Rose's Pledge (7 page)

For one brief moment, Rose felt a ray of hope that this trustworthy-looking man wanted to save her from her fate. Then she realized she was merely being bartered for again. Hopelessly outmatched, she gave a huff and turned in proud defiance to stride away.

Smith grabbed her arm, halting her midstep, and glared at Nate. “Even if the gal was for sale at any price—and she ain’t—when did you ever have fifty pounds jinglin’ in that pouch of yourn, I’d like ta know?”

“Fifty pounds?” Kinyon hiked his brows. “You paid fifty pounds for her?” He eyed Rose up and down with an intensity that made her cringe.

Humiliated beyond belief, Rose knew she must look a fright, having worn the same clothes for days. Even her once-fashionable hat was droopy, and when had she last run a brush through her tangled hair? She lowered her gaze to her hands, noticing that Smith’s grubby fingers still gripped her arm. She felt as if she was in the middle of a nightmare—only this bad dream was all too real and had barely begun. Hearing the jingling of some coins, she raised her lashes, not entirely ready to relinquish all hope.

Nate Kinyon emptied his leather pouch into his open palm, fingering through the contents as he mentally tallied the sum. “I can give you eleven pounds, two shillings, sixteen Spanish dollars, and four bits on account. How’s that? I’ll have the rest next spring after trappin’ season.” He stole a quick glance at Rose then looked at the trader. “I’m good for it. You know I am.”

Smith gave a dubious half smirk, a sly spark in his beady eyes. “I’m sure ya are. Only those promises won’t do my innards one lick’a good.” He shifted his stance and glanced around the settlement. “So where’s that huntin’ partner of yourn? Thought you two was joined at the hip.”

He shrugged. “Black Horse Bob ain’t comin’ out with me. Right now he’s over playin’ cards with some of your boys. Said he’d wait there till I get back.”

Nodding, Smith cocked his head. “You two’d have more spendin’ money if you’d stop throwin’ it away at cards. Never did put much stock in gamblin’ meself.”

A sheepish hue tinged the tips of Kinyon’s ears as he looked at Rose. He straightened to his full height. “Spent most of my purse on these city duds I’m sportin’. Didn’t want Ma to think I’d gone all woodsy.”

Surmising that someone with the name “Black Horse Bob” must have a long, horsey-looking face, Rose peered over the tall man’s shoulder and up the bank toward the buildings, trying to spot someone of that description. A jolt of alarm whipped through her when she saw as many Indians as white men milling about now—heathens who, she’d heard, scalped people, skinned them, and ate their hearts. A nervous chill went through her.

Oddly enough, no one else seemed uneasy. She drew a measure of comfort from that. Perhaps the things she’d heard back in England were just talk. After all, Mr. Smith wouldn’t be so interested in acquiring a “puddin’ maker” if living in Indian country was so very dangerous. His own wife was there, wasn’t she? Nevertheless, Rose couldn’t help recalling Mr. Kinyon’s words:
“You ain’t takin’ this pretty little lass no three hundred miles into Indian country.”

Indian country. Three hundred miles from civilization.

More than three hundred miles from her sisters.

Lily. Mariah. Stark despair crept into Rose’s heart.

Bringing the discussion to a timely end, Trader Smith pivoted on his heel and started up the sloped bank from the river as the boatmen traipsed back and forth, toting cargo off the vessels and piling it in stacks. He raised his voice to a yell. “One of ya go fer the horses I bartered for. We still got half a day’s light left, an’ we need all of it.”

Horses!
As if she hadn’t endured sufficient indignities already, the sickening dread that now she’d be expected to continue this journey on horseback sank into Rose’s heart with a thud. She’d never been on a horse in her life—not even Timmy’s pony, Corky. She didn’t have the slightest notion how to climb in skirts and petticoats way up onto some hairy, smelly beast and perch there for some interminable length of time, much less control the animal and make it go in the right direction.

“Hey! Bondwoman!” Smith’s nasally voice cut into her musings. “Git yerself an’ that truck of yourn up here. Time’s a’wastin’.”

Swallowing her angst, Rose felt an empathetic hand come to rest on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry about your things. I’ll fetch ‘em for you.” Nate Kinyon turned then swung back around. “Did Eustice speak true? Did he actually pay fifty pounds for you?” A skeptical dip of his straight brows indicated disbelief.

“Aye. He did indeed, sir.”

Kinyon pursed his lips in thought. “For that skinflint to lay out that kind of money for a cook, that stomach of his must be worse off than he says. Not that a good cook wouldn’t be worth a hefty price, mind you, if a fellow has it to pay.” He glanced up the hill at the trader occupied with stacks of unloaded cargo. “Still, he just shoulda hired a man, is all.” He reached down for her belongings and hefted them onto his shoulder.

Not bothering to agree with sentiments that matched her own, Rose had little choice but to follow after her rescuer. Creepy chills made the hairs on the backs of her arms prickle when they passed close by sullen-looking Indians who made no effort to disguise their meaningful ogling as they followed her with their eyes. She could only imagine what the guttural sounds passing between them were saying about her. She straightened her spine and clung to whatever composure still remained as they reached one of the packhorses.

Nate cut her a sidelong glance and set her luggage on the ground. “Don’t fret yourself about the Indians, miss. Smith forked over quite a purse for you. He’s not about to let no one give you trouble. Soon’s I get back from my family’s homestead, I’ll come out an’ check on you myself. Who knows? I might be able to talk some sense into him by then.”

Rose didn’t know how to respond. This strange land, these strange people with their unknown language, and the fearsome possibilities lying ahead filled her with trepidation. Everything was happening so fast. Nothing was under her control. She was completely at the mercy of Eustice Smith. Nevertheless, she raised her lashes and met Kinyon’s kind gaze. “I do thank you for your concern, Mr. Kinyon. ‘Tis most appreciated, I assure you.”

