The Cry of the Wolf Chapter 12

They sat down to a hearty meal of roasted root vegetables and venison, Adelaide and her children much too hungry to be picky.

Guillaume stood, leading those gathered around the table in a blessing over the food. The meal wasn't much, but it was sufficient.

"...May this food that You have provided, give us sustenance that we may be able to serve You better. Give us the strength to stand for You even on difficult days.

We would pray that You would be with our brethren back home. Give them courage and come to their aid speedily. Thank You for each of our guests gathered around our table. Bless each one. Guide their footsteps, and may they know You, our Great Redeemer Who is life everlasting. It is in Your precious and holy name we pray, Amen."

Guillaume brought his long-winded prayer to a close just as the steam spiraling from the vegetables dissipated. It would either be the perfect temperature or frigid, Isabella supposed, waiting until the giant of a man had pulled out his seat, joining them.

"Eat up!" He grinned, his chuckle, resounding.

They didn't have to be asked twice.

Marguerite's eyes sparkled as she picked up her fork, "They are one of us."

Guillaume glanced up, his eyes widening.

"Well, then you are doubly welcome at our table. It is good for you to have a friend Maggie," he beamed, glancing down at her calico-covered belly that had only just begun to show.

Women needed each other, it was just a fact.

"Do you live nearby?" He turned his attention back to Adelaide.

"I'm honestly not sure," Adelaide replied truthfully.

Would this gracious couple believe she had been thrust into their world via a gust of an oscillating fan? At the moment, Adelaide knew very little. Instead, she quickly changed the topic.

"I was surprised to see a priest, a Jesuit no less, so adamant about missionary work."

"Ah yes, you mean Jean de Brebeuf? He is passionate about the savages, there is no doubting that. I cannot fault him although, as you know, there is bad blood between our religions.

I am certain that he wouldn't hesitate to turn against us should we ever stand against the ruling that we must attend mass, regardless of our beliefs. Yet, in his burden for souls, he puts many of us to shame."

"Although," Adelaide frowned, "If they do not hear the truth of the Gospel, they are just as lost. I think it may even be worse as they will have a false sense of security believing they are truly saved, when in fact, it is a lie."

Guillaume nodded. Adelaide was correct and it was something he had contemplated as well.

"The issue is that those who know the truth are fewer in number and are yet to answer the call of God to reach the lost. If those with the truth will not go..."

"The fields are white unto harvest, but the laborers are few," Marguerite murmured.

Guillaume ran his hand through his thick, chestnut brown hair.

"Very few have ventured far, and those that have-"

"They were never heard from again," Marguerite leaned forward, sharing a haunting secret. "It is very dangerous to bring Christ into the woods."

"Jean de Brebeuf is right, My Love, someone has to."

The room was unusually quiet as each was left with their thoughts.

****

Chief Long Knife sat on the shadowy grass as the first shards of light permeated the trees promising a warm day. He didn't notice or care. Tormented, he prayed to the only one who could do anything to help him. In a moment of weakness, Long Knife allowed his Creator to see what others never would: Vulnerability.

Chief Long Knife stood as he heard the soft rustle of his people stirring within the wigwam. An air of solemnity enveloped them as the men prepared to go on the warpath.

Gentle Doe would be found, and if not… He didn't want to complete the thought, refusing to lose hope. There would be a price to pay for his great loss.

The men assembled, paint smeared on their faces.

Intimidating.

Following Chief Long Knife's signal, they entered the woods in search of their enemy.

The hunted had officially become the hunter.

****

Chief Long Knife acknowledged beyond a shadow of a doubt he would never see his wife again, and in turn, never gaze upon the face of their child. Battling his rage, he concentrated on the clearing

Trespassers.

The air was hushed save for the lone cry of a whippoorwill.

On the signal, painted warriors vaulted from the trees encompassing the log cabin. The inhabitants would be unsuspecting, and now, it was much too late.

Emitting a piercing war cry, the warriors didn't falter in their goal, seizing those who sought to escape.

There was no place to flee, no hiding place accessible as their homes were set ablaze. Those who managed to make it to the perimeter of the forest were captured as well. Horror and hysteria infused the atmosphere.

Desperation.

Adelaide clasped her daughters' wrists, uncertain where to run, yet adrenaline ignited her veins.

A split second later, a warrior wrapped his arm around her waist, wrenching her away from her children.

Adelaide screamed, gouging her captor's arms until she drew blood, kicking him with her legs, yet it was as though he were made of steel, unflinching beneath her best efforts.

Chief Long Knife glanced down at Adelaide's ebony head a moment before he secured her hands together, leading her along with the other captives toward their canoes, the children restrained as well. Draping Isabella over his bronze shoulder, he prodded the two older children ahead.

With tears blinding her eyes, Adelaide retained her gaze on her children. If she cooperated, would they be spared? It was worth the risk, the alternative something she wouldn't think of. Not now. Not ever.

By the second, it was becoming painfully clear there was nowhere to run

Maggie was slightly more fortunate, knowing the layout of their homestead.

Guillaume reached for his rifle, willing and capable of protecting his wife against the unexpected raid, yet he was no match for the band of warriors, noticeably outnumbered.

A tomahawk raised over his head, Guillaume knew the end had come. He watched in his peripheral vision as Maggie was dragged from her hiding place within the jagged limestone rock.

Guillaume prayed the savages would show his bride mercy, at that moment incapable of viewing them as souls, only barbarians. If they harmed her…

There was no time to think as he was bludgeoned with the backside of the raised hatchet, his world turning black.

The warriors wouldn't leave any bodies behind. What became of them, however, was another story.

They slipped away as soundlessly as they had appeared, fading into the shadows. Their canoes skimmed over the tranquil water as they withdrew from hostile territory.

The Wyandotte Nation did not pursue war, but they would strike back if provoked.

Looking out over their canoes bearing captives, they were pacified.