by Laura Frantz
Though the half-dozen horses in a near pasture bespoke plenty, he’d leave Keturah’s mare here. One less animal to tend at Fort Tygart. One less to steal. Indians had a terrible penchant for horseflesh.
“Colonel Tygart, sir.”
He swung round to face the one Swan whose voice he hadn’t heard till now, though her uncommon name had stuck to him like pitch. Tessa. In a world of Marthas and Janes and Annes, it rang refreshing. And now she stood in front of him, catching him by surprise again.
“Mightn’t you send round Keturah’s belongings?” she asked.
He regarded her in thoughtful silence. In the cabin’s dimness, he’d not grasped her features. Here in broad daylight he saw she was a deep tobacco brown, her eyes a startling indigo—nay, more violet—and the dominating feature in her oval face. Had she no hat to shield her from the sun?
“Redeemed captives have precious few belongings,” he replied.
She looked toward the cabin. “I missed most of the talk. I never figured on seeing my friend again.”
He checked his rifle. “Miss Braam’s been gone a long while. She’ll not be as you remember.”
“Has she forgotten her mother tongue?”
He stared down the rifle’s barrel before snapping it shut. “Seems so.”
“Maybe she can teach me Indian.”
“Lenape?” That nearly made him chuckle. “I’ve never heard the like.”
“Oh? Else you can teach me a few words before you go.”
She was all earnestness and entreaty. Any notion that she was being coy shattered. This was no coquettish Philadelphia miss. For a moment he stood stupefied.
“Well, Colonel, are you going to give me some words, or aren’t you?”
The gentle jibe hit its mark and wiped the amusement from his face. He eyed the cabin. What in thunderation was taking Maddie so long?
“Words.” He ran his fingers along the stubbled edge of his jaw. All the Lenape he knew left his head in exasperating fashion. “Mayhap you’d best teach her the white talk. She’s more in need of that than your learning Indian.”
The hopeful light left her face.
He wasn’t being ornery, just honest. “Speaking of words, how is it you have such a”—he stopped short of comely—“uncommon name?”
She picked a burr off her berry-stained apron. “’Twas my granny’s name. She hailed from Scotland.”
She’d turned a tad bashful, no longer looking at him. Beyond the gentle slope of her shoulder, he saw Maddie emerge from the cabin, Keturah and Mistress Swan in the doorway.
He swung himself into the saddle, reining around to face the deer path that had led them here. “Winkalit.”
Tessa echoed him. “What does it mean?”
“Ask Miss Braam,” he said as Maddie joined them.
Tessa nodded, a bit of the light he’d snuffed returning to her face. Bidding Maddie farewell, she began a slow walk toward the cabin, as bare of foot as she was bare of head.
Maddie waited till they’d entered the woods to tease him. “You in a courtin’ frame of mind, Colonel?”
“Miss Swan, you mean?”
“She’s awful pert.”
He ruminated on that till they’d crossed the first creek. Crooked Creek, Cutright’s map said. “She merely asked for Miss Braam’s belongings.”
“Mighty kind of her.” Maddie studied him knowingly. “Those town-bred gals seem to bore you. Maybe a frontier flower’ll do.”
He chuckled and pulled the brim of his hat lower. “You have some foolish notions.”
“Do I? Even Scripture says it’s not good for man to be alone. Take me, for instance. I get to ride into Fort Tygart to Jude, my lawfully wedded husband, while you face a cold bed and an old crone of a cook. What comfort’s to be had in that?”
“My being here is all business, remember,” he countered. “I aim to do my part to secure the frontier so the Swans can farm and ferry in peace and no one is taken captive like Keturah Braam. And I’m just as set on seeing no peaceful Indians abused or retaliated against for their more warring brothers.”
“Well, seems like you could enjoy yourself while you’re doin’ it,” she chided good-naturedly. “What’s more, I overheard you say you’d send Keturah’s belongings by a fort spy. Why not honor Miss Swan’s request yourself instead of rounding up somebody else?” Her gaze held his. “Or maybe Miss Braam’s more to your liking.”
He stayed silent, used to Maddie’s ribbing.
