Broken Pledge Read online

  It took a moment for his wife’s words to sink in. “I see,” he said finally.

  “The girl in all the papers...are you that Polly Lewis?”

  “Mister Williams, I have left my family, slept in the woods, walked for three days, and spent nearly all I had. Either I am that Polly Lewis, or I need be put away.” She gladly handed the heavy bundle of cloth to Adam. “Does thou know John Carson?”

  Adam tossed all the bundles inside the carriage and reached for Polly’s satchel. “Indeed I do. We’ve been friends since we were quite small. In fact, it is I who placed the ads,” he went on, helping her in. He set her satchel beside her and then helped Rose. “A devil of a time I had doing it, I don’t mind saying. What with communication so very difficult these days and all the states using different money. Why, a man needs to have thirteen drawers in his desk to keep all his money straight.”

  As soon as the door closed, the carriage lunged, rocking its passengers forward and then back while the hooves of the horses began their rhythmic music on the cobblestones.

  “Is John well?” Polly asked.

  “He has the swamp fever, you know,” Adam answered. “It plagues him occasionally. But otherwise, he is quite well.”

  “Praise be to God. Laughing Rain said he married. Is it so?”

  Before Adam could answer, Rose squeezed his hand hard again. “It is, though he’s not married now,” Rose answered. “She passed on, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh,” Polly said. She took a deep breath and turned to watch out the window. “I do not wish to be uncaring of the dead, but I thought...I truly believed he loved me. It is not pleasing to think he loved another.”

  Rose and Adam exchanged glances, and then Rose finally spoke. “Polly...may I call you Polly?”

  “Yes,” she answered, forcing a smile.

  “Polly, have you ever seen a garden so magnificent you couldn’t decide which flowers to cut? Then you cut one, only to find it was not the one giving off the fragrance you found so pleasing?”

  “I don’t think I have.”

  “Oh,” Rose said.

  “What my wife means is...” Adam began.

  “I’ll tell it, it is my place,” Rose interrupted. “Polly, what I mean to say is, John thought he...rather he imagined...well, he was quite ill at the time, you see and he...”

  “He cut the wrong flower?” Polly asked.

  Rose shifted in her seat and softly bit her lip, “Well, yes, in a manner of speaking. And it was all my fault, I helped her entrap him.”

  “What’s this?” Adam asked.

  Rose ignored him and went on, “I did not know about you, you see, and I thought John loved her. He did before he went to war, so when he seemed reluctant, I...”

  Adam stared at his wife and tapped his fingers on his leg. “You what, Rose?”

  “Well, I...oh Polly, after they married, he only pretended to love her. Then when Laughing Rain came to say the Indians had taken you, he was miserable. You were out there somewhere, perhaps being tortured or killed, and I thought he would go mad with worry.”

  When Rose finally stopped talking, Polly looked confused. “Thou knowst John that well?”

  “Tell her the truth, Rose,” Adam said.

  Rose watched her husband’s eyes for a moment before she relented. “I am his cousin. We were raised together and the home I am taking you to is his home.”

  Again, Polly turned to gaze out the window.

  “Polly,” Adam began.

  But Polly raised a hand to stop him. “Allow me a moment?”

  “By all means,” Adam said, turning to watch the countryside himself as the coach left the cobblestones and turned onto a dirt road. The river that claimed Hester’s life was to their right, and soon they passed the Dunlop place, where her aunt and uncle still lived.

  They were even beyond the Wilcox plantation before Polly broke the silence. “The Indians did not torture me, yet, I was tortured. I was a foolish child who had not learned fear. I know all too well the pain of having made a wrong decision.”

  “You forgive me, then?” Rose asked.

  “For helping her entrap him? Yes,” Polly answered. “For taking me to him before I am presentable? No.”

  Adam leaned his head out the window and looked up at the driver. “Stop the carriage,” he shouted.

  “What for?” Rose asked.

  “Roselee, we are nearly home. We are obliged to explain before we arrive.”

  “Explain what?” Polly asked.

