HEART'S DESIRE
Those who had complained of Captain Franklin's lax methods were silent
now. The fortifications were strengthened at every possible point and
pickets were stationed in the woods, at points on the lake shore,
along the Fort Wayne trail, and at various places on the prairie.
There was no target practice for fear of a scarcity of ammunition; but
the women were taught to handle the pistols, muskets, and even the
cannon in the blockhouses.
Mackenzie, Forsyth, and Chandonnais divided the night watch at the
trading station. At the first sound of a warning gun, the women and
children were to be taken to the Fort. As before, Beatrice was to go
to Captain Franklin's, Mrs. Mackenzie and the children to Lieutenant
Howard's, and the men to barracks.
"I guess I'll move over anyway," said Beatrice. "I wouldn't care to
make the trip in the night. I'll sleep at the Captain's and eat
wherever I happen to be."
Mrs. Franklin was not told of the plan until Beatrice and Robert
appeared at her door with the enterprising young woman's possessions,
but she made her guest very welcome.
"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?" she asked.
"What would be the use of telling you?" inquired Beatrice. "You'd be
obliged to say you wanted me, so I just came."
The Captain's wife was genuinely glad, for of late she had been very
lonely. Franklin was always more or less absorbed in his own affairs,
and the feeling between Lieutenant Howard and his superior officer did
not tend to promote friendly relations between the women. There had
been no open break, but each felt that there might be one at any time.
Ronald was in high spirits. Since he had given Beatrice the basket she
had treated him more kindly, and he led Queen twenty times around the
Fort every day for exercise, without a murmur of complaint. Beatrice
stood at the gate and kept count; while, across the river, Forsyth sat
on the piazza and envied the Ensign, even during his monotonous daily
round.
Among the officers at the Fort the declaration of war had not been
altogether unexpected, for vague rumours of England's arrogance upon
the high seas had reached the western limits of civilisation, but the
situation was covered only by general orders from the War Department.
For once, Lieutenant Howard agreed with the Captain, in that there
seemed to be no great possibility of a British attack. However
valiantly defended, the Fort could not be held long in the face of a
vigorous assault from the enemy, since the fighting force numbered
less than sixty men, but England would have nothing to gain from that
quarter. Other points were far more important than Fort Dearborn, but
the garrison was ready to fight, nevertheless.
Ronald was more sanguine, and lived in hourly hope of hearing the
signal of the enemy's approach. He sharpened the edge of his sword to
the keen thinness of a knife blade, and slept with one hand upon his
pistol. Doctor Norton, too, was making elaborate preparations in the
way of lint and bandages, and Ronald helped him make stretchers enough
to last during a lifetime of war.
But the days passed peacefully, and there were no signs of fighting.
The Indians were particularly lawless, but confined their violence to
their own people, though they had lost, in a great measure, their
wholesome fear of the soldiers at the Fort.
"The devils are insolent because they think there's going to be
trouble, and in the general confusion it will escape notice," remarked
Ronald, as he sat in the shade of Lieutenant Howard's piazza. "I'm in
favour of stringing up a few of 'em by way of example to the rest."
"Yes," replied Howard, twisting his mustache, "and in a few minutes
we'd have the entire Pottawattomie tribe upon us. You don't seem to
understand that they knew war had been declared long before we did,
and that even now, in all probability, they are in league with the
enemy. No people on earth are too low down for England to ally herself
with when she wants territory."
"True," answered Ronald; "but I'm not afraid of England. She's had one
good lesson, and we'll give her another any time she wants it."
"We've got enough on our hands right here," sighed the Lieutenant,
"without any more foreign wars. We've got to have it out with the
Indians yet, and fight our way step by step. The trail of blood began
at Plymouth and will end--God knows where. England is more or less
civilised, but she isn't above setting the Indians upon us to serve
her own ends."
"What are you talking about?" asked Beatrice, coming across from
Captain Franklin's.
"Yes, do tell us," said Katherine, from the doorway.
"Affairs of state," answered the Lieutenant, easily.
"Any British in sight?" inquired Beatrice.
"Not yet," replied Ronald; "but the entire army is likely to drop on
us at any minute."
"What would you do?" she asked curiously.
"Do?" repeated Ronald, striding up and down in front of the house;
"we'd call in the pickets, bar the gates, man the guns, and send the
women and children into the Captain's cellar."
"Could Queen go, too?"
