Mavis was standing at the window when she saw Newota in front of the Flemings’ home, sitting bareback and leading another Indian pony. It was clear and chilly, with less than a quarter of a waxing moon. She had been watching since shortly after midnight, and it was still at least an hour before first daylight. Dressed warmly, she picked up a small bundle of possessions, slipped through the door, and joined the young Indian. Without a word, he took the bundle and helped lift her onto the small pinto. There was a serape of muted colors draped around his shoulders, but she could still see his bare legs and thought briefly of Kindred’s unsuccessful efforts to demonstrate an equivalent immunity to the cold of winter.

She had been in a quandary since learning that she was pregnant. At first she was filled with joy, knowing that she might bear Ethan’s child, but then she was flooded with apprehension about the inevitable reaction of the Quakers to a woman obviously guilty of adultery. The mildest punishment would be public humiliation and hours or days in stocks in the public square. She knew of others who had been whipped or held underwater until unconscious. Miscarriages were a common result of such abuse and were considered to be a proper retribution of the Lord. There were no friends to whom she could turn, and she had finally remembered Newota. Perhaps he would take her to his village until after she gave birth.

They moved westward through the deserted streets of the town, not stopping until they were clear of any houses. Then she called softly to him. He stopped and she let her pony join his.

“I am grateful that you have come for me.”

“I am thankful to be of service, but need to know where you wish to go.”

In her usual frank manner, she replied, “Newota, although I am without a husband, I am going to have a baby, perhaps in five months. I cannot stay with the Quakers, and need to go where I can be safe until then.”

“You would be welcome with my people, but the village no longer exists and there are constant raids that drive us from one place to another. My mother has been killed, and my own duties require that I stay with Chief Emistisiguo, who also travels often. I could take you to Savannah, but it is increasingly under siege. St. Augustine is another option. You may make the decision and I will comply.”

Mavis had been considering her choices for three or four weeks and had decided on Newota’s village as her preference. St. Augustine was extremely distant and under British control. Although she knew no one there, however, that might be an advantage under the circumstances. Then, almost without thinking, she asked, “Do you know the Watauga Valley?”

“Yes, I have carried messages to that area several times to Indian leaders.”