Frontier Bride. Ana Seymour

Hannah still held at her aching waist. “Are you too tired for a bit more work to-night?”

      Hannah removed her hand and tried to straighten the crimp out of her back without being obvious. “Of course not. What would you like me to do?”

      “Help me. We need to go through the household items I had planned to take and decide which ones can be left. Captain Reed claims that we’ll not be able to take such a load.”

      “Aye. He told me the same thing.”

      Webster looked annoyed. “When did he tell you that?”

      “This afternoon. He surprised me in the kitchen as I was making the candles.”

      “There’s no call for Reed to be telling you what to do, Hannah. He’s our trail guide, nothing more. If you wish, I’ll ask him not to speak to you unless necessary.”

      “Oh, please no. He’s not a bother to me, Mr. Webster.”

      “If he should become one, Hannah, kindly let me know. Mayhaps I shouldn’t say this to you, but I believe Captain Reed has something of a reputation with the ladies.”

      “The ladies? To hear him talk, he’s spent the past two years with bears, wild Indians and even wilder soldiers.”

      “Perhaps that’s all the more reason I should tell him to stay clear of you,” Randolph said grimly. “All I know is that they say he was raised in Boston of a good family and he left under somewhat cloudy circumstances that concerned a woman.”

      Hannah sighed and stretched her back one more time. “I appreciate your concern, Mr. Webster, but I don’t believe I need protection from Captain Reed.”

      “Yes, well…” Mr. Webster looked at her with the odd expression that seemed to have developed since the incident in the tavern last night. “It’s my responsibility to take care of you, Hannah. If anyone tries to bother you, you must tell me about it forthwith.”

      Hannah was bewildered by the proprietary tone. For almost three years she’d lived in the same house with this man, feeling of no more importance to him than a sack of turnips. Now all at once he seemed concerned about her. Mistress MacDougall’s comments came back to her, but she dismissed them impatiently. “I was raised on the streets of London, Mr. Webster, not at a convent. I can take care of myself.”

      Webster nodded. “I believe you. God knows, you’ve taken care of all of us well enough these past months.”

      “Yes, well…” Hannah felt her cheeks grow warm. “I’ll just go on out to the stable and start looking at the packs.”

      “You’re sure you aren’t too tired?”

      “No, I’m fine.”

      “You’re a hard worker, Hannah. But I intend to take a little bit better care of you in the future.”

      She didn’t know what to reply, so she nodded and turned toward the door. But she felt Randolph Webster’s eyes follow her all the way out to the yard.

      Hannah always felt a stitch in her heart when she walked by the big stone kiln at the corner of the Baker brickyard. It had been at that site over a year ago that carefree, young Johnny Baker had lost his life when an unbalanced load of bricks had fallen on him, crushing his throat. Johnny Baker had bantered with Hannah when she had first arrived in Philadelphia, and Priscilla had teased her that the handsome young man was sweet on her. But Hannah knew that Johnny flirted with every young maid in the area. He wasn’t likely to set his heart on an indentured servant with five long years to serve. Still, his death had shocked and saddened her. Johnny’s mother, Eliza, had been nearly crazy with grief, and Hannah had taken to spending some of her free moments with her. Johnny had been Eliza and Seth Baker’s only child, and in many ways it seemed as if their very future had died along with him.

      Hannah walked up the neat brick path to the Baker cottage. Eliza’s beloved crocuses were making their first brave appearance, in spite of the continuing cold weather. The cheery splotches of yellow brought the natural smile back to Hannah’s lips. The Bakers would miss their home, she thought. When a recent German immigrant had made an offer to buy the brickyard, it had seemed to be the opportunity to flee from their grief. Some of Seth’s natural enthusiasm had returned as he joined in the plans to head west with the Websters, the Trasks and the Crawfords. But Hannah knew that Eliza would miss her crocuses in the spring, and she’d especially miss her daily climb up to the small cemetery behind the church.

      “Hannah, my dear. What are you about so early?” Eliza’s kindly, weathered face poked out the front window.

      Hannah smiled at her. “I’m just bringing around a message from Mr. Webster.”

      The head disappeared and the cottage’s bright green door opened. “Come inside, girl. The morning’s still got a chill on it.”

      Hannah ducked under the portal to enter the Bakers’ immaculate kitchen. It smelled of herbs and fresh bread. “Take off your bonnet and have some warm cider,” Eliza urged, bustling around to fill a mug with steaming liquid from the black kettle and slide a pan from the warming oven. “And you’ll take some bread, as well. It’s just baked.”

      Hannah laughed and shook her head, but took a seat on one of the stools. “I can’t stay, Eliza. I have yet to visit the Crawfords and the Trasks.”

      “You’ll stay long enough to put some warmth in your middle,” Eliza said firmly, handing Hannah the mug.

      “Mr. Baker isn’t at home?” Hannah asked.

      “He’s out in the yard with Herr Gutmueller.” Eliza’s expression dimmed. “I hope we’re doing the right thing. It’s tearing Seth apart to leave the business to a stranger. Yet, how could he stay on when every day he has to face that horrible spot where Johnny…”

      Hannah gave a nod of understanding. “You’ve been over it a hundred times, Eliza. You yourself have said that Seth is feeling better now that he’s making plans for a new life. It’s probably for the best.”

      Eliza sat across from Hannah, her full skirts puffing up around her. “I know, I know. I’ll not bother you again with my worries.”

      Hannah reached out to take the older woman’s plump hand. “You never bother me, Eliza. I just wish I could do something to make the leaving easier on you and Mr. Baker. After all the help you gave me when Mrs. Webster died. I’d never have managed all those relatives and neighbors without your assistance.”

      The two women shared a smile of friendship. “It was a heavy burden for a young thing like you, Hannah. Still is…the children to manage, and Randolph moping in his beer every night.”

      “Mr. Webster’s doing better, too, I think, keeping busy with all the plans and preparations.”

      Eliza withdrew her hand from Hannah’s and reached over to slice off a golden crust of bread. “Well, you see, that’s men for you. Give them an adventure and they’re willing to forget everything else. We womenfolk are left to grieve by ourselves.” Her eyes went to the back wall of the house, as if she could see beyond it to the brickyard where her husband was in the process of disposing of his life’s work.

      “Perhaps their way is better,” Hannah said gently. She, herself, had found that learning a new land had helped her deal with the crushing loss of her mother. And she found herself looking forward to the west-ward adventure as much as the men did.

      Eliza’s eyes had misted over. “Perhaps. I’ll do my best to make this work for Seth.”

      “From what Captain Reed says, we’ll all have to do our best.”

      The tone of Hannah’s voice had changed subtly and Eliza looked up sharply. “Captain Reed’s a spell-binder, isn’t he?”

      “The children certainly seem fascinated by his stories.” Hannah looked away from her friend.

      Eliza cocked her head. “Indeed,” she said dryly.