Why Turkeys for Thanksgiving?

Thanksgiving is a wonderful day of family and food without all the stress and hubbub of other holidays. We give thanks to God, eat too much turkey, and sink into our couches to enjoy our calorie coma with the family. What could be better?!

But why turkey?

Probably most of us over the age of 30 can remember dressing up with construction paper feathers and pilgrim hats and reenacting the first Thanksgiving in elementary school. We remember that the pilgrims almost starved their first year on this continent for many reasons and that the friendly natives helped them learn which foods were safe to eat in this new land. 

One of those new foods was the turkey. That's right, it's a uniquely American bird. William Bradford wrote in his journal about hunting turkeys in 1621. In a letter to his daughter dated January 26, 1784, Benjamin Franklin penned the virtues of the gobbler. Following President Lincoln's official declaration of a national Thanksgiving holiday in 1863, turkey gained in popularity until it became a national staple for Thanksgiving meals by 1900.

So next Thursday, as you're slicing into a golden-brown bird, remember to thank God for all the blessings He has rained down upon us ... including the indigenous fowl we enjoy so much.

Pegg Thomas - Writing History with a Touch of Humor

As American as Crabapple Jelly

Thanksgiving might be the most tradition-bound holiday for me. There’s no wondering what will be on the table!

We all seem to celebrate the wonders of pumpkin (well, really pumpkin spice) as soon as September rolls around, but apple pie, that’s an all together different subject. We love apple pie all year long!

"American as apple pie." (We'll leave hot dogs for another time...)

While apple pie is always on my holiday table, I'm certain it was not part of the first Thanksgiving feast in its present form. Pumpkin pie would be a no also, even though squash was likely part of that multi-day meal. Because that canned pumpkin you buy is really a squash cultivar, the lines of linking back to 1621 are blurred there…

The truth is that until European settlements became established, the only apple option was the native crabapple.

If you’ve eaten this interesting little fruit, it’s likely been in the form of jelly. Like another tart fruit, serviceberry (Amelanchier spp. for example), jellies and jams and preserves make up for that mouth-puckering taste with the addition of ‘additional’ sugar.

Apples came to the continent in bits and pieces—apples, seeds, and rootstocks. Champions of early colonial horticulture tried most fruits (and flowering plants and vegetables) in various climates and soil types throughout the new colonies. Robert Prince, likely the first and most well-known, founded a nursery in 1737 in Flushing, NY he named The Linean. (Correctly spelled Linnaean after the father of scientific classification--how things are named.)

By trial and error and a lot of persistence, Prince eventually began apple tree production along with pear and grape, and ornamental crops such as roses.

Prince became internationally known for his work, but his name is lost for the most part. Ask anyone about early apple orchards and you here only one name: Johnny Appleseed!

A skilled graftsman, Robert Prince is likely responsible for most of the apples we have now as they were based on his work. Hundreds of varieties of apples have come and gone in almost three hundred years and their geneology is well-recorded.

Today, crabapples are a common landscape tree grown for their brilliant showy spring blossoms in every hue from white to red.

Did the colonists like their apple pie? It’s said that during the Revolutionary War, General Howe ordered military protection of Prince’s huge plant nursery. Their success brought a visit by President Washington in 1789. Just when that imported fruit became part of our national identity isn’t clear, but you’ll always find both apple and pumpkin pie on my holiday table!

What was on yours?

Cooked crabapples are strained; the resulting liquid is cooked with sugar and pectin.

both photos via Creative Commons

CC BY-NC-SA 2.5

Have a wonderful, blessed holiday season my friends!

Thanksgiving - Before the Football and Shopping

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Not for the turkey, or the football, or the shopping. Definitely not the shopping. But for what it stood for originally. Lest we forget:

By the President of the United States of America. a Proclamation.

Whereas it is the duty of all Nations to acknowledge the providence of Almighty God, to obey his will, to be grateful for his benefits, and humbly to implore his protection and favor—and whereas both Houses of Congress have by their joint Committee requested me “to recommend to the People of the United States a day of public thanksgiving and prayer to be observed by acknowledging with grateful hearts the many signal favors of Almighty God especially by affording them an opportunity peaceably to establish a form of government for their safety and happiness.”

