Forts of Refuge – Book 1

Chapter 1

Western Pennsylvania 1763

The forest smelled of warming earth, new growth, and hope. Sarah Feight snapped another finger-thick twig from the limb of a giant willow tree and added it to the others in her bundle. Her husband and his brothers would appreciate a willow bark tea to soothe their sore muscles come evening.

And then she and David would spend their first night in their new cabin.

“Look what I found over the hill.” Spotted Shell, her sleek hair loose and flowing around her shoulders, trotted toward Sarah with the inexhaustible energy of one not quite old enough to claim womanhood. She held out an intricately woven grass basket filled with the curled heads of ferns.

“A nice addition for any meal. Your brothers will be pleased.”

The girl gestured over her shoulder. “There are more for your family.”

Sarah laid down her bundle, glanced at the cabins in the clearing behind her, then followed the Indian girl farther into the forest. David had warned her to stay within sight of the cabins, but they’d all appreciate the addition of fresh greens tonight. And she wasn’t wandering off by herself.

Of all the surprises that had greeted her when they arrived on the frontier less than two months before, Spotted Shell was the most unusual. The Ottawa girl spoke almost perfect English and shared Sarah’s interest in gathering healing herbs and wild edibles. Both of Sarah’s sisters-in-law were busy tending their young babes, but Spotted Shell had explored the area near their settlement with her.

They topped the hill, and a blanket of fiddlehead ferns spread across the opposite hillside under the guard of towering oak trees. Spotted Shell turned and grinned at Sarah before running to the ferns.

Without a basket, Sarah joined her and bunched her apron into a sack, resigned to washing out the green stains later. She pinched off a tightly furled head, enjoying the fresh scent it released.

“As I told you, there are plenty.” The girl added a handful of ferns to Sarah’s apron.

“There are, but leave two for every one you harvest. That way there will be plenty again next year.”

“I did. See?” Spotted Shell pointed to their right. “I picked mine from over there.” The ferns the girl pointed toward held enough curled tops to insure a nice growth.

“You are wise beyond your years.”

“My mother taught me before she died.”

“As did mine.”

They had that in common, both having lost their mothers at a young age. While they had been raised as differently as could be, that fact, along with their enjoyment of finding and gathering foodstuff and medicinals, had helped to forge their friendship. If David and his brothers could find things in common with the Indian men, then perhaps their trading post would be as successful as they all hoped. The French and Indian War over the frontier was sure to expand, and settlers—as well as the natives—would need trade goods. Quality trade goods with which the Feight brothers intended to fill their trading post shelves.

“Sarah.”

At the warning in Spotted Shell’s whisper, Sarah’s fingers froze on the fern she’d reached for. Walking toward them was an Indian man wearing only knee-high moccasins and a breechclout decorated with porcupine quills, tattoos covering the skin his clothing didn’t. His eyes were fixed on Sarah. She’d seen other almost-naked Indian men talking to David and his brothers, but this was the first time one had focused solely on her. Her mouth dried, and every muscle pulled tight. Sunlight dappling through the leaves glinted off his dark eyes. Every instinct in her screamed for her to flee, but David had told her never to show fear. Indians respected strength, he said.

She’d never felt less strong in her life.

Spotted Shell squeezed her arm still holding to the fern and stood. “He is my brother.”

Sarah couldn’t understand a word of the guttural language her friend lapsed into but kept her attention on the man’s face. It may as well have been chiseled from river rock. Only his eyes moved to flick between his sister and Sarah. The eyes of a snake watching a mouse. She dropped the fern and clutched her apron around those already gathered, fear burning inside her like a fever out of control.

Why had she disobeyed David and come farther into the forest?

When Spotted Shell stopped talking, the man answered in a deep voice, the language harsher coming from him. Spotted Shell bowed her head and gave a slight nod before mumbling something else. The man’s eyes narrowed and locked once again on Sarah.

Her breath clogged her throat.

“I must go with Three Elk,” Spotted Shell said. “You can find your way back, yes?”

“Yes.” Sarah pushed the word past her stiff lips.

“I will come again… when I can.” None of the girl’s normal cheer came through in those words. It was easy to see that her brother disapproved. And that he was dangerous. Once they were out of sight, Sarah raced back to her bundle of willow twigs, grabbed it, and ran for the clearing with their newly built trading post and cabins. Cabins in a tiny clearing surrounded by forest.

And Indians.

Sarah stirred the pot over the fire that burned in the open space between the three log cabins and the longer building across from them that, when finished, would become the new Feight Station Trading Post.

Kathrine, with baby Lucy on her hip, leaned over the pot and sniffed. “That smells heavenly. We gathered fern heads in the spring when I was a little girl, before Papa moved us into town.”

“They are a favorite of mine as well,” said Rhoda. She set a stack of wood trenchers on the makeshift table near the fire while keeping between Susannah, her toddler, and the flames. Baby William slept against her shoulder.

