American Challenge by Susan Martins Miller

Author:Susan Martins Miller
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-60742-532-8
Publisher: Barbour Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2006-09-10T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 3

Betsy’s First Chance

As the ship made its way up the Delaware River, Betsy marveled at the city around her. Almost fifty thousand people lived in Philadelphia, and it looked as if half of them were on the docks. Other ships were loading and unloading. They had already passed three ships that were headed out to sea or maybe up to Boston, she thought longingly for a moment, before thoughts of this huge city pushed her old home out of her mind.

Other passengers crowded the deck as they watched the city landscape pass by. Even Mother was topside. Although the afternoon wind was still freezing cold, the sea had calmed down, and Mother said the brisk air made her feel better.

“Betsy, as soon as we dock, take Silverstreak off and to the end of the wharf out of harm’s way,” Father said. “Keep George with you. Your uncle Paul and aunt Eleanor are still under the weather, and it’ll take all their strength to make sure their belongings are unloaded and kept together without having to keep an eye on George as well.”

Betsy nodded. She didn’t want to leave the deck, but she slipped downstairs and got her violin and her lunch pail then returned to watch the sailors skillfully maneuver the ship into port.

“George, stay with me,” she ordered.

George’s eyes shone with excitement—or maybe it was mischief she saw in his bright eyes, Betsy decided. As soon as the gangplank was in place, she untethered Silverstreak and led her off the ship. George held onto a rope he had tied around Jefferson’s neck. The dog ran ahead as far as the eight-foot rope allowed.

They clomped across the wooden planks and onto the cobblestone street at the end of the wharf. “Wait here,” Betsy said.

“Look, black people,” George said and pointed at a group gathered around a barrel.

“Pepper pot, smoking hot!” They hawked their wares.

“Here, hold Jefferson a minute. I want to see what they’re selling.”

George flung the rope into Betsy’s hand before she had time to object, not that he would have listened. He rushed off toward the black people.

Betsy had seen a black person once in Boston but not up close. Through lowered lashes, she watched the encounter between George and the street sellers. They were talking to him, asking him questions … or was it the other way around?

She tied Silverstreak to a hitching post and was in the process of tying Jefferson to the same post when a wagon drawn by a pair of horses clopped by. One moment she held the dog’s rope in her hand, and the next moment he was gone, barking and chasing the wagon. Riding at the back of the wagon was another dog.

“George!” Betsy yelled as she ran after the wagon. Who would have thought a wagon could travel so fast over the uneven cobblestones? Betsy splashed through a puddle where some of the stones had sunk. She glanced back to see that George was running behind her.

The wagon stopped

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