“I’ve come to talk, to stop you from throwing your lives away.”
There were snorts and chuckles, and some of the men drew their pistols. But a man in the center of the front line raised his hand, held them back. “There’s no need for anyone to die today, providin’ no one gets in our way.”
“That’s the problem. The garrison is already under arms, and the good citizens of Philadelphia have dusted off their muskets.” Nicholas smiled at the irony of Quakers rushing to arm themselves and heard men laugh as word of what he’d said was passed through their ranks.
The man dismounted. He wore a buckskin coat and breeches, and his face was as weathered and brown as the leather on his back. “Who the bleedin’ hell are you?”
“The name is Nicholas Kenleigh. I came to Philadelphia from the siege of Fort Pitt, where I fought against the Delaware and Shawnee, and I’ve come out here of my own accord to ask you not to do this.”
A whisper passed like a breeze through the throng.
“My name’s Matthew Smith. I was there at Fort Pitt, too. I remember you. You’ve got balls of granite, Kenleigh. But we’ve come for the Indians, no’ for the wee Quakers and their pretty wives.”
The crowd of frontiersmen burst into laughter, their horses shifting restlessly beneath them.
“The garrison will not release them to you. You know that. If you try to take them, there will be a battle.”
“Those savages are allies of the ones who killed our families, our women and children! The Quakers would not protect us from slaughter, but when the Indians ask for protection from us, our blood still on their hands, the good people of Philadelphia take them to their bosom! ’Tis an outrage!”
The horde erupted into angry shouting.
When it died down, a man began to chant a verse. “Go on, good Christians, never spare, to give your Indians clothes to wear. Send them good beef and pork and bread, guns, powder, flints and lead, to shoot your neighbor in the head!”
Cheers.
More angry shouts.
Nicholas understood their fury. He would not try to explain the Indian point of view, for he knew for certain none of these men wanted to hear that they were considered invaders in someone else’s homeland. From the frontiersman’s point of view, the west was open for the taking. Scratch your mark in the tree bark, and the land was yours. That the war had left thousands of Indian families without land and sustenance mattered little to settlers.
“The Indians at the fort are Christianized and were nowhere near the frontier this summer.”
“If they are truly Christian, why did they no’ warn us of this uprisin’ before it happened? Why did they share information and supplies wi’ those who butchered us? And why now do they hide here, disguised as allies? I’ll tell you—they come here to be given stores of food through the winter so they can come back and scalp us in the spring!”
Bellows of outrage. Calls for bloodshed.
“On to Philadelphia!”
“We want justice!”
Nicholas felt the mood of the frontiersmen shift against him, felt their anger and hatred build. The line of horsemen pushed forward, driven by restless fury. More pistols and rifles were drawn. The stench of bloodlust permeated the air.
But almost as quickly as they arose, the shouts faded to silence, and Nicholas realized the men were staring past him.
He looked over his shoulder, thought he would explode.
Bethie. She rode one of the mares, her hair unbound and hanging freely over her new cloak. She had disobeyed him again, had followed them—alone.
From between gritted teeth, he spoke to his father and Jamie. “Take her back to the inn—now!”
Jamie looked at him, doubt in his eyes. “She may be of help, Nicholas. She’s one of them.”
Nicholas understood what Jamie was trying to say, knew he might well be right. But this crowd was on the brink of violence, and it infuriated him that she would defy him again, put herself in danger. Against his better judgment, he forced himself to stand still and let her speak.
Bethie met Nicholas’s gaze, looked into eyes as cold as slate. He was angry with her, as she had known he would be. But she’d overheard the men’s shouts and knew it was not going well for him. That’s why she had come.
“Listen to him! Please! He is my husband. He has lived among you, fought beside you. He knows what you have suffered!”
The man who was apparently their leader glared up at her. “What does he know of our sufferin’, lass?”