They were her family now, along with David’s brothers, Karl and Lukas. Sarah tried not to think about how many Indians surrounded their tiny settlement. It hadn’t bothered her—much—until this morning. The men had dealt with the male Indians who had come by, seemingly out of curiosity. Except for Spotted Shell, Sarah had kept her distance. But she couldn’t do that forever. Once the trading post opened, settlers and Indians would frequent their place. She must get used to that idea.

“Spotted Shell showed me where the patch grew.”

“I hope the patch is large enough—” Rhoda’s words broke off when the baying of the hound pack reached them. “Just in time. Here come the men, washed and ready to eat.”

Two grown spotted foxhounds and six puppies spilled into the clearing, followed by a scraggly red dog of unknown parentage. They kept a respectful distance from the fire, although every nose pointed to the haunch of venison skewered beside the pot of fern heads. The baying reduced to a few barks and some whining as the three men approached the fire.

Sarah leaned down and ruffled the wiry white and red hair on the head of the pup that had pressed itself against her.

David smiled at Sarah and removed his hat. His mussed fair hair, damp from the river, had escaped its tie. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners, the grooves from his nose to the corners of his mouth deepening. Some people’s smiles were tame and constrained, barely moving their lips. David’s involved his entire face. And made Sarah’s heart melt.

Tonight would be their first night in their new cabin, and her insides fluttered at the thought.

They’d been married more than two months, but sleeping on a pallet on the floor in Karl and Kathrine’s little cabin hadn’t left much room for privacy. David and his brothers had been working diligently to get the third cabin finished ever since the newlyweds had arrived.

David winked at her.

Heat washed across her cheeks. She ducked her head, patted the pup again, but not before seeing the silent laughter in his eyes. Oh, that man. He could practically read her mind sometimes and loved to tease her.

“You have favored that pup since we arrived,” said David.

“Or perhaps he favors me.” Sarah peeked at her husband. “’Twas he who joined me at the fire.”

David leaned close and whispered, “Then he is a wise pup, indeed.”

“Have a care, you two,” Lukas called from across the fire. “Lest you wind up with a litter to rival my foxhound’s.”

“How you talk,” Rhoda swatted at her husband. “As if they could produce anything as mangy as your mongrels.”

“Mongrels?” Lukas stepped back with his hand to his chest. “My dear wife, those are highly bred foxhounds, soon to be the envy of every hunter this side of the Allegheny Mountains.”

Sarah knelt and hugged the pup at her feet. “Even this one?”

Lukas grimaced and glared at Karl. “Not that one.” He pointed to the scraggly dog at his brother’s feet. “If Karl hadn’t insisted on bringing that mongrel of his along—”

“Chummy may be a mongrel, but he is loyal to me, Kathrine, and little Lucy. I could not be parted from him.”

Sarah gave the pup a final scratch. “If this pup is Chummy’s, aren’t they all?”

Lukas cleared his throat. “No.” He glanced at Rhoda, who giggled.

“My poor husband is distressed that his prize foxhound is a fickle girl with not one, but two males in her life.”

“Oh. I did not think…” Heat filled Sarah’s cheeks again.

“No more talk of dogs.” Kathrine handed Lucy to Karl while shooting Sarah a sympathetic look. “I shall cut the meat. Rhoda, fetch the bread. Sarah, dish out your greens. Let us eat.”

While taking the meat off the skewer, Kathrine leaned toward Sarah. “’Tis not unheard of for a dog to mate with more than one male and birth a mixed litter. Do not let our husbands’ indelicate topic fluster you.”

Her sister-in-law’s kindness touched her. While Sarah knew much about herbs and plants, her town upbringing left her with little firsthand knowledge of livestock or wild animals. But she would learn.

Just as she must learn to live in the shadow of a forest inhabited by Indians.

Leith McCully pulled his team of draft horses to a halt in front of the long building, noting the newest cabin before setting the brake, then hollering above the baying hounds to answer the calls of welcome from those gathered near the fire. He set the musket on his lap aside, climbed down, and checked that the other five wagons were pulling up behind him. They were, and the three well-armed outriders were dismounting as well.

Lukas Feight came toward him, and they clasped hands.

“Welcome back to our settlement, my friend.” Lukas released his hand and gestured behind him. “’Tis humble still, but growing.”

“Indeed. Another cabin?”

“For our youngest brother. The last Feight has finally arrived. David, come.” He waved a slighter, fairer version of himself toward Cully. “This is my friend, Leith McCully. Cully, my brother David.”

“Then the new cabin is yours.” Cully shook the man’s hand.

“Mine and my wife’s.” He pointed to a woman standing beside the table where they’d been seated. Her long hair was loosely braided, sandy-blond tendrils escaping to curl around her face. She was tall for a woman, with clear blue eyes and a strong chin. She looked capable. The type of woman one valued on the frontier. He tipped his hat to her. She dipped her head in acknowledgment.

“I did not mean to intrude upon your meal.”

“We were finished,” said Karl as he joined the group. “Do you or your men need refreshment?”

