Around the River's Bend

by Aaron McCarver

  “Probably did,” Sion nodded. “You go right ahead, Miss Sabrina. I’ll see that no one bothers the luggage.”

  Sabrina entered the courthouse and stood uncertainly in the corridor. Two men walking down the hall looked at her curiously, and she realized that she was probably overdressed. She had on a dark green traveling dress with matching jacket. The dress fit tightly over the bodice, had a high neckline edged with black ribbon, and cinched in at the waist. The full skirt just touched the floor. The midthigh-length long-sleeved jacket fit snugly at the waist, buttoned up the front with large black buttons, and had a large collar edged with black ribbon.

  One of the men came over and said, “How do? You lookin’ for anybody special?”

  “Yes. I need someone who can tell me about a title to some land.”

  “Reckon you’ll need to talk to Dwight.”

  “Dwight?”

  “Yes. Dwight Camrose. He’s in the last office down the hall to the right.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Right welcome, miss.”

  Sabrina felt the eyes of the two men follow her as she walked down the rather dirty corridor. When she stepped inside the door indicated by the man, she found herself in an outer office with several chairs and a long counter. A clerk was standing behind the counter smoking a pipe, and he greeted her.

  “Yes, miss. Can I help you?”

  “I need to see Mr. Camrose.”

  “About what?”

  “It concerns a title to some land.”

  “Have a seat over there, miss. He’ll be with you directly.”

  “Thank you.”

  Sabrina took her seat and waited, but the “directly” turned out to be much longer than she had anticipated. Finally a man came out of the office, puffing furiously on a cigar and pulling a straw hat down to his ears. As soon as he left, the clerk nodded at Sabrina.

  “I reckon you can go in now, miss.”

  “Thank you.”

  Sabrina entered the office and found a short, rotund man wearing a snuff-brown suit standing by a large map, making some sort of insignia on it. He did not turn around for a time so she stood until finally he put down his pen and turned to face her. “Well, what can I do for you, miss?”

  “My name is Miss Sabrina Fairfax. I’ve just arrived from England, and I need some information about some land that I own in—” and here she consulted her deed—“the Territory of the United States South of the River Ohio.”

  “Well, you’re in the wrong place for that.”

  “I know, but I thought you might give me some help on the procedures.”

  Camrose pulled a plug of tobacco out of his pocket. He bit off an enormous bite, tucked it into his jaw, and said, “I guess maybe I can do that, but I can tell you right now you’re going to have to go to where the land’s at to make sure.”

  “I inherited the land, and I’m not even sure exactly where it is.”

  “Let me see that title.”

  Sabrina handed her papers over to Camrose and watched as he studied them.

  “If you’ll step over here, I’ll be glad to show you where this here piece is at.” He stepped to the wall, and Sabrina moved closer. The map she saw was so filled with lines and names it confused her, but Camrose clarified the matter at once. “Your claim is here,” he said, touching the map with his forefinger. “It’s close to a settlement called Holston.”

  “I’ve been somewhat concerned, Mr. Camrose, about the legality of this title.”

  “Well might you be, Miss Fairfax. You’re not the only one. The trouble is the titles have been passed around so much it’s hard to tell anymore. Of course, the Indians lived on it once, and they got a claim. North Carolina owned it at one time. They got a claim. There was a brute who tried to start a new state called Franklin. He claimed the land. And now the government of the United States has a claim. You’ll just have to head for this property and get yourself a good lawyer.”

  “Can you tell me anything at all about what this property is like?”

  “No, miss, I can’t. It might be cleared. It might be nothin’ but trees and mountains. The only way to tell is to go. I can tell you one thing, though. The title may be good, but Indians can’t read titles very good. It’s too dangerous for you, if you want my opinion.”

  “I have to go there,” Sabrina said simply. “I don’t have anyplace else to go.”

  “Then get yourself a good lawyer and let him nail this title down for you. You’re from England, I take it?”

  “Yes, sir, I am.”

