One day after an Indian who bore multiple scars and disfigurements left the trading post and headed back upstream with his goods, Rose could not contain her curiosity. She straightened some of the pelts the red man had left in trade and approached her owner as he jiggled the now healthy Jenny Ann on his knees. “Mr. Smith, how could one man be covered with so many scars, like that Indian was, unless—” She paused for breath. “When Jenny’s mother was dying, you said she’d had to run a…a…”
“Gauntlet,” he supplied. “An’ yes, that brave might’a had to run it, too. Likely he was stole from his people by some other tribe. An’ ya might say, runnin’ the gauntlet is like bein’ initiated. If ya make it through, yer good ‘nough to be adopted into the tribe.”
“What is a gauntlet, exactly? I’ve often heard that word.” She noticed the baby’s eyelids were growing heavy, and the trader did as well. He laid her gently down onto a plush pallet of furs they’d put between some crates and smiled as she put her thumb into her rosebud mouth and nodded off. Then he looked up at Rose.
He let out a slow breath. “It’s like this. The whole tribe lines up in two rows facin’ each other, an’ they all got sticks. The captive has to run betwixt ’em whilst they’re swingin’ the sticks at ’em. They get a real kick outta tryin’ to trip a poor fella up, ’cause then he has to start over again. Afterward, though, if he was brave ‘nough to make it the whole way, they take him in and patch him up, an’ he’s part o’ the tribe. Might be he’s still a slave, though.”
“But they didn’t help Hannah Wright, even though Spotted Elk told me she actually did make it through.”
He nodded. “I heard that, too. ‘Fraid that little gal was unlucky enough to get herself caught in the middle of a family squabble.”
Rose mulled over his response. “Well, if Nate or Robert was set upon by some other tribe, would they have to run the gauntlet?”
He rubbed his bearded chin. “That there’s a different case. Them boys is down tradin’ in country them Frenchies is tryin’ to claim as their own. Those two would prob’ly get treated a mite rougher than Miz Wright.”
Sobered by that statement, Rose felt the blood drain from her face. “Surely you don’t mean….”
He didn’t answer right away. Then he shrugged a shoulder. “If them Frenchies get wind of ’em, those two could be in fer some real trouble. But don’t start worryin’ overmuch. Them boys is real good at takin’ care o’ themselves. They don’t take no foolish chances, neither.” He grimaced and pressed a hand atop that spot on his belly that seemed to give him the most trouble. “Reckon them eggs I had this mornin’ didn’t set so well. Think I’ll go lay down fer a spell.” He glanced lovingly down at Jenny Ann, sleeping sweetly on her soft pallet, then met Rose’s gaze. “Keep an eye out fer customers.”
“I will.” Still awed by the tenderness he displayed around the baby, Rose sensed he was as attached to the child as she herself was. As she watched him head for his wigwam, she wished she’d managed to squeeze in a few more questions. Nate and Robert had been gone weeks now, much too long for them to dispose of one measly canoe load of goods—and they’d taken on that dangerous mission just for her.
To keep her mind off the plaguing thought, she began lining up knives and hatchets neatly on a crate top. Those items were some of their best sellers, and the stock was dwindling.
A voice from outside interrupted her chore. “Harwood.”
Rose pivoted and glanced out the store’s wide opening. Running Wolf, in his green-and-yellow shirt, pointed down toward the riverbank.
She followed the gesture with her gaze and saw two men beaching a canoe.
White men! Nate? Robert?
But as they looked up toward the store, her joy plummeted to her toes. Strangers. Merely strangers.
Chapter 21
Muskets in hand, the newcomers broke away from the curious villagers and started up the rise to the trading post. Rose saw their jaws go slack when they caught sight of her and knew they must be wondering how a white woman happened to be standing at the store entrance. No doubt they’d be full of questions. Well, she had questions of her own for them.
Both men were attired in the typical buckskin garb worn by hunters and frontiersmen alike, and both sported beards. The taller of the pair had a droopy mustache which moved when he spoke. “You sure don’t look like most hostages I’ve seen.”