A gentle smile tweaked the corners of his mouth. “An’ I thank you for bein’ such a pleasurable sight for these poor, deprived eyes. We don’t get to see many womenfolk out here in these parts.”

Nor had she. Her sisters were the last women she’d spoken to since the three of them had stepped onto colony soil, adding even more to her loneliness. “No doubt you’ll see many more pleasing sights as you travel back into civilization. I shall pray for your safety, as I allow you’ll pray for mine.”

He opened his mouth as if to reply then rubbed his jaw. “Hmm. Well.

Sure thing, lass. Oh, by the by, what might I call you, if you don’t mind my askin’?”

“Miss Harwood. Rose Harwood. And if perchance you should happen to pass through the Wyoming Valley settlements, where my sister Lily has been bonded to a family by the name of Waldon—or travel by Alexandria, where my other sister Mariah is to live on the Barclay Plantation—please be kind enough to inform them you’ve seen me and that I am …safe.”
So far, at least
, her mind added as a leering Indian moved noiselessly past her.

Mr. Kinyon tilted his head. “I hadn’t planned on goin’ downstream as far as Alexandria, but if it’d help you rest easier, I’ll make every effort to do so. As for the other lass, I fear goin’ off in that direction ain’t in my plans right now.”

Shoulders sagging in disappointment, Rose knew she’d asked too much of the man, however kind he might seem to be. “That valley …‘tis farther upstream, then?”

“Well, miss, it’s upstream, that’s the truth of it, but we’re not talkin’ this stream. She’ll be near the Susquehanna River, likely somewheres around the Wilkes-Barre settlement.”

The news quenched Rose’s spirits. “Where is that river? I believe Mr. Waldon spoke of it being near Baltimore.”

“If I had my map on me, I could show you that the mouth of the Susquehanna is a mite north of Baltimore, an’ the Potomac dumps into the bay a few miles south of the city. From its headwaters up in New York, the Susquehannah flows right through Pennsylvania an’ on into Maryland. What we’re standin’ in is Virginia territory.”

“Oh my.” It was too much to take in, and her mind whirled with the realization of the immeasurable distance that likely would stretch between her and the other girls. Her throat closed up with disappointment, and tears sprang to her eyes, trembling upon the tips of her lashes. She could hardly speak. “The last thing I told our papa before we sailed for these colonies was that I wouldn’t let them out of my sight.” She cast a despondent glance in the direction of the river that had already carried her far, far from Mariah and Lily. “I promised. Made a solemn pledge that I’d remain strong in my faith and look after them. Somehow I must keep my word.”

Kinyon raised a calloused hand and squeezed her shoulder. “Are you sayin’ you only just got here from across the water? I vow you’re a long way from home, Miss Harwood. But I hope you’ll take comfort from knowin’ you’ll never be outta my thoughts.”

Just then Eustice Smith’s boots clomped toward them over the uneven ground. “Thought you was on your way downstream, Nate. Ain’t that what ya said?”

Aware that Mr. Kinyon’s gaze remained on her damp eyes, Rose lowered hers.

“Aye, that I am. That I am.” He let go of her shoulder and closed his fingers around one of her hands, and she felt a strange combination of strength and gentleness as he lifted her hand to his lips. “Till we meet again, pretty lass.” A last long look and he took his leave.

Rose could not bear to watch him go.

Plunked unceremoniously by her owner atop a mammoth beast with a tangled mane of hair, Rose had no idea how she was supposed to steer it. Fortunately the animal seemed to know what was expected, as it followed Mr. Smith’s horse behind the settlement and into a forest of thick trees sporting every shade of green imaginable. Only the palest semblance of sunlight, obscured and fragmented by the canopy of leafy branches overhead, lit the trail …a trail so primitive it was hardly more than a deer path.

Rose stole a last backward glance toward the river, where the solicitous Mr. Kinyon had paddled away in one of those swift canoes less than an hour ago. Even though she’d barely met the man, she realized he was the first person who had befriended her in these colonies, and now he, too, was gone—just like Mariah and Lily. Here she was: a lone woman perched on a smelly creature with her smelly master and six equally smelly Indians
—Indians
!—traveling a brush-lined trail leading into the vast, deeply shadowed wilderness to some unknown destination. Would she ever feel truly safe again? As the party plodded along in silence, she resigned herself to her disheartening fate, praying for the grace to endure whatever lay ahead.

Her thoughts reverted back to her arrival at the tiny river settlement a scant two hours ago, to meeting Nate Kinyon. From the first moment he stepped into her life, he’d shown nothing but kindness …the only modicum of human decency she’d encountered since disembarking the ocean vessel. She’d felt instinctively that he had a trustworthiness about him, that he was a man of his word. He’d said he’d come to Mr. Smith’s store and try again to rescue her. The promise in his voice, in his eyes lingered in her heart after he walked away.

Even now she replayed the scene in her mind, allowing it to fill her with hope. Was it possible that the Lord sent him for the very purpose of reuniting her with Mariah and Lily? Or had he merely acted the part of a gentleman to go along with his fine clothes? Perhaps this whole predicament was the Almighty’s punishment for rashly having taken control of her family’s situation without so much as a prayer for wisdom and guidance, and now God was leaving her to stew in this mess she’d brought on herself and her sisters. The possibility was too horrid to dwell on, and her heart ached with the pain of loss.

Not liking the direction her thoughts were taking, Rose turned around and met the face of the feathered savage directly behind her. Clad in buckskin trousers similar to Mr. Smith’s, he wore no shirt but had a decorative thing made of colored beads around his neck. His hair, parted in the middle, had been plaited and tied with leather strips.