April 3, 1734
As Blair played the fiddle in the Penny Pot, he noticed a man wearing an eye patch, sitting at a table and looking at him in a strange way. When Blair decided to rest for a while and walked past him on his way to the tavern’s privy, the man bluntly stared, squinting his one good eye. Blair tried to remember if he knew the man, but he was sure he did not. When he came out of the privy and was halfway to the tavern’s rear door, a hand grabbed him by the shoulder, from behind, and spun him around hard. It was the man with the eye patch.
“Did you buy new clothes with my money?” the man asked, in quite an unfriendly tone.
“What?”
“Give me my money.”
Blair was more perplexed by the minute. “What are ye talking about?”
“Take off your cap.”
“Ye’re confusing me with someone else.”
“That’s why I said take off your cap, to see if that’s the case.”
“I’m not taking off anything. I’m not who ye’re looking for.” Damn it, Blair thought, I can’t afford trouble now. His plan was to run away in three days, and if this escalated into a full-blown fight, he might end up in jail.
The man was carefully studying Blair’s face. When he reached for Blair’s cap, Blair quickly grabbed the man’s wrist, pulled him close, and punched him in the stomach. The man crumpled to the ground at the same time that the tavern door opened and the tavern keeper walked out.
“What’s this?” the tavern keeper asked.
“This man tried to rob me!” Blair exclaimed.
“I played cards with him last night at the Bear’s Inn, and he lost,” the man with the eye patch said. “He owes me my winnings.”
“He was here all night,” the tavern keeper said.
The man stared at Blair; he didn’t seem so sure anymore. “Maybe, maybe not.”
“Let’s say you made an honest mistake,” the tavern keeper said, “and I’ll let you back inside.”
Blair glanced at the tavern keeper, none too happy with this arrangement.
Eye Patch smirked. “My mistake.”
The tavern keeper let the man walk ahead of him and Blair, and patted Blair’s back. “It’ll be all right, lad.”
Blair made sure to keep a constant eye on the man, and noticed the man did the same to him. After a while he realized the man was gone. When it was time to leave, he walked faster than usual and kept looking over his shoulder. At the shop he quickly bolted the door. He replayed the incident in his mind, failing to make sense of it. He had to acknowledge that as angry as the man had been, he seemed sincerely confused. Whatever the case, he hoped he did not run into him again before Saturday came.
#
April 4, 1734
“That isna a fiddle; that’s a cat in heat!”
Blair’s right arm stopped midstroke over the fiddle’s strings. The man is back, he thought with dismay as he turned. But what he saw was so incredibly wonderful that he was sure he was about to wake up in Craig’s shop, alone in the dark. The man who had mocked him wore deerskin, moccasins, and an otter-skin hat with flaps to cover his ears, and was looking him up and down, a broad smile on his tanned face.
“Well, here dear! Where did my little brother go?” Ronald exclaimed as he took Blair by the upper arms. Blair was shocked to see he was now a good three inches taller than his older brother.
“I thought I might never see ye again,” Blair stammered as the brothers hugged. Under Ronald’s clothes Blair felt rock-hard muscle.
“Ye dinna look like my little brother, and ye dinna sound like him either,” Ronald said.
“My brother wasna built like a bull.”
“That’s what wielding axes and tomahawks do tae ye.” The brothers released their embrace, and Ronald looked at Blair and smiled. “Ye let yer hair grow.”
“So did ye.”
“Ma would disapprove.”
“She would.”
They found an empty table. “Ye never wrote tae Ma,” Blair said, trying not to sound too accusatory.
“I did! Twice! I wrote tae ye! For all I ken, the ships sank with the letters I sent her.”
Blair did not know where to begin, but once he started, he hardly took a breath. When Ronald heard their grandfather had died, he gruffly rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. When Blair told him about his encounter with Thomas Burt, Ronald’s face darkened.
“The bastard sold me tae a damned Shawnee,” he said, removing his hat. Blair gasped. On the right side of his brother’s head, where the ear should have been, there was nothing but a thick, crooked scar. Ronald ran his fingers over the scar. “Ye should see what he did tae my body with red-hot embers.” A surge of fury rushed through Blair.
“But”—Ronald took a tomahawk from his belt and placed it on the table—“I earned my freedom with one single blow.” Blair stared at the tomahawk, not sure he understood. Ronald winked and smiled.
“Ye killed him?” Blair whispered.
“Aye.”
