"I doubt I've got too long to go, Robbie. There's a bad weakness inside me. Can't say as I hurt much, but I ain't expectin' to get over it either.
"Don't grieve over it, Robbie. Every man gets his time and I've had more'n my share o' years, and they've been good ones at that.
"Don't reckon I've got much settlin' up to do. Ain't got much to give away. Old Rob made sure I warranted this ground, so the cabin's clear. I'd like you to take old 'Deathgiver' here." His gnarled hands fondled the black rifle stock, running over his deeply carved initials and the ancient tomahawk gash. "Take the land and keep it till my boy comes home. If he never shows, then it's yours to do with as you wish.
"'Course, I want to be laid alongside Martha. You'll know the spot so no stone'll be needed. I'd take it kindly if you'd show your children where we are and tell 'em our story." His eyes got far away, as though he was looking a long way back. After a while, they returned and he said, "I think we early ones were something kind o' special, Robbie. We suffered a lot learnin' how to live out here, but we made it a good place, and looking at it now, I think it was worth doing."
He seemed better thereafter and spent hours in the near woods. Rob thought the warming weather was doing him some good.
Early in April, Rob spent two days at the new house. When he rode into Elan's, his horse shied and stood with trembling legs and rolling eyes. Rob headed for the cabin knowing what he'd find,
The smell of death was terrible strong and Rob guessed Jack had died not long after he'd last seen him. Rob took a look and headed into town to tell the coroner.
While the man made his own examination, Rob dug a deep grave close beside Martha's. The coroner was waiting by the creek and offered Rob a vinegar soaked cloth. Rob declined and said, "I've smelled death before and a friend don't ever smell bad to me."
Still, Jack had been dead too long. Rob wrapped his body in old blankets and carried him to the grave. He laid him in careful, struggling to keep his stomach down and got ready to fill the grave. He thought about saying a few words over his old friend, but fell to thinking about the man Elan had been. He'd hacked a home in the wilderness and fought his enemy to the death. He'd lived true to his word. He'd been ready when needed, and he left owing no one. Rob figured a man didn't need to do more. It made him wonder why the good Lord let a man grow old and feeble, or kept him living until all that he had been and done got lost behind a failing body and enfeebling mind. It didn't seem a fair shake.
He wished Elan's spirit well on its new journey and hoped old Rob would be waiting for his friend somewhere along the way. He shoveled in the dirt and put Jack Elan in a special niche in his heart and mind.
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Only Blue Moccasin had known Elan well, so news of his death failed to dampen the wedding and Amy's departure for her new home.
They planned to ride to the Little Buffalo, taking their time, with no special arrival date. Most of Amy's baggage would remain at the Cummens mansion until the new house was finished. The rest was already en route by canal boat and would be held in Newport until called for.
The wedding was as simple as Rob had hoped. The minister railed overly long, but most would have been surprised if he hadn't. Rob had asked that Blue Moccasin stand as his best man. James, Junior grumbled at the unusualness of having the bride's grandfather present in that capacity. Blue Moccasin's eyes had glinted with ancient mischief and, to his son's mortification and Rob and Amy's delight, his wedding attire was immaculately Philadelphia, except for beaded blue moccasins.
They changed quickly to travel clothes and were on the road before noon. Their horses carried saddlebags and blanket rolls. Amy, as always, rode astride. Rob, armed with pistol and rifle, sat his saddle in the relaxed western manner. Few would have thought them more than a long hunter and his wife, busy with their own affairs.
They dawdled long in their camps. They rose late and stopped early, they chose isolated hollows with clear springs or running brooks. They used their special time to become close, to learn the other's ways and to grow stronger through shared love and understanding. The weather gods blessed their union with unseasonable warmth and held spring rains behind distant ridges. They bathed in deep streams and Amy thrilled at her willingness to share unadorned nakedness in the open sunlight.