Now therefore I do recommend and assign Thursday the 26th day of November next to be devoted by the People of these Statesto the service of that great and glorious Being, who is the beneficent Author of all the good that was, that is, or that will be—That we may then all unite in rendering unto him our sincere and humble thanks—for his kind care and protection of the People of this Country previous to their becoming a Nation—for the signal and manifold mercies, and the favorable interpositions of his Providence which we experienced in the course and conclusion of the late war—for the great degree of tranquillity, union, and plenty, which we have since enjoyed—for the peaceable and rational manner, in which we have been enabled to establish constitutions of government for our safety and happiness, and particularly the national One now lately instituted—for the civil and religious liberty with which we are blessed; and the means we have of acquiring and diffusing useful knowledge; and in general for all the great and various favors which he hath been pleased to confer upon us.

and also that we may then unite in most humbly offering our prayers and supplications to the great Lord and Ruler of Nations and beseech him to pardon our national and other transgressions—to enable us all, whether in public or private stations, to perform our several and relative duties properly and punctually—to render our national government a blessing to all the people, by constantly being a Government of wise, just, and constitutional laws, discreetly and faithfully executed and obeyed—to protect and guide all Sovereigns and Nations (especially such as have shewn kindness unto us) and to bless them with good government, peace, and concord—To promote the knowledge and practice of true religion and virtue, and the encrease of science among them and us—and generally to grant unto all Mankind such a degree of temporal prosperity as he alone knows to be best.

Given under my hand at the City of New-York the third day of October in the year of our Lord 1789.


Go: Washington

A Thanksgiving Prayer

In 2012, I posted this prayer from Valley of Vision, a collection of Puritan prayers. So while the words are some you may have seen before, I wanted to revisit them and dwell on them in this tumultuous year.

Quaker Thanksgiving

After the Pilgrims and the Puritans, the Society of Friends - more commonly called the Quakers - came to our Colonial shores. Despised and persecuted by the Puritans, some even executed in the Massachusetts Bay Colony, the Quakers nevertheless came in great numbers. They served vigorously in political offices for many years and shaped not only the state of Pennsylvania, but the entire country into being more accepting of different faiths, including the Native Americans.

But they did not recognize - or celebrate - any holy days, or as we call them now, holidays. The Quakers believed that Christ ruled in every day, and that they should not set one day ahead of any other. In essence, they believed that every day was Thanksgiving. Every day was Christmas. Every day was Easter. 

How would our lives be different if we looked at each day this way? How would we treat one another? What would our families look like? How would this strengthen our relationship with the Lord? Would it color how we saw the world around us?

The Quakers have been radically transformed over the years, especially in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Now there are many form of Quakerism, the majority of which no longer profess to be Christian at all.

Let's remember that in their beginnings, Quakers were a devout and powerful influence for Christ here in Colonial America. And for this season, let's all strive to treat each day as if Christ rules in it. (Because - you know - He does!) Let's hold on to that while driving to the stores this Black Friday, while trying to find a parking spot, while standing in the checkout lines. Or maybe ... just stay home and enjoy this day the Lord has made!

~ Pegg Thomas

Let Us Give Thanks

When you ask people what they're thankful for at this time of year, you're going to get a variety of answers. But for most us, they'll center around a few things:

Our families

 
Our homes

 
Having enough to provide

Last year as I was learning more about the first few Thanksgiving celebrations the Pilgrims held in Plymouth, my husband shared some information that I hadn't considered before...and which shed new light on those things we're most thankful for.

That first terrible winter the Pilgrims endured saw nearly 50% of them dying from disease, starvation, and exposure. In exact numbers, it was 45 out of 102. I had never paused to consider which of the 102 died...but it certainly wasn't in whole family groups.

Children lost parents.

Parents lost children.

Husbands lost wives.

Wives lost husbands.

There was no family left intact. No homes to speak of. They didn't have enough to provide.

The first Thanksgiving came less than a year after these terrible tragedies. So what were the Pilgrims thankful for, I wonder? Just a bountiful harvest?

No.

These settlers knew that family, that covenants and bonds were the most important things. They knew that to survive, they had to work together. And so, children who lost their parents were taken in by parents who had lost their children. Widowers marries the widows. New families were created. New homes built. New futures forged.

This year as we sit down to our bountiful tables and look at the loved ones around us, it is, as always, important to thank the Lord for them. For the food. For the homes. For having enough.

But it's also important to remember that even during those years when we don't have family, don't have homes, don't have enough...He is still worthy of our gratitude. He is still deserving of our praise. This is yet another lesson we can learn from the Pilgrims. That we aren't just thankful for the bounty...we're thankful for opportunity. For His guidance. For His salvation. We're thankful for freedom. For Jesus. For the yesterday that may have been ugly, and for the tomorrow that could be beautiful.