The answer shocked Blair. Sure, Ronald was never going to be a model of decorum and pacifism, and Blair would not expect him to meekly take such physical abuse. But the cold, matter-of-fact attitude revealed a side of Ronald that was very disquieting. Blair was grasping for words when Susannah approached their table. She stared at Ronald, then at Blair, then back at Ronald.
“You’re Blair’s brother,” she said confidently.
“Aye,” Ronald replied, straightening his shoulders. “I’m Ronald Eakins. And who are ye, bonny lass?”
“My name is Susannah.” She smiled. “Finding you is a dream come true for Blair.”
It was Ronald’s turn to look from Blair to Susannah. “Ye’re the lass who made a man o’ my brother.”
“Ronald!” Blair groaned as Ronald smiled wickedly. “I’m sorry,” he muttered apologetically.
“I didn’t make him into anything,” she said, looking at Ronald with such poise, he actually seemed a bit flustered. “I only discovered what he was.”
“Bring us two flips, please,” Blair said, eager to put an end to the topic. Once Susannah had gone, he lowered his voice. “Were ye playing cards at the Bear’s Inn the night before last?”
“How do ye ken?”
“A very angry man was here last night. He thought I was ye, and he wanted his money.”
“He cheated.”
“I had tae punch him.”
“Good!” Ronald laughed.
Blair sighed, but he laughed too. Then he became serious again. “For why weren’t ye arrested for—the Shawnee?”
“I’ve told no one. People die and disappear on the frontier all the time, and the authorities dinna care about going after white men over dead Indians. But I dinna like tempting fate either, so I went tae Donegal looking for Joseph Shipboy; he had moved tae Pextang. Ye should see the frontier, Blair! It’s full of our countrymen.”
“What have ye been doing since ye’ve been without a master?”
“I work with men who trade with the cursed Delawares, Shawnee, and other Indians.”
“The cursed Delawares? Ye dislike the Delawares? Why? They’re peaceful.”
Ronald leaned in. “Damn the peaceful Delawares. I had built a log cabin, cleared a good patch of idle land not far from Donegal, and last year Governor Gordon and James Logan—that lackey of the Penn family—evicted me and burned down my cabin and those of many others, all because the Delawares claimed those were their lands! Weel, if I canna take ‘their’ lands, I’ll take their furs. The minister at the Donegal church reminds his congregation of Joshua’s command: utterly exterminate the inhabitants of the land. Havena ye heard the same here?”
Blair nodded, frowning.
“What do ye think they mean?” Ronald asked.
“I thought Reverend Andrews was just teaching us history.”
“I imagine I’m making history, then.” Ronald shook his head and smiled. “I canna believe we’re reunited.”
Blair smiled too; it was wonderful. “Two days from now ye wouldna have found me. I was running away tae look for ye.”
“Ye were running away? Ye havena finished yer time?”
The word sat on Blair’s tongue like a chunk of iron. “No.”
“Why? How long after we arrived were ye bought?”
As Blair explained what happened, Ronald’s face turned redder and redder under his tan. “Damned Quakers!” he exclaimed. Blair could see his mind was racing. “This morning I traded furs and skins for merchandise and rum. I need tae leave tomorrow tae meet a trader called Peter Cheaver, not far from Nutimus’s town, the Indian village. There we’ll meet a band o’ Delawares and trade with them. Ye’re coming with me.”
#
“See ye tomorrow evening at Pegg’s Run, at the York Road,” Ronald whispered, standing on the steps of Craig’s shop. It was growing dark, and one by one the alley’s windows were beginning to glow with candlelight. Blair hugged his brother, walked into the shop, and looked out the window just in time to see Ronald spit purposefully on the steps before walking away.
#
April 5, 1734
Mallie dashed through the kitchen yard, her hand clasped to her mouth. Unable to contain herself, she threw up a few feet before reaching the privies. She spat, wiped her mouth, and slowly straightened herself. So far she had been able to hide her morning sickness from Margaret and Biddy, but they were bound to notice, and she would eventually show. She slipped her hand into her pocket and felt the same type of seeds Polly had taken years before. After burying the vomit with a spade, she headed back to the kitchen.
“You’re very quiet, Mallie,” Margaret observed during supper. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. I was remembering Polly.”
As soon as Margaret and Biddy went out to the privies, Mallie took out the seeds. She was studying them—wondering how many to take—when the door opened.
“Wot are yer doing?” Derby asked, smiling. Mallie closed her fist and let it fall to her side.
“What are you doing here at this time?” she asked, feigning worry. “You’ll be punished if they find you here.”
