Afraid to let Jenny Ann out of her reach, Rose spent the morning with the child slung on her back while she took care of the chores. The entire time she worked, she kept one eye on the Shawnee in the village, aware of their furtive glances in her direction. What were they thinking, planning?
She alternated between praying for God’s protection and debating whether or not to take Jenny and some supplies and ride away. But she’d need help to cross the river…and the Shawnee hadn’t even tended Hannah Wright’s wounds. What were the chances they’d be willing to aid her and Hannah’s daughter?
Of course, there were plenty of goods available to pay for assistance, which might help. On the other hand, what would prevent the Indians from coming to the trading post at will and helping themselves to whatever they wanted?
Father, what should I do? Give me courage…. Please, God, please bring Nate back.
But no answer was emblazoned across the sky, and no assurance of what action she should take brought peace to her heart.
As Rose cooked oats with dried fruit for her and Jenny’s noon meal, she spotted two Shawnee approaching. They carried no weapons, but considering she was a mere woman, would they even feel they needed them? Her pulse throbbed in her throat.
She glanced down at Jenny nearby, who was crawling after a bean-filled rattle Mr. Smith had made from a gourd. Then she checked to make sure her musket was still propped against the sitting log.
The two had warm fur robes wrapped around them against the cold. As they approached, Rose noted that along with the usual buckskin breeches most villagers wore, the round-faced older of the two sported an elaborate feather headdress adorned with an abundance of decorative beading. A necklace of bear claws peeked from an opening in the robe. She recognized him as one of the chiefs of the village. He raised a brown hand in greeting.
The action didn’t seem hostile, but still…Forcing herself to relax, she returned his greeting.
“Harwood woman,” the younger brave said.
She nodded, grateful that one of them spoke English. “Good afternoon.” She checked to see Jenny was still nearby then motioned to the sitting log not far from the fire, where the warmth from the flames along with the sunshine would keep them comfortable. “Please, sit down.” She’d learned early on that visitors were always invited to sit and always offered food or drink.
The two lowered themselves to the log, an indication they’d come to talk.
“Would you care for some tea?” She gestured toward the pot where she’d been brewing some for herself.
The young man spoke to the elder, then they both nodded.
Good. Rose managed a smile and rummaged through a sack for a pair of extra cups. There was no point in complicating things by asking if they wanted sugar or cream. She felt their eyes following her every movement as she removed the pan of cornmeal mush from the coals. She hoped the cooked mixture wouldn’t get too lumpy before they took their leave—assuming they left peaceably.
After pouring tea into the three cups, she handed each Indian one then took hers and sat across the fire from them, waiting for them to say something.
They didn’t. Not right away. They sat on the log, presumably enjoying their drink while steadily observing her.
Rose breathed a prayer for protection yet again while she took a sip and tried to appear calm. This time, however, she added a request for wisdom to her growing list of desperate needs.
At last the chief set his cup down and said something to the interpreter.
The younger man, elaborately tattooed, with earrings made from animal teeth dangling from his lobes, smiled. “Red Hawk say Susquehannocks no good. Steal horses. Run away. Shawnee no steal.”
The chief spoke to him again and he continued. “Smith know he die. Smith make you good trader. Red Hawk say stay. Is good store. Red Hawk give guards. Keep store safe.” He pointed to himself. “Cornstalk. Cornstalk stay. Fast Walker come, stay.” He nodded, his straight brows raised in question. “Good?”
Rose couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Not only were they not planning to harm her; they were going to protect her and the store. Astounded at God’s mercy, her heart all but burst from thankfulness as she nodded and smiled at both of them. At least she’d learned one word to say in trading, so she used it now. “Oui-saw.” Good. She hoped she pronounced it half as well as Cornstalk spoke English. Their languages were so different.
Jenny started fussing just then, and Rose immediately picked her up. She didn’t want the child to cry, since Shawnee considered that to be rude behavior. From what Mr. Smith had told her, if a Shawnee baby persisted in crying, it would be strapped in its cradleboard, taken into the woods, and left alone to hang in a tree until it learned crying would not get it any attention.
