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

by Crawford, Dianna; Laity, Sally

  Lily felt a smidgen of relief the following morning when the men appeared to have no lingering effects from their drinking, but it took her a number of steps after rising for her legs to lose their stiffness. She wished they could build a fire, since the glow would not be easily seen in the dense forest. But the guides chose not to.

  Stewart handed her a biscuit from a grubby canvas sack and whispered into her ear. “The smell of smoke’s a dead giveaway if any hostiles is about.”

  Hostiles! In close proximity? The fact that the man resorted to whispering increased her fears. Lily washed down the hard biscuit with cold water, trying not to compare the limited fare with the sumptuous breakfasts she had enjoyed at the Gilford house.

  She untied the tarp shelter and folded it, noting that the covering was damp from sprinkles during the night. Her belongings and gear, however, remained dry. She encouraged herself with the reminder that God was with her. Recalling some of the experiences her sister Rose had laughingly related about her life in the wilds, Lily had to admit the Lord had definitely kept His hand on her sister through far worse circumstances than these. Rose was convinced that God always looked after those who belonged to Him. Lily focused on that thought.

  She grabbed up the mare’s bridle and blanket and strode through the trees to where the hobbled dun had wandered. She slipped the bridle over the horse’s ears.

  Hap Stewart came alongside and spoke again in that worrisome, soft rumble he’d used earlier. “After a spell, we’ll be leavin’ the crick trail and cuttin’ south toward Fort Lebanon. We should git there sometime after high noon. We could stay there for the night, if ya like.”

  Lily continued to work, readying her mount for another day of travel. “Thank you, no. I’d rather keep going. I need to get home to the boys.” More than a fortnight had passed since she’d left John and his sons, and she had no idea if any of them was still safe. There seemed no end of things to fret about, and she could only trust the Lord to look after them. Please, Father, look after us all. Take this gnawing worry from me. Help me to feel Your peace.

  They broke camp and traveled onward. After a few hours, whenever they happened to break out of a stand of woods, they came upon cleared fields and farmsteads dotting the gentle hills and vales. Lily was especially heartened by the distant sight of a man driving a hay wagon…the first person she’d seen since leaving Reading yesterday morn.

  Ahead of her, Reynolds nudged his chestnut gelding into a faster gait, and Lily and Stewart followed with the packhorse.

  The wagon driver tipped his head politely when he reached them. “Guten tag.” Obviously one of the German settlers who purchased land in the backcountry along with the English-speaking people, he drew his sturdy farm team to a halt.

  Hap Reynolds touched his hat brim. “Folks hereabouts have any trouble with Injuns lately?”

  The farmer rattled off something in German, then with a curt nod, slapped the reins over his team’s backs and rumbled by with no more than a quick glance.

  Lily had heard the Germans kept to themselves for the most part, though Indians attacked their settlements as often as they did those of the English. She looked over at Reynolds. “Did you understand anything he said?”

  “No. We’ll come up on the fort purty soon. If anybody knows anything, the militiamen posted there will.”

  The prediction proved to be true. But as Lily rode with her escorts into a large clearing a short time later, the fort’s appearance came as a disappointment. In the center, a stockade of sharpened poles surrounded a blockhouse similar to the one her neighbors had built at Beaver Cove. In comparison to how John had described Fort Henry, this fortification was far less substantial. Fort Henry was built of stone. Still, riding toward the gates, she felt a sense of relief. Unlike their own blockhouse, this one housed militia, at least.

  Glancing about, she saw several uniformed men out in the meadow, digging a trench. Another, just outside the gate, worked with a colt on a rope. Short and stocky, with the beginnings of light stubble emphasizing a pronounced underbite, he raised a hand to stop them, then strode in their direction, bringing the young horse along. “Where’d you folks come from? See any sign of a war party?”

  Reynolds reined in. “Nope. We’re comin’ from Reading.”

  “Along the Tulpehocken Creek?”

  “Aye.”