  “John is not in Virginia. He’s in Kentucky building you a home. And if my wife will agree, I shall be pleased to take you to him.”

  Rose gasped, “Now? You want us to go to the Kentucky Territory now?”

  “Yes, now. Considering your unpardonable meddling, it is your profound duty to see they are reunited.”

  “Is that not treachery?” Rose asked.

  “I do believe it is,” Adam smugly answered, “will it work?”

  The frown on Rose’s face suddenly turned to a grin. “I see no way out, frankly.”

  “You’ll go then? I cannot live without you, you know.”

  “You’ll build me a proper house? Not just a cabin?”

  “Every bit as grand as Maryridge,” he answered.

  “And do you promise not to be constantly underfoot?”

  “I don’t intend having the time for it.”

  Rose thought for a moment. “Done then.”

  “Truly?” Adam asked.

  “Truly.”

  Adam quickly set aside his hat, wrapped both arms around his wife and kissed her until she began to giggle.

  “What will she think of us?” Rose asked, pulling away and quickly straightening her clothes.

  Adam opened the carriage door and stepped out. “She’ll think we love each other.” Swinging his hat wide, he gallantly bowed to Polly and then outstretched his hand toward Mahala. “My dear, welcome home.”

  Polly took his hand, got out, and then gawked at the huge mansion at the end of the lane. “John lives here?”

  “When he is in Virginia.”

  “Adam,” Rose said, leaning out the door, “are we to take horses to Kentucky?”

  “Of course,” Adam answered, his brow quickly wrinkling.

  “And will we be forced to walk from time to time?”

  “I suppose we will.”

  Rose motioned for Polly to get back in and pulled the door closed behind her. “Then best you become accustomed to it.”

  “Do you mean...walk to the house?”

  Adam was still standing there, his hat in his hand when the carriage turned down the lane.

  CHAPTER 11

  Kentucky

  It was not yet noon when John pulled the cork out of the first jug of corn whiskey. He took a swig, crossed his eyes and handed it to Sheriff Purdy. With all the buildings finished in record time, and those putting up Emiline’s shop declared the winners, the fun was about to begin.

  Emiline and the older women were gathered in the downstairs sitting room listening to Mrs. Watts tell of Mister Montigue, when suddenly a shot rang out—closely followed by another. All of the women were startled and two shrieked. Emiline got up and marched to the window just in time to see feathers drift downward, and then what little was left of a bird dropped to the ground. Not two feet away from the window, nine men with muskets stood in a row.

  “Oh my,” the elder Parson Goodall muttered.

  “Parson,” Mister Wallburn whispered, “it is not yet your turn.”

  “I see.”

  Emiline closed the window and retook her seat. “Go on, Mrs. Watts.”

  On one side of the backyard, children played drop the kerchief. On the other side, men pitched axes at a tree while women watched. The women applauded, giggled and whispered, and then turned away when foot racing started down the hill.

  Taking opposite seats at a long table in the backyard, two men removed jackets and rolled up their sleeves. “Lumber,” one man said, “
that’s where the Empire’s fortune is.”

  “And I say it’s whiskey,” the other argued, putting his elbow on the table and flexing his fingers.

  The first man aligned his elbow, and then, gripping his opponent’s hand, “I’ll wager a wagonload of lumber against three jugs of whiskey.”

  “Of course you will. Whiskey is as good as gold in Kentucky, better even,” the second said. He gritted his teeth, waited for the signal and then applied his strength.

  Not far away, a young boy of sixteen leaned around a tree and whispered in the ear of a girl his same age, “I’ll make you a fine husband.” The girl giggled and moved away. The boy watched her go, shrugged, and then sheepishly moved closer to another girl. “I’ll make you a fine husband,” he whispered.

  Again, a shot rang out, quickly followed by another. Again, the ladies in the sitting room jumped and screeched. “Merciful heavens,” Emiline gasped, laying both hands on her chest. Just outside the window, Mister Wallburn lowered his musket and put his mouth next to the parson’s ear. “It’s not your turn yet, Parson!” he shouted. “There’s no need to shoot a bird twice. We will not have enough left to dress and eat.”

