Washington's Spies Review - By Pat Iacuzzi

Washington’s Spies

The Story of America’s First Spy Ring

Alexander Rose

            I recently joined an American Wars discussion group at my local Barnes and Noble. The group, made up of veterans of more recent wars, and re-enactors of early American wars, is a great outlet for research. And I was happy to find out the first book they were discussing was Washington’s Spies.  

A lot has been written about the heroes of the American Revolution—but few take an in-depth look into the secret world of America’s first spy ring. Certainly little recognition was given to these men who risked their lives for liberty; their belief as strong as the men who fought on the forefront of battle. Spies, if caught, would be hanged by the enemy, and never acknowledged by their own side.    

            Spying, as we know it today….living among the enemy as one of them, gathering secrets, developing codes and seeing information got to the American side, was first developed by the Culper Ring, a group of men led by Abraham Woodhull who used the code name “Samuel Culper Sr.” and Robert Townsend (“Samuel Culper Jr.”). Smart, articulate men hand-picked by Washington, they were the first to break out of the mold where soldiers merely “observed” troop movements from a distance. Instead, they were able to create a convincing “cover” in order to live among the British and collect information, yet faced constant danger should they be discovered.

            This non-fiction narrative had me hooked from the beginning as Rose discussed such incidents as Nathan Hale’s enlistment as one of Washington’s spies, before the development of the Culper Ring. Hale, an idealistic, trusting young man of twenty-one, and acting alone, was quickly captured by the British and hanged. Rose does so well developing insight into Hale’s character from his personal letters and journals, I almost hoped what we’d learned in our history books about his fate wasn’t true—that he had somehow survived.

            The only problem I saw with this book was a hint, perhaps, of a rather liberal or revisionist attitude in his style of writing. There are certain adjectives, adverbs and personal comments he makes about our American heroes that, if you research their personal papers, you will find the true reasons for their actions. Example: “For political cover, Washington passed the buck to Congress; if there were to be fallout in later years, the general needed to be able to claim he was following the directions of the nation’s elected representatives.”

Washington wasn’t “passing the buck” as a personal cover. Nor it seems would he be the type to say “I was just following orders”. He was a man of leadership and integrity, who applied to a newly-created Congress for aid in getting supplies and report to the people, through their elected representatives. He also could not say should there be “fallout in later years”…

For by applying to the members of Congress as often as he did, Washington not only endangered himself but all of them.  

Rose also leaves out mention of female spies, only naming women as spouses of the agents. And there were female spies during the American Revolution, including Sally Townsend, sister of Robert Townsend who was able to intercept a message to John Andre about the attack on West Point.

Though it was made into the AMC series “Turn”, my rating: 4 stars.           

Heroes of History - By Pat Iacuzzi

Heroes of History

By Pat Iacuzzi

As a public school teacher, now retired, I’m always on the look-out for a gift of knowledge to pass on, and this was an absolutely fantastic find! So I thought I’d post this information about a Wall Builders e-mail I received (an informative Christian site about American historical events, the Constitution, and early American leaders) promoting a wonderful series for youth ages nine and up. Some of you, especially mothers of home-schooled children might already be familiar with these titles, (total: 25 books in all, five to a group) a series of biographies of well-known Americans, written by Janet and Geoff Benge and published by YWAM Publishing. Though they may be written for children and young adults, I believe they could be a great research tool for adults as well, especially about the lesser-known, but significant names in American history.

(image from Amazon.com)

The biographies about famous Americans series includes books one through twenty in sets of five; another set, 6-10 about Christian heroes, names that may be unfamiliar to many, and something you may no longer find in public schools. These books are an opportunity for parents or grandparents to offer family members exciting glimpses into the lives of our most notable Americans of the past. My rating: 5 Stars! 

Besides Amazon, these sets can be ordered on the YWAC Publishing site: 

https://www.ywampublishing.com/

    

Example Gift Set Books 6-10 includes:
Eric Liddell: Something Greater Than Gold
William Carey: Obliged to Go
George Muller: The Guardian of Bristol's Orphans
Jim Elliot: One Great Purpose
Mary Slessor: Forward into Calabar

CFP: Note, this Eric Liddell set is also available in audiobook through CBD.

Drums Along the Mohawk, Reviewed by Pat Iacuzzi

Drums Along the Mohawk DVD Cover

Drums Along the Mohawk

            Producer: Darryl F. Zanuck—20^th Century Fox 1939
            Director: John Ford
            Stars: Henry Fonda, Claudette Colbert

