Prairie Romance Collection
Page 38
“It seems I have made an irrational decision,” she said, completing his sentence for him.
“Think this through, Hannah. How do you think you’ll be able to survive in the wilderness? How will you plow the land, plant and harvest crops, care for a home, and take care of an infant? Even if you had spent your lifetime on a farm, it would be impossible. You don’t even have experience growing flowers. Tell me how you plan to succeed,” he persisted.
“God will provide a way,” she answered calmly. “I know this is what I’m supposed to do.”
There was an assurance in her voice and a set to her jaw that seemed to signal the end of the argument. Hannah knew that she would make the journey to Pike’s Ferry. And she wouldn’t tell William Winslow how frightened she was, no matter how many times he forced her to confirm that decision.
“If that’s your final word on the matter, I beg you to make one small concession,” he requested.
“If I am able.”
“Permit me to accompany you. Once you’ve seen the land, you can make your final determination, but I feel it would be unwise for you to travel into uncharted territory by yourself.”
“But it isn’t uncharted territory, William. Mr. Martin lives but ten miles away, and I’m sure that there are other neighbors.”
“Did Mr. Martin mention other settlers?”
“Not that I can recall, but I’m sure there are others nearby.”
“I don’t want to appear argumentative, Hannah, but I must once again disagree. There are probably very few settlers in that area, which will make it even more difficult for you to survive. Will you permit this one compromise?”
Hannah remained silent for several minutes, allowing the impact of William’s words to take hold. The company of another person would give her great comfort—even a person she had known for such a short time. And no doubt, Mr. Winslow could be of great assistance. On the other hand, how could she possibly travel in the company of a man who was not her husband? How could he remain with her once they reached Illinois? There would be no impropriety on her part, but such behavior would certainly set tongues to wagging. And, she reasoned, that was no way to begin a new life.
“What do you say about my proposal, Hannah?” he asked when she delayed her response.
“I realize that I have no control over your comings and goings, William. However, I believe such an arrangement would be improper. And what of your business? Surely it would be impossible for you to trek off on a sojourn into the wilderness and leave your employment.”
“Being away from my business is the least of my concerns, dear lady. I am in a joint venture with several other gentlemen from Liverpool who now live in New Orleans. Believe me, my presence is not required until such time as an occasional document needs my signature. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be sailing with you right now,” he explained. “As to the impropriety of the situation, I’m merely offering my assistance. There’s nothing improper about that.”
“I see. But I still don’t think it would be prudent,” she quietly replied. “Now I must go below and check on Elizabeth. I’m sure she is sleeping soundly, but I don’t want to take advantage of Mrs. Iverson’s kindness.”
William remained on deck long after Hannah had gone below. What about this particular woman made him feel that he must throw a cloak of protection around her? He had certainly courted women of higher title and greater beauty. But there was something about her that begged his attention—perhaps the fact that she seemed unwilling to accept his assistance. No matter the reason, an undeniable urge to come to her aid now welled deep within his being.
Perhaps God is speaking to me, he pondered for a fleeting moment. Then, just as quickly, he brushed the thought from his mind.
“Are you all right, Mr. Winslow?” the captain inquired as he walked toward William.
“Yes, just enjoying the night breeze. I am glad to be back in port,” William replied.
“Aye, as am I. In all likelihood, we will disembark at first light. But I could get one of my men to row you ashore now if you’re anxious to get back on land,” the captain offered.
“Thank you. That’s very kind, but I’ll wait until morning like the rest of the passengers.”
“As you wish. Did I see you speaking with the Widow Falcrest earlier?” the captain inquired.
“Yes, you did.”
“Poor woman—such a tragedy. I had not lost a passenger on my last five voyages, and then to lose both Mr. Falcrest and the little boy. Terrible!”
“You had no control over the situation, Captain. Mrs. Falcrest holds no one to blame.”
“I know, I know.” The captain shook his head slowly back and forth. “Still, what a waste of human life—the boy so young and all …,” he said, his voice trailing off with uncertainty.
“Right. Well, storms are uncertain things, and with the little boy already asleep on the bowsprit, little could have been done to save him, although his father mounted a valiant try.”
“I’m not so sure Mr. Falcrest wouldn’t have done better by his family had he not tried quite so hard. Don’t misunderstand. I applaud his efforts. But his death makes things doubly hard on Mrs. Falcrest, what with losing her husband and son.”
“That’s true. However, I’m sure her husband was thinking of nothing but saving the boy from the unforgiving depths of the ocean.”
“Now those waters are the resting place for the both of them,” the captain concluded.
William nodded in agreement. There was nothing left to say. The event had struck fear in every one of the passengers, most of the parents now guarding their children with renewed vigor, while husbands and wives gave thanks that it had not been their mates who had perished.
“Is she returning to England?” the captain inquired, disturbing William’s thoughts.
“No. She says that she’ll carry on with the plans she and Mr. Falcrest made before leaving home.”
The captain appeared dumbfounded by William’s reply. “What? Can she not afford passage for her return?”