Ignoring their lack of a polite greeting, Rose tilted her head slightly. “Welcome to our store. Miss Harwood at your service.” She fingered the edge of the long apron she wore over her cobalt daygown.
Both quickly swiped their fur hats off their heads. “Beg your pardon, miss,” the shorter, stocky man said. “I’m Mr. Gilbert. My partner’s Mr. Townes.” He blinked his hooded eyes as he and the other man stared unabashedly. “Where’d you come from?”
“As to your kind remark,” she said in a businesslike tone, “I’m not a hostage. I’m Mr. Smith’s servant.”
“Servant! Are you saying Eustice Smith brought you, a woman, out to this wild place—and you agreed to come?” Hiking his brows, he eyed her up and down.
Rose regretted having to explain. She’d never get used to the sting of her lowly position. “I should have said I’m his bondservant. I had no choice but to come.”
Their expressions hardened, and Mr. Townes spoke. “Where is the trader? We need to talk to him.” They started to move past her.
Rose put up a staying hand. “Please. I’m afraid Mr. Smith isn’t feeling well just now. He’s abed, taking a nap.”
“That’s not our concern, miss. We have important business to discuss.”
“Gentlemen, please. I shall go and wake him if I must, but first, I’ve a few questions to ask, if you’d be so kind as to indulge me.”
Both men relaxed, and Mr. Gilbert even managed an obliging smile. “Of course, Miss…Harwood, was it? What do you need to know?”
Rose noticed by his manner of speech that he seemed more educated than many of the other white people she’d encountered in her travels into the wilderness, and she found it quite refreshing. She smiled, alight with hope. “I was wondering if you happened to come across Nate Kinyon and Robert Bloom on your way here. I believe you came upriver, did you not?”
He gave a negative shake of his head. “Sorry, miss, but no. We came downriver from up on the Allegheny.”
Profound disappointment flowed through her.
“We’ve been checking on the infringement of the French up north,” Mr. Townes added, “by order of Governor Dinwiddie. We just stopped by for fresh mounts so we could report back to him. We hoped Smith could provide us with a couple of good horses.”
Rose focused on that disturbing information. “The French are to the north and east of us?”
Townes stepped forward and took her hand, a calming look in his eyes. “Don’t you worry your pretty head. No officer, even a Frenchman, would allow harm to come to a lady like yourself. You can be sure of that.”
Rose sensed the statement held little truth, if any, but remained silent.
“Now, if you don’t mind,” he went on, “we’d really appreciate a word with Trader Smith.”
“Of course.” She paused then searched their faces. “But might I ask a favor of both of you?”
“Anything, miss. What is it?”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d carry some missives with you when you go. I’d like my family to know I’m well. They’ve had no word from me for some time, and ’twould set their minds at ease.”
Mr. Gilbert nodded. “I’ve pretty decent penmanship. Would you like me to write the words for you?”
Rose nearly smiled. They probably hadn’t come across many bondservants who could write. “That won’t be necessary. I have my own writing implements. I’ll go and wake Mr. Smith, and while you conduct your business, I’ll write my letters.”
Putting quill to paper, Rose was careful not to cause her sisters needless worry. She did want them to know Mr. Smith ha
d turned out to be a kind employer and that she was faring well in a village to the west. They didn’t need to know it was a Shawnee village or that it was hundreds of miles to the west. She encouraged Mariah to remember to give priority to her spiritual well-being while she honored her commitment to her employer on the plantation. To Lily she mentioned that the Lord had placed a darling baby girl into her safekeeping, and she asked her to let the baby’s relatives know that though the child’s mother had passed away, the little one was fine and—
For a split second, Rose considered sending the baby back with the men but quickly discarded the notion. Even if they happened to be adept at caring for a baby, they’d be hard pressed to provide suitable food for her. Besides, Rose had already grown attached to Jenny Ann and wasn’t ready to give her up just yet.
“Is that within Your will, Father?” Realizing she’d spoken aloud, she shot a cursory glance around to see if the braves at the entrance had noticed her talking to the air.
