Daughters of Harwood House Trilogy : Three Romances Tell the Saga of Sisters Sold into Indentured Service (9781630586140)

by Crawford, Dianna; Laity, Sally

  He frowned. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

  Hoping to come up with the right words, Nate motioned with his head for Bob to follow as he made his way to the edge of the people and their steady chatter. “It’s like she told us. She’s determined to stay an’ work at the tradin’ post till she can save up enough money to send her sisters back to England. She’s mighty sure of herself now that she can hear the jingle of some money. A far cry from when she first started out here. But you an’ I both know no company officials are gonna let a lone woman run a store, no matter how good she’s been doin’ it.” He put a finger up for Jenny Ann to tug on while he worked up nerve enough to admit his willing duplicity. “So we decided to, well…pretend to be husband an’ wife.”

  Bob snorted. “An’ that’s your way of wormin’ your way into her good graces?”

  “Nay. I’m tellin’ you the whole thing was her idea.”

  Bob tipped his head in thought. “It don’t sound a bit like her.”

  “I know.” Nate grinned. That’s the beauty of it! “But I have to help her out.”

  Bob studied him for a moment. “Well, for the time bein’ I think I’ll let your conscience and hers be your judge.”

  That wasn’t exactly what Nate hoped to hear. “Does that mean you won’t say nothin’?”

  “I won’t say nothin’. But don’t expect me to be a party to this little plot.”

  “Whatever you say. Not sayin’ nothin’s all I ask.” Breathing a sigh of relief, he changed the subject and edged closer with Jenny in his arms. “Ever see a cuter little gal?”

  The Shawnee paddlers delivered five men in the first ice-crusted canoe—three officials from the fur company, attired like easterners, and two frontier guides. When the craft beached in the icy slush lining the edge of the water, the first newcomer gave dubious consideration to the short span he’d need to leap over to make it to the bank. Then, obviously certain his boots were tall enough to ford the shallows, he hopped out.

  The next two, however, didn’t fare so well. Nate couldn’t squelch a snicker when the pair splashed water halfway up their backsides. They yelped and let out a few choice words as they dashed onto the shore. Their guides weren’t far behind. Instead of climbing up the rise, however, those men waited for the remaining canoes to come in.

  The Shawnee didn’t appear particularly interested in the white men. They focused on the two other canoes loaded with goods for the store.

  Careful to maintain his own footing for the baby’s sake, Nate gingerly stepped down the slick grassy bank with Bob to greet the visitors. “Welcome. You must be the fur company men we been expectin’.”

  The first man peered over his long nose as he brushed slush from the bottom of his trousers. “Hawkes is the name. And who might you be, young man?” A suspicious note rang in his tone, and his expression registered surprise upon catching sight of the white baby.

  “Kinyon. Nate Kinyon,” he answered quickly. “We been lookin’ after the place here since—”

  “Where’s Eustice Smith?” the official interrupted. “Our business is with him.” He repositioned his fur hat atop his salt-and-pepper hair.

  His two companions—the much younger one, short and stout, with a pasty complexion; the other tall and thin as a beanpole, with sleeves and trousers barely long enough to cover his limbs—joined him. Neither exuded the slightest hint of pleasantry in his posture or manner, but looked Nate up and down as if taking his measure and finding him in dire want.

  Bob edged forward. “Sorry to have to say this, but Trader Smith passed away a few weeks back, may the good Lord rest his soul.”

  “So me and the missus has been keepin’ the place goin’ ever since,” Nate cut in.

  “You and the missus?” A sneer curled the edge of his thin lips as Mr. Hawkes exchanged a skeptical glance with his cohorts.

  The little round fellow began to shiver. Remembering the young man’s rather wet disembarking, Nate nodded to the threesome. “We got a nice fire goin’ in the tradin’ post. An’ the wife keeps a pot of hot tea brewin’. Come up and dry off by the fire whilst we talk.”

  Once he and Bob had the damp newcomers wrapped in blankets and fur robes, each holding a steaming cup before the crackling fire, Nate related the story, keeping it simple. “So me and Bob went off to do some tradin’ for Mr. Smith. My wife stayed behind to cook for him. Her and our baby, that is.”

