chapter Seven
As it turned out, Liberty arrived home moments after Nathaniel went topside to patrol, his nightly routine. She breathed a little easier with the knowledge he would be busy. She didn’t have a clue exactly what she would say to him anyway, or even if she’d tell him what she and Becky had planned. He was open-minded only to a point; he would say chasing ghosts crossed a line.
She passed time in Sage’s room. It was the smallest of the five chambers and had an igloo-shape to it. When Sage was younger, she’d colored on the walls, created rows of penguin families around the base. Here and there, faint chalk lines had survived somehow.
Liberty crossed to the back wall, where stacked bins held her daughter’s belongings. She took out clothes and cosmetics, touched them, held them to her nose and breathed in their scents, then put it all back.
A few decorations still lingered. A purple beanbag chair, which she sat in now. A round black tote filled with every size of ball, a long mirror leaned against the curved rock wall. Next to it was another bin, filled with Sage’s books and lessons.
She pulled it across the chamber floor to where she sat and fished through the papers and notebooks.
She lifted up a couple of binders and found one of the first reports Sage had written as a teenager. She pushed the bin away with her feet, settled back in the beanbag chair, and opened the notebook.
The report was entitled “My Sasquatch History” and below that, simply, “by, Sage Brewster”
She read the first bit of it.
The sixty men, women, and children, established a camp on the western banks of what would later become known as Roaring Creek. After three months of crossing unforgivable terrain, facing the unknown at every crest and valley, the men and their wives sat around a large fire and counted their blessings.
The children ranged in age from two to twelve years old, and slept nearby, just inside the forest’s edge. They snuggled together for warmth beneath a large rudimentary lean-to constructed of pine boughs, vine, and sod. A couple of the girls developed a sickness the previous week, and deep, mad dog coughs penetrated through the laughter and merriment of the campfire. Nobody got up to check on the sick children, though, not with the spirits and cheer running plentiful.
Two nameless Pequot Indians, refugees of the massacre of 1643, sat together near the fire, but not as participants. They’d been brought along as slaves, to serve as guides to the group, and kept to the fringes of the travelers’ circle. The only possession they carried other than the clothes on their backs, was the vow of freedom at the end of their journey.
The group intended to shelter near the creek through winter and then, in the spring, break camp and head southwest. They believed the woods, located a stone’s throw from the creek and dense with evergreen and wildlife, would protect and sustain them for the next several months.
Two of the men, Joshua Thomas and Henry Fleming, considered themselves leaders of the group and laughed the loudest. Responsible for robbing the first U.S. Mint in Plymouth two years previous, they’d made out with four sacks of silver pine tree shillings.
Two of the other men in their party had acted as lookouts, Jeremiah Brewster and Samuel Flood, and therefore were each promised a share. All four men brought their wives, children and other various members of their families, and each man would get one bag of silver to divvy up when they got to the Promised Land they’d heard so much about.
The Indians intentionally encouraged the colonists to stay beside the creek because they knew a handful of their people, other refugees, had established in a valley just beyond the woods, and waited for them. First one, and then the other, took the opportunity when matters became especially raucous and slipped away into the shadows. They probably would have gotten away unseen, except the smaller of the two, the one missing an eyebrow, tripped over a pitcher as he made off with a bag of silver.
Liberty gave a wan smile, it was almost perfect. Except the smaller Indian hadn’t been missing an eyebrow, but rather an eye. Just as Sarah had told it to her, she’d passed the legend on to her own daughter.
She skimmed the rest.
The colonists, both the men and the women, gave chase. Grabbed up weapons, followed the rogue Indians through the forest, down into the valley, and launched a frenzied attack against the tiny establishment. Outnumbered, the Indian tribe was slaughtered in swift fashion. Afterward, the colonists raided what little the Indian tribe had for possessions. With blood lust and greed in their eyes, they gathered up fur blankets, calf skins filled with sweet wine, dried meat, and along with the recovered silver, hauled the supplies back to their camp.
When they arrived, Joshua’s wife, Constance, discovered a young Indian woman had escaped somehow and made it inside their campsite.
They surrounded her, kicked and stabbed her countless times with knives that still dripped with her kinsmen’s blood. Without remorse, they left the body where it crumpled to the ground, a short distance from the campfire.
They rejoiced at their good fortune. Laughed, rolled around on the fur and drank themselves full of the tribes’ spirits until they collapsed in a state of oblivion. Each believed they were dreaming when the young Indian woman rose from the dead.