George Muller, a missionary who served in England during the 1800s, once thanked the Lord for empty plates--because they were an opportunity for Him to fill them in ways beyond human understanding.

This Thanksgiving, let's try to remember not just to thank Him for the full places...but also for the empty ones.

The Real History of the Pilgrims

by Tamera Lynn Kraft

Since next week is Thanksgiving, I thought you might be interested in the history of the pilgrims that isn’t taught in school. Most of us were taught that pilgrims came to America to flee religious persecution. That’s not exactly true. Puritans were persecuted for believing that Christians could have a personal relationship with Jesus separate from the Church of England. But they traveled to Holland to flee the persecution, not America. Pilgrims applied for immigration to Holland in 1607. Holland allow religious freedom that England did not. Although England didn't allow people to flee, Holland approved the immigration. Bands of Pilgrims moved to Holland in 1607 through 1608.

So why did they travel to America? There were many reasons, but the main reason is they felt compelled by God to come to America and establish a colony of people that honored God. Many called this colony, New Jerusalem, believing that God had established this new land to spread the gospel to the world. William Bradford wrote in his journal that the motivation came from “a great hope for advancing the kingdom of Christ.”

Pilgrims and Puritans were not the same. Pilgrims were Puritans who were also separatists. They believed they should separate themselves for the Church of England and the world systems and set up their own churches. Puritans believed in working within the system. Pilgrims are the ones who came to America on the Mayflower to set up a government that honored God. Puritans soon followed Pilgrims on the journey to America. Once they came to America, Puritans wanted to set up a theocracy according to their beliefs. Pilgrims were more democratic and created a covenant that everyone signed and agreed to live by called the Mayflower Compact. Because of this, Pilgrims were more likely to extend the freedom of religion they wanted to others. Pilgrims wanted freedom of religion to protect the church from the government, not to protect the government from the church.

Many schools teach that Thanksgiving was a secular celebration, but letters written by the Pilgrims tell a different story. God was such a part of their everyday life that they included God in everything. One such letter states that Thanksgiving was a celebration called so that “God be praised” for what He had brought them through. They invite the Patuxet tribe of Native Americans to join them because they had a good relationship with this tribe. The tribe helped them plant their crops and defend themselves from other more hostile tribes.

John Winthrop called New England a City on a Hill in one of his sermon. He, as well as many other Puritans and Pilgrims, believed they had made a covenant with God to be a new nation that was a model of Christianity to the world. William Bradford believed that America was called to spread the gospel to the world. Since the Pilgrims and Puritans came to America, the United States of America has sent missionaries to more nations and more remote places in the world than any other nation on Earth. Could it be they were right?

Our Five Kernels of Thanksgiving

by Roseanna M. White

We all know the story of the first Thanksgiving, and it's one I've enjoyed reading to my kids again this year. All those old familiar tales of Squanto and the Pilgrims, of neighborliness and sharing.

But even more stirring was when I read about the Second Thanksgiving the Pilgrims celebrated.

After that first harvest we've all read about, the Pilgrims wisely stored food to see them through the winter. And they had plenty. Certain that it wouldn't be a repeat of the previous winter, where so many had died of hunger and illness, they settled in to their settlement to await spring.

But another ship came, bearing more settlers...and with no food supplies. Suddenly they had far more mouths to feed than they had stores with which to feed them. But it wasn't their way to turn anyone away. Instead, they accepted these newcomers and divided their rations again. They adjusted as best they could.

And they grew hungry. At one point, each person's daily ration was five kernels of corn a day. Five kernels!

The Pilgrims knew they couldn't survive on this meager allotment. But they had nothing to trade for food, no other ships were due with supplies. And they, unlike those in the Virginia Colony to the south, weren't about to steal and kill for it. Instead, they prayed. They humbled themselves. They searched their hearts for any sin and appealed to God for salvation.

He provided it. A ship unexpectedly entered Plymouth harbor, on its way from the southern colonies to England. Though they didn't have extra food, they did have goods that they traded for the Pilgrims' beaver pelts. And with those goods, the Plymouth colony could trade with the Native Americans for more food.

They survived the winter without one death. When spring came, they planted. In summer, they tended. In the fall, they reaped in an admirable harvest.

