“He certainly put me on a cruel path to get here.”
Bear was glad Artis opened up to him but wanted to know more. “Where have ye been for the last seven years?”
“When I arrived, I was forced into indentured servitude.”
“Did ye work on a farm or in a household?”
“On a large plantation in Virginia, near Roanoke. I worked in the fields and in the stables. At the end of my contract, the planter I worked for gave me a deed to land located here as my freedom dues.”
Coincidentally, they were passing by Artis’ land at just that moment. “Tis a grand place,” Bear said, gazing around at her magnificent trees and lush grass covered land, brushed by the brilliant rays of the morning light.
“It is beautiful,” she replied reverently. “Someday I hope it will be a happy home too.”
“Fear not, it will come to pass. God is never deaf to the desires of your heart.”
Reaching out, he took her hand in his and kissed the top of it. He could see her uneven breathing in the rise and fall of her chest as he gently caressed the top of her hand with his thumb until her eyes no longer held heartache. Until they filled with life, warmth, and unspoken desire.
After a moment, he asked, “Artis, do ye think ye could let yer land truly be yer freedom dues? Can ye let the beauty ye see before ye heal the bleeding wounds of yer past?”
Artis stared at him, her mouth hanging open, her eyes glittering and thoughtful.
Could Artis let her land release her from her tragic past? Would she claim the happiness she deserved? “Let the future free ye of yer sorrow and release yer life to happiness,” he urged.
Her face showed some indefinable emotion. A few tears slipped down her pink cheeks. She quickly swiped them away.
“Weep na more, my lady,” Bear said. “Today, yer life starts anew.”
Chapter 12
Roberts Plantation, Roanoke, Virginia
Steller felt every one of the three hundred miles he’d traveled in the muscles of his aching back—now as hard as solid rock—as he turned his weary horse onto the road leading to the plantation’s main house.
A wide green expanse welcomed visitors to the sprawling farm. He passed a fine-looking black stallion nibbling on verdant grass. He decided it must be the stud for what looked like blooded mares grazing with the big horse in the fenced pasture.
He decided he’d switch his horse for the stallion on his way out. He still had a little sweet feed left and he’d use that to coax the beautiful horse close enough to slip a bridle over his head.
In the distance, he saw rich river-bottom land and hilly pastures. He also noticed that the plantation supported a large-scale tobacco and corn crop.
As he neared the two-story main house, painted white and trimmed with black shutters, he could see dense woods directly to the rear of the enormous home. A handful of outbuildings stood some distance from the house. Two of them appeared to be simple frame buildings that perhaps housed servants and slaves. The board buildings were no doubt icy cold in the winter and blistering hot in the summer.
Was that where Artis had lived for the last seven years? He hoped so. Residing with the African slaves and other servants was all Artis deserved after all. At least he had been given private quarters in a fine mansion, even if his bedroom was in the home’s attic.
He took the stairs leading up to the porch two at a time and knocked. A dark-skinned male servant answered the door and, after Steller asked to speak to Mister Roberts, ushered him inside. The servant told him to wait and proceeded down the hall, on the right side of the carved staircase, to a set of double doors with brass handles. The servant disappeared inside.
So that was where Roberts was. If the plantation owner refused to see him, at least now he knew where to find him.
After a moment, a short man, with a belly that threatened the strength of his silk vest’s buttonholes, strode up. “I’m Morgan Roberts. How may I be of service to you, Sir?”
“My name is Patrick Steller. And I am lookin’ for my wife. I was told she was indentured to ye seven years ago. I am hopin’ she is still here.”
“I don’t remember having a servant by the name of Steller,” Roberts said, wrinkling his forehead.
“Perhaps you knew her by her maiden name—Artis MacKay.”
“Yes, indeed. Artis was a faithful and cooperative servant here until recently.”
“Where did she go?” Steller asked, a little too anxiously and forcibly than he wanted to sound.
“Before I tell you, I must have proof that you are indeed her husband. Do you have your marriage license?”
“Nay, it was lost on my voyage here,” Steller lied. “I assure ye, we are indeed married. But on the day of our weddin’, the Highland clearances caused us to become separated. Wealthy landowners sent both of us to the colonies, but on different ships. I just finished servin’ my indenture in Wilmington.”
Roberts peered deeply into his eyes. Steller tried to keep his expression calm and nonthreatening.
“Come into my office,” the planter finally said.
He followed the man, down the carpeted hall and into a magnificent room. He could tell that the portly fellow was a pampered child of fortune.
Roberts sat down behind his ornate desk, looking as if he needed the piece of furniture for protection. When Roberts hauled out a pistol and laid it upon his desk, he realized he’d seriously underestimated the man.
“I don’t know who you are or what you want with Miss MacKay, but I will not give you the location of her whereabouts without proof of your relationship to the woman. I suggest you go find that proof and bring it back to me.”
Steller glanced around the room. It contained an impressive library of perhaps a thousand volumes. A portrait of a distinguished looking man, probably a Roberts ancestor, hung above the brick fireplace. This farmer was wealthy and a gentleman. He was used to people following his orders without question and he expected Steller to just leave without pursuing the matter further.
