Rose's Pledge (32 page)

Nate knew inside that the
disciple
part was actually directed at him. But he knew something else, as well. If Rose wanted him to be one of those Christians who shunned anyone who came from another country or had darker skin, she was barking up the wrong tree. As far as he was concerned, his God didn’t mind folks having a little fun now and then either. He opened his mouth to tell her just that, when two musket shots in rapid succession came from across the river. He sprang to his feet.

Rose stepped beside him. “What is it?”

He shrugged. “Folks wantin’ some canoes sent over for ‘em, I reckon.”

“Most likely them fur company men,” Bob added as he joined them. He and Nate peered toward the opposite riverbank, where a party of men stood waving their arms.

“Aye. Looks like.” Propping their little fluffy-haired cherub in his one arm, Nate slipped his other one around Rose’s waist and drew her close. “Just one happy family, right?” He glanced down at those blue-gray eyes of hers. “Time to start lyin’.”

The scared-rabbit look on her face was priceless.

Chapter 27

R
ose had been in Nate’s arms before, when he’d helped her down from horses or carried her to and from rafts, but this was nothing like those occasions. She knew he was in high humor watching the Shawnee paddle three long canoes across the river to fetch the officials from the fur company. She could see the mischievous gleam in his eyes and sensed his tightly contained mirth just begging for release. She also detected a certain possessive quality about the way he tucked her close. Of course, they were
supposed
to look like a married couple—after all, it was her idea. But why did her silly heart go all fluttery as if it was real? And to think this farce was right after their church service, for pity’s sake. He must think her a hypocrite.

She inhaled a shaky breath and eased from his grasp, opting for the coward’s way out. “I’ll go kill and pluck a couple of young chickens. No doubt those men would appreciate a hearty Sunday dinner.”

“I’ll kill ‘em for you.” Nate offered the baby to her, but she quickly stepped back.

“No. Keep Jenny with you. She looks perfectly happy, and I’ve become quite capable of doing a number of things since you were here last. You and Robert go down and greet our guests. ‘Tis only right.” She arched her brows and smiled, hoping he’d agree.

He did.

On her way to the chicken pen, however, her conscience wouldn’t let her alone. Here she was, a stalwart Christian—so she’d thought—planning to deceive the fur company men. And much worse, enlisting the aid of the very person she was judging for his unchristianlike proposal! She truly was a hypocrite.

A familiar Bible verse floated across her mind.
“Judge not, that ye be not judged.”
Rose wished she’d never heard it.

But Lord …
She unlatched the gate and stepped into the small penned area.
Surely You can see I’m trying to set to rights the suffering I caused my family last spring when I acted rashly and took matters out of Papa’s hands. Had I waited on You, Father, You certainly would have made another way for us. Just as You’ve made this way for me right now
. She gave a righteous nod.
Absolutely. I am doing the right thing. This small deception is for the greater good
. And it’s not as if she and Nate couldn’t be married. It was a harmless lie, really.

Having packed that irritating conscience away once again in its tidy little box, Rose started after a young red rooster.

The usual crowd of inquisitive Shawnee lined the bank above the river, awaiting the arrival of the men being paddled across from the other side with piles of goods. Weaving through the bystanders with Bob a mere step behind, Nate realized he hadn’t informed his friend of his decision to help Rose out with the scheme she’d proposed. He shifted Jenny to his other arm and stopped, turning to face Bob. “I …uh …need you to go along with whatever I tell those company men.” He frowned. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

Hoping to come up with the right words, Nate motioned with his head for Bob to follow as he made his way to the edge of the people and their steady chatter. “It’s like she told us. She’s determined to stay an’ work at the tradin’ post till she can save up enough money to send her sisters back to England. She’s mighty sure of herself now that she can hear the jingle of some money. A far cry from when she first started out here. But you an’ I both know no company officials are gonna let a lone woman run a store, no matter how good she’s been doin’ it.” He put a finger up for Jenny Ann to tug on while he worked up nerve enough to admit his willing duplicity. “So we decided to, well …pretend to be husband an’ wife.”

Bob snorted. “An’ that’s your way of wormin’ your way into her good graces?”

“Nay. I’m tellin’ you the whole thing was her idea.” Bob tipped his head in thought. “It don’t sound a bit like her.” “I know.” Nate grinned.
That’s the beauty of it!
“But I have to help her out.”

Bob studied him for a moment. “Well, for the time bein’ I think I’ll let your conscience
and hers
be your judge.”

That wasn’t exactly what Nate hoped to hear. “Does that mean you won’t say nothin’?”

“I won’t say nothin’. But don’t expect me to be a party to this little plot.”

“Whatever you say. Not sayin’ nothin’s all I ask.” Breathing a sigh of relief, he changed the subject and edged closer with Jenny in his arms. “Ever see a cuter little gal?”

The Shawnee paddlers delivered five men in the first ice-crusted canoe—three officials from the fur company, attired like easterners, and two frontier guides. When the craft beached in the icy slush lining the edge of the water, the first newcomer gave dubious consideration to the short span he’d need to leap over to make it to the bank. Then, obviously certain his boots were tall enough to ford the shallows, he hopped out.

