Daughters of Harwood House Trilogy : Three Romances Tell the Saga of Sisters Sold into Indentured Service (9781630586140)

by Crawford, Dianna; Laity, Sally

  When he and the other men meandered outside afterward, he noticed his best friend, Bob Randall, patting his slight paunch. A family man of medium height, with three sons and five daughters ranging in age from seventeen to nine months, Bob had sable hair; close-set hazel eyes; and a short, dark beard. John chuckled when the man emitted a loud belch. The group paused a moment to watch the youngsters, exuberant in their play as they raced along the wagon road with their hoops and sticks. Then, heading away from the melee of screams and shouts, they strolled off the porch.

  Ian MacBride nodded in the direction of the furrowed Waldon land. “I see yer boys got most of your fields plowed up this week.”

  “Right. Them and our girl, Lily. When I came in yesterday, she was out there ankle-deep in mud helping them.”

  “That little miss has been worth her weight in gold,” rail-thin Cal Patterson remarked as he limped along from a shot-up knee he’d gotten during a militia conflict. With sandy blond hair and light brown eyes, the father of five had two sons and three daughters. “It’s a wonder how she’s kept your place goin’ whilst you been away. Susan, sickly as she is, has nothin’ but praise for the lass.” His grin gave prominence to his protruding chin.

  Expecting the overeager Dunlap boys to join in the praises regarding Lily, John glanced over his shoulder. But they and a few other young lads remained behind on the porch, peeking in on her and the other girls helping the womenfolk with the dishes. John scowled.

  The men halted between a cart and wagon, and a few propped a foot on a hitch or a wheel spoke while they visited.

  Richard Shaw, John’s closest neighbor, and the only landholder younger than he, straddled the long hitch of the cart and leaned against the front boards, pulling out a small pack of tobacco to fill his pipe. “I shore do love Sabbath dinners. ‘Specially when the women serve that dried apple pie. Not that I’d allow to mention it, but my Ruthie ain’t the best cook in the world.” Blue eyes twinkled beneath his wavy brown hair as a sheepish smile plumped out his ruddy cheeks. His relaxed stance compressed his medium frame and height a bit.

  “What with five bairns under eight, one bein’ a wee newborn,” MacBride commented on a wry note, “I doubt yer good wife has much time for pie makin’.”

  Richard warded off the Scot’s words with his pipe and a grin. “Like I said, I ain’t gonna mention it.”

  The other men chuckled, and stocky, barrel-chested Toby Dunlap removed his own tobacco pouch from a vest pocket. His deep-set eyes seemed a darker brown against balding gray hair. His family consisted of a daughter and three sons, two of whom were nearly grown.

  John glanced around. “Speaking of not riling the womenfolk, while we’re here, we need to talk about building a blockhouse. As Pat and Bob know, I had my mind set on taking my family down to Philadelphia during this furlough. But with Susan having deteriorated to such a low point, I fear taking such a risk.”

  Ian MacBride’s son Patrick gave John’s arm an empathetic squeeze. “I don’t relish sayin,’ there’s quite a change from the last time we was home. You have the sympathies of every man here, friend.” A good, steady family man like his father, Patrick was also a fine militiaman. Lean and tall, he had the same commanding presence as the older man, and shared the same penetrating blue eyes. He’d provided Ian with two grandsons and three granddaughters.

  “Ye have our nightly prayers, as well,” Ian added. “From what Pat told me about how the English commanders are bunglin’ their campaigns up in New York, I’m with ye. It might be wise to start takin’ extra precautions. That wee line of defense you fellas have along the Susquehanna may not be sufficient this year. We dunna’ want to walk off and leave everything you all have worked for. A blockhouse is a bonny solution. A solid place to hole up, if ever we need to.”

  “Since we’re located pretty much in the middle of the settlement—and with Susan to consider—I’d like to build it over there, across the creek.” John pointed down between the springhouse and the smokehouse, where several years earlier he’d built a footbridge using a broad, sturdy log that had fallen across a narrow spot of the flowing water. His neighbors from that side of the creek had used it to cross this morning, leaving their rigs on the other side.

