She continued to observe the men for several more minutes to be sure no one was leaving the others. Then she hurriedly flung open her trunk and plucked out some bedding and some dry clothes, intending to be changed and have her bed made before anyone started moving about again.
Without Bob around, Nate was glad a Cherokee by the name of Two Crows spoke passable English. Nate fared well enough using sign language but preferred being able to talk in plain words whenever possible. The Indian had recognized Nate’s name and even asked about Black Horse Bob.
But once they’d waded through all the polite questions regarding mutual acquaintances, the expression on Two Crows’s face changed from friendly smiles to stony reserve.
Nate tensed. Why the sudden change?
“What you hear about Mohawk Chief Tiyanoga and English governor Clinton at Albany?” The Indian’s black eyes narrowed as he studied Nate.
Nate and Eustice Smith swapped a glance and shrugged.
“We ain’t heard nothin’,” Smith replied evenly. “I been down in Baltimore. There was talk about some French soldiers an’ a black robe movin’ aways south of Lake Erie to build a fort. Nobody’s happy about it. That’s the last I heard.” He sniffed.
The Indian hiked his chin. “Chief Tiyanoga say they build forts from big lake to Ohio River. He say to Clinton, ‘We make treaty with you. Why you no go stop the French?’ Then Tiyanoga say, ‘Mohawk support English allies, but English allies no support Mohawk.’ He say the Dutch buy small piece of land from Mohawk, but say piece is bigger.” Two Crows spread his arms wide. “Tiyanoga say no more. He say he send wampum belt to the Six Nations, say chain is broken with the English.”
Neither Nate nor Smith moved, but their eyes met and held for a brief second.
The trader shook his head offhandedly. “That bunch up in New York is always gettin’ things wrong with the Nations. But them Indians up there got William Johnson to speak for ’em. He’s a fair man. He’ll sort things out sure ‘nuff.”
“Aye, that he will.” Nate gave an emphatic nod. But inside, he knew that if Governor Clinton did nothing and allowed the French to gain control of the Ohio, Smith’s trading post and every other English enterprise this side of the Alleghenies would be at risk.
Inhaling a troubled breath, he glanced around the circle of Indians, wondering if even the Shawnee and the Cherokee farther to the south would turn on them. If so, what would become of Rose…his Rose of Sharon?
Chapter 13
A canopy of stars twinkled in the blue velvet sky, while around the camp and off in the distance, fireflies flickered like so many more miniature stars. An occasional bat darted among the leafy treetops, and the hobbled horses stirred at the plaintive howl of a wolf. Used to nature’s sounds, Nate chewed a bite of turkey and relaxed, enjoying the rush of the dark water not far away.
In the group ringing the campfire while they ate the roasted meat, Nate had the distinct impression the Cherokee seemed more inclined to be friendly toward the Shawnee braves than the Shawnee were toward the Cherokee. While the Cherokee talked with the help of hand signs, the Shawnee kept their replies short and blunt. Nate figured the Shawnee didn’t want their red brothers to the south to think they could blithely intercept the pack train and get first pick of all the best trade goods. No doubt the Shawnee were already coveting a few particular items among the lot.
Switching his attention to Two Crows, Nate sensed the Indian’s interest lay elsewhere—in the direction of Rose’s haven—and the knowledge set him on edge. Nate had taken her a turkey drumstick moments earlier, and since then the interpreter seemed more occupied by the possibilities of what might be inside her small shelter than in the goods from the sacks and crates awaiting the group’s inspection. He took another bite of the roasted turkey that had been flavored with some of Eustice Smith’s seasonings, watching as the dark hooded gaze of Two Crows drifted often to Rose’s hut.
The Indian wiped the back of his hand across his greasy mouth, puffing out his chest as he sat up straighter and turned to Nate, a frown rippling his tattooed forehead. “Why you serve woman? Why she no serve you, the man, like good squaw?”
