Rose's Pledge (21 page)

“I’ll see to the milkin’,” Nate remarked. “You’re busy.”

“That would be wonderful.”
And I know you’re hoping to be invited to breakfast
. Rose smiled to herself. Mr. Smith wasn’t the only man who appreciated good cooking.

Moments later, the salt pork sizzled in the pan, and Rose knew its aroma was a magnet, drawing Nate back with milk in a very short span of time.

“Cows are out grazin’.” He gave a nod, looking rather pleased with himself as he handed her the milk pail, only a quarter full. “That’s all that glutton of a calf left me.”

“Thank you. It’s plenty.” Rose moistened her lips. “When winter comes, will I be expected to cook outside in the rain and snow?”

He shook his head. “Folks cook inside then. There’s a flap up top of your wigwam you can open to let out the smoke. Works pretty good. ‘Cept—”

She paused in her work and met his gaze.

“Well, you don’t have to worry none about that. I’ll see you’re outta here before then.”

Rose didn’t want to think about how he planned to accomplish that little detail, and there wasn’t time to dwell on it anyway. She caught a flash of red out of the corner of her eye. An unsmiling Mrs. Smith sauntered up to them, her dark eyes glinting with anger. She stepped right in front of Rose and grabbed her hand, drawing her along with her toward the store, where one of the guards sat slumped over, fast asleep. Fawn Woman gave him a swift kick with her moccasin, and he jerked awake as she tugged Rose past him into the store.

The woman stopped before bolts of material in a variety of colors and patterns. “You.” She pointed to Rose then took hold of her skirt and shook it. “Me.”

Confused, Rose frowned. “Yes, we both are wearing daygowns.”

The squaw shook her head and pouted. She placed a hand on some shiny yellow satin.

“I believe she wants you to make her a new gown,” Nate supplied, having come into the store without Rose noticing.

Mrs. Smith grabbed the bolt and thrust it at Rose. “Gown. Make.”

Rose gave her a pleasant smile. “Of course. I shall make you a gown right after we’ve eaten breakfast.”

She gave a decisive nod. “After eat.” She whirled around, her red skirt flaring into the surrounding goods, then walked away, her nose in the air.

Nate chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” Rose asked, fighting irritation.

“Your ‘mistress’ is makin’ sure she ain’t losin’ her exalted position as the storekeeper’s only real wife. She wants everyone to know you’re not just Eustice’s slave, but hers, too.”

Rose sniffed in scorn. “I cannot imagine anyone would want to be that man’s wife.”

“Now, see? That’s where you have it wrong.” Nate put a hand on Rose’s shoulder and steered her out of the store, back to the cook fire. “Fawn Woman doesn’t want to be Smith’s wife. Fact is, he bought her some time back. But the title does hold importance in this village, plus she has the protection of her two brothers Smith hired to come along when he brought Fawn Woman out here. The three are Susquehannock.”

“Those two guards outside are her brothers?” Rose rolled her eyes. “Oh mercy. Classes exist even here in the wilderness, and she’s an outsider who wants to be part of the aristocracy.”

He nodded. “Somethin’ like that. Just do like she says an’ always stay close to Smith an’ the Susquehannocks. No matter how Fawn Woman postures, none of ‘em will let any harm come to the ‘cook’ while I’m gone.”

“Gone?” He’d told her before that he was going to leave, and it remained in the back of her mind, but Rose had dismissed that fact.

“Any day now.” Reaching the fire, Nate bent to turn the side pork with a long fork but avoided meeting her eyes. “Soon as Bob gets here.” Straightening up again, he stared out over the wide river, his straight brows dipping together in a worried frown. “Funny, I was sure he’d beat us here.”

Rose glanced from him to the village of people milling about now, all of them speaking words she would never understand …and Nate was going to leave her. How would she manage without him?

Chapter 17

R
ose struggled to keep the slippery yellow material from snagging on the rough crate top she was using as a worktable to cut out Mrs. Smith’s gown. No matter what ill opinion Fawn Woman held of her, Rose determined to do her finest work on the garment. There had to be a way to encourage friendship with the squaw, since they’d be living near each other for the next four years.

From several yards away, children’s laughter drifted like music to her ear. Looking toward the youngsters at play, she spied three little Indian girls kneeling in the shade of an oak tree, putting together a miniature wigwam for dolls. Several naked boys with small bows and arrows shot at a thick tree trunk nearby. Rose smiled at the way girls always played house and boys always tried to outdo each other. They weren’t so very different from white children.

Suddenly one of the boys dropped his bow and pointed toward the river. He bolted for the bank, and the others scampered after him.

