Rose's Pledge (15 page)

“Sure thing,” Nate blurted without thought. He’d been stewing all afternoon about Smith and his covert plans for Rose, and neither a humbling request for prayer from her nor a taunt from the trader would deter him from the questions he intended to level on the man once they were out of Rose’s earshot. Alone on his horse earlier, he’d searched his mind for snatches of blessings from his childhood that his deceased father had offered at mealtimes. Drawing on those memories, he spoke with fortitude that had been sorely lacking in his earlier efforts. “Heavenly Father, we thank You for this quiet day an’ for the meal we’re about to partake. We also ask You to be with Bob on his errand of mercy for the unfortunate lad an’ work out the details so things can be put right….”

Wondering if any of the Indians over in their circle might have understood enough English to know he performed a religious rite, he sneaked a peek in their direction while Rose and Eustice had their heads bowed. The redskins were a superstitious lot, and who knew what they might think? But seeing they were involved in their own concerns, he relaxed and concluded the prayer. “In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

He sniffed in confidence for having discharged the duty adequately and raised his head. Rose still hadn’t looked up but wore a sweet smile as she took a sip of milk. He’d gained a little ground with her, sure enough, and the thought pleasured him. But Smith was another matter entirely. The surly man sat rigid as a totem pole on a rock nearby. Nate snatched one of the hard buns off the trencher Rose had set out and tore off a chunk with his teeth. The sooner they all chewed down this tough-as-a-boot excuse for a meal, the sooner she’d be able to leave for her shelter and find the rest she sorely deserved. Then he would see about getting some straight answers from that old geezer.

“Woman,” Smith said, “fetch me a bowl. I need to sop my bread in some o’ that milk ya’ got us.”

“Of course.” Swallowing down a bite of her own bun, she turned to Nate. “Would you care for some milk as well?”

He shook his head. “Naw. My teeth could use the workout.” Glaring at the trader, Nate’s ire for him grew as he watched the submissive young woman waiting on a wretch not fit to wipe her shoes.

Holding her wrap closed with one hand, she served Smith the requested bowl of milk and retook her seat, settling her skirts about her. “Mr. Smith? I should like to inform my sisters of my whereabouts. How many days do you assume it will take us to reach your store?”

He shot a wary glance up at the sky. “Depends on the rain. If a lot of it gets dumped on us and the rivers start swellin’ we’ll have to give ‘em time to smooth out b’fore we can cross ‘em.”

“Rivers? There are more of them ahead?” Her face paled noticeably.

“Yep.”

“How many are there?”

Nate snickered. “Go on, Smith. Tell the lady how many rivers, cricks, an’ streams we still have to cross.” A bit shocked by the animosity he could hear in his own voice, Nate determined to rein it in.

The trader cut him a sullen look. “However many it takes us to get there. That’s how many.” He went on dunking his bun.

Intense silence settled over the campsite, leaving only night sounds and the murmured conversation of the Shawnee at the other circle to go with the sounds of chewing dried meat and the crunching of hard bread. The wind was picking up, stirring through the treetops as churning clouds darkened the sky and the low rumble of distant thunder echoed. A mosquito whined near Nate’s ear, and he brushed the pest aside.

Finally Rose broke the stillness, her voice still amazingly patient. “Mr. Kinyon. I’ve heard that the colonies abound with opportunities for farming and the trades. Why would an obviously capable man such as yourself choose to leave those things behind to hunt for wild game in the wilderness? Every farm we passed along the Potomac had an abundance of farm animals.”

Nate prickled. So that was her intent? To get him to forsake his wanderlust and agree to hitch himself up to some old plow on some old ramshackle farm for the rest of his life? Off to the side he heard Smith cackle around a mouthful that puffed out his bearded cheek, and it galled Nate no end. “What me an’ Bob do is more important than huntin’. We hunt so we can fill our stomachs or trade with the tribes for other food an’ furs. Furs is as good as cash money anywhere in the nations.”

“I see.” But the way her slender brows dipped toward each other indicated she was no less puzzled.

Nate explained further. “Me an’ Bob, we’re explorers, like Columbus. The colonies are sittin’ on the edge of a vast continent, an’ we chart the rivers an’ lakes an’ such for folks that’ll come after us. There’s great tracts of open land that scarcely a man, white or red, has ever set foot on. Folks need to know what’s out there, so they can find places to settle an’ make lives for themselves.”

Her features calmed. “Oh. I see. You’re providing a service of true import, then …at the sacrifice of comforts offered by home and hearth.”

How did she manage to get back to him farming? Nate rolled his eyes. This was not going well. But she had to realize that he would never be tied down. Not to her, not to anybody. Not now, not ever. “I do my best to get home to see Ma a couple times a year. More, if I have good reason.” That said, he added his most charming smile.

Rose lowered her lashes without responding.

Good. She was starting to take to the notion. Nate slid a glance at Eustice Smith, eyeing him from unkempt head to scuffed toe. A serious talk with that man was overdue. Long overdue.

In the fading light of day, Nate watched Rose clear away the meal trappings. He couldn’t help but admire her for not voicing a single complaint about the many discomforts she’d suffered during the long journey. Anybody with eyes in his head could tell she was worn out by each day’s end. After hours on horseback, she hobbled about on stiff legs to see to her own needs and theirs as well.

The dress he’d thought so comely at the start of the trip was wrinkled from top to bottom, bore a liberal amount of stains and trail dust, and showed numerous snags from bramblebushes she’d scraped past. And her skin, though she managed a quick wash at the creek now and again, looked smudged. He’d wager the gal had never been so rumpled or dirty in her life. She had real spunk. Spunk and grit. He watched her limp to her shelter, where she stretched a kink out of her back before crawling inside.

