Walk Gently Through The World

1887 England

Lord and Lady Harrington require the services of a governess to look after their two children. Live in, all found. Salary 20s per annum. Must be prepared to travel.

Elizabeth Pierce read the advert with interest. An educated woman, she had fallen on hard times since the death of her father, the Reverend Thomas Pierce. Now thirty, with no reasonable prospects of marriage, she had come to realise that she would have to earn her own living. This fact had been expressed most strongly by her Aunt Cecelia.

"Your father was not a frugal man. He spent every penny of his living, much against my advice," she informed her at the funeral. "I do hope you have no illusions that I might offer you any financial support."  Indeed, she would not accept it even if offered. Aunt Cecelia would expect too much in return. "As to marriage, well, you are nothing if not plain. Any chance you may have had is long gone now that you have lost the bloom of youth. Content yourself with a life of spinsterhood."

She wrote to Lady Harrington and was pleased to receive a favourable reply. The fact that she was well educated made her stand out among the possible candidates as there would be no need to employ a tutor when the children were of an age. This fact also increased the salary offered to 25s per annum. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," her aunt advised. Lizzie accepted the offer by return of post. The prospect of getting away from her malicious relative was an added incentive.

'Lord Harrington shamed.'

That was the headline which greeted Lizzie from the front page of the Times. As she sat in the railway carriage she read on. 'Peer blamed when the bank he works for loses a fortune.' Lizzie prayed that this news would not interfere with her employment by said peer. Her fears were somewhat allayed when she was met from the train by an elegant carriage. "Miss Pierce?" The driver was an elderly man, dressed in a suit which was several sizes too big. From it's cut it was fair to surmise it had once belonged to His Lordship.

"In the circumstances, which I am sure you are aware of..." Lord Harrington looked at the newspaper she had rolled up under her arm, "I have to impose an additional condition of your employment. You are not, under any circumstances, to communicate with members of the press." Lizzie nodded her agreement. After a brief introduction to the children, Peter and Sarah, she was shown to her room by a young undermaid named Tilly. The girl was barely older than the children. She could only hypothesise  on the life of poverty this child had endured.

Lizzie was informed the next day of the plan for the family to emigrate to America. "You are prepared to come with us I trust?" His Lordship enquired. She had no hesitation. "How long before we travel?" was her only question. It would take three months for all the arrangements to be made. In that time Lizzie took the opportunity to familiarise herself with America and the American people. In particular she was facinated by the American Indians. She relished every nuance of their culture and learned the basics of their languages.

When the family set sail from Bristol, little did she know what the voyage had in store. Confined to a cabin with the children she was unaware of the fever ravaging the occupants of the ship. It was only when the steward informed her that Lord and Lady Harrington were gravely ill that the reality of her situation took form. She was on her way to a strange land with the responsibility of caring for two children who might, by the time they land, be orphaned.

Boston, Massachusetts.

Her first task on landing in Boston was to find a way to communicate to the children's grandfather the demise of Lord and Lady Harrington. The young maid Tilly who had been travelling with them had also succumbed. The Captain had been very helpful. He had found them accomodation, and, given the circumstances, had handed over the purse he had been holding for His Lordship. "T'will be the young'uns money now. Use it wisely for their benefit."

The gold sovereigns weighed heavy, both in reality and in responsibility. The lodgings were ample by Lizzie's standards. Surely it would only be a matter of waiting to hear from the children's grandfather as to his wishes. Then her responsibility would be discharged. Each day she took the children to explore the city. In the evenings she read about the many and various Indian nations that made up the indiginous population of this new land.

Three months went by without word from any family member. "You're on your own girl," her host insisted. "Chances are that your letter never even got there. Either that or the family don't want to be bothered with a couple of ankle biters." Already Sarah and Peter were addressing her as Aunt Lizzie. Maybe it was time to accept that she had adopted these two. It was also time to think about moving out of the boarding house and into something more permanent.

Lizzie had had the foresight to lodge the majority of the money with the local bank. Now she sought advice from the manager. "Boston is an expensive place to live Miss. Your money won't last long here. I would recommend that you join a wagon train and head west. You can purchase everything you need and still have ample funds to set yourself up with a nice little business in one of the frontier towns."