For the next few months, I’d like to review movies based on historical eighteenth century colonial settings. One of the reasons I’ve chosen these films is that many of us (including myself!) have used them as a quick alternative for researching information on the period. I’ve found this could be a major mistake—and while we may find these stories entertaining, I strongly advise you to investigate the facts of certain historical events and characters through well-researched non-fictional works. Another reason I’ve chosen to review this film genre is because there are so few American historicals made in Hollywood today.
            Drums Along the Mohawk is a favorite of mine because I read the book, a work of fiction, by Walter D. Edmonds in middle school. Based on a major event in the valley (where I grew up) I was well-acquainted with locations and descendents of people mentioned in the book, like Schuyler, Petrie, Bellinger, and Helmer, to name a few. So I felt an instant connection with the story.
            Newly-weds Gil (Fonda) and Lana (Colbert) Martin move out to the rich and fertile land of  Mohawk Valley frontier, a “breadbasket” of the colonies, to build a home and begin their new life.
            Most of this story revolves around the couple as they try to establish a family and home while confronted by danger and unrest caused by Tories (British sympathizers) and their Iroquois Indian allies. Under the threat of constant attack, Gil and Lana and other settlers must survive by escaping to Fort Herkimer in German Flatts.
            A crisis arises when the men of the settlement are forced to  defend their homes against St. Leger’s army coming from the west. The colonists meet the British forces and Indians at Oriskany Creek, on August 6, 1777. Though the patriots, led by General Nicholas Herkimer, lose nearly eight hundred men, the largest loss in the American Revolution, they do win the battle, driving St. Leger back toward Canada. Herkimer, correctly portrayed in the film, is wounded and soon dies.
Another incident occurs when Gil Martin makes a run to save his wife and other settlers trapped in Fort Herkimer and low on ammunition. He is chased by a fleet-footed Mohawk scouting party, but manages to out-run them, arriving at Fort Dayton in time to get help and save the settlers.
This is another true incident, but the actual run was made by Adam Helmer, in September of 1778. He ran thirty miles ahead of an Iroquois and Tory raiding party led by Chief Joseph Brant, to warn the people of the valley to take shelter at Fort Dayton. Though Edmonds stayed true to the actual event, the character was changed for the movie version.      

My rating for this movie: 4 out of 5 stars. Enjoyable, “clean”, and for the most part well done as far as story line goes. Acting is good; strongly “patriotic” considering problems with Germany and looming World War.

GIVEAWAY: Carrie will be giving away a gently used copy of the DVD to a person who responds to this post PLUS attends the CQ Tea Party on Friday.

Have you ever seen this movie?  What did you think?
 

By: Pat Iacuzzi

www.patiacuzzi.com

"We the People" - Nonfiction Book Review by Pat Iacuzzi

We the People

A Portrait of the Life and Times of the Revolution

Author: Robert Aldace Wood

Publisher: Hallmark Crown Editions – 1975

            “Did the men who gathered in Philadelphia in the September of 1774 taste liberty on the wind and see, along with the incipient change in the seasons, a turning point for their own land? As the bell in old Christ church summoned them to destiny …”

            Published for the celebration of our nation’s Bicentennial this lovely edition boasts beautiful paintings of notable people and events by artists of the time, including a full page spread of King George III and his family. Richly illustrated with photos of artifacts (think Early American Life magazine) it covers such topics as women in colonial times, marriage and family life, and even devotes a couple of pages to medicine and the healing arts.

            I was also gratified to find an entire chapter devoted to the influence that different faiths and the Great Awakening had on American revolutionary thought, and beautiful accompanying photos of early churches, many still in use, from New England through the South.

“The Great Awakening at mid-century was the first universal, spontaneous movement in the history of the American people. It swept irresistibly from town to town, leaving in its wake, free-lance ministries, revulsion for formalism and pedantry and a new-found rapport between the colonies.”    

I’d hazard a guess from this, that since politics can be so divisive, the Great Awakening did more to unify the colonies early on than any other movement.   

    

            “When the Revolution came, England wanted to know “who are those upstart rebels?” Edmund Burke told Parliament that Americans were chiefly Dissenters from the Church of England, accustomed to the freest discussion of all religious questions and extreme individualism. He said the right of private judgment in spiritual matters, the right to elect and dismiss religious leaders, had been carried over into American politics. Edmund Burke was right.”  

This book is not only interesting to read for enjoyment, but offers much for research into the daily life and thought of people of the times. If you look for this book on Amazon or EBay--search under the name of the author, otherwise you will be deluged with literally hundreds of "We the People" titles.
Pat Iacuzzi ~ my rating: 5 stars 

Visiting our Past

 

Visiting Our Past – America’s Historylands

a book recommendation by Pat Iacuzzi

 

            “A land of plenty, and plenty of it. Born amid bounty, America grew up in the age of wondrous new machines made for abundance—they reaped it quicker, spread it around, created more and the hunger for more. From the fertile wilderness sprouted the giant of the Industrial Revolution.”

            Several years ago I wandered through a favorite spot—my public library bookstore where used books are donated and sold for a pittance (usually .50—5.00) depending on size and condition. Beautiful books. Fiction, non-fiction, craft books, hard cover, soft cover…

It’s where I found Visiting Our Past – America’s Historylands published by the National Geographic Society. Need I say more? Like its magazine namesake, this coffee-table, hardcover version contains impeccable research text on America ’s past from the conquistadors, to earliest new world settlements such as Jamestown, Plymouth, and Williamsburg, to the industrialized Gilded Age. And like the magazine, this book is richly illustrated on every page with detailed photos by staff photographers.

