Rose's Pledge

by Dianna Crawford

  A village dog began to bark. Then others joined in, and they loped down toward the water. Rose glanced across the river, where two men and four horses were making the crossing.

  Mr. Smith’s employers, perhaps? Surely they’d insist upon her leaving. No way on earth would they allow a lone female to run one of their stores. But would they at least give her recompense for the profitable trading she’d conducted during the weeks since Mr. Smith had passed away? They probably wouldn’t be pleased by the small number of fur bundles that remained on hand or the amount of missing trade goods. Nate and Robert Bloom had taken a fully loaded canoe with them when they left, and the Susquehannocks had helped themselves to both goods and furs when they stole away in the dead of night. Fortunately she’d saved the remainder, pitiful lot though it was.

  Rose glanced at the two Shawnee braves who had provided protection since the Susquehannocks deserted her. How she wished the men coming were Nate and Robert. As hard as it was to accept, she was beginning to believe they were never coming back.

  Jenny cooed and smiled one of her sweet baby smiles, and Rose’s heart crimped as she picked up the child and hugged her close. She’d never be able to erase from her mind the terrible condition Hannah Wright had been in before she died …nor could she dwell on similar thoughts of what might have happened to Nate and Robert. She sloughed off the morbid turn her mind had taken and caught Jenny’s little fist with a playful shake. “We should find out who the visitors are, should we not?” Standing up with Jenny in her arms, she started down the slope.

  Already the enthusiastic villagers were assembling on the riverbank, awaiting the newcomers’ arrival. With the baby propped on one hip, Rose waited behind the noisy crowd, awed by the change in her perception of the Indians. At home in England, she’d believed them to be nothing but half-naked savages bent on butchering anyone who ventured into the frontier. Now, she kept a slight distance between them and herself merely because she didn’t want to get jostled in their excitement.

  After beaching their raft, two bearded men dressed in the rough attire of frontiersmen came toward her through the crowd, trailing their horses after them. Both halted at the sight of her then continued their approach. “Rose Harwood?” one asked, the eyes beneath his bushy brows squinting as if unable to believe what he saw. He nudged frameless spectacles higher on his hooked nose.

  “Yes, I’m Miss Harwood.” Her heart plummeted. They knew her name. Surely they had to be the fur-company men. But they looked scruffier than the last men who’d come through the village.

  “I knowed I had letters to deliver to a Rose Harwood,” the man with glasses went on. “But I never expected no white woman.”

  “Aye,” his partner agreed, daylight glancing off a scar that ran down one cheek. “We thought it was an Indian wife or a half-breed. But you don’t look like no half-breed I ever seen. An’ with a towhead baby yet!”

  The word letters dawned on Rose. “You have letters for me?” She stepped forward, holding out her free hand.

  “Yes, ma’am, in one of our bags,” the first said. “For you an’ Trader Smith. When we stopped by the Ohio an’ Virginia Fur Company they asked us to drop ‘em by on our way in.”

  “Then you’re not in the employ of the fur company.”

  “No, ma’am. We’re trappers. Goin’ downriver for winter beaver.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. This meant she had more time to trade with the Indians for furs. More time to make money. “Please,” she invited, “do come up to my fire. I’ve got chicken stew in the pot.”

  “Chicken! That does sound temptin’.” Tugging on his horse’s reins, the man started up the hill, past her and the baby. “Ho! Smith! Where you hidin’ out, you ol’ skinflint?”

  Before Rose could say anything, the scarred man paused beside her. “One more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Jest so’s ya know, some men from the fur company are on their way. They was startin’ out a couple’a days behind us.” Her chest tightened with dread.

  He cracked a gap-toothed grin. “But don’t ya go feedin’ them no chicken. ‘Possum’s good enough for them greedy misers.”

  A few days after the trappers left, Rose heaved a sigh as she gazed down at Mariah’s letter again. Would the girl never change? Salutations, Rose, the missive began.

