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

by Crawford, Dianna; Laity, Sally

  Lily clutched his arms. “Are you telling me Indians took Emma and Mary?”

  He gave a guilty shrug. “Dunna’ be worryin’. They’re afoot and canna’ have much of a lead. That’s why I dinna shoot off a warnin’. Dinna want ’em knowin’ we was onto ’em so quick.”

  “Quick!” Lily all but spat. “Why on earth did you ride all the way back here?”

  “I come for Richard. With most our men gone, there’s only me, Toby, and Richard. Robby’ll come with us, but he’s young.” Ian swung up into his saddle. “That’s why we want you womenfolk to go the blockhouse, just in case.”

  Eva fisted her plump hands on her hips and leveled a stern glare. “You’re sayin’ they might be usin’ this to pull you men away from the cove.”

  Before he offered a response, Lily saw that Mr. Shaw had mounted and started toward them, but in his own good-natured time. She whacked Ian’s horse on the rump. “Go! Now! Both of you. Get those little girls back!” Her knees almost gave way as she imagined her sweet angel in peril.

  As the pair galloped off, Matt and Luke raced out of the stable, dragging unsaddled Smokey by the reins. “The Indians have Emma?” Matt yelled. “Luke, run in and get the musket.”

  His brother sprinted for the house.

  “No!” Lily shouted. “You were given another important job. Go tell Ruthie and Agnes. Now. And hurry back. Bring Davy with you.”

  “Wait, Matt,” Luke called from the porch. “I’m goin’, too.”

  The older lad held up a hand, taking charge as he scrambled up on the big-footed farm horse. “You’re needed here. Help Lily carry food and supplies to the blockhouse.” Ramming his heels into the horse’s flanks, he galloped toward the creek and the Shaw place a quarter mile away.

  As Lily watched Matt ride confidently away, past the springhouse and beyond, the possibility of what could happen to poor little Emma flooded her mind…the tortures…the unspeakable horrors. Her little girl was so young, so tender.

  ’Tis my fault. I was the one who insisted she go to the Pattersons’.

  Only the night before, Lily had pleaded with God for Emma. Surely the Lord would not answer her prayer in such a cruel, heartless way!

  She started for the porch steps, but her shaking legs would not cooperate. She collapsed onto the bottom one, all pretense of control gone. Burying her face in her hands, she convulsed into wracking sobs. How much could a person bear? Susan lay dead in the house, and Emma— “Emma!”

  John readjusted the knapsack strap gouging his shoulder and trudged with his scouting party through the gates of the stone fort. Weary after having searched the far side of the river as far as the Tuscarora Indian Path for the past three days, he was gratified there’d been no sign of the French. He shrugged off his gear and leaned his musket against the inside wall, then strode toward headquarters to report. As he walked, he pulled a rag from his belt to wipe the sweat and grime from his face.

  “Waldon! Wait up!” Pat MacBride cut across the parade ground toward him.

  John paused long enough for his neighbor to fall into step with him.

  “How’d it go out there?” Pat asked.

  “We didn’t see a sign of danger. What about the Juniata Path? Spot anything suspicious along there?”

  “Nope, nary a thing. Who knows? Maybe the French are gettin’ stopped by our boys up north.”

  “Or better yet, pushed all the way back to Canada. Wouldn’t that be great?” Swiping again at his damp forehead, John hiked a brow. “Any dispatch riders come in from up New York way while we were out?”

  Pat wagged his head. “Just one checkin’ in from Fort Augusta. Here it is already July, an’ we’re still just hangin’ around, waitin’.”

  “Yeah.” John clenched his teeth as he and his friend neared headquarters. He could’ve been to Beaver Cove and back half-a-dozen times by now, spent time with Susan and the rest of the family, checked on how Lily was coping with things….

  “Rider comin’!” The shout came from the south watchtower.

  Captain Busse and his orderly stepped outside headquarters and focused their attention on the gate. Then the commander spotted John and came down the steps. “Corporal Waldon. See any movement between the river and the Tuscarora Path?”

  Stiffening his posture, John saluted his superior. “No, sir. Not a sign.”

  The captain grunted and returned his attention to the gate as the rapid thud of hoofbeats grew nearer.

