March 1782
Kemp’s Landing
Zeke felt Isaac’s presence in the doorway of his uncle’s workshop. Sweat tickled its way down his back as he hefted the last wheel onto the wagon.
“There is no shame in coming later. It will give the rest of us time to scout—“
Zeke spun on his good good leg. He’d gotten used to balancing on his left leg. “With all due respect Cap’n” He wiped the sweat from his brow so he could look his former commander in the eye. “I want to scout my own place.”
Isaac waited for Zeke to continue as he always did. It was the one reason Zeke allowed the man to have an opinion about his future. Isaac Taylor was the man God sent to lead their regiment. A quiet man, he always moved with deliberation, much like Zeke. This was why Zeke had allowed Isaac to appoint him his second.
“I’m not staying in an area so hard to defend from attack. I was fortunate enough to save my livelihood. Most did not when Norfolk was burned. I am done with this town. I am done with wars. I am going to find—no—to make a new home. I may go slow, but I can take care of myself.”
“It’s not the speed. Ye know that. It’s the stamina. Ye are weakened. Ye know what that means on a march.”
Zeke grinned. “We’re not going on a march.”
“Don’t be obtuse.”
“Don’t be dramatic. My sister and mother will accompany me. If they don’t smother me, I will be just fine.”
Isaac stood still. He was thinking. Zeke could wait. He’d done it plenty of times before.
Isaac pushed himself from the door and headed to Zeke’s workbench. “Let’s look at the maps.”
“The most direct route will take us to Jamestown.”
“And the remnants of Cornwallis’s Army.”
“Right, so I thought…”
Isaac outlined a path that hugged the North Carolina border toward Abingdon from there they would take the Great Wagon Road to the blockhouse then, if all went well through the Cumberland Gap.
“Agreed.”
“All we have left to do is hold a meeting. Invite more people to join the wagon train.”
“More people. More ways to fail.” Zeke challenged.
“More hands to succeed.”
“Ye’ve decided then.”
“I spoke to the others—” Isaac countered.
“And they agree.”
“Yes.”
“Of course, they did.”
“They knew ye’d say that.” Isaac grinned. He knew he was going to win.
“When’s the meeting?”
“And I knew ye’d say that.”
Zeke chuckled. “Of course, ye did.”
* * *
It took three months. Three months of laying low. Hiding in the house. Hiding in the barn. Not one trip to town to get a length of thread. They could trust no one. It was townspeople who’d sent the pirates to Doc’s house. It took three months, but now as far as anyone knew, Beti Boatman had gone to Alexandria.
Optimism buoyed Beti’s spirit as she guided her old rickety wagon into Kemp’s Landing. Nearly everything she owned was in the wagon excepting the last six remaining sheep of her mother’s flock. Hidden among them was her treasure, a Merino directly descended from the Scandinavian sire given by the Spanish to the Dutch. They were driven with the help of Nellie. She didn’t know how she’d manage without the faithful dog.
Only two things created a dark tug on her spirits. She’d had to leave behind her four-poster loom, but that would be of no significance. The Campbells promised to send it by freighter after Beti settled. A shaky niggle rustled her belly. The loom was a vital part of her plan for moving west. All her research into Kentucky, and there wasn’t much to be had other than advertisements that lauded the land and warnings about troubles with the natives, didn’t point to any sheep farms. There must be some, but with so many people living close to the stations, Beti reasoned that her sheep and strong cloth would be welcome. People needed cloth. She needed her loom to make cloth.
The other was the tearful goodbye with the only two people who knew her in the world. Had it been a mistake after all to come this far in search of place to call her own? A place not connected to her past in any way? Beti pushed away the depressing thought. This was her dream. She was free of the comments and stares of the townspeople who hated her father. Beti took a deep breath and stood up straighter.
All in all, the trip from North Carolina had been uneventful. It required only one night camping alone in a field and though she didn’t sleep well, nestled up with her rifle and Nellie, she’d rested enough to get her to Kemp’s Landing.
In times past, her father would have gone to the large port in Norfolk to seek passage to the greater world, but it’d been burned so many times Beti wasn’t sure anyone still lived there. Let alone that passage could be obtained overland to Kentucky. Kemp’s Landing was a small community south of Norfolk on the Elizabeth River. All reports indicated it had survived. If she couldn’t find a group to travel with from there to the blockhouse on the Wilderness Road then she’d go to Williamsburg.
Nellie had kept the sheep in line, and Beti had handled the Magnus and the cows. She’d done it. She was here in Kemp’s Landing and soon she’d be heading out into the wilderness to carve out a life of her own. Even Doc and Rosalee finally agreed. It had taken them a while. The pirates at the door had shaken them all. Beti slept with her rifle next to her bed for a month. About five weeks after they’d arrived at Doc’s door, he heard they’d left town. Since then, no one had seen hide nor hair of the looters.
