“Yes. In my deepest heart.”
He nodded his dark head, gazing off into the distance before turning to her once again. “I always wondered about the difference between you Anglicans an’ us Presbyterians but never knowed anybody I could ask about things. Would ya be of a mind to talk to me about it some evenin’?”
Rose couldn’t believe her good fortune! A true Christian believer traveling with her! “Oh, ye of little faith…” God had not deserted her after all. “’Twould be my pleasure, Mr. Bloom.”
“Hold up!”
Almost lulled into semiconsciousness by the gentle rocking of her horse, Rose jerked fully awake when Mr. Kinyon yelled from behind. She swung in her saddle to see the men of the party bringing their animals to a halt.
“Why are we stopping?” Barely twenty minutes had elapsed since the group had stopped to rest the horses.
“Riders comin’ after us.” He pulled his long-barreled musket from its scabbard and checked its load, as did the others.
Rose scanned the forest trail they’d been steadily climbing. Despite its rustic beauty, she couldn’t forget the possibility of real danger lurking along the route. If shooting started, should she race ahead? Hop down and take cover behind a tree? Or…
When she saw Mr. Smith dismount at the front of the train, she swung a leg over the saddle.
“Stay put,” Mr. Kinyon ordered, passing by with his rifle in hand. “Prob’ly nothin’ to worry about.”
Probably. She turned on her mount to watch then realized she was the only one still on horseback—a perfect target. Not an ideal situation.
Two white men and a pair of brown-skinned Indians rode up to the end of the column and reined in their horses. Without having drawn weapons, the riders remained on their mounts as they conversed with the travelers in her party, all of whom had congregated at the rear.
One of the newcomers flicked several glances in her direction, making Rose uneasy. Had they come because of her? Had Mr. Smith broken some law by forcing her to accompany him into Indian territory? A tiny ray of hope lessened her fear.
The group talked for several minutes, leaving her to sit and wonder about the proceedings. Finally, the members of her party headed back to their horses, and the strangers slowly worked their way past them on the narrow trail. She didn’t know what to think and drew a nervous breath.
Nate Kinyon and Mr. Bloom reached her first. The latter nodded a greeting. “Sorry to tell ya this, but I gotta leave. I’ll catch up with ya at Smith’s tradin’ post soon as I can.”
“You’re leaving?” Distraught, she cut a glance to his partner. “And you. Are you leaving as well?”
He shook his head and flashed an easy smile. “No, miss. Don’t worry yourself none. I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Bob has to go with these fellows down to a Catawba village. Seems a white boy was brought there to be ransomed back to his folks, an’ they need my pal to translate for ’em. The two braves they sent out to make a deal don’t talk English so good.”
A touch more at ease since Mr. Kinyon wasn’t going to desert her, Rose checked back toward the approaching white men.
Their demeanors remained serious, even determined. “Hurry up and say your good-byes,” one said to Bloom as they came alongside. “Who knows what them savages already done to Billy—and what all they want from us to get him back.”
Rose could easily understand their angst, but she couldn’t help remembering that Robert Bloom was the only person with whom she’d been traveling who professed to be a Christian—and now he was leaving her behind to go to the aid of a boy some savages had taken captive. But she couldn’t help but identify with the lad—who was probably scared to death being held prisoner by wild Indians—and she empathized with the strangers. “I shall pray for you and the boy, that he’ll be safe and unharmed, and that your journey homeward will be without peril.”
One of the men took off his hat and bowed his head to her. “Thank you for that.” He swept a glance around at her motley group then extended his hand, giving hers a warm squeeze. “We’ll be prayin’ for you, too, miss. May the good Lord keep you safe in His hand as that devil Smith carts you off into that hellish heathen land of his.” He flicked a disgusted glance to her owner, who at that moment was lumbering up the trail from the rear.
Rose felt renewed trepidation as the stranger wagged his head and led his party and Robert Bloom away.
Chapter 9
Determined not to cry as the newcomers and Robert Bloom took their leave, Rose watched after them until they reached the top of the ridge and vanished from sight. How frail was hope, she mused, when it could vanish so quickly. She’d grown accustomed to having Bloom around, had counted on his presence, and his unexpected departure filled her with emptiness.