  Salutations! How pretentious! One would think Mariah was composing business correspondence. But at least she’d taken the time to put plume to paper and had given her older sister some thought. She read further:

  I was quite surprised to hear from you. I had been rather concerned about your welfare at first, considering the appearance and ghastly odor of your employer. But Colin assured me that any man who could hand over the sum of fifty pounds for you without batting an eye was surely a man of far greater prospects than he appeared. Since receiving your letter, I see Colin was correct.

  Although you must be living in quite remote circumstances without shops or other niceties, I assure you I am not much better off. I have been relegated to the lowly position of tutor to Colin’s three sisters and secretary to Mr. and Mrs. Barclay. For as wealthy as these colonials are, the females especially lack most severely in penmanship.

  The girls tag behind me wherever I step, and Mistress Barclay is forever finding something for me to do, so I have precious little time to myself. Would you believe that the woman actually had me serve food at their annual summer gathering? I was sorely mortified!

  To make matters even worse, I am allowed only one day to myself a week, and Mrs. Barclay refuses to let Colin escort me anywhere. I have been to the shops only once since my arrival here, and that was as a companion to the old biddy and two of her spoiled daughters. I need not tell you how little money I have to spend. Fortunately, Colin slipped me a few coins. He really is a dear, as generous as he is handsome.

  Alas, the mistress is calling me. I shall try to write more in a few days.

  I remain your obedient sister,

  Mariah

  Rose laughed at the absurd ending. Obedient? Rarely! Willful? Often! And quite often concerned only about herself. But the girl did have her moments of generosity, and Rose knew she genuinely cared for her family.

  Laying the letter aside, she picked up the one from Lily and pressed it to her heart. Sweet Lily. She unfolded the thick missive which she’d read so often she’d nearly committed it to memory. The words penned in her younger sister’s fine hand were so like her, Rose could imagine Lily speaking them in her airy voice:

  My beloved sister Rose,

  I cannot express in words how unbearably deeply I miss you. I wish so very much that I could have gone with you that day we were all auctioned off. I was so distraught about your welfare I grieved for you daily, until I received your precious letter. But know that every night the Waldons and I pray for your safety and your happiness in your strange and scary circumstance.

  When I read how you came to possess the baby of that unfortunate woman, it brought me to tears. Soon after we arrived here, we heard that a band of savages had swooped into the Wrights’ farm, intent upon burning and destroying, as they are prone to do. It was no surprise to hear they took Mistress Wright and her baby hostage. How terribly sad that the poor woman died. However, Mr. Waldon assures his wife and me that we are in no danger. The Wrights lived at the very edge of the frontier on land sold to Mr. Wright by one tribe of Indians, while a different tribe also laid claim to that very land. Mr. Waldon is certain his deed for the property we dwell on is in no way questionable. Still, whenever I venture outside, I always check the woods. I am sure I shall grow more comfortable with my surroundings as time goes by.

  I could not be happier here. Mr. Waldon is a kind and gentle husband, father, and employer. Mistress Waldon somewhat reminds me of you. She treats me like a younger sister, though she is not nearly as energetic as you, dear Rose. Some days she can scarcely walk, for the pain in her joints is severe. Other days she seems much improved. Before all our meals, we p
ray for her healing.

  Smiling, Rose laid down the letter. She’d been right about giving Mr. Waldon the extra money he’d needed to purchase Lily’s papers.

  Or had she? It sounded like Lily lived far too close to where Indians had conducted a murderous raid. Rose flicked a glance to the store’s front, where her guards relaxed just outside near their fire, their muskets and hatchets lying nearby to ensure her safety …these ‘peaceful’ people who decorated their dwellings with bloodied scalps and other severed body parts. She shuddered.

  An icy breeze tugged at the lowered canvas at the front of the store, loosening the ties, and an edge began to flap. Rose left the limited warmth of the crude fireplace and checked on Jenny. All but swallowed by furs as she napped, the child had one tiny hand peeking out. Rose reached down and tucked it beneath the warm covering then went outside to retie the loose thong holding the canvas in place.

  No one had come up the river to trade for several days, and even the Shawnee were staying inside their warm wigwams. Rose knew if she didn’t have Jenny Ann to keep her company she’d be unbearably lonely.

