The Return by Suzanne Woods Fisher

Author:Suzanne Woods Fisher
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Romance;FIC053000;FIC042040;FIC027050;Amish—Fiction;United States—History—18th century—Fiction;Historical fiction;Love stories;Christian fiction
ISBN: 9781493407262
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2017-05-31T04:00:00+00:00

Shawnee Village, Monongahela River

July 25, 1763

At some point during each day, Betsy found herself crossing paths with Caleb. He would appear at her side when she foraged for kindling to keep the fire stoked or hoisted a heavy pot of water from the river. Each time she encountered him, she felt her spirits gladden and the day lost some of its bleakness.

Early one evening, she went down near the river to forage for driftwood on the beach and found Caleb waiting for her, a pleased look on his face as she approached him. Their gaze lingered longer than she intended and she felt her insides stirring; something she had never felt for Hans. The disloyal thought unsettled her and she quickly turned her attention elsewhere.

She pointed to the water and walked a few steps closer to it. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, what is the name of this river?” It was a wide, twisting river, lined with trees, and the water shown silver under the setting sun.

“Monongahela. It means River with Crumbling Banks. It is always changing, always moving. It does not want to stay in the same place for too long.”

“Like you.”

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, amused. “To the Shawnee, this river is our road. Canoes”—he pointed to a row of canoes turned over on the beach—“they are our horses. You will see, come winter, when we move south.”

Such a thought disturbed her, for she believed the longer she stayed in one place, the better chance she had to be reunited with Johnny. She gazed at the direction the water rushed, wondering what he meant by moving south.

Again, he seemed amused. “This river flows north, not south. It has a mind of its own.”

Also like him. “Monongahela,” she repeated. Betsy had learned to appreciate the importance of names to the Indians. Caleb explained that naming something held great meaning, that it represented being, and it made her think of Adam in the Garden of Eden, when he had been given the task of naming all the animals, plants, and trees by the Lord God. As Caleb called him, the Holy One.

But there was something else on Caleb’s mind today. She could see it in his eyes; he was like a child waiting with a surprise. “Like the river, it is good to have a mind of one’s own.” He had been holding one hand behind his back, and now he brought it forward and held something out to Betsy. “For you,” he said. It was a book.

She looked at the book but didn’t touch it.

“Take it,” he said. “An empty book. Waiting for your words. To be filled with new dreams.”

A swirl of conflicting emotions caused her to hesitate. “I . . . can’t accept it.”

He frowned. “You do not want it?”

She wanted the journal, wanted it desperately, but feared what taking it might cost her. “I have no wampum to give you.”

“I want nothing. It is a gift.” His voice held a hint of offense.

Her reluctance had hurt him.

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