“No, I won’t. The bell ‘as been rung. Wot’s in yor ‘and?”
“Nothing.”
“Mallie, I was watching yer through the window.”
“Margaret and Biddy will be back soon.”
Derby cocked his head at Mallie’s odd behavior. She retched.
“Mallie!” Derby exclaimed, closing his fingers around her elbow. “Are yer sick?”
She retched again, more violently, and the seeds fell from her hand. Derby picked them up and stared at them. “Ye’re childing,” he finally said.
She held out her palm. “Give them back.”
“I know what this is. Where did yer get them?”
“Give them back.”
“No. ‘Tis our baby.”
Oh, Derby, Derby, she wanted to say, it might not be your baby at all. Not content with raping her once, Bradnox had sought her out regularly, and she had no choice but to submit. But she would die before Derby found out. “If I have a baby,” she tried to reason, “I won’t have the heart to leave when my time ends, and I don’t want a child of mine to be Mr. Bradnox’s property.”
With his free hand Derby took Mallie’s and looked intently into her eyes. “I’ll talk ter ‘im. I’ll offer ter stay two more years in exchange for our baby’s freedom. When ye finish yor time, ye’ll take the babe; when I finish mine, I’ll join yer.”
“You’ll be whipped.”
“I don’t care.”
Mallie groaned at his stubbornness. If only she could be assured his plan would work as he envisioned it, she might acquiesce. “I’ll be whipped,” she said, certain Derby would prefer anything over that.
“I’ll ask ter take yor punishment.”
She choked up, moved by his love. Well, she told herself, desperately grasping at any sliver of hope, the baby will look like either Derby, or me, or Mr. Bradnox. She and Derby made two, two was more than one, and she somehow knew this was good.
“Please,” Derby begged. Mallie finally nodded. He threw the seeds into the fire as another bout of nausea struck her.
#
April 5, 1734
“Who were thee talking to last night?” Craig asked Blair the following morning before the journeymen arrived. Blair winced. The cordwainer must have been looking at him and Ronald through the busybody.
“That’s my brother,” he replied. “I hadna seen him in four years.”
“It’s good to reunite with family. Does he live in the city?”
“No,” Blair said, growing nervous. “But he’ll visit often from now on.”
Craig approached a wall on which hung a couple of tanned hides. He looked at them for a moment and said, “I need thee to go to the tanner’s.”
When Blair returned with the new hides, the journeymen were busy working, but Craig was gone. Two hours later, when he returned, he sent Blair to the blacksmith’s. As Blair walked down the street, an uneasy feeling crept over him, but he told himself he was fretting too much.
“Jeffrey Craig sent me for two of his knives,” he said upon arriving at the blacksmith’s shop. When the blacksmith’s apprentice approached him and stood much too close, Blair frowned and stepped away.
“I’m sorry about this,” the blacksmith said, “but you’re having an iron collar fitted.”
“What?”
“Your master believes you’re running away, so he got a court order, which I have to follow.”
Blair tried to push past the apprentice, but the blacksmith’s iron-hard hands clenched his shoulders. “Don’t resist. If I have to tie you up like a hog, I will.”
An hour later, an enraged and humiliated Blair was being escorted back to the alley. In the end, it had been necessary to tie him down and even gag him, as he had almost bitten off one of the apprentice’s fingers. The blacksmith had fashioned two semicircles of three-quarter-inch round forged iron, each with a bladelike projection made according to the length of Blair’s shoulders. The semicircles enclosed his neck and were riveted, and the blades rested on his collarbones.
“Is that Blair?” he heard someone say as the blacksmith escorted him back to the shop. He lowered his head as much as the collar would allow, keeping his eyes down, and walked faster.
#
“Let’s be jovial, fill our glasses, madness ‘tis for us to think, how the world is ruled by asses and the wise are swayed by chink! Fa-la-ra, fa-la-ra!” A group of young men announced their presence in the street by singing at the top of their lungs. Blair pressed his back against a brick wall, his bag clutched in one hand. He had waited until everyone at the shop had fallen asleep and then had sneaked out. He was not headed for Pegg’s Run, however. He did not want to travel for miles on busy paths wearing an iron collar, not knowing when he’d find someone who would remove it. He had also discovered that the bladelike projections on the collar made it extremely uncomfortable to lie down.
He waited, listening as the singing faded away. He turned the corner and almost ran into one of the revelers who had fallen behind. The man stared at Blair.