  “I can tell you’re used to the better things in life,” Camrose said, squinting at her. He spat juice expertly into a brass spittoon and did not bother to wipe his mouth. The amber fluid stained the corners and ran down slightly, adding to the residue already there. “It’s a big country, miss, and wild. I wouldn’t advise you to go there unless you have to.”

  “Well, I have to. Do you know any lawyers in that area whom you might recommend?”

  “No, miss, I don’t. Sorry about that. But there’s plenty of lawyers there like there is everywhere else. Just be sure you get a good ’un.”

  Sabrina nodded and turned, saying, “Thank you very much, Mr. Camrose.”

  “Watch out for your scalp, lady.”

  Sabrina nodded at his advice and left the office. When she got outside, she found Sion in a conversation with a man, and the two turned to her.

  “Sion, we’ll have to find someplace to stay tonight.”

  “This is Mr. Sam Satterfield, miss. He knows this town very well. Do you want to go to an inn?”

  “Yes,” Sabrina replied firmly. “Hurry up and load the luggage. I’m tired.”

  Sion and the driver quickly loaded the baggage, and Satterfield said, “Bossy, ain’t she?”

  “I suppose she is.”

  “You’re not married to that filly, are ya?”

  “Not likely.” Sion grinned.

  Sion went to help Sabrina into the carriage and then got into the front seat next to the driver.

  “You want a fine place or a cheap place?”

  “We’ll only be staying one night, I think,” Sabrina answered, “and it shouldn’t be too expensive.”

  “I’ve got a cousin who runs a place. It ain’t the finest in the world, but it’s clean and only two dollars a night, including breakfast in the mornin’.”

  “That will be fine,” Sabrina said. She leaned back and watched the stream of people as the carriage made its way down the street. She was thinking of what Camrose had said, and it discouraged her. Her thoughts were interrupted with Satterfield’s description of the Tennessee Country, as the driver said some folks called it.

  “It’s thick as fleas with Indians. That’s what I hear. I was in General Washington’s army from Bunker Hill clear up to Yorktown. We seen some rough days from you English soldiers, but I don’t reckon I’d want to tangle with them redskins. From what I hear, they’ll skin a man just for fun after they catch him.”

  “Literally?” Sion asked.

  “Of course I mean literally! Take the skin right off the meat.”

  Sion continued to question the man until they pulled up in front of a plain building. “I’ll go in and make sure my cousin has a room available,” Satterfield said.

  When the driver was gone, Sion turned and asked, “Did you find out anything, miss, about the place we’re going to?”

  “Not much. We’re going to have to go there, Sion.” She hesitated, then said, “I can’t afford two rooms. You understand that.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll find a place.”

  Satterfield returned to the carriage. “You’re all set. Here, lady, I’ll help you down.”

  As Sabrina stepped down, she felt the hardness of the man’s hands and his curious eyes upon her as well. She waited until the two men had unloaded the baggage and started for the building. She followed them carrying the wicker cage. Once inside she was introduced to Satterfield’s cousin, whose name was Fr
edrickson. He was a small, decently dressed man with clean white hair. He spoke in a different manner than the two drivers she had spoken with, and she wondered if he came from a different part of the Colonies.

  “Just one room, Miss Fairfax?”

  “Yes, I don’t know how long we’ll be staying. Probably only one night. We need to get a coach to Tennessee.”

  “I can take care of that for you, miss,” Satterfield said, putting down the luggage. “I’ve got another cousin who drives the stagecoach.”

  “That would be very kind of you.”

  Sabrina followed the two men as they carried the luggage to a room on the second floor. When the baggage was outside, she asked Satterfield, “How much do I owe you?”

  “Oh, maybe a dollar.”

  “How many dollars in a pound?”

  “Don’t rightly know,” Satterfield said cheerfully. “If I was you, I’d get all that English money changed. People would rather have American money, for the most part, unless it’s gold coins. That’ll spend anywhere.”