  Bob Randall kneaded his bearded chin, his hazel eyes narrowing in thought. “That would be the most likely spot. There’s plenty of timber close by, and we could stock it with barrels of water, firewood, and a store of cornmeal and lard. That way, folks could stay inside till help could get there.”

  “We need to stock extra black powder along with the other provisions,” Toby Dunlap said. “We could start buildin’ tomorrow, while we have this good weather, since you boys are expectin’ to leave within a fortnight.”

  John checked the sky. Recent rains had left the land spongy, but that would prove no hardship. “I figure we could all plant during the morning hours and spend the afternoons here this week felling trees and cleaning off the branches. Then early Saturday morning we could start raising the blockhouse. That okay with everyone?”

  A collective nod made the rounds.

  “It would help Ruthie be a far sight less jumpy at night.” Richard swung a glance at the others. “Even though the Shamokin Village Indians have stayed loyal so far, the ones from up north prob’ly know the location of every settlement along the Swatara. They’ve already done their worst at the more isolated farms, especially those just below Blue Mountain.”

  “True. Quite true.” Cal Patterson spoke on a droll note. “The redskins aren’t even usin’ the river. They sneak down their warrior paths. With the Bakers and Thorntons pullin’ out last summer, makin’ our place the last farmstead up Beaver Creek, and with that old Indian path bein’ no more’n a couple miles north of us, Nancy’s about to jump outta her skin every time she hears a bird call, sure it’s an Indian.”

  Aware that the two men who’d spoken of their wives’ fears weren’t serving in the militia, but here at home to protect their families, John glanced back toward his cabin. No one was around to protect his family—or his brave Lily. Yet the delicately bred British maiden who’d lived her early years in comfort had not once voiced her fears to him. Despite the lack of protection she had every right to take for granted, she’d learned to thrive here in this rugged wilderness. In fact, she herself was all the protection his family had. She and two half-grown boys.

  A smile played over his lips at the recollection of her standing out in the field yesterday with a pistol aimed at him as he emerged from the forest. Small wonder the Dunlap boys were eyeing her speculatively, the bond servant who lacked even the smallest dowry. They’d probably come around every day now to make sure she was as capable as she was soothing to the eye.

  Strange, how he’d never fully noticed the incredible beauty she’d become.

  “It’s all settled then.” Bob Randall whacked his broad-brimmed hat against his thigh, emitting a puff of dust. “Tomorrow afternoon the lot of us’ll be here with our axes.”

  John again eyed the young bachelors lounging about on the porch of his cabin. Bob’s son Robby had turned seventeen, and apparently shared Jackson and Frank Dunlap’s interest in Lily. Even now the three elbowed one another in playful rivalry to have best access to the window. Robby, with his open, honest face and manner, possessed a kind of magnetism that attracted girls, especially with that curly hair of his…and he’d still be here after the burly brothers returned to militia duties.

  Lily stifled a yawn as she detected the rumble of an approaching wagon the following Saturday. Oh my. They’re here already—and so early. She’d risen before dawn each morning that week to bake extra cornbread for the neighbor men hard at work felling trees. The added chore, along with cooking, washing clothes, helping plant, and seeing to the needs of her mistress, had taken its toll.

  John had assured her she needn’t help Matt and Luke in the fields. But Lily knew he had few precious days here, and the sooner the workers were finished each afternoon, the more time he’d have to
spend with his wife. She would make every effort to see that the couple had as much time together as possible.

  Today would be different, however. All the residents of Beaver Cove would come to lend a hand, and no one would leave until the structure was finished. It would be a long day.

  Davy gave a high-pitched holler. “Joey’s here!” Leaping down from the chair he’d stood on to peer out the window, he bolted for the door and flung it open, dashing outside to join his playmate.

  “Hey, wait for me!” Emma followed in her brother’s wake, coppery braids flying.

  “Shut the door!” Lily’s command came too late. With a resigned sigh, she ceased stirring the pot of beans simmering above the coals and went to close out the crisp morning air before the warmth of the house escaped. The cold always bothered Susan.

