He looked kindly at Betsy as if he knew how important school and books were to her. There had been times when she had thought of them as her only friends. Of course she had a copy of the Bible, which she had read cover to cover. She also had copies of four Shakespeare plays and a slim volume of poetry.
“I understand there’s a library in Cincinnati,” Mother added.
That surprised Betsy. She had thought there would be Indians. A library was a civilizing touch to a frontier area she considered beyond the outskirts of the United States. Oh, she knew Ohio was a state in the new country, but that didn’t mean it was a place she wanted to go.
“I’m sure it will be fine,” she said. It wasn’t as if her opinion really mattered. The adults must have made all the plans months ago, but she’d only been told about it the night before. She noticed the papers Father held. He’d probably gotten the tickets. March 4. In a week and a half, they’d be on their way to Cincinnati.
Uncle Charles and Aunt Martha, her cousin Richard’s parents, were staying in Boston. They would keep vigil until their son was released from the illegal British impressment or they found out what had happened to him. And they would be in Boston to welcome him home should he return from the war. Betsy tried to push that worry from her mind.
“It’ll be great,” George said. “Jefferson and I are going to fight Indians.”
“The Indians are friendly,” Father assured the boy. “Jefferson is moving, too?” Betsy asked in alarm. She couldn’t stand George’s dog. George had wanted to name the dog Thomas, but Betsy’s father didn’t like the idea of sharing his first name with a pup. So George had settled for Jefferson.
“You can’t think I’d leave Jefferson behind,” George said as he jumped, trying to touch the top of the door frame that led into the kitchen.
Betsy sighed in disgust. Now she’d have to put up with that dog as well as with George. She didn’t know which was worse. The dog always sniffed around her heels, calling attention to her. But then George delighted in making her the center of attention, too. Those two belonged together. And she was going to get them both.
Mary’s suggestion that Betsy get even with George was sounding better and better. In the next ten days before her family left Boston for good, she and Mary would have to map out the plan.
The next few days flew by. Betsy continued to go to school, but in the evenings she helped her mother pack.
“We can’t take everything with us,” Mother said. “We’re going to let Pastor have this bed. His family’s growing by leaps and bounds.”
“This is my bed,” Betsy said. “What will I sleep on?”
“We’ll get something else in Cincinnati. We’ll take the big bed because my grandfather brought it from England. It was my mother’s, and she gave it to me.”
They sold some of their belongings, gave other things away, and the rest they packed in wooden crates and trunks.
The day before departure arrived, Betsy and Mary, arm in arm, walked home from school.
“Have you come up with any ways to get George?” Betsy asked.
Mary grinned mischievously. “We have to stop by my house; then I’ll walk you home.” When they reached her home, she ran inside and reappeared a minute later with a cloth-wrapped package. She held it out to Betsy.
“What’s this?”
“Smell it,” Mary said.
Betsy unwrapped the bundle. Her nose wrinkled before she could rewrap it. “Whoo! What is this?”
“Limburger cheese. I got it from a peddler on Beacon Street. If you unwrap it and put it with George’s clothes, they’ll all smell terrible.” She laughed.
“How will that embarrass him?”
“Nobody will want to be around him. He always wants to be the center of attention, and that will take care of that.”
Betsy nodded and stuck it in her empty lunch pail. She could still smell the stuff. That would get George. “Thanks. Got any other ideas?”
“You’ll have to come up with them as you go. Who knows what will happen on your trip? I wish I were going with you.”
“Me, too.” They had reached Betsy’s house, and they stood in the cold wind. Betsy didn’t know how to say good-bye to her friend.
“I have a secret,” Mary said. “Promise you won’t tell.”
“Who could I tell? I’m leaving.”
“The embargo President Jefferson declared makes Father angry. I heard him tell Mother that the store will go out of business if he doesn’t get some goods from England to sell, and that’s not going to happen as long as the ports stay closed. He said there were opportunities on the frontier. He mentioned Ohio.”
