The Frontiersman’s Daughter

by Laura Frantz

  His grin was telling, even conspiratorial. “What’s the buzzel?”

  She stared at him, impatience etched across her every feature, and hated that her voice wavered. “What do you mean, what’s the buzzel?”

  He grinned. “The buzzel is Lael Click ousted the Cane boys from her schoolroom just yesterday after grabbing the two mongrels by the scruff of the neck and knocking their heads together, at which time she quit herself.”

  “Those Canes are copperheads!” she confessed, fighting tears. “I was plumb worn to a frazzle by their everlasting abuse. Besides, I’m a poor hand at teaching.”

  “How many days was it? Two? I could’ve told you that you don’t belong in any schoolroom.”

  Stung, she stammered, “Wh-where do I belong?”

  He removed his hat and placed it over his heart, though his eyes remained faintly mocking. “Up on my four hundred, Lael Click. Where else?”

  Flushing to the soles of her moccasins, she averted her eyes, wondering if she could get around him and home. Soon. She reckoned he was even bolder now that he was alone with her. Rarely had she seen him looking so handsome. His powerful height was apparent even as he sat on his horse. And his eyes, a deep coffee brown, seemed almost to caress her. Though he fascinated her, he also frightened. She’d never before been alone with him, and she knew Pa wouldn’t approve.

  He replaced his hat. “I could have taken care of those Cane boys iffen you’d just asked me. Better me than you—and without all the tongue waggin’ either.”

  She sighed. “So the news is all over the settlement.”

  His nod was curt. “You Clicks create all manner of tattle.”

  Pride snorted and took a skittish step back. Lael ached to leave. “I’d best get. I’ve yet to tell Pa.”

  The thought of the coming confrontation made her squirm. That she’d dallied a full day wandering hither and yon, only postponing their meeting, made it worse. What if Ma had heard the news already?

  “I suppose now is a terrible time to propose,” he told her, suddenly rueful.

  She looked at him in wonder. Truly, he had no shame, wooing her as he did when he could see she was in a dither. It took all her nerve to return his flirtatious banter and say, “Your timin’ needs work, Simon. But elopin’ might sit better than my quittin’. ”

  He grimaced. “I doubt it. I’d hate to stare down your pa’s gun barrel once we jumped the broom. Besides, I can’t marry someone I ain’t never courted or even kissed.”

  She flushed and looked to the shadows. They’d both be benighted in the woods if they weren’t careful, thereby heaping scandal upon scandal. She’d never before been kissed, and his talk of it turned her to mush.

  “Reckon I’d best see you home,” he said at last. “It wouldn’t do to leave you out here alone. Some Indian’ll steal that fine horse out from under you, or you atop it.”

  She shivered as a cool wind whipped up and he turned his horse around. Even in the shadows, Simon’s hair was the russet of an autumn leaf. ’Twould make a fine scalp dangling from a painted scalp hoop and sold to the British for bounty, she thought.

  Their eyes darted to and fro as they rode single file. ’Twas a dangerous time to be about. At the edge of the cabin clearing they dismounted and he tried to kiss her. Butterfly-like, she eluded him, drawn to the lights of home.

  “You’d best stay for supper,” she called, her voice soft, tremulous.

  But the shake of his head was adamant. “I’d sooner face a Shawnee war party than your pa tonight.”

  Behind them, Pa had come out onto the porch. Lael turned, feeling like she’d just set foot in a snare. Surely he could see the possessive way Simon held her arm . . . the late hour . . . Pride’s lathered state.

  A single command brought Ransom running. Without a word he reached for the reins and led Pride into the barn. Without so much as a backward glance, Simon rode away and left Lael to face her father alone.

  Ma’s heaviness of soul was reflected in her face. “You mean to tell me you up and quit teachin’ here yesterday without so much as a word to me? And I’ve gone and spent your stipend from Virginia!”

  Lael stood in the door frame, wilted by her mother’s words. “I’ll pay back the money, Ma, I promise.”

  “Your pa paid a small fortune for that fine horse you have. What about that? You fancy you’ll pay that back too? And what of the gossip goin’ round? I’ll likely hear of my own daughter from that tittle-tattle Mercy Cane. And who on earth will take your place as teacher? Miss Mayella—”

  “Enough, Sara,” Pa said.