  The man shook his head. “A farmer and his wife were killed and scalped up that way four days ago.”

  “What about to the west?” Virgil Stewart asked. “Hear tell of any trouble out thataway?”

  The soldier shrugged. “Can’t say for sure. Whoever’s still left between here and the Susquehanna ain’t travelin’ much. Leastwise, not in this direction. Some of our men are out rovin’ that way now.”

  “No word a’tall? That don’t sound good.” Reynolds met his pal’s gaze then turned to Lily. “Ya sure ya wouldn’t rather stay here where it’s safe, lass?”

  “Are you and Stewart going on?”

  “Aye. But we got orders.”

  “Well, so have I.” The Lord did want her to keep going, didn’t He?

  The afternoon waned as the trail grew perceptively more narrow. Lily again rode single file between Reynolds and Stewart, while the packhorse brought up the rear. They’d passed the last cutoff to a farmstead a quarter hour ago, and an uneasy feeling began gnawing at her. She tried to fix her mind on more pleasant subjects.

  When a cool breeze found its way through the thick undergrowth, Lily gladly turned her damp, sticky face into it, recalling the glorious, lavender-scented bath she’d had at the travelers’ inn. The first thing she’d do when she reached home was fill the tub with tepid water and soak away her tired muscles.

  “Hold up!” Stewart’s order came from behind…and not in a whisper.

  Hap Reynolds whipped his horse around and eased past Lily to reach his partner.

  Lily’s heart pounded as a strong, acrid smell assaulted her nostrils. Smoke. She searched forward through the tree growth to where thick clouds of smoke billowed upward—much more than would issue from a chimney.

  “Stay here with the gal.” Without another word, Reynolds circled his pal and the packhorse. Within seconds the dense forest swallowed him up.

  “Might as well rest the horses,” Stewart muttered, dismounting.

  Grateful for the chance to rest her backside as well, Lily swung to the ground. When she saw Virgil Stewart pull his musket from its scabbard, she did the same and stepped back into the brush. The two of them stood on alert, waiting, listening, expecting Hap Reynolds to return with news. Minutes stretched like hours, but peering up at the sky, Lily saw that the sun had moved very little.

  The clatter of fast-moving hoofbeats announced Reynolds’s return back up the forest trail. He pulled hard on the reins, bringing his panting, lathered horse to a stop. “Got there too late. The man an’ his wife are dead.” He grimaced and wagged his head. “Them murderin’ savages took off on foot with what looked like the tracks of two young’uns. No more’n four or five years old, I’d say.”

  Davy’s age. Lily gulped past a lump in her throat.

  “They must’a just left. The corpses was still warm an’ seepin’.” He shot a look to his partner. “Hand off that packhorse to the gal, Virge. We can catch ’em easy a’fore it gets too dark.”

  Lily’s blood turned cold. They were leaving her here? Alone?

  Stewart untied the packhorse from his saddle. “How many is there, ya ‘spect?”

  “Four, near as I could figger.” He turned to Lily. “Take them horses off the trail far ‘nough so’s you can’t be seen. Unload ’em best ya can.”

  Her insides trembling, she wanted to beg them to stay with her. But…little ones. How could they not try to save innocent children?

  “If we ain’t back by mornin’, head on into the Palmyra settlement. It’s only a couple a miles ahead.” He pointed in the direction they’d been traveling.

  Lily had no choice but to tamp down her
panic and tug her dun and the packhorse between two matted spreads of berry bushes.

  The longhunters snatched up fallen fir limbs and brushed over her tracks, then mounted and rode farther down the trail a short distance before cutting off on the other side.

  Watching after them through the branches of her haven, Lily appreciated their having taken that small precaution on her behalf. She did her best to ignore her fear and stripped the gear and supplies from both animals then hobbled them. In all likelihood, the men wouldn’t return for hours. She decided it might be prudent to find a safer, more secluded spot to hide, some distance away from the horses. No matter how well hidden the animals were from the trail, they could easily give away her position by making rustling noises or whinnying.