Again, they declared a feast of Thanksgiving. Again, they invited the natives that played such a vital role in their survival. But there was something different at this feast.

This time, around each plate, they put five kernels of dried corn. A reminder of all they had been through...and of all the Lord had done to save them.

As we reflect on Thanksgiving this year, let's put our kernels before the Lord. They don't just represent the blessings He heaps on us...they represent the hardships He sees us through. They represent His faithfulness.

What are your kernels this year?

A Puritan Prayer of Thanksgiving

The First Thanksgiving by Jean Leon Gerome Ferris, 1912

I was inspired by the lovely hymn that Janet shared on Sunday and thought that in this busy week of pie-baking and turkey-thawing and dressing-making, I would give you another quick, beautiful prayer from our forefathers to help us all reflect on the holiday.

This prayer comes from a volume of Puritan prayers entitled The Valley of Vision, compiled by Arthur Bennett. He doesn't say who wrote each one, but I am always struck by the sincere, heart-wrenching faith of those who penned these words. I pray this one speaks to you today.

Praise and Thanksgiving

O my God,
Thou fairest, greatest, first of all objects,
my heart admired, adores, loves thee,
for my little vessel is as full as it can be,
and I would pour out all that fullness before thee
in ceaseless flow.

When I think upon and converse with thee
ten thousand delightful thoughts spring up,
ten thousand sources of pleasure are unsealed,
ten thousand refreshing joys spread over my heart,
crowding into every moment of happiness.

I bless thee for the soul thou hast created,
for adorning it, sanctifying it,
though it is fixed in barren soil;
for the body thou hast given me,
for preserving its strength and vigour,
for providing senses to enjoy delights,
for the ease and freedom of my limbs,
for hands, eyes, ears that do thy bidding,
for thy royal bounty providing my daily support,
for a full table and overflowing cup,
for appetite, taste, sweetness,
for social joys of relatives and friends,
for ability to serve others,
for a heart that feels sorrows and necessities,
for a mind to care for my fellow-men,
for opportunities of spreading happiness around,
for loved ones in the joys of heaven,
for my own expectation of seeing thee clearly.

I love thee above the powers of language
to express,
for what thou art to thy creatures.

Increase my love, O my God, through time
and eternity.

Amen

May you all have a blessed Thanksgiving tomorrow!

~*~

Roseanna M. White pens her novels under the Betsy Ross flag hanging above her desk, with her Jane Austen action figure watching over her. When she isn’t writing fiction, she’s editing it for WhiteFire Publishing or reviewing it for the Christian Review of Books, both of which she co-founded with her husband. She is the author of the upcoming Ring of Secrets, Love Finds You in Annapolis, Maryland, and two biblical novels. www.roseannawhite.com

First Serial in A Forted Frontier Holiday: A Colonial American Fiction Anthology - Inside Fort Providence By Carrie Fancett Pagels

A Forted Frontier Holiday:
A Colonial American Fiction Anthology

Blurb: While harvesting, the German settlement near New Market, Virginia, receives warning of an impending attack by French and Indian 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!

ENJOY!!! This is our Christmas gift to our faithful followers on Colonial Quills. Many blessings to all of you during this season. And may God bring provision to our northern neighbors hit so hard by the storm.

Part One

Inside Fort Providence

By Carrie Fancett Pagels

Shenandoah Valley, November 1753

Johan had watched through the closing gates of the hastily-constructed fort as the fields of golden wheat were shut out from them—to molder in their absence. The Rousch family nor the others had brought in all the harvest. How would they survive the winter if stuck inside the fort? They’d been cloistered inside for weeks, with no Indian attacks as they’d been warned and no French soldiers breathing down their necks.

With every passing night, Johan grew more restless. If someone did venture outside, he risked being killed. That morning as they’d broke their fast with a tasty pan of fried apples, Suzanne warned him that with six children and another soon to be born, she’d wring his neck if he returned to their acreage. He scoffed, but dared not risk his wife becoming an early widow.

Now, as he straddled a bench in the middle of the fort’s yard, the weight of his predicament settled on his broad shoulders. If he and his family remained here through the winter, he’d have no means of support for them the following year either—not with all his leather ruined and his grain gone.

Adam Zerkle wobbled through the musty packed-dirt of the yard toward Johan, leaning on the boar’s head cane Johan had carved for him during nights spent in front of the fire. The elderly man, cantankerous under normal conditions, bubbled over with vitriol since they’d been forted. The man stank as though he’d not bothered to bathe—despite the rain barrels of water they’d collected and used for all inhabitants. Johan angled his head away from the malodorous man.