“I doubt she has enough for passage, but that isn’t the issue. She tells me that she’s had a word with God about her situation and He intends for her to carry on as planned,” William confided.
“Do you think she’s gone bleary-headed, what with her husband and the boy dyin’? Such things happen—grief causing a person to go insane.”
William gave the captain a hearty laugh. “She’s not insane. In fact, she is probably more sane than most of the people I know, Captain. At best, I’d say she’s a woman determined to follow God’s leading; at worst, I’d say she’s pigheaded.”
The captain appeared unconvinced of William’s assessment concerning Mrs. Falcrest’s mental stability, but he questioned the matter no further. “New Orleans is a far cry from a country home in England. She probably won’t take long to change her mind and return to the homeland,” the captain surmised.
“Ah, but she’s not planning on remaining in New Orleans. Mr. and Mrs. Falcrest had made arrangements to homestead eighty acres of land in Illinois, and she intends on following through with those plans—alone.”
“You’re pulling my leg!” the captain replied as he slapped William on the back. “That’s a good one, all right.”
“I am not joking. She fully intends to establish a homestead near a place called Pike’s Ferry.”
“Off the Big Blue Creek?” the captain inquired.
“Yes. Do you know the area?”
“That I do. My sister and her husband homestead near Springfield. I travel that direction when I visit them. Pretty desolate country around Pike’s Ferry. Not many settlers. For her own good, she ought to consider living nearer to Springfield.”
“Unfortunately, that isn’t an option.” Concern etching his face, William shook his head slowly from side to side. “Ever heard of a Mr. Martin? Evidently Mr. Falcrest had been in correspondence with a man named Martin and sent him money toward the purchase of land near Pike’s Ferry.”
“No, that’s not necessary,” William replied.
“I’ve got a few things to finish up before I turn in for the night, so I’d best be moving along. Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Winslow.”
“Thank you, Captain, and you do the same,” William absently answered as he stared off toward the blinking lights of New Orleans, again wondering why he felt compelled to help this woman and her child.
Chapter 2
Hannah bit her lower lip, hoping to hold back the tears now threatening to spill over their banks. Bidding farewell to her beleaguered fellow travelers would prove difficult. Many of them had become friends. They had shared their hopes and anxieties about moving to a new land, laughed and cried together, cooked together and shared meals—and they had held a fitting memorial service for her husband and dear son after their drownings at sea. Most important, they had shared her grief at the boy’s death. She prayed that leaving her fellow passengers wouldn’t rekindle the deep aching within her.
Earlier the passengers had listened as the captain announced that the customhouse officers would be delayed in their examination of the ship and its contents. Explaining that more ships than normal had arrived within the last week and that the officials had fallen behind schedule, he encouraged the passengers to be patient for just a little longer.
The bleak pronouncements were met with groans of dismay and more than a few angry words. The already-weary immigrants were anxious to leave their floating habitation, and several of the men quickly blamed the captain for the delay. But William was at Hannah’s side before the ship’s officer finished relaying the ill tidings.
“You have nothing upon which a duty can be levied, and the captain signed a document on your behalf for the inspectors. The captain knows me and knows that I am a man of honesty. We’ve had previous business dealings, and I merely requested his assistance. The matter is as simple as that. Now please let me help you,” William urged.
“I feel like a traitor leaving the other passengers on board. Besides, the captain said that the inspectors wouldn’t be here for several days,” Hannah argued.
“This document will be given to a customs official who will meet us at the dock. And you mustn’t think you are a traitor, Hannah. If any of the other passengers were given an opportunity to leave, they certainly would do so,” William quietly explained.
Hannah turned and met William’s gaze. His tone was soft, his eyes filled with tenderness. He seemed to sense her agony. “Please,” he gently added, “let me carry the baby.”
The kindness overwhelmed her, and now the tears rolled freely as she handed him the tiny child. Without a word, he pulled a linen handkerchief from his breast pocket and tenderly wiped her cheeks. She failed miserably in her endeavor to return his smile, but somehow she knew that he understood and that no words were necessary.
Once they had reached the dock, Hannah allowed William to take charge. “Wait here. I’ll hail a carriage and arrange for storage of your belongings. If you have money that you wish to have exchanged for American dollars, I can do that for you,” he offered.
Hannah hesitated only a moment and then reached into her reticule. She pulled out her money, all in English sovereigns, and handed the cash to William.
“You can wait over there while I speak to the inspectors,” he said, pointing toward a bench not far from the dock. Hannah watched as he entered a small building and then, a few moments later, returned to the dock. After briefly talking to a lanky man wearing a bright bandanna around his neck, William beckoned for her to join him. In less than an hour, they were in a carriage moving slowly away from the waterfront.
“I thought today was Sunday. I must have gotten my days confused,” Hannah remarked, peering at the vendors who hawked their wares along the muddy street. She shuddered at the sight of several black men shackled together as they were prodded along toward a large open area where many people were gathered.