The new owners of her house reported no unusual visitors. Finally with the Campbell’s blessing, Beti decided to leave. And now she was here.
Her first order of business after taking care of her animals was to order a new wagon. The one she rolled in with rattled itself to pieces with every foot. Beti was blessed it made it all the way to Kemp’s.
Miss Polly’s boarding house just off Main Street was just as she’d imagined. White clapboard frame house, windows open to the spring breeze. A short woman dressed in blue calico with a white cap opened the door before Beti opened the gate.
“Heavens.” She applied a hand to a spare breast. “I plum forgot the sheep.”
Beti paused unsure if she would be required to find other lodgings. “I wrote—”
“Of course ye did, dear. Seems like I am always forgetting something.” The woman who must be Miss Polly touched a hand to her kerchief and found her smile. “No matter—we will put them in the pen out back.”
Relief came when Beti saw the pen. It was big enough for a full herd of sheep and a few donkeys too.
“Ye mustn’t mind me—my Ben says I’d forget my feet if they weren’t anchored on. Seafaring man is my Billy. Our sons followed in their daddy’s footsteps. They’re all out there now.” She cast a glance to the river glistening nearby with a sigh. “Enough of that.” She turned to Beti. “Ye can keep them here. I haven’t any fodder, but I daresay ye can get it at Morgan’s.”
She spun and headed back to the house. With help from Nellie, Beti turned Silas and his ewes into the pen. After depositing Magnus, cows, and wagon in the stable she returned to the house.
“There ye are dear.” Miss Polly adjusted her cap over flyaway curls. “My other guest is out at the moment, but I daresay ye two will get along well enough. She’s just returned from the Continentals of all things.”
Beti followed the distracted woman up a narrow flight of stairs to a room that sparkled. A quilt of blues and greens reminded her of the surf outside her window at home.
“Now, Morgan’s is in the Main Street. Ye can’t miss it. And if ye need any help feel free to ask my cousin, Toby. He was a freighter before he joined the Continentals. I reckon he can carry anything.”
“Thank ye, ma’am.”
Miss Polly’s face wrinkled back into a broad grin. “Well, now.” She placed her hand over her chest. “Ye are very welcome, child.”
Miss Polly’s welcome soothed Beti’s home-sore heart like a cool balm. There were difficult days ahead, of that she had no doubt, but God would provide. She deposited her bags in her room, retrieved her shopping basket and followed her landlady down the stairs and out to find Morgan’s.
A cold breeze blew off the water, and Beti found herself wishing she’d wrapped her thickest cloak about her shoulders. Kemp’s Landing was bigger than home. Main Street vibrated with people jostling past one another, chatting, carrying baskets, or hailing each other across the sandy street. Smiling, open faces nodded in her direction. They did not sidestep her trying to keep their skirts from getting muddied in her vile reputation. A little thrill riffled through her belly and filled her sails with hope.
Beti passed a milliner, a tailor, and a cobbler. Back doors slapped open and closed at White’s tavern.
Morgan’s store, white clapboard like the other buildings across Kemp’s Landing stood two-stories high front and center. Eighteen-light windows displayed yard goods and dishes, gloves and clocks. A shop where no one knew her. She stepped to the door without one disapproving glare. No whispers of bad blood as they turned their backs.
Beti filled her sails with fresh wind and opened the door. A tiny bell announced her presence. She stepped into a large square room full of light. Scents of coffee, flour, dust, and a wood burning fire laced the air. It was heavenly. Oaken shelves filled with balls of soap and other items lined the walls of the large room. A couple of tables displayed gloves and lace in the middle of the room. Tall doorways lead to other rooms. Beti could just glimpse those shelves with yard goods and other commodities.
“Good day to ye!” hailed a tall gentleman whose hair resembled an haphazardly felted fleece of black and white. Slapping his hands together he approached her. “I’m Morgan, how may I help ye?”
“I’m in need of feed for my sheep.”
“Well now, right this way—”
He led her to one of the backrooms. It too was painted white with oaken shelves. Yard goods of all colors and spools of thread filled the shelves. Below that was a shelf dedicated to silk and wool and all manner of knitting pins. Beyond the shelves a back a door led straight to a small warehouse. Beti made herself a promise to examine the fiber goods as soon as she had Silas provided for.
Mr. Morgan was so friendly she’d forgotten any awkwardness she’d felt before she entered the store. Of course a friendly shop owner would sell more than a sour one, but the banter banished the loneliness she’d always felt in a simple trip to the store. Beti ordered her feed and reluctantly took her leave of the proprietor to slip back to gaze at the bounty on his shelves. The store at home never had shelves as fully stocked as these.