  Sabrina negotiated the fare, and Satterfield promised to find out about the stagecoach. When he left, she gave Sion a coin, saying, “Buy something to eat and find a place to sleep.”

  “Right enough,” Sion said cheerfully.

  “I don’t have money to stay in this place any longer than necessary. We’ll leave as soon as we can find transportation.”

  “I think Satterfield’s a good man. He seems to be, anyway. I’ll say good-night, now. If you want me, I’ll probably be sleeping in the loft at the stables. All of these inns have stables, it sounds like.”

  “Be here early, Sion.”

  As soon as Sion left, Sabrina went over and looked out the window. The street was busy, and she marveled at the people as they moved busily by. Her land seemed a million miles away, and she said aloud, “I mustn’t think of it. We’ll get there. I know we will.”

  ****

  Sion wandered the streets for some time, listening to the strangeness of the speech. He knew his own brand of English would identify him instantly. Some of the voices spoke almost harshly, cutting off their words before they were even finished. Others spoke with a slurred speech, rather languidly, and he knew soon enough he would discover which areas of this new country they came from. He grew hungry finally and entered an inn.

  A black-eyed young woman, full-bodied and with a bold manner, put her eyes on him as he came in. She smiled as he stood in the middle of the floor and said, “Come and have a seat. You just in from off a ship?”

  “That’s right. How could you tell that?”

  “Can always tell newcomers. My name’s Frannie.”

  Sion wondered if it was customary for tavern women to introduce themselves and decided that perhaps it was. He had already discovered there was a freeness in the mannerisms of Americans, and he followed the woman to a table.

  “We have roast beef or venison.”

  “Venison? What’s that?”

  “Why, it’s deer!” Frannie said. “You are green, aren’t you?”

  “That I am. I’d like to try the venison. I’ve tried roast beef.”

  She laughed at him. “Where are you from, handsome?”

  “From Wales. It’s next to England.”

  “I see. Better be careful. There’re still lots of men around who would cut any Englishman’s throat.”

  “I’ll try to avoid such a situation.”

  Frannie smiled and winked. “I’ll be right back. And I’ll bring you some good ale, too.”

  The room was only half filled, and while he waited for his meal, Sion listened and studied the men. There was a similarity to them somehow. They all talked rather loudly and without inhibition. Most of them cursed rather fluently, and few of them were dressed in finery. The inn was evidently for workingmen.

  Sion became aware that the man at the table next to him was watching him carefully. He was a tall man with gray eyes, and Sion nodded pleasantly and said, “How do you do, sir?”

  “Hello. Welcome to America. Why don’t you join me? I hate to eat alone.”

  “It would be a pleasure, sir.”

  Sion rose from his seat, and when he moved to take his seat, the man reached across the table. “My name’s Nate Strother.”

  “Sion Kenyon.”

  “Zion? That’s a Bible name, ain’t it?”

  “No, it’s S-I-O-N. That’s Welsh for John.”

  Strother was a well-set-up individual with broad shoulders and a neck that was thickly corded with muscle. He appeared to be in his late thirties, and there was a wearied look about him. He seemed to be an outdoorsman for he looked a bit out of place inside. Now he said, “If you stay here long, you might as well call yourself John or else you’ll be explaining that name to everybody you meet.”

  “I may have to do that.”

  “Just got off the boat, I heard you say?”

  “Yes. We’re headed west.”

  “You married?”

  “Oh no. I’m a servant to an English lady. She’s inherited some land in a place they call Tennessee Country.”

  “That’s my part of the world.”

  “Do you tell me that!” Sion said eagerly. “Maybe you can tell me a little bit about the area. I’ve heard some stories, but you Americans are—”

  Strother smiled. “We’re a little bit given to embroidering the truth. Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “Maybe I’ll change my mind later on.”

  “No. It’s true enough. But I can tell you a bit about it.”

  “Can you tell me how to get there?” Sion asked. “That’s the first problem. A driver told me we could go by stagecoach.”

  “I reckon he told you right. I just came from there. You can take the stage, but sooner or later it runs out.”

