She saw Frank and her two oldest sons, Tom and Ben, running across the yard to the front door. They vanished under the overhang of the blockhouse's second story, made of logs. Thank God they'd made it to safety! She felt faint and took a deep breath.
She handed her rifle to Bernadette. "Here, you shoot. I've got to see my husband and sons."
"Merci, madame. I thought you'd never give me a turn."
By the time Nicole got downstairs, Frank and the other men had crowded into the hall. The heavy front door of the blockhouse was shut and barred, throwing the stone-walled lower floor into near-darkness. Two men were shooting through the rifle ports on either side of the door. Women were lighting oil lamps and candles and setting them on shelves around the edges of the room.
Women whose men were here were holding them tight. Nicole threw her arms around Frank, then opened them wider to take in Tom and Ben as they ran to join their mother and father.
She eyed the boys. Their faces were rosy and their eyes bright with excitement. They'd be men in another year or two. And after today, she thought, Frank would have a hard time keeping them away from rifles.
If we live through this day.
As she felt Frank strong and alive against her, a sudden intense desire to make love to him came over her. She was shocked at herself.
But she'd seen one man struck down already and knew that before sundown she or Frank might be dead. The realization of how precious Frank was to her had brought her body to passionate life.
She heard the shrieks and yips of the Indians in the yard of the trading post.