Kitabı oxu: «Frontier Bride»

Chapter One

Philadelphia—April 1763

“I declare, Hannah lass, Randolph’s gone soft in the head. But ye do not have to go along with him.” The burr of her Scottish homeland gave Jeanne MacDougall’s speech a pleasant softness, in spite of her adamant tone.

Hannah shook her head and gave a swipe with the towel to the dish she was drying. She was helping Mistress MacDougall with the washing up in the big kitchen of the MacDougalls’ inn. “I’ve a contract, mum. With three more years to run.”

“There’s nothing in that contract that says he has the right to drag ye off to live in the wilderness with no one for miles around.” Mistress MacDougall’s ample chest heaved with indignation. In the past her relations with her son-in-law had always been cordial, but she was furious over his plan to take her grandchildren away from the culture and civilization of Philadelphia for an uncertain existence on the frontier.

“There are four families going,” Hannah replied gently. “I’m sure we’ll stay nigh one another.”

“And what about the savages?”

“Savages,” Hannah repeated under her breath, tightening her grip on the pewter bowl. She had dealt with savages before. The debt collectors back in London who had seized her mother’s bed from beneath her as she lay dying. The doctor who had refused to give Hannah even a little bit of physic to ease her mother’s pain. The magistrate who had declared that an eighteen-year-old girl who had just buried her only parent should be imprisoned or transported to pay the costs of her mother’s illness. “I’m not afraid of the savages,” she said with a grim smile.

“I can’t believe Randolph’s serious about this venture,” Mistress MacDougall said, wringing out a towel as if she wished it were her son-in-law’s neck.

“It’s hard to lose the children,” Hannah agreed. “But you should hear him describe the lands they’re opening up along the Ohio River—rich green meadows crisscrossed with silver nvers. The fish practically jump into your boat as you glide along, he says, and the crops grow themselves.”

“I suppose the deer shoot themselves, too,” Jeanne MacDougall huffed. “Ye’d better hope so, or ye’ll all starve to death. Randolph knows nothing about hunting.”

“I expect we’ll all help each other, at least until we get through the first winter.”

Mistress MacDougall shuddered and her voice became teary. “Sometimes I just don’t think I can bear it. First we lose Prissy…and now the children.”

Hannah dried one hand on her apron and put it on the older woman’s sleeve. “I’ll bring them back with me for a visit when my term’s done,” she said soberly.

She leaned over to look through the door to the front tavern where Peggy and Jacob were playing precariously on a hogshead of ale. She and the children had spent a lot of time at the MacDougalls’ these past months. The Websters’ roomy house at the end of the lane, which had seemed so welcoming to her when she first arrived in America, was now full of shadows and grief. The children preferred to be here in the bright, busy inn with their grandparents. Especially since their father was rarely at home these days.

“Mind that doesn’t tip over on your little brother,” she called to Peggy. The girl’s laughter stopped abruptly. She jumped to the floor and steadied the wobbling barrel. Hannah bit her lip and immediately regretted her words of caution. It was so seldom that Peggy played these days. Losing her mother at the age of eleven had given her an instant boost into adulthood.

“Go ahead and climb, if you like. Just have a care.” Hannah smiled at the towheaded pair then turned back to Mistress MacDougall. “They’re fine children. You should be proud.”

“They’re all I have left of my Prissy,” Jeanne MacDougall said. “‘Tis unjust of Randolph to take them so far.”

“Mr. Webster says that he needs a new start—that they all do. Or they’ll never get over Priscil…Mistress Webster’s death.”

Jeanne MacDougall’s mournful expression turned sharp. “Ye seem to be very well versed on what my son-in-law is feeling and saying.”

Hannah felt her cheeks flame. She hoped she was misinterpreting the direction of Mistress MacDougall’s comment. “I’ve heard him talk with the children. And with the other gentlemen who are joining us with their families. They’ve met often at the house these past months.”

