The Wood's Edge by Lori Benton

Author:Lori Benton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Crown Publishing Group
Published: 2015-04-20T16:00:00+00:00

20

Thunder Moon 1772

Since his father’s leaving, it had fallen to Two Hawks to provide meat for his mother and to trap for winter furs. Now spring had come, and he must bring in deerskins for trade as well as meat. That was why he woke on a mist-shrouded, rain-dampened morning in the hunting camp he’d made for himself, instead of in the woods near the Aubrey farm, where he wanted to be.

It made his chest tight, thinking of Anna Catherine coming across the creek to look for him, so he tried to put her from his mind. He thought instead of his empty belly and what he must do to fill it. He thought of his mother waiting. He thought of the new rifle he’d gotten by trading some of the furs his mother prepared that winter past. At last he could hunt with something besides arrows; Stone Thrower had taken his gun with him when he left Kanowalohale. Game was so scarce even so, they rarely had any meat, and once again the summer crops hadn’t produced enough to see them through the winter.

His rage against his father had cooled to ashes. If he could, he would go and find his father and beg him to return. But he couldn’t go. He had to get a deer while he still had strength left to do it.

He began a prayer, soft as the mist draping the budding forest sloping away in tangled aisles from his camp. He prayed for good hunting and steady hands so his dwindling supply of lead and powder wouldn’t be wasted. He prayed for there to be something to kill. He’d take a turkey and be glad, never mind he needed deerskins almost as much as he needed meat.

Two Hawks was no longer certain to whom he prayed. It was a muddle now, which god was the true Great Spirit and how a man ought to pray. As the mist drifted and his nose ran with the chill, he said the words a brave hunter should say, but the heart in him was curled up cold and afraid.

He broke his camp in the lee of a downed tree. He still had a little parched cornmeal in a pouch. He ate a handful standing by the place he’d slept, wanting to gulp it all. He drank from a nearby spring, much water to make himself feel full. As he wiped his mouth, he thought of his mother praying for his success. Praying to Jesus. He didn’t know if it would help, but the thought gave him a spark of warmth. Enough to face the day.

He made sure he’d taken up all he’d lain down with—shot bag, blanket, bow, quiver—then gripped the rifle and started out.

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