Rose's Pledge (44 page)

Y
ou’re back to lyin’ again.” Robert accused with a scowl.

Hiding her amusement, Rose busied herself with Jenny Ann, handing her a piece of meat to chew on.

Nate snorted in disgust. “Easier than goin’ into the whole story, ain’t it? Them two blabbermouths don’t need to know Rose was a bondwoman.”

“Ah. So now you’re lyin’ to me
and
yourself.”

Leveling a glower on his partner, Nate snatched up the cradleboard. “You sure are gettin’ fussy in your old age.” He helped Rose into the straps. “Come on, let’s get goin’. Time’s a’wastin’.”

There wasn’t much point in trying to start a conversation, considering the mood the two frontiersmen were in. Struggling to keep up with Nate, Rose tossed a backward glance at Star, who appeared to share her opinion as she and Bob lagged behind.

Out in front of everyone, Nate’s fast pace only increased as time went by. Rose finally took hold of her shoulder straps to ease the cradleboard’s weight and ran to catch up, latching on to his arm. “Are you trying to run off and leave us, or what?”

His mouth in a grim line, he slowed a bit but didn’t look down at her as he normally did.

Something was definitely wrong. Recalling that he’d mentioned something about the two of them and the baby being together before the longhunters came along, she moistened her lips. “Nate, what you said before …I want you to know you had the wrong idea entirely.”

He marched on, still not deigning to look at her, even once.

Rose felt a lump growing in her throat. “I would never use you and then callously cast you aside. I—”

“I know that.” His eyes remained on the terrain ahead, but his demeanor eased a fraction. “It’s just …I been takin’ too much for granted. Once we get back, you’ll see.”

What did that mean? She wished she could look into his eyes, see his heart.

“I’m real rough around the edges, an’ you talk an’ write all refined-like. I have a hard time just figgerin’ out how to spell even easy words.”

“That may be true. But you know many other things—important things—that I don’t have the slightest idea about.”

“Mebbe. But they won’t count for much where you come from.”

“And my papa’s skills wouldn’t be worth much in the wilderness, either.”

“It don’t matter. I just been thinkin’ fool thoughts about us. God ain’t about to let me have a lady like you. You hear how I talk. I ain’t never gonna get it right.”

Before she could respond, he stretched out his stride again, leaving her in his wake.

Rose’s spirit sank to her toes. Did the man actually think she was that shallow? That judgmental?

No, there was a whole lot more to it than that, and well she knew it. What had the housekeeper often asked Mariah when the girl fancied herself married to some rich Arabian prince? Oh yes.
A fish and a bird might fall in love, but where would they build their nest?

And where would she and Nate build theirs?

The grueling pace Nate set that afternoon continued throughout the remainder of the day. Thankfully the trail stayed fairly level, with only an occasional iced-over brook to cross. Rose found the walking stick a welcome asset.

Finally they angled off the trail into a dense stand of firs that would provide a good windbreak and some shelter for the night.

Rose hoped Nate would be in a better frame of mind when he turned to speak to her. Alas, he didn’t even make eye contact.

“I heard a gobbler back yonder. Tell Bob I’m goin’ huntin’.” With that, he strode away.

The resigned droop of his shoulders hit Rose hard, and tears stung the backs of her eyes. His attitude toward her wasn’t exactly rude, but it was impersonal. Painfully impersonal. She couldn’t decide whether to cry or scream.

Robert, who’d followed at a more leisurely pace with Shining Star, caught up to her. “Where’d Nate go?” “Hunting.”

“Must’a heard that gobbler.” His tone remained nonchalant, as if nothing was amiss, but he flicked a glance up at the clouding sky. “Let’s find a dry spot to spend the night. Looks like we could be in for some snow.”

Star smiled at Rose and moved behind her to lift the cradleboard from her back. She propped the sleeping baby against a tree trunk. “Jenee oui-saw.”

“Yes. She’s been very oui-saw.” Returning Star’s smile, Rose again noticed how much the Indian girl reminded her of her youngest sister, Lily. How she wished the two of them could sit down and have a relaxed conversation over a cup of tea, the way she and Lily so often had done in their cozy kitchen. But Star’s English was almost nonexistent, except for a few words she rarely used, so that was not to be. A deep sigh came from inside.

She could tell Robert wanted to question her about Nate, but she had no answers. Avoiding his inquisitive look, she blurted the first thing that came to her mind. “I shall look for dry firewood under the trees.”

After that, Rose did whatever she could to stay occupied. While on her knees gathering needles for their beds later, she reached up in a fir branch to swipe away a cobweb. As she did, she saw Robert and his lady sitting together on a shared robe before the fire, his arm wrapped around Star as they snuggled within the confines of the other robe.

Looking closer, she saw that he was reading a scripture and then translating it. Star would listen intently, now and then asking a question. With the young maiden’s sweet nature and her willingness to learn about the Lord, she and Robert would have no problem finding a place to build their nest. All one had to do was look at them to know they were God’s choice for each other. Or were they? Nothing seemed clear anymore.

Off in the distance, the sharp report of a gunshot echoed through the trees.

Nate must have gotten his turkey. He’d be back any minute. Rose crawled out from under the tree and brushed needles from her hair as her heartbeat picked up.