"Can Queen go down a ladder?"
"She never has," answered Beatrice; "but she could if she wanted
to--I'm sure of it."
"If that's the case," said Lieutenant Howard, "we'd better offer her
to the British officers as a trick horse and buy off the attack."
"If they come in the daytime," continued Beatrice, ignoring the
suggestion, "I will go out to meet them all by myself. I'll put on
my pink dress and my best apron, and carry a white flag in one hand
and the United States flag in the other. When the British captain
comes running up to me to see what I want, I'll say: 'Captain, you
are late, and to be late to dinner is a sin. We have been looking for
you for some time, but we will forgive you if you will come now. The
invitation includes the ladies of your party and all the officers.'
They never could shoot after that."
Katherine joined in the laugh that followed, but her heart was uneasy,
none the less. Like Ronald, she was continually expecting an attack
and knew there could be but one result. She believed that the Indians
and the British would make common cause against them, when the time
came to strike.
"I'll tell you what," said Ronald, "some of us ought to go out and
drag in Mad Margaret. If we stood her up on the stockade, there isn't
an Indian in the tribe who would dare to aim an arrow or throw a
tomahawk toward the Fort."
"I've never seen her," said Beatrice, thoughtfully.
"I hope you never will," answered Ronald, quickly. "She's crazy,
of course; but she has an uncanny way about her that a sensitive
person would consider disturbing. She pranced into the Fort on a
Winter afternoon two years ago and prophesied a flood, followed by
a terribly hot Summer, and no crops. When the Spring rains came, the
river spread on all sides, and, sure enough, there were no crops that
year."
"Was it hot, too?"
"Oh, Lord! Was it hot? If hell is any hotter I don't care to go to it."
"You talk as if that was your final destination," observed Katherine.
"That's as it may be," returned the Ensign. "I've often been invited
to go, and several times I've been told that it was a fitting place of
residence for such as I."
"I didn't know about that," said the Lieutenant, thoughtfully,
referring to the fulfilment of the prophecy.
"You weren't here," explained Ronald. "It was before you came--in
1810, I think."
"Cousin Rob told me about her," said Beatrice. "He said she came to
Uncle John's the same day he did, and he's seen her once or twice
since. She always says that she sees much blood, then fire, and
afterward peace."
"Yes," growled the Ensign; "she's for ever harping on blood. She stuck
her claws into me that night, I remember--told me I should never have
my heart's desire."
"What is your heart's desire?" asked Beatrice, lightly.
The Summer faded and another day came back. Once again he sat before
the roaring fire at the trading station, with Forsyth, Mackenzie, and
Chandonnais grouped around him, while phantoms of snow drifted by and
sleet beat against the window panes. Then the door seemed to open
softly and Mad Margaret made her way into the circle. Chandonnais'
wild music sounded again in his ears, then he felt the thin, claw-like
hands upon him and heard the high, tremulous voice saying, "You shall
never have your heart's desire"; and, in answer to his question, "It
has not come, but you will know it soon."
The blood beat in his ears, but he heard Beatrice say, once more,
"What is your heart's desire?"
A flash of inward light revealed it--the girl who stood before him,
with the sunlight on her hair, and her scarlet lips parted; strong and
self-reliant, yet wholly womanly.
Ronald cleared his throat. "You shouldn't ask me such questions," he
said, trying to speak lightly, "when all these people are around."
"We'd better go, Kit," remarked the Lieutenant; "we seem to be in the
way."
"Anything to please," murmured Mrs. Howard, as they went into the
house.
Ronald was looking at Beatrice, with all his soul in his eyes. "I--I
must go," she stammered. "Aunt Eleanor will want me."
"Don't--dear!" The boyishness was all gone, and it was the voice of
a man in pain. The deep crimson flamed into her face and dyed the
whiteness of her neck just below the turn of her cheek. She did not
dare to look at him, but fled ignominiously.
He did not follow her, but she heard him laugh--a hollow, mirthless
laugh, with a catch in it that sounded like a sob. She never knew how
she crossed the river, but she was surprised to find Forsyth waiting
for her. As he helped her out of the pirogue, he said; "I was just
going after you--we feared we had lost you."
"I'm not lost," she said shortly, "and I don't want people running
around after me!"
