“We are in great need of supplies.”
Starvation made men desperate. Is that why the captain came? “I can send word to Boston tomorrow morning.” Christopher held his ground, showing the French captain that it would be unwise to raid their camp. “But I can have food brought to your men tonight.”
The man’s face relaxed. “We would be in your debt.”
Christopher nodded. “My men will stay with you here at shore, and I will make the arrangements.” He turned to his men, “Light a fire. Keep our guests warm.”
“Merci beaucoup, Captain Latham.” The man practically wilted to a sitting position on a rock. His men followed suit.
As he took long strides back to the fort, Christopher allowed himself to relax a bit. The French didn’t have enough strength to do anything, no matter how desperate they might be. As long as his men kept their guard up and sent food with them back to the ship, all should be well. His thoughts returned to Esther. What a relief. He hadn’t realized how much he’d worried about her safety until it was all over.
He was met in the gathering room by a group of soldiers.
“Is it true, Cap’n? Have the French attacked?”
“It’s all because of the lady, isn’t it?”
“We should have listened to Sergeant Jones!”
Questions flew at him from every side. He lowered his brows. “No. The French have not attacked. It was an accidental firing. Their men are malnourished and half-crazed because of it.”
“So we’re not at war?” Robert’s face looked pained.
“No. We most certainly are not at war. And there is no curse.” He stomped over to the table where Esther had been serving their food. “Where is Miss Howland?”
“I took her to our cabin, Captain.” Samuel walked up to him. “How can I help?”
“We need to get some food ready to take to the waiting ship. It appears they have been without sustenance for some time. Tomorrow I’ll have to send word for supplies to be purchased from Boston.”
“Sam and I can get the food together right now.” Esther’s father nodded to him.
“Thank you.” Christopher turned on his heel to find Peter in front of him.
“Captain, I need to speak with you.”
“Go on. But make it quick.”
The young soldier cleared his throat. “ ’Twas the sergeant, sir.”
“What has he done now?”
“He’s gone mad. Says that since we’re not paying attention to the curse, he hopes that we all die because of it.”
Christopher shook his head. “I am afraid I do not understand.”
“He caused all the accidents. All of ’em. Once Miss Howland arrived.”
Another soldier approached, his hat in his hands, head bowed. Face crimson. He raised a hand. “I can attest that the sergeant set up all the mishaps, Cap’n. He wanted to prove to you that the lady was bad luck.”
“How do you know this?” Christopher’s ire grew.
“Because I helped him, sir. But only for a little bit … Then I told him he had to tell the truth and I wouldn’t help him no more. I’m sorry, sir.”
Christopher glanced back to the soldiers guarding Sergeant Jones. To imagine that all the upheaval, all the rumors, all the accidents had been instigated by one man made his chest tighten with anger. And then his anger turned to pity. Such a shame. The man would face dire consequences when he was taken to Boston. And once Colonel Brown heard, there were sure to be more repercussions. Christopher wouldn’t want to be in the sergeant’s place for anything.
But now? Now he could put all the rumors of a curse to rest. The men would finally be able to see the truth and prayerfully put their superstitious natures behind them. Especially since Mr. Howland was doing such an outstanding job teaching them in the evenings. The Lord was doing a mighty work in their little fort.
These realizations spurred Christopher on, and he was filled with new purpose. He saw a way to serve God and do his job well all at the same time. And he wanted nothing more than to share all this with Esther.
His mind put aside everything else as he looked to Esther’s father. “Would you meet me at the shore in about twenty minutes? There’s someone I need to speak to.”
A grin split Samuel’s face. “Yes, sir. I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.”
Esther paced in front of the fire. The fort had been quiet for a long time. Too quiet. But she couldn’t risk leaving the cabin. At least not yet. Papa said he’d come back and let her know what was going on as soon as he could. But she couldn’t seem to stop worrying about Christopher. What if something happened to him? She hadn’t even told him anything about how she felt. What if he was killed? The thought of losing him before he knew what their friendship had come to mean to her …
All these years she’d been quiet. Kept to herself. Shared her feelings with no one since Mama died. And yet she’d begun to feel different these past few weeks. Like she was a flower beginning to bloom for the first time. Oh, she would probably still be quiet and observing, but she felt complete for the first time in a long time. What did it all mean?
Her closest friends were married. Most of them hadn’t known their husbands very well before their unions. The shy and tentative expressions on their faces had changed after time though. Esther often found herself longing to know what the secret looks exchanged between husband and wife meant. How they could communicate by just connecting gazes.
If only Mother were still alive. There were so many things she wished she could discuss. So many questions. So many feelings.
Tap, tap!
Was that a knock? She went to the door.
“Miss Howland … Esther? I didn’t want to scare you. It’s me, Christopher.”
Joy rushed through every bone in her body. She yanked open the door. “I’m so glad to see you!” She wrapped her arms around him. As soon as she felt his warmth against her, she realized what she’d done. “Goodness. I’m sorry.” She pulled back, and heat rushed up her neck.