“Do you think you’ll move west?” Betsy whispered in awe. Could it really happen? Would her best friend move to Cincinnati, too?
“I don’t know. But don’t be surprised if someday I knock on your door and say, ‘Remember me?’ Wouldn’t that be something?”
“Mary, that would be the greatest thing. Once we get settled, I’ll go to the river every day and look at the boats and pray that you’re on one of them.” In a way it would take the place of going to the harbor to look for Richard.
The two girls hugged, and then Betsy hurried inside the empty house. Their belongings had been taken to the schooner earlier that day, and all that was left was bedding.
After a sleepless night spent on the floor, Betsy and her parents arose at dawn and made last-minute preparations for the trip. Betsy carried blankets, Richard’s violin, and her lunch pail, which secreted the awful-smelling cheese.
“I have a surprise,” Father said. As they walked toward the dock, he paused at the livery stable. “I’ve decided to take Silverstreak with us. If George can have Jefferson on board, surely we can take our mare.
Betsy hugged him. “Oh, Father. I hadn’t even hoped that we could take Silverstreak. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her good-bye.” Together they went inside the stable and bridled the horse. Mary, books, the violin, and Silverstreak were all Betsy’s dearest friends. She was taking three of them with her, and maybe Mary would show up someday, too.
Betsy shifted her load of blankets to the mare’s back, and they walked on toward the Columbia. The clomp of Silverstreak’s hooves on the planks of the dock was a reassuring sound to Betsy. She led the horse onto the ship and to the special roped-off section one of the crew showed her. She was tying the mare to a pole when she heard George’s voice behind her.
“We won’t have to send a sailor up the mast. We’ll just ask you when you sight land again,” he said.
She ignored him.
“You bringing that horse?” he asked.
She glanced at him. “Of course. Father will need her when he makes calls on patients.”
Jefferson ran up to Betsy and sniffed her feet. The small brown dog came upon the pail she had set down and shied away from it, backing right into Silverstreak’s makeshift stall. The horse reared; the dog yelped and ran to George.
“Keep your horse away from my dog,” George said.
“Keep your dog away from my horse,” Betsy said.
A tight smile crossed Betsy’s face, and she glanced at the lunch pail that held the stinky cheese. This trip just might be fun.
CHAPTER 2
The Journey Begins
Betsy stood at the rail and watched the sailors on the wharf make last-minute preparations to cast off. Lines were tossed to sailors in longboats who strained as they rowed, pulling the ship out to sea. Betsy and George had been warned to stay out of the way of the crew, who were scurrying between the two masts and readying the sails. Betsy had counted twenty-three other passengers, but none of them were children.
Betsy’s mother came up behind them. “Did you put the blankets in the stateroom?”
“Yes, Mother.” Betsy had already been below deck to her family’s small stateroom. Although the schooner line that ran the regular route between Boston and Philadelphia advertised the accommodations as elegant, Betsy would have argued with that description. It was a stark
room that smelled bad, but they wouldn’t be on the boat for long. She wished they were already in Philadelphia, and she wished they weren’t going at all.
“It will be a better life,” her mother said, as if to herself.
“Mother?” Betsy glanced down and saw tears in her mother’s eyes. Didn’t she want to go, either?
Mother took a deep breath and lifted a hand in farewell to Uncle Charles and Aunt Martha, who stood on the dock. As the ship shifted beneath them, Mother said, “We are leaving your brothers here.”
“Oh, Mother.” Betsy’s three stillborn brothers had been buried in the churchyard. Many times she had wondered what her life would be like if her brothers had lived. The house wouldn’t have been as quiet, of that she was sure. It would have been more like Mary’s house with constant activity and noise. Betsy hugged her mother’s petite frame.
“I know their spirits are with God,” Mother whispered. “But this is hard.”
Betsy swallowed back tears, but a few found their way down her cheeks. She’d tried to be strong about this move, but now that her mother had let her emotions show, Betsy couldn’t hold her tears at bay.
