Setting her rifle aside, Tessa walked toward her, wishing Ma was near. Tears were so contrary to her nature she felt bewildered in the face of them. Her brothers’ unwavering stoicism was far easier to take.
Kneeling on the ground beside Keturah, she felt the heavy dew wet her shift. Might it be time to use the one word she knew in Lenape, thanks to Clay? She’d practiced saying it in private till the word became natural on her tongue.
“Winkalit.” Unsure of what it meant, she awaited some response.
Keturah raised her head and studied her, her welling eyes a spectacle of pain.
Tessa repeated the word, praying it held some meaning, some solace.
“Winkalit.” Keturah nodded, chin quivering. “Friend . . . you are my friend.”
Bereft of other Lenape words, Tessa pulled the discarded doll from her pocket. A flicker of recognition? Keturah’s fingers wrapped round the offering in unmistakable wonder. She brought the doll to her chest, her watery gaze returning to the empty cabin. Unable to look at her friend for the ache in her chest, Tessa stared unseeing at the ground. In the forlorn light of early morn came a shared, crushing sorrow. For girlhood. For what was gone, never to be regained. Tessa bit her lip till it nearly bled.
“Ma will worry,” she finally said softly. “Best be home.”
In time they got to their feet. Tessa retrieved her rifle, then took Keturah by the hand much as they’d done when they were small. Together they wended through the woods to the Swans’ clearing, where they were met with the whack of an axe and two belled cows ready for milking. Ma stood in the doorway, her watchful expression fading to relief when she saw them. The taint of burnt toast sent her back inside.
Breakfast was a somber affair as if all sensed Keturah’s turmoil. Though dressed, hair braided, the old doll tucked in her pocket, Keturah kept her eyes down and ate but a few bites of porridge.
Jasper shot Tessa a questioning look. Aggravated by his stance regarding Keturah—mightn’t he be the reason for Keturah’s sudden sorrow?—Tessa regarded him coldly. Of all her brothers, Zadock seemed the most moved by Keturah’s plight. He sat across from her, regarding her kindly as if wishing he could help in some way. Betimes he tried to talk to her.
“Colonel Tygart mentioned a large party needed ferrying,” Cyrus spoke into the silence. “Seems they’ve all got Kentucke fever.”
“Best leave out then.” Ross looked at Tessa as she finished her crust of blackened bread. “Care to lend a hand, Sister?”
No one naysayed her going. They abandoned the table, taking the well-worn path to the river. Ross, usually chattering like a squirrel, seemed sunk in tongue-tied reflection.
“Something the matter with Keturah?” he asked in time, clearly uneasy about such matters.
“Nothing but returning to the place that bore her and finding it empty,” she replied a bit testily, as angry with the circumstance as with Jasper. “And having to reside with a hostile instead.”
“Something’s about to boil over, aye.” Ross blew out a breath. “You think Jasper might—”
“Hatred clouds a man’s mind. Makes him do things he’ll soon regret.”
“Maybe you should talk to Colonel Tygart. I’ve seen the way he regards you. It’s clear he respects what you have to say.”
“If Tygart is half the man I think he is, he doesn’t need telling.” Though Ross’s words warmed her, she had no desire to dwell on the colonel. “Saw you dancing with that Parker girl at the frolic.”
“Her pa won’t let her out of his sight.”
“Stands to reason. She’s his only daughter.” Head down, she watched where she stepped. Just yesterday Lemuel had killed a copper snake, the largest they’d ever seen.
Ross shouldered his gun. “Tired of old Hester trying to foist you on Colonel Tygart?”
“He needs none of Hester’s help, able as he is in any matter.”
“He sure beat all our britches at the dice game.” Ross grinned. “I ain’t seen Cyrus so het up since Schoolcraft bested him shooting.”
They emerged onto the riverbank, where the ferry house, always a mournful sight as it marked Pa’s passing, stood stalwart. The ferry rested partly on the bank, the green water lapping at one end edged with a lacy ruffle from the west wind. Tessa exchanged her rifle for a setting pole, as did Ross, both looking east to the buffalo trail becoming wide enough for wagons.
Already overwarm, Tessa dipped a sun-browned foot in the cold water. “Hear any more about those Kentucke-bound folks?”
“Nary a word. Cyrus is a bit sparse with details.”
Kneeling, she set down her pole and splashed cold water on her blistered hands. Already the rash was creeping across her arms and reddening her neck.
“Best allow Ma a look,” Ross said, slapping at a mosquito. “Reckon they’re plagued with poison vine and insects in the city?”
She made no reply, ears tuned to the expected pack train, the clamor of harness and horses. But ’twas a lone rider, one who made her completely forget her enflamed skin. For such a powerfully built man, his horse was smallish, more Indian pony about fifteen hands high, but nonetheless a sturdy, dun-colored stallion with black points.
Ross called out a greeting. Tessa stayed silent, pleasure edging out surprise. This was the colonel’s first visit to the ferry that she knew of. He dismounted, never at a loss for words, she was learning, though he often spoke only a pointed few.
“Morning,” he greeted them, removing his felt hat. Sweat had run riot with his hair, amassing it into inky wisps and waves beneath the brim. He raked it back with a quick hand.
She took care not to stare. ’Twas unmaidenly, Hester oft scolded. But what a sight he made, standing in a shaft of sunlight that called out every single angle of him.
“First passenger of the day?” Clay queried.
“First, aye, sir,” Ross replied with a grin. “And no ferrying fee either.”
“Obliged. You lend a hand often?” Clay pinned Tessa with a gaze that left no question as to how he felt about the matter.
“I’m no town-bred miss, mind you.”
Ross’s grin faded to mortification. “Best take care not to sass the colonel, Sister.”
Clay merely chuckled, and she began loosening the mooring lines. He helped Ross position the horse atop the boat’s cleated bottom, then reached for her setting pole like he was born to it. She startled slightly at the touch of his hands on hers.
“Allow me,” he said. At her amusement, he added, “Rather, give me the pole. Betimes my parlor manners follow me onto the frontier.”
She curtsied in reply, earning his appreciative wink. When he turned his back to her, she blew out a silent sigh. Just when she had him boxed up in her thoughts, contained to a quiet corner, out he’d spring again and surprise her, leaving her topsy-turvy.
They shoved off just as effortlessly as they’d done since Pa was alive. Clay threw the heft of his muscled frame into the crossing, and they reached the west shore in record time, a feat that left Ross wide-eyed.
“Ever lost a passenger or animal?” Clay asked.
“In a sudden squall, aye,” Ross replied. “A sow and a goat but no two-legged folk.”