Just below the threads and knitting pins, a selection of silk yarns in the palest colors begged to be worked into stockings. Wool perfect for small clothes in the pure white of clouds on a sunny day made her itch for her pins. Silas and his ewes wouldn’t be sheared until she reached Kentucky. It would offer them protection while they traveled through the mountains and it would mean she could process the fleece after she had the facilities to do so. Perhaps she should get some wool to add to the stores she brought to keep her busy until a wagon train formed that would carry her west. She had a new pattern to try for tape, this wool would be a good match. More than once Rosalee tisked at Beti using artistry for such an ordinary household requirement. What do bag ties need with all this color? Beti delighted in using intricately woven colorful bands for tying more than just her hair.
A growly voice caught her attention as its owner scuffed across the floor in front of the food shelves.
“I ain’t seen no one as looks like her yet.”
“We will find her. A woman traveling alone will stand out like a Jolly Roger flung up the mast.”
Beti forced herself to breathe. They couldn’t mean her. She slipped deeper into the room, basket full of wool clutched to her chest.
“Look at the price of this lot. We gotta find that treasure—”
“Shut yer bone box. We got no mind to share Red’s treasure with any active citizens now do we?”
A cold wind gripped her guts and sent a tremble through her rigging. Beti stared unseeing at the shelves before her. It had been three months since she’d heard those voices, but there was no mistake. These were the same men who’d dug up her father’s false grave.
How had they traced her to Kemp’s Landing? For the first time in her life she felt truly friendless. There was no Doc Campbell’s house down the road where she could seek refuge. All she had in Kemp’s Landing was a room at Miss Polly’s. Any hint of scandal, and she’d be tossed out of there pretty quick.
Mr. Morgan blasted through the door.
“Found ye-self some wool too?” He boomed.
Beti nodded through the trembling that had taken hold. “Right this way.” She had no choice but to follow the boisterous man into the main room.
“Be with ye gentleman in a few minutes.” Mr. Morgan took his place behind the counter. Beti kept her gaze on the floor to shield her father’s eyes from those who might recognize them, but she forced her shoulders straight. She wanted to give them no reason to notice her. She bustled quickly to the counter and without so much as a whisper handed Mr. Morgan the correct sum.
“Thank ye, ma’am.”
Beti nodded and quickly headed for the door basket gripped in both hands. Beti avoided collision by stopping short. She took a quick look as she would at anyone. Two well-dressed, well-groomed men, one tall one less so shifted out of her way. The tall one had his eyes on Mr. Morgan, and the other dragged his eyes over her like a receding surf.
“Beg ye pardon,” the leer in his voice unmistakable.
Beti dipped her bonnet and whipped her skirts to clear her way, hoping her defiance gave the proper message to the man’s impertinence. Inwardly she paled.
The doorbell tinkled just as she heard Mr. Morgan greet the men much as he’d greeted her not ten minutes before. She raised her head and walked with her back to Morgan’s along Main Street. She ducked down the first cross street she came to and managed a quick look back. The man with the leering face stepped into the street. Beti thanked God once again that she took after her mother. The only resemblance she bore to her sire was the unusual blue-green quality of her eyes. Her mother said her father’s eyes were the color of the Caribbean seashore and that her daughter’s eyes were the same. There was no recognition in the gaze that had assessed her so brazenly. She picked up her pace once she was sure she was out of sight.
“Ye look a-fright,” Miss Polly said from just inside the door. Beti climbed the steps with as much calmness she could muster. There was no need to tell anyone about her history. She wanted a new life, and that meant leaving the past in the past. In North Carolina. Not in Virginia and definitely not in Kentucky.
In the parlor just beyond Miss Polly a woman hovered as though she waited for something.
Miss Polly took notice of Beti’s observation. “Oh, I declare I would forget my head if it weren’t anchored on.” She whirled into the parlor. “Miss Sigridsdatter, did I say that right?” Beti didn’t answer before Miss Polly continued. “Meet Mrs. Thornton. Mrs. Thornton is my other guest. Fresh from the Continentals.”
Mrs. Thornton, dressed in a simple brown gown of Virginia, cloth bobbed a curtsy, and Beti did the same.
“Miss Polly tells me ye are looking to join a wagon train west.” Her straightforward question was delivered with more kindness than disapproving judgement. Confidence that Beti wished she had radiated from the woman. And though Beti recognized even more now that she should not share her plans with strangers, she had an overwhelming feeling that she could trust Mrs. Thornton.
“I am.”
Mrs. Thornton’s lips raised in a small half smile. “Me too.”
Relief ran through Beti like brine through a leaky barrel. “Are ye planning to settle in Kentucky?”
“Aye. I expect to leave within a fortnight.”
“Two unescorted women following Daniel Boone into the Wilderness?” Miss Polly laid a hand to her cap and exited the room. “What is the world coming to?” They heard her muttering until the back door slapped closed.
A twinkle lit Mrs. Thornton’s eyes, and Beti answered with a grin.
“Would it be too forward to inquire as to the particulars of yer plan?” Beti asked.
“Do ye jest? Pray sit down.”