  The arriving wagon brought the MacBrides. As it rounded the house to park in the open area between the cabin and the corncrib, Lily released a breath of relief. She dreaded having to deal with the persistent Dunlap brothers through yet another tiresome day. Or worse yet, poor lovesick Robby. The Randall lad had managed to stay in close proximity to her all week long, no matter how hard Jackson or Frank tried to crowd him out—when they weren’t vying with each other for the same reason. Were it not for the fact that John would also have to depart for Fort Henry when the burly pair took their leave, she’d wish they were already gone. It was a struggle to remain polite and calm while being ogled whenever she stepped outside. The duo’s dark, hooded eyes were far too penetrating.

  Forgive me, Lord, for complaining. I know the day will take care of itself. Right now, Susan awaits my attention.

  After fluffing the pillows in the rocking chair kept near the hearth, Lily headed for Susan’s bedchamber at the cabin’s far end. When she entered the room, her heart caught at the sight of the almost undetectable rise her mistress’s gaunt form made beneath the blankets, but she smiled and spoke cheerily. “Emma and Davy are thrilled that all the children will be here today.”

  “So I heard.” A slight smile accompanied Susan’s murmur.

  “ ’Twould be quite nice if you could come out into the front room and visit with the ladies for a while.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “I’ll call John, so you won’t have to walk so far.”

  “No, please. I know he believes he helps when he carries me, but it’s really quite…painful. I don’t want him to know. He worries so about me.”

  Lily’s brows drew together in sympathy. “Oh, dear. I’m sorry. I should have realized that. Well, from now on, we shall try to outsmart him.” Helping Susan up to a sitting position, she gently drew the young woman’s legs off the bed and put on her slippers. “Ready?”

  “I think so.” The statement sounded less than certain.

  Slowly and cautiously, Lily brought her mistress to her feet and steadied her until Susan could support most of her own slight weight. They then made the tedious, shaky journey to the rocker. Once Susan was comfortably seated, Lily noticed beads of perspiration forming on her mistress’s brow and knew her efforts had been enormously taxing.

  Again came the ominous reminder that Susan Waldon was losing her battle against the mysterious ailment that had sapped her strength. She ate like a bird at mealtime and drank very little. She requested the bedpan only twice a day now. Over the years, Susan had grown so dear to Lily that the two of them were almost as close as sisters, and the thought of losing such a sweet friend was hard to bear.

  “I hate to be such a bother.”

  Lily let out a ragged breath as she adjusted the pillows around her mistress and tucked a light quilt about her legs. “I do wish you wouldn’t keep saying that. ’Tis my joy to help you. Truly it is.” Threading a few loose strands of hair back into Susan’s night braid, she bent to kiss her cheek. “There. Now you look quite lovely.”

  Susan touched Lily’s hand. “Thank you, my darling girl.”

  Giving her friend’s hand an answering pat, Lily felt a sharp twinge of guilt slice through her like a knife. She drew a pained breath and straightened. Susan would be far less generous with her compliments if she knew the battle that raged every day inside the heart of her bondwoman. Hating herself for being such a Judas to a helpless invalid, she turned toward the hearth.

  Susan caught a fold of Lily’s skirt before she could step away. “I fear I won’t be able to stay out here for long today. It tires me so.”

  With a nod of understanding, Lily met her hollow, blue-green gaze. “Once you’ve greeted everyone, I shall help you back to your bed. But should you feel a need to go sooner, just raise your hand. I’ll be at your side at once.”

  “You’re far too good to me.”

  Movement outside the window caught Lily’s attention as a familiar ruffled mobcap bobbed into view. “Oh, here comes Grandma Margaret, and I’m sure Pat’s wife, Agnes, is with her as well. They’re always such a comfort.” Looking back at Susan, she noted the fine lines of suffering already crimping her forehead. “After things settle down, I’ll send Grandma in to talk to you. I want you to be completely honest with her. She might know of a special tonic that could help you.”

  Please, dear Lord, let Maggie know something—anything—that can be done for Susan. There must be something else I could be doing or could have done. Please don’t let her die. If she were to pass on while John is away with the militia, how would I cope? How would he? How would the children? What would become of us all?

