“Oh Mama, you’ll never be an old woman, but I will be ready to marry,” Martha said.
“And what kind of man are you wanting to marry?” Jane asked.
“One as smart as Uncle John, as brave as Uncle Sam, as handsome and funny as Uncle William, as strong as Bear, and one as…as…like Father!”
“Gracious, he will be some kind of man,” Jane said. “I can’t wait to meet him.”
“Stop the wagon,” Sam yelled.
The horses began to prance, side step, and act like giant horse flies had attacked each one. Stephen gripped George’s reins tightly as the big stallion jerked him sideways. The others dealt with similar problems from their mounts.
“Whoa,” Jane yelled, stopping the oxen.
Sam jumped from the saddle and tied his nervous gelding securely to a nearby tree. Bear did the same.
“Stephen and William stay close to Jane and the girls. John, put that boy in the wagon and have your gun ready!” Sam shouted.
John followed his brother’s instructions. Little John, who rode behind his father’s saddle, quickly jumped off the horse and climbed inside the wagon. When Sam issued orders using his Captain’s tone, they all knew he expected an immediate response.
“Is it Indians?” Jane asked, alarmed.
“No, probably a mountain lion or panther close by. If it’s real hungry or sick, it will attack humans. Let’s go Bear, this is your kind of party,” Sam said.
Bear took off on foot followed by Sam.
Nearly a half hour passed with no sign of the scouting party. While the horses had settled down, the mood of the others remained tense. Jane did her best to stay calm and tried to distract the children with games and stories.
“What’d you find?” Stephen asked, when Sam and Bear returned.
Jane released a deep breath when she saw the two were unharmed.
“Good sized mountain lion out there. Found fresh droppings na more than twenty-five feet from the trail. ‘Tis what spooked the horses. He ran off though and I do na think he’ll cause us any more problems,” Bear said.
“Good. I’d like to get through these woods with my mount under me, not the other way around,” William said. “Horses sure don’t like mountain lions.”
“Do you blame them?” John asked. “I’d prefer facing Indians or snakes than be some critter’s dinner.”
“You’ll likely get a fair share of all three by the time we get to Kentucky,” Sam warned.
Jane glared at Sam, then nodded towards the children. The last thing they needed to hear were stories about being eaten by animals or killed by Indians.
Sam lowered his voice. “Wild beasts aren’t the only ones with an appetite for the taste of a man. Some Indians enjoy eating a man. Didn’t you hear what happened to the Miami Chief? He got killed, boiled, and eaten by the Ottawa Indians at the Indian village of Pickawillany.”
“And I’ve heard told that there be snakes in some parts of the world big enough to squeeze a man to death and then eat him whole,” Bear added.
John’s face paled and eyes widened.
“Quit trying to scare him,” Stephen said.
“We’re not trying to scare him. I’d say we succeeded,” Sam said, laughing with Bear as they remounted.
The pleasure of teasing a brother was not something a man outgrew, Jane thought.
They reached the slow-flowing Merrimack by noon. They would cross the river on a large ferry. The operator, who seemed a pleasant fellow to Stephen, said it would take two trips to get them all across. Only Sam and Bear had crossed a river on a ferry before.
Stephen asked Sam to go first with Jane, the wagon, and the bull and heifers. Sam agreed, tied his horse, and climbed up next to Jane. Sam held the guide ropes for the oxen while Jane held baby Mary as the ferry operator slowly took off. About mid-river, the ferry wobbled and wagon jostled a bit.
Stephen gasped and fear knotted his stomach.
“Do na worry yerself, ‘tis normal,” Bear said. “The current quickens in the middle.”
Despite Bear’s reassurance, Stephen’s pulse beat erratically and his stomach still churned.
The crossing seemed to take forever.
Stephen released the breath he had been holding and smiled with relief when they safely reached the other side and Sam guided the oxen ashore.
On the second trip, the other children followed with him, Bear, William, and John. As Bear instructed, the men spent the crossing soothing their horses with stroking and whispering. Bear spent the ride soothing John, who was not a good swimmer, and holding little Amy in one of his big arms.