In front of her, Mr. Smith turned in his saddle, a smug smirk twisting one corner of his mouth. “Now I’ll only have one o’ them moonstruck jaspers to keep an eye on, Miss Harwood.” With a glance encompassing Nate and the others, he raised an arm high, heeling his horse into motion. “Forward, ho.”
The flame of embarrassment burned Rose’s face. Mr. Kinyon had to have heard the trader’s comment. What must he think? Without checking behind to gauge his reaction, she nudged her mount to a walk. But the creaks and plods coming from the caravan as it started up did not muffle the low chuckle that rumbled from the frontiersman’s chest. Why, the man actually found the crude remark humorous! She pursed her lips and straightened her shoulders.
As they gained the top of the rise and started down a steep incline, it dawned on Rose that Smith—uncouth and tactless though he may be—may have bought her to be a cook, but had assumed the responsibility of being her chaperone. The smelly trader possessed at least a spark of human decency. At this, Rose nearly laughed herself. Who could have imagined that after the monotonous, predictable life she’d endured in her motherland, her world was destined to be turned upside down?
It would be awhile before Nate would be able to erase the memory of the desolation he’d detected on Miss Harwood’s face when Bob rode off to help fetch the kidnapped boy. And the leader of the group’s parting remark about praying for her safety had only made things worse. Despite her brave front, the woman had fears enough regarding her uncertain future without some stranger adding to her misery. But leave it to Smith to lighten the mood. He chuckled again.
The trader’s attempt at levity sure caught the little gal off her guard, though. Her spine went as straight as a ridgepole, and her neck turned beet red. Nate would look for an opportunity to talk to her, ease her mind a bit. She’d fare well enough if she were prepared for what might lie ahead. They’d come to the Cheat River soon, where they’d raft across the water a few at a time. There might be a chance then to allay some of her misgivings.
The sound of rushing water made it to Rose’s ears before the river came into view. It grew gradually louder as they ambled steadily downward, drowning out the usual forest sounds. It must be a river of some size, like the Ohio. That name had been bandied about during the trek, and it was reported to be quite large. The group had been traveling for days already. Perhaps the men hadn’t exaggerated about the journey requiring weeks. Mr. Kinyon himself had said they’d be venturing three hundred miles into the wilderness. Had even twenty of those miles been covered yet? It felt like a hundred to her backside.
Soon they came to a break in the forest growth, providing Rose her first glimpse of a wide, swift-flowing river. A number of tall trees had been cut down and used to construct a crude wooden dock jutting out over the water’s edge. Two layers of rope stretched from the dock across to the other side, where they wound around a pulley, and a raft made of logs attached at both ends to the lower rope bobbed on the current.
“Blast!” Mr. Smith whacked his hat against his thigh, dislodging a puff of trail dust. “We gotta haul the fool thing over to us.”
Rose startled. The man must be mad if he thinks that pitiful-looking bit of wood can bear the weight of horses and goods—
and us! She observed the rapid swells coursing past the dock. Hearing a horse moving up alongside hers, she slanted a nervous glance at Nate Kinyon.
His expression remained even. “We’ll be waterin’ the stock before we cross. I’ll take your mount down to the river whilst you stretch your legs a bit.”
“Surely you don’t mean we’re expected to cross that wild torrent on that useless conveyance!” She pointed toward the raft, hoping her voice didn’t sound as frightened as she felt. When she looked back at Nate, he was actually grinning. She let out a silent huff of displeasure. Did he find everything humorous, for pity’s sake?
His countenance never did turn serious. “I reckon the ferry does look a mite puny, but don’t be frettin’ your pretty self. It’s sturdier than you think. Besides, I’ll be right there with you to see you don’t lose your footin’.”
Rose drew little comfort from his words or his smile. Anyone with sense could see that such an ill-crafted thing could very well be the end of them all. Should she find herself in the churning water, her limited ability to swim would be no match for the river’s power, especially if she had to contend with cumbersome skirts and petticoats.
