Free The Frontiersman’s Daughter by Laura Frantz Page B

peer out on the wide common that separated the rows of cabins, always a hive of activity even in the cold. Grizzled trappers came and left, as did new settlers seeking shelter. Ma’s dark mood eased noticeably as she sat and spun the hours away while Ransom wrestled with the boys and dogs outside. Copies of the Virginia Gazette were passed around as freely as gossip, reminding Lael of the paper no longer in her pocket. Its absence chafed at her a bit. She’d either misplaced it or lost it, perhaps in the mountains on the way to Ma Horn’s.
    The southeast blockhouse, home to the Hayes clan, was missing the two family members most important to her. With Susanna married and living over at Cozy Creek, and Simon up on his four hundred, Lael’s memories of times shared were all she had. Curiously, there were no other girls near her age save Piper Cane. Now ensconced as the new teacher, Piper was often seen about the busy common. Each morning after breakfast, she strolled to the schoolhouse and rang the morning bell. Ransom went unwillingly, returning home to regale them with the day’s events.
    “Today Noah got switched twice and Louise cried in the corner again,” he said between mouthfuls of biscuit. “Three more kids come in from Virginia, and Teacher said the fort’s gettin’ so crowded you can’t cuss a cat without gettin’ fur in your mouth.”
    Ma snorted, but Lael was not interested in schoolhouse antics. Though she escaped to Ma Horn’s cabin at the fort as often as she dared, time hung heavy on her hands. She sought solace in the fort’s store, which smelled of coffee beans and leather and snuff. She’d roam the dimly lit interior, her fingers never far from Simon’s note, always alert for the sight or sound of him.
    Soon the weather turned as nettlesome as her mood. Heavy sheets of rain kept her confined to the cabin, where she stitched on a sampler beneath Ma’s watchful eye. Always she wondered how her father fared and when he’d return to take them home.
    If he returned.

    In the cramped loft by the light of a grease lamp, Lael penned a letter to Miss Mayella. The day before she’d mashed and boiled the hulls of walnuts, adding vinegar and salt until the mixture set and became brown ink. Now, taking up a crow quill, she dipped the tip into a small stone well and wrote in a clear hand:
Dear Miss Mayella,
   It pleasured me greatly to receive your letter, though teaching did not turn out as I had hoped. I am well. There has been no Indian trouble for some time now . . .
    She paused, blowing lightly at the ink. What reason could she give for quitting her post as teacher? She lay the quill aside and hugged her knees to her chest, shivering. Next to her Ransom lay lost in sleep, his breathing quiet and deep.
    She took up the quill again, but the lamp smoked and went out. Leaving the unfinished letter on the floor, she climbed atop the corn-husk tick, wrinkling her nose at its rustling and hissing. She wondered if Simon had a fine feather one up on his four hundred, then quickly shut the thought away.
    What had Widow Watson told her just yesterday? That Simon Hayes was sparking Piper Cane? He’d begun courting her at Susanna’s wedding, the very one she’d missed. She felt bruised by this new knowledge—and betrayed. Though she’d kept her face carefully composed at the revelation, her heart had twisted with hurt. If true, she was doubly stung by his choice. Why Piper? Overripe as an Indian peach, she’d be more than willing to let him woo her.
    When no one was looking, Lael had taken Simon’s note and pitched it into the fire. The orange flames quickly reduced it to ashes, somehow solacing her. But her pocket, and her heart, felt strangely empty . . . but for the blue beads.

12

    Restlessness clawed at Lael like a cat. With her chores done she was free to roam, though her allowable range was woefully short. The fort’s front gates were ajar and the sentries a bit lackadaisical at their posts.