“Ye’re worryin’ yourself for nothin’. ‘Tis just a wee bit a water,” Bear said. “I’ve seen the Captain drink more whiskey than this in one sittin’.”
“Nobody ever drowned drinking whiskey,” John countered.
“Aye, but many a hard sorrow has drowned in the sweet nectar,” Bear answered.
Holding Polly’s hand, Stephen stood next to Martha and Little John, who watched a snake slither across the water’s smooth surface. The two shivered, like the ripples in the water left by the snake. Both agreed a snake in water was a lot scarier than one on the ground. Unlike the adults and horses, the children clearly loved the ferry and, as they reached the opposite shore, said that they wished they could ride it again.
Stephen hoisted Polly up onto George’s saddle and led the horse up the river bank. George too seemed to sigh a breath of relief now that they were on land again.
He checked on Jane and then, straightening his back, turned the stallion toward the next trail.
CHAPTER 17
We have traveled over a hundred miles now, Jane wrote. I have started to feel calmer. I worried that the Chief would send more braves after me, but Sam says we are too far away now and they will not follow us anymore. I pray he is right.
I wonder what new dangers face us.
“Sure glad to see some sign of civilization again,” William yelled over to Stephen and pointed to a cluster of buildings not too far away. “It’s been entirely too long since I’ve had a nice-looking woman pay some attention to me.”
Little more than a 100 yards long, the village of Petersborough offered the usual assortment of shops and merchants—a blacksmith, shoemaker, gristmill, general store, livery stable, three taverns and two churches. Like most towns, the number of taverns outnumbered the number of churches.
“No use you looking for a pretty woman. We won’t be here any longer than it would take for you to tip your hat at one,” Stephen said.
“Now wait. We don’t have to keep up this pace. Why are you in such an all fire hurry anyway?” William asked.
“If you had something other than women in that pretty head of yours you could think more clearly,” John scolded. “It’s late spring. That gives us six months before it starts to snow. If you don’t mind sleeping on snow-covered ground, you can take your time, but I’d prefer be under a roof and not freeze my back side off.”
“We can spare enough time for a quick ale,” William insisted.
“I’ve spent a good part of my adult life trying to keep you out of taverns. I guess I’ll never cure you of that weakness,” John said.
“You’ll have no difficulty talking Bear and me into joining you,” Sam said. “John’s purity hasn’t rubbed off on us either.”
“I hope it never does. I wouldn’t want to have to drink alone,” William said.
Several people waved as they slowly made their way through the village. The townsfolk no doubt had grown used to the steady stream of people passing through on their way north or south. Many of them depended upon travelers for the majority of their business.
“Before, you go traipsing off for that drink, William, we need to make camp.” Stephen pointed to a clearing on the west side of town near some of the village’s homes. As they set up camp, he’d never seen William move so fast.
Once settled, John stayed with Jane and the children, sitting by the campfire, teachin
g Little John to read. Sam Bear, and William grabbed their weapons and headed for the tavern, but Stephen lagged behind.
“Go with them if you want,” Jane said and slid her arms around his waist from behind.
“I don’t want to let you and the girls out of my sight,” he replied soberly.
“We’ll be fine. We’re in a town filled with people and the Indians would not dare attack us here. Go join your brothers. I know you want to.”
He turned to face her and stared into her wide green eyes, lit with a sensuous light. His heart gave a tug and longing filled him.
“You’d better leave, before you decide to haul me off into the forest in broad daylight.”
“You know me so well.” He kissed her forehead. “Have I told you today how much I love you?” he asked and pressed his lips lightly against hers.
“Yes, you just told me. But you can tell me again if you insist.”
“I love you.” He gave her hands a squeeze and glanced around for John. He was sitting by the wagon. “John, you’re on guard duty. Keep your rifle handy.”
