Rose's Pledge

by Dianna Crawford

  Not at all intimidated by her question, the bounder smiled. “To be quite truthful, Miss Harwood, I have no duties in mind for her whatsoever. But I assure you, my mother shall be most pleased at my finding someone of your sister’s refined qualities to be her companion.”

  His reply stunned Rose. “You …you bought her for your mother?”

  “Why, yes. Of course. Surely you didn’t think me the sort to have something else in mind for the lass.” His forehead creased in amusement.

  Surely she had, and in fact, still did. “Then I’m sure you will not mind pledging to see my dear, virtuous sister placed into your mother’s watch-care before the sun sets this day. And you’ll see to her religious instruction as well?”

  “Rose!” Twin spots of color sprung forth on Mariah’s indignant face, but her new master placed a staying hand on her arm and met Rose’s gaze in all candor. “You have my most solemn word, miss.”

  “I thank you, sir. I shall rest easier knowing she is with trustworthy folk.” From the pocket of her skirt she withdrew a shard of lead and a scrap of paper. “Might I ask where to post my sisterly correspondence? I should hate to lose touch with one of the only two relatives I possess on this continent.”

  He gave a polite nod. “To Barclay’s Bay Plantation at Alexandria. On the Virginia side of the Potomac.”

  “Virginia? But isn’t that another colony? How far away is your plantation?”

  “Rest easy, miss. ‘Tis within a day’s ride.” “A day’s ride?”

  Mariah eased out of Rose’s grasp and turned to Mr. Barclay. “Pray sir, forgive me, but I’m afraid my sister and I have a matter of much deeper concern. We must not let that swarthy old man take her. Would you please speak to the captain? Implore him to withdraw these proceedings?”

  He grimaced slightly. “My dear Mariah, the man bid fifty pounds.”

  “Yes, I’m quite aware of that.” She employed her most persuasive smile. “But if you would just try.”

  Colin Barclay shook his head with sad finality. “I regret to say all closing bids are final. I do find it rather astounding that one so unkempt should have that amount of ready cash. One can only wonder how he came by such funds.”

  Her last flicker of hope gone, Rose assured herself that her new owner could be set to rights easily enough with a bit of soap and some hot water. Very hot water and lots of it. But Mariah? She sighed and prayed fervently that Mistress Barclay would be a most conscientious guardian to her new charge.

  Impulsive, flighty Mariah, an entire day’s ride away.

  And what about Lily? To what distance might she be taken? Not so far, dear Lord. Please, not so far.

  Leaving Mariah and Mr. Barclay, Rose approached the farmer who waited in line for his turn with Captain Durning. “Sir, I trust you live nearby?”

  “The name’s John Waldon, miss. And may I express again my sincerest appreciation for your assistance.” He cast a worried glance toward the uncouth fellow leaning over Rose’s papers. “‘Tis my deepest regret I was unable to return the favor. I’ve just come from building our new house up in Pennsylvania’s Wyoming Valley. Within the week we’ll be departing Baltimore.”

  “Wyoming Valley? Pennsylvania?” Rose’s chest began to tighten beneath the heaviness pressing on her spirit. She had read of vast tracts of land existing in the Americas, but she’d been told most people lived along the seaboard. “Pray, good sir, how far from here is that? I’m afraid I’m not familiar with these colonies and how they relate to each other. I must know where my sister will be living.”

  The sadness she’d seen earlier when he’d mentioned his ill wife deepened. “Several days upriver, miss.” He took her hand. “I wish it were closer. But I vow to you, your sister will be kindly treated in my household, and you may consider yourself most welcome to come visit us whenever your master can spare you.”

  The invitation was hardly comforting. Why had she ever agreed to allow the girls to accompany her to the colonies? Instead of beginning a new life together, the three of them were being scattered like chaff on the far winds. This was such a crucial time in their young lives, yet there’d be no seeing to her dear sisters’ spiritual instruction if they did not dwell in close proximity to herself. Mariah, in all likelihood, could easily go astray.