Mistress MacDougall’s face softened. “Ye’ve had a lot of work, Hannah, and no female in the house to give ye a kind word.”

“Mr. Webster has been gone so much that it’s mostly been just the children and I. In truth, ‘tis not so hard as…” She stopped.

“As when ye was nursing my daughter day and night and caring for the bairns, as well.”

Hannah nodded. “The sadness weighed us all down those last weeks.”

Mistress MacDougall took the towel from Hannah’s hand and pulled her over to sit beside her on the rough wood settle by the fire. “I was going to have Mr. MacDougall talk to ye, Hannah. But ye know how men are—great for blathering until ye have something you really want them to say.”

Hannah hid a smile. She had never heard dour old Mr. MacDougall “blather.”

“The fact is, lass, it’s just not right,” Mistress MacDougall continued.

“Not right?”

The older woman looked down at her hands and shifted her bulky form on the hard bench. “When Randolph hired ye to care for Priscilla, that was one thing. But now, he’s a lone man, a widower. And ye are an attractive young woman. It’s not a proper situation.”

The color returned to Hannah’s cheeks. So she hadn’t misunderstood Mistress MacDougall’s earlier remark. She had no idea how to reply. The idea was so absurd. Mr. Webster scarcely spoke to her, rarely looked at her. When he noted her presence at all, it was to give some kind of order about the children.

“Forgive my speaking plain, Mistress MacDougall, but you’re very mistaken. Mr. Webster pays me less mind than he does one of his horses. He was devoted to Priscilla, and I warrant it’ll be a long time before he cares to cast his eye on any other woman.”

“I’m not questioning his integrity, Hannah, nor yours. It’s just that if ye head off together alone, folks are bound to talk.”

“We’ll not be alone…”

Mistress MacDougall held up a hand to ward off Hannah’s protest. “And so, Mr. MacDougall and I have decided to buy your contract from Randolph. We can use ye here at the inn.” She gave Hannah’s hand a pat. “We’re not as young as we used to be, ye know.”

Hannah sat back hard against the straight back of the settle. The offer was a surprise, and she was not at all sure that it was a welcome one. When Mr. Webster had first talked of journeying west, she had been disappointed and concerned. But now, after weeks of listening to him and the other men talk of their hopes and dreams for the new land, an odd anticipation had begun to smolder in her middle like a poorly banked fire.

“It’s overkind of you, Mistress MacDougall…” she stammered, then paused as loud male voices interrupted from the front room. “You have guests. I’d best see to the children.” She stood and picked up a tray of clean mugs to carry out to the taproom. Mistress MacDougall’s words had left her feeling dizzy. It was disconcerting to be presented suddenly with a choice about her own future. Her life had not been her own to manage for so very long.

She stopped in the doorway. Her glance went immediately to Peggy and Jacob. She had promised PrisciUa to care for them. Could she bear to send them off by themselves into an uncertain wilderness?

“Strike me blind, Webster! You didn’t tell me that in Philadelphia the barmaids wear the faces of angels.”

The smooth, deep voice made Hannah’s head jerk toward the group of men who had just entered. Randolph Webster was there, and some of the other men she had met at the Webster house. But it was the unshaven stranger standing at the front of the group who held her gaze. His dark eyes surveyed her with undisguised admiration.

“And not just the face. The whole of her is of divine making, I’d wager.” His smile flashed white against several day’s growth of dark beard.

He took two long steps toward her, then swept off his fur cap and gave her a little bow. “These gents need ale, mistress, if you would be so kind. And you may bring me a tankard, as well, though, I swear, a mere drink of your beauty could quench a devil’s thirst.”

Hannah’s eyes went past the man to seek out Randolph Webster, who was listening to the newcomer with a look of surprise. The other men in the group were grinning. She recognized Amos Crawford and Hugh Trask, a burly fellow who always made Hannah feel vaguely uncomfortable when he visited the Webster household.