The next two, however, didn’t fare so well. Nate couldn’t squelch a snicker when the pair splashed water halfway up their backsides. They yelped and let out a few choice words as they dashed onto the shore.

Their guides weren’t far behind. Instead of climbing up the rise, however, those men waited for the remaining canoes to come in.

The Shawnee didn’t appear particularly interested in the white men. They focused on the two other canoes loaded with goods for the store.

Careful to maintain his own footing for the baby’s sake, Nate gingerly stepped down the slick grassy bank with Bob to greet the visitors. “Welcome. You must be the fur company men we been expectin’.”

The first man peered over his long nose as he brushed slush from the bottom of his trousers. “Hawkes is the name. And who might you be, young man?” A suspicious note rang in his tone, and his expression registered surprise upon catching sight of the white baby.

“Kinyon. Nate Kinyon,” he answered quickly. “We been lookin’ after the place here since—”

“Where’s Eustice Smith?” the official interrupted. “Our business is with him.” He repositioned his fur hat atop his salt-and-pepper hair.

His two companions—the much younger one, short and stout, with a pasty complexion; the other tall and thin as a beanpole, with sleeves and trousers barely long enough to cover his limbs—joined him. Neither exuded the slightest hint of pleasantry in his posture or manner, but looked Nate up and down as if taking his measure and finding him in dire want.

Bob edged forward. “Sorry to have to say this, but Trader Smith passed away a few weeks back, may the good Lord rest his soul.”

“So me and the missus has been keepin’ the place goin’ ever since,” Nate cut in.

“You and the missus?” A sneer curled the edge of his thin lips as Mr. Hawkes exchanged a skeptical glance with his cohorts.

The little round fellow began to shiver. Remembering the young man’s rather wet disembarking, Nate nodded to the threesome. “We got a nice fire goin’ in the tradin’ post. An’ the wife keeps a pot of hot tea brewin’. Come up and dry off by the fire whilst we talk.”

Once he and Bob had the damp newcomers wrapped in blankets and fur robes, each holding a steaming cup before the crackling fire, Nate related the story, keeping it simple. “So me and Bob went off to do some tradin’ for Mr. Smith. My wife stayed behind to cook for him. Her and our baby, that is.”

Rail-thin Mr. Parker tucked his chin. “I cannot believe you’d bring a white woman and an infant out here among these savages.”

Nate flashed his most disarming grin. “My Rose, she has a real tender heart. Once she heard tell that Eustice was havin’ so much trouble with his innards, she come along to cook him up some soups and puddin’s to help him get back on his feet. But nothin’ she did made him any better off. Poor ol’ feller passed on whilst me an’ Bob was downriver tradin’.” Nate congratulated himself for not having uttered a single lie in that statement.

Hawkes had yet to crack a smile. “I haven’t seen Smith’s wife or brothers about. Where are they?”

“Them no-accounts?” Nate scoffed. “They hightailed it outta here. Snuck off in the night with a bunch of the best furs, all Smith’s cash money, an’ six of the horses—an’ one of ‘em was mine. Bob an’ me brung in a load of real prime pelts from downriver, though. That sort’a makes up for their theivin’. Sort’a.”

The explanation still did not satisfy the man. He looked askance at Nate. “What about that wife of yours? Where is she, if I might ask?”

Nate gave a proud smile and puffed out his chest. “Soon as she saw you comin’, her and Bob’s woman went out back to kill some chickens for dinner. She knowed you was travelin’ in this cold weather an’ wanted you to have a fine meal.” Sneaking a quick look at his friend, Nate noticed Bob still wore a grim expression. No reason to make him suffer through any more of this. He glanced at the visitors. “Did you men leave your pack train across the river unattended?”

As Hawkes deepened his stare, stout young Mr. Jenkins spoke up. “We left three of our men with the horses.”

“Well, I’m sure them boys’d feel a whole lot better if we sent over a couple braves to help guard ‘em. Bob, why don’t you ask Cornstalk an’ Fast Walker to paddle over there an’ spend the night?” He turned back to Mr. Hawkes. “You fellas are stayin’ the night, ain’t you?”

Still steely-eyed, he nodded. “Yes. In fact, we are.”

Shortly after Bob took his leave, the frontier guides and several braves arrived with supplies from the canoes.

“Put the goods anyplace in here,” Nate said. “We’ll sort through ‘em later.”

“If we decide to leave them here,” the obstinate one said flatly.

Time for another change of topic
, Nate decided. “Like I said, me an’ Bob just come back from downriver. Things ain’t lookin’ good down thataway. A large party of Frenchies—plus some Indians from up north, Senecas maybe—was down on the lower Scioto where it merges with the Ohio. They caught wind of me an’ Bob tradin’ with the Miamis, an’ we had us a bear of a time getting’ shuck of ‘em. Had to hole up for a couple weeks before they paddled down toward the Mississippi.”

This news tidbit piqued interest from all three. “The Scioto, how far down is that?” Mr. Parker asked.

“Depends on which way you’re goin’.” Nate grinned. “Canoein’ downstream, it takes near a week if you stay on the river most of the day. Upstream it takes more’n twice that long.”