  Why has this horrid fate befallen us, dear Lord? “Rose Harwood.” The captain held out a plumed quill to her. “Step forward and put your name under Mr. Eustice Smith’s.”

  The longest week of Rose’s life dragged slowly by on the swift, dark currents of the Potomac River. A vast array of birds, many of which Rose had never seen before, soared and swirled overhead in the bluest of skies. Others flitted among the topmost branches of the trees lining the wide banks, their cheery twitterings barely penetrating her gloomy thoughts. Why were those insignificant creatures free of earth’s constraints, while she was being carried farther into the unknown?

  On either side of her, virgin forest tangled with such density she could scarcely peer more than a few feet into its growth. Strangely, as she rested atop several meal sacks in the confines of a cumbersome keelboat Mr. Smith had hired, the foliage—like great green walls, high and impenetrable—seemed almost protective, except when the feral screech of some unseen, unknown animal carried to her ears. Then the hairs on her arms stood on end.

  Nevertheless, Rose resolved to remain as calm as the duck she spied floating in the shallows with a brood trailing placidly behind. Rose’s composure was one of the few things she still clung to as the rough-hewn boat distanced her from everyone dear to her.

  She and Mr. Eustice Smith were not entirely alone. The man had hired another riverboat like the one she was on, each being poled upriver by a crew of five—two on each side manning the poles and one at the rudder. Purposely tuning out the annoying din of unseen peepers and tree toads whose endless chorus filled the air, Rose disregarded the good-natured chatter exchanged by the men. She preferred the solitude of her thoughts, however depressing and hopeless they might be.

  After the party had taken leave of Baltimore, she had felt safe enough as they passed the array of towns and settlements speckling the region. In between, there’d been vast plantations of tobacco fields. Great manor houses overlooked the river, attesting to the prosperity of the region. She couldn’t help but wonder if Mariah would be dwelling somewhere among them.

  Traffic at first seemed brisk on the busy waterway. But all too soon the river left the flatlands and began cutting through hill country. This morning she’d seen only one other string of rivercraft. The passing flatboats heading downstream were piled high with what she learned were beaver pelts. Such carnage, she mused, took place in those dark, distant woods—and all for making fashionable men’s hats.

  A thunderous boom roared across the water. Rose sprang to her feet and searched in all directions as the sound echoed back and forth between the ridges framing the narrow valley.

  “Nothin’ to fret about, missy.” A shabby boatman walking his jammed pole to the rear of the boat nodded toward the noise and spit a brown streak of tobacco juice in that direction. “‘Tweren’t nothin’ but a big ol’ tree sayin’ its last good-bye.”

  Rose sat down again, settling her charcoal gray skirt over her ankles. “I thank you for putting my mind at ease.”

  Her thanks sparked a grin from the rawboned man, his body straining as he maintained pressure on the pole. “Didn’t want ye thinkin’ a pack o’ wild Injuns was swoopin’ down on us.”

  “Indians! I thought the Indians sold all their land on this side of your mountains and moved out to the west.”

  “Aye,” he grunted with a glance back at her. “They did. Fer the most part.”

  Rose chose not to linger on his last words or question him further, no matter how strong her curiosity. Being a lone woman among so many men, it seemed prudent to refrain from engaging them in conversation, even on the most basic of topics. From their uncommon interest in her every move, a person would think her as fascinating as
Mariah.

  With her sister once again on her mind, Rose had to admit it now seemed almost laughable how worried she had been that her siblings would be taken away from Baltimore. The irony that she was the one going who-knew-where was not lost on her. And after more than a week traversing this river, Rose had pressing questions for Mr. Smith—questions he seemed adept at sidestepping.

  All she had learned from the evasive man was that he purchased her for the sole purpose of relieving his wife of mealtime chores—and that not out of kindness for his missus, but because he deplored the woman’s cooking. He’d been extremely closemouthed as to the actual location of their home. She’d gleaned little more from him than the knowledge that the supplies stacked high for transport were to replenish his store. The vague address she’d been able to provide her sisters at their tearful parting was to write her in care of the Virginia and Ohio Company office in Alexandria …yet was not Alexandria one of the towns they’d left behind?