The shadow that crossed his face haunted her, even while he sat
opposite her at dinner and laughed and joked with her as usual. When
Mrs. Mackenzie took the baby away for his afternoon nap, with Maria
Indiana wailing sleepily at her skirts, Beatrice went to her own room,
fearing to be alone with Robert. She was strangely restless, and
something seemed to hang over her like an indefinite, threatening fate.
Outside was the drowsy hum of midsummer, where the fairy folk of
the fields rubbed their wings together in the grass and the sun
transformed the river to a sheet of shining silver. Ronald came out,
took the good boat which belonged to the Fort, and pulled down-stream
with long, steady strokes. The river was low, but he passed the bar
with little difficulty and went on out into the lake.
Beatrice heard Robert singing happily to himself, but she could not
stay any longer where she was. She gathered up her sewing and climbed
out of the window, ungracefully but effectively, and went back to the
Fort.
Katherine saw her coming and smiled. That morning, with quick
intuition, she had read the secret in Ronald's heart, and suddenly
knew how much she cared for the boy who teased and tormented, but
never failed her if she needed him. In her own mind, she had written
down Beatrice as an unsparing coquette, and determined to take up the
cudgels in behalf of her victim.
The girl sewed nervously, breaking her thread frequently, but she kept
at it until Katherine said, very gently, "Bee, George cares for you."
"I know!" snapped Beatrice. Her thread broke again, and her hands
trembled so she could scarcely knot it.
"And Robert, too," said Katherine, presently.
"I know!"
"Well, dear, what are you going to do about it?"
"Cousin Kit," said the girl, angrily, "if you're going to lecture me,
I'm going back home." She folded up her work, but Mrs. Howard put a
restraining hand upon her arm.
"Don't, Bee. You know we talked about my trouble together--why can't
we talk about yours?"
"I haven't any trouble!" Beatrice's face was flushed, but her voice
was softer, and she seemed willing to stay.
"What are you going to do about it?" asked Katherine, once more.
"What can I do about it?" cried Beatrice, in a high key--"why, that's
simple, I'm sure! I can go to Mr. Ronald and say, 'Please, Mr. Ronald,
don't ask me to marry you, because I'm going to marry Cousin Rob. He
doesn't know it yet; in fact, he hasn't even asked me, but I'm going
to do it just the same.' Or, I might go to Cousin Rob and say, 'My
dear Mr. Forsyth, I hope you won't ask me to marry you, because I'm
going to marry Mr. Ronald, who hasn't asked me as yet. In fact," she
continued, with her temper rising, "I've about concluded that I won't
marry anybody!"
"Bee, dear, I'm only trying to help you--please don't be cross to me.
Which one do you care for?"
"Neither!" cried Beatrice, in a passion. "I don't care for
anybody, and I'm never going to be married. I'd be happy,
wouldn't I? Tied up--chained like a dog--take what my master gave
me--slave--drudge--bear whatever burden he saw fit to put upon me--eat
my heart out in loneliness--cry all day and all night for my lost
freedom. Marry? Not I!"
"Marriage means all those things, as you say," said Katherine, after
a silence; "but the bitterest part of it is that, when you find your
mate, you have to go. The call is insistent--there is no other way.
It means child-bearing and child loss--it means a thousand kinds
of pain that you never knew before,--loneliness, doubt, sacrifice,
misunderstanding,--and always the fear of change. Before, you think of
it as a permanent bond of happiness; later, you see that it is a yoke,
borne unequally. You marry to keep love, but sometimes that is the
surest way to lose it.
"They say," continued Katherine, with her face white, "that after the
first few years the storm and stress dies out into indifference, and
that happiness and content are again possible. But oh," she breathed,
"those few years! If man and woman must go through the world together,
shoulder to shoulder, meeting the same troubles, the same difficulties
and dangers, why, oh, why, didn't God make us of the same clay! We
are different in a thousand ways; we act in opposite directions,
from differing and incomprehensible motives--our point of view is
instinctively different, and yet we are chained. Sex against sex it
has been since the world began--sex against sex it shall be to the
bitter end!"
"Katherine!" sobbed Beatrice, "I know! That is what I am afraid of!
All the time I keep tight hold of myself to keep from caring, because
I dare not surrender. If I yield, I am lost. If I loved a man, he
could take me between his two hands and crush me--so; I should be so
wholly his!"