She needn’t have worried. They sat with Mr. Smith and the others at his fire while Fawn Woman served them food and drink. Amazingly, the squaw hadn’t demanded Rose come to help. A closer look indicated she was paying close attention to the conversation. Her posture suggested she was every bit as interested in the news the men brought as Rose had been.
Within the hour, the men selected two mounts. While the supplies they’d purchased were being loaded, Mr. Smith continued conversing with Mr. Gilbert.
Rose picked up her wax-sealed letters and a few coins and walked out of the store to Mr. Townes as the man stuffed the last of his purchases into a sack. “I do appreciate your taking my correspondence with you, sir. I don’t know what the post might cost once you reach a town, but this should suffice.” She handed him the money and the letters.
He looked down at them, then at Mr. Smith, who was speaking with his friend. Toying with his mustache, he met her gaze. “Miss Harwood,” he said under his breath, “I don’t know what Trader Smith has told you. But no court in the colonies would hold you to your indenturement bond if you’d leave this place with us right now. Just walk down to that raft with me and get on. I’ll shoot the blighter if he tries to stop you.”
Rose’s heart took flight. Leave? This minute? Return to civilization and her sisters?
For a few seconds she entertained the thought. Then her gaze slid to Mr. Smith, who was wasting away by the day before her eyes. She could not desert him in his time of need. And Jenny Ann…The baby had been sleeping since the men arrived. In all likelihood the trader hadn’t bothered to mention anything about her presence, or the visitors would have gone inside to see Jenny for themselves. If they took her with them, it would be weeks before the milk she was thriving on would be available again—and besides, Mr. Smith was so attached to her.
And Nate. She couldn’t possibly leave before he returned…if he returned.
Rose exhaled a wistful breath and looked up at the man, wearing the most sincere expression she could muster. “’Tis a kind and generous offer. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. But I know for a certainty that the Lord placed me here, and I cannot and will not shirk my duties—no matter how tempting your offer may be.”
He opened his mouth to object.
“Truly, kind sir.” She placed a silencing hand on his arm. “My place is here. At least for now.”
He stared hard at her then eased his stance. “As you wish, miss. I respect your decision, even if I don’t agree with it. I’ll not forget you in my prayers.”
“That is all one can ask.” Glad to learn he was a man who sought God, she tipped her head toward her employer. “And please add Mr. Smith’s condition to your prayers. He’s been poorly for some time. Pray that his recovery will be swift and complete.”
Even as she spoke the words, Rose feared her request held little hope. She’d been trying to ignore the trader’s rapidly failing health for days, telling herself it was her imagination, that he’d perk up soon. She was plying him faithfully with soups and broths and puddings, but they seemed to have lost their effect. Now she had to wonder what would become of her if Nate didn’t come back and Mr. Smith were to die. Fawn Woman had never befriended her, and who knew how the Shawnee in the village would look upon her once Mr. Smith was no longer around to protect her.
Her troubled gaze followed the travelers as they walked their newly purchased mounts down to the raft, and a sudden panic gripped her in its icy fingers. What would become of her? It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to stay where she was and not run down to them and plead that they take her and Jenny with them.
As a last resort, she turned her face up to the cloudy sky. Have I made the right decision, Father? Do You truly want the baby and me to stay here…or did You send those men to deliver us from this place? Please, I need to know Your will before it’s too late.
Jenny’s airy giggles blended with Mr. Smith’s nasally laughter, drawing Rose away from her sewing. She gazed over at the pair and watched Jenny Ann crawling all over the trader. Smiling at the enchanting sight, she tucked her cloak more securely around her legs against the cool draft finding its way past the store’s partially covered opening.
Jenny Ann had begun to crawl and pull herself up to whatever happened to be within her reach. To Rose, she seemed to be early in her accomplishments—at least earlier than her brother Tommy had been at that age. To corral the active little one, Mr. Smith fashioned a little walled area from crates and grain sacks, and on this clear, crisp day the two of them sat inside it on a fur robe, his back propped against one of the crates.