  “I see,” the parson said.

  Emiline leaned out the open window. “Horace Wallburn, I’ll have your hide if you don’t move those men away from this window.”

  “Miss Emiline, this here is the best place to shoot, what with so many birds and the dogs more than willing to flush them out,” Wallburn argued, quickly taking off his hat.

  “Must I come out there with my broom?”

  “Well...” Wallburn hesitated. “All right, men, move forward.”

  “Not until the parson does,” Harry Cross said. “He’s apt to shoot us.”

  “Parson, take three paces forward,” Wallburn shouted.

  “Right,” Parson Goodall answered, marching three steps, with the other men cautiously moving as well. “Is it my turn?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” Wallburn yelled.

  “What’d he say?”

  “Not yet,” all the men shouted.

  The last man in the row leaned closer to the man beside him. “I say we let him have a turn.”

  Emiline closed the window and settled back into her chair. “As I was saying, I hardly could believe my eyes when the last of the trees were cleared away and this enormous house appeared. I don’t recall seeing one as large as this, even in Boston.”

  “Is the elder Mister Carson married?” a small, gray-haired woman in her fifties asked. She wore a poorly made straw hat and one shoe was unlaced.

  “No, and praise be for it,” Emiline answered. “He’s as stern and as cross as a bear just come out of hibernation. Pity’s the woman who beds that one.”

  Outside, Mister Wallburn again put his mouth next to the parson’s ear.

  “Your turn, Parson.”

  “Indeed?” The parson grinned and quickly lifted his musket to his shoulder. As soon as the dogs rousted another, the parson followed the bird’s flight with the barrel of his musket. He squeezed the trigger, loosed the volley and hit his mark. Just as the bird began to pitch downward, eight men pulled their triggers, blowing the bird into a thousand pieces.

  Parson Goodall lowered his musket, watched the tiny bits of bird fall to earth and turned to Wallburn. “I quite see your point,” he said.

  At the sound of eight muskets firing at once, Emiline jumped up, marched to the kitchen, grabbed the broom, and headed outside.

  BY FOUR IN THE AFTERNOON, the men were drinking heavily, so John sent the African women and children upstairs to safety. By five, Uriah and La Rue had taken chairs next to one another on the back porch. Just like old friends, they enjoyed corn cob pipes and corn whiskey.

  “I tell you, these men could easily raise an entire town, if they’ve a mind to,” Uriah said.

  “Oui, monsieur.”

  “You have sailed down the Mississippi, have you not?”

  “Oui.” La Rue answered, watching men spread corn meal on the dance floor and stomp their heels in it to knock splinters off and grind the meal into wax. Other men went inside the new bunkhouse to admire their work. He watched the ladies shoo the arm-wrestlers away and begin filling three long tables with food, while the children took turns on a swing that hung from the oak tree.

  “What’s it like, the journey, I mean?” Uriah asked.

  “Most perilous, monsieur.”

  “Yes, but how perilous? If we are to take our goods to market in New Orleans, it would be good to know precisely how perilous.”

  “You will farm?”

  “Well, no. We intend raising horses just as we did in Virginia. But a man will not buy our horses if he cannot get his crops to market.”

  “Oui,” La Rue said, pausing to take a long drink. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “The river moves, monsieur.”

  “You mean toward the sea? That much I do know.”

  “No, it moves from side to side. Today it goes this way, the next that. Indians build a village on the bank. The next year the river is ten miles away. Today there is an island, tomorrow, gone,” La Rue said.

  “I see, I had no idea.” Uriah also took a swig from his jug.

  “Trees. They are hidden in the river. Many die when a barge hits the trees.”

  “I can well imagine. How long does it take to see New Orleans?”

  This time, it was La Rue who took a swig. “Many weeks.”

  “My word, a man can sail to England in little more than a month,” Uriah said. He took another drink and frowned. “I still cannot believe the boy forgot the rum. Too late now, I’m afraid. We’ll not likely see a drop until the people have the good sense to build a proper road...or the Shawnee become more tolerant.”