  After filling her pockets with hard buns and dried meat, she slung a blanket over her shoulders and strapped on her water flask, cartridge pouch, and powder horn. Then, hefting the tall, awkward musket to one shoulder, she plucked a fallen fir branch from nearby and began the painstaking job of wiping clean any footprints she’d made backing away from the horses.

  By the time she came upon a hemlock with low-hanging limbs skirting the ground, her whole body ached from trying to keep the musket aloft while sweeping away the traces of her presence. She swished debris back across the bared earth and stretched to loosen the kinks from her spine. With a backward glance in the fading light, she was fairly sure she’d left no readable sign.

  She hunkered down into a crawl and backed herself and the six-foot-long weapon beneath the limbs, brushing away the last of the evidence. When she bumped into the tree trunk, a nervous giggle erupted. She slapped a grimy hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. If Mistress Gilford could see her now. The woman had been so adamant that she have just the perfect bonnet to go with her fancy riding costume…and here she sat in dirty homespun on old, dusty pine needles with cobwebs in her hair.

  Her mirth vanished when the reason she’d been left here hit her full force. Two people lay dead among the ashes of their home, and their little ones had been kidnapped. What horrors had those dear children witnessed before the savages hauled them away? Dear Lord, look after those babies. Take care of them. They must be so frightened, like my sweet Emmy was. And please bring Mr. Reynolds and Mr. Stewart back safely. I cannot imagine traveling on without them.

  Hours dragged by. Lily had long since eaten from the food in her pockets and watched darkness descend until she could no longer see her hand before her face. She’d never felt so alone in her life. Where were her guides?

  A distant gunshot echoed through the woods. And another. Three more followed in close succession. The frontiersmen had only a single-shot weapon apiece. Had they been wounded? Killed?

  Please, dear God, don’t leave me out here alone….

  Chapter 17

  Something crawled across her nose. Lily groggily brushed it away and opened her eyes. A spider! She lurched up, fully awake, banging her head on the branch right above her. Dust rained down, probably bringing more of the hairy pests with it. Scurrying out from under her shelter, she dusted herself off, head and body, shuddering all the time.

  Rays of sunshine peeked down through the canopy of forest leaves from a rather high angle. Lily realized that after catching only fitful snatches of sleep during the night and waking at every noise, she had finally fallen into a deep slumber.

  But…she glanced around. The men. They never came back.

  She reached cautiously beneath a pine limb for the musket and its fixings, then started moving slowly, silently through the thicket toward the spot where she’d hobbled the horses. After only a few steps, she caught a whiff of smoke. Her guides would not have lit a fire. Renewed panic surged through her. No. She must not give in to fear. She had to stay calm. There might be a farmstead nearby.

  The breeze appeared to be blowing from the other direction this morning and could have carried the smell from the Palmyra settlement. But like yesterday’s smoke, this was far too strong and heavy to be from a mere fireplace.

  Lily stepped gingerly out into a tiny clearing and glanced overhead. Billows of thick smoke crawled toward her from not very far away.

  What should she do? Yestereve, a farmstead to the east of her had burned to the ground. Now one from the west had met the same fate. For all she knew, Indians might have passed right by her on the trail during the night. Another shudder rocked her being.

  A few yards off to the side, a sudden fluttering of feathers almost stopped her heart as a covey of ground birds took flight. What—or who—had flushed them out?

  A horse neighed in the distance. Then another. Lily prayed it was the longhunters returning. She stopped and cocked an ear, waiting for an answering neigh from the men’s mounts.

  None came.

  Backing toward the fir tree again, she used her free hand to brush away her footprints until she and the weapon were again within its shelter. The single shot from her musket would do little good.

  Seconds passed. Having heard nothing else, Lily felt foolish, huddled here with the spiders. She used the rifle to move a branch aside.

  The rumble of low voices came from where she’d left the horses. Hopefully Reynolds and Stewart had come back for her. But…on foot? She hadn’t heard hoofbeats.