A fire in the small fireplace nearby kept the back of the store fairly warm, and the trader sat near its heat most of the time now. Rose tried not to think about how much weaker he seemed with each day…yet he never tired of sweet Jenny. He called her his little bundle of blessing, his joy. It seemed the baby ate more solid food than he did, since he subsisted on nothing but milk and pudding now.
Rose had spent most of the morning sewing. To rest her strained eyes, she blinked and peered out of the store’s opening toward the village. Since the episode with Hannah Wright, she still harbored the opinion that the Shawnee were savages, but she couldn’t deny that their daily life proved to be pleasant. In some instances they seemed kinder than some English people she’d known. Rose rarely heard an angry shout from the village inhabitants and had never witnessed a hand being raised against a child, yet the children hardly ever misbehaved. The younger ones were quite happy as they mimicked their parents in their games, while the older ones seemed eager to learn needed skills from the grown-ups.
From out on the water, Rose heard echoing shouts and checked to discover the source. There she saw two village canoes bearing several enthusiastic young lads racing each other across the river, even on this chilly day.
She thought back on the surprise she’d felt upon learning that Indians bathed in the river quite regularly. And now that mosquitoes no longer presented a problem, the people ceased to wear that odorous bear grease.
How unfortunate that Mr. Smith had never taken up the habit of cleanliness. Rose wondered how Fawn Woman slept in the same wigwam with him. But then, perhaps that was one reason the squaw was unpleasant much of the time.
Aside from Mrs. Smith, most of the villagers seemed content. But despite their congeniality, Rose knew they could turn vicious and violent in an instant, becoming heartless and uncaring about any unfortunate soul they deemed their enemy.
She cut a glance at the trader’s wife. Sitting at her own fire and adorning her yellow dress with an assortment of colored beads, the woman still treated Rose with loathing and spoke only when there was an order she wished to give.
Attired in doeskin leggings and shirts these cool days, Running Wolf and Spotted Elk sat with their sister, their moccasined feet stretched out toward the fire. They’d completed their chores with the stock and had milked the cow for Mr. Smith, so they were enjoying a few moments’ relaxation.
It was hard to b
elieve how gruff the trader had been when she first joined him, how angry he’d been to learn she’d never milked a cow or killed a chicken. He’d mellowed so much, especially since Jenny Ann had come along. Now he relegated only the care of the store and the baby to Rose and assigned the outside chores to the brothers. The two hadn’t balked when ordered to take over those responsibilities, but Rose had noticed that the three siblings spent much of their time in covert conversation of late. As they happened to be doing now.
One of the braves saw her peering out at them and made a comment, and the talking stopped.
Rose wondered if Mr. Smith had been cognizant of their secrecy, or had he been so caught up with little Jenny and his bad digestion that the Indians’ conduct didn’t seem of import? Perhaps they’d always been that way. But how she wished she understood their language.
She looked over at the trader as he kissed Jenny’s short, blond curls. “Mr. Smith?”
“What’s up?”
“Nothing. I’m just curious. ’Tis one of my worst faults, I know.”
He smirked. “So what bee do ya have in yer bonnet this time?”
“Actually, ’tis you and Fawn Woman. You don’t seem to show much affection for each other. How is it that you married her? If you don’t mind my asking.”
He tossed his head and patted the baby’s diapered bottom. “Ya might say it was mutual attraction.”
Rose frowned in confusion, and he chuckled.
“I thought she was purty to look at, an’ her pa was real partial to a new musket with fancy scrollwork I’d just brought into the store.”
“Surely you don’t mean you traded a musket for a wife!” The concept disgusted Rose. A woman was of far more value than that.
Adept at reading her expressions by now, Mr. Smith rolled his eyes. “That ain’t no different from them English aristocrats an’ all that business of swappin’ lands and dowries an’ such, is it?”
She mulled over his remark in her mind. “No, I suppose not. I just never thought of it that way.”
Daughters of Harwood House Trilogy : Three Romances Tell the Saga of Sisters Sold into Indentured Service (9781630586140) Page 17