  The weather had turned much colder. Except for the evergreens, all trees and shrubs were devoid of their brilliant fall colors. Their bare forms looked forlorn, like so many skeletal fingers poking up at the sky. After tightening the flap’s ties, Rose gazed toward the river. Crackly ice fringed the dark water, and overhead, a dull, gray cloud bank threatened snowfall.

  Whatever had possessed her to remain here through the harsh winter with a little baby? Perhaps the men from the fur company would arrive soon and give her orders to leave …and hopefully escort her back to civilization.

  Spying a canoe coming into view around the bend, Rose grimaced. Likely it was just some Indians willing to brave the cold to come and trade.

  Cornstalk and Fast Walker straightened, alert at their posts. Rose felt at ease knowing the two had promised to keep her safe.

  Stepping back inside the dimly lit store, she began straightening things, making certain the goods were displayed to their best advantage. She hoped Jenny, in her little warm cocoon, wouldn’t be too fussy when awakened by the arrival of customers. From the shouting and hullabaloo of barking dogs that had already begun, the visitors would be surrounded by welcoming villagers any minute.

  It would take time for the furs to be unloaded. Rose added water to the kettle over the fire and stirred the coals. The travelers would probably be chilled to the bone and would appreciate some hot India tea, always a treat from the usual bitter herb teas almost everyone here served. And a few leftover biscuits remained from noon. She’d get those out as well. Not quite an English high tea, but thought of serving afternoon tea as if she were at home in Bath brought a bubble of laughter. Rose clamped a hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t disturb Jenny.

  Sudden light flooded in from the front of the structure, and she swung toward it.

  “Rose? You in here? It’s me, Nate. I’m back.”

  Chapter 24

  Out of breath after racing up the bank from the river, Nate searched frantically in the dim light of the log-built trading post. Then in a blur, Rose flew to him and threw her arms about his neck.

  “You’re alive! You’re actually alive! Thank God!”

  Wrapping his arms around her soft form, he hugged her tight. “So are you. When we got word that Eustice had died, I was so worried, I—”

  An ear-piercing wail came from farther back in the store.

  Going rigid, Nate pushed Rose to one side and went for his hunting knife.

  The wail turned into sobs. He moved toward what sounded very much like a very unhappy little one. He couldn’t believe his eyes. There, walled in by a few crates and sacks, sat a baby. A blond, blue-eyed, squalling baby.

  He felt the blood drain from his face as he wheeled back to Rose. “You—you never told me you were with child.”

  “Me?” Rose’s expression was one of shock. Then she burst into laughter. “I’m not her mother,” she sputtered between giggles. “But she is mine to care for until I’m able to deliver her to her grandparents.” She reached down and picked up the towhead, who stopped crying almost immediately. “Nate Kinyon, I’d like to introduce Jenny Ann Wright. Her mother, unfortunately, died after suffering grievous wounds while running the gauntlet. She asked me to look after her little one.”

  His brow furrowed. “That’s really regrettable …but not unheard of.”

  Clinging to Rose, the child peered at him from rounded blue eyes as if taking his measure, then reached out a tentative little hand, still moist from her mouth.

  Nate took hold of the slimy fingers, and the little curly-top gifted him with a darling, two-tooth grin. The little one was every bit as irresistible as the woman holding her.

  “Robert Bloom is with you, is he not?” Rose searched his face.

  “Aye. He’s seeing that everything’s unloaded. He’s brought back quite the surprise. Wait’ll you see.” Nate chuckled then sobered. “It’s true, then? Smith’s dead? You were left here by yourself?” Concerned over her sad situation, he drew her and the baby close to him, burying his face in Rose’s hair, breathing in her unique scent. She felt so good in his arms. He made a solemn vow not to let her out of his sight before he had her safely away from here.

  After a long-spun moment, she leaned her head back and gazed up into his eyes with such warmth he thought he’d melt. “I feared you were dead. Whatever took you so long?”