She was about to make a reply to the stranger’s request when Trask shouldered his way through the man and put an arm around her waist, almost toppling the heavy tray to the ground. His body pressed heavily against the thin muslin of her dress. “The captain’s right,” he said, leaning over her. “We’ve a powerful thirst, sweetheart. For ale…and mayhap something more if the tap’s runnin’.” He looked back to the other men with a leering smile.

Holding the tray awkwardly, Hannah pulled herself out of his grasp. “I beg your pardon, sir!” she said with a grimace of disgust. The words came out less forcefully than she would have liked.

Suddenly the tray was plucked from her by the bearded stranger, who shot Trask an angry look, then steadied Hannah with a gentle hand on her elbow. “It appears you could use some lessons in treating a lady, Trask. Are you all right, mistress?” he asked.

Belatedly Randolph Webster shook off his dazed expression and came over to join Hannah and the two men. He moved between Hannah and Trask, then addressed the stranger. “She’s not a barmaid, Reed. She’s…ah…she lives with me.”

One of the stranger’s dark eyebrows went up. Then he smiled and threw his hands up in a gesture of apology. “I’m sorry, mistress. I just assumed…I had been told that you were a widower, Webster.”

“Yes, that is…” Randolph cleared his throat.

Hannah took a step back into the relative security of the kitchen, then tipped her head up to look the tall stranger directly in the eyes. “My name is Hannah Forrester,” she said with quiet dignity. “I am Mr. Webster’s servant.”

The man shot a look back at Randolph, then said slowly, “Mr. Webster is a lucky man.”

He was different from the other men in the room. It wasn’t just the beard, since there were two or three others who looked as if it had been awhile since they’d felt the sharp edge of a blade. It was something about his height and the way he was…filled out. Hannah didn’t know exactly how to describe it. His shoulders almost blocked her view of the rest of the room. His breeches were not the customary wool or linsey, but rather a fine doeskin that clung to muscular thighs in a way Hannah had not seen in the ordinary gentleman who frequented the tavern.

She retreated one more step into the kitchen. The stranger hadn’t stopped looking at her. “I believe you wanted ale,” she said, trying to keep her voice even.

Randolph Webster had recovered his poise. Still blocking Trask, he clapped a hand on the stranger’s back. “An honest mistake, Reed,” he said heartily. “And I’m sure Hannah would be happy to bring us something to drink if my mother-in-law is busy in the kitchen. Would you be so kind, Hannah?”

Hannah took a deep breath and looked down at the floor. “Of course. If I may, Mr…er…Reed?” She reached to take back the tray he’d been balancing easily on one arm.

“Ethan Reed, ma’am, at your service. I’m most pleased to make your acquaintance.”

He bowed to her once again, a formal bow as though they were standing in the middle of St. James’s palace. Then his eyes sought hers once more. Hannah was sure that her face was the color of Mr. MacDougall’s finest claret.

She turned quickly back into the kitchen. For once the steamy room seemed cooler than the front taproom. Mistress MacDougall had removed her apron and was drying her hands. She had witnessed the exchange and said in a low voice, “I’ll see to them, Hannah, if you prefer.”

Hannah shook her head. “No.” She would just as soon stay busy. With Mistress MacDougall’s help, she prepared a tray of cheese, cold chicken and bread.

Her heart had resumed its normal beat, and she decided that her overly strong reaction to Mr. Reed had been due to the fact that she was tired. She’d been up much of the night tending to Jacob’s croup. “Who is that man?” she asked Mistress MacDougall.

“Marry, girl. That’s Captain Reed. He was with Rogers’s Rangers, you know. We had some of them here at the inn a couple years ago, and a rowdier bunch of wild men you’ve never seen.”

“He’s a captain?”

“Well, not anymore. The war’s over now, of course. The French have hightailed it up to Canada and the Indians have calmed down—except for that Pontiac fellow.”

Hannah lifted the heavy tray and glanced toward the door to the front room. “Were the Rangers all so… big?” she asked.

Mistress MacDougall chuckled. “Captain Reed’s not big, lass, he’s just bonny. A fine specimen of manhood, if ye ask me.”