“Don’t believe any of this nonsense about an attack—nein! I’m going to my own farm today.” He stabbed at the ground and Nicholas Zerkle hurried from behind to join his father.

“Ja, Papa, I will take you.” Zerkle’s youngest son challenged Johan with his glare. “We didn’t cross an ocean to be imprisoned by our own people. Nor the French.” He narrowed his beady eyes at Suzanne’s back.

Heat started in Johan’s chest, beneath his coarse linen overshirt, woven and constructed by Nicholas’s wife—the flax grown in the elder Zerkle’s expansive fields.

“I can’t let you do that, Mr. Zerkle.” Johan looked to Suzanne, bent over a load of laundry, the half barrel set atop a low wooden bench to accommodate her.

Other women, gathered in the center of the courtyard, shelled beans or laid our vegetable strips to dry. Older children assisted their mothers while younger ones played nearby. How would they feed these kinder if they didn’t bring in some food. Lord, bring us help.

“Who appointed you our master, Rousch?” Nicholas stepped toward Johan, who stood only a finger’s breadth taller, the tallest man in the camp.

Johan clenched his fists. “The people here did.”

Spittle landed at Johan’s feet but he didn’t flinch. With a stone or more muscle on him, he could easily stop young Zerkle but Johan didn’t want to use his strength to do so. Nearby several men checking their weapons turned to watch them.

“I’ve got hams, cured, waiting in the smokehouse,” the old man croaked. “Pumpkins plump on the vine waiting to be brought in here—could feed us all.”

The old man stared at the chickens pecking in the dirt nearby. Those hens were for laying eggs--not for roasting over the fire. The elder Zerkle ran his tongue over his thin lips.

Nicholas raised his chin. “Enough food on Pa’s farm to feed all your brats and then some.” His eyes wandered to Suzanne, just one month shy of delivering their seventh child.

Johan pressed his fists into his thighs knowing he’d pummel the man if he said one more word. God help him he wanted to teach Nicholas a lesson with his fist—as he’d always wanted to correct his brother—but Suzanne and four of their children were nearby.

Clearing his throat, he nodded toward the fort’s heavily guarded entrance. “If there is no stopping you--then be about your business quickly” before someone could enter and attack them. Would others follow suit and depart the fort, risking life and limb?

Nicholas grinned. “I’ll get the horses, Papa.”

With a sigh, the older man creaked toward the huge front gates of Fort Providence.

Suzanne rose with some difficulty and joined Johan, wiping her hands on her apron. Despite her girth from their growing baby, his wife carried herself with regal grace. How could a woman raised at court in Versailles, the granddaughter of a French Marquis, have married him? By God’s will—only He could have brought it about. 

Johan bent over to kiss the top of his wife’s head, that reached just above his elbow. Would she have enough nourishment for herself and this baby?

He nuzzled her hair, scented with sweet bayberry soap. “Perhaps I should go with them, my love.”

She bent her head back and looked up at him, her amber eyes wide, her perfect mouth parted. “Non, tu es fou—you are crazy to think such thoughts.”

If only she knew how concerned he was—and how low the supplies were. But he’d not shared that information with her. Not yet.

Exhaling loudly, he pulled her close, feeling their child kick against his own stomach. He pulled back and they both laughed, Suzanne covering her mouth with her tiny hand.

“Do you think we’ll have un enfant de Noël?”

Only God knows if our child will come at Christmas, my love.” And only He knew how long they’d be quartered there, away from their own home, their own belongings, their own memories. 

Suzanne fingered her grandmother’s topaz necklace, strung around her elegant neck. Was she thinking the same thing? He kissed the tip of her nose, smiled, then headed to the gate to see if the current guard needed relief.

Another man began to descend, stopped, and called out, “Two men on horseback, fast approaching!”

“Thank God. The Zerkles?” Johan prayed so.

“No.” The tremor in the man’s voice stirred Johan.

Fear fired through Johan’s body from his feet, shoed in his own leather from their tannery, to the top of his head.

“Who?” He inhaled deeply, drawing in the scent of evergreens not far from Fort Providence, and squirrel stew, cooking within, over an open fire.

“Dressed like Indians!” Phillip Sehler, the second sentry, called out.

A nearby militiaman clanged the alarm bell.

“Anybody else behind them?” Johan called up. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled as he turned in a circle. “Check all the parapets!”

