Shadowbrook by Beverly Swerling Read Free Book Online

“Welcome, John Hale. I hope all is well with thee and thine at the big house.”
    “Well enough. I’ve come for our share.”
    “Of course. It’s put by for thee. But first thee must take a seat by the fire and have a warm drink and some food. And thy two young companions as well.”
    There was a large fireplace at the other side of the room, flanked by two long pine settles with high backs to keep off the drafts and broad seats that offered a place to rest and take comfort in the warmth of the hearth. The only other people in the trading post were an Indian studying a display of hunting knives at the far end of Esther’s counter, and a small girl dressed exactly like Esther, in a gray dress with no trim, not even buttons or collar, and a pristine white mobcap without a ruffle.
    The girl was seated beside the fire busily stitching and pretending to take no notice of the visitors. “Judith, take thyself at once to fetch thy father and Edward Taylor. Thee is to tell them John Hale is come to collect his father’s portion. And tell Prudence to bring johnnycakes and hot cider.”
    Quent paid the little girl no mind. He was peering into the shadows at the brave who was bent over the knives. The blue tattoos on his cheeks proclaimed him Kahniankehaka. His hair was long and black and fell free to his shoulders. Quent knew that if the brave were on the warpath he would have shaved his head, leaving only a scalp lock that challenged his enemies to take it. He’d heard plenty of stories about fierce Kahniankehaka warriors who had fought beside the English against the French back before he was born, in what his father called QueenAnn’s War, but everyone said the Kahniankehaka who lived around Shadowbrook were peaceful. Be that as it may, Quent wasn’t sure what would happen if this brave knew Cormac was half Potawatomi. Corm had already told him the Potawatomi were the sworn enemies of all the
Irinakhoiw.
    John was apparently wondering the same thing. “You know my little brother Quentin, Esther. This other one’s a métis, a half-Potawatomi brat. The story goes that the Huron cut out his father’s heart and ate it, but they must have been too full to bother with this little something extra.”
    He’d said it loud enough so the brave had to hear, but the Indian didn’t look up until he’d selected one of the knives. He came toward them carrying it. Cormac stared straight at him and took a couple of steps forward, so he was in front of both Quent and John. Quent’s eyes darted back and forth between the Mohawk brave and Cormac Shea, whose head didn’t quite come up to his shoulder. Quent moved just enough so he was closer to Corm. In case. Behind them John chuckled.
    The brave ignored both children. “This knife,” he said, showing his choice to Esther Snowberry. “And the cloth you have measured. And two jugs.”
    Esther frowned slightly, but she reached behind her and put two jugs of rum on the counter beside the cloth and the knife. The Quakers were abstemious in the matter of drink, but one of the conditions of their settlement on Ephraim Hale’s land had been an agreement that their trading post would deal in Shadowbrook’s rum. Few Indians would come to trade otherwise. “Thee is then fully and fairly paid for thy skins,” Esther said, nodding toward the pile of pelts on the counter. “Dost thou agree?”
    The Indian nodded and collected his goods. On the way out, never once having looked directly at the little boys standing shoulder-to-shoulder, he said quietly, “The hearts of those who hide behind squaws and children would not be worthy of eating. The Kahniankehaka would throw them to the dogs.”
    No sooner had the door closed behind the brave than it opened again. Esther’s husband had arrived, bringing two other men with him. “Thee is welcome, John Hale,” Martin Snowberry said. “Thee knows Edward Taylor.” Martin indicated his Do Good neighbor with a nod, then turned to the third man.