  Lily strained to gain sight of her guides, but with all the trees and underbrush she’d put between herself and the animals, it was impossible to see anything. The frontiersmen would have no idea where she was. Surely they’d call out to her. She waited…and waited.

  When she detected the snap of twigs and the clomp of horse hooves, Lily surmised that the animals were being led back onto the trail. Surely the longhunters wouldn’t go off and leave her.

  But what if the pair assumed she’d gone on to Palmyra? After all, she’d carefully covered her tracks.

  Unless these were Indians…the ones who’d set the farms ablaze!

  Slowly, noiselessly, she crawled from beneath the branches. Keeping below the undergrowth, she inched toward the small meadow and raised her head for a peek.

  No one was there.

  She could still hear sounds coming from the direction they’d taken, so she rose cautiously to her feet. A dire realization came to her. Whoever it was had crossed the trail and headed north!

  Sprinting to the place where she’d left the mare and the packhorse, she stopped and checked the ground. A multitude of footprints met her gaze—too many to have been made by Reynolds and Stewart. And all of them were from moccasins!

  Overwhelmed at how close the Indians had been to her, Lily’s knees began to give way. Only the support provided by her musket kept her from sinking to the ground. As strength slowly flowed back into her, she inhaled another strong breath of smoky air. She might be safe for the moment, but what about the folks who lived in that house? Had they been warned? She didn’t recall hearing any gunshots. I pray, Lord, that they got safely away before the savages got to their farm.

  And what about children! Had any more been captured? Mr. Reynolds had told her that Indians sometimes stole youngsters to hold for ransom. Lily scanned the footprints more closely, looking for small ones. When she found none, she nearly cried with relief. But what if she had? What could she have done? She’d never felt more helpless in her life. Dear Father, please tell me what to do, which way to go. I have no idea.

  No matter how much she dreaded it, she knew she had to go to the burning farm. Someone there might still be alive and in desperate need of help.

  About half a mile to the west of her haven, Lily came upon a clearing where an assortment of buildings smoldered. During her trek through the woods, she’d hoped and prayed neighbors in the vicinity would have seen the smoke and hastened to help. But to her great disappointment, no horse or wagon team sat parked in the barnyard. No one had come.

  Taking full measure of the scene, Lily realized the farm lacked even its own wagon, nor was there any livestock in the pens. The family must have fled after spotting smoke issuing from the n
eighboring farm.

  She stared forlornly at the smoking ruins, knowing the same could happen to the Waldon farmstead. Even if this family had not suffered the vicious attack, they’d lost their home and all their worldly goods. It was almost September. Many of the crops were already harvested and would have been stored to see them through the long winter. It was a huge loss.

  Whatever had possessed her to leave Matthew and Luke alone at the farm? She should have insisted that John hog-tie his sons and toss them into the canoe. Filled with renewed urgency, she purposed to get to the boys before the Indians did. She would get them safely out of there.

  But another chilling thought gave her pause. John had said the Palmyra settlements lay no more than ten miles south of Beaver Cove—and the Indians were even now cutting through the woods and heading in that direction!

  Dear God, I beg of You. Keep my boys safe until I get to them.

  Shoving the musket through a tangle of thorny bushes, Lily would have given anything to feel safe enough to travel on the trail, but she had no idea where the small raiding party was headed. They could have changed direction. Worse, they could be a part of a larger group sent by the French to ravage the countryside.

  By staying close to the trail, she’d reach whatever fortification might exist at the Palmyra settlement. There she hoped to find someone to guide her across the hills to the Swatara Creek and Beaver Cove.

  The ever-present stench of smoke lacing the air gradually diminished as she distanced herself from the burning farm, but the smell grew powerful again a short time later. Perhaps the wind had shifted. Wiping her grimy finger on a fold of her skirt, she licked it and held it aloft. The wind had not changed. Another place up ahead of her must have been set ablaze.