Nate opened his mouth to reply, but Smith’s voice cut him off. The trader leaned forward and cocked his grizzled head to one side. “The gal don’t b’long to Kinyon. I bought her. She’s my property, jest like ever’thing else on this here pack train.” Having made the announcement, he sat back with a satisfied “harrumph.”
Perhaps it was the man’s stern tone of voice that caused the other Indians around the fire to cease talking and turn their attention to him, but Nate was quite sure they understood little, if anything, of what the trader had just said.
Not to be dissuaded from his question, Two Crows eyed Smith steadily. “If woman belong to you, why she not serve you?” His sullen eyes narrowed in confusion.
The trader raised his chin and stared hard at the Indian for several seconds before replying. “She’s up there b’cause that’s where I told her to stay, that’s why. She don’t need to be out here prancin’ around fer you youngbloods to be gawkin’ at. As it is, I’m already havin’ to put up with more prancin’ an’ preenin’ than a body should have to.” He shot a surly glance at Nate as if challenging him to deny the accusation.
The interpreter still appeared perplexed, but he didn’t comment further. His party had come many miles downriver with a load of furs to trade, and Nate was certain that, despite his curiosity about the ways of a white man, Two Crows knew better than to anger the trader who possessed the goods they hoped to barter for.
The other Cherokee began to stir restlessly—not a good sign. Then one of them said something in their language to Two Crows, who responded with a few words that seemed to mollify the Indian somewhat. He and his companions settled down again on their blankets and helped themselves to more meat from the roasted birds.
Nate decided it was time for a change of subject. “How is it that you braves knew we’d be comin’ through here today? I find that mighty curious.”
Two Crows let out a small huff. “Hunting party see when Smith go east. He take many horses loaded with furs for trade. We bring many prime furs in canoes. Wait at river crossing. Three suns.” He held up a trio of greasy fingers. Then his gaze wandered again to Rose’s hut with a knowing grin. “Smith’s number-two wife, she make happy man under blanket.”
Nate was sorely tempted to wipe that leer off the Indian’s mouth but knew the prudent thing would be to refrain. They were crossing lawless Indian lands, and only an idiot would want to deliberately invite trouble.
Keeping the peace seemed the least of Eustice Smith’s concerns, however. He leaned toward Two Crows with a meaningful glare and shook a turkey wing in the red man’s face. “You’d best forget about the woman, or I won’t so much as let ya get a sniff of what’s in them packs of ourn.” He gestured with a thumb toward the goods waiting to be displayed.
Two Crows’s eyes widened for a second. He then composed his features into the more normal unreadable demeanor most Indians adopted and settled back on his blanket, eating as if nothing whatever had transpired.
Stifling a grin, Nate took another big bite himself. Up until now, he’d always assumed Eustice Smith would trade away his own mother if the price was right. But apparently that was not so when it concerned his stomach. Even more surprising, the man wasn’t about to brook any vulgar insinuations about his lovely new cook. Would wonders never cease!
Then a more unwelcome realization dawned. Getting Rose out of Smith’s clutches was going to take a lot more effort than he’d figured on.
A lot more.
Having devoured the delicious turkey leg Nate had been kind enough to bring to her the previous evening, Rose still basked in the memory of the savory meat the next morning, wondering when she’d last enjoyed such a treat. Even without the roasted potatoes and fresh bread that would have accompanied it back home, it had been a most welcome change from the tiresome mush and cold jerked meat th
at made up most meals on the trail. Now what she would give for a spot of tea to warm her insides. But knowing there was little chance of that luxury, she disregarded the activity from the camp and concentrated on the lovely songs of the birds cavorting among the trees nearby. Already the tree toads were in fine harmony, and the steady drone of cicadas promised a hot day ahead. Meanwhile the ever-present river continued to surge and gush past the camp, though the volume had lessened somewhat from the previous day.
Rose’s thoughts turned heavenward. Dear Lord, how I thank You that Mr. Smith rode up to the auction when he did and not a moment sooner. I could not begin to imagine my sweet Lily being in my position here, not with her youth, her innocence….