Rose turned to see what had drawn his attention and spotted a lone Indian in a canoe paddling toward shore. Laying aside the scissors, she stood for a better look. “Robert Bloom!” Relieved that Nate’s partner remained alive and well, she felt a twinge of sadness as well, since his coming would precipitate his and Nate’s departure. But at least it was comforting to know Robert was a practicing Christian, unlike his pal. The short, perfunctory prayers Nate offered at mealtimes did please her, but she sensed that pleasing her was his motivation. She would have preferred seeing evidence of some real faith.

Perhaps the frontiersmen would remain at the village for a while. Rose dreaded being left here with Mr. Smith as the only other white person in residence. She remembered Robert’s desire to have spirited conversations with her about the teachings of George Whitefield and other new Christian thinkers coming into prominence, like John and Charles Wesley. She hoped there’d be time for some good talks.

A deep sigh came from inside. If nothing else, Robert would have information about the lad taken hostage and how the Lord had answered their prayers. This eve she would make a delicious meal for the men. Out in the wilds they had to exist on whatever fish or game they found along the way—or worse, eat only cold jerky for days on end as the caravan had often been forced to do. Perhaps after some good English cooking, they wouldn’t be so eager to head for parts unknown.

Finishing up his improvements on Rose’s wigwam, Nate heard the commotion at the riverside and saw Bob paddling ashore. He dropped his tools and went to meet him. Half the village already swarmed the water’s edge, and the Shawnee braves he and Bob had traveled with threaded their way to the front of the crowd as Nate waded into the water to pull in the canoe. “Glad to see you still have your scalp, buddy. But what’d you do? Swap your horse for this thing?”

Bob grinned. “No, I came across it hidden in some reeds.” He hopped out and helped shove the bark-covered canoe onto the beach. “Knowin’ how you love raft buildin’, I thought mebbe you’d like to go back over with me to build one for my horse.”

Chuckling, they strode together up the shallow rise. They scarcely gained the top before Indians and hired braves from the village crowded around them and started jabbering to Bob in their language. Words flew back and forth so quickly Nate could only pick up one or two but suspected they were discussing the hostage situation. Bob wore a satisfied expression as he answered questions, but oddly, the Indians seemed far more pleased than he was. A couple of them snickered and swapped knowing glances.

Nate elbowed his pal in the ribs. “I take it you were able to rescue the lad in question.”

“Aye. But the Indians are happy about what all the Cherokees got in the trade.”

“Good trade.” One of the hired braves smirked.

Nate’s brow furrowed. “What’d those men have to give up to get the boy back, anyway?”

“All their trade goods an’ every cent they had with them, plus all the cash money I had on me.”

“All of it?” Nate saw his personal plans for Bob’s money evaporate like dew in the sunshine. “But you’re talkin’ only what was left after the funds you sent home for safekeepin’, right?”

He nodded. “Aye. But the kid was lookin’ real beat up. I had to help him. You’d’ve done the same.”

“You’re right.” Nate felt the chink in his plan grow wider, but nothing could be done about that. “Well, let’s get a couple of volunteers an’ retrieve your horse before some wildcat gets wind of him.”

“Good thinkin’.” Bob cleared his throat. “How’s Rose, by the way?”

Irritated by his partner’s interest in her, Nate gave a curt response. “She’s here an’ she’s fine. I’ll tell you all about her on our way across the river. Think I’ve come up with a plan to get her away from Smith.”
One that’ll take a mite of adjusting, in the light of things
.

Bob laughed. “You haven’t settled on killin’ the man, I hope.”

“Actually, the thought did cross my mind.” Nate flashed a sheepish grin. “But the way these Shawnees love that store of his, I figured they’d scalp me for sure.”
On the other hand, Smith might not go for the new plan…
.

From her position near the store, Rose watched in disappointment as Nate and Robert shoved the canoe back into the water then hopped into it. Two Indians joined them, and the four men began paddling back across the river. Nate said he and his partner would leave as soon as Robert returned, but how could they go so suddenly without so much as a brief farewell? Her throat closed up, and her chest began to ache as hot tears stung her eyes. She blinked them back, determined not to cry. She needed to stay strong before these village people.

Mr. Smith came up behind her. “Those two’re prob’ly goin’ over to fetch Bob’s horse. The river’s too deep fer it to swim across. They’ll have to build a raft to get the mare to this side.”

A wave of relief swept over Rose, but she was still confused. “Why did they not take one that’s already beached here?”

He looked at her as if she were daft. “‘Cause o’ the swift current. They’d have a time of it tryin’ to paddle one o’ them lumberin’ things upstream. It’s too deep fer polin’.”

Rose tamped down her embarrassment. She should have known that, remembering how swiftly the raft moved yesterday when she arrived. At least she had hope that the men would soon return.

“Another lazy hunter to feed.” The trader grimaced and started away then turned back. “Don’t be killin’ another chicken. I’ll get ya some venison to cook fer ‘em. I’ll eat whatever’s left o’ last night’s chicken stew. But make plenty o’ puddin’.”