  “Tolerant?”

  “Forgiving.”

  “Forgiving is not the Shawnee way,” La Rue said, drawing smoke through his pipe and then slowly letting it out. “Your son, monsieur? He is still here, no?”

  “Mister La Rue, I cannot think why you worry over him. I assure you, he promised never to put tree sap in your saddle again. Besides, that was years ago. He’s a man now. To your health, Mister La Rue,” he said, starting to raise his jug again.

  “You wish to have me healthy?”

  “Good heavens, yes. I wouldn’t find the wilderness nearly so challenging if you were not in it. Drink up, sir.”

  La Rue studied Uriah suspiciously, and then lifted his jug and took three long swallows.

  Uriah watched a tall woman with coal-black hair and green eyes carry a potpie down the steps to the table. “Who might that be? Never have I seen a more beautiful woman.”

  At last, La Rue grinned. “She is the sheriff’s wife.”

  “Oh my, I’d best warn my son. He is in want of a wife, you know.”

  “He forgets Mademoiselle Polly?”

  “I believe he has.”

  “But he looks for her, no?”

  “Well, yes, he has in the past. But it is a hopeless case, and a man is a man after all. How long can he wait? Were I to guess, I’d say he is choosing a wife as we speak. And what woman would not want to be the mistress of Maryridge?”

  VIRGINIA

  Left alone upstairs to bathe, it wasn’t long before Polly began to fill Mahala with music. Just as John described, her voice was powerful and elegant, and her song was a song of love.

  It was Caleb who opened the sitting room doors, and one by one, the Carsons joined the house servants at the foot of Mahala’s grand staircase to listen.

  “I like her already,” Elizabeth whispered, wrapping an arm around Rose.

  “She looks a bit like Aunt Mary,” Rose whispered back.

  “No wonder my brother preferred her,” Caleb said.

  Effie and Abby began swaying to the music. “Be quiet, we want to hear.” But the family ignored them.

  “When can we see her?” Suzanne asked.

  “At dinner,” Rose answered, “but please, all of you, don’t as
k about the Indians. She gets an odd look in her eye when she speaks of them.”

  KENTUCKY

  “And to prosperity,” Uriah was saying. This time he lifted his jug but only pretended to drink.

  “Prosperity,” La Rue echoed, taking a mouthful.

  “And to horse thieves. May they die beside the Wilderness Road.”

  “To horse thieves.” La Rue drank and leaned forward to watch the ankles as women lifted their skirts to climb the stairs.

  Quickly, Uriah grabbed his arm to keep him from falling over. “And to women.”

  “Oui, monsieur, to women.”

  “To women indeed. We certainly have a lively array of them this day. Now there’s a tempting woman if ever I saw one.”

  “Which, monsieur?”

  “The one with the very blond hair.”

  “But monsieur, she squints.”

  “Yes, but when she is not squinting...”

  “I prefer that one,” La Rue interrupted, pointing at a brunette in a pink dress.

  “Mister La Rue, you surprise me. That’s the most faint-hearted woman of my acquaintance. A man would have his hands full simply protecting her from mice and things. What about the one in blue? She’s perhaps not so very young, but...”

  “Madam Puddifoot?”

  “Mister La Rue, should you fancy Emiline, I’d...”

  “Everyone knows she desires you.”

  Uriah looked incredulous. “Everyone?”

  “Oui.”

  “I see.” This time, Uriah took a very long drink.

  With crossed eyes, La Rue watched and waited until Uriah finally lowered his jug. “You will marry her, no?”

  “Not if I can avoid it. I have a wife awaiting me in heaven, you see, and I’ve quite a lot of explaining to do without adding another wife.”

  La Rue wrinkled his brow, shrugged and began to scan the crowd again. Suddenly, he spotted her. “Is that Mademoiselle Eleanor?”

  Uriah squinted to see across the yard. “I do believe it is, and I see my son has joined her. The girl becomes a woman before our very eyes.”

  “Oui, monsieur,” La Rue said, sitting up a little straighter. “She is so...”