  As the party traveled northward, Rose could only wonder if she was anywhere near where Lily would be living. But rather than poling into the settlement, the men veered onto the river’s southern fork. There’d been no sign of civilization along the banks since. With every endless mile, Rose was being carried deeper into the wilderness.

  And nothing could be done about that for four interminable years.

  Seized by a sense of desperation, she searched ahead along both banks. If only Mr. Smith’s store would soon come into sight, she might be positioned within a day of her baby sister—indeed even less if heading downstream in one of those narrow native boats the men called canoes. They seemed to glide by faster than a man could run.

  It was high time she received a straight answer from the storekeeper. Rose hoisted herself off the sacks and, careful not to trip over her bothersome skirts, gingerly navigated toward the front of the keelboat, where the man sat. He could be found easily enough at any time of the day or night merely by following her nose, she conceded wryly. Surely when he reached their destination his wife would make certain he had a good soak in a bathtub. Rose yearned for that luxury herself …along with the safety of female company.

  Her owner slouched on a crate, his hands clasped between his knees. With his floppy hat shading most of his face, he seemed to be searching ahead with intense interest.

  She stopped and placed her feet apart to balance herself on the moving craft. “Mr. Smith, I should like a word with you, if I might.”

  He looked up and blinked. “Oh, good. Yer here.” His high, thin voice rose in stark contrast to his coarse features. “We’ll be dockin’ ‘round the next bend. It’ll be the end of our ride on this here river, and I’ll expect ya to haul off all that truck ya insisted on cartin’ along with ya. I’ll not be payin’ the men extra fer that.”

  She bristled. “I’ve done so at every portage, sir, have I not?”

  He grunted like a mean-tempered pig. For a man who had paid such a goodly sum for her person, he seemed unaccountably stingy in the matter of her belongings—one trunk and two valises, leaving her to lug and drag them along herself whenever necessary. But they were all she had left in this world, and she was not about to leave a single piece behind.

  Suddenly the import of his last words struck her. “You say we’re about to dock? Oh, splendid! Splendid!” Turning away, she could not suppress a huge grin, and she did not care if the other men misread it. They had arrived at last—mayhap she would be within a few days’ journey of where at least one of her dear sisters would be located.

  Even as Rose cautiously made her way to where her large black chest sat with the valises strapped on top, a horseshoe curve came into view. She could see a wide sandy strand stretching across its inward side, and fingering out from that, a sturdy deck. Two overturned canoes rested in the sand, a pleasing sight.

  As the craft moved closer, Rose noticed that inland of the short pier lay a clearing dotted with log buildings, corrals, pens, and fenced pastures housing a number of horses and other animals. The tiny settlement appeared similar to the last place they’d stopped to unload and portage around a small waterfall, but here the current ran smoothly as far as the eye could see.

  Beyond the clearing, an endless stand of thick forest closed off further view of the region. Could this isolated outpost be the location of Mr. Smith’s store?

  On land, an individual charged out on the dock, waving and yelling words that became somewhat jumbled as they echoed off the layered rock walls on the other side of the river.

  The men pushing the poles hollered back, “Halloo the landing!” Laughing, they walked their poles toward the rear.

  Rose saw people streaming out of the closest cabin and running to the dock. They wore dreary, coarse-spun shirts, and their sagging knee-high breeches met none-too-clean stockings.

  With one exception. Tall, stalwart, and ruggedly built, a fine figure of a man strode forth. Appearing quite prosperous in a white ruffled shirt and brocade vest, which he wore with indifferent grace, he had a midnight blue frock coat draped over one arm.

  Rose’s spirits lifted. Perhaps there was a village of substance nearby after all. She glanced down at her simple linsey-woolsey spotted with pine pitch. She’d worn it for the past week to prevent spoiling any of her better gowns. Even the shawl collar she’d placed atop her bodice was her oldest. But perhaps the straw bonnet with its wide black ties was none the worse for wear and would add a bit of style. She sincerely hoped to make a good impression on Mr. Smith’s good wife.

