Free Flight of the Sparrow by Amy Belding Brown Page A

until the troops that her husband promised come to their rescue. She wishes she knew where Joss and Marie are. She has not seen them since they were marched across the field out of Lancaster.
    She lies down again and works her fingers into the thick knot at the back of her neck. Slowly, she begins to loosen it. When an Indian looks in her direction, she closes her eyes and opens her fingers, feigning sleep. She works at the knot for a long time, but cannot free herself. Her captor has tied it with such cunning that her only escape is death.
    •   •   •
    T he dancing and chanting last through the night. Mary lies on the rock next to Sarah, covering them both with her cloak, trying not to move. She remembers the biblical account of Joseph and his captivity in Egypt. How God protected him and raised him up. After some time she sinks into a fitful sleep.
    When she wakes, the sky has lightened, shining like a gray pearl. Her legs and shoulders ache and the wound in her side throbs. She lifts the cloak and looks at Sarah. Her eyes are closed and she makes no sound, but her cheeks are flushed, and when Mary kisses her forehead, she feels the dry heat of her fever. She sits up but Sarah does not wake. She is as limp as a doll on the cold granite. Mary saysher name, praying for strength. But there is no one to give her any comfort, except the Lord. And He seems very far away.
    She thinks of the English-speaking Indian, wonders where he has gone. Perhaps she could prevail on him to help. He is so well-spoken he must have lived among Englishmen for some time. Perhaps he is a Praying Indian, one of John Eliot’s converts. Mary knows that the minister in Roxbury has converted many heathen natives, organizing them into small villages in the wilderness where only Christian Indians live.
    Embers glow in the fire pit. The dark forms of sleeping Indians lie scattered nearby. Some have begun to move around. A stocky Indian approaches her, a wide-shouldered man with dark eyes. He gestures to Sarah. “Is very sick?”
    Mary has heard it rumored that some tribes eat English children in lewd ceremonies, even murder their own offspring if they show signs of weakness. “She is strong,” Mary says. “She will soon be well.” The Indian reaches down and flips the edge of the cloak off Sarah’s head and shoulders. He touches her neck with two fingers. His fingers are black with grime. Mary feels a shiver of revulsion when she sees them set against Sarah’s fair skin. Is he going to choke her?After a moment he withdraws his hand. He frowns but says nothing. When he leaves, Mary expels a breath she did not know she was holding.
    She gets to her feet and pulls the cloak over Sarah again. The sun is rising. She walks as far as her rope allows and relieves herself behind a bush. As she stands up, she turns east and, through a gap in the trees, glimpses far below the hillside what remains of Lancaster: a scattering of burned houses, dark smudges strewn in the dooryards. Smudges that she knows are the bodies of people she loves.
    When Mary returns to the rock, her cloak lies in a heap on the ground and Sarah is gone.
    •   •   •
    S he runs back and forth, as far as the rope will allow, crying her daughter’s name over and over. She knows Sarah is not strong enough to crawl away on her own. Someone has taken her. Mary falls to her knees and begins to scrub the stone with her hands, as if she could pry Sarah from its icy interior.
    She senses someone behind her, and then feels a hard hand on her shoulder. She looks up at the tall, English-speaking Indian.
    Mary stares at him as his hand moves to the deerskin pouch that hangs from his belt. He takes out a knife.
    She cannot help herself—she cries out a pitiful mewling bleat, like a lamb.
    “Do not fear,” he says.
    But she is afraid. She is terrified. He points the knife at her throat and Mary is certain she is about to die. The sorrow that covers her like a shroud is not for her