“I do believe it’s better for Miss Braam to be with the Swans than at the fort.” Her expression brightened. “Maybe we should pray one of them handsome brothers wins her.”
“Recollect their names?” He asked himself mostly. What he most remembered were faces. Names told little.
“Jasper. Lemuel. Zadock.” Maddie pursed her lips in contemplation. “I disremember the rest. The youngest was at the ferry.”
“That would be Ross. The other’s Cyrus.”
“And Miss Swan?” A low, throaty chuckle. “Remember her given name, Colonel?”
Tessa.
“Nay,” he lied. He purposed to forget it.
Tessa sought the privacy of the barn to gather her scattered thoughts before returning to the cabin. She kept close the Indian word the colonel had given her, still battling disbelief that Keturah had come back to them. But like the colonel said, ’twas not the Keturah of before.
Leaning against the ridgepole, she listened to the cooing of a dove in the rafters. The plaintive sound only aggravated her already tumbled feelings, which had little to do with Keturah’s sudden return. What had happened out there betwixt herself and Colonel Tygart? Not the words but all the rest. The long looks. The weighty pauses. Like heat lightning, something had passed between them, something immediate and intense.
Succumbing to a childish habit, she fell back into a pile of old hay, hardly feeling the scratch and prickle. Maybe it was on account of his eyes that she was so a-snarl. Never had she seen such a sight. One fiercely blue, the other a deep, earthy brown and mossy green. It startled and mesmerized her and turned him half feral.
Colonel Tygart couldn’t pass as handsome. Not with a nose too narrow and a jaw too wide. Few could fault his frame. She doubted all five of her brothers could take him. He oozed an immense vigor like a sugar maple oozed sap. When his odd gaze met hers, she felt all ablaze, flushed and tongue-tied and weak-kneed all at once.
Was she moonstruck?
“Tessa?” From the cabin doorway came Ma’s voice. Its strident tone yanked her back to the present and had her picking bits of straw from her skirt and hair as she collected herself and left the barn.
Laden with firewood, she returned to the cabin to find Keturah cross-legged on the floor, playing with a kitten. Ma was busy shelling peas, the first from the garden. Bacon crowded a skillet, overriding the stale tobacco smoke of the night before. Overpowering everything was the last wintered-over cabbage from the straw-filled trench near the springhouse. Seasoned with onion, it could be smelled clear to the barn. All familiar, welcome sights and scents now made strange by the presence of the woman more Indian than white and the rattling presence of the man who’d brought her here.
In the lull of lost years, she’d forgotten how lovely her friend was. Once again Keturah’s beauty struck her hard. Beautiful in ways that she herself could never be. Fair. Flawless. The colonel intruded again. Surely a man like Tygart would find her plain as a sparrow in comparison. Maybe Tygart was as smitten with Keturah as her brothers were or had once been.
Ma looked up from her task. “Set Keturah a place between us, aye?”
With a nod, Tessa put utensils on the table, pausing at Pa’s place. A thin sliver of mincemeat pie remained, which she ate if only to clean and put away the dish. Colonel Tygart had even pushed in his chair, a courtesy rarely practiced by her brothers.
Tessa kept busy till supper, skirting Keturah as she played with the kitten and then walked about the cabin as if familiarizing herself with a
place she’d once known well. If only Keturah would speak. Should she try to remind her old friend of English things? Say simple words? Maybe Keturah knew them, had not forgotten, but was holding back. Being around so many Swans might loosen her tongue in time.
When her brothers came into the cabin before supper even graced the table, Tessa bit back a smile. As if being first would garner a seat beside their unexpected guest.
Keturah settled between her and Ma, eyes down demurely as they all found their usual places, joined hands, and prayed. ’Twas Ross, most like Pa, who said grace.
“Lord, we would ask Thy blessing on this food. Bless it to the good of our bodies that we may be better prepared for the battles of life. For Christ’s sake we ask it. Amen.”
After so lean a winter, everyone wanted a fair helping of the first peas of the season. Their very greenness was odd at table after winter’s barren sameness of hog and hominy. Keturah ate sparingly, her continued quiet hardly noticed as the Swan men revisited the eventful afternoon.