He would soon learn otherwise.
“Ye have an extraordinary library, Sir,” Steller said. “Ye must be a well-educated man. And I can see that ye keep careful records, judgin’ from the numerous ledgers on the shelves behind ye. I’m certain one of those account books contain yer slave and servant records. Would ye be so kind as to show me Artis’ signature. Then I will know for a certainty that the Artis MacKay who worked for ye is indeed my dear wife.”
Steller wouldn’t recognize Artis’ signature. He’d never even seen it. But if he could get Roberts to open the correct ledger, he was certain he could find out where she went.
Roberts hesitated a moment, and then stood. Instead of grabbing a ledger from the shelf behind him, he picked up his pistol. “I must ask you to leave now, Sir. You have over stayed your welcome.”
“I think not,” Steller said. He picked up a hefty brass candle stand, holding a burning candle, from the left side of the desk. “What would a fire do to this fine library? What would the flames do to your family in the rooms above? Do you have young children? Or perhaps an elderly parent?”
“You can’t be serious!”
Steller moved closer to a stack of papers. “Do ye really want to risk shootin’ me? These papers will make excellent kindlin’ as will this fine wool rug beneath my feet.” He picked up the matching brass candle holder on the other side of desk, its candle also burning brightly. “I assure you I am serious—deadly serious.”
He held one of the candle holders closer to the papers. I few drops of hot wax dripped off the candle and onto the papers.
“Please no, I beg you not to.”
Roberts sounded contrite now and the hand that held the pistol was shaking slightly. The wealthy man sat the weapon down again and frowned in exasperation. “What do you want with her?”
Steller sat one of the candle holders down, went around the desk, and slapped Roberts, hard. So hard, he could feel the burn in his own hand. “That, Sir, is none of yer bus
iness.”
The force of the blow caused the man to bend over on his side. He slowly raised up, holding his hand against his cheek. “You, Sir, are nothing but a thug,” he growled.
“Tell me where she went, you bastard, or I’ll change your home to smolderin’ cinders. Believe me, I have some experience with that.” He put a thin mirthless smile on his lips.
Recognition and then shock shown in the man’s eyes and sweat popped out on his shiny forehead. The farmer’s round face became grim. “You’re the one who murdered Artis’ mother, aren’t you?”
“It was na murder. The stubborn old witch refused to leave her home. I had na choice.”
“There is always a choice.”
“Then choose to tell me where Artis is, or ye will watch yer home, and all within it, burn to the ground.”
Chapter 13
The noisy conversations grew quiet as Governor Garrard marched in. The sizable room at the fort was Boonesborough’s largest meeting place, and the same one that would be used for the ball, Kelly had explained. A flag hung in one corner that Artis assumed was Kentucky’s new flag. In the other corner, the flag of the United States bearing fifteen stars and fifteen strips added festive color to the otherwise unadorned room.
Over the last half-hour, dozens of delegates and a few observers including Artis and Kelly, the only ladies there, stuffed the room chock-full. They both quickly took seats on a long bench next to a side wall. Bear and William sat next to each other in the center of the room.
From the way he walked and held himself with authority, Artis suspected the thick-necked and rather rotund Governor was a strong leader. He swiftly called the meeting to order and another gentleman with spectacles took a seat beside the Governor. She presumed the man would record the proceedings.
“Good morning gentlemen, and, ladies,” he said, looking over at Artis and Kelly and giving them a nod and smile. “I want to thank all the delegates for agreeing to assist me today and tomorrow. My goal is to prepare a list for the legislature of priorities for Kentucky’s future with the help of your valuable guidance.”
The men in the room all clapped their approval.
“Shall we begin then? I encourage you to speak freely, but I ask one thing of you. We have no time for prideful posturing here. Do not offer an opinion unless you have some expertise and a strong feeling on the subject—or we will all be here till Christmas.”
After a few chuckles and a hearty laugh from William, Garrard continued. First, he asked their opinion of penal reforms. Garrard advocated for the abolition of the death penalty except for crimes of murder.
William spoke up, supported the Governor’s proposal, and added that assaults on women and children should also carry extremely harsh penalties.
“Thank you, sheriff,” Garrard said. “Duly noted, and I agree with you wholeheartedly. We will introduce a bill to ensure that becomes the law of our land.”
Beside her, Artis could sense Kelly stiffen as she heard William’s words. It made her wonder if the reason William seemed so adamant about protecting women was that something had happened to Kelly.
When the Governor introduced the next topic—reforming and expanding the militia—another gentleman stood to speak.
“That’s Colonel Byrd. He’s in charge of the militia here in Boonesborough,” Kelly whispered.
The Colonel offered at least a half dozen suggestions and urged that the number of militia in each of the Forts be doubled because tensions with Britain and the French remained high.
Next, the delegates discussed a proposed law to deal with the surveying and registering of land claims with the registrar of the state land office. “Our goal is to forestall additional lawsuits, which are already numerous, related to land claims,” explained the Governor.