She studied Rob's body with interest, her hands testing his muscled frame and touching lightly on his many scars. Each held a story, often horrifying. Even in Rob's calm telling, she could not weigh the impact of numerous brushes with death, but she knew they made her man special and she marveled at the fortune that had tied them together.
That Rob was entranced by his bride was demonstrated in a hundred ways. His eyes lovingly enfolded her as often as his arms and he seemed more lightened in spirit than she had ever known him.
Amy could never hear enough of the old settler tales. Rob told them freely, but worried a little that he might paint a false picture of how their lives would be as horse breeders in the narrow creek valley.
At his bride's request, Rob told her again of old Rob's years of house building and of finally fetching his bride, Becky Reed, across Kittatinny Mountain to honeymoon at the warm springs on Sherman's Creek before reaching their new home on the Little Buffalo.
Both Rob and Amy took pleasure in dropping into the Delaware tongue. Rob's command of the language had remained good and he strengthened his bride's easy use of the soft, bell-like speech.
The mountain years had allowed Rob to communicate adequately in a number of western Indian tongues. Compared to the liquid Delaware, he found them harsh and guttural. There was a fluid poetry native to the Delaware language that Rob found lacking in any other, even his own English. It occurred often to him that within his generation few would even remember, much less speak, the language of the Delaware. The tribe had been long scattered and their traditions shattered. Of Blue Moccasin's family, only Amy knew the tongue. He and Amy could enjoy their special language and be richer for it. Perhaps they would teach it to their children, but that they could find partners with which to share would be improbable. Rob regretfully expected that the melody of the Delaware would not long be heard across the land.
They came finally to Carlisle and began the climb over Kittatinny Mountain and into the wild valleys of Perry County. Rob showed where Reed's Ordinary had stood and the spot from were old Rob had slipped his wagon out of town under the cover of rain-filled darkness.
On the mountain, they viewed the moldering remains of George Croghan's place and followed the old Indian path to the warm springs. Rob pitched camp at the site of his great-grandparent's honeymoon bower, and as they had done, he took his bride to soak in the warm mineral springs.
Before reaching their own land, Rob took Amy to Castle Knob. He showed her the hiding place where Braddock's coins had been weighted by his own western gold. She saw the many springed meadows of the southern fork of the Little Buffalo where E'shan had made arrowpoints and where the great Shatto home had stood. Men now called that fork Clark's Run, but Rob found the name hard to use.
Their own land lay as Rob had described it and the Appaloosa mare, round with her foal, greeted them as they made their last camp along the creek.
They walked the land, discussing their plans and answering the other's questions. Of course, the house took the most time. Amy studied every board and nail. She stepped off room sizes and stood looking at window and wall space.
Dark found them still at the house, but Rob made a torch and lighted their walk to the stream bank. The torch got their fire blazing and they warmed by flaring pine knots, enjoying the security of being on their own ground. Rob felt completeness in Amy's presence, as though an empty place had been finally filled. Ami-ta-chena Cummens Shatto felt her land beneath her feet, sniffed the clean mountain air and believed she had come home. Philadelphia's silken comforts seemed pale comparisons to the rich goodness of new earth and stern challenges.
She snuggled close to Rob's strong arm, aware of shared satisfactio
n and content with being part of it.
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Chapter 14
Mrs. Rob Shatto's effect on Perry County was notable.
A few good women sniffed at her astride riding. Many men followed her passage with interested eyes. Not a few disapproved—considering her actions a dangerous precedent.
That she was a Philadelphia Cummens, whose wealth and power was well recognized, added importance to her every activity. Those who came to know her became admirers of her outgoing good will and confident presence whether among her house builders or in dealing with local merchants.
Amy Shatto might be seen talking with old men on a village square or examining horses at a stable. She and Rob rode long days across the county working their horses and searching for likely animals to add to their line.
While most women labored in the fields beside their men or struggled with household tasks and many children, Amy Shatto traveled about much as she willed. If she saw something interesting, she paused to learn about it. If she heard something unusual, she was likely to ride over for a look.
