Perhaps she could journey to Harrisburg or even to Philadelphia. But that meant traveling for weeks alone through wild country, across the mountains, over rivers, and through farmsteads. The very idea of swimming across rivers with her baby or sleeping in a bedroll in the open without the protection of four sturdy walls terrified her.
One thing was certain: she could not go home.
Nor could she stay here forever. She’d managed well enough so far, but what would she do when it came time to plant crops? Could she manage the plow? And what of the harvest? Could she care for her baby, harvest the crops, slaughter the hogs, make cider, and salt the meat all at the same time? Her days had been full and long when Andrew had yet lived. How could she manage to do both his chores and hers with a newborn?
And what would she do when her time came?
She’d never given birth before, had never seen a baby born. And though she’d helped cows to calve, she knew having babies was different for women. Would she know what to do? Would both she and her baby survive the travail?
And then there was the threat of Indians and others who prowled the frontier. Few families had escaped unscathed during this war. Men, women, and children had been butchered like cattle—shot or burned alive and scalped by Indians fighting for the French. A family only a few miles to the north had been attacked at midday while working in their fields. The oldest sons had been killed and scalped, the daughters and younger boys kidnapped. The oldest daughter had been found several miles away a few days later. She’d been tied to a tree, her body consumed first by fire, then by wild animals.
Of course, Indians weren’t the only two-legged danger. Criminals flocked to the frontier, eager to escape the gallows. Deserters, too, hid in the forests, both French and English. Everyone knew of the family near Paxton that had welcomed two travelers to sleep before their hearth one evening, only to be murdered in their beds.
Andrew had done his best to protect her from these dangers. But he had died just after Christmas of a lingering fever. Although Bethie had tried everything she knew to save him—every poultice, every herb, every draught—he was not a young man and had died one night in his sleep while she sat beside him and held his hand. Already in her seventh month, she had barely managed to dig a shallow grave for him in the frozen earth.
She hadn’t had a peaceful night’s sleep since, waking to every sound with her heart in her throat.
There was one other possibility, of course, one she almost refused to consider. She could try to find another husband. After the baby was born, she could ride to the nearest settlement, visit the church or meetinghouse, and tell the minister that she was widowed and needed to find a husband. But would any man want both her and her child? And if shedidfind a husband, would she regret it?
Her mother, widowed when Bethie’s father was killed by a falling log, had found Malcolm Sorley in much the same way. A big man with a dour temperament and fists like hams, he’d moved with his bully of a son, Richard, into the cabin that had once been a happy home and had done his best to beat the fear of God into his new wife and stepdaughter. Bethie had done her best to avoid the rages of her new father, but Malcolm Sorley had left his share of welts and bruises on her. Then he had turned her mother against her.
Richard had done far worse.
And while a husband brought protection, marriage brought duties that pleased her not at all. She had no desire to lie beneath a man, to feel him touch her, to feel him inside her. If she could devise it, she would be content to live as a widow for the rest of her life.
And so Bethie arrived at the same stalemate she always came to whenever she allowed herself to think of the days ahead. There was no place for her to go and no way she could safely stay.
Coming to the frontier had been Andrew’s idea, not hers. And though he had been kind to her and had taken her from a living hell, she found herself feeling angry with him for abandoning her and her baby to this life of fear and doubt.
She rested the ax on the ground, out of breath, her arms and lower back aching, glad to find a good stack of wood piled beside her. It was enough to last her the rest of the day and the night, but she would need to chop more this afternoon if she didn’t want to be in the same fix tomorrow morning.
She rubbed a soothing hand over her belly, felt her baby kick within her. Then she squatted down and picked up as many pieces as she could carry. She stepped around to the front of the cabin, her arms full, and froze, a scream trapped in her throat.
A man on horseback.
Chapter 2
He sat on a great chestnut stallion only a few feet away from the cabin’s door, stared down at her through cold eyes, pistol in hand.
The firewood fell from her arms, forgotten. She glanced wildly about for the rifle, realized that she had left it inside the cabin. A fatal mistake?
She forced herself to meet his gaze, tried to hide her fear, the frantic thrum of her heartbeat a deafening roar.
Where had he come from? Why hadn’t she heard him? And the geese—why had they made no sound?
He was an Indian. He must be to have crept up on her so quietly. Dressed in animal hides, with long black hair and sun-browned skin, he certainly looked like an Indian. But his eyes were icy and blue as a mountain lake, and most of his face was covered with a thick, black beard.
Heart pounding a sickening rhythm in her chest, she swallowed, pressed her hands protectively to her belly. “M-my husband will be back soon.”
“Your husband?” His accent was distinctly English and cultured, his voice deep. He smiled, a mocking sort of smile. “Is he the poor fellow buried out back? Aye, I’ve already met him.”
The man started to dismount.
“Nay!” Close to panic, Bethie wasn’t sure where her words came from. “Stay on your horse, and ride away from here! I am no’ wantin’ for means to protect myself!”
He climbed slowly from the saddle, his gaze dropping from her face to her swollen belly, a look of what could only be amusement in his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
It was then she saw the blood. His hands were stained with it.