On the heels of that notion, the mental picture of Mariah came to mind, and Rose felt a droll smile tug at her lips. Even a man as obstinate and stubborn as Mr. Smith would have sent someone as spirited as Mariah packing once she started whining and complaining at the sight of the first smudge on one of her gowns. And the dire comment she’d have made about his smell! La, either the man would have traded her off at first opportunity, or he’d have resorted to gagging her. Even then, however, the girl’s nose would have curled in utter disdain at the odor whenever he passed by.
On the other hand, he might have traded Mariah off to those Indians he’d bargained with half the night. That realization sent a chill through Rose. And what if their dear father ever found out about such an unforeseen turn of events! How such disastrous news would break his heart. The poor beleaguered man had suffered trials enough, with the betrayal that left him in financial ruin. Surely the Lord would reward him in full measure for his patience and unfailing faith throughout the whole sorry affair.
She wondered if her family in England gave much thought to their loved ones who’d sailed across the wide ocean to the colonies…or for that matter, if Mariah even once wondered about her sisters’ well-being. Perhaps she was consumed mostly with thoughts of herself and her own surroundings. Rose knew that Lily, having been so attached to both her sisters, undoubtedly kept her and Mariah in constant prayer. Rose suppressed a pang of longing for the dear girl. Please keep her in Your tender watch-care, Father. I miss her so.
As she sat in her shelter, observing the movements outside, Rose sighed. The early morning sun glistened off the river, casting golden outlines around the first members of the caravan making the crossing. Fortunately, the queer-looking Indians were hastening the trip by loaning their canoes to transport the goods, while the horses were hauled across the rapid water on another pitiful raft.
And here she still sat, relegated to stay out of sight as she had the night before.
Far from being the dull, overlooked spinster she’d been back home in England, it seemed the tattooed Indians considered her a lady of mystery. Now and again they’d pause in their work and glance toward her shelter, which grated on her nerves. How drastically her life had changed in such a short amount of time. Nibbling the inside corner of her lip, she wondered if it might have been wiser to display herself out in the open last eve in all her rained-on, rumpled glory. But when still another pair of beady black eyes flicked her way, she knew she had to trust that Mr. Smith and Nate knew best. After all, they’d had previous dealings with these natives of the land and knew some of the intricacies of their nature.
At last the goods and animals completed the tedious journey across the river. When the Cherokee began their slow paddle upstream with their load of pots, knives, bolts of cloth—and muskets—Nate came ambling up the bank toward Rose’s hut. He waved, his friendly grin a most pleasing sight, as he called out to her, “Time to go, pretty lady.”
His presence on the trip made it seem less of a trial and more like an adventure to Rose, especially since she knew he was making the journey for one reason only. For her. Smiling, she stood from her pallet and folded the blankets. Then after placing them and her other belongings inside her trunk again, she clicked it shut.
Time to go…into her still unknown future.
Chapter 14
On her very first seemingly endless day of travel, Rose had decided it was pointless to try to memorize passing landmarks in hopes of making her way back to Baltimore some future day on her own. Now that a fortnight had passed, she relinquished even the hope of escaping by her own efforts. As the caravan plodded up one mountain and down again, crossed another stream or creek or river like the one they’d forded a day or two or three ago, she concentrated on the beauty of God’s untouched wilderness.
Her eyes beheld huge moss-covered boulders and majestic, sheer cliffs jutting out of the mountainside along the route. Strange new animals peeked from behind trees and shrubs and massive ferns, and bright red birds reminded her of Mariah dressed in all her finery. Just then a pair of orange-bellied birds resembling the orioles in England flitted among the trees, adding splashes of vivid color among the many blends of green.
Bluebirds with prominent crests and black, white, and red woodpeckers were also quite colorful, she admitted, but they had the annoying habit of breaking the blissful silence by making cacophonous calls and rapping on trees.
Inhaling the fresh scent of pine and the fragrance of the meadow flowers and tall grasses growing beside gurgling brooks, Rose couldn’t help comparing the alluring perfumes of nature to the rank, odorous sewers of Bath, the acrid smell of smoke and falling ash from a thousand British chimneys. During the long voyage across the Atlantic, she had not experienced anything akin to the wonders of this new land, America. It was so filled with life, she felt exhilarated.