“‘Scuse me,” the man muttered, and he sidestepped Blair, tottering in admirable defiance of the law of gravity. Blair ran and was soon standing at the door of a house. The inhabitants should be up after their first sleep. Blair knocked and waited. A muffled male voice came through the door.
“Who there?”
“Blair Eakins. I’m looking for Flora and Abraham.”
After several tense seconds, the door opened a crack. Then an arm shot through, and Blair was pulled inside. Abraham bolted the door again and walked to the fireplace to stand next to Flora. Another black couple had also gotten up from their chairs around the fire. Everyone stared at Blair in disbelief. Now—facing Groom’s servant and her husband, and the additional couple he had not expected—he almost wished he had gone directly to Ronald.
“Flora, I need yer help, please. Abraham . . .” The words choked him. “Can ye remove it?” Abraham looked at Flora, and she nodded. “I can pay ye,” Blair said, setting his bag on the floor and taking out his wooden box.
“No,” Abraham replied categorically. “I take no money.”
“Please, ye should be paid.” When Blair opened the box and looked inside, he froze. The map showing the way to Donegal wasn’t there.
“No,” Abraham said.
Blair shut the box and put it back in the bag. He couldn’t worry about the map just now. He swallowed hard, ashamed. “Awricht.”
Abraham turned to the other black man, who nodded knowingly and took a candlestick. Blair followed them out the rear into a small shop. Abraham pulled a stool next to a post vise, and took a hammer and chisel. “Sit,” he said. Blair looked warily at the tools in Abraham’s hands. “Don’t worry,” Abraham reassured him. “We do this many times.”
Blair gulped and bent at the waist, and Abraham’s friend repositioned the stool so that one of the collar’s projections could slide between the vise’s jaws. The man then tightened the jaws shut. Blair felt the man’s hands firmly holding his head and the collar pressing on the nape of his neck as Abraham positioned the chisel on the rivet. He grasped his knees and tensed.
“One, two, three . . .”
Blair grunted and braced himself as the collar bore down painfully on his neck. Metal clanged against metal. Abraham struck a second time, then a third, and Blair heard the broken rivet clatter to the floor. Abraham opened the collar and removed it.
“Thank ye!” Blair exclaimed, jumping to his feet. Back in the house, he turned to Abraham. Never had he felt so humbled. “Please forgive me. It’s been a long time since ye asked me tae play at yer wedding. I was petty and . . . envious. Flora, forgive me. Ye could have turned me away, and I dinna deserve yer generosity. Thank ye all.”
Flora smiled sadly and understandingly. “All is forgiven.”
“Go, before Craig know you missing,” Abraham said, and he handed Blair the collar and broken rivet. “Throw this in a river.”
Blair ran faster than he ever had. He should have reached the fording spot seven hours earlier, and he could only hope Ronald would still be waiting.
#
April 6, 1734
“By God, I was afeared ye wouldna come!” Ronald exclaimed. Behind him, a black saddle mare and six packhorses were grazing.
“I was delayed.” Blair held up the disassembled iron collar.
Ronald’s nostrils flared in anger. He grabbed the collar from Blair’s hand and heaved it into the river. “This will go much better around yer neck.” He pulled a leather necklace from which hung a sheathed knife over his head and pushed it into Blair’s hand. “It’s yers tae keep.” The blade was roughly five inches long, attached to a horn handle, and its leather sheath was beautifully adorned with red, yellow, and blue quillwork, a thong attached to both upper corners.
“Never travel without at least a knife.” Ronald nimbly mounted the saddle mare, and Blair mounted up behind him. He had not ridden a horse since their arrival in Philadelphia. “The horses are Peter Cheaver’s, but I’ll have my own soon; we’ll have our own soon. This is mine, though,” Ronald said proudly, patting a long gun in the mare’s saddle sling. “And this is the powder.” He pointed to a polished animal’s horn that was slung over his shoulder. Blair felt elated when the pack string finally started moving. They crossed Pegg’s Run, then Cohocksink Creek. They spoke very little; when they did, they whispered.
“Isna giving rum tae Indians illegal?” Blair ventured.
“Aye, but Governor Gordon will never enforce those laws,” Ronald scoffed. “He will no allow something like the law tae get in the way of his profits.”
Every hour or so they would stop and let the horses graze. They passed Germantown and rode through densely wooded areas, crossing stream after stream. They reached Sandy Run when the sun came out, and began to encounter other travelers. Blair hid his face behind Ronald’s back and pretended to sleep, sure that anyone looking into his eyes would recognize him. The sun was directly above them when they set up camp a distance from the main path. Blair slid off the horse with a groan and crumpled on the ground, his legs cramped and sore. Ronald laughed and practically jumped off his mount.