  Chapter 5

  Food’s on! Time to wash up!”

  Hearing Lily’s airy voice, John turned and saw her on the footbridge, a gentle breeze feathering a wisp of golden hair about her head and curling the hem of her long apron. He drank in the delectable picture.

  “Great. I’m starved.” Curly haired Robby dropped his end of the log he and John were toting to the blockhouse, and it hit the ground with a hand-jarring thud before John could let go. He shook his head as the lad sprinted toward the cabin, with the Dunlap swains right behind him, all trying to be first to catch up to the lass. Lily was of marriageable age, and John conceded it was to her advantage to be sought after. But the realization depressed him. She deserved better than any of these jackanapes. He felt a strong need to protect her from ill-suited young bumpkins.

  As the other neighbors ceased working and started toward the cabin, Bob Randall came alongside John, and they headed for the log bridge. “That boy of mine ain’t one bit happy to have those Dunlaps back. I reminded him they’ll be goin’ with us when we leave, an’ Robby says he’ll bide his time till they’re gone.”

  John gave a nonchalant shrug.

  “He’s carvin’ a real fine figurine to give Lily. He wants to make a good impression on her.”

  Squelching a smirk, John responded in a flat tone. “She’s very kindhearted. I’m sure she’ll appreciate his effort.” There was no need to elaborate, but he couldn’t help himself. “She was accustomed to expert craftsmanship at her home in England.”

  His friend’s expression dimmed. “Oh yeah. I forgot about that.”

  Chagrined, John clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, don’t listen to me. I know she’ll be pleased. She brought next to nothing with her when she came to live with us. How could she not appreciate a thoughtful gift?”

  A brief silence followed, and John felt the need to amend further. “Since Robby’s interested in working with wood, he might consider apprenticing with me after the war…when you don’t need him, that is.”

  Bob grinned. “Mighty kind of you, John. He’ll be glad for the offer. ‘Specially if Lily’s still on the place.”

  No doubt. Suspecting his friend was trying to sweeten his son’s bid for the girl, John felt a touch of rancor inside. He tamped it down with a civil answer as they stepped off the bridge. “Her term of service will be up in two months, you know.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “She promised to stay on with us until the war is over, though. After that, she’ll probably go live wi
th her sister. You remember, the one who married that wealthy plantation owner back in Alexandria.”

  He nodded. “But there’s nothin’ to keep her from changin’ her mind between now and then, is there? Everyone knows she’s been a pure blessin’ to your family, and folks around here would sure miss her sweet ways.”

  Not nearly as much as I would. It was all John could do to keep from shouting the thought as he and his friend stepped over a protruding root. But he knew better than to voice it. She was a mere bond servant, but she’d become much more since joining the household. She was a real part of the family, and he couldn’t imagine how empty the house would seem were she not around. “Yes, and so would we—especially Susan. She’d be lost without Lily. They’ve grown incredibly close.”

  At the mention of his wife’s name, guilt wrapped cold fingers around John’s conscience as they neared the blend of aromas from the food-laden table. He tipped his head at Bob. “Tell the others to start eating without me. I haven’t looked in on Susie all morning. Think I’ll go spend some time with her.” But even as he said the words, his unwitting gaze gravitated to the gentle gift that was Lily. He saw her cast a despairing look over her shoulder at the eager young bucks drooling over her as she entered the house.

  A table for the noon meal had been set outside near the cabin because of the mild day. The instant Grampa Mac uttered the amen over the platters of roast venison, fried chicken, and fresh-baked bread that had been spread before the workers, Matt gave a shout. “Lily! Over here!”

  She only half-heard him as she emerged from the house with a pewter pitcher of spring water. Her attention centered on John coming straight toward her, his expression unreadable. A tentative smile trembled on her lips.

  He flashed a half smile as he paused on the steps. “Lily, my dear. You’re my true blessing.”

  His tone had been quiet, casual, as if he’d said something as unstudied as “pass the butter.” But his dear? His true blessing? She had no idea what to make of such comments.