The Indians raised their cups and drained them then stood to their feet and raised a hand in farewell.
The tattooed one gave a nod. “Cornstalk get Fast Walker. Come here.”
Rose smiled with an answering nod. “Thank you.”
As they walked away, relief surged through her. Moments ago she’d felt abandoned by everyone she knew. Now her circumstances had taken the opposite turn, and she’d be under the protection of the Shawnee. Better still, if she stayed and traded with the Indians until all the supplies were gone, she might possibly be able to save up enough money to buy back her sisters—perhaps even secure passage for the three of them back home to England.
But before she could revel in that unexpected prospect, unbidden thoughts of Nate Kinyon crowded in…of his hearty laugh, his teasing smile, his concern for her. Was returning to England and life as a spinster what she truly wanted? “Nate, where are you?”
Rose drew her cloak around herself and Jenny on the log as she gazed across the wide river. All afternoon, distant banging sounds had carried from the other side. Someone across the way must be building a raft. She didn’t know whether to be glad or concerned. The only time a raft was used was to transport livestock, and Mr. Smith had mentioned that officials from the fur company sent men out every couple of years to check on the trading posts. Had the time come for that?
Jenny squealed and grabbed at Rose’s arm.
“Forgive me, sweetheart. Mama stopped feeding you, didn’t she?” With a shake of her head at her carelessness, Rose spooned some smashed beans and squash into Jenny’s mouth and gazed lovingly at the child. How like a rosebud were the tiny lips that could smile so sweetly. No one could deny she was growing cuter by the day. And the little one’s nearly white-blond hair now curled about her ears. Whenever Indian squaws happened into the store, they could not resist fondling Jenny’s silky ringlets. All their babies had straight black hair.
Reaching for another spoonful of food, Rose realized she’d called herself “Mama” to the baby. She’d become far too attached to Jenny, which was not prudent since the day would soon come to hand her over to her grandparents. Rose tilted her head with a sigh and grinned at the infant. “But you’re mine for now.” She blew at one of those flaxen curls as she scooped in another bite.
A village dog began to bark. Then others joined in, and they loped down toward the water. Rose glanced across the river, where two men and four horses were making the crossing.
Mr. Smith’s employers, perhaps? Surely they’d insist upon her leaving. No way on earth would they allow a lone female to run one of their stores. But would they at least give her recompense for the profitable trading she’d conducted during the weeks since Mr. Smith had passed away? They probably wouldn’t be pleased by the small number of fur bundles that remained on hand or the amount of missing trade goods. Nate and Robert Bloom had taken a fully loaded canoe with them when they left, and the Susquehannocks had helped themselves to both goods and furs when they stole away in the dead of night. Fortunately she’d saved the remainder, pitiful lot though it was.
Rose glanced at the two Shawnee braves who had provided protection since the Susquehannocks deserted her. How she wished the men coming were Nate and Robert. As hard as it was to accept, she was beginning to believe they were never coming back.
Jenny cooed and smiled one of her sweet baby smiles, and Rose’s heart crimped as she picked up the child and hugged her close. She’d never be able to erase from her mind the terrible condition Hannah Wright had been in before she died…nor could she dwell on similar thoughts of what might have happened to Nate and Robert. She sloughed off the morbid turn her mind had taken and caught Jenny’s little fist with a playful shake. “We should find out who the visitors are, should we not?” Standing up with Jenny in her arms, she started down the slope.
Already the enthusiastic villagers were assembling on the riverbank, awaiting the newcomers’ arrival. With the baby propped on one hip, Rose waited behind the noisy crowd, awed by the change in her perception of the Indians. At home in England, she’d believed them to be nothing but half-naked savages bent on butchering anyone who ventured into the frontier. Now, she kept a slight distance between them and herself merely because she didn’t want to get jostled in their excitement.