  Rail-thin Mr. Parker tucked his chin. “I cannot believe you’d bring a white woman and an infant out here among these savages.”

  Nate flashed his most disarming grin. “My Rose, she has a real tender heart. Once she heard tell that Eustice was havin’ so much trouble with his innards, she come along to cook him up some soups and puddin’s to help him get back on his feet. But nothin’ she did made him any better off. Poor ol’ feller passed on whilst me an’ Bob was downriver tradin’. “ Nate congratulated himself for not having uttered a single lie in that statement.

  Hawkes had yet to crack a smile. “I haven’t seen Smith’s wife or brothers about. Where are they?”

  “Them no-accounts?” Nate scoffed. “They hightailed it outta here. Snuck off in the night with a bunch of the best furs, all Smith’s cash money, an’ six of the horses—an’ one of ’em was mine. Bob an’ me brung in a load of real prime pelts from downriver, though. That sort’a makes up for their theivin’. Sort’a.”

  The explanation still did not satisfy the man. He looked askance at Nate. “What about that wife of yours? Where is she, if I might ask?”

  Nate gave a proud smile and puffed out his chest. “Soon as she saw you comin’, her and Bob’s woman went out back to kill some chickens for dinner. She knowed you was travelin’ in this cold weather an’ wanted you to have a fine meal.” Sneaking a quick look at his friend, Nate noticed Bob still wore a grim expression. No reason to make him suffer through any more of this. He glanced at the visitors. “Did you men leave your pack train across the river unattended?”

  As Hawkes deepened his stare, stout young Mr. Jenkins spoke up. “We left three of our men with the horses.”

  “Well, I’m sure them boys’d feel a whole lot better if we sent over a couple braves to help guard ’em. Bob, why don’t you ask Cornstalk an’ Fast Walker to paddle over there an’ spend the night?” He turned back to Mr. Hawkes. “You fellas are stayin’ the night, ain’t you?”

  Still steely-eyed, he nodded. “Yes. In fact, we are.”

  Shortly after Bob took his leave, the frontier guides and several braves arrived with supplies from the canoes.

  “Put the goods anyplace in here,” Nate said. “We’ll sort through ’em later.”

  “If we decide to leave them here,” the obstinate one said flatly.

  Time for another change of topic, Nate decided. “Like I said, me an’ Bob just come back from downriver. Things ain’t lookin’ good down thataway. A large party of Frenchies—plus some Indians from up north, Senecas maybe—was down on the lower Scioto where it merges with the Ohio. They caught wind of me an’ Bob tradin’ with the Miamis, an’ we had us a bear of a time getting’ shuck of ’em. Had to hole up for a couple weeks before they paddled down toward the Mississippi.”

  This news tidbit piqued interest from all three. “The Scioto, how far down is that?” Mr. Parker asked.

  “Depends on which way you’re goin’.” Nate grinned. “Canoein’ downstream, it takes near a week if you stay on the river most of the day. Upstream it takes more’n twice that long.”

  Stocky Mr. Jenkins wrapped his hands around his cup. “You say they went downstream.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Yes,” Hawkes added, “but you don’t know how far downriver they went, do you?”

  Nate wagged his head. “No, I sure don’t, sir. And I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t be mentionin’ it to my Rose. No need for her to be worryin’ ‘less there’s real reason to. Me an’ Bob had a palaver with the Shawnee chiefs here, an’ none of ’em heard tell of Fren
chies snoopin’ around these parts.”

  “Well,” he commented, “they’re doing more than merely snooping around north of here. They seized Joe Frazier’s trading post up on the Allegheny. At a Seneca village, by the by.”

  “You don’t say.” Nate straightened his spine at the disturbing news. The Allegheny River flowed into the Ohio. “What about Frazier? What’d they do to him?”

  “He didn’t happen to be there at the time, but two of his men were captured.”

  “Aye,” Parker added. “It’s in territory claimed by Pennsylvania, but the only governor that seems to understand the seriousness of the situation is Governor Dinwiddie of Virginia. Mr. Hawkes”—he indicated the man with the long nose—“went to see him about it, and the governor immediately sent a letter to King George. Dinwiddie is sure His Majesty will grant him permission to act.”

