The American Bride - By Karla Darcy Page 0,15
Richard, you may lead for today."
The sullen expression lifted from the boy's face and Cara wondered if part of Richard's problem was simply that no one paid him any attention. All boys liked to show off their knowledge and if there was no one to impress, it might indeed make him sulky and taciturn.
"If I can't lead, I won't go," Belin screamed.
"You may suit yourself, Belin," Cara sighed. "However if you do not go with us you will have to remain in your room until we return. Now that you have a governess again it is time you learned to follow some rules."
Sad brown eyes lifted and Cara flinched at the searing pain they reflected. She noted all the signs of impending rebellion as Belin's chin jutted mutinously forward. In a moment Cara knew she would be involved in a full-blown battle of wills she was far from certain she could win.
"I so wish you would come with us, Belin," Cara ventured in her most coaxing manner. "I forgot last night to tell you about the cat that we had on board ship. I thought if we found a good spot to rest I could tell you about her and, of course, the kittens. In fact you could pick out a different spot to eat the lunch that Mrs. Clayton has made for us."
Belin brightened at the idea and agreed to accompany them.
By the end of the morning they had covered a great deal of ground. Cara felt a little like Scheherazade, spinning endless tales whenever there was a sign of restlessness in either of the children. On the edge of the lake she sat and told them the promised story of the cat and the kittens. It was a tale full of near disasters she made up out of whole cloth. The stories kept the recalcitrant Belin at her side, eager for more. Even Richard left behind his usual bored expression hearing the exciting adventures in a new land. However it was the Indian accounts, complete with battles and narrow escapes that captured his total fascination.
"Can't we pretend we're Indians, Miss Farraday?" Belin pleaded.
"Of course, we can," Cara laughed, pleased that she had managed to stimulate their imagination.
"We'll need some feathers and some axes and some arrows," Richard said, intent on a realistic enactment of mayhem. "Come on, Belin. I know just where to look."
Cara watched as the children raced back and forth in the woods looking for anything that could be considered a possible weapon. With a final whoop of triumph, Richard raced to Cara's side, proudly displaying two rather woebegone feathers.
"Well done, Richard," Cara praised the flush-faced boy.
"What will we use for paint?" Belin wailed.
"I think we could probably play without warpaint," Cara suggested. The downcast faces forced her to reconsider. Remembering her own joyful games she grinned in triumph and issued instructions. While the children gathered red berries from the nearby bushes, Cara rummaged in the empty lunch basket for a dish.
"First you mash the berries up a bit." She demonstrated with a stick and then let an eager Belin take over the task. "Watch your clothes. I suspect that concoction will stain."
While Richard set to work constructing a bevy of makeshift weapons, Cara tore a band of material from the bottom of her petticoat to fashion two headbands. The feathers were a little bedraggled but it was obvious that the children would not care. Checking the soggy mess Belin was pulverizing, Cara announced that the warpaint was ready. Using a corner of a napkin, she painted garish symbols on the children's ecstatic faces. After tying on the headbands, Cara stood back to survey her work.
"Well, you look like proper little savages," Cara pronounced, inspecting their ferocious expressions.
"I'll paint you, Miss Farraday," Richard offered.
"I thought I might just be a settler."
Cara was unsure of her role as governess but she was positive that running through the woods with a painted face would not be considered wholly dignified.
"Please, Miss Farraday? It would be much more fun if you were an Indian, too," Belin pleaded.
"I suppose I could be a squaw but they don't wear paint," Cara explained. However one look at the crestfallen faces and she relented. "Unless of course it happens to be during the harvest festival."
Both children nodded solemnly.
"I was afraid of that," she laughed as the children dissolved in giggles. "In that case, the squaws would have a streak of paint right down their noses. Like this."
Cara drew the red-soaked napkin from her forehead