and the edges of the dried leaves beneath
their feet.
“How often do you go to Sarbough?”
Maralee asked Nash.
“Usually only once a month.”
“On the night of the full moon?”
He paused briefly before continuing
forward. “That’s right.”
“You don’t kill them, do you?” she
asked.
“What?” His hand moved to Carsha’s
shoulder and tugged her closer.
“The Wolves. Do you just frighten
them away, or what? You seem to think of
them as your friends. I mean they swarm
around your village unhindered.”
Carsha glanced back at her, eyes wide
with wonder. “I thought she didn’t know,”
she whispered.
Nash scooped Carsha up into his arms
and tossed her skywards. She giggled,
clinging to her small bundle of furs, and
Nash caught her again with one arm.
“Now is not the time to talk about
that,” he said to Maralee, before tossing
his niece into the air again.
Assuming he didn’t want to frighten
the girl with talk of Wolves, Maralee held
her questions for another time. Strangely,
when she was alone with him, she
couldn’t muster a logical question at all. It
was only when he wasn’t distractingly
close that her mind was able to function in
a coherent state.
“I could carry that for you,” she
offered, as Nash caught Carsha with his
free arm again.
She had meant his bundle of furs and
buckskin, but he handed the young girl to
her instead. “She does get heavy.”
Carsha wrapped her arms hesitantly
around Maralee’s neck and then after a
moment, buried her small face against her
neck. “You smell good today,” the girl
told her. “You smell like Uncle Nash.”
Maralee glanced at Nash. He was
smiling to himself as they continued down
the indiscernible path to Sarbough. When
they reached the edge of the village,
Maralee set Carsha back to her feet.
Before she straightened again, a posse of
men surrounded Nash. They raised
weapons menacingly in his direction.
CHAPTER 11
“Uncle Nash!” Carsha screamed, running
towards Nash with no concern for her
safety.
“Carsha, stay where you are,” Nash
ordered, before turning his attention to the
group of armed men. He had the look of a
cornered wolf, ready to fight for his life,
unarmed, if necessary. Carsha stopped
abruptly, but Maralee burst through the
crowd.
“What is the meaning of this?” she
asked angrily. She shoved several startled
men aside as she moved to stand beside
Nash.
“Miss Decatur, we thought you were
dead…or worse,” the innkeeper said.
“This is the missing young woman?” a
man gripping a scythe asked the innkeeper.
“That’s her,” the innkeeper agreed,
lowering his ax.
“She doesn’t look like she’s been
harmed in any way,” another man said. He
looked her over carefully.
Maralee was glad her cloak hid the
bloodstain on her shoulder.
“I’m perfectly safe,” Maralee assured
them. “I got lost in the forest and this man
directed me back here.”
“You would be smart to stay out of the
forest, Miss Decatur. It isn’t safe,” the
innkeeper said.
Many of the men in the group began to
return to their homes. “That was a bust,”
one of them commented.
“Nothing exciting ever happens around
here,” said another.
“She’s safe as long as she’s with me,”
Nash told the innkeeper. He continued to
give off the dangerous aura Maralee had
witnessed a few times the day before.
“Uncle
Nash?”
Carsha
said
uncertainly, glancing around at the few
men who were still standing by with their
improvised weapons.
“Everything’s fine,” Maralee assured
her. “It’s just a misunderstanding.”
tiny hand in his. He gave her a reassuring
smile and she huddled against his leg.
Maralee turned her attention to the
innkeeper then. “Are you serving breakfast
this morning?” she asked. “We’d like to
eat, if that would be all right.”
The innkeeper nodded, glancing at his
fellow villagers with a look of shame.
“Sorry to raise the alarm, fellows. When
she didn’t come back to the inn last night, I
couldn’t help but think the worst had
happened.”
“Gordon, you get loonier every year,”
one of the men proclaimed and the
remaining members of the posse scattered.
“I do appreciate your concern,”
Maralee said to the innkeeper and he
beamed.
“I haven’t had a young lady to look
after since me daughters married,” he
said. He turned his attention to Nash and
said,
“I
apologize
for
the
rude
welcoming.”
Nash nodded at him in acceptance, but
he was still tense and wary.
“Can we go home now?” Carsha
asked.
“Who’s this beautiful little girl?” the
innkeeper asked, smiling warmly at
Carsha.