“That’s quite all right. I enjoyed it.” A roguish grin filled his face. He took off his hat and stepped over the threshold. “I need to get back down to the shore, but I couldn’t wait to see you.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes. It’s a French ship, and they accidentally fired. The captain is waiting for me at the shore. I don’t think his men have eaten for several days, so I offered them some of your good food.”
“I am glad I roasted the rest of the geese today.” She went to grab her apron. “Do you need my assistance?”
He held out a hand to stop her. Then he set his hat on the table and stepped toward her, reaching for her hands. As he wrapped her hands in his, a shiver raced up her arms.
“Your father and brother are taking care of it. I just couldn’t go another minute without speaking to you.”
“Oh?” Her voice cracked.
“Yes,” He cleared his throat. “I have wanted to express to you my feelings.”
She offered him a smile while her heart pounded in her chest.
“My intention was to court you and see the fort finished … I even asked for your father’s permission today, but …”
“But?” Her heart raced.
“I don’t want to do that anymore.”
The abrupt sinking of her heart felt like it hit her shoes. “Oh …”
She pulled her hands away.
“No. That is not what I meant.” He took her hands again. “Forgive me for fumbling with my words. What I meant to say is that I do not wish to wait. Would you consider marrying me now? Without a courtship?”
All the air left her lungs. She blinked several times to see if she was dreaming. Had he really just said what she thought she heard?
“My apologies, Esther. Is that inappropriate?” His eyes searched hers.
Esther took a deep breath and found her tongue. “No. It took me by surprise.” This man before her. The handsome captain. The man she … loved.
> It didn’t matter that they hadn’t courted. It didn’t matter that there weren’t any parties or get-togethers with family. She’d spent hours with this man talking, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company.
“Well?”
Her stomach flipped. She swallowed. “Yes. I would be honored to be your wife, Captain Latham, and be at your side for the rest of my life. That is, as long as you speak with my father.”
“I will love you with everything that is within me. I promise.” Taking a step closer, his breath fanned her face. “I will speak to your father immediately. Even though there is much we do not know about one another, I do love you, Esther.”
“And I, you.”
Christopher reached up a hand and cupped her cheek. “I want to spend the rest of my days getting to know every thought that goes through that mind of yours.”
Another shiver raced up her arms. She placed her hand over his.
Then his lips met hers in the tenderest kiss. A kiss that promised a future and ignited a passion within her breast that she’d never known could exist.
His arms wrapped around her waist, and he pulled her closer. The embers within her heart fanned into a flame of faith, hope, and love.
Let the French wait. This was where she wanted to be. Forever.
Kimberley Woodhouse is an award-winning and bestselling author of more than twenty fiction and nonfiction books. A popular speaker and teacher, she has shared her theme of “Joy through Trials” with more than half a million people across the country at more than two thousand events. Kim and her husband of twenty-five-plus years have two adult children. She’s passionate about music and Bible study and loves the gift of story.
You can connect with Kimberley at www.kimberleywoodhouse.com and www.facebook.com/KimberleyWoodhouseAuthor.
A Treaty of Tulips
by Angie Dicken
Dedication
To the men and women of Meredith Drive Reformed Church— You not only inspired me to explore the history of Dutch settlers in our country, but mostly, you have shared with me the richness of Christ’s love with open arms and abundant hope.
I am thankful to call you my church family!
Dear Reader,
This story begins when the British Fort Burnet is under expansion during the fur trade of 1741. Eventually, the fort’s location is moved to the eastern side of the Oswego river and named Fort Ontario, a beautiful fort that remains today.
Research for A Treaty of Tulips gave me a deep appreciation for the rich culture and customs of the Iroquois, as well as the bravery of many European settlers who explored the land peacefully. My most valuable sources of research were actual journal entries and letters from officers and visitors to the area during the same time period.
I delved into the words of men whose matters included French and British arguments over trade routes, their alliances with natives, and attempted plots to thwart peaceful relationships. Yet, as with any conflict, I was pleased to hear of men who wanted nothing but to show respect to the natives, and natives who wanted nothing less than peace among men.
I hope you enjoy Sabine and Jacob’s story on the shores of Lake Ontario. Be sure to connect with me at my website www.angiedicken.com.
Sincerely,
Angie Dicken
Chapter 1
Fort Burnet, Oswego
Fall 1740
Sabine clutched the feathered tick beneath her, begging the pounding in her ears to still so she could listen. Her slumber had been interrupted by a loud clap of thunder, and this past hour she’d tossed about, trying to sleep again. Rain never fell after the sky drummed. Now an unnatural disturbance sounded on the nearby Oswego River.
Holding her breath, she waited. No moon shone tonight, and darkness was thick in her corner of the house. Ears strained, she disregarded the soft snores of Papa and the gentle breaths of her sleeping mother, trying to hear beyond the wall of timber. Again—a splash and a rumble of voices. She thrust herself up and tiptoed blindly to the door, avoiding Moeder’s loom to her right and the board table to her left. A distant yell had her freeze at the door handle. Frantically searching along the wall with trembling fingers, Sabine at last stumbled upon the hook with her cloak and cap.
