Madness
Prologue
Two groups of people, both alike in dignity(In fair America, where we lay our scene),From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.From forth the fatal conflict of these two foesA pair of star-crossed lovers dare to trust,Whose courageous acts overthrowDoth with their love bury their peoples' strife.
The fearless passage of their destined-marked love
And the continuance of their peoples' rage,Which, but the love of one of their own, naught could remove,Is now the traffic of our tale—The which, if you with patient ears attend,What here shall miss, our story shall strive to mend.-Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, prologue
October of 1685
New Hampshire – The Great Hill of Cochecho
A musket fired in the silence. Elisabeth Hampton jumped and placed a hand over her racing heart. She dropped the foolscap containing scenes from the Shakespeare play she planned to teach the students. The air in the small one-roomed schoolhouse charged with nervous energy as her fifteen students craned their necks to glance out the school’s only window-like-hole.
“I’ll grab him James. You take the squa and bucks.” She heard the male laugh outside the schoolhouse. Dread sunk like a heavy stone in her abdomen, another Indian uprising.
Crash! Someone smacked into the school’s door. The students jumped, their faces white.
“Dirty savage.” The feminine curse trilled through the window.
Why can’t they stay where they belong? Elisabeth fretted with her hands, sweat building on her forehead.
“Fainéant incivilisé.” Monsieur Jacques, the only Frenchman in town, yelled over the riot.
“Come back here.” Eyes wide, Elisabeth Hampton recognized Mr. Walderne’s gravelly voice. Hearing him speak caused her stomach to clench tighter. As the town bully, Elisabeth fell victim to his overbearing ways and had the unfortunate luck to capture his interest.
“Stop!” The ruckus ensued outside as Elisabeth’s fears mounted. She glanced at the children’s wide-eyed stares and sighed. Someone needed to assuage their fears. “Stay here,” she warned with a placating hand and a sternness she didn’t feel as she ventured outside.
The sun blinded her eyes, forcing her to shield them. The population of the sea-port settlement of Cochecho, New Hampshire, which amounted to roughly ten families, swarmed around the schoolhouse, enclosing the objects of interest: an Indian family consisting of two males, a female, and a boy. Standing together, they eyed the crowd.
Not wanting to deal with the Indians or Walderne, Elisabeth desired to retreat. But peace was needed before more bloodshed occurred so she stepped forward, facing the leader of trade in Cochecho. Like a grasping old dame, he knew everything that occurred in the town. “What’s happening, Mr. Walderne?”
“This savage stole a slab of hog meat from Samuel Mills. Now he’s going to learn we don’t take kindly to thieving,” Walderne spat, his lips raised in a sneer.
“Aye!” The crowd advanced on the Indians.
The Indian male in question wore a pair of tight, leather breeches and a set of moccasins, leaving no room for concealment. Elisabeth fiddled with her skirts. She didn’t want to take sides, but how could she not? “How could he? I don’t see anything in his hand,” her voice ended with a squeak. She hated challenging anyone.
The crowd stared at her with slack jaws and wide eyes. Moving closer together, they marched forward as one, forcing her to step back. Their feral eyes and crooked mouths appeared to say, how could you doubt Walderne and Samuel’s word in favor of a heathen?
“Are you questioning me?” Walderne hissed.
Elisabeth flinched and clenched her skirts. Hating the situation, but unwilling to leave the Indians to the mercy of Walderne, she thrust forth a determined chin and moved closer to the Indian family, supporting them with a silent show of defiance.
A spark flashed in Walderne’s gray eyes. An ominous October wind blew through the barren limbs of the oak trees. The sun slipped behind the clouds casting everyone in a stark gloom. The smell of whiskey tickled Elisabeth’s nostrils. Maybe today was not the day to thwart Walderne? Usually harmless, he shifted into a dangerous predator before her eyes. Turning his attention back to the brave, probably the father of the family, he demanded, “Where’s the hog meat?”
The brave stuck out a determined chin. In the shadowed light, his flawless bronze skin appeared purer than the white settlers. The family remained mute.
“I asked you a question savage, or don’t you understand English?” Walderne stabbed a beefy finger into their faces.
“To daft to understand English!” Ned Cunningham chuckled, but stepped behind Walderne when the family stared at him.
“Please . . .” Elisabeth raised her arms in supplication only desiring peace.
“I say we beat the truth out of them!” Walderne popped his knuckles in anticipation, too angry to cease.
Silence.
“What’s wrong?” He attempted to rally the group. “They come here and take our food, live on our land, and refuse to move on. I say we teach them a lesson they won’t soon forget. Next time, they’ll think twice about stealing from us.”
“Aye.” Cunningham moved to cheer.
“Je ne sais pas.” Monsieur Jacques retreated, twirling his black goatee, his brows slanted down.
“What if they retaliate?” Mrs. Liberty grabbed her two children, sheltering them within her generous arms.
Speculation arose and Elisabeth tried to speak. “But …”
The youngest boy, probably no more than eight summers, of the Indian family sprinted off through the crowd. Mrs. Liberty screamed while Monsieur Jacques raised his hands, waving them in the air.