Working men came almost to expect Amy Shatto, probably with Robb, but possibly alone, to come riding past and perhaps stop for a word or to watch for a while.
After the first flush of interest, wives became irritated by husbands' repeated mention of talking to Amy Shatto. Many wished she would stay to home where she belonged instead of gallivanting around like an Indian squaw.
Indian blood in both the Cummens and Shatto lines was hinted at. Rob Shatto certainly looked like an Indian with dark eyes and raven hair. The Shattos had been in the valley before anyone else, and it seemed possible some Indian had gotten mixed in.
The story of James Cummens, called Blue Moccasin in the old days, was passed around in garbled form, and some had it that Amy Shatto was actually an Indian princess.
From the courthouse records, her full name, Ami-ta-chena, added serious weight to the suspected percentage of Indian blood, and when Rob and Amy spoke Indian talk, right out in public, many became convinced.
For some months, the pot simmered and stewed, but with time, the people accepted Amy Shatto's freedoms to come and go as well as her ready smile and happy wave as her way of doing things. They learned that the Shattos were training special horses that required hard riding. They noted that Shatto bills were paid in full and on time. People like Doctor Jonas Ickes, Abel Troop, and Cadwallader Jones brought the Shattos into their households.
Doctor Jonas and Mary Ickes fairly doted on Amy Shatto. They found her the perfect example for their girl children. Amy was educated and well-read on many subjects. She was friendly, spotlessly clean, and devoted to her husband. Fortunately, the Ickes brood shared their parent's appreciation of the Shattos. The boys vowed to help Rob train horses when they got enough on hand. Susan Ickes had a split riding skirt made up and chose to ride astride like Amy Shatto did. Some elders nodded together and shared "I told you so's."
The world seemed specially sweet to Amy. They moved into the new house in late May and the summer was filled with homemaking. Furniture, rugs and her personal treasures arrived via canal. She fitted things together, making their home warm and comfortable.
Barns were going up and fields were being chopped clear. The Appaloosa mare foaled and that event was attended with great interest. Other horses were added to their small herd. They chose carefully, preferring a horse be sold away than found to be of poor stock.
Rob placed an animal's beauty far down his list of priorities. He studied deepness of chest, thickness of tendon, and alignment of bones. They both searched for alertness of eye and hints of intelligence,
Amy, however, thought a horse ought to look decent, as well. She helped turn Rob away from ugly animals. Rob could get so involved with shoulder muscles that he would not see a mule-like head until Amy pointed it out. Rob bowed to Amy's preferences. They desired few horses, so they looked until both agreed,
Amy supervised the construction of both springhouse and ice cave. The springhouse was placed close to the kitchen door and had its water piped in from the big spring. They built the springhouse of stone so that the continual moisture would have nothing to rot.
The ice cave was a favored scheme of Rob's. He spoke often of it and had drawn it in detail. Amy saw no reason to wait and hired two men to build it.
They dug deep into the hillside behind the house, piling dirt aside for later use. The cave was lined with rock and plank, including a pair of doors, each inches thick. The back wall had an immense iron ring imbedded. From it, a rope and pulley could skid ice blocks from the road to the cave, where they would be stored in straw and sawdust until needed.
When winter came, they would cut ice on the creek and next summer enjoy cool drinks while meat and milk kept longer.
Rob's irrigation system was put into use during the dry summer months. There were only two dams in place and the irrigating ditches were still short. However, the summer would test the system and they could compare growth with the non-irrigated part of the same fields.
They saw to the care of the ditches. One ditch needed realigning and they did it together. Rob decided on an additional branch from one ditch. They laid it out and dug it just right. The water flowed in, filling the ditch without pouring into a low spot. Amy thought they made a good team. Rob agreed, but had to admit that the planning was his. She mentioned her careful supervision. After all he never dug in a straight line and had been known to throw his dirt into the ditch he had just cleared behind him.