When he faced the sentries again, Phillip turned and grinned. “One with long silver hair.”

“Gray Badger!” the sentry called down from the other side.

“It’s Christy and son!” Sehler pulled off his hat and waved it. A shout went up. “Christy” resounded throughout the camp and even the children came forward.

Suzanne ran to him, tears streaming down her face. “They have come, praise God. I will go get Sarah. She’ll want to greet William.”

He kissed her, relief coursing through him. Only a moment before he’d imagined Shawnee pouring from the woods, right behind the two newcomers. “Go to Sarah and stay with the little ones, my sweet.” His 16-year-old niece, an orphan, and the colonel’s son were the closest of friends.

“Oui, but send the colonel to me when he is free.” Suzanne stood on tiptoe, one hand clutching her belly.

“Are you all right?”

“Bien, fine.” Her smile trembled.

Johan lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Christy may have word of your brother. But let the young people speak first. William can tell us of Guillame later.” A French soldier in New France, Johan’s brother-in-law was to have rendezvoused with William recently.

Golden eyes flashed in appreciation at him as Suzanne ducked inside the dark doorway of the nearby house. Today she was in better humor. Many of the women, the men, too, had taken to arguing with their spouses—an ungodly habit. Even he had fought with his wife over returning to their acreage to try to save his hides—knowing the tanning solution would soon rot them. He’d finally succumbed to sleep and when he awoke that morning, apologized to her. He vowed to keep a guard over his tongue.

Four men opened the gates in unison allowing entry to the two men on horseback. Just as swiftly as they groaned closed again and a metal bar dropped into place.

Colonel Lee Christy, assigned with the British army to the colonies, rode his gray gelding into camp like the son of aristocrats that he was, perfectly erect, appearing relaxed in his saddle. Yet his eyes, the same silver-gray as his hair and his mount’s shiny coat, scanned the faces in their little community.

Christy dismounted. “We have word from the Shawnee, from William’s grandfather.” The officer handed his reins to one of the younger men.

William remained mounted, his black eyes touching on every female in the camp. When he stopped and stared fixedly at a nearby house, Johan turned. Suzanne crossed to where Sarah stood. With her long blonde hair unbound and a baby cousin on one hip and a toddler on another—Sarah stood in the wood framed doorway, her near-sighted eyes narrowing. William slowly rode forward, bent over his horse, murmuring something to the dark mare, patting her head and stroking her long neck. The other children, clustered in the yard parted, allowing him past.

One of the older boys yelled out, “Sarah Rousch, I think you’ve got a sweetheart.”

         Pink colored her cheeks and then a huge smile covered her pretty face. “William?”

He stopped twenty paces from Sarah as Suzanne took their youngest children from Johan’s ward.

“Another rider!” Phillip’s strong voice interrupted Johan’s thoughts. “Two riders!”

Some men picked up long rifles while others grasped hatchets and knives. Several climbed nearby ladders propped against the walls.

“Looks like Shadrach Clark but he’s on Zerkle’s stallion.”

 Shad, an experienced and well-respected scout routinely traveled up and down the entire valley and into New France. 

“Ho, the fort!” Shad’s baritone voice carried over the hoofbeats of his horse.

Colonel Christy pushed past another man and scrambled up the ladder with amazing alacrity. His silver mane belied his relative youth of only seven and thirty years.

Phillip called down. “He’s got a wounded man.”

And no physician.

Once more the gates were dragged open as the buckskinned man rode in, young Zerkle behind him, unconscious, blood staining Nicholas’s linsey-woolsey shirt.

   The End, Part One

The next section of this anthology will be posted on Monday, November 12th.

  
(No part of this work may be reprinted without the express permission of the author.)

GIVEAWAY: One commenter will receive a copy of Laura Frantz's "The Frontiersman's Daughter."  The drawing for this book will be done on Thanksgiving and announced the following day.

QUESTION: What are you hoping will happen next?  What would you want to see happen during the holidays at Fort Providence?

________________________________________________________

Carrie Fancett Pagels is represented by Joyce Hart, CEO of Hartline Literary Agency. Carrie writes "romantic" historical fiction. She is the Administrator of Colonial Quills and of Overcoming With God, an international group blog. Carrie resides in the historic triangle of Virginia with her husband and son and is very grateful their adult daughter lives close by. She is a Colonial Williamsburg fan and can frequently be found at historic sites doing research.