  The store’s flap flung wide again, and Robert Bloom strode in, all smiles, with his arm around a slip of an Indian lass. A thick hat of rabbit fur hid most of her raven hair but not the perfect oval of her olive face with its huge, dark-chocolate eyes. Wrapped in a soft fur robe, she looked small and shy beside Robert’s lean form as she lowered her lashes with a faint smile.

  Robert drew the girl along as he came forward and took Rose’s hand. “Rose, I’m so glad you’re alive an’ well. If you hadn’t been, I reckon I would’a had to shoot Nate for leavin’ you here in the first place.”

  Pleased they’d both finally returned, yet still surprised, Rose glanced from the Indian girl to Nate, who offered a sheepish shrug.

  “And this must be the baby Red Hawk was telling me about down at the river.” Robert reached over and ruffled Jenny’s hair with his free hand. “Cute little thing.” His gaze met Rose’s again. “Praise the good Lord you were here for that little gal.”

  Rose nodded. “I feel the same way. I’ve no doubt Jenny Ann is the reason God allowed me to be brought here. He knew she’d be in dire need of someone to care for her.”

  “Aye. He does work in mysterious ways. Speakin’ of that, look what the Lord gave me.” He gazed lovingly down at the girl at his side. “This here is Swims with Otters, but I can’t help myself…. I call her Shining Star ‘cause I can’t seem to take my eyes off her.”

  Smiling at his words, Rose lifted the willowy girl’s hand, drawing her liquid brown eyes up to her. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Shining Star.” She motioned toward the back of the store. “Would you like to take a seat by the fire? I’ve water heating for tea.” She smiled at the men, including them in the invitation.

  Robert quickly translated what Rose had said, and they all moved to the warmth of the back of the store, removing their outer clothing along the way. Without her hat, Swims with Otters’s glossy braids, entwined with thin strips of leather, hung to the middle of her back. She brushed a few stray strands from her eyes.

  Rose noticed the girl also wore an intricately beaded headband, which complemented her beaded doeskin Indian dress and calf-high deerskin moccasins. “While I prepare the tea,” Rose said, “you men will have to tell me why you were gone so long. And Robert, how you happened to bring along this lovely girl.”

  “It’s a pretty sad story,” Bob said, taking a sip of steaming tea as the four settled on grain sacks they’d pulled close to the fire.

  Nate peered over the top of his cup and cut his friend a pointed look, a warn
ing not to let the reason for their delayed return slip out. No sense frightening Rose any more than necessary.

  Bob reached beside himself and squeezed the Indian maiden’s hand. “You see, Rose, Shining Star’s part of the Miami nation. She lived in a village not far from Mascouten territory, an’ them two tribes’ve been feudin’ back an’ forth for some time. I reckon it got pretty bad, ‘cause the Miami women outnumber the men a good four or five to one these days.”

  “Mercy.” Rose hugged Jenny close. “How dreadful, all those widows and orphans.” She gazed down at her own little orphan.

  Nate chimed in, hoping to ease her mind. “The men take on more wives. That helps some.”

  Rose tucked her chin and arched her brows. “Surely you don’t mean plural marriage. That’s a rather pathetic solution to such a problem.”

  “Anyway,” Bob said, “Shining Star’s pa was killed in a raid last spring. Then when her brother never came back from huntin’ …” He shrugged a shoulder. “What men are left already have more wives an’ daughters than they can hunt for an’ feed. So her mother came to me.”

  Looking from him to the Indian lass and back, Rose met Bob’s gaze. “To ask you to marry her daughter.”

  He slid an uncertain glance to Nate before responding. “More like she wanted to sell Star to me.” At Rose’s gasp, he rushed on. “You see, if the widow had trade goods, she could bargain with the village hunters for meat now an’ again …to see her an’ her other little ones through the hard winter.”

  “So you bought her? You actually bought her?” Rose rolled her eyes and grimaced.

  Nate could see this was not going well for his partner. Not well at all.

  Bob offered a weak smile. “No, not at first. But her ma kept comin’ back to me with her, pleadin’. An’ I felt so sorry for my shy little girl, I gave in.” He lifted his chin a notch. “But rest assured, Miss Rose, I won’t be beddin’ or weddin’ her till she comes to know the Lord as her Savior.”