The girl hid her face in the folds of
Nash’s long coat.
“Her name is Carsha,” Maralee told
the man. “She’s a bit shy.” Which was an
outright lie, but she could tell Carsha was
afraid and who could blame her after the
way the town’s people had greeted them.
“Is breakfast ready?”
“It won’t take long,” he said. “I’ll go
tell Phyllis you’re on your way and with
guests, too. She’ll be thrilled.”
When he was out of earshot, Maralee
turned to Nash. “Sorry about that.”
“It was not your doing,” he said
guardedly, and turned in the direction of
the mercantile. Carsha remained glued to
his side, pale faced and trembling.
“I’m sure they’ll both want to visit the
village regularly from now on,” Maralee
muttered to herself. She called after them
before they reached the end of the lane that
turned onto the main street. “Nash, I need
to go up to my room to get some coins. I’ll
meet you at the mercantile in a few
minutes.”
He nodded, indicating he’d heard her,
but didn’t turn to look at her. It seemed as
if he didn’t want anyone to realize they
were together. Maralee sighed forlornly
but trotted
off towards the inn without
confronting him. They could talk about this
later when they returned to his cabin and
he dropped his guard again.
She entered the inn and hurried up to
her room. The innkeeper followed her up
the stairs. He gave her a concerned look
when he caught up with her at the door to
her rented room.
“You’re not from around here, so you
don’t know about the Forest People, but
they aren’t like us.”
“That’s what I like about them.”
“You don’t understand. They aren’t
like us.”
Maralee had no tolerance for bigots.
She never discriminated against the
differing cultures of the various villages
she had protected from the Wolves and
she felt the Forest People—as the
innkeeper had referred to them—deserved
the same courtesy. “I’ll be checking out
after breakfast. I’ll settle my bill and pick
up my things then.”
“I’m only concerned for ye, girl. You
should think twice before getting mixed up
with them,” the innkeeper persisted.
“They are my guests, and if you cannot
treat them with the respect they deserve
then I will take my business elsewhere
and spread word about the unsavory way
you conduct your enterprise.” This was an
idle threat, but her tone did not belay her
bluff.
The innkeeper looked saddened by her
proclamation. “I won’t mention it again.”
Maralee opened a drawer and pulled
out her money pouch. It was uncommonly
light. Typically, she would have turned in
the carcasses of slain Wolves for their
hefty bounties. Unfortunately, Nash had
claimed the single Wolf she had killed that
month. She wondered fleetingly if he had
collected her bounty. She wasn’t crude
enough to ask him. He was allowing her to
stay under his roof. She considered it
payment rendered. She brushed past the
innkeeper, who was still eyeing her with
fatherly concern, headed down the stairs
and out of the inn to the mercantile.
When she arrived at the store, the
proprietor was looking over Nash’s
collection of animal hides, while Carsha
wandered the aisles, wide-eyed and
breathless with wonder. Nash watched his
niece, keeping half an eye on the merchant
as if unconcerned by the rotund man’s
diligent scrutiny of the items he offered for
trade.
“Fine quality as usual,” the man said,
glancing up at Nash, before turning a
nervous eye to a pad of paper he used for
his calculations. “Six coins each for the
buckskins and two for the rabbit. That
comes to…” He paused as he figured the
sum.
Maralee’s brow knotted. She came to
stand across the counter in front of the
sweating shopkeeper. “Six for buckskin?
Are they severely damaged?” Maralee ran
her hands over Nash’s fine suede pelts.
They were perfect, without an arrow hole
or a single bloodstain. The merchant
glanced at her, dark eyes bulging. “These
are worth twenty, easy,” Maralee said to
him. “You’ll probably resell them for
fifty.”
“I always sell them for six,” Nash
interrupted. He looked unconcerned by the
shopkeeper’s cheating.
“Then I’ll buy them from you for
twenty.”
She knew she didn’t have enough
money to cover the cost, but she saw the
glint of greed in the eyes of the paunchy,
balding merchant.
Nash’s forehead crinkled. “Why? I’d
give them to you, if you wanted them.”
Maralee gave him cautionary look.
“I’ll buy them from you for twenty-two,”
she offered. She then glanced at the
merchant as if concerned he would outbid
her.
“I’ll go as high as twenty-five,” the
man said. He gave Maralee a very dirty
look, but smiled hopefully at Nash.
