Chapter 24
Scalped

William sat among the tall stones. He hardly felt the deep cold that had crept around the bushes. Ice clicked as buds of frozen larches moved in the wind. The firs whispered. Pink bark of the rowan trees glowed in the snow.

These stones and trees hid d'Iberville's French and Indian soldiers two hundred years ago. In a place this stark and stony, time did not pass. It hung in caves and hollows. William had sat here in summer and seen the moon move over the land. He saw there was no time outside things moving.

That's all time is, he thought. Things passing by. I might see one of d'Iberville's Indians. Or a French soldier. Or the English man the Indians scalped.

His father had told him the English hid in these hills, trying to save the valley from the French. But they were fishermen, not soldiers. The French killed most and took the rest prisoner. His father said the one they scalped was called William like him. William Drew.

The moon rose, but William saw only the gold mist it made through the clouds. Shadows of stones moved over the moonlit snow and touched him. His burnt sticks showed the last glow of their skeletons. He did not feel cold.

William rested his back in a hollow in a rock. In shadows beyond the fire was another hollow. It was big enough for another man to sit in.

William still did not feel the deep cold. Half frozen, he imagined the man, William Drew, sat in the other hollow. He imagined the fire was still burning. They shared it. It was their fire.

Why couldn't the two men share fire, moon, rock, hill? Why couldn't he hear William Drew speak to him, if that was what the man wanted?