“The colonel seems a right capable character,” Jasper said, murmurs of affirmation following.
“I never saw a gun-toting Quaker before,” Cyrus said. “No thees or thous to speak of neither.”
Jasper shook his head. “He’s no Quaker other than his roots and raising. Rifle-bred to the bone, sure to rile his Quaker kin. Word is he’s not on the best terms with them.”
“Militia musters when?” Ross asked, clearly dejected at all he’d missed. “Week’s end?”
“Saturday noon. Nominations will be made for office of captain and lieutenant.” Lemuel balanced his peas on his knife. “Frolic to follow.”
Tessa perked up. Frolic? A rare occasion to dress in their humble best and step a reel or a jig. With women so few, she never lacked for partners. It would be a fine time to don her new petticoat.
“Going to barbecue that white ox of Westfall’s,” Cyrus added.
Ma took note of this, setting her fork down. Westfall was their nearest neighbor to the north, a widower of some merit.
As bowls and plates emptied, Tessa listened to the usual manly banter—of the white bear with dark nose pads and white claws seen near Dog Run, of the proper way to roast a brace of turkeys, if the Ohio River was mightier than the Monongahela, why Fort Pitt had become little more than a spirit-sated gaol, of the spreading conviction that western Virginia belonged more to Pennsylvania, and how Ross had nearly sunk the ferry by overloading oxen the day before.
Discreetly, Tessa watched Keturah. She’d seemed reluctant to eat, waiting till the men began, and had shunned her fork, preferring to partake with her fingers. How was she handling all this male talk? Any jabber about Indians and Indian sign was altogether missing, thankfully.
To Tessa’s surprise, at meal’s end Keturah began clearing the dishes from the table amid the men’s pipe smoke and sated belching. Tessa stayed still, though Ma rose to do the washing.
“So, Sister, going to set your bonnet for Colonel Tygart?” Cyrus teased with a wink.
“What bonnet?” Ross joked of her perpetually bare head.
“Shush,” she chided, pushing away from the table.
“Spied you two talking before he left. A mite bold to sashay up to him that way.” This from Zadock, who missed little. “Hope you remembered to call him Colonel.”
“Aye, that I did.” She felt pinned by their stares. “I merely asked him to send round Keturah’s things.”
“Is that right?” Lemuel drawled. “You seemed to be taking your sweet time doing it.”
They hooted when she crossed her eyes, stuck out her tongue, and ended the matter.
Across the cabin, Keturah’s yawn had Ma making plans for bedtime. Would their guest sleep in the trundle bed? With a wave of her hand, Ma shooed the men to their blockhouse quarters, the door betwixt them and the main cabin soundly shutting. They took it without complaint, for Ma was above any teasing, though Tessa sensed they wanted to linger.
Her private corner was hers no longer. Yet she didn’t rue the loss except to feel a slight qualm when she got on her knees to pray before she snuffed the bedside light. Keturah’s searching look sent her thoughts spinning every which way but heavenward. Had Keturah forgotten to pray, at least the white way? Indians kept their own religion, their practices deemed heathenish by most.
After a hasty amen, Tessa rose reluctantly to crawl between cool linen sheets while Keturah regarded with suspicion the trundle bed that had been moved to Tessa’s corner. Pulling the bedding free, Keturah wrapped it round her and lay down upon the wooden floor, her back to the shunned frame.
Tessa felt a qualm. Needs be she should stay on her knees all night. A great many matters needed praying for.
Father, bring the Braams back or Keturah to them. Let it be a gladsome reunion. Help me befriend her again till then. And if it pleases Thee, let her look kindly on one of my older brothers who so need a wife.
10
The strong, greasy aroma of roasting beef invaded every corner of Fort Tygart. After so much venison, Clay welcomed the change. He’d been at the fort a week, the days a blur of inspections and meetings and forays in and out of its walls. Not one whiff of trouble that he knew of along the border other than a few warriors bent on personal glory stealing horses. But instinct told him their every move was being watched. His coming here had not gone unnoticed. Little happened at military outposts that bypassed the tribes. Every inch of ground the settlers gained thrust the Indians back. That he felt caught in the crosshairs of the conflict mattered little.