When they reached the dock, the frontiersman reined in and dismounted. He caught up the traces and strode to the front of Rose’s horse. “Time to get down, miss. I’ll be waterin’ the animals now.”
Gracefully as possible, Rose acquiesced, counting it a blessing that she didn’t collapse at his feet. At least the practice of getting on and off the beast over the past few days had been of some benefit, though her legs still retained an awkward, wooden feel and ached after riding for hours. As the shuffle and clomp of the rest of the caravan surrounded her, she dodged her way to the edge of the river and gazed across to the other side. The men and horseflesh surged down to the water for a drink, and the thirsty cows mooed as they lumbered past in a cloud of dust. No one else appeared concerned about the crossing, so Rose tamped down her own foreboding. She vowed she’d give no further hint of her disquiet but couldn’t help gauging the swiftness of the current all the same. Be with us, Father. See us safely to the other side…somehow.
Mr. Kinyon returned moments later with the horses. He handed Rose a leather flask. “You must be thirsty. Have some cool mountain water whilst we wait for the men to haul the ferry across.”
“Thank you.” Taking the container, she lifted it to her lips and let the refreshing liquid cool her tongue. How she longed for a much-needed bath after the dusty ride. She lowered the flask and watched the raft moving slowly through the current as a couple of the Indians hauled on the lower ferry rope.
The frontiersman cleared his throat. “There’s somethin’ you need to know.”
What else? she wanted to scream. But considering the new vow she’d made not to reveal her emotions, she took a breath for patience and turned to him. “What is it, Mr. Kinyon?”
He grimaced, crimping up one side of his face. “It’s all the mister an’ miss business. Don’t you think it’s time we get past that nonsense? Could you see fit to call me just Nate, or even Kinyon? An’ I’d be purely pleased to call you Rose. If you wouldn’t mind.”
She gazed beyond him to where the rumpled Mr. Smith was checking the straps and tie-downs on a packhorse. Raising her eyes to meet those of the frontiersman, she was lost in the sincerity she saw in the hazel depths, and her insides went still. “I suppose, under the circumstances, it might not be improper for us to address one another by our given names. ’Tis not as if we are among the gentry out here.”
That infectious grin she’d grown accustomed to seeing popped into place again. “No, miss, we surely ain’t. Now that we got that outta the way, Rose, there’s another matter I’d like to set your mind to rest about.” Certain it could only be the “moonstruck jaspers” remark Mr. Smith had made earlier, she steeled her expression and waited for him to elaborate.
“About them Indians kidnappin’ that boy. You don’t need to worry about that none. Long as you don’t go wanderin’ off by yourself out here, nothin’ like that’ll happen to you.”
A small shiver went through Rose. “Surely you’re not telling me that boy took a walk by himself and got captured by sheer chance!”
“No, not a’tall. His pa said the boy an’ his brother an’ another lad was out coon huntin’ with their dogs after dark. Chasin’ after the hounds, they prob’ly got themselves too deep in the woods, and considerin’ all the racket dogs make, it would’a been easy for some Cherokee huntin’ party to hear ’em.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Likely the Indians figgered the boys was trespassin’ on their huntin’ grounds, so they went after ’em. I expect they must’a killed the two older boys who might’a given ’em trouble an’ took the young one to their village. Prob’ly figgered he was young enough to retrain, make him part of their tribe, if his kin didn’t offer enough of a price to get him back.”
Rose’s brows arched in shock. “You’re saying that Indians do not consider murder or kidnapping an evil act, then?”
“Not like we do.” Nate shifted his stance. “They got different ideas on what’s right an’ what’s wrong. Sometimes they capture a person to replace one of their own who might’a been killed by a white man.”
That sort of logic didn’t sit well with Rose. She glanced toward the dock at the Indians chatting back and forth between themselves as they worked. She then looked again at Nate. “Indeed, they truly are as savage as I’ve been told, even if ’tis not apparent at first glance.”