“Thank you, no.” Cully glanced toward the women, now clearing the outdoor table, and lowered his voice. “I bring news.”

“Come and see the trading post. We are almost ready for you to deliver our goods.” Lukas raised his voice loud enough for the women—and half the countryside—to hear.

“Would you allow my teamsters to water the horses?”

“By all means.” Karl pointed toward the well.

Cully caught the eye of the driver behind his wagon and jerked his head in the well’s direction. The man gave a brief nod. Then Cully followed the Feight men into the long building. They’d completed the roof and hung shelving since he’d been here last, and a long counter was in the process of being built.

“’Tis coming along. We finished David’s cabin this morning and will be back to work in here tomorrow.” Lukas thumped the counter with pride. “But first, tell us your news.”

How he wished the news was better. Better for the Feights. Better for all of them.

“There is talk of Indians gathering.”

“There is always talk of Indians gathering.” Karl crossed his arms. “’Tis the season for them to plant their cornfields.”

“Not that type of gathering. ’Tis said there are tribes coming together. Tribes that in the past were mortal enemies.”

“Why would they?” the youngest brother asked.

He was new to the frontier, so Cully refrained from frowning at him.

Lukas gripped his young brother’s shoulder from behind. “’Tis not for good if old enemies are coming together.”

“You fear an alliance of the tribes?” Karl asked.

Cully nodded. Distrust of the British was only part of the problem among the Indians. More to the point, they resented being treated as subjects rather than dealt with as equals. Instead of winning the Indians over after the French retreat, the Crown, in its arrogance, had assumed the Indians would be content as its subjects. The British failed to recognize the sovereignty of the individual tribes. These people were used to ruling their own lives, not taking direction from an unseen authority across the ocean.

Cully wasn’t unsympathetic to their plight. Neither was he a fool.

If the tribes managed to put aside their differences and band together against the British, the white settlers would be the ones to pay the price. Settlers like Lukas and Karl, their brother, their wives, and their children. The idea of that young wife’s thick blond braid swinging from the lance of some warrior liked to turn Cully’s stomach.

“Indeed. If that happens, your only hope is to flee to one of the forts.”

The brothers glanced among themselves for a moment, then Lukas asked, “Do you reckon we shall have warning if that happens?”

If not, they hadn’t much hope. “’Twould be best to prepare now for any contingent.”

“Your warning will not go unheeded, I assure you.” Karl swept his arm toward the door. “Let us rejoin the women before they grow suspicious. I dislike worrying them unnecessarily.”

Unnecessarily? Did they not understand the full impact of what Cully had said? He followed the brothers to the door.

Lukas stopped him with a hand on his upper arm. “We heard you, my friend. My brothers and I will talk of this again tonight and make our plans. We are obliged for the warning.”

The seriousness of his friend’s expression helped ease the tension between Cully’s shoulders. Not totally, but some. It wouldn’t completely leave until he and the rest of the teamsters arrived at Fort Pitt with their supplies for the army there and were safely inside the palisade. Cully wasn’t a superstitious man, but for the past two days, he’d been sure that the wagons were being watched by unseen eyes.

He still felt that way—even in the Feights’ settlement.

The fire crackled in their new hearth, chasing away the evening’s damp chill. Sarah tugged the quilt closer and snuggled against David’s chest, her head gently rising and falling with his breaths. Their own bed. Their own cabin. Their own future spread out before them. If she were a cat, she’d be purring.

“The fern heads were tasty at dinner, but I wish you to stay in the clearing in the days ahead. Do not wander into the forest.” David’s words rumbled beneath her ear.

She lifted her head and searched his face, flat and straight with no sign of humor. “If you wish it.”

“I do. There is talk of Indians in the area.”

“Yes. I saw one today.”

“You needn’t worry over Spotted Shell, I’m certain, but there may be warriors—”

“There was.”

David shifted himself onto his elbow, his face close to hers. “You saw a warrior today? In the forest? Near our cabins?”

“Spotted Shell’s brother. She called him Three Elk. He came to fetch her. He did not seem pleased to find us together.” Not pleased at all.

Worry lines plowed grooves across her husband’s brow. “You should have told me.”

“I…” Why hadn’t she? Fear still lingered over that encounter. Even here in their snug cabin, smelling of freshly cut logs and a whiff of wood smoke, the thought of the Indian’s eyes on her made her want to flinch. “I’m sorry. If I see him again, I shall tell you straight away.”

David relaxed on his side into the grass-stuffed mattress of their bed, its freshness crinkling with his movements. Sarah shifted to her side and pressed her back against his chest. His arm came around her as he nuzzled her neck.

“My brothers say ’tis the season for the Indians to plant their corn. There may be any number of them in the area now. I will be easier knowing you are in the clearing with the other women.”

When his hands began to move, the joy and love that filled her left no room for fear.

paperback ISBN: 979-8-9850278-0-8 – ebook ISBN: 979-8-9850278-1-5

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