Apalachee

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

to think of what must have happened to his friends at Billy Bray’s. And to Thomas Nairne and Sam Warner. And to John Grissom. And to twenty other men he could name. And of what might be happening now to the planters up and down the river. Even to Sam Clutterbuck and Henry Hawkins . But not to Charity. Thank God in heaven for that. She was safe in Charles Town. No need to worry about her. Only about his lung. And this damned boat. Would they sit here all day until the Indians came? He opened his eyes. There were black people all around him, tightly packed. He could barely glimpse the sky. He raised his hand and tapped at a man’s leg, but so weakly that he failed to get his attention. ‘‘We should be shoving off,’’ he murmured, too quietly to be heard. He closed his eyes again, all sound receding, darkness flowing over him like water. 331 chapter thirty-nine A dog barked in the first light of dawn, rousing Lucia from sleep. She rolled onto her back and opened her eyes. The kitchen loft was dark, only a faint gray light coming up from below. ‘‘What dog was that?’’ Doll said from her mat. ‘‘Not one of ours.’’ ‘‘Did you hear it, too?’’ Lucia asked softly, rising up on her elbow. She had not heard it clearly herself, coming as it had in her sleep, waking her with only an impression that must have been shaped by her dreaming. But now it came again, and the sound jolted through her. She had never expected to hear that sound again. She sat upright, then rose to her knees, her hand clasped over her mouth. Doll sat up and looked at her. ‘‘What is it?’’ she demanded. Lucia shook her head, unable to answer. She rose to her feet. The dog barked again, and she turned to go toward the stairs. ‘‘Carlos,’’ she said softly. ‘‘It is Carlos.’’ Having said it, she grew calm. She went down into the kitchen, thinking clearly, going neither too fast nor too slowly. She pulled open the door, and standing in the doorway in the gray darkness, she cupped her hands around her mouth and gave the answering call, a barking sound that trailed off into a tremulous howl, just as she had done at Salvador’s camp so many years before. Silence followed. Doll came down into the kitchen and stood behind her, peering out into the darkness. ‘‘Maybe it was only a dog,’’ said Doll. ‘‘It sounded like a dog.’’ Lucia shook her head, waving her hand to silence her. She watched the yard, peering into the shadows of the great oaks with their Spanish moss hanging motionless in the stillness. Then she saw a movement. She stepped forward to see more clearly, a shadow visible for a moment, then gone, then visible again. Then another. He was not alone. She walked slowly into the yard, moving toward the dark shapes of the men. There were others now, many more than she expected. Her head was clear and calm and she tried to think what it meant that so many men were with him. It had to be a war party. What else could it be here in the dawn? And yet she had always imagined that he would come alone and they would run together, just the two of them, to some safe place that he would know. As the distance closed, she could see the men’s faces, contorted and strange because of the paint that was on them, red and black paint, like the slave-catchers in the woods outside San Augustı́n. She stopped, suddenly afraid, her hands clenched tightly at her sides. She searched for Carlos, her eyes going from one man to another until at last she saw him moving toward her through the trees, his face masked in paint, but his form and his way of walking familiar. She stood and stared, joyless and afraid. Dismayed, she shook her head, unable to speak. He put out his hand and she reached for it and gripped it, finding it familiar and yet strange. She searched his face, but in the dim light she could not see his eyes. Neither she nor he spoke any words, and now their hands parted. She looked past him at his men, who paused restlessly behind him, guns in their hands and hatchets in their belts. Doll...