After John nodded his agreement, Jane said, “I have some mending to do, but I’ll keep a look out too. This will be a good time for Martha, Polly, and Little John to study their school books. Now get.” She turned him in the direction of the town. “Someone needs to keep an eye on your brothers.”
Stephen leapt on George and raced to catch up with the others. The men decided on the establishment named Patriot’s Tavern because they liked the name.
“Be on guard men. Ye can na tell what kind of man ye’re goin’ to find in one of these roadside taverns,” Bear said.
“That’s true, and try not to aggravate anyone Bear,” Sam advised, as they lined their mounts up in front of the hitching post.
“Aye, I’ll be on me best behavior Captain, but I will na promise anything. If a man needs disciplinin’, it should na be put off.”
“I agree,” Stephen said. “Punishment should be swift and sure.”
“I’m glad to know you both hold such profound philosophies on justice,” William said.
“Justice has a way of finding its own course,” Sam said, pushing open the tavern door.
The cozy room held half a dozen round tables crowded around a large rock fireplace. The scent of stale ale, tobacco, and the smoky fire filled the room. A collection of whiskey barrels stood behind the counter next to a stack of ale pitchers.
The four found an empty table near the fireplace.
A particularly homely big-bosomed woman served a pitcher of ale to the table without even asking what they wanted.
“How’d you know we wanted ale?” William asked jovially.
“If you’re not here to drink, then leave with your stink,” she declared, motioning towards the door.
“Yes madam, we are indeed here to drink. We appreciate the prompt service. Thank you for the ale,” William said quickly.
“Even your good looks and soothing voice had no effect on that woman’s disposition, William. Maybe you’re losing your touch,” Stephen said and stifled a laugh as they all watched her march off towards the kitchen muttering to herself.
After she left, William said, “That woman has served one too many pitchers of ale. Her face would sour fresh milk. Have you ever seen such an uncomely woman?”
“Only once before,” Bear said. “My Aunt Finney. The snuff she dipped, among other things, made her hard on the eyes. I’ll tell ye though, she could spit further than any man I ever knew.”
“I’ve never known a woman that dipped snuff and spit,” William said. “That had to be something to see.”
“Will ye look at that old fellow now. He looks passing strange,” Bear said.
Stephen glanced in the direction Bear indicated. A long scar ran across the man’s weathered face, well into a graying beard that nearly reached to his waist. He wore greasy leather leggings and tall old boots.
“What’s that stuck in his hat?” William said. “Let’s invite him over here. He might prove entertaining.” William stood and strode over to the man’s table.
Stephen shook his head in disapproval while the others found William’s typical behavior amusing. “He’ll never learn to mind his business,” he grumbled.
“Sir, my brothers and I wondered if you would care to join us for a drink. We’ve traveled a fair distance and thought you might have some news of the frontier,” William told him.
“Thank you sonny. I’d appreciate the company of some educated men,” he said, his gray-blue eyes twinkling. He stood, without straightening his back completely, and slowly followed William back to their table.
Despite his age, the man appeared to possess strength and carried himself with an air of self-confidence. Stephen suspected that although the older man may have slowed down, if pushed, he would be able to take care of himself.
Sam pulled up another chair. “Have a seat.”
“My name’s Possum Clark,” he said as he sat down.
“Mine’s William Wyllie. This is my older brother, Captain Sam, my younger brother Stephen, and our adopted brother Bear. You can probably guess why he’s called Bear.”
“That I can. But I bet you can’t guess why they call me Possum Clark,” he cackled.
“You like to eat possum,” Bear offered.
“Nope.”
“You only come out at night?” Sam asked.
“Nope.”
“Because you hunt a lot of possums?” William suggested.
Possum shook his hairy head.
When Possum turned to him, Stephen just shook his head and took a long sip of his ale.