If you enjoy discovering more about America’s history, take a virtual tour of life in forts, settlements, early American homes, or people working and enjoying leisurely pursuits, this well-written and illustrated book is a treasure.          

Waterways of War Reviewed by Pat Iacuzzi

Waterways of War 

The Struggle for Empire 1754 -1763

Authors: Steve Benson & Ron Toelke

Publisher: Seaway Trail Inc.

What a book!

In August of 2012, Deb Marvin and I took a short vacation/research trip to Sacket’s Harbor, N.Y. to glean information, visit museums and see reenactments for the War of 1812, and to brainstorm ideas for books set in that time period. When we stopped into one of the beautiful museum homes in the village, I’d wandered into the gift shop and the cover of this book caught my eye. I don’t know why I’m drawn to this particular time period—but I suspect it has something to do with Last of the Mohicans by James Fenimore Cooper, a book I read as a child, and seeing the movie of the same name with Daniel Day Lewis ;).

I’d always enjoyed reading about the powerful and well-documented American Revolution, but I sought an earlier time; something more rugged and mysterious. The French and Indian War (considered the Seven Years War in Europe) seemed more deeply shrouded in the mists of time, much like the mists rising above the waters on the book’s cover painting, Departure at Daybreak by Robert Griffing (Fort Niagara 1769).

This book takes us down three paths to meet with exciting events in the War. The Great Lakes Seaway Trail, which hi-lights battles, and people of note, by way of Fort de la Presentation, Old Fort Niagara, Fort de la Presque Isle (Pennsylvania) and more. Don’t you love the French names?

From there we swing through central New York along the Revolutionary Byway (a tip of the hat to the American Revolution), to visit Fort Stanwix of the battle of Oriskany fame, near Rome, N.Y., further along, the home of Sir William Johnson, Johnson Hall State Historic site, and finally the beautiful Schenectady Stockade Historic District.

In the Lakes to Locks Passage chapters you’ll discover fascinating details about such places as Fort Edward and Rogers’ Island, where Rogers’ Rangers, the King’s Special Forces, whose guerrilla war tactics are practiced by our military’s special forces today, were stationed. Visit Fort William Henry of Last of the Mohicans fame, the Lake George shipwrecks, Crown Point Historic Site and much more.

Generously illustrated by Don Troiani (an illustrator who accurately depicts people from the early American time period) and other artists, you’ll find prints, maps and paintings of figures wearing authentically detailed period clothing and uniforms.     

I’ve only reviewed non-fiction books I felt deserved between four and five star ratings (five being the best). Hopefully they will take you to places you’d like to visit, and are historically accurate, enjoyable and beneficial for any research you might need. My rating for this book: Five Stars    

New Jersey Blues - Private, 1758 by Don Troiani

A Forted Frontier Holiday: Finale

While harvesting, the German settlement near New Market, Virginia receive warning of an impending attack by French and Indians war parties. They flee to a quickly cobbled refuge, Fort Providence—for they will surely need to rely on God’s provision. The forted colonials long to celebrate the holidays and await the arrival of visitors.

Today is the CONCLUSION of A Forted Frontier Holiday!

Part 1 - Inside Fort Providence by Carrie Fancett Pagels

Part 2 - A Providential Proposal by Susan Craft

Part 3 - Landlocked by Carla Olson Gade

Part 4 - Preserve My Life From Fear by Elaine Marie Cooper

Part 5 - A Gift from Buckskin Samson by Kathleen Maher

Part 6 - Narrow Passage by Pat Iacuzzi

Part 7 - Through the Storm by Lynn Squire

Part 8 - Christmastide by Carrie Fancett Pagels

Part 9 - Amish Snow by Kelly Long

Part 10 - Epiphany! by Dina Sleiman

(Kathleen Maher)

            A soft whicker and a warm breath preceded a nudge to Buckskin Samson's arm. He knew exactly who it was, U’sti, or “Little One,” and turning to the bay foal standing at his side, he rubbed the broad white path between its eyes, down to the slip of its pink nose. The rascally colt lipped at his fingers and turned sideways, flicking its tail and kicking up its back legs before darting away to its mother.  A throaty chuckle rumbled from him and he returned to his work at hand, crafting the deer hide into a pair of soft suede gloves.

Many days had passed since he had joined the fort with the Rousches. The kind family doted on their new addition, a girl born in the winter just like his promising young colt. Appreciation for their acceptance and welcome, as well as a sense of longing, swelled within him at every thought of the hardy German and his French wife. Their friendship meant a great deal, but the desire for family dogged him with the relentless energy of their many children. He had much for which to thank Great Jhezoos, not the least of which included surviving a harsh winter. But he had a new request, too.