“Saisissez – l’avant qu’il s’échappe.” He joined Cunningham and Mills to chase the child down the only dirt path through the settlement. James Haney appeared from behind the blacksmith’s stable like a spook, capturing the unfortunate boy by his long hair.
The boy kicked Haney’s leg in the struggle, causing the man to drop him. The boy jumped up and started to run when Walderne restrained him. The boy spat words unintelligible and struggled like a beached trout.
“Damn, heathen,” Haney grumbled as he rubbed his sore leg. With Walderne’s help, they managed to hold the child.
“See they must be guilty. Why else would he run?” Walderne approached the stocks. The father and oldest son, probably close to twenty summers, leaped forward but were subdued by the other men from town.
Walderne pushed the boy down while he watched the Indian family. With a sneer, he secured the child’s neck and wrists in the three holes of the heavy, timber frame. He brushed off his hands and raised the corner of his lip in disgust. “Know where the meat is now?”
The woman staggered forward. “Please, we did not take the meat.” She replied in heavily accented English, tears ran down her proud face.
“Locking up their son must not be enough.” With a wave to Ned and James, the three men grabbed the Indian father and tied him to a steel pole about twenty feet from the stocks. With whip from the stables in his right hand, Walderne intoned, “Where’s the meat?”
Silence.
Crack! The brave never flinched as the leather tore open his back.
“Where’s the meat?”
Silence.
Crack! “My God,” The startled cry escaped Elisabeth’s lips. She’d never felt pity for the Indians before, but the feeling welling up inside her now could be nothing else.
Without mercy, Walderne humiliated the brave who bore all in stoic silence. The squa watched the scene, tears streamed down her face. In silence, she abided the display, never flinching. The older son clenched his jaw in fury and struggled anew against his captors.
Crack!
Eight times the leather ate the man’s flesh. Elisabeth touched her tear-stained cheeks. Not able to witness more, she grabbed her skirts and approached Walderne. Although seventeen and only a woman, Elisabeth knew she must do something. This was inhumane. No man, Indian or English, deserved this treatment.
As she neared, Walderne threw down the blood-sprinkled whip. He nodded at Cunningham and they untied the leather straps holding the man to the pole. She expected him to fall to the ground, but her eyebrows rose when the brave stood and walked to his wife and son without help, his lacerated back shown when he turned from the crowd.
Elisabeth covered her mouth to muffle her cry of horror. The man’s flesh hung in jagged razor-like wounds that ran from his shoulder blades to his spine. The smell of warm blood permeated the air as it oozed down his mangled back. Unbidden, a wave of nausea roared up. She clutched her abdomen and heaved numerous times.
Elisabeth gasped when Walderne fetched the helpless child locked in the stockade. His mother fell to her knees, pleading, “please, no, please.” She grabbed the bottom of his trousers with a trembling hand, but he kicked her face to the ground with his muddied boot.
Walderne stared at the woman’s dirt-encrusted face with pale-gray eyes and mocked in a soft voice, “Where’s the meat?”
“I told you. We have none. Please . . .” The woman begged on her knees as her injured eye turned purple.
Walderne marched to the pole without a backward glance. He tied the boy with the same leather straps used on the father. Blood still dripped from the bands.
Elisabeth’s mouth dropped open and she grabbed her skirts for comfort. This can’t be happening. It must be a nightmare.
Crack!
The small body jerked forward as the child cried a pitiful sob. Elisabeth realized that the rest of her life would be plagued by the memory of watching this child whipped of his innocence.
Then the child no longer remained a nameless face: he was an Arthur Cunningham, a Harriet Mills, a Carrie Newton, or a Prudence Liberty. One by one, her students’ faces appeared in that child’s pitiful face. Before considering her decision, Elisabeth forced her way through the crowd to Walderne’s side. “I won’t allow you to whip this boy again.” She gripped his sweating arm to halt the next swing.
“Ahh!” The crowd gasped, no one had dared to defy Walderne before.
“How dare you!” Walderne moved to hit her, but youth and about ten stone less weight worked to her advantage. She sidestepped his massive hand and his face burned red. The veins in his neck protruded while his muscles flexed with fury. He raised the whip again and Elisabeth realized he intended to whip the child, regardless. In a moment of pure wisdom, or lack thereof, she shielded the child with her own body, clutching his trembling arms with her white hands.
“Move aside!” Walderne bellowed.
“Nay! If you want to whip him, you will have to whip me. I will not stand idly by and watch you beat this child.”
The crowd wore shocked expressions as all waited to see how Walderne would react. A few looked as if they might march forward and stop this lunacy now that she was involved, the schoolmistress. Walderne ruled with a strong grip, and the few who appeared to want to question him retreated when they looked at his face and realized the retribution.
She prayed for deliverance, still his massive foot stepped forward. His hot, whiskey-laced breath stung her neck, the smell like rotten squash. He tore off her white cap and proceeded to rip the back of her gingham gown.
“What are you doing?” A shocked Mrs. Liberty and Cunningham stepped forward to protest but stopped when they met Walderne’s gaze.