“Is it raining up there? On our big day?”
Betsy stared hard at George, who looked as if he was uncomfortable with all the crying. She almost felt sorry for him. Even though he had referred to her height again, he sounded as if he were trying to cajole her out of her sadness. Maybe she should reconsider her plan of getting back at him.
“George is right. Today is no day for tears. We’re starting a new adventure, Betsy. And we should start it with glad hearts.” Mother kissed her and moved down the rail to stand by Father.
Betsy gazed back at the wharf and at Richard’s folks, who were growing smaller by the minute as the schooner moved away from shore. They had always been kind to her, just like their son. When Richard had first gone to sea, he’d entrusted his prized violin to Betsy’s keeping, telling her to keep practicing while he was gone. She’d offered it back to his parents when she found out about her move to Cincinnati, but they’d both said Richard had wanted her to keep playing.
“When Richard returns, he can travel to Cincinnati to get it back,” Aunt Martha had said. “Maybe we’ll come with him.”
She’d said “when” Richard returned, not “if” he returned. Betsy wanted to have the same faith that Richard would return from this war that shouldn’t even involve their country.
Jefferson tugged on the hem of her skirt, and she looked away from the receding shore and toward the pesky dog. “Keep that dog away from me.”
George jerked at the line that held the dog, and Jefferson yelped. Curious sailors glanced their way as they adjusted the sails that had caught the wind. They spared a quick look at George but seemed to study Betsy. She just knew they were staring at her because she was so tall.
“I’m going below,” she told George and stepped carefully across the deck toward the steep stairs that led to the staterooms. Once in the safety of her room, she picked up the violin case and drew out the lovely instrument and the bow. She finished one slow, melancholy song that fit how she was feeling then forced herself to strike up a bright tune to lift her mood.
Mother was right. She should look on this move as an adventure. Once she had hit the last quick note, she put away her violin with a new resolve and made her way to the top deck to check on Silverstreak. She’d heard that some animals didn’t take to the motion of the boat, and she hoped the mare wasn’t suffering any pangs. Certainly motion sickness hadn’t affected Jefferson.
Cold wind whipped at her hair and pushed her long skirt against her legs as she crossed from the stairwell opening toward the makeshift stall. Now that they had left the bay, wind that had been blocked by land filled the sails, and the ship cut a sharp line through the water.
“Betsy!”
She turned and sidestepped just in time to avoid being hit by George as he swung on a rope that dangled from a crosspiece on the mast. He swayed back and forth like a pendulum and let out a loud whoop.
“You rapscallion!” a sailor yelled. “Let go of that line!”
“George, what are you doing?” Betsy grabbed the rope to stop the motion while George held tightly to the end. “You’ll cause a shipwreck!”
George dropped to the deck with a thud. “I was just seeing if I could swing. I didn’t hurt anything.”
“Don’t touch these lines,” the sailor ordered. Betsy grabbed George by the arm and dragged him along with her toward Silverstreak’s stall. Her face burned from the confrontation, even though she wasn’t the one who’d done something wrong. “We’re going to be on this ship for four days. You’d better stay out of trouble.”
George edged around the stall and took a defensive stance, feet shoulder width apart, head cocked back. “I was just looking around. I’m not hurting anything. Swinging on that rope wasn’t going to cause a wreck. The worst it could do was move the sail, and it didn’t. I tugged on the rope before I put my weight on it.”
“Just be sure you don’t cause any more alarm for those sailors. They already have their eyes on us. Father said to stay out of their way.”
Betsy turned her attention to Silverstreak and stroked the horse’s mane. The animal seemed to be taking the swaying motion of the ship without a problem. When Betsy looked back over her shoulder for George, he was gone. She shouldn’t have to worry about him. Where were his parents anyway? She ducked around barrels and poles until she located her folks and George’s. They were standing by the rail looking toward home. Betsy looked past them at the shoreline, which was barely a brown spot on the horizon.