They laughed, admitting it was all true, and started back to the house. Amy made Rob carry the tools so she could pick some wild flowers for their table. He growled halfway home, so she knew he was pleased and content.
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Chapter 15
In the early days, before there had been a Perry County, a settler had dug a peculiar rock from his field. The stone was as nearly round as could be imagined and appeared to be granite, a stone foreign to the area.
Despite its unusual shape, the stone would probably have been discarded had the settler's people not gotten to laughing over their inability to pick it up. Although only twenty inches or so in diameter, the rock's smooth surface and round shape defied a single man gripping it. A task that appeared simple became impossible as hands slipped and the confounding thing turned uncontrollably.
Expecting fun, the settlers hauled the stone to the Blue Ball Tavern on the Little Buffalo where numerous strong men tried lifting it. Over the years, a few individuals managed to raise the stone a precarious inch or two from the ground, but no one made it further.
As a youth, Robbie Shatto had struggled with the exasperating thing without success. Old Rob had thought he might have raised it in his prime, but those years were then too far behind.
Someone had carted the rock into Bloomfield and Rob saw it lying on the market lot. He toed the round stone, thinking that it looked as deceptively easy as ever, and wondering still if he could lift the darn thing.
Cad Jones missed little that went on in the square. He came bouncing down the courthouse steps and across to where Rob stood near the rock. Two men made a conversation and idlers began drifting closer. Rob Shatto was more than a little different than most folks and even discounting the rumors about him and the Rubys, Shatto goings-on were likely to prove interesting.
Jones said, "You know this stone, Rob?"
"Wrestled it a few times years ago, Cad. Who brought it in from the Blue Ball'?"
"Oh a bunch of rousters that hung out in Doc Ickes' tavern. The Blue Ball isn't what it used to be, and they figured to get more action in here."
Jones paused to speculate. "Reckon they have, too. More than a few drovers or teamsters stopping for a dram have bet they could lift that rock. They all lost. Our boys have put away a lot of free liquor betting on that old stone."
"Nobody ever raised it, Cad? Well, maybe it's too much for any man to do."
Cadwallader hastened to reply. "Oh no, Rob. It's been lifted. A
great bull of a man that's left these parts squatted down, got a good grip, and lifted that rock onto his thighs. Took three steps before it got away from him. Brute of a man, that Maddoc Ruby. Won enough whiskey for his whole tribe that day."
Rob's neck tingled at the mention of Maddoc Ruby, and as Cadwallader rambled on, he eyed the stone with renewed interest. He toed the rock with his moccasin and someone said, "You goin' to try her, Rob? Don't do nothin' till we get some people down here."
Rob deferred, smiling a little, and the crowd soon dispersed. He finished his business and rode over the ridge toward home, but the stone and Maddoc Ruby stayed in his mind. Probably the man was gone for good. It didn't seem likely that he would come fighting old Bart's troubles. Still, you couldn't be sure and Maddoc Ruby appeared to be monster strong. Rob guessed he'd ask around and find out what else Maddoc Ruby had to hand. In the meantime, he had that rock to think about.
Perry Countians liked a good bet. They'd lay their hard earned money or goods on either side of any fairly even contest. Opinionated and confident in their abilities, their unceasing battle to wrest a living from the small farms gave them a hardy independence that demanded their active participation in anything going on. Whether a horse race, an eating contest, or a political campaign everyone voiced their opinions and often backed their beliefs by placing wagers on their favored participant. The round rock promised to lend itself handily to a bit of profitable excitement.
It took a while to find a piece of limestone the right size and shape. He stoneboated it to his forge shop and spent many evenings with an old hatchet and some iron chisels shaping the rock into a ball the size of the lifting stone. He had to make it close. If his ball was smaller, it would be too light and too easy to grasp. If too large, the curves would be different and the stone would lay too readily along his arms. He scrubbed the stone smooth using old rasps that he resharpened often,
Shatto (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series) Page 11