  Worse than her ma’s scolding was her pa’s silence. As Ma spun away behind the hanging quilt wall that marked their bedroom, he stood by the cold hearth, arms crossed, face set like flint. He seemed to stare a hole right through her and her legs felt weak as wax.

  “No doubt the Cane boys had it comin’, ” he finally said. “I never figured you for a teacher. My quarrel with you is your wanderin’ in the woods. Don’t think Captain Jack has forsaken his suit where you’re concerned, Daughter. I’ve heard otherwise.”

  The warning sent a chill clean through her. Eyes wide and wet, her hand shot out and clutched the heavy fringe of his hunting shirt. “Pa, promise. Promise you’ll come after me if—if he—”

  He waited for her to finish, but she couldn’t.

  He simply said, “’Twould not be a bad life, Daughter.”

  At this, all the air went out of her.

  He continued, so calm and quiet she thought she’d misheard. “Truth be told, I’d sooner see you with Captain Jack as Simon Hayes.”

  The hurtful words stilled her heart. Her hand fell away from the worn linen, but their eyes locked and held, hers full of unasked questions, his an unfathomable blue.

  “Oh Pa . . . you don’t mean . . .”

  There was steel in his gaze and unmistakable warning. “Aye, Daughter, I do.”

  10

  Lael wandered the river bottom like a broken compass, walking every which way but home. She knew Pa shadowed her, but she couldn’t see him. Bonnetless and barefoot despite the first frost, she bore her ginseng bundle on her back with nary a thought for the money it would bring. Money enough to settle the stipend with Ma. Money enough to tuck away for a rainy day when a bit of frippery was called for.

  But it wasn’t these things she thought of. Her heart had been cut to pieces by Pa’s strong words, his indictment of Simon Hayes. ’Twould not be a bad life, Daughter. His whispered words followed her, stinging like a bee.

  She hardly blinked when the ginseng she’d dug brought a king’s price. Riding hard all the way home alongside her father, she soon deposited a kerchief of shillings in front of a surprised Ma. Without waiting for her to count the coins, Lael climbed the loft ladder and stuffed some of her belongings in a knapsack. When she came back down, her ma sat in her rocker, the money filling her apron.

  ’Twas a good time to go see Ma Horn, Lael decided. She hadn’t mentioned her plan, but now, with all the chores of autumn done, perhaps she could rest a spell. Strings of dried apples and leather-britches beans hung from the rafters, crocks of crabapple jelly and cider cooled in the springhouse. The corn was cribbed and a new ash hopper stood in back of the cabin. Surely Ma couldn’t think of another thing to hold her.

  She passed onto the porch, stooping to kiss Ransom. The roses seemed to bid her good-bye. A bit faded, the canes all a-tangle, the blossoms drooped and spilled spent petals onto the worn porch planks. As she looked around, exasperation stabbed her. Where was Pa? She was ready to go, yet she hadn’t asked his permission. Dare she simply go? Right now? By herself, if need be? After all, he couldn’t remain her lifelong shadow.

  “I’ll be leavin’ now, Ma. Tell Pa I’ll be back shortly.”

  Ma said not a word.

  A brilliant moon, round and white as a biscuit, dogged her as she walked high atop the ridge. She’d left Pride behind as a horse made altogether too much noise. She much preferred her own mended
moccasins. Did her father follow on foot as well? Twice she whirled about, sure she heard him. But the woods would not give him up and remained silent and shadowed. She dared not think of Captain Jack.

  All around her expansive outcroppings of rock wooed her to the very edges of eternity. Winded, she paused atop dizzying drops and gathered her breath. Far below, an occasional curl of smoke revealed a hidden cabin. Farther still, the Kentucke River was but a sliver of silver thread.

  Strange how well one’s eyes adjusted to the growing gloom, she mused, continuing long after dark. Nature seemed to be tucking itself in for the night, dwindling down as if sleepy. As she walked along the familiar trail she seemed to shed her burdens. Beneath the great cathedral of trees, the quiet seemed holy, not haunting. She found the place she and Pa had camped and bedded down beneath a sheltering sycamore before resuming her climb the next morning. Toward dusk the next day she found Ma Horn dragging a hemp sack and gathering pine knots off the forest floor.