“Twenty-five?” Nash murmured.
“I can’t beat that price,” Maralee said,
hoping
she
looked
convincingly
disappointed.
Nash seemed to come out of some
daze and looked at the shopkeeper.
“Twenty-five it is.”
“And how much for these rabbit furs?”
Maralee asked, reaching for one of the
soft pelts.
The merchant snatched it out of her
hand. “We’ve already settled on five each.
Correct?” he prompted Nash.
Nash nodded. Maralee hid a smile.
“Maybe we can make a deal,” she said to
Nash, who looked utterly bewildered by
her fur-trading savvy. “If you bring all
your furs and hides to me, I can always
give you twenty-two for buckskins and
four for rabbit. Can you get bearskin?”
He nodded, and she could tell he
wanted to question her strange behavior,
but suspected her ulterior motive was
somehow beneficial to him.
“I’ll give you forty-five for any
bearskins you could bring me.”
“Look, miss,” the merchant said. “Who
do you think you are, coming in here and
trying to strike a deal with my best
supplier? We have already agreed to
twenty-five for buckskin, five for rabbit
fur
and
forty-five…er… fifty
for
bearskins!”
Maralee pretended she didn’t hear the
merchant’s tirade. She continued to talk to
Nash as if they were alone. “If you supply
me, I’ll give you a binding contract. You
won’t have to haggle over the prices. I’ll
guarantee them. You can trust me.” She
jabbed her thumb in the shopkeeper’s
direction. “You can’t trust him. He’s
trying to swindle you.”
Nash glanced from Maralee to the
merchant. “I’ve always traded with this
man.”
“And there is something to say for
loyalty,” the merchant, who was sweating
profusely by this time, said. “I could…I
guess I could…write up a contract.”
“That would be acceptable,” Nash
said.
Maralee
scoffed
with
feigned
displeasure. “If he ever breaks your
contract, promise you’ll become my
supplier.”
Nash nodded, glancing at the merchant,
who was already scribing a basic contract
on a piece of paper.
“This contract states I am his sole
buyer,” the merchant said, signing the
completed contract with a flourish. He
gave Maralee a self-satisfied look.
Maralee snatched the contract out of
his hands and l
ooked it over to make sure
he hadn’t put any clauses or stipulations in
it. She found it was in perfect order. “So it
does,” she commented and handed the
paper to Nash who tucked it into the
pocket of his coat.
The merchant carefully recalculated
his purchase total and handed Nash a
receipt.
“He’ll take cash,” Maralee told the
man.
“What are you; his mother?”
“You know he doesn’t know how
much those pelts are worth. How long
have you been swindling him?” Maralee
asked.
To
avoid
answering
her
blunt
question, the shopkeeper went to his till
and removed one hundred and twenty five
in hard currency. Nash accepted the
money, hiding his look of disbelief by
ducking his head. Maralee smiled. He’d
probably never seen that kind of money
before. And thanks to her quick thinking,
he would never have to worry about it
again.
“I need…um…forks,” Nash told the
man.
“We have a fine set of silverware that
just
came
in
from Kinsford,” the
shopkeeper said, greed glowing in his
eyes again.
Nash’s eyes widened. “Silver?” He
shook his head vigorously.
The man’s face fell. “Too rich for your
blood? Well, we do have ordinary, steel
forks.”
“Those will do,” Nash said, “and we
need a new shirt for the lady. And what
else, Maralee?”
“Five pounds of potatoes. A pound of
oats. A pound of dried beans. Five pounds
of flour. A tin of yeast. Two pounds of
sugar…” Her list of basic staples
continued. While the merchant gathered
their wares, Nash wandered off to assist
Carsha in choosing something to trade for
her rabbit skins.
Their large pile of purchases was
nearly complete when Carsha came to the
counter holding a set of shiny barrettes
shaped like dragonflies.
“Show him your rabbit skins,” Nash
prompted, and Carsha handed her bundle
to the merchant.
The man glanced at Maralee and then
smiled at the child as if to prove he wasn’t
really such a bad person. He removed the
leather thong holding the furs together and
unfolded them. He ran his hands over the
three perfect pelts.
“These are exceptional,” he said to the
wide-eyed, little girl. “Did you hunt these
yourselves?”
“My daddy took me on my first hunt.
He…he—”