brought the filthy clothes inside to dry before the fireplace. Once the mud dried, Polly would take the gear outdoors and shake out a lot more encrusted dirt, and then wash it all. For the moment, though, Caleb and Elijah drew on fresher clothes and took a few minutes’ rest.

  Once he was warmed through, Caleb said, “I think I’d like to go have a look out at the lake, if that’s all right, Da?”

  Elijah thought for a moment and replied. “All right. But be back by dinner time. We’ve hay to move after we eat, and that cannot be done after the sun goes down.”

  “All right, Da. I shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours. I won’t go all the way out to the island unless there’s something important to see.”

  His father nodded in assent, and Caleb went out through the doorway.

  Once on the water, he reveled in the speed he could build up in the dugout. The air smelled of rich soil and of the fresh green leaves on the trees. Reaching forward with long strokes, he concentrated on pulling the water past him with his paddle, first on one side and then the other, correcting his course as necessary with a twist of its blade before he drew it out for the next great pull.

  He came to Mallett’s head, and was turning the dugout sharply, gazing at a majestic great blue heron on the small island just off the point, when several things happened all at once, though it seemed to him ever after that they all happened very slowly indeed.

  He heard a short shriek, followed by a sickening crack and then a large splash. He felt the impact as his dugout struck something heavily, even before he had registered a pair of flashing blue eyes and a hand net with a very large fish in it. Then, with shocking suddenness, he was looking at the bottom of a birch bark canoe and an area of water churned white beyond it. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the heron stretch its wings and launch itself over the rippled surface of the lake, offended at the disturbance.

  Almost without thinking, he reached out with the paddle and gave the capsized canoe a mighty shove to get it out of the way. As it drifted off into the bay, he shouted at the top of his lungs, “Lunette! Here!”

  He could see her struggling to stay afloat as her clothing soaked through and began to weigh her down, and called, “Take my hand!” She seemed barely able to track his location with her eyes, so hard was she fighting to stay afloat. With everything in him, Caleb bellowed, “Now! Take my hand!’

  She shook her head, clearing her eyes of the hair plastered across her face, and kicked strongly toward him, reaching out to him. He had never in his life felt relief as great as when his fingers closed over hers, and he called out to her, “Careful, now!” He drew her to the side of his dugout cautiously, so as not to join her in the icy water, where he would not be able to do either of them much good.

  He shouted, “Hold on to the side of my canoe, but don’t tip me in with you! I’ll get us to shore!” She nodded in comprehension and clung to the side of the dugout as he applied every bit of his strength to the few powerful strokes it took to bring them to the rocky beach. She even helped a bit, kicking and pushing from her side of the canoe.

  By the time they reached the shore, her teeth were chattering and her lips had already taken on a blue tinge from the cold. She scrambled up onto the rocky shoreline, where she came to rest on her hands and knees, and he drove the dugout well up onto the rocks beside her. He jumped out, tearing his warm jacket off and putting it around her shoulders. The chill of the air was even deeper than that of the water, and he knew that it was essential to keep the breeze off her wet clothes as much as possible.

  As he pulled her to a standing position, she stared at him, as if seeing him for the first time. Then she drew back her hand and punched him full in the gut, winding him completely.

  “You!” she shrieked, sounding for all the world like a rusty nail being drawn over a slate. “Now you go beyond merely assaulting me every time you encounter me, to trying to murder me?” She punched him again, though he managed to dodge the worst of this blow, taking it on his arm. “And Papa’s canoe!” She gestured wildly out to the waves, where the overturned birch bark canoe bobbed as the breeze blew it off shore and into the bay.

  She paused only long enough to draw a breath and then struck him again, this time on the shoulder. “And my fish!”

  Once he regained his breath, Caleb found that he was unnaturally calm as he took her forearms gently but firmly in his hands. “Lunette,” he said urgently to her, “We have got to get you inside. Do not worry about the canoe; I will fetch it … or get you another. Right now, though, you must get out of these wet things and in front of a fire, or it will be the death of you, do you understand me?”

  She struggled against his grip for a moment, her eyes still wild with fear and shock and rage. Then she blinked and took a deep breath through uncontrollably chattering teeth.