  “I’ve come to stay a spell,” Lael told her.

  She straightened, gleeful as a girl. “I’ve been wonderin’ when you’d come back.”

  This time the door to the tiny cabin stayed shut against the coming cold. As Lael ate her supper of stale cornbread and cider, Ma Horn tossed two pine knots into the fireplace and lit up the whole room.

  “I had to get away,” Lael confessed between bites. “But I didn’t tell where I was goin’. ”

  Ma Horn chuckled. “That don’t mean your pa didn’t foller you up here.”

  Lael flushed, gullibility gone, and watched as Ma Horn unfolded her thin frame to pluck her pipe from the mantle overhead. Tobacco smoke soon perfumed the air, mingling with the earthy smell of roots and herbs. There was comfort in this old cabin, sparse and solitary though it was, and an absence of secrets, so unlike her own. Here truth lived in every corner. Ma Horn had no skeletons to speak of. She’d been right to come here, Lael thought, heartsore as she was.

  Giving her a sidelong glance, Ma Horn ventured slowly, “Your ma still tetchy?”

  Lael sighed and pushed her empty bowl away. “Tetchy as the day is long.”

  The old woman took a long draw on her pipe, her mouth pinched at the corners. “Sara’s never been one for the wilderness.”

  The fire popped and called for another pine knot. Lael pitched one in but said nothing. Truly, her ma needed to return to the Carolinas, to be among civilized people, far removed from the savage. Lately her hot temper had mellowed to something far more troubling—a joyless resignation. It cast a pall over the cabin, wounding everyone within reach. Somehow it seemed to have even followed her here.

  Ma Horn winked at her, lightening the mood. “I hear your ma keeps threatenin’ to cut your hair but your pa won’t let her.”

  “Ma fears it would make a fine scalp,” she said wryly, touching her heavy braid. Slowly she wound the length of it around her wrists, imprisoning herself as she sat.

  Ma Horn’s thin face grew thoughtful as she crumbled more tobacco. “I don’t think scalpin’ is what Captain Jack has in mind.”

  Lael looked up. “We’ve seen no sign of him or any of them since the beads and the blanket.”

  “Oh, you ain’t seen ’em, but they’ve been by all right. Your pa says Shawnee sign crisscrosses your place like a buffalo trace.” This almost made her smile, though the thought of being watched made her feel queer through and through. Like the beads and the blanket, the Indians were still there, just hidden. Come winter, what would Captain Jack do? He’d not linger long, she wagered, in woods that had shed their leaves and no longer sheltered him.

  She took a deep breath and her green eyes reflected her disquiet. “Sometimes I think he’ll not go away . . . till we meet.”

  Ma Horn merely nodded, no mirth left in her face. “Say the two of you was to come face to face, what would you do?”

  Lael looked toward the fire, pensive. She’d pondered this very thing again and again without answer. The prospect was so terrifying it took her breath. Never give way to fear in an Indian’s sight. She’d stood tall the first time, on the porch with Pa. But once she was alone . . . what then? Her fearless father had a very timid daughter. Shame spilled over her and she nearly flinched under Ma Horn’s heavy gaze.

  “I reckon I’d fall to the ground in a cowardly heap,” she confessed.

  Ma Horn shook her head slowly, her wrinkled face dark with warning. “Your pa would be dead if he done that. You got to stand, girl. No matter whether they kill you or capture you, you stay standin’. ”

  Stay standing.

  Lael pitched the last pine knot into the fire, the simple words echoing in her head and deepening the dread in her heart. As she readied for bed she thought she heard the haunting call of a mockingbird beyond the shuttered window. The sound sent a chill clean through her.

  Hadn’t Ma Horn once said a mockingbird’s night song was a death token in disguise?

  11

  With autumn waning, Ma Horn moved to the fort for the winter and Pa brought Lael home. She stood in the cabin door, a linsey shawl about her shoulders but still barefoot as if to protest the coming cold. Wordlessly, she watched her father prepare to leave on a long hunt, stung by his calm deliberation. Somehow she’d thought he wouldn’t go with the threat of the Shawnee still about them, yet she reckoned even she couldn’t come between him and his love of the woods.