If her second brother had lived, he would have been George’s age. For the second time that day she wondered what her life would have been like if he had lived. Surely he wouldn’t have been the rambunctious type like George, whose curiosity and eagerness were always making him the center of attention.
Seagulls cawed overhead. Betsy glanced up and watched them circle and occasionally dive in the water in search of fish. She pulled her cloak more tightly around her shoulders and found an unoccupied spot in the sun where she could sit with her back braced against a wooden box that also blocked the brisk wind. The sun felt warm as she watched the seascape. Waves broke against the ship and sprayed a fine mist on the edge of the deck but didn’t reach her. Time passed slowly, and she felt herself slipping back into that melancholy mood again.
Betsy must have dozed off, for the next thing she knew, she was in the shade and the chill of March had settled inside her. The sun was higher in the sky than before, but they had changed directions. Father had told her they would tack many times, or they would go too far out to sea. She couldn’t see any shoreline now but knew it couldn’t be too many miles away. In her secluded spot, she could watch the activity of the sailors and study the passengers who were huddled in small groups here and there. The cold sent her down below, and she found her mother tidying their room.
“I was about to search for you, although it wouldn’t take long to find you on a ship this size. Are you feeling better now?”
“Yes, Mother. And you?”
“I’m fine. Sometimes we have to let our feelings out so that we can move forward in life. I’m anxious to get settled in Cincinnati. Your father says it will hold many opportunities for us.”
“Yes, Mother,” Betsy said, although she had no idea what those opportunities would be.
“Did you pack something in your lunch pail for us? Our passage includes our meals, but I’m wondering how good the cook is.” Her mother held the pail that secreted the stinky cheese, and Betsy quickly shook her head.
“No, I’ll take that. Shall we join the others?” she asked in an effort to change the subject. They walked into the main cabin, which was dominated by a long table. Quiet conversations buzzed as the passengers ate the meal of stew and hard bread. George sat on the floor with some strangers at the far end of the room, which Betsy guessed was some thirty feet long. She ate quickly then
returned to the stateroom with her mother.
“I had this trunk brought in here instead of stored with the others below,” her mother said. “We might have use for it.”
Betsy recognized the trunk and quickly unbuckled the straps. Inside, wrapped in clothes for safekeeping, she found her beloved books. Macbeth was on top, so she pulled it out, deciding she’d have lots of time for reading while they traveled to Philadelphia. The afternoon passed with her curled up in a dim corner, poring over the volume.
The next day passed while Betsy alternated between reading and sitting in the sun on the deck, watching the sky and the seagulls and the waves. Occasionally she’d catch a glimpse of land before the ship tacked and headed back to the open sea. Her father assured her the zigzag course was the straightest way the ship could travel south. George stayed out of her sight, and she decided to give up her plan of making him miserable. If he continued to avoid her, they’d get along just fine.
On the third day the sun failed to peek out from behind heavy clouds, and the wind howled around the sails. By midmorning snow fell heavily, disappearing into the water but piling up on deck. Betsy helped Father cover Silverstreak’s stall with canvas to protect the horse. After that, the snow made the deck treacherous to walk on, so she merely stuck her head out from below deck to check on the horse.
Even with fewer sails up in an effort to control the ship’s motion, many of the passengers got sick from the constant tossing of the ship. Betsy’s mother and George’s parents suffered seasickness, and Betsy stayed in the tiny stateroom to care for them. The ship sailed out of the storm by late afternoon, but that night few passengers sat at the long table.
Betsy coaxed weak tea down her patients’ throats, and her father decided they would all sleep in the one room for warmth and so he could also help with the sick. Before bedtime, Betsy, her father, and George prayed for the recovery of the patients and for a safe journey’s end. Betsy changed into her nightdress behind a curtain, laid down beside her mother, and pulled heavy quilts over them. George curled up in the corner with his dog.
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