“It’s clear you boys ain’t going to figure this one out so I’ll just have to tell you. When I was about this young one’s age,” he said, nodding at Stephen, “I was one of the first white men west of the Appalachian Mountains. Maybe the first Christian man on some of those mountains. The thrill of walking on soil on which the foot of a civilized man has never trodden is beyond comparison, like walking in the Garden of Eden, ‘cept I had no Eve. Although, not having a woman like Eve, always serving up temptation, may be a blessing, but I’m digressing.” He stopped to take a long swig of his ale. “Well one cloudy foggy morning, I set about putting beaver traps by a river near the base of this mountain. The water was icy cold and a first snow dusted every tree and scrub. All of a sudden behind me, I hear the timber cracking, branches snapping, dead trees falling, like an avalanche breaking everything in its path—only there was no avalanche. The timber and brush were as thick as that hair on Bear’s head so I couldn’t see a darn thing. The next I know, a son-of-a-buck Grizzly faced me with a look on his face I hope never to see again. This old bear stood at least eight foot tall and weighed as much as five, maybe six, men. He opened his mouth and roared at me like the King of the forest. And I guess he was the King, ‘cause I sure felt like a lowly peasant about to die right then.
“Now I had heard many theories about what to do if ever a Grizzly confronts you in the wild. One is to yell back at him and wave your arms around. But I was afraid my yell would sound more like a damn whimper. No use trying to run, they can make tracks faster than a horse. Trying to shoot them up close like that is risky. If you don’t shoot them right between the eyes, you’re just going to make ‘em mad. One fella, he tried to shoot the Grizzly that got him. All they found of him was his rifle broke plum in two, a bloodied hatchet, and bear droppings. Another theory is to lie down and play dead. Although it goes contrary to what a normal man is inclined towards, I decided on that course of action, mainly ‘cause my knees weren’t working so well at the time. So I lay face down and acted just like a possum playing dead. That damned rascal sniffed me up one side and down the other. I could feel his hot breath on my skin. With each snort through his nostrils, I thought I would feel those razor sharp long claws ripping my flesh apart, his teeth crushing my bones. Even though it was cold enough to freeze bacon, I was sweating in my buckskins. I guess he decided I wasn’t a threat to him,
or he didn’t like the smell of me, or maybe I was just lucky and he’d already gorged on a big breakfast, but he moved off, toward the hills.” Possum pointed in the direction the bear evidently went and everyone seemed to take a breath at the same time.
“And I was lucky it weren’t a she bear. A she Grizzly will attack viciously if she has cubs anywhere around. Of course, I had to tell the story of my narrow escape at the Rendezvous with the other trappers that spring.” Possum paused to laugh and cough for a bit. “They gave me the name Possum after that.”
“What’s that in your hat?” Stephen asked.
“It’s a possum tail of course,” Possum said, laughing again. “Reminds me every day how lucky I am to be alive. Be happy while you’re living boys, because you’re not far from dead.”
After the story of the old mountain monarch, Possum Clark gave the men more sage advice, describing the best routes, road conditions, and possible dangers. Having traveled to and from Kentucky six times since he’d been a trapper, he knew the route like an old friend. Captain Sam learned long ago to navigate by the stars, but the more information they had the better since they would travel by day.
Stephen borrowed quill and ink from the tavern owner, who was much more cordial than his wife. He felt sorry for the man yoked to such a sour woman. He pulled paper from his waistcoat pocket and, with Possum’s help, wrote down the names of towns and villages and landmarks to look for, making a careful list for future reference.
As they stood to leave, William said, “Thank you, Sir, for a most entertaining discussion.”
“You have been a valuable source of information, Mr. Clark,” Stephen said, as they bid the trapper farewell. “We thank you kindly, Sir.”
“Glad I could help. Return the favor someday yourself to some needy soul,” Possum said. “The frontier is full of opportunities to help your fellow man. Don’t pass ‘em by. You never know when you may be the one in need of help.”
As they all stood to leave, Possum said, “One last piece of advice boys. There’s a good chance one or more of you may die on this trip. The rest of you will have to go on. That’s the way it is out there. Just as this beautiful country goes on and on, so does life. Keep moving west, towards the sunset. Some of us just get there sooner than others.”
Wilderness Trail of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 1) Page 12