A light mist was just beginning, and from the look of the dark clouds shrouding the sky, it was a mere portent of the impending storm that would make a royal mess of things. Thunder and lightning would make the horses skittish also, so the Indians would need to stay close to them through the storm and keep them from bolting. Switching his attention to Smith, who sat on a boulder nursing a cup of milk, Nate noted that the man was looking particularly slovenly. But the trader did little but sit around in his trading post between infrequent trips out to civilization. A trivial detail like his appearance wasn’t high on his list of concerns.

Lumbering to his feet, Smith rubbed his belly. Nate cleared his throat. “I’d like a private minute with you, Eustice.” He grimaced, easing back down. “Don’t tell me you’re fixin’ to shove off, too.”

“I’m not sure. You still set on draggin’ that poor gentlewoman off to that godforsaken Shawnee settlement of yours?”

Smith narrowed his beady eyes. “Look here, Kinyon. I didn’t buy that gal just so’s I’d have a skirt around to gawk at. Like I tol’ ya, I’m in dire need. Her comin’ with me’s a matter of life and death. Mine.”

“Aha. Just like I figgered.”

“What’re ya talkin’ about?”

Nate shook his head in disdain. “Some chief’s got it in for you, an’ you bought her for him as a way of atonement. Well, I’m here to tell you, that ain’t gonna happen.” He snatched his hunting knife from the scabbard hooked to his belt and raised it to make his point. “I’ll do you in myself first.”

The man’s eyes flared, and he jerked to his feet, spilling his cup to the ground. “Wait just a minute!” He stretched out a hand to ward Nate off. “Ya got it all wrong. I bought her papers so’s she could cook fer me, an’ that’s the plain truth. My stomach’s been ailin’ me sore most all the time, and sometimes”—he peered around and lowered his voice— “I even pass some blood now an’ again. If I don’t get me some soothin’ food soon, I could up an’ die.”

Nate sat back and eyed him closely in the growing darkness. Though grime and the man’s frizzled beard hid most of his face, Smith did look a mite poorly, and his eyes had a yellowish tinge.

The trader continued. “I got me some chickens off a passin’ raidin’ party awhile back, an’ now with the cows I’m bringin’ home, there’ll be milk an’ eggs a’plenty. Enough to see me through till my stomach gets put to rights. I even bought some good English spices and healin’ herbs the gal knows how to use. So as you can see, no price in this world’s gonna buy her off me till I’m in fine fettle again.”

Serious raindrops began spattering them as they stared each other down. Nate grimaced and dried his knife on his pant leg then shoved it back inside its sheath. He’d just have to wait Smith out, one way or the other. “Well then, Eustice, I reckon my answer to that question of yours is I’ll be ridin’ with you the rest of the way.” He got up and strode to his own shelter.

Rain, rain, rain. Slogging along the muddy trail, Rose looked woefully up at the gloomy sky and shook her head. At least the thunder and lightning had ceased sometime during the wee hours. From the time she’d left the leaky shelter of the crude hut where she’d slept last night, they’d all sloshed through mud or been splattered by it as the caravan trudged up one ridge and down the other side. Then it was start up yet another mucky ridge and face the inevitable swollen stream they needed to cross at the bottom. All the while, water poured from the sky as if angels were emptying barrels of it at a time.

Whenever Mr. Smith gave the order to rest the horses, Rose hopped down into ankle-deep mud, which saw to the swift ruination of her soft leather shoes. The soles barely allowed her to keep her footing, especially on any sort of grade. Going downhill was hard even on the animals, who also struggled to keep their footing beneath their heavy loads.

Gritting her teeth as the rain continued to pummel her, Rose clutched her soggy cloak closer. Soaked through, its hue was more violet than burgundy. She turned her head slightly to peer around, and the limp brim of her bonnet drooped like a funnel, pouring a stream of cold water down her nose and hands. She winced. If there was anything that smelled worse than a wet horse, it was her smelling like a wet horse!

She knew the rest of the party looked as bedraggled and smelled as odorous as she did. The decorative feathers the Shawnee braves sported in their braids and on their clothes now drooped as sadly as everyone’s expressions. Thank heaven it was June and only mildly cool, or they’d all be shivering and covered with gooseflesh.

Up ahead, she saw Nate on his horse, coming back from scouting after nearly an hour. She wondered if anyone—Indian or bandit—possessed gumption enough to lie in wait to ambush a caravan in such abysmal weather. After he stopped to converse with Mr. Smith, he headed down the line to her.

“You look like a drowned chicken.” A sympathetic smile curved one side of his lips.

She snickered. “I beg to differ. The Indians with all their soggy feathers look like drowned chickens. I, on the other hand, look and smell rather like a drowned skunk.” The sad truth of her words made her grimace.

A teasing spark lit his eyes as he leaned closer, the brim of his hat spilling rainwater onto the ground. “I’d say in that wet wool, you smell more like a dead sheep.” He reached around and untied his bedroll, shaking out the fur blanket he slept in. He handed it to her. “Shed that wet cloak of yours and wrap this around you instead. The rain won’t get through it.”

Rose was touched by his kind offer. “Are you sure you don’t need it?” A dollop of water dropped on her hand from overhead branches.

He smiled as she glared up at the tree. “Actually, I’m used to weather like this. Been traipsin’ around out in nature nigh onto ten years now. Like it says in Ma’s Bible, ‘This, too, shall pass,’ and all that.”