 Several parties had joined their number in that time—soldiers, guides, travelers, couples, families. And, he hadn’t failed to notice, a few blushing maidens. He looked at the pretty doeskin gauntlets as he worked, and smiled with a glimmer of ambition rising within him. He had noticed a fair-haired a-wo-du-hi a-ta—a beautiful young lady, who had only scraps of old rags to protect her hands from the cold. If the good Lord would smile on Him again, perhaps these gloves would win him the favor of this young beauty, and soon, he would have a family of his own. 

***
(by Pat Iacuzzi, Dedicated to my Mom, Anna)

            You may need to make decisions for yourself soon …

Something Hannah Maclaren had never done in her entire life, for most of the choices controlling her existence had been made for her by someone else. She rubbed the throbbing scar at her wrist—and some of those decisions had been meted out to her in thoughtless and violent ways. From the time she was taken captive by the Shawnee, to the time they’d traded her north to the Seneca and finally exchanged in a captives’ trade as an indentured servant to a German family, Hannah had not made one decision concerning her own life or how she would live it. But since she’d become a bondservant to the Yosts, the elderly couple had treated her tenderly these four years past, more like a daughter than a servant, and with their guidance, her faith in the Lord and her self-reliance had grown. I thankest Thee O Lord, for placing me in their care.  

A bleak winter sun bathed the log walls of Fort Providence in a wash of sepia light. Hannah shivered in the bracing January air and lifted the hem of her simple blue linen frock, taking care against the dust that puffed up as she broadened her stride to cross the fort’s parade ground. Her Mistress had given her the dress for Christmas, even as the woman’s thoughts still must have dwelt on her husband’s last days. But Hannah had nothing to give Mütter Yost in return. Nothing to ease her pain or show her how much Hannah loved her.

Master Yost had passed away shortly after they’d taken shelter in the fort. Hannah’s heart swelled at the bittersweet memory, and she swallowed, holding back the sting of tears in the corner of her eyes. For on his deathbed, Master Yost had released Hannah from her contract. She was no longer a bondservant. She was free. And with that freedom Hannah experienced an overwhelming sense of fear and wonder. And therein lay her dilemma—the call to face responsibilities and make decisions for herself.

She shifted the basket of vegetables the generous Mistress Rousch had given her to her other hand and pushed open the plank door of the cabin she shared with Mütter Yost. ’Twas one of several built for settlers’ protection within the fort’s confines. The bottom of the door scraped an arc across the dirt floor as she entered the cabin’s shadowy interior. Mütter sat rocking, a cup of tea in her mitted hands, a broad smile on her face. “We have a guest, child.”

A broad-shouldered figure, his arm draped against the fireplace mantel turned to her, the half-light from the fire dancing over his features.

“LaLoup?” The basket fell from Hannah’s hand, and turnips bounced and scattered along the floor. She ran to him and the scout gathered her in his arms. Hannah closed her eyes as he pressed his cheek against her hair and she inhaled the fresh scents of leather and pine that surrounded him.

He took a step back, held her hands in his warm grip and scoured her with his green-eyed gaze. “Well my (white loon) are you ready to become my bride?”

Almost automatically, Hannah turned to Mütter Yost for her word of direction. What should she do? Somehow she could not start a new life without the acknowledging the old. And she would not leave her Mistress to fend for herself. Not after all she had

meant to Hannah.

The woman took a sip of her tea and with a shaky hand, carefully set it down. She looked up at Hannah, her blue eyes misty. “There is still the cabin and land my husband intended to farm northwest of the Rousch acreage. It awaits a new family as I will have no use for it now, liebschen.”

Hannah knelt before her and took the old woman’s knotted hands in her own. She was certain now what God would have her do. Knowing His Word made her decision so much clearer, so much easier. “Mutter Yost, do you remember what you taught me? When you read to me the story of Ruth? “….Entreat me not to leave you, or to return from following after you: for where you go, I will go; and where you lodge, I will lodge: your people shall be my people, and your God my God.” Hannah placed the woman’s hand against her cheek. It was cold and rough. “I cannot leave you behind. I want you to come with us. I will care for you as you cared for me.”

She rose and turned to LaLoup. Hannah caught the soft shine of the brushed silver cross glistening against the smooth tan of his chest. It was then she knew trust; that his commitment to her was as strong as his belief in his Savior. He nodded and smiled.

 “I love you, LaLoup …and would be honored to be your wife.” Hannah rested her head against his hard chest, and heard the beating of his heart in rhythm with hers. It seemed as if God had placed him in her life like a bulwark, in times of trial and of blessings.     

She felt a sense of peace, like a warm blanket envelope them. 

***

(By Carrie Fancett Pagels  Dedicated to Ruby Evelyn Skidmore Fancett, descendant of the real life Johan and Susannah Rousch, who spent a season or more in Holman Fort, Shenandoah Valley.)

The long building that served as barracks rattled with each gust of wind outside. Icy sleet pelted the wooden structure drumming a tattoo in Johan Rousch’s head as he stared at their latest newcomer.