  “All right,” she said, in a suddenly small voice. He let go of her arms and guided her back to his dugout. “I’ll bring you back to your homestead, as quickly as possible. Just sit quietly there, and I’ll take care of you, all right?” She nodded wordlessly, now unable to speak at all through the shivering that overtook her whole frame.

  He pushed off and paddled as he had never paddled before, bringing the dugout to the base of the bluff where the Mallett homestead overlooked the lake. As they flew over the water, he kept a worried eye on the shivering girl, calling out to her, “Lunette! Stay awake, Lunette! Look at me!”

  Her brilliant blue eyes found his, and he smiled reassuringly at her. “We’re almost there now, Lunette. Almost there.” He held her gaze the rest of the way, glancing away for only moments to guide his canoe. Mere minutes later, the scrape of pea gravel under the bow of the dugout announced their arrival at the beach, and he again leapt out of the canoe. Taking her hand, he pulled her upright and helped her step over the side onto the beach, and then started to guide her up the bluff.

  By this time, she was shivering so heavily that she could barely walk, let alone run, and he gave up, sweeping her up into his arms to carry her up to the house. Running as fast as he could, he stumbled over rocks and roots any number of times as he made his way up the bluff, but managed to avoid falling and dropping her, which would have just added insult to injury—Or would that be injury to injury? a part of him wondered.

  He could feel immense, all-consuming tremors shaking her body as it struggled to stay warm, and her eyes had closed by the time he reached the door. He set her down gently, and she stood, just barely, eyes still closed, teeth chattering and shivering against him. He reached out and knocked loudly at the door, willing Captain Mallett to answer quickly.

  Lunette mumbled something and Caleb bent to try to hear her. “Nobody… home,” she said. “Door… open.” Comprehension dawning, he opened the door and pulled her inside behind him. Within the main room of the house, he saw that the fire was banked on the grate, and he hurried over to it.

  As he bent to stir it up and add wood, he said briskly over his shoulder, “You need to go and get out of those wet clothes and get something dry on, right now.” She nodded, but did not move. Caleb muttered an oath, and strode back over to her. Taking her face into his hands, he looked directly into her eyes, holding her attention and speaking loudly and clearly.

  “You have to get into dry clothing, Lunette. If you want to keep your modesty, you must do it yourself. But if you can’t do that, I’ll not let you freeze to death in your wet clothing. Do you understand me?”

  She nodded, too cold to blush, and turned to t
he stairs. He watched her stumble her way up them and around the corner out of view and then heard her clothing smacking wetly onto the floor as she shed it.

  As he bent to stoke the fire and fed fresh wood to it, he savagely rebuked the small part of himself that wished that she had asked his assistance and which was even still following every soft sound her feet made on the floor above. With the bellows from beside the fireplace, he quickly blew the coals into a roaring blaze, and sat back just as Lunette walked back downstairs, bundled in a large quilt, but still trembling with the cold.

  Caleb turned back to the fire as she sat on the floor beside him, swinging the kettle over the flames. “You’ll want some tea,” he said to her. She nodded, her lips still blue and her teeth chattering, but already some color returning to her cheeks. He noticed that her hair, a tangled and soaked mass, was still dripping slowly onto her quilt.

  Hesitantly, he asked, “Would you like me to comb out your hair, that it might dry more quickly?”

  In a small, quavering voice, she replied, “Yes, please. My comb is on the mantelpiece, before the mirror.”

  He stood and located it, and then sat down behind her. “I cannot begin to say how sorry I am for my carelessness,” he began, but she shook her head.

  “Don’t,” was all she said, and he did not persist, instead simply turning his concentration to gently untangling her hair and spreading it across the quilt as she sat quietly.

  As soon as the water came to the boil, he rose and quietly asked her where the tea and cups might be found, and prepared the warming drink without further conversation. A couple of times, he rose briefly to add more wood to the fire, then settled back down behind her.

  Otherwise, Caleb continued in silence, working out little snarls and squeezing water from her hair, progressing from the ends of slowly up her back and up to her scalp until the cold water of the lake had evaporated out of it, marveling at its softness as it dried.