After hearing that discussion, Artis was even more pleased that she had a clear title to her land. But she was beginning to tire of sitting on the hard bench, until the Governor mentioned one that raised her interest. She noted that Bear sat up straighter and lifted his jaw as he listened closely to the Governor too.
“I want to introduce legislation that will forbid the unjust removal of squatters from land they have lived on for more than three months,” Garrard said.
Several men called out their scoffs and nays, but Garrard refused to be browbeaten.
“As you all know, land claims here in Kentucky are a source of confusion and conflict. Many settlers unknowingly become squatters or are labeled squatters when they are not. Dishonest landowners let these so-called squatters remain on the land just to take advantage of the improvements these people make. Fairness demands that if the squatters have made substantial improvements to the land they should not be forcibly removed. Powerful landowners are running too many people from their homes, sometimes even at the start of winter, after they have invested back breaking labor and their resources into improving said land. I have no quarrel with property owners wanting to protect acreage they have legal claim to, but the landowner should take action without delay or no later than three months of the squatter’s arrival. After three months, I believe they should file a petition with the court and prove just cause for removal. And, landowners should pay for any improvements made to their land.”
Many of the men in the room appeared to be wealthy landowners themselves. Everyone started to talk at once and, as far as Artis could tell, the topic appeared doomed, buried in confusion and controversy.
Bear stood, standing tall and straight, like a towering pine. The entire room seem to take note of his size at the same time. The very way he stood there spoke of his commanding air of self-confidence. Before he said a word, he looked directly at Artis and smiled. His compelling eyes and handsome features caused a flush to race up her neck and face that she hoped would go unnoticed.
Bear’s expression stilled and grew serious. He turned back to face the Governor, his face filled with inherent strength and pride.
“Fellow delegates, my name is Daniel MacKee, and I represent Fort Logan and the St. Elspeth’s settlement. I rise today to address this topic because…” He paused to look at her again. “…it is dear to my heart.”
Artis felt a flutter in her own heart.
As Bear spoke, his voice deep and his lilt melodious, every man turned their ears his way. “The forced removal from one’s land is one for which both I, and Miss Artis MacKay, newly arrived from Virginia, both have some knowledge.” He inclined his head toward Artis and everyone peered at her, including Kelly.
Now her face felt like she had a fever. She locked her eyes on Bear and he looked back with both eagerness and tenderness. She felt her pulse quicken and she held her breath.
Bear turned his gaze back to the men in the room and continued. “Some of you have undoubtedly heard of the infamous Highland clearances—a dark page in the long and proud history of Scotland. A wealthy landowner from the glen my family had occupied for many generations expelled my own parents from their land when I was but thirteen because raising sheep became more profitable than crofters. Had I been just a wee bit older, I would have sheared the man top to bottom like one of his bleatin’ sheep.”
The entire room erupted in laughter, breaking the tension Bear’s words had fostered. Bear waited for the room to quiet.
“But I wasn’t,” he continued, “and along with my parents, and so many others driven from their land, we boarded a ship and sailed for the colonies. Unfortunately, my parents did not survive the voyage.” He placed a hand on William’s shoulder. “Sheriff Wyllie’s parents later adopted me. But my story is an easy one, compared to Miss MacKay’s.”
Again, all eyes turned toward her. She was tempted to threaten Bear with the fate all men most dread. She did not want to be the center of everyone’s attention. She had just come today to learn more about Kentucky. Was he about to tell everyone here her story? Surely not.
“I will na tell ye the details of how Artis came to be in Boonesborough, as they were confided to me in confidence, but I
will tell ye what I know to be the truth. Tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, of Scots, includin’ Miss MacKay, are here in this country because of clearances. Although they were not squatters, they were crofters, on land held by chiefs, landowners and lairds. Like squatters, these crofters were unjustly forced from their homes after years, nay, generations of workin’ to improve the land. Why? Because someone placed more value on profit than people. Because someone chose to exploit the situation.
“From what the Governor described, it seems that is exactly what is happenin’ here in Kentucky.
“Land is a precious thing and those who are blessed to own it, have the right to protect it. And government should strive to help them protect it. But people are also precious and worthy of protection. Powerful landowners should fairly compensate people who have invested labor and resources into improvin’ land they thought was theirs, through na fault of their own. Land titles are in a state of confusion, and fairness demands that we all work together to ensure justice and evenhandedness.
“Kentucky should offer all of us—rich and poor—a chance for a better future. Not a future handed to us on a silver platter. But a future for those willin’ to work hard for it. We must na let what happened in Scotland— hardworkin’ people defrauded and treated less than animals—happen in Kentucky!”
The room erupted with cheering and all but a few men stood and clapped enthusiastically.
Bear looked over in her direction.
When he did, she stood and joined the others in clapping for him, her chest swelling with pride.
Bear was oblivious to all the commotion in the room as the delegates decided to take a much needed break, since nearly all were already standing. As he and William made their way toward the two women, he could not take his eyes off Artis.
Tragedy had etched strength and dignity into her beautiful face, but now he perceived something else there too. He hoped his speech was to her liking. Perhaps she was impressed with the support he had inspired for the squatters’ law.
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