“So we are free to return home?” He ran a hand back through his hair. Suzanne would be delighted, as would the children. As for himself, he would no longer have the easy cameraderie of the other men inside the fort.

            The young man who’d surveyed their land, years earlier, stood before him in military uniform. “Governor Dinwiddie has sent me to Pennsylvania for discussions with the French. And we believe, based on our scouts’ reports…”  The lieutenant glanced from William Christy to Shadrach Clark, both men attired in buckskins, standing just inside the barracks building. LaLoup entered through the center door, chill air accompanying him and stirring the fire.  He nodded at Johan and the other scouts but fixed a wary gaze on their newcomer.

            “No sign of continued activity.” Colonel Christy, dressed in uniform, shifted and tugged at his collar. “But I shall leave it at your discretion.  May be easier for the people to pool their resources inside Fort Providence and return home come spring.”

            Johan would miss his friends’ company.  “Ja, but already the women, my own included, long to be home.  And we have many travelers here whose journeys have been interrupted—they must be allowed to go on their way.”           

“We will join with Lt. Washington and his Virginians and follow him into Pennsylvania.” Christy’s crisp tone held a warning.

            Johan swallowed.  He’d left the Palatinate, a land torn by war—had lost all his older brothers due to invasions from the French.  Now, in this new land, he had the sensation of standing on a precipice, one which could affect his entire family and his friends. 

            The young officer nodded. “I appreciate the company, colonel.  Shall you return to your home in Philadelphia, then, after my meeting with the French envoys?”

            William Christy’s dark gaze fixed on Johan’s former surveyor.  The two men had much in common, yet by appearance one would never guess.  Young George Washington, dressed spotlessly, despite his long travel, gave the air of one born unto nobility.  Yet it was Christy’s father who served in parliament and held the title of Lord. And the grandson, dressed in buckskins, with a long rifle propped nearby, appeared sprung from the very woods of Virginia. 

            The two scouts exchanged a glance. Shad caught Johan’s eye.

            “Ja, you wish to say something?”

            “We’ll take our leave now, if’n you don’t mind—we’ll need our rest.” His lips curved into a disdainful smile, his eyelids half lowered. “Mighty good to see you again, Johan. I’ll be headin’ north as soon as this storm ceases.”

            Washington cocked his head at the men. “Under whose order?”

            “We don’t take orders.” William’s words were accompanied by the thump of his rifle on the wooden floor of the barracks.

            The lieutenant flinched. “You are not attached to a unit?”

            Shad sniffed loudly. “Our own unit. We’re scouts—not army nor militia.”

            Colonel Christy gave a short laugh. “Perhaps you are asking who is securing their services.  I am.  My wife still remains with a rebel tribe of Shawnee and Shad and William will be scouting for her.”

            The young officer’s face, already pale, blanched further. “Your wife, sir?”

            “Yes. And with word coming that many branches of the tribes begin to gather, I wish to ascertain whether she wishes to yet remain among the rebels.”

            “Remain?” Washington’s word came out as a croak. “Do you mean she willingly accompanied them.”

            “Exactly.”  Christy winked. “But perhaps she’s changed her mind by now.”

            George lost some of his authoritative veneer which accosted by Christy’s revelation.  Johan chuckled. “Don’t worry, lieutenant, she lived among the Indians her entire life.”

            Color returned to Washington’s face.  “I confess I had no idea. My pardons.”

            Christy held up a hand. “No need. What of you, LaLoup?”

            The big scout grinned and affixed his gaze on Johan. “I believe after I am wed I will become Mr. Rousch’s neighbor. I am about to take up farming.”

            Shad lifted LaLoup into a bear hug and once he released him, William shook the soon-to-be-married scout’s hand.

            “I wonder if I surveyed that land, too?” Lt. George Washington whispered into Johan’s ear.

            Johan drew back and the two men grinned at each other. He clasped the younger man’s hand. “Ja, probably so—but I have a feeling you are beginning a new stage in your life.  May God bless and keep you.  And now, I go to check on my wife and new baby—a girl, something new for me, too!”

The End

We sincerely hope our readers have enjoyed our anthology!  Many blessings in the year ahead!!!

           

           

           

            

Part 6, A Forted Frontier Holiday: Narrow Passage by Pat Iacuzzi

While harvesting, the German settlement near New Market, Virginia receive warning of an impending attack by French and Indians war parties. They flee to a quickly cobbled refuge, Fort Providence—for they will surely need to rely on God’s Provision. The forted colonials long to celebrate the holidays and await the arrival of visitors.

Each CQ contributor to this serial will bring their characters into the fort from throughout colonial America. Join us for A Forted Frontier Holiday each Monday on CQ for the next two months!