“I’ll stand guard while ye sleep,” Ronald said, spreading a blanket on the ground.
While his brother hobbled the horses, Blair carefully searched his bag. The map was nowhere to be found. He replayed the day, starting when Craig had asked him about Ronald. The more he thought about it, the more certain he felt that Craig had rummaged through his belongings while he had gone to the tanner’s and had found the map. Maybe he had not only seen him talking to Ronald; if his window was open, he might have heard what Ronald said. Well, it didn’t matter. Blair had managed to get away. With his brother standing guard a few feet away, he sank into an easy, smooth sleep. When the last of the sunlight had drained away, they took to the path again. They stopped at midnight, and Blair took the first watch. Ronald was snoring when a branch snapped somewhere to Blair’s right. His hand flew to his neck knife and unsheathed it.
“Ronald!” he yelled.
A dark shape lunged at him, and he lost his grip on the knife. The attacker sat on his chest, his considerable weight crushing his lungs. Gasping, he wrapped his hands around the man’s neck and extended his arms as far as they would go. Blair’s face was now out of the man’s reach, so the man resorted to pounding his fists against Blair’s arms. Blair squeezed with all his might and resisted the pummeling.
“Let him go, Blair!” Ronald yelled. The man had stopped throwing punches; his hands feebly plucked at Blair’s fingers. “That’s Peter Cheaver!”
Blair released his grip and the man fell onto his side, wheezing.
“I wasna expecting tae find ye for another fifteen miles,” Ronald said, helping the man sit up.
“I recognized my horses,” Cheaver said with a strangled voice, “but your head was under the blanket, and I didn’t recognize the watchman.”
“This is my little brother I told ye about. Ye almost killed him,” Ronald said, turning to Blair, half in disbelief, half in admiration. Blair rubbed his aching arms, ignoring the compliment.
#
It was noon the following day when Blair and Ronald reached a clearing where a group of eight Delaware men sat around a campfire, a delicious scent of roasting meat wafting in the air. Cheaver had stayed behind, having downed quite a bit of rum the previous night, and there was no rousing him. “He’ll catch up soon enough,” Ronald had assured Blair. “Hè! Kulamàlsihëmo hach?” he called out, raising his hand.
“Nulamàlsihëna,” replied one of the Delawares. Ronald introduced Blair, and then they unloaded the wares and displayed them on the ground: blankets, metal cooking pots, beads, and a cask of rum. Ronald inspected the Indians’ deerskins and fox and otter furs, and then he and Blair sat by the campfire. They partook of the meat while Ronald and the men chatted rather amicably, half in English, half in Lenape.
Suddenly, two Indians emerged from the woods, bows and quivers at their backs, one of them holding a tomahawk, their eyes hard and their jaws set. The one without the tomahawk angrily addressed the Indians sitting around the campfire. Ronald mouthed a curse and quickly stood up. Blair jumped to his feet, as did the Delawares.
“Cheaver!” the man with the tomahawk cried out, pointing at the horses and the cask of rum. “Break law, again. Eakins”—he pointed at Ronald—“no trade license.” He marched resolutely toward the cask.
“Don’t you dare stave it, Gray Wolf!” Cheaver emerged from the woods, pistol in hand. Gray Wolf stopped in his tracks. With the tomahawk still poised to strike, he glared at Cheaver, then Ronald, and finally Blair, who slid the neck knife from its sheath, his hand trembling.
“Step out of the way of this peaceful commerce, or you’ll force me to act unpeaceful-like,” Cheaver warned.
One of the Indians who had brought the furs addressed Gray Wolf urgently, in a clear attempt to defuse the situation. In turn, Gray Wolf beseeched the band. One of the Delawares from the first group, looking ashamed, broke off, picked up a number of furs—his share of the merchandise—and stood next to Gray Wolf. Gray Wolf waited for a moment; when it became clear no one else would join him, he disappeared into the thick woods, followed by his companion and the one convert. Blair slid the knife back into its sheath and wiped his sweaty hands on his breeches.
“We can celebrate now,” Cheaver said, opening up the cask himself. He poured rum into tankards and passed them around while Ronald retrieved a jug of whiskey.