Fear coated her tongue making it dry as cotton. Her heart pounded in her ears freezing her limbs. She tried to steady her breathing and reached up to untie the boy’s straps. They needed to run - fast.
Crack!
The leather rent her flesh. Sweat beads popped out along her forehead. She bit her lip, tasting blood while trying to hold back the cry of agony begging for release that crept up from her abdomen. Her body cringed in protest. Her eyes opened and a single tear escaped down her hot cheek. She wanted to scream for Walderne to halt, but black dots speckled her vision. As the pain subsided, her sight returned. The people she’d called friends watched her with white visages and mute mouths.
She wanted to scream and rail, do anything to force a response. How could they stand there and do nothing?
Elisabeth closed her eyes and prepared for another crack, preferring death to allowing Walderne to see her in pain. She chose this path and would see it through, no matter how painful.
Nothing. No crack. No sound. Not even a breath of wind stirred her skirt.
With hope, she opened her eyes one at a time. The crowd no longer watched her, but something to the north.
Walderne stomped back to his trading post never looking back. With a sigh of relief, she found most of the crowd leaving or already gone. Even her students standing in the back were gone.
Elisabeth reached up and untied the leather bonds. With her right arm around the boy’s shoulders, they stumbled to his mother, who scooped him into her waiting arms. The family remained silent, and Elisabeth doubted they would say anything. As she turned to leave, a hand clasped her.
“You sacrificed yourself for my son,” the father said in excellent, unaccented English. Shocked at his ability to speak her language so well since most of the natives she’d met could speak English but it was usually minimal and heavily accented, Elisabeth merely stared. “I owe you a debt, Golden Hair. We are now one.” He pointed to their whip marks, and then locked with her gaze. “I will not forget.”
Elisabeth smiled, the shock of the morning beginning to retreat. “What’s your name?”
“I am Bear Claw. This is Smiling Moon.” He motioned to his wife. “And our sons, the oldest Falcon Eye, and the youngest Flying Condor.”
Elisabeth nodded to each. “My name is Elisabeth Hampton-”
“No. Golden Hair,” Bear Claw insisted.
“Golden Hair?” Elisabeth raised her eyebrows.
He motioned to the steel pole where the whippings took place. The red blood covered the barren dirt. An involuntary shiver ran up her spine. “A lady stepped forward in behalf of our son. Her powerful medicine colored gold like the sun. We must go.” His arm made a grand circle, the way she witnessed the other Indians saying goodbye. He smiled and walked out of Cochecho.
As the family neared the woods, Falcon Eye stopped and looked at her. For the first time, she boldly stared in return. Maybe the shock of surviving a beating, or maybe the recklessness she’d experienced when challenging Walderne gave her the courage; regardless, the energy poured through her, sanctioning a temporary abandonment of her beliefs on propriety.
She drank in his strong features; a tall body, long hair, and a sculpted torso. Dark eyes, almost black, raked her skin. Elisabeth drew in a sharp breath.
He approached her. His long strides purposeful, eating up dust as his hair rippled behind in the chilly breeze. She clenched her skirts as her heart leaped. A heat started in her chest that burned through her trembling body. My cheeks must be crimson!
He paused in front of her, studying her face, his moccasins brushed against her skirts. Her pulse jumped to an erratic beat.
He removed a clay-beaded necklace hanging around his neck. His hands that looked like freshly plowed dirt, embraced her paler hand in a sure but gentle touch. Her shaking eased while another feeling sparked inside her. His hand, unlike hers, exuded power - she should fear him. Yet, comfort flowed through her skin, unlike the fear when Walderne’s meaty paw grabbed her.
One by one, he opened her small fingers displaying the palm of her hand. She experienced a feeling of exposure and vulnerability, yet exhilaration. Who was this new woman accepting the caress of a stranger? And an Indian, no less? She should shun his touch, but she could only welcome it. Each caress sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine. I need to remove my hand and run! Run, Elisabeth!
Her body didn’t obey. When her palm lay open, he dropped the beads in a circular pile. The cold clay shot a tantalizing sensation through her hot skin. She closed her eyes against the new desires and a familiar scent tickled her nostrils. What is it? I know that scent …
Sassafras.
The faint scent lingered on his hands. She recalled her mother boiling sassafras tea years ago. With a smile of comfort, she allowed one finger to brush his hand. She opened her eyes but he showed no reaction to her bold move. Then he closed each of her fingers with the same meticulous care he used to open them. Once finished, he gazed into her eyes.
“Ohh.” Elisabeth gasped when he ran his thumb up her palm to the beginning of her arm. A private smile of satisfaction curved her lips. His onyx-colored eyes glowed with some unknown secret…
Her warrior retreated, leaving her life as quickly as he appeared. Elisabeth realized she’d been holding her breath. With a smile, she caressed the hand Falcon Eye touched. He joined his family and disappeared into the forest of oak, elm, and beech trees.
She opened each sensitive finger and beheld an intricate necklace. Clay beads strung together, dyed in various hues of red, orange, pink, and green, winked in the sunlight. She realized the majority color represented in the necklace.
Gold.