Part 1 - Inside Fort Providence by Carrie Fancett Pagels
Part 2 - A Providential Proposal by Susan Craft
Part 3 - Landlocked by Carla Olson Gade
Part 4 - Preserve my Life From Fear by Elaine Marie Cooper
Part 5 - A Gift from Buckskin Samson by Kathleen L. Maher

Part 6 - Narrow Passage by Pat Iaccuzzi

“I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress,
my God in whom I trust.” Psalm 91:2
(Dedicated to our American Veterans)

Shenandoah Valley

December, 1753

            Could they trust him?

Surely Colonel Christy would not have sent a Shawnee warrior as their escort … Or had this man ambushed their guide and planned to lead them into a trap?

Hannah Maclaren eyed the scout’s strong profile etched against the iron-gray sky. Dressed in buckskin, he carried a long rifle, and wore his straight black hair beneath a colorful band. He had a war club strapped to his side, fashioned from a gun stock with the barrel shortened for a handle, a lethal-looking blade protruding from its stock … and deadly in a skilled warrior’s hands.

Her thoughts turbulent as the rapids in nearby Narrow Passage Creek, she quickly dropped her gaze, fearful of making eye contact with him Trembling, Hannah drew her worn cloak close against December’s frigid bite. 

“I am Antoine LaLoup, Monsieur Yost. To take you and the ladies to Fort

Providence.”

LaLoup? …Wolf. Certainly an apt term for him. Hannah frowned. Mayhap he was a scout after all—for the enemy French. Apparently she and Mistress Yost held little interest for the man, for he had barely acknowledged them. LaLoup leaned across his saddle and waited patiently, like a mountain lion watching his prey, as Harlan Yost mounted his horse for their journey.

The farmer muttered a reply, gathered his reins and moved alongside his wife. The ailing Yost gave his lady a reassuring smile. Hannah had often seen that warm look pass between the two. ’Twas like Da’s loving expression when he’d looked upon Mother’s countenance. And one of the last things Hannah remembered before she’d lost her parents in the Shawnee raid on her home. Thankfully, their beloved memories had not vanished in the smoke of countless Indian camp fires while she remained captive among them.

Hannah pressed a hand to her empty stomach. She’d not eaten much breakfast. Her uncertainty over this dangerous leg of their journey had stifled her appetite, and after a fleeting glimpse of the scout, her fears grew. He looked every inch like an ally to the enemy French—a Shawnee warrior, and a people she’d lived among for eight years.

Mistress Yost drew up next to Hannah and gave her arm a comforting pat. “Have no fear, child. The Lord will see us through,” she said, her smile serene. “A steadfast love is God’s true gift, my dear. No matter what occurs, our love for one another as a family—and His for us—remain faithful. And though we may be parted, we will always have His grace.” Hannah considered her words in quiet wonder. Truly, the couple had lost all, yet their love and compassion for Hannah and each other had never wavered.

As they moved down the Great Wagon Trail, Hannah turned for a last look at the Inn at Narrow Passage, a last remnant of civilization before they reached the fort. Through one of its windows, she saw a fire blazing in the hearth and wished she sat near its warmth with a cup of tea and a biscuit at hand. A vaporous breath escaped her and hung in the cold morning air as she gave a shaky sigh and rubbed her arms beneath her cloak. She looked ahead toward the trail, where dark, low-lying clouds threatened snow.

After a half hour of slow progress along the muddy road, the scout suddenly veered southeast toward thickening woods. Forced to ride single file as they entered onto a narrow forest path, Hannah fell in place behind the scout, Master and Mistress Yost behind her. Hannah had the sudden urge to flee, but staunched the desire. She’d never be able to outrun the scout should he come after her. Chills scurried down Hannah’s back. She turned to see how the Yosts fared. They still conversed quietly, mayhap unaware of the danger that grew the deeper they ventured into the darkness of the forest. 

When the trail widened a bit, Hannah gathered her courage and urged her mount forward, its hooves crunching through dead leaves hardened by frost. She drew up to the flank of the scout’s bay. “LaLoup, why have we left the wagon road?”

His broad shoulders stiffened.

“Did you not hear me, LaLoup?”

“This is a short cut, Mademoiselle. So we will have no need to camp out tonight. Make the fort by sundown.”

Hannah shuddered. Indeed, we will have no need of a camp tonight if we are dead, sir.

She glanced back at her Master and Mistress again, the childless couple she’d served for the past four years. Hannah closed her eyes against the hot sting of tears.

           Seized from her family, stolen from the Shawnee, and sold to the Seneca by French fur traders. Would she also be parted from the Yosts? Hannah anxiously combed the woods for movement. Well, if they perished this day, at least they would be together. Hannah closed her eyes and released a wavering breath. Nothing was worse than separation.

Mistress Yost came alongside once more and inclined her head. “You are still anxious my dear?”