“Are ye all right?” Ronald asked when they were all seated around the fire. Blair snatched the jug and took two huge pulls, the jug shaking in his hand. “They wouldna have attacked us,” Ronald said reassuringly. “Years ago, the Iroquois declared the Delawares to be ‘as women,’ and they’re no allowed tae fight.”
Copious amounts of meat and rum calmed Blair. Strangely, Ronald and Cheaver drank rather moderately while regaling the Delawares with a series of greatly embellished stories of their adventures, supplemented with pantomime. A Delaware approached Blair and, smiling, pointed at his neck knife. Blair removed it and handed it to the man, who studied the quillwork with approval before returning it. Soon, the Delawares’ cheerful demeanor morphed and soured. When two of them got into a heated argument, Ronald and Cheaver stood up.
“Let’s go,” Ronald said. “Time tae keep our distance.”
Blair looked back one last time. The two Delawares were now rolling on the ground, going at each other like rabid dogs.
#
Astride a horse, behind Ronald, Blair felt like a six-year-old who had disappointed his big brother. The previous night, after the Delaware had handed back his neck knife, Blair had set it at his feet and forgotten about it. Now, the brothers had to retrace five miles while Cheaver waited, and it was evident Ronald was annoyed. When they reached the Indian campsite, Blair could not believe the pathetic picture before his eyes: the men were sprawled on the ground, every single one bruised and bloodied, the acrid smell of vomit heavy in the air. He scanned the ground with urgency. “Oh, thank God, here it is,” he said, picking up the knife.
“Dinna dare lose it again,” Ronald scolded. He looked at the drunken men with a sneer. “Believe it or no, if we waited for them tae wake up, they’d exchange their clothes for more rum. But that wouldna be treating them fair, would it?”
Blair glanced at the blankets and cooking pots and empty cask. Nothing about this seemed fair to him.
“Once we trade our remaining goods, I’ll return tae Philadelphia with the furs,” Ronald said as they headed back. “Ye’ll go with Cheaver tae Donegal, and we’ll meet there. Then ye and I alone will head west o’ the Alleghenies.” He snatched Blair’s cap from his head and ruffled his hair, the way he used to back home. Blair took his cap back glumly. He did not share his brother’s excitement. Going west of the Alleghenies is against the law, he wanted to say, but he knew it would be useless, and he did not want to be thought a coward.
“Peter and I could lend ye the money for Janet’s passage,” Ronald said.
Blair was deeply touched. But it was precisely the thought of Janet that made him wonder now if running away had been such a good idea. Given that he could not set foot in Philadelphia, she would have to travel by herself, and Blair could not imagine her braving such a journey on her own. Maybe he could sneak out and back in through a different port. But he did not want to sneak at all; he wanted to travel as a free man. Assuming he could get her to Pennsylvania, what then? She certainly could not go trading, so she would have to stay in Donegal or Pextang. After having her wait patiently all these years, was he to dump her for weeks or months at a stretch? He would forever be a runaway. Forever looking over his shoulder. Craig, unlike Ronald’s last master, was a Quaker, not a dead Indian, and Blair’s indenture increased with every passing day. Back at their campsite, over breakfast, Blair summoned the courage to talk to his brother.
“Ronald,” he finally said, “I need tae talk tae ye, privately.” They walked until they were out of Cheaver’s sight. Blair had a hard time holding his brother’s gaze. “I’m going back tae Philadelphia.”
Ronald shook his head, as if trying to clear his ears of an obstruction. “Why would ye want tae go back?”
“What sort o’ life can I offer Janet if I’m a runaway?”
“I wilna let ye go back.”
“Ye what?”
“What kept me going all these years was the promise we made tae each other! Nothing was more important tae me than tae find ye. We were supposed tae stay together.”
“I’m no free yet tae keep my promise.”
“Ye did yer time; ye should be free!”
“God’s curse, how the damned hell do ye think I feel? I’m rippin’ mad at that bastard, lying chancer!”
Ronald was taken aback. “Ye never cursed like this.”
“Ye said ye’ll be back in Philadelphia when ye’ve traded yer goods. I’ll see ye then,” Blair said with a conciliatory tone. “And every time ye return with furs.”
After a very long pause, Ronald said, “Will ye promise tae join me when ye’ve finished yer time?”
“Aye.”
Ronald thought for a moment before speaking. “I’ll let ye go. Ye’ll have tae walk, though.”
“Thank ye for finding me.” Blair pulled Ronald to him. He could feel his brother resisting the embrace, his muscles twitching with frustration, but he knew the next time they met, Ronald would greet him with a big smile.