“Caught you smiling again.” Nate surprised Rose as he guided his mount alongside hers.
“I’m afraid you did. I just saw a greedy little squirrel with the fluffiest tail ever trying to stuff one more acorn into his cheek…and all the while he’s squealing at another squirrel in the next tree. See him?” She pointed up to a branch not far away.
He nodded, and that easy grin of his stretched across his face. “Thought you’d want to know we’ll be reachin’ the river in a couple of minutes.”
“Another river?” She rolled her eyes. “And which one will that be, not that it makes the slightest bit of difference.”
“Which one?” His straight brows sprang high on his forehead as he stared at her. “The Ohio. It’s the one all the others we crossed drain into.”
“Oh. Well, now that you mention it, I believe I can almost hear the roar. Did you not say the Ohio’s near the river where Mr. Smith has his store?”
“Aye.” His grin widened. “Where the Muskingum forks in. It’s a mile or so downriver from here.”
Rose felt her pulse quicken with excitement…and fear. “As I recall, you said a Shawnee and Delaware Indian village has formed near his enterprise.”
“Right. But don’t fret. Those Indians never gave him a lick of trouble, so they shouldn’t bother you none. Like I said, they value the trader and the goods he supplies too much to give him reason to up an’ leave here with all his merchandise.”
After all this time, we shall finally reach our destination, then. Splendid! Still feeling some trepidation at the thought of being presented to the trader’s wife, Rose schooled her features and did her best to dredge up a smile. Surely Mrs. Smith, another white woman, would be glad to have some female company around.
Rose cast a despairing look down at her hopelessly faded and worn brown dress, which she’d sacrificed rather than spoiling any of the few other daygowns she’d brought with her. All the natural lace that had adorned it at the start of the trip had frayed and worn away, and with all the snags and tears and stains the pitiful garment now bore, its best fate lay in the burn barrel. While the men were occupied with constructing the rafts the party would need, there had to be time to spruce up before meeting the trader’s wife. Rose decided to don the indigo blue gown she’d worn briefly while her rain-saturated clothes dried. She’d prevail upon Nate to get her trunk down from the packhorse.
How odd, though, that Mr. Smith had not v
olunteered a single piece of information about his wife during this journey—except that he didn’t like her cooking. Whenever Rose attempted to bring up the subject, mentioning that the woman must be very lonely with him gone for such a long time, he’d merely shrugged and said that her brothers were there to keep her company. More men. Rose supposed she’d be cooking for them, too.
Within moments, the midnight blue of an immense river came into view, certainly much larger than any of the others they’d crossed along the way. Dark and deep, it moved so massively that scarcely a ripple disturbed its surface.
“I’ve never seen such a wide, powerful river,” Rose murmured.
Nate emitted a chuckle from deep inside. “I canoed down it once as far as the Mississippi, an’ as big as you think the Ohio is, the Mississippi’s a good four or five times bigger.”
Rose gasped. “Mercy me. This surely is a wondrous new land.” She turned to him.
As he gazed at her, Nate’s eyes took on a warmth she’d never before glimpsed in them. Then he looked off into the distance. “That it is, Rose. That it is.”
Could she possibly have been the cause for such a tender gaze, or was it merely evidence of how much he loved his frontier life? She reined in the romantic fancy lest he read something in her own expression. “I do hope Mr. Smith’s store is on this side of the river. I can’t imagine a rope long enough to ferry us to the other shore.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Now that would be a powerfully long chunk of hemp, wouldn’t it? Unfortunately, his store does happen to be on the other side, so we’ll have to build us some rafts for crossin’. By the time we rudder our way across, we’ll probably have floated down to just about where the Muskingum town is. I’d say we should have enough trees downed an’ cleaned an’ the rafts put together before the day’s out.”
Daughters of Harwood House Trilogy : Three Romances Tell the Saga of Sisters Sold into Indentured Service (9781630586140) Page 12