Rose, Rose …my Rose of Sharon
. Aching inside, Nate knew he’d only been fooling himself. No matter what she might say now, once they reached a town, she’d see what a rough cob he truly was.
Lord, help me to accept that she’s way outta my reach. Help me to let her go, like a real gentleman
.

Releasing a pent-up breath, he reloaded his weapon. A snowflake landed on the musket barrel, followed by another on his hand. He looked up at the leaden sky as more flakes swirled around him. He’d better get back to camp before the storm let loose. Picking up the turkey he’d shot, he glanced around in the quickly fading light. From about a quarter mile away, the unmistakable glow from a campfire was like a beacon drawing him home.

About to head toward it, he detected a staccato of familiar padding sounds coming his way from farther up the trail …moccasined feet! The Senecas! All eight of them! They came to a sudden halt mere yards from where he stood.

Crouching low, Nate couldn’t tell if the Indians had seen him. But what he saw made his heart stop. One of the trackers pointed wordlessly toward Bob’s campfire. It had to be the same trackers who had been dogging them for a week.

Still panting from their run, the Indians poured powder into the flashpans of their muskets, preparing for an attack.

Confident that they didn’t know he was there, Nate pulled the plug from his own powder horn and loaded his musket, knowing the sounds he made would only blend with theirs. Then he took careful aim at the one who appeared to be the leader.

He pulled the first trigger, then the second. The flash from the explosion blinded him momentarily, but he heard the man grunt, then groan. He’d hit his target.

Now he was one.

The first rifle fired at his flash.

He dodged to the side.

Whooping and yelling, the war party emptied their weapons. Musket balls whizzed past him, thudding into the ground.

Lord, let Bob hear all this and be warned
. He crashed through the brush in a different direction, hoping to draw the Indians away from the camp. The women needed time to hide.

From the corner of his eye, Nate saw the fire’s glow suddenly disappear. His friend had understood. He’d surely send the women to safety.

Father God, don’t let ‘em get Rose and the baby. Protect them!

Lacking a second to reload, he dropped his musket to free his hands and pulled out his hatchet and hunting knife as he sprinted on.

Half the Indians followed after him, splitting off from the group.

Knowing the rest of the Indians were headed for Rose and the others, Nate swerved in that direction.

A flash and an explosion echoed from camp. A yell of pain pierced the air.

Bob had hit his mark, but he might not have time to reload before the Indians were on him.

The runners weren’t far behind. Nate knew from the sound of their feet that they’d reach the camp about the same time he did. And even with two of them down, six still remained.

Too many for him and Bob.

Lord, hide the women so they won’t find them. Only You can help them
. “I’m comin’, Bob,” he shouted into the growing darkness. A flash and crack split the air, followed by another yelp. “Got one more,” Bob yelled back.

Guided by the spark of light from his friend’s rifle, Nate charged into the small clearing just as the remaining Indians got there.

“Over here,” Bob hollered, and Nate rushed to his side.

Holding his empty musket like a club, Bob stepped around to cover Nate’s back with his.

The braves knew they had the upper hand. They circled and taunted, their fiendish voices mocking as they jabbed their muskets toward Nate and Bob in sport, then danced back. Finally one of them tired of the game and swung in earnest.

Bob blocked the blow with his rifle, while another wielded his at Nate.

He fended it off with his hatchet, but the musket barrel sliced across his thumb. He almost dropped the weapon. Behind him he heard the sound of steel meeting steel.

One of the Indians swung from Nate’s other side with the butt end of his musket. Nate put up his knife arm to block it. Pain shot up to his shoulder. A few more well-placed blows and he’d go down. If only he hadn’t discarded his musket back there. Rose—

“Lord,” he bellowed, fending off a vicious jab, “take care of the women!”

“God be with them!” Bob hollered.

Two braves swung their muskets at Nate. He blocked a head blow. The other caught him behind the legs, taking him down. He had to get up.

A musket shot rang out.

A Seneca brave slammed heavily into Nate then slid to the ground beside him. Pushing the man off, he scrambled to his feet.

As the other braves turned toward the threat, one more shot found its mark. Another of them grabbed his belly and sank to his knees.

Two more reports from smaller weapons caught one in the throat. The other shot missed either of two braves who’d dropped into a crouch.

In one swift motion, Nate brought his hatchet down against one Indian’s neck as Bob flipped his musket butt first and took a mighty swing at the last one’s head.

Stillness filled the air.

The two friends glanced at one another in the near dark. All the enemy were down. But how? Who had fired those shots?

At that moment, longhunters Reynolds and Stuart emerged into the open. “Howdy, boys,” Reynolds said nonchalantly. “Thought mebbe you could use some comp’ny.”

Nate stared in shock, his mouth gaping.

“Better check an’ see iffin’ any of them redskins is playin’ possum,” Stuart suggested. “Wouldn’t want no surprises, would ya?”

“No, we sure wouldn’t.” Recovering his senses, Nate uncovered the smoking ashes with his foot until he found some live embers. Then, grabbing long sticks off a pile, he jabbed them into the coals to set them afire for use as makeshift torches. “I counted eight of ‘em when they stopped on the road.”

The hunters and Bob reloaded their muskets.

After a head count of the war party’s dead, they found that only one had escaped into the wilderness. Nate looked around for the women but couldn’t spot them. “Wherever you women are, stay put,” he yelled, then he turned to Bob. “You better stay here, just in case.” Then he and the longhunters took the torches and started after the runaway’s tracks.