  Nearing the dock, one of the crewmen tossed a rope to a waiting fellow who quickly looped it around a thick post and drew the craft alongside. The lumbering conveyance thudded against the pilings and shuddered heavily before another worker caught and fastened a second rope, snugging the rear of the vessel. The other keelboat was tied in similar fashion.

  Mr. Smith and the crew hopped ashore and exchanged boisterous greetings with those on the landing.

  To Rose’s dismay, she saw a brown jug making swift rounds. She could only pray it contained cider. But spirited contents or no, the matter was out of her hands. With the men no longer underfoot, she took advantage of the moment and grabbed the handle of her trunk, dragging it toward the side.

  Before she’d gotten halfway there, she felt the boat dip as someone came aboard. She looked up at the man attired in finer clothing who strode steadily toward her in his neat buckle shoes.

  “If you please, miss.” He kept his voice pleasingly low in timbre as he removed his three-cornered hat and placed it on a crate. “Let me be of assistance.” A broad smile revealed straight, healthy teeth, and dark, softly curled hair framed sincere hazel eyes. A jovial crinkling of his brow further disarmed her. Rose found something quite stirring about his appearance. Even though his long face was far too rugged for genteel handsomeness, its hollows and angles had a compelling quality one could not easily dismiss. There was no way to guess his age. Not with skin bronzed by constant exposure to wind and weather. But despite his elegant attire, he carried a sense of recklessness about him, of adventure. And for some reason, the warm friendliness in his eyes made her sense instinctively that she could trust him.

  She felt fleeting regret for having lacked foresight enough to begin the day in a more presentable fashion. For the first time since selling herself into bondage, she truly felt the part of the dowdy servant. She managed only a weak smile as the man continued to hold her in his gaze.

  The breeze caught a tendril of her hair and whipped it across her cheek. With him staring so intently, should she brush the strand free of her lashes or pretend it didn’t exist? Unaccountably light-headed under his scrutiny, she felt her heart quicken beneath her laced bodice.

  He bent down and caught hold of the trunk handle with hands as hard and brown as those of any riverman she’d yet encountered. He seemed to Rose a man of substance, yet one unafraid of honest labor, and his assistance was more than appreciated. She preceded him off the boat.

  With solid ground b
eneath her feet at last, Rose assessed the settlement more closely, noting the weathered but sturdy cabins speckled here and there within the wide clearing. Large corrals teemed with horses, while additional pens housed several cows. A few rumpled men and a ruddier individual who she assumed could easily pass for an Indian lurked about, watching the keelboats being unloaded. Aware of the more-than-interested attention her arrival caused the residents, she ignored their grins and suggestive stares and hiked her chin.

  “You sir!” Mr. Smith hollered. “Stop!” Despite the straggly beard shrouding most of his face, the trader’s displeasure was unmistakable, even from a distance.

  Her chivalrous helper glanced over his shoulder. “You yammerin’ at me, Eustice, you ol’ river rat?” A lazy sort of American accent softened his rumbly voice.

  Mr. Smith cocked his head, squinting in the glare of the sunshine. Then he let out a hoot. “Nate Kinyon? That you?”

  “Aye. Headin’ down to Conococheague to see if Ma’s still holdin’ up. It’s been nigh two years or so since I was back that way.”

  “Well, you look purty enough t’ be a reg’lar party cake.”

  Mr. Kinyon turned a shade redder above the ruffles at his throat, and a corner of his mouth quirked as he eyed the storekeeper. But he made no response. He hoisted the hefty trunk and the two valises onto his shoulder as if they weighed next to nothing and strode toward the front of the boat.

  Trader Smith jabbed a stubby finger at him. “That’s jes’ what I meant. I want the girl to haul that truck off on her own.”

  Rose blanched as the onlookers ceased talking among themselves and centered their attention on her, each curious ear perked.

  Either her rescuer didn’t notice or he didn’t care. Without hesitation he leaped onto the dock with her belongings.