  Nate’s fingers clenched into fists. “You mean to tell me that governor’s just sittin’ there twiddlin’ his thumbs till the king sends word all the way back across the ocean?”

  “My sentiments exactly,” Mr. Hawkes said with a negative shake of his bony head.

  “When did the letter get sent?”

  “In October.” Hawkes let out a disgusted breath.

  Nate snorted in disbelief. “So the answer’s still weeks away. No wonder the French are bein’ so bold.” Peering out the canvas opening, he spied Rose and Shining Star coming from the direction of the chicken pen. A headless bird dangled from each of Rose’s hands. Standing up, he met Mr. Hawkes’s gaze. “Like I said, don’t say nothin’ about this to the womenfolk.”

  Chapter 28

  Surely there’d been time enough for Nate to speak to the company men about her and him staying on as traders, Rose thought on her way back to the store. She put the dead chickens in a tub alongside the structure and hurried to the campfire for a kettle of heating water.

  She knew three officials had arrived and were now in the trading post, but now two others, most likely their guides, warmed themselves outside at the fire. She’d forgotten there were more men. “Good day,” she said pleasantly.

  The pair in typically soiled frontier garb stared openmouthed at her. “Good day to ye,” one managed.

  “There’s tea inside the trading post, if you’d like to have some.”

  “Nay, miss,” one with a frizzy red beard said. “We’d just as soon do our restin’ outta the way, if ye know what I mean.”

  “Aye.” His ragamuffin partner chuckled.

  “As you wish.” She bunched a handful of her apron in one hand and grasped the water kettle suspended over the fire. “We’ll be having our Sabbath meal in an hour or so.”

  “Sabbath meal,” one murmured. “Ain’t had one o’ them in a coon’s age.”

  Starting away with the hot water, Rose turned back with a smile. “Well, I’m pleased to say that today you shall have one.”

  She returned to the tub, where Shining Star stood staring at the lifeless carcasses. No doubt the Indian girl was curious about the English way of doing things. But Star wasn’t the only one engrossed. The men at the fire circle also stared—at Rose. As if she wasn’t already nervous enough about the businessmen inside.

  She pretended not to notice their ogling as she poured the entire kettle of steaming water over the chickens to loosen the quills. Then she wiped her hands on her stained apron, removed it, and checked her hair. Taking the girl’s hand, she headed toward the trading post and entered with Star in tow.

  “Good Sabbath, gentlemen.” She hoped her smile appeared cheerful.

  The fur company officials sprang to their feet, along with Nate, who held Jenny in his arms.

  “Good day to you, madam.” A man with a long face and a nose to match gave her a slight bow of his head. His gaze made a swift assessment of her appearance but revealed nothing. “I presume you are Mistress Kinyon. Allow me to introduce myself and my companions. I am Mr. Hawkes. To my right is Mr. Jenkins, then Mr. Parker.”

  Each nodded his head in turn.

  She bobbed a curtsy, surprised that Star followed her lead. “I’m pleased to meet all of you. This is Shining Star, our friend Robert Bloom’s young charge. I hope you’ve had some tea. The days have been terribly cold of late.”

  “Yes,” the stocky fellow named Jenkins agreed. “Your husband has already seen to our comfort.”

  “I was certain he would.” Rose gave Nate an adoring glance. “He’s always been quite the thoughtful type.” She smiled at her frontiersman. “We’ll have our Sabbath meal soon.”

  “Why, I’ve hardly had a decent meal since we left Virginia,” the taller man named Parker mused.

  “Nor have I,” Mr. Jenkins commented wistfully. “My wife’s a wonderful cook.”

  “Well, today you’ll all share our Sabbath meal with us.” Travelers—even well-dressed ones—were a sad reminder that men without the comforts of home were quite pitiful creatures. She flicked another glance at Nate, who obviously appreciated her performance. His grin softened his rugged features, adding a spark to his hazel eyes.

  Rose returned his grin with flair as she hooked the kettle above the coals again. “Do be seated, gentlemen. And since it will be awhile until our meal is ready, I’m sure my husband will be only too happy to refill your cups, won’t you, dear?”

  “Of course. Only too happy,” he mimicked sweetly.

