Read Online Midwife of the Blue Ridge by Christine Blevins - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christine Blevins
Tags: Fiction, Historical
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The flux killed my mam and my wee sister. The
sailors just tossed their bodies over the rail . . .” He kicked a
stone from the path.
“Culloden.” Maggie shuddered. “Bloody English butchers
killed my mam as well.”
“An’ yer da?”
Midwife of the Blue Ridge 55
“Joined the Jacobites at the call to arms and I havna seen him
since. Dead, I s’pose.”
“Yer da may have been captured and transported. There were
a few Jacobite prisoners aboard our ship. My ol’ da never sea-
soned to this climate—he fevered and died soon after landing.
‘Virginia bug,’ they called it.” Seth sighed. “Aye, sixteen long
years ago, Maggie, I stood the block just as ye did this day. Puts
a twist in yer belly when they start the bidding, don’t it?”
“Ye were indentured?”
“Four years,” Seth answered. “I earned my Freedom Dues and
vowed never to labor for another man. I bought traps and earned
good silver workin’ the peltry trade. Two years ago I claimed a
piece of land by cabin right.”
“What’s that—cabin right?”
“Free white men can claim up to four hundred acres. Ye must
build a cabin and plant at least one acre of corn to hold the
claim.”
Maggie hopped on one foot, trying to dislodge a stone wedged
between her toes. “Could ye no claim a piece a bit closer by?”
Seth grinned. “There’s little land open for claim along the
coast. I had to range out to find a good piece. That’s why we
settled yonder, on the edge of the frontier.” He waved his arm
toward the mountains. “It’s rough goin’, but I’ve no quitrent to
pay and no laird to answer to. I’m my own master.”
And mine, thought Maggie.
The mule became agitated as they approached a shallow, swift-
running stream. “This ol’ mule gets skittish ’round water. I need
to coax him across.” Seth handed his rifle and hat to Maggie and
grabbed hold of the halter with a double-fisted grip. “Step careful
as ye cross and keep that weapon dry. We’ll make camp on the
other side.”
Maggie shouldered the heavy rifle, hiked her skirts, and
stepped into the ankle-deep water. Midway she stopped to mas-
sage the soles of her aching feet on the smooth stones of the creek
56 Christine
Blevins
bed. Icy water rushed between her toes and she watched Seth
cajole the stubborn animal across. She sensed they’d passed some
invisible boundary, for Seth’s face missed the pinched worry it’d
worn most of the way from Richmond. He pulled the ornery
mule up onto the bank and waved her over. “Move along smartly!
We need to hurry and make camp afore nightfall!”
He doesna seem a bad sort, Maggie thought as she maneu-
vered the rest of the way across the stream. But he certainly
doesna seem the sort to have two pennies to rub together, much
less twenty- three pounds. She took a good, hard look at Seth
Martin.
His shirt was torn and stained. It seemed he never bothered to
pull a comb through his ill- shorn hair and his stubbly chin could
stand the attention of a sharp razor.
Aye, but he does seem the sort to trade twenty- three pound
for a woman to warm his bed.
Seth scraped up a pile of tinder and started a fire with fl int and
steel. He unloaded his gear, hobbled the mule, and disappeared
with his rifl e.
Maggie gathered dry wood. Not much time passed before the
mule’s ears twitched at the report of rifl e fire in the distance. She
heartened to see dinner was on her master’s mind when Seth ap-
peared clutching his hat filled with strawberries and a brace of
pigeons slung over one shoulder. “Clean the birds,” he directed.
“I’ll fetch a good stone.”
Maggie stripped feathers and watched Seth search along the
shore. He levered up a smooth, flat stone, lugged it to the fi re,
and set it atop a pile of embers raked to the side. He covered the
stone with more hot coals. “I’m hankering after a few corn dodg-
ers,” he said.
Maggie nodded, pretending she understood what
sailors just tossed their bodies over the rail . . .” He kicked a
stone from the path.
“Culloden.” Maggie shuddered. “Bloody English butchers
killed my mam as well.”
“An’ yer da?”
Midwife of the Blue Ridge 55
“Joined the Jacobites at the call to arms and I havna seen him
since. Dead, I s’pose.”
“Yer da may have been captured and transported. There were
a few Jacobite prisoners aboard our ship. My ol’ da never sea-
soned to this climate—he fevered and died soon after landing.
‘Virginia bug,’ they called it.” Seth sighed. “Aye, sixteen long
years ago, Maggie, I stood the block just as ye did this day. Puts
a twist in yer belly when they start the bidding, don’t it?”
“Ye were indentured?”
“Four years,” Seth answered. “I earned my Freedom Dues and
vowed never to labor for another man. I bought traps and earned
good silver workin’ the peltry trade. Two years ago I claimed a
piece of land by cabin right.”
“What’s that—cabin right?”
“Free white men can claim up to four hundred acres. Ye must
build a cabin and plant at least one acre of corn to hold the
claim.”
Maggie hopped on one foot, trying to dislodge a stone wedged
between her toes. “Could ye no claim a piece a bit closer by?”
Seth grinned. “There’s little land open for claim along the
coast. I had to range out to find a good piece. That’s why we
settled yonder, on the edge of the frontier.” He waved his arm
toward the mountains. “It’s rough goin’, but I’ve no quitrent to
pay and no laird to answer to. I’m my own master.”
And mine, thought Maggie.
The mule became agitated as they approached a shallow, swift-
running stream. “This ol’ mule gets skittish ’round water. I need
to coax him across.” Seth handed his rifle and hat to Maggie and
grabbed hold of the halter with a double-fisted grip. “Step careful
as ye cross and keep that weapon dry. We’ll make camp on the
other side.”
Maggie shouldered the heavy rifle, hiked her skirts, and
stepped into the ankle-deep water. Midway she stopped to mas-
sage the soles of her aching feet on the smooth stones of the creek
56 Christine
Blevins
bed. Icy water rushed between her toes and she watched Seth
cajole the stubborn animal across. She sensed they’d passed some
invisible boundary, for Seth’s face missed the pinched worry it’d
worn most of the way from Richmond. He pulled the ornery
mule up onto the bank and waved her over. “Move along smartly!
We need to hurry and make camp afore nightfall!”
He doesna seem a bad sort, Maggie thought as she maneu-
vered the rest of the way across the stream. But he certainly
doesna seem the sort to have two pennies to rub together, much
less twenty- three pounds. She took a good, hard look at Seth
Martin.
His shirt was torn and stained. It seemed he never bothered to
pull a comb through his ill- shorn hair and his stubbly chin could
stand the attention of a sharp razor.
Aye, but he does seem the sort to trade twenty- three pound
for a woman to warm his bed.
Seth scraped up a pile of tinder and started a fire with fl int and
steel. He unloaded his gear, hobbled the mule, and disappeared
with his rifl e.
Maggie gathered dry wood. Not much time passed before the
mule’s ears twitched at the report of rifl e fire in the distance. She
heartened to see dinner was on her master’s mind when Seth ap-
peared clutching his hat filled with strawberries and a brace of
pigeons slung over one shoulder. “Clean the birds,” he directed.
“I’ll fetch a good stone.”
Maggie stripped feathers and watched Seth search along the
shore. He levered up a smooth, flat stone, lugged it to the fi re,
and set it atop a pile of embers raked to the side. He covered the
stone with more hot coals. “I’m hankering after a few corn dodg-
ers,” he said.
Maggie nodded, pretending she understood what
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