Free Rose's Pledge by Dianna Crawford, Sally Laity Page B

for her. “As fer my cook, my property, she’s already abed.” He didn’t bother to gesture in her direction.
    The braided fellow tilted his dark head. “Now that’s a real shame. I was lookin’ forward to seein’ this property of yours. Reckon it can wait’ll mornin’. Think I’ll mosey over and see what our Shawnee brothers think of the new gal. That might be pretty interestin’.” He flashed an amused grin.
    Rose watched from her haven as the man left his friend and joined the Indians sitting cross-legged around the other campfire. From what she could tell in the limited light, he appeared to have a darker complexion than either Smith or Kinyon. Possibly he was an Indian himself, though the easy way he had of speaking like a white man surprised her. She returned her attention to the trader and their other visitor.
    “I drunk up most of the tea, but I believe there’s some dregs left in the pot,” Smith said. “There’s cups in that sack by yer foot.”
    Deciding his tone had taken on a smidgen of friendliness, Rose eased down on her makeshift bed and laid her head on her wadded-up shawl. An owl hooted from not far away, and as she leaned out from the tarp toward the sound, her breath caught at the beauty of the night sky. Millions of stars twinkled like diamonds against the cobalt blue, reminding her of the awesome power of God and His tender care for His creation. She hoped He hadn’t forgotten her and her plight. Deep in thought, she breathed in the night air bearing traces of woodsmoke, damp earth, and the ever-present pine.
    The firelight reflecting on the tarp was blocked momentarily then reappeared as Mr. Kinyon moved between her sleeping spot and the fire to settle down with her owner. “Don’t s’pose you heard anything new from up New York way while you was down in Baltimore.”
    “Like what?”
    “I don’t know. I’m just wonderin’, since the French sent that large force down from Fort Frontenac on the Ontario. Hear tell they’re plannin’ to build forts down as far as the Ohio. The Federation’s gettin’ real nervous.”
    “You talkin’ the Iroquois Federation? What difference would it make to them, I’d like ta know. If anybody should start worryin’, it should be us English traders.”
    “The Mohawks especially are concerned about the Senecas. Pretty much all the Seneca villages have pulled up stakes an’ are now hangin’ out at the French posts. Lots of gifts an’ promises have been made to ‘em. The other tribes are afraid the French’ll woo ‘em into attackin’ the English tradin’ posts along the rivers.”
    Listening to the news, Rose edged forward a bit and tugged her cloak more closely around herself. She’d hoped the conflict between the Indian tribes and the settlers had eased long ago as the colonies became more populated.
    Kinyon continued in his even tone. “Since the Federation chiefs signed agreements to support the English, you’d better believe they ain’t happy. If there’s trouble, they say they won’t attack their Seneca brothers. They figure that’d destroy their own treaties.”
    The trader snorted. “Aw, just more of the same ol’ gossip. Most of the Iroquois tribes are partial to our trade goods. They’ll stick with us.
    ‘Sides, it don’t have nothin’ to do with me. My store’s in a Shawnee town. Way south of all that squabblin’ betwixt the governor of New York an’ the Frenchies.”
    Shawnee town? Weren’t the Shawnee a tribe of Indians? Why, that awful man was carting her off to the wilds to live in an Indian town! Rose’s spirits sank to a new low. Each piece of information she’d heard this day was worse than the one before. She settled into her uncomfortable, lumpy bed, her thoughts awhirl in her head. This whole thing had to be a really bad dream. Soon she’d wake up to find all would be well.
    Lord God in heaven, please make this circumstance merely a horrible nightmare. Ever since Mother passed away, I’ve been