Aye, it still troubled Hannah that the stark red of the woman’s cardinal cloak made her a good target in the forest gloom. Hannah bit her lip, and tried to dismiss the dreadful notion. “I was… I was merely thinking of the fraktur, Mistress. The one you asked me to make up as a gift for Mistress Rousch. Mayhap I should have used the blue thread for the bird’s wings instead of the red—”

“Don’t fret so. ’Tis a lovely piece of stitching and will serve as a fine Christmas gift for Suzanne. She will be pleased to receive it, I’m sure. And when the new babe arrives, be it a son or daughter, you may add the name and date.” Looking weary, Mistress shifted in her saddle. “I thank you for your hours of work on it, Hannah. My eyes are not what they used to be.” When Master Yost doubled over with a rattling cough, the woman returned to her husband, her mouth tight with concern.

Hannah buried her chin in the depths of her threadbare woolen cloak. After departure from an uneasy existence in the Mohawk Valley, the Yosts had thought to settle close to their friends, the Rousches. Yet here they faced the same peril they’d left behind. Hannah scrubbed her forehead with her fingertips. Fort Providence offered them a semblance safety. If they reached the fort. But they still had some hours to go. Hannah scanned the ominous clouds closing in above her. A storm was brewing. If a war party didn’t get them, the weather might. 

The scout rode in silence, his dark hair blanketing his broad shoulders, his spine as straight as a Shawnee spear. Hannah toyed with her reins and recalled the burn of prisoner’s bonds drawing tight around her wrists as she was dragged behind her Indian captors.  

As they rode deeper into the leafless woods, trees like seared bones towered over them. A few brittle leaves still clung to branches, trying to gain sustenance where there was none. Thorn bushes tore at Hannah’s dress as she passed by. She searched the scattered evergreens that offered cover for anyone who might wish to do them harm. Her nerves continued to unravel like the hem of her skirts the further they went. Hannah once more sidled her mount close to the scout. “Do you not think ’tis more dangerous to take this path rather than the open road? I am somewhat familiar with tracking and know the horses will leave a trail more easily followed here. And the underbrush serves well as cover for a Shawnee war party.”

He turned, snaring her with his gaze. A tiny smile line dented one side of the scout’s thin mouth. “We are safe, mademoiselle. We are passing through an Indian burial ground. Those living—or dead—will not harm you.”  

Hannah stifled a gasp. ’Twas not his words that sent a tiny shock through her, but his eyes. Pale green eyes. She’d once known a Shawnee with green eyes … a memory of a young boy’s face came rushing back. LaLoup’s features had hardened into those of a fiercely handsome man, his nose arrow-straight, his jaw grown strong. His slightly tilted green eyes, no doubt inherited from his French father, reminded Hannah of his cunning namesake—the wolf. When his thin mouth parted in a smile—as it did now—a flash of white teeth shown against his rose-tan complexion.    

“Do you know me now, mademoiselle?”

“M'way-oh-wah —for you were known as Wolf among the Shawnee too. You are the boy who brought me food and gifts.” The young woman held her hands close to the campfire he had built. “When my sister and I lived there with your people.”

“And how did you learn to track, mademoiselle?”

“You taught me,” she said, her tone soft.

After a long silence she spoke again, but this time bitterness tainted her voice. “And after many years, French traders—one of them, your father—took me from my sister and the Shawnee, and sold me north to the Seneca. I lived with them three years.” A tear shimmered on her cheek as Hannah stared into the crackling flames. 

LaLoup’s jaw tightened and he closed his eyes at her words, as her pain became his. “And you are no longer a Seneca woman?”

“The Yosts bought me from them, and according to law I must serve them for seven years as a bondservant, though they would have me freed sooner. But I’m grateful, for they treat me as their own.” Her hair fell to her waist, glistening like spun gold in the firelight. She drew up her legs and hugged them, resting her chin on her knees. “But Master Yost…”  Hannah’s worried gaze sought the old man huddled in the blanket LaLoup had provided.

The scout rose, removed a pouch from the pack horse and gave it to the Yosts.

After they’d expressed their thanks for the food, LaLoup returned to Hannah’s side. As he reached for another bag nearby, the brushed silver cross he wore around his neck swung free from his leather shirt. Hannah’s eyes widened. “You are a follower of the Christ?”

“Oui.” LaLoup withdrew a handful of pemmican and offered it to her. “Are you hungry?”

Reflection from the flames danced over her delicate features. Hannah hesitated then took the food as her blue eyes, like the sky on a fine day, searched his. “The berries … this food is served only at wedding feasts …”

“You remember when we played as children—?”

She nodded. Her cheeks reddened, and she dropped her gaze.  

“Waw-paw-wa-Qua,” he said, using her Indian name. “White Loon. You were rightly named, for I have been haunted by your cries in my sleep, and taken many trails in search of you.” He reached over and laced his fingers in hers. “Now I have found you.”

A hearty laugh erupted from a tall blond man, fists on his hips, standing just outside the gates of the fort. Shad Clark clutched LaLoup’s hand and gave it a hearty shake. “’Tis good to see you.”

“And you, brother.” LaLoup dismounted. “Was your hunt a success?”