  John also turned toward the sound as a rider came through the gate.

  Slowing his mount to a walk, the newcomer whipped off his hat.

  Cal! Recognizing his neighbor, John wondered if the man had decided to reenlist even with his bad knee.

  Cal rode straight for headquarters and reined in, but without bothering to greet the captain, he lowered his gaze to John. “Thank the good Lord you’re here an’ not out on patrol.”

  Dread gripped John. Only one thing could have brought his friend here right now. Susan.

  “I rode hard to get here, John. Your wife took a turn for the worse.” He moistened his lips and averted his eyes to the ground. “She’s been real bad. I hate to say this, but it wouldn’t surprise me none if she already passed on.”

  Before John could process the information, Busse stepped around him. “You’re Private Patterson, aren’t you?”

  A frown drew his bushy eyebrows together. “I was, sir.”

  “Which way did you come, perchance?”

  Hearing their voices as if from far away, John gaped at the commander’s audacity to butt in where he wasn’t wanted. Still, stunned by the dire news Cal had delivered, he stood silently by while his friend answered.

  “I cut across from Beaver Cove to the Susquehanna, an’ took the trace north from there.”

  “Did you see any sign of the French? Any scouting parties?”

  “Just some of your men, sir.”

  Having had quite enough of Busse’s questions, John spoke up forcefully. “Captain. Permission to speak, sir.”

  The commander reluctantly shifted his gaze. “Permission granted.”

  “I’m sure you heard Patterson’s news. I must go home. If not for my wife,” he railed bitterly, “I have four young children there and must see to their welfare.”

  The captain had the grace to look a bit guilty as he inhaled a deep breath and shifted his stance. “I…uh…am sorry about your wife, Waldon. Go see to your family. I’ll give you five days to take care of things. Take extra mounts so you’ll get there faster. But go home by the Tulpehocken Path and watch for Indian sign along the way.”

  John couldn’t believe the man’s gall—expecting him to take time to scout on the way home to his dying wife!

  Busse edged closer to John and spoke for his ears only. “A large war party has been sighted north of Fort Augusta. Godspeed.”

  The frogs and insects along the creek kept up a steady racket punctuated by the occasional hoot of an owl. This long night refused to end. Too stressed to sleep, Lily shared sentinel duty on the top floor of the blockhouse with Cal’s grief-stricken wife. Nancy Patterson, known as the cove’s most fervent worrier, idly twisted a strand of her light blond hair within an inch of its life as she and Lily slowly, silently circled opposite sides of the perimeter, staring beyond the moonlit clearing into the inky blackness of the woods. As they watched and waited, they prayed fervently, ceaselessly, for the men to return with their girls…their little girls who’d been dragged off, frightened, helpless in the foul hands of savages.

  “Think they’ll be all right?” Nancy’s whisper barely broke the silence as she turned her swollen blue eyes to Lily.

  I don’t know! How could I know? Lily wanted to wail. But she forced herself to remain calm, recalling how her sister Rose might answer a senseless question. “We must trust the Lord,” she finally murmured. “Little ones are very precious to Him. I’m sure He’ll send angels to protect them. We have to believe that.”

  “I know. I do. But it shore i
s a hard thing.” Nancy drew a ragged breath and turned her attention outward once again, her slender profile gilded by moonlight.

  It was a hard thing for Lily, too. She’d had no words of comfort for the boys, especially Davy. She wondered if she truly had the kind of faith it took to trust God’s providence when it came to someone she loved so dearly. Her faith had done precious little for Susan Waldon. Even now the young woman’s ravaged body lay inside the cabin, waiting its final commitment to the earth. At least she would never know her little daughter had been captured and perhaps—

  Unable to finish the unthinkable possibility, Lily struggled against feeling resentment against Nancy for allowing the little girls to go down to that creek alone. She should have kept them inside, safe. The Patterson farmstead was the farthest one upstream. Nancy had to know her place was the most vulnerable to attack. Why hadn’t she worried about that when it mattered?

  The bouts of anger inevitably gave way to self-condemnation. Lily knew she should have had the foresight to send Emma home with the Shaws to play with their Lizzie. But the Shaws lived no more than a quarter mile away, and she feared Emma might take the notion to run home if she were that close.