He tilted his head and studied her. “No more savage than what’s been goin’ on in Europe for a thousand years, kingdom against kingdom. The word Indian is the one Columbus tagged ’em with when he thought he’d discovered the route to India. These people have their own nations an’ clans just like in Europe. Actions that might be considered evil in their own towns an’ villages are quite acceptable against other tribes. That includes killin’ an’ takin’ hostages. Indians have their own territories an’ languages an’ rules of conduct just like in Europe an’ the rest of the civilized world.” He stopped talking abruptly and flashed a sheepish grin. “Sorry. Reckon I was speechifyin’ a touch.”
Rose smiled. “’Tis quite all right. I suppose the more I’m able to understand regarding this foreign land I’m in, the less apprehensive I’ll be. So I gather I’ll be going to a town where the neighbors are friendly and business is conducted similar to the way it is in the shops at home in Bath. Is that right?”
“Not exactly.” His grin broadened, and he rested an elbow on his horse’s saddle. “More like the bargainin’ that goes on in the weekly markets or down on the docks in Baltimore, I’d say.”
Baltimore. Thinking back on her experience there, Rose recalled seeing a ship of African slaves in chains being off-loaded as she was leaving the wharf. The phrase savage Indian lost some of its sting. Their actions couldn’t hold a candle to the cruelty of the English slavers who captured and sold other humans into a lifetime of bondage just to line their own pockets with gold. “I do thank you for your frankness, Mr.—Nate. I shall look forward to more of your speechifyin’. As I gather more information about the daily lives of the natives here, I’m less befuddled about what I might face when we reach our destination.” She paused. “Pray, what is the name of the town I’m going to?”
Nate rubbed his chin. “Don’t know as it has a proper name. Some Shawnees an’ Delawares started raisin’ their wigwams an’ longhouses in the area when the fur company contracted for Smith an’ his partner to set up their store there. Us longhunters call it Muskingum-at-the-Ohio…or just plain Muskingum.”
“Muskingum. What an odd name. Whatever does it mean?”
“I ain’t rightly sure. I think the word comes from the Erie tribe, or mebbe the Senecas. You see, along the Ohio’s been mostly free huntin’ and trappin’. No tribe in particular claims that territory. Leastways, not yet.”
“Hmm. How odd. In England—as well as all of Europe, I believe—every foot of land in exist
ence is claimed by some individual or some government.”
Nate chuckled. “Us humans tend to be a greedy bunch, don’t we?”
A laugh bubbled up out of Rose before she could catch herself.
The frontiersman tipped his head, studying her, then stepped closer. “You know, that’s the first time I heard you laugh. Don’t mind sayin’ I like the sound of it.”
Rose felt unwelcome heat climb her neck and warm her cheeks as she stared back at him. For a moment all thought fled except how very much she admired his stalwart presence, his face, his smile….
“Yo! Kinyon!” Mr. Smith’s bellow from the riverbank halted her midthought. “Stop your moonin’ an’ git down here. We need to git these skittish horses aboard.”
Mooning! The trader had no end of ways to humiliate her. Rose felt her face grow even warmer, especially when Nate’s grin widened from ear to ear. Then, recalling the rest of her owner’s words, she turned toward the dock and watched the men struggling to coax a loaded horse onto the wobbly raft. Ears back, the brown gelding’s eyes walled to the side, and the terrified animal went stiff legged. It would not budge. I know exactly how you feel, poor thing.
Reaching the others, Nate whipped off his linen hunting shirt and tossed it over the packhorse’s eyes. Almost immediately, the animal began to relax. Rose watched the frontiersman lean close to its ear and speak a few words then lead it slowly from the dock onto the gently rocking ferry, where two other horses had already boarded. Once the gate bars dropped into place, Nate and two of the Shawnee braves tugged on the rope that would take the Indians and the first three horses to the other side of the river.
She knew it was less than ladylike to stare at the man’s broad back, but Rose could not deny Nate Kinyon made a rather dashing figure without his shirt. Finely honed muscles stood out with his movements, and the June sunshine lent a glow to his bronzed skin. He truly was quite capable when he put his mind to it. Recalling his promise—or almost promise—to take her back to her sisters, she had no doubt he was a man who’d move heaven and earth to stand by his word.
Daughters of Harwood House Trilogy : Three Romances Tell the Saga of Sisters Sold into Indentured Service (9781630586140) Page 9