  Since she was small and he’d taken to the woods for months on end, it was she who helped him pack what he needed for the long weeks away. She’d always hated leave-takings, and this day was proving especially difficult. Hanging her shawl on a peg by the door, she bit her lip to keep her composure and reached for his weapons.

  Her fingers traced the familiar initials scrawled across his powder horn before she hung it from the strip just above his shot pouch. Fashioned by her own hands when she was ten, the leather was worn but sturdy enough to hold a chunk of lead for bullets, a brass mold for casting them, and flint and steel to start a fire.

  Before her on the table, laid out like a surgeon’s tools, were the items she now took stock of. A bit of jerky. A twist of tobacco and ginseng root. Mittens. Patch leather and an awl for mending moccasins. A tomahawk, his father’s before him, shone sharp and smooth beside a sheathed hunting knife.

  Quickly she caught up the new linsey-woolsey shirt, which Ma had woven and she herself had washed, and pressed it to her nose. The smell of linen, earthy yet so clean it smelled sweet, made her eyes water. Rolling it up, she reached for a wad of unspun tow with which to clean his rifle.

  Done, she decided, wiping a hand across her eyes. Partings were painful as lancing a boil, and she was simply no good at them. Was it any wonder Ma and Ransom were nowhere to be seen? If she’d been a boy, she’d be packing up a tote of her own things beside his.

  Passing onto the porch, she studied him as he readied his packhorses by the barn. When he returned come spring, the two animals would be heavily laden with furs and he himself nearly unrecognizable with a full beard, his long hair crying for a comb and a cutting. Once, when she was but five, he’d returned after half a year away and she’d hid in Ma’s skirts to escape his strangeness. But the familiar smell of him, and his voice, deep as a well, eventually brought her around.

  Always he brought her something back. A lace handkerchief. A biscuit mold. Flower seeds. A two-tined fork and jelly spoon. A painted paper fan. A metal tea caddie with a tiny lock. This time what would it be?

  What if he never came back?

  He stepped up onto the porch. What did one say upon parting, she wondered, perhaps once and for all?

  Pa, watch your back.

  Stay warm and dry.

  Don’t dally.

  Already he looked strange to her, dressed as he was for the woods. Turning, she led him to the table and watched as he examined his weapons. The danger of his task, not understood by her before, now seemed fathomless. Yet his demeanor befuddled her; he might have been going on a simple Sunday stroll. She
swallowed down her fears and went back out onto the porch.

  In time he followed. Though he said not a word, he took her hand and pressed something into her palm, then folded her fingers tight around it. When he’d gone she opened her hand and saw a blur of blue beads.

  With Pa away, they moved to the fort. In years past they’d simply stayed put at their own cabin and awaited his return, wrapped in a cocoon of snow. But this time, with no explanation given and none needed, he’d ordered them within Fort Click’s picketed walls. There, Lael felt safe but strangled by the smallness of life.

  Here, their cabin door did not need stout bars, and the leather latchstring could be left out in welcome. There was little to do but stand by the shuttered window and peer out on the wide common that separated the rows of cabins, always a hive of activity even in the cold. Grizzled trappers came and left, as did new settlers seeking shelter. Ma’s dark mood eased noticeably as she sat and spun the hours away while Ransom wrestled with the boys and dogs outside. Copies of the Virginia Gazette were passed around as freely as gossip, reminding Lael of the paper no longer in her pocket. Its absence chafed at her a bit. She’d either misplaced it or lost it, perhaps in the mountains on the way to Ma Horn’s.

  The southeast blockhouse, home to the Hayes clan, was missing the two family members most important to her. With Susanna married and living over at Cozy Creek, and Simon up on his four hundred, Lael’s memories of times shared were all she had. Curiously, there were no other girls near her age save Piper Cane. Now ensconced as the new teacher, Piper was often seen about the busy common. Each morning after breakfast, she strolled to the schoolhouse and rang the morning bell. Ransom went unwillingly, returning home to regale them with the day’s events.

  “Today Noah got switched twice and Louise cried in the corner again,” he said between mouthfuls of biscuit. “Three more kids come in from Virginia, and Teacher said the fort’s gettin’ so crowded you can’t cuss a cat without gettin’ fur in your mouth.”