  Utterly spent, Lily sighed. It was no one’s fault…. It was everyone’s fault. Why on earth are any of us still here? We should have left a year and a half ago.

  Coming again to the side of the structure facing her farm, Lily paused as she’d done every circuit since climbing the ladder from the windowless room below. The cabin’s outline was barely discernable through the growth along the creek. And over there, Susan lay in her room in the inky darkness, still in death, all alone.

  Would this night never end?

  Steps sounded on the ladder. Lily moved to the hatch to assist the person up onto the deck.

  “Sure is stuffy down there.” Patrick’s wife, short, plump Agnes MacBride, took in a deep breath. “Thank goodness, the children are all finally sleepin’ sound.” She tipped her auburn head as her small hazel eyes met Lily’s gaze.

  “Even Davy?” Lily asked.

  “Aye. He’s sleepin’ betwixt his brothers.”

  Nancy came to join them. “What about mine?” Worry drew her golden eyebrows into a V above her pert nose.

  “Your boys was real good about playin’ with li’l Sally till she drifted off.”

  A sudden twinge of envy gripped Lily. Even if Mary were never found, Nancy would still have baby Sally to love and cuddle. Emma was the only little girl Lily had. The only one. She ground her teeth and glanced up-creek again. “Where are those men? Ian said the Indians didn’t have much of a lead. Where are they? What’s taking them so long?”

  Chapter 10

  The afternoon dragged on as John and Cal Patterson rode their mounts along the Blue Mountain trail. As if sensing John’s heaviness of heart, his friend refrained from needless chatter. But inside, rage and resentment toward a commander who would order them to go miles out of their way at such a pressing time all but consumed John. Only prayer helped him to get beyond the anger.

  Oh, God, if my precious Susie is to be taken away from me, please let her passing be a gentle one. She’s been so patient in her suffering, so brave, with thoughts only of me, of the children, and Lily. She told me she didn’t want us to be angry or sad, but to dwell on the happy times. He swallowed, and his shoulders slumped. How I wish there could have been more of the joyous times. She deserved a happy life, but I failed her. Lord, be close to our little ones. Help them to accept Your will quietly and go on as their mother would have wanted. She was so proud of them all.

  John had to admit that Busse hadn’t been completely heartless. The man had provided two extra horses for the trip, making it possible for him and Cal to reach Beaver Cove in the same amount of time the more direct route would have taken with only two mounts. A pity the river had too many twists and turns for a swift canoe trip.

  His thoughts drifted again to Susan, and he recalled a beautiful bride in filmy lace, her red-gold curls a glorious tumble beneath a crown of field daisies, her turquoise eyes alight with hope. She’d been so filled with dreams. He hoped she’d seen some of them fulfilled along the way. She’d made a wonderful mother, doting on each baby yet never allowing the older children to feel slighted. Oh, Susie-girl. How can I face life without you? He bowed his head once more in prayer.

  When darkness descended on the already shadowy forest, they plodded cautiously onward, not chancing the lighting of torches to illuminate the trail, but relying on the horses to carry them along the centuries-old Indian path. According to the captain, the enemy had been spotted a few miles to the north. They could easily be closer.

  After several hours, they came to a small clearing bathed in the subtle light of the moon.

  Calvin moved alongside John and muttered the first words he’d said in quite a spell. “The horses should get some rest.”

  John nodded and veered off into the grassy meadow where their mounts could graze while the two of them caught whatever sleep they could. While they unsaddled, hobbled, and rubbed down the horses, he longed to question his friend about Susan, the children, and Lily. But voices carried easily on the night air.

  After laying their saddles beneath the outer edge of a tree’s low-slung branches, they crawled inside the shadowed haven and rolled out their bedding.

  A few yards away John’s horse nickered.

  Then Cal’s.

  John grabbed his musket and lunged forward, snatching his powder horn loose. Cal followed suit, and they uncorked their black powder, pouring a smidgen of the grainy substance into their flashpans. John marveled that his neighbor’s stiff leg hadn’t slowed him down a bit.