  “How do we get the rest of the way?”

  “Well, you’ll have to buy wagons and animals and follow the trails.”

  “That might be hard for me, Mr. Strother.”

  “We’re not much on the misters around here. Just Nate’s good enough.”

  “Well, I suppose I could get a map.”

  “You can do that, but most of the trails ain’t marked. How many of you are going?”

  “Just me and the lady I work for.”

  “Well, it’s a big country and not entirely friendly,” Strother said. “I’d advise you to hire somebody to take you in.”

  “Because of the Indians?”

  “Always danger of Indians. Your best bet would be to buy a wagon, some animals, get in with a bunch on the way. The more wagons the better.”

  The two men talked until the meal came, and they ate their first few bites in silence. Frannie managed to push against his shoulder with her hip, giving him a rather obvious invitation, and when he made no response, she gave him a disgusted look and left.

  “She’s lookin’ for companionship, Sion.”

  “She’ll have to find it somewhere else.”

  “You don’t like women?”

  “Not that kind,” Sion said.

  “Well, that’s a man’s choice. Listen, it may get too rough for you out on the trail. You might want to quit this woman you’re workin’ for.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m an indentured servant for five years.”

  “Like I say, it’s a big land.” Nate shrugged. “Once you get out of civilization, you could just take off.”

  “I don’t think I could do that, Nate.”

  Nate Strother studied Sion. “No, I can see you’re not the runnin’ kind. Well, have you got a place to sleep?”

  “No. I thought I’d find a place in the stable.”

  “You can stay with me tonight. I’ve got an extra bed.”

  “Thanks. I’ll take you up on that. I hope I don’t snore.”

  “Won’t matter. I do.” They laughed, and the two got up and left the inn.

  No sooner had they stepped onto the street than they practic
ally stumbled over Satterfield. “Say there, I’ve been looking for you.”

  “I’m glad you found me. Did you find out when the post leaves?”

  “Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, and my cousin says there’s still room on it.”

  “I’ll let Miss Sabrina know, and we’ll see what she decides. Thanks for looking into it for us.”

  “You’re welcome. Well, if I don’t see you in the morning, I wish you good luck.”

  “Thanks. You’ve been a great help.”

  The men parted ways—Sion and Nate in one direction and Satterfield back to his rig. Tomorrow would be quite a day.

  Chapter Ten

  A Fork in the Road

  The sound of voices brought Sabrina out of a fitful sleep. She had tossed and turned for hours and several times drifted off only to awaken as her mind flooded with doubts concerning the future. Now she sat bolt upright, startled by voices that seemed to be in the room with her. Ulysses, who had been sleeping with his head wedged against her, growled deep in his throat and tried to settle down to sleep again.

  A thin gray light was filtering through the single window, barely able to pierce the dirty panes, and her back ached from the sagging mattress. She had examined it carefully for bugs and found none, but the thought of sleeping in a bed previously occupied by someone else had not aided her comfort.

  A man and a woman were on the other side of the thin wall, and their voices rose as they engaged in a bitter argument. Sabrina had little choice but to sit there and try not to listen. Obviously the two had reached the point where they weren’t happy with each other, or at least so it seemed to her. Finally, after an indeterminable time, the woman said in a voice deadened by weariness and utterly devoid of hope, “All right, Ed, we’ll have to go on.”

  “That’s right,” the man said in an angry tone. “We’re stuck with each other, Edith, and we might as well make the best of it!”

  Throwing back the cover, Sabrina moved over to the rickety washstand made of cheap raw lumber, poured the basin full of water, and washed as best as she could. She longed for a bath, but there was no chance of that today. After she dried herself she put on a fresh dress. Finally she did the best she could with her filthy hair, which hadn’t had a good washing since she left England. Staring at her image in the small, cloudy mirror fastened to the wall, she shook her hair and then said rebelliously, “I’ll have a bath and wash my hair soon, you can believe that!” She then turned to the cat, which was watching her lazily. “Well, Ulysses, how do you like America?”