The Frontiersman’s Daughter by Laura Frantz Page A

beads. As she ate, she moved out of the dark woods into a clearing where the sun worked to thaw the winter ground. A joree bird wintering in the valley called to her. To-wee . . . to-wee. She whistled back, a shrill sound in the stillness.
    As she rode she scarcely passed a single cabin belching smoke. Their own sat silent and shivering against the snowy ridge, giving her a twinge of homesickness. Some folks, like Uncle Neddy, stayed put in times of trouble, but most fled to the fort. She crested Hackberry Ridge and reluctantly rode down to the fort in time to help with supper.
    “Mush again?” Ransom whined.
    She served him anyway, weary of the sight herself. When would Pa return with fresh meat? Their store of salt was dwindling and she feared she was about to go stockade-crazy.
    Swallowing a sigh, she removed the kettle from the fire and poured two cups of black bohea. Poking around in the cupboard produced no long-sweetening, and so they were left to choke down the bitter brew plain. The cabin was all too still. Ma had been quiet all evening and had not resumed her spinning, and Lael missed the familiar whirr of the wheel. She was prepared for some protest about her wandering beyond fort walls, and so it didn’t surprise her when her mother started in.
    “I wondered how long it would be before you went the way of your father.” There was weary resignation in her words and a kind of bewilderment in her eyes. “Nothing on earth could tempt me beyond these walls, yet you seem drawn to it. I can’t stop your wanderin’, but I wonder what I’ll tell your pa when you don’t come back.”
    “Tell him you just can’t pin a Click down,” Lael answered matter-of-factly, though she felt sudden sympathy for her mother sitting there hunkered down, so small and weary and worn. Was this what fear did?
    As for herself, she felt alive, renewed, about to leap out of her chair. Tomorrow beckoned, promising untold pleasures and wonders.
    Where would she go?

    Oh, but it was a fine thing to be free. Standing atop Moccasin Knob, where eagles soared, the world was at her feet. Throwing her arms wide, Lael twirled around atop the knob like a toy top, spinning and whirling until dizziness slowed her. The snow had melted and the sun, as if emboldened by her antics, shone forth in a cloudless sky.
    Heading west, she traversed Log Lick Trace, soon walking on unfamiliar ground, the going a muddy mess what with the sudden thaw. She could make more than twenty miles in a day on rough ground but knew Pa could go farther. She imagined meeting up with him and fancied seeing surprise and admiration in his keen blue eyes. But never anger.
    The clear day beckoned her on, made her bold. At last she came to Muddy Creek, a place she’d been warned away from her whole life. Indian sign was nearly always to be found there. A crude cross on a low rise marked the site, a silent reminder of the massacre three years past that befell a party of settlers who had pushed too far into Indian territory.
    Pausing with the sun at her back, she studied the scene and said a quick prayer for peace. Not six steps later she came across the first Indian sign. Instead of fleeing, she followed it clear to the mouth of the Red River where the footprints ended.
    Retreating, she fairly ran back to the fort, dusk at her heels.
    No longer did the sentries look long after her and shake their heads. She smiled at the stir she’d created. Wasn’t it a wonderment, some said, how Lael Click could wander unmolested in the very woods where they themselves would likely be hacked to pieces? Aye, the legend of her father seemed even to follow her.

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    Common sense told Lael it was time she began carrying a gun on her forays. Gathering the ginseng money she’d saved, she went to the fort sutler and exchanged her shillings for a flintlock rifle and a good supply of powder and shot. Ransom looked on with awe, as the rifle was taller than he.
    For once Lael was glad the good Lord had