  Ignoring the incorrigible man, Rose could hardly restrain herself from asking the all-important question. Would they accept her as a trader for them or not? Regardless, if Nate had not as yet broached the subject, perhaps the officials would be in a better mood once their stomachs were full. “If you will excuse us, gentlemen, Shining Star and I need to return to our meal preparations. We want this dinner to be especially festive in your honor.”

  Mr. Hawkes remained standing. “Mistress Kinyon. Am I to assume you are the Miss Harwood for whom I’ve received letters?”

  Rose’s pulse throbbed. “Why, yes. Harwood was my maiden name. Have you mail for me? Perhaps a letter from my family in England?” The possibility of hearing from her father made her heart pound.

  “No, madam. England, you say. I was quite certain I detected a refined accent in your speech. And you’re wed to this…woodsman?” He frowned in puzzlement.

  How to respond without adding to her guilt. She swallowed the growing lump in her throat. “Cupid’s arrow takes the strangest paths, does it not?” Without daring to glance at Nate, she added a little laugh. “If you’ll excuse us, we must get to preparing the chickens.”

  As Nate watched the two women sashay out to the deceased chickens, he had to admit he was quite impressed with his little actress-wife. Rose hadn’t spoken a single lying word. Of course, the deception was still there. Smiling, he turned back to the men. “If you’re all finished with your drinks, I’ll show you the fine pelts we brought in.”

  Hawkes elevated a haughty brow. “Yes. And the ledger.” Without further adieu, he set down his empty cup and stood to his feet. The others got up as well.

  Jenny Ann had nodded off, so Nate laid her down in her little pen and covered her. Then he led the three officials to one side of the store, stopping near the pile of prime pelts. “I think you’ll like what you see here. Once Eustice caught on to Rose’s writin’ skill, he had her keep the records.”

  Hawkes did not reply as his gaze briefly skimmed the bundle. He ran his fingers across Rose’s neat display of trenchers filled with different-colored beads. “So where’s that ledger?”

  Nate plucked the volume off a stack of crates and handed it to the arrogant man. “You’ll see everything’s in order. After Smith’s wife took off, Rose made a full inventory to see what all was missin’—not includin’ my horse, that is. A good, sure-footed chestnut gelding. He has two notches in his right ear. If you run across him in your tradin’, I’d sure appreciate you buyin’ him for me. I’ll even give you a profit.”

  “Yes, yes.” The man did not bother to look up from the ledger pages while his
cohorts inspected the piles of pelts. After a couple of minutes he raised his head. “Come over here, Jenkins. I say, it’s a delight to see everything recorded so neatly and with proper spelling.”

  Both lackeys hurried to his side and peered over his shoulder at the columns of figures. “Quite right.” They nodded in agreement.

  “An’ if you look around,” Nate added, “you’ll notice my Rose has a real eye for makin’ things look nice. The customers are always sayin’ how they like the way she keeps the place. When Eustice died an’ them Susquehannocks took off, Chief Red Hawk sent some of his best braves over to protect her an’ the store till me an’ Bob got back. Everybody here’s real pleased with her.” He moved a touch closer and lowered his voice. “So we was wonderin’ if we could take over for Eustice on a permanent basis. What d’you say?”

  Plucking feathers at the tub, Rose craned her ears toward the canvas opening, trying desperately to hear what was transpiring inside the store. She’d sensed from Nate’s tight expression that he had yet to speak to suspicious Mr. Hawkes about becoming the new proprietors of the trading post. But alas, the men’s conversation was too indistinct for her to make out the words.

  Even when Nate’s voice ceased and the official began speaking, it was still too quiet to be heard. Waiting, hoping, Rose wished she was inside so she could see their expressions and hear what was being said about her, about the store, about the future.

  Abruptly, Nate let out a burst of enthusiasm. “Thank you. You won’t be sorry. You’ll see.” Her heart leaped with joy.

  “Now let’s have a look at those pelts you’ve been bragging about,” Hawkes said distinctly.

  Rose tried to contain the stubborn smile spreading from ear to ear. Leaving Shining Star scraping carrots and squash for the meal, she wiped her hands and approached the entrance, lifted the flap, and stepped inside. “I hope you found everything to be in order, Mr. Hawkes.”