They heard the sound of a drum, and watched in mild amusement as the wounds in her chest gaped and puckered with every beat. She flashed in and out of their sight. Quick as they’d turn, she’d appear in front of another. She began to sway, a most provocative dance, and sang words they didn’t understand. But her voice, a soothing harmony, calmed their fears.
Behind them, the woods burned, but they saw it as an incredible sunset. Fire flowed down the river and they yearned to jump into the current. Their children screamed, a joyous hymn to their ears, as the fire reached and then engulfed the lean-to. As if they’d imbibed on too much goodness and their bodies couldn’t handle another minute of it, they each fell into a deep slumber, dreaming of a Promised Land.
Constance--the first to come to--found herself surrounded by beasts. She thought it was a nightmare at first, until she stood up and saw her own arm, large and covered in fur. With trepidation, she looked down at the rest of herself and screamed. Only it came out a roar and woke the other beasts. Amid a flurry of fear and chaos, they began to attack one another.
There were a few casualties before they eventually scattered. Some fled to the woods, others down the creek and into the water. All sought answers, but none were found. Over the span of days, they came to the realization they’d been changed, cursed somehow, and the survivors banded together for comfort.
Later in winter, when they stumbled upon a cave, they discovered they transformed back into human form when they went below the ground’s surface. They searched far and wide for other caves and, over the years, established settlements in several caverns.
They mourned the loss of their children, eaten up with guilt and shame. Of both, what they did, and failed to do. Over time, they had more children, likewise cursed, likewise banished to earthen hells.
Liberty shut the book, placed it back into the bin, pulled up the collar of her sweatshirt to absorb her tears and got up from the bean bag. She blew out the candle and exited just in time to hear Nathaniel arrive home.
The echo from the hatch sounded and she retreated to the guest chamber across the corridor, no desire to bump into him.
She’d barely made it to the cot when he poked his head inside. “You got a minute?”
She shrugged. “Sure.”
He stepped inside, but stayed near the doorway, standing solely in a pair of flannel boxers and suede slippers. “I stopped at the farmhouse to fill Mitch in. Let him know Katie and them left right away.”
Chilled, Liberty pulled the quilt up around her shoulders. Part of the Sasquatch curse was general good health. She was never cold, but it seemed like ever since his sister showed up, her health had deteriorated. Stress caused all kinds of quirks for the Sasquatch.
“He doing okay?” she asked. “Did he have anything new to report?”
Nathaniel motioned to the lawn chair next to the door. “Do you mind?”
“Go ahead.” She tossed him a throw blanket from her cot.
He laid it over the plastic and sat. “Thanks. He’s the same. He sent an email to the guy who sent the picture disputing the validity of it. He’s hoping to buy some time before he has to give in and post it.”
Mitch authored a popular website, reportedly to keep track of Sasquatch sightings. More beneficially, it kept her and Nathaniel aware of search party schedules.
She changed the subject, afraid she might let something slip about Adrian, “Did he show you the slideshow?”
“No.” Nathaniel looked down at his feet, crossed his ankles, then uncrossed them. “I just stopped in to update him like he asked, and he seemed pretty tired so I didn’t stay long.”
“Yeah, maybe some other time.” It would have to be some other time really soon, though.
She bristled. Small talk was a complete waste of time, dancing around the important stuff. She faked a yawn and reclined.
“Okay, well I’m going to get a bite to eat.” He got the hint. Standing up, he brought the blanket over and laid it across her legs. “Stay warm.”
Stay sane would be better advice. Liberty dimmed the lantern and shut her eyes, willed a deep sleep to knock her out.
Liberty slept off and on, visions of ancestors and butchers and long walks with guarded escorts permeated her dreams. She awoke to the smell of a cook fire, thankful it was finally time to go. Nathaniel lay back on the futon he’d built in the sitting chamber, reading an almanac or some other earthy magazine. He looked up when she entered.
“I’m leaving,” she said.
He nodded.
“Becky wants to rearrange the kennel setup for supplies she’s bringing in. I promised I’d go in and help.” Liberty felt the need to explain, and it wasn’t a complete lie. They had put it on the to-do list. It just wasn’t on tonight’s list.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Okay then, I’ll pass on breakfast. Maybe Becky and I can get a head start.” Yes. That sounded believable.
He looked back down at his magazine. “See ya.”
Great. As she headed toward the vestibule, she realized she’d broken out in a sweat. She wiped her upper lip where the droplets had formed. How he hadn’t seen through the story, was beyond her. All she knew for sure was she better have good news to report back after she met with Adrian. At least then the lies wouldn’t have been in vain.