“What’s he doing with Mr. Webster?”

The older woman’s smile died. “Well ye may ask, child. I’m very much afraid the captain is here to take ye, Randolph and my dear Prissy’s bairns so far from here that I’ll never gaze upon ye again.”

It was long past sundown. The evening had grown so cool that it felt as if winter were attempting to sneak back. Hannah got up to close the tavern windows, then returned to her rocking chair with a yawn. At the far end of the room, the men were still poring over Captain Reed’s drawings and maps. Randolph Webster sat with Jacob on one knee and Peggy clinging to his side. The children had had so little time with their father lately that they both looked as if they would be willing to stay in his company all evening. But Hannah could see dark circles of fatigue on their pale cheeks. She wanted to take them and head back up the lane to the Websters’. Perhaps Jacob would sleep through the night tonight after taking some of his grandfather’s posset. The warmth of the fire felt good against her face. Her eyelids grew heavy.

“They’ve worn you out, Mistress Forrester.”

Again the rich voice jolted her. She straightened and twisted her head to find its owner. “It’s late for the children,” she managed to say.

“It’s not the children who I see dozing by the fire like a well-fed kitten.” His dark eyes teased.

Hannah was at a loss for words. She was not used to carrying on a conver-sation with a male. Though she had spoken a few times to the gentlemen who had visited Mr. Webster at his home, the conver-sation had always been circumscribed to her duties as a servant. Before that…well, her mother had made certain that Hannah’s exposure to men of any age was as limited as possible.

Hannah could still hear her voice. “I’ll not see you follow in the path of yer wretched mum, girl—flowery in the head after a few pretty words from a finelooking gent, then thrown over as neatly as an apple core pitched into the gutter. With a babe in my belly and not a farthing in my purse.”

It had been the litany of her childhood.

Captain Reed leaned closer. “They do feed you well, don’t they, mistress?”

Hannah found the question absurd. She straightened the rocker, almost knocking him in the chin. “I feed myself, Captain Reed. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’d best bundle up the children and take them home.”

He stepped around her chair and crouched down next to the fire. The position looked natural to him, as though he spent many hours in places where there was not a chair to be had.

“I was hoping to talk with you, mistress. It’s been a long, dry spell since I’ve been in feminine company.”

The words cajoled, but it was his smile that kept her rooted to her seat. She glanced across the room to where the other men still seemed engrossed in their papers. “Don’t you need to be over there—planning or routing or…something?”

“My routes are in here,” he said, tapping the side of his head with his finger. His hair was a deep, rich brown and he wore it long, not pulled back into the customary queue. His short dark whiskers emphasized the rugged line of his jaw.

“You know the wilderness well?” she asked after a moment.

He grinned. “Well now, I’m not a man to boast. Let me put it this way. Before I round a bend of the Ohio, I can tell you how many marsh rats we’ll find nesting on the other side.”

Hannah laughed. Ethan Reed’s utter lack of humility both irritated and fascinated her. Some of her nervousness subsided. Here was a man who actually knew this land Mr. Webster had described so glowingly and in such detail. “Is it as rich as they say? As beautiful?”

“The Ohio River valley’s richer than anything these colonies have seen. One of these days people will be clamoring to own a piece of it. You folks are lucky to be among those getting there first.”

“Do you ‘own a piece of it,’ Captain?”

He shook his head. “I’m not exactly the settling-down type, Mistress Forrester. I figure, why should I limit myself to a little piece of paradise when I can freely roam the whole thing?”

“But, surely, now that families are moving into the area, you’ll not feel quite so independent?”

“The tiny little chunks of land you folks will hack out of the wilderness won’t change things much.”

Hannah looked puzzled. “I thought Mr. Webster said that the tracts would be upward of two hundred acres.”

Reed laughed, rich and low. “There’s hundreds of thousands of acres out there, mistress. Your little portion of it won’t amount to more than a fly speck.”