“Colonel Tygart, sir.” At the blockhouse door stood an express rider. “Dispatch from Fort Pitt.”
Clay motioned him in even as he sealed his notice about Keturah Braam for the eastern newspapers. Jude had returned Keturah’s meager belongings to the Swan homestead a few days prior, saving him the trouble. He himself expected the Swan brothers for today’s muster and the frolic to follow.
“Best stay on for the festivities,” he told the weary courier. “Nothing urgent that needs sending to keep you from it.”
“Obliged.” Appreciation eased the man’s bedraggled features. “I smelt that beef long before I caught sight of them pickets.”
They left the dispatches atop his desk and emerged into a morning marred by distant thunderheads. “There’s to be horse racing and a turkey shoot just beyond the gates,” Clay told him. “And guards posted within and without.”
The courier removed his cocked hat and slapped it against his thigh to dispel the dust. “I’m wearied to the bone of watching my back.”
“Someday you won’t have to.”
Thunder boomed along with a drum, the signal to muster. While the courier took his rifle and joined the turkey shoot, Clay stood at the gate as a party of eight came through the line of trees to the south, the Swans and Keturah Braam on some of the finest mounts seen in these parts.
Maddie went out to meet them, Jude not far behind. Maddie seemed especially fond of Miss Swan. Pondering it, Clay moved on to the muster, pleased that nearly every eligible man in the settlement had turned out. There were the usual no-goods among them, the hotheads who resisted authority, even a few shirkers and sots. The Swans were among the better men. It was no surprise that a vote decided Jasper Swan as captain and a Schoolcraft as lieutenant. A roster for guard duty was begun and the most dauntless assigned as spies.
Their first drill played out and the regulations were read aloud, a great deal of commotion, questions, and dust clouding the day. Clay spent much time moving among the crowd as time unwound, committing each settler’s name and face in his thoughts, assessing their weapons and woodcraft and deciding who’d best serve where. Glad he was the summer twilight lasted late into the evening.
A fiddle twanged, followed by a shout signaling the dancing was about to begin. A bonfire glowed at the fort’s center, its snap and crackle building till light was cast into the farthest corners. Children flitted about like fireflies, the rare merriment like a contagion. He
kept an eye on the guarded open gate, the other on the cavorting. ’Twould be a long, mosquito-laden night.
“Let me look at you.” Great-Aunt Hester turned Tessa this way and that behind the closed door of her cabin, just as she’d done since Tessa was no bigger than a minnow. With a forceful snap, Hester beheaded a stray string from Tessa’s new petticoat, then moved on to smooth the modesty piece about her bodice, anchoring it with an heirloom, a coral cameo from Scotland.
Beside her, Ruth sighed with delight, mayhap with a beat of envy. In her plain homespun, though she did wear a finely made cambric apron, she wore no jewelry, even borrowed. Tessa had lent her a dab of the toilette water from overmountain, which Ruth declared ornament enough.
“Now, go and choose well,” Hester admonished, shooing them out the door to the common just beyond. “A wedding would be a fine thing after so many buryings.”
Out onto the common they went, Tessa’s eye drawn to Ma sitting with Keturah on a bench beneath a cabin eave.
“Think she does those wild Indian dances we hear about with drums and rattles and such?” Ruth whispered.
Tessa simply shrugged. Who knew what Keturah had learned or unlearned in those lost years? With only a few nights together under the Swan roof, their days filled with unending tasks, Tessa was left wishing Keturah had returned in winter when the pace slowed to a trot and more talk could be had as they huddled near the hearth.
A great many couples were swirling over the trammeled ground to a sprightly reel. Ruth’s focus shifted. “How does Colonel Tygart strike you?”
Like lightning, Tessa didn’t say, her gaze traveling through the crowd in search of him. “Seems respectable enough.”
Across from them, silhouetted by the bonfire’s orange glow, the colonel seemed to have fixed his attention more on the gates than the rumpus around him, the light calling out his irregular features and the furrow between his eyes, the way his hair was tied with leather string so that it tailed down his back. He did not dress for the occasion or set himself apart, his fringed shirt with its belted waist, worn leggings, and moccasins no different than any other borderman they knew.