After beaching their raft, two bearded men dressed in the rough attire of frontiersmen came toward her through the crowd, trailing their horses after them. Both halted at the sight of her then continued their approach. “Rose Harwood?” one asked, the eyes beneath his bushy brows squinting as if unable to believe what he saw. He nudged frameless spectacles higher on his hooked nose.
“Yes, I’m Miss Harwood.” Her heart plummeted. They knew her name. Surely they had to be the fur-company men. But they looked scruffier than the last men who’d come through the village.
“I knowed I had letters to deliver to a Rose Harwood,” the man with glasses went on. “But I never expected no white woman.”
“Aye,” his partner agreed, daylight glancing off a scar that ran down one cheek. “We thought it was an Indian wife or a half-breed. But you don’t look like no half-breed I ever seen. An’ with a towhead baby yet!”
The word letters dawned on Rose. “You have letters for me?” She stepped forward, holding out her free hand.
“Yes, ma’am, in one of our bags,” the first said. “For you an’ Trader Smith. When we stopped by the Ohio an’ Virginia Fur Company they asked us to drop ’em by on our way in.”
“Then you’re not in the employ of the fur company.”
“No, ma’am. We’re trappers. Goin’ downriver for winter beaver.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. This meant she had more time to trade with the Indians for furs. More time to make money. “Please,” she invited, “do come up to my fire. I’ve got chicken stew in the pot.”
“Chicken! That does sound temptin’.” Tugging on his horse’s reins, the man started up the hill, past her and the baby. “Ho! Smith! Where you hidin’ out, you ol’ skinflint?”
Before Rose could say anything, the scarred man paused beside her. “One more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Jest so’s ya know, some men from the fur company are on their way. They was startin’ out a couple’a days behind us.”
Her chest tightened with dread.
He cracked a gap-toothed grin. “But don’t ya go feedin’ them no chicken. ‘Possum’s good enough for them greedy misers.”
A few days after the trappers left, Rose heaved a sigh as she gazed down at Mariah’s letter again. Would the girl never change?
Salutations, Rose, the missive began.
Salutations! How pretentious! One would think Mariah was composing business correspondence. But at least she’d taken the time to put plume to paper and had given her older sister some thought. She read further:
I was quite surprised to hear from you. I had been rather concerned about your welfare at first, considering the appearance and ghastly odor of your employer. But Colin assured me that any man who could hand over the sum of fifty pounds for you without batting an eye was surely a man of far greater prospects than he appeared. Since receiving your letter, I see Colin was correct.
Although you must be living in quite remote circumstances without shops or other niceties, I assure you I am not much better off. I have been relegated to the lowly position of tutor to Colin’s three sisters and secretary to Mr. and Mrs. Barclay. For as wealthy as these colonials are, the females especially lack most severely in penmanship.
The girls tag behind me wherever I step, and Mistress Barclay is forever finding something for me to do, so I have precious little time to myself. Would you believe that the woman actually had me serve food at their annual summer gathering? I was sorely mortified!
To make matters even worse, I am allowed only one day to myself a week, and Mrs. Barclay refuses to let Colin escort me anywhere. I have been to the shops only once since my arrival here, and that was as a companion to the old biddy and two of her spoiled daughters. I need not tell you how little money I have to spend. Fortunately, Colin slipped me a few coins. He really is a dear, as generous as he is handsome.
Alas, the mistress is calling me. I shall try to write more in a few days.
I remain your obedient sister,
Mariah
Rose laughed at the absurd ending. Obedient? Rarely! Willful? Often! And quite often concerned only about herself. But the girl did have her moments of generosity, and Rose knew she genuinely cared for her family.
Laying the letter aside, she picked up the one from Lily and pressed it to her heart. Sweet Lily. She unfolded the thick missive which she’d read so often she’d nearly committed it to memory. The words penned in her younger sister’s fine hand were so like her, Rose could imagine Lily speaking them in her airy voice:
My beloved sister Rose,
I cannot express in words how unbearably deeply I miss you. I wish so very much that I could have gone with you that day we were all auctioned off. I was so distraught about your welfare I grieved for you daily, until I received your precious letter. But know that every night the Waldons and I pray for your safety and your happiness in your strange and scary circumstance.
