Free Columbine by MIRANDA JARRETT Page A

first time Asa had called her anything more than “girl.” Dianna stared up at him in wonder. He was defending her honor.
    There was no other way of looking at it. He believed her a lady, and even here in this rough inn in the wilderness, he was insisting on her being treated like one. The questions of what her tasks would be or who Mercy was, seemed suddenly insignificant. She would have her new start after all. Asa’s unexpected gesture warmed her more than the fire, and she couldn’t help smiling shyly as she slid onto the bench beside him for supper.
    They ate beans steeped in molasses and laced with salt pork, and drank cider that was thick and sweet.
    When at last the wooden trenchers were cleared away and the table and benches pushed back, each man wrapped himself in his blanket or coat and lay down on the dirt floor. Reluctantly Dianna joined them, doubting she’d sleep at all among the snoring and wheezing bodies.
    But almost at once the black woman was shaking her awake, and Dianna gulped down her breakfast as she hurried to meet Asa. She found him by the river, loading his bundled belongings into a long, bark canoe.
    With him was a wiry young man with waist length hair like cornsilk and pale eyes that were oddly blank.
    “We’ll make our own course from here,” explained Asa.
    “I’ve stops to make along the way, but we should reach Wickhamton in three days’ time.
    This ‘ere be Jeremiah, and he’ll paddle stern.”
    The pale young man stared at Dianna, but did not return her smile, and inwardly she shivered at the emptiness of his expression.
    “Y’must not mind Jeremiah,” said Asa.
    “He’s not full right with his thoughts. When he was a lad, the Abenakis took him captive. Six years he lived with ‘em, until his people finally paid the ransom. More red than white he was by then, an’ kind of daft in the head. But he’s good with a paddle an’ don’t talk overmuch.” “How terrible,” murmured Dianna, but she still found Jeremiah’s staring eyes disturbing.
    “Thank God the Indians are gone now.”
    Asa snorted.
    “That’s what ye Londoners may believe, but here, we know otherwise. Oh, Indians don’t go infer showin’ their faces unless they’ve a reason, an’ these days, they’ve kept to themselves, mostly, ‘cepting for all that trouble at Deerfield, of course.
    Sorry sad business, that. But there be good Indians an’ bad, same as white folk, an’ if I knew for certain what riled ‘em, I’d be sittin’ in Boston with the other periwig-lords.”
    “Are there Indians at Wickhamton?”
    Asa shrugged nonchalantly.
    “Nay, not t’bring ye any grief. I’d worry on other things afore Indians, like bears an’ snakes an’ wildcats an’ such.” He fastened the last bundle in place with rawhide straps.
    “Now get ye in, Mistress Annie, else we stand here a-jawin’ ‘til midsummer.”
    Not at all reassured, Dianna climbed into the center of the canoe. Of course, she’d read about Indians-Asa was fight about Londoners loving every thrilling story about dangerous savages in the wilderness, especially those vanquished by true-hearted Englishmen—but she hadn’t dreamed they’d be part of her new home, any more than she’d considered the string of wild animals he’d named. Now behind every tree or rock, she was convinced she saw an Indian lurking, or a bear at the very least, and she was relieved when Jeremiah shoved the canoe into the water and they floated gently into the river.
    As Asa promised, they reached their destination after three days of travelling. At nightfall, they pulled the canoe onto the bank as they had the two previous nights, but this time Asa and Dianna left Jeremiah behind and headed off into the woods. After months of inactivity, Dianna was in no condition to keep pace with Asa, and even though he willingly paused for her to rest, she was out of breath and the stitch in her side refused to go away. Although it was April, snow still covered most of