Clark grinned as he cast a glance toward Hannah. “Aye. As was yours, I see…”

LaLoup glared at Clark. “She is spoken for, mon ami.”

The two scouts led the way up the path, and the gates of Fort Providence swung open. Hannah and the Yosts followed them inside the stockade’s safe confines. 

As Yost moved to assist his wife, LaLoup strode over to Hannah’s horse. He reached up to help her dismount, and without hesitation, she slid into his outstretched arms. LaLoup grasped her waist, his lips brushing against her hair. A small tremor claimed her and Hannah gripped his shoulders for support, felt his muscular warmth through the smooth buckskin shirt. He seemed reluctant to release her.      

People who’d waited to greet the travelers parted to make way for a woman to step forward. She was shorter than Hannah, but with the same clear blue eyes and pale gold hair… and dressed in Shawnee attire. Hannah froze. “Cathy?” She searched the woman’s face then rushed to embrace her. Hannah’s hot tears dampened her sister’s shoulder. She laughed then. “What a fine Christmas gift! We are together again!

           Oh, Cathy—” She turned to LaLoup “Thank you.”

The scout mounted his horse, his smile lingering.

“Hannah, listen to me.” Hannah turned to her sister as Cathy gripped both of her arms, her expression grave. “I have something to tell you—I must go back after Christmas.”

“Go back? Where?”

“Back home to my husband and son.” Her voice softened. “My Shawnee husband,

Hannah.” Cathy took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Clark and LaLoup will be back in a week to take me home to them.” 

Home? The dusty parade ground of the fort blurred. Oh, no Lord, please… The Yosts stood at a distance with other fort dwellers. She scanned their faces. All seemed to welcome her with smiles.

Hannah blinked and turned. It was then she caught the soft glint of LaLoup’s cross around his neck. He gave her a reassuring look, his green eyes deep as a forest glade flashing in sunlight. Her chest tightened. “You will not stay to celebrate Christmas with us, LaLoup?”

He reached down and gently cradled her cheek in his hand. She covered it with her own. “I will be back soon, Waw-paw-wa-Qua. Clark and I must go and hunt game for the fort.” His smile was tender. “I will be celebrating the birth of Jesus with you in my heart.” The scout’s gaze held her like a tether. “And remember you partook of the wedding feast from my hand.”
          The scout wheeled his horse around and rode out of the stockade as the gates closed behind him.

End of  Part 6. Please join us next Monday, Dec. 17th for the next installment of A Forted Frontier Holiday: A Colonial American Fiction Anthology. Lynn Squire will continue the serial.
GIVEAWAY: A copy of MaryLu Tyndall's "Veil of Pearls" (Carrie's favorite book of 2012!) for which Pat made a beautiful custom doll for MaryLu! Pat is an artist as well as a writer.  Her dolls are sold in museums throughout the United States. Winner announced on December 24th during the Christmastide serial presentation by Carrie Fancett Pagels and those contributors through that date.
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Writer and artist working on a colonial novel set in the Mohawk Valley. Her American Historical Christian Fiction blog is a sampler of faith, folklore, and fiction. 

 

MaryLu Tyndall Veil of Pearls Launch Soiree - A Charleston "Event"

1812 Charleston

A Charleston "event" with the cream of society.

Welcome to the Shaftesbury soiree!  There shall be dinner and dancing and plenty of refreshments as well as good conversation with the Charleston elite.  Of course the event is by invitation only and only the best of Charleston have been invited. For instance, I hear the handsome Rutledge brothers are coming all the way from their plantation. I do hear that the younger son, Morgan, is bringing a surprise guest tonight, a lady who has only recently arrived in Charleston. Oh, I do hope her family is well placed and she has good connections. I would hate to have a mere commoner among us. But then again, Morgan has impeccable taste so I'm quite sure the lady measures up. Even so, I have heard rumors there will be those who do not belong to our society trying to sneak into the party. Interlopers!  So, let's do be on the lookout.

So, do come in and join the festivities!  Have some strawberry cake and basil lemonade!

        

Hot ham biscuits!

One must have shrimp when in Charleston!

And wear your favorite gown!!

Regency gown c. 1810 that you will see Gwyneth Fairchild in! Inspired by the styles of the Orient

This is the gown Lilyan Cameron wore for her wedding to the dashing Captain Nicholas Xanthakos.  It and the mantilla were loaned to her by the other camp followers of General Francis Marion's partisans. I'm wearing it in honor of the lovely Lilyan, a true patriot and courageous backcountry South Carolina woman. (SFC)

The gown above belongs to Mariah Wenham of Summerville, South Carolina.  It is a tad old fashioned but quite cool for today's stifling weather. (CFP) The pearls are lovely and subtle.  And of course, they don't clash with Adelia's gorgeous black pearls!

Book giveaway:  Leave a comment and your email address for a chance to win either a paperback or an ebook copy of Veil of Pearls.  Pat Iaccuzzi has a lovely doll with a tiny black "pearl" necklace as a giveaway!