When I read how you came to possess the baby of that unfortunate woman, it brought me to tears. Soon after we arrived here, we heard that a band of savages had swooped into the Wrights’ farm, intent upon burning and destroying, as they are prone to do. It was no surprise to hear they took Mistress Wright and her baby hostage. How terribly sad that the poor woman died. However, Mr. Waldon assures his wife and me that we are in no danger. The Wrights lived at the very edge of the frontier on land sold to Mr. Wright by one tribe of Indians, while a different tribe also laid claim to that very land. Mr. Waldon is certain his deed for the property we dwell on is in no way questionable. Still, whenever I venture outside, I always check the woods. I am sure I shall grow more comfortable with my surroundings as time goes by.
I could not be happier here. Mr. Waldon is a kind and gentle husband, father, and employer. Mistress Waldon somewhat reminds me of you. She treats me like a younger sister, though she is not nearly as energetic as you, dear Rose. Some days she can scarcely walk, for the pain in her joints is severe. Other days she seems much improved. Before all our meals, we pray for her healing.
Smiling, Rose laid down the letter. She’d been right about giving Mr. Waldon the extra money he’d needed to purchase Lily’s papers.
Or had she? It sounded like Lily lived far too close to where Indians had conducted a murderous raid. Rose flicked a glance to the store’s front, where her guards relaxed just outside near their fire, their muskets and hatchets lying nearby to ensure her safety…these ‘peaceful’ people who decorated their dwellings with bloodied scalps and other severed body parts. She shuddered.
An icy breeze tugged at the lowered canvas at the front of the store, loosening the ties, and an edge began to flap. Rose left the limited warmth of the crude fireplace and checked on Jenny. All but swallowed by furs as she napped, the child had one tiny hand peeking out. Rose reached down and tucked it beneath the warm covering then went outside to retie the loose thong holding the canvas in place.
No one had come up the river to trade for several days, and even the Shawnee were staying inside their warm wigwams. Rose knew if she didn’t have Jenny Ann to keep her company she’d be unbearably lonely.
The weather had turned much colder. Except for the evergreens, all trees and shrubs were devoid of their brilliant fall colors. Their bare forms looked forlorn, like so many skeletal fingers poking up at the sky. After tightening the flap’s ties, Rose gazed toward the river. Crackly ice fringed the dark water, and overhead, a dull, gray cloud bank threatened snowfall.
Whatever had possessed her to remain here through the harsh winter with a little baby? Perhaps the men from the fur company would arrive soon and give her orders to leave…and hopefully escort her back to civilization.
Spying a canoe coming into view around the bend, Rose grimaced. Likely it was just some Indians willing to brave the cold to come and trade.
Cornstalk and Fast Walker straightened, alert at their posts. Rose felt at ease knowing the two had promised to keep her safe.
Stepping back inside the dimly lit store, she began straightening things, making certain the goods were displayed to their best advantage. She hoped Jenny, in her little warm cocoon, wouldn’t be too fussy when awakened by the arrival of customers. From the shouting and hullabaloo of barking dogs that had already begun, the visitors would be surrounded by welcoming villagers any minute.
It would take time for the furs to be unloaded. Rose added water to the kettle over the fire and stirred the coals. The travelers would probably be chilled to the bone and would appreciate some hot India tea, always a treat from the usual bitter herb teas almost everyone here served. And a few leftover biscuits remained from noon. She’d get those out as well. Not quite an English high tea, but thought of serving afternoon tea as if she were at home in Bath brought a bubble of laughter. Rose clamped a hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t disturb Jenny.
Sudden light flooded in from the front of the structure, and she swung toward it.
“Rose? You in here? It’s me, Nate. I’m back.”