"Yes," said the other, bitterly, "and many times he will crush you,
just to see if he can--just to see that he has not lost his command of
you. Power is what he must have--power over your mind and body, your
heart and your soul--for every little unthinking action of yours, you
are held responsible before the bar of his justice. His justice," she
repeated, scornfully, "when he does not know what the word means. You
have a little corner of his life; you give him all of yours in return.
We are bound like slaves that never can be free--God made it so--and
we obey!"
There was a tense silence, then a step was heard upon the piazza, and
Katherine opened the door to her husband. Beatrice managed to wipe her
wet eyes upon her sewing before he saw that she was there.
"Well," said the Lieutenant, easily, sinking into a chair, "what have
you girls been doing?"
"Oh, we've just been talking," answered Katherine, diffidently.
"Talking, talking,--always talking," he continued. "What would women
do if they couldn't talk?"
"They'd burst," remarked Beatrice, concisely.
"I guess that's right," laughed the Lieutenant; "but you needn't fear
it will happen to you."
"You're mean to me," said Beatrice, gathering up her work, "so I'm
going home."
"Don't be in a hurry," put in Katherine.
"I haven't been--you don't want me to live here, do you?"
"We should be charmed," replied the Lieutenant, gallantly.
"I'll consider it," she said shortly. "Good-bye!"
"Tempestuous sort of a girl," commented Howard, as Beatrice
disappeared. "She'd play the devil with a man, wouldn't she?"
"That's exactly what she's doing."
"Which man?" asked Howard, curiously.
"Messrs. Ronald and Forsyth," answered Katherine, laughing. "How blind
and stupid you are!"
The Lieutenant's disposition had undergone outward improvement of
late. By common consent he and Katherine had started afresh, making no
reference to past disagreements, and he had wisely ceased to question
her motives or her actions. He let her understand that she might do as
she pleased in all things, and, naturally, she was not willing to take
undue advantage of her tacit freedom. Still, the old happiness and
confidence were gone.
* * * * *
Forsyth had the second watch that night and was sitting on the piazza,
listening for the warning guns of the pickets on the lookout for the
enemy, when Ronald came across the river.
"Thought you were here," he said, "so I came over, as I couldn't
sleep."
"I'm glad you did," returned Robert. "It gets pretty lonely out here
about three o'clock in the morning."
"Are you sleepy?"
"Not a bit."
"Who comes on next, and when?"
"Chan's watch begins at three--it isn't far from that now."
"Call him up, then, and let's go out awhile. I can't sit still."
"All right."
When the half-breed, muttering sleepily, was finally stationed on the
piazza, with instructions to listen for the guns, they walked out to
the river.
"Which way?" asked Robert.
"Either--I don't care."
The moon was shining brightly and the earth was exquisitely still. The
Fort, transfigured by its mantle of silver sheen, might have been some
moss-grown feudal castle, with a gleaming river at its gate. Ronald
walked rapidly, and his breath came in quick, short jerks.
"What's gone wrong with you?" asked Forsyth, kindly.
"I don't know how to put it," said the soldier, after a long silence,
"for I never was good at words; but,--well, you like Beatrice pretty
well, don't you?"
"Yes, don't you?"
"She's my heart's desire," said Ronald, thickly.
They were in the forest now, where the tall trees stood like the
pillars of a cathedral, and the moonlight, softened by the overhanging
branches, fell full upon Robert's face, white to the lips with pain.
"Old man," said Ronald, huskily, "one of us is going to get hurt."
"Yes," returned Forsyth, dully, "I suppose so--we can't both have her."
"Perhaps neither of us can, but--well, whatever happens--say, it isn't
going to interfere with our friendship, is it?"
"No!" cried Forsyth; "a thousand times, no!"
Ronald wrung the other's hand in a fierce grasp and choked down a lump
in his throat. "She's too good for me," he muttered; "I know that as
well as anybody, but, on my soul, I can't give her up!"
"She's for the man she loves," said Forsyth, "and for no other. She
wouldn't marry a king if she didn't love him."
"Well," sighed Ronald, "so be it. May the best man win!"
"For the sake of her happiness, yes. Of the three of us, only one will
suffer, unless you and I share it together; but even that is better
than for her to be unhappy. I haven't a chance with you--I know I
haven't; but you're my friend and--I--I love her so much, that I could
give her to you, if she loved you better than she loved me."
"Rob! Rob!" cried Ronald, "you're the only friend I've got,
but I don't need any more. Whatever happens, I'll hold fast to
that--there'll be something left for me after all!"