She prayed ’twas only a squabble among the garrison and not worse.
Uneasy talk about their poor defenses had seeded itself in her heart. An unwelcomed nuisance by the light of day.
But at night?
Moeder’s nightmares had marred most peaceful evenings. For Sabine, night was just as uninvited as the complaints among soldiers.
A cool breeze from Lake Ontario rushed through the doorway, and Sabine quickly slid out and closed the door so as not to disturb her parents. Her heart thudded against her nightgown as she covered her head and her shoulders. Slipping on her wooden shoes that sat on the swept porch, she began to inch toward the tall grasses at the opposite edge of her garden, several yards from the river.
“I sent him back.” The old lieutenant’s voice shook. “Had furs and a wampum belt in his canoe. Said he lost his way along the lake. I doubt it.”
“There is no easy way here from Canada. Did he mosey on around falls and shallows and just happen upon us at this midnight hour?” A soldier dramatized, his voice rising and falling as if he told a long tale. “Coming this way is nothing but a calculated feat.”
“A spy, for sure. I’ve never seen a lost innocent as smug as that Frenchman. And to mention the Treaty of Utrecht? A twenty-seven-year-old argument.” The lieutenant’s words seemed forced between his teeth.
“We are sitting ducks.” The soldier grunted with some sort of effort, then quick, acute plucks of water disrupted the peace of the steady river flow. Throwing stones? How inconsiderate at this hour.
“I shall press the governor to send reinforcements. Trade will get us little if the French continue to manipulate the alliance between us and the Indians. How far will they go to hoard all power over the commerce of the Six Nations?”
Sabine sprang up from her position, unable to keep quiet any longer. “Sirs, forgive my interruption,” she called through the night, the movement of their dark figures against an inky horizon signaling where they stood at the mouth of the river.
“Miss Van Der Berg,” exclaimed the lieutenant. “What are you—”
Sabine strode forward, still several paces away from them. “You must remember our deep friendship with the nearby Iroquois village. Apenimon is the chief’s son and has shown only loyalty these many years.”
“We are but twentysome men, a few traders, and your small family against the Six Nations and a French bully.”
“Six Nations are not against us. You are wrong.” Sabine puffed out her chest. “We have never met danger here, and one Frenchman is hardly worth an outcry for reinforcements.”
“My dear, you have crept from a dreamworld into the reality of this night. I urge you to go back to your slumber and keep such romantic exclamations to yourself. Our position in this trade has either expired or demands a seriousness that has not yet been given.” The two men moved along the bank. “I bid you good night,” the lieutenant called out, less as a pleasantry and more as a prompt ending to this conversation.
Sabine knew that no good would come from pressing the issue. And she realized more why fear gripped her in the still of the night. Moeder’s terrors were unnerving, but the concerns of their British neighbors at Fort Burnet grew like unwanted vines in her consciousness. She would harvest and prune the validity of such concerns and demand that nothing need change.
Life was full here where the Oswego met Lake Ontario.
Spring 1741
If she could gather the edges of Lake Ontario into a bouquet of its bounty and shimmer, she’d trade every tulip ever grown for such a gift. But for now Sabine was content with her basket of flowers on one arm and her other arm bent in a salute to the vast greatness of water—or rather propping her hand up to shade her eyes—as she pushed through the tall grasses toward
the shore.
Her footsteps found a steady cadence in silent harmony with the rhythm of Apenimon’s rowing as he led several others inching along the western edge of her sight. Today was a fine trading day—her very favorite of the year.
“Sabine, have you left already?” Moeder’s voice snagged Sabine’s next step. Turning her back on the glory of the morning, she drank in a different sight. The log cabin squatted as a gatehouse of the wood, with the trading post, Fort Burnet, to the east. Moeder clung to the frame of the door, daring to venture out from the dark haven onto a precarious path—for her.
What was Sabine’s delight was Moeder’s dread.
“Please, wait!” Sabine left her basket amid the waving grass. She inspected her swept path as she approached and flicked aside any fallen debris from last night’s wind. “I thought you were sleeping.” Snatching the large walking stick resting against the wall, she wrapped Moeder’s hand around it. “Here. I should have left it beside your bed. Come, Papa is down by the trading place.”
“And you’ve collected all of them?” Her words were a test. For ten years Sabine had taken Moeder’s place beside Papa at the annual spring trade, but 364 days were plenty of time to forget her daughter’s competence.
“Of course not, Moeder.” Sabine assisted her mother down the path, the stick waving back and forth, knocking against the stones lining the way. “We always save the best for further negotiating,” she recited. “And then the white ones are not for sale. They are beautiful this year, Moeder. A sure example of redemption. If only they had been in bloom for our Easter celebration—”
“We’d still leave them be.”
“Of course.” Sabine perused the swath of white lining the eastern side of their home. “We could have had a lovely picnic beside them though.”
“True.” Moeder shrugged. “But I made a promise a long time ago. They are an offering, in a way. My offering.” Sabine had heard the story each year during this special week. “Just after that first spring those tulips bloomed without color.”
The Heart's Stronghold Page 18