“It is Sunday,” William replied. “I’m afraid you’ll find that the general population of New Orleans doesn’t hold the Lord’s Day in much reverence. Don’t misunderstand—there are those who are attempting to correct the situation. My mother staunchly supports reform.”
“What’s going on over there?” she questioned, unable to look away from the unfolding scene.
“Slave auction,” he replied without further comment.
“And you, William, do you support reform?”
He hesitated for a moment. “I must admit I am not as adamant as my mother. I’m not quite as offended with the ‘business as usual’ attitude.”
There seemed to be a note of caution in his reply. “Does that mean you observe the Lord’s Day but have little concern for the eternal salvation of others, Mr. Winslow?” Hannah asked.
“Ah, I see I’ve struck a chord.”
“What makes you say that?” she inquired while shifting positions, her chin jutting forward just a fraction.
“You addressed me as Mr. Winslow rather than William,” he replied with a slight smile playing at the corner of his lips.
“I suppose I did,” she thoughtfully answered.
“Your religious convictions haven’t gone unnoticed, Hannah. I’d be a total fool not to realize that a woman who looks for divine intervention in her decision making would disapprove of the New Orleans lifestyle—and working conditions,” he quickly added.
“There’s no denying that I believe Sunday is a day that should be dedicated to worship and rest. But there are those, even in England, who don’t share my belief. Apparently, however, many of the people of New Orleans have taken liberties far beyond what I would have imagined possible.”
He nodded. “For many, it’s not because they want to work on Sunday. Undoubtedly, a great number of these folks would prefer to be at a worship service. But they have been forced to make a choice—earn a living or attend church. With families to feed and immigrants arriving daily who would gladly take their jobs, the choice soon seems simple enough.”
“Perhaps they’ve placed their faith in the wrong things,” Hannah quietly replied.
“Easily enough said,” William replied as the carriage came to a halt in front of a two-story home on the outskirts of the city. He stepped out of the carriage, took the baby into one arm, and lifted the other to assist Hannah down.
Hannah quickly observed the house and surrounding area. From outward appearances, William and his mother must be comfortable but not overly wealthy. The house boasted a large front porch that wrapped around the house and a small sitting porch on the second floor that overlooked a flower garden. Hannah decided the sitting porch was attached to the master bedroom.
A tall, thin black man graciously greeted them at the front door as if it were a commonplace event for William to arrive home with a strange woman and her baby in tow.
“My mother?” William inquired, stepping into the foyer.
“At church,” the man simply replied. “Have you eaten? I’ll have breakfast prepared,” he offered.
“Please,” William replied. “Let me show you upstairs where you can freshen up and see to the baby,” he said, turning to Hannah.
They ascended the wooden staircase and turned down a hallway. A narrow strip of worn floral carpet was centered down the hall; bare wooden floorboards peeked out from each side.
“I hope you’ll find the accommodations bearable. This house leaves much to be desired,” William said, pushing the door open to permit her entry.
Hannah stared about the room. A small sitting area led into a larger bedroom, which overlooked the flower garden she had admired earlier. Beyond the garden and grassy lawn, there were several run-down outbuildings and what appeared to be a vegetable patch.
“What are those?” Hannah asked, pointing out the window.
“At one time, they were slave quarters.”
“Were
?”
“The previous owner of this house was engaged in slave trading. He housed slaves in those buildings until they were sold,” William replied.
“And what of your slaves, sir? Don’t they also reside in those buildings?”
“We own no slaves, Hannah,” William simply replied.
“Really? What of the man who answered the door? And who is cooking our breakfast?”
“I employ servants, Hannah. They are not slaves. I don’t own them, and they are paid for their labor,” he replied, immediately turning to leave. “Come down and have something to eat when you are ready. I’ll see to a cradle for Elizabeth.”
“William—I’m sorry. My comments were rude and inconsiderate. I have no right to question the manner in which you run your household. Please forgive me,” she begged, though her tone sounded more like an urgent plea than she intended.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” he said while giving her a quick smile. “I’ll be downstairs. Take your time.”
She had just begun to chastise herself for her boorish behavior when Elizabeth’s cries demanded her attentions. With experienced hands, she quickly replaced the baby’s wet nappy with a dry one, tightly wrapped her in a blanket, and gently lifted the child to her breast. Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered between wakefulness and sleep until her tiny belly was filled; then Hannah carefully placed her sleeping child on the bed.
Discovering a towel and washcloth on the commode, Hannah poured water into the basin and dipped the cloth into its depths. She held the cloth to her face and inhaled the cool dampness. The air seemed hard to breathe, a stifling humidity lingering in the air. She had heard stories of the difficult climate and yellow fever that seemed to plague New Orleans and the surrounding countryside, but she hadn’t been prepared for the permeating heavy air. Her dress seemed oppressive as she slowly descended the stairs and entered the dining room a short time later.
William was seated at a highly polished mahogany table; behind him, a gleaming silver coffee service graced a buffet along the wall. A kind-faced woman rapidly waved a fan back and forth in front of herself, and she appeared to cling to William’s every word.