  Up the wooded trail, a horse returned the greeting of the hobbled mounts, and a lone rider came out of the trees at a slow gait.

  John rose to his knees. Shoulders tense, he raised his musket and took aim, cocking an ear for sounds of others approaching. Hearing none, he spoke just loud enough to be heard. “Who goes there?”

  The rider jerked on his reins. “Robby Randall, from Beaver Cove.”

  “Fool kid,” Cal muttered. “What are you doin’ all the way out here, ridin’ through the night?” He accepted John’s help to get up.

  “That you, Mr. Patterson?” Robby asked.

  “Aye.”

  “Thank the good Lord.” The lad kneed his mount toward them.

  John met him halfway across the clearing. “What are you doing this far north all by yourself in the middle of the night?”

  “I’m headin’ for Fort Henry.”

  Puzzled, John shook his head. “Why would you come this way? Are you being chased?”

  “Nope.”

  “Don’t tell me the cove was attacked!” Cal piped in.

  “Nope. If you two’ll stop askin’ questions, I’ll tell you. Me an’ the other men are after Injuns what took our little girls. We think there’s only three of ’em, but they’ll prob’ly meet up with others, so Grampa Mac sent me to get help.”

  “Which of your sisters did the varmints steal?” Cal asked, his voice deadly quiet.

  “None of mine.” The lad hesitated, then looked down at Calvin. “I’m real sorry, Mr. Patterson, but your little Mary was one of ’em.”

  Cal gasped and grabbed hold of John, his fingers biting into John’s flesh. “My Mary. They took my Mary.”

  “She ain’t the only one.” Robby turned to John. “They took Emma, too.”

  The news punched into John like a fist. “That can’t be. We live more than a mile downriver from the Pattersons, past several other farms.”

  “ ’Fraid it’s true. Lily sent Emma to stay with the Pattersons for the night. She, uh, didn’t want her there, watchin’…you know…your wife takin’ her last breaths.”

  His legs starting to give way, John leaned hard on his musket for support. “Susan’s dead, and my baby girl’s been carried off.” He could hardly choke out the words.

  Cal’s big hand clamped on to John’s shoul
der and shook it. “We gotta saddle up. Go after ’em.”

  The urgency in his friend’s voice jerked John into action. He glanced at Robby as he wheeled toward the spot where he’d left his gear. “How far back did you leave the others?”

  “A couple a hours back. It’s been real hard, you know, the redskins on foot, cuttin’ through thickets an’ up rocky cliffs. We had to get off our horses an’ drag ’em after us lots of times. Once the Injuns hit this trail, we thought we’d have ’em for sure. But they must’a got wind of us, ’cause they cut off into the woods again, headin’ north. That’s why Grampa Mac sent me to get help. When I left ’em, they was tryin’ to track them sneaky savages by torchlight.”

  Calvin yanked Robby’s sleeve. “You sure they still got our girls?”

  “Last I seen. The girls ain’t got no shoes on.”

  Slinging his saddle onto the back of the nearest horse, John prayed out loud. “I don’t even know what to say, Lord. Those heathen savages are dragging our frightened little barefooted girls through brambles and thorny bushes and across roots and rocks, cutting their feet all up.” He stopped as a more terrifying thought chilled his blood. “If they haven’t already slit their little throats and cast them aside. Please help them, Father. Send Your angels to be with my Emma; be with Mary. Keep them safe. Please, God, it would be more than I could bear to lose my wife and my daughter on the same day.”

  Lily jerked awake as a shaft of light hit her eyes. Sitting up, she realized she was in the windowless blockhouse, and the beam came from the square opening in the ceiling. All the horror came rushing back. “Emma!”

  She scrambled to her feet. The day must be half gone. Surely the men would’ve been back by now if they’d rescued her darling and Mary.

  Her insides tightened around the unthinkable. What if none of them return?

  No! She would not dwell on that unspeakable possibility. The men would find the girls and bring them both home, safe and sound.

  Looking around, she realized she was alone in the bottom floor of the blockhouse, with its crude dirt floor. Where was everyone? They couldn’t all be up above, or she’d hear them. Climbing the ladder rungs, she reached the opening and searched the deck.