She gave it another month and still no news from England. Having made enquiries she knew there was a wagon train leaving at the end of the week. "Would you like to go on an adventure?" she asked the children. Their parents' deaths fast fading from their memory and Lizzie being very much accepted as their guardian the children were excited at the prospect. "Will we see In'yuns?" Little Sarah asked.
Travelling west.

Luckily Lizzie had driven horses before. She often drove around the parish delivering food and comfort. A team of four were not so easy to manage but she would soon get the hang of it. Cooking on a campfire was a new experience, especially with the unfamiliar foodstuffs necessary for a long journey. "Here, let me show you," a young woman, several years her junior, helped her build a cooking fire and gave her recipes for simple meals.

They had been travelling for about a week when the alarm was raised. One of the outriders had spotted smoke signals. The wagons were pulled into a defensive circle. "Can you handle a gun?" one of the hands asked, shoving a rifle into Lizzie's hand. She had experience with a shotgun, shooting game on the estates, but aiming at a human being? "You know what they do to women don't you?" She had heard the stories and had no wish to find out their veracity.

The children lay in the back of the wagon surrounded by sacks. She prayed they would be safe. She positioned herself behind the front wheel, far enough forward to keep a hold on the reigns. The red skins appeared over the crest, whooping and hollering as they charged. A barrage of arrows fell short of the wagon. Then the guns opened up on both sides. She took aim at an approaching rider but could not bring herself to fire. He fell feet away from her, blood oozing from a neat hole in his forehead.

Lizzie dropped her weapon and covered her ears as the gunfight blazed all around her. The horses were spooked by the thunderous noise. It took all her strength to hold them fast. Fearing they would stampede, she jumped into the seat. Her timing was accurate, the horses took off at a break-kneck pace. She hung on as best she could. Sarah was screaming in the back. They had covered several miles before Lizzie gained control. Thankfully they had not been persued.

After securing what was left of the contents, while calming the frightened children, Lizzie turned the horses and headed back to the wagon train. She was sure the fight would be over now but did not know what to expect. Corpses, both human and equine, littered the ground. One wagon lay on it's side, whilst another was ablaze. The remaining wagons were nowhere to be seen. "Stay in the wagon," she ordered the children. She moved amongst the bodies seeking some sign of life.

The young woman who had helped her lay with her throat cut and her skirts lifted, exposing the bloody evidence of her fate. It was a faint movement that caught Lizzie's eye. An outstretched arm made a grasping motion. Lizzie kicked aside the weapon and looked into a pair of dark, frightened eyes. His long hair was matted with blood from the wound on the side of his head. His leather clad leg was bent at a strange angle. He groaned something she could not quite comprehend. It was not one of the dialects she had made herself familiar with.

Satisfied that no one else lived on this gory battlefield, she went to the wagon and returned with water and a cloth. She knelt beside the stricken warrior and cradling his head she offered her canteen to his parched lips. In return he offered up his knife; a gesture of peace. She poured water on the cloth and bathed his head wound. "Peter, can you bring me some small branches and two leather belts." After some rummaging the boy reluctantly approached. "It's alright, he can't hurt  you." His leg splinted, she and the boy helped the native onto the back of the wagon.

"Peter, will you retrieve his bow and arrows and his tomahawk; we might be in need of them." Lizzie hung the bow from the wagon but took the precaution of locking the arrows and the hatchet in the chest with her valuables. "We must find shelter," she said, mainly to herself. The Indian pointed north, toward the hills. Heading in the direction the man had indicated they came to a group of caves. The largest could accomodate the wagon. She pulled up inside and dismounted.

Lighting a lamp, Lizzie explored the cave with the help of Sarah. At the rear, water trickled down. She tasted it; it seemed fresh. There was no sign of wildlife inhabiting the cave. It was safe; for now. She returned to her patient who had been drifting in and out of conciousness. He was awake for now. He grunted a word she recognised; home. Yes, this would be home for the time being.
The Homestead.

His head healing but still unable to walk, Azeban was able to teach Peter how to use a bow. Although only seven the boy was strong and soon got the hang of firing the weapon. A jack rabbit that strayed too near soon ended up in the pot. Lizzie trusted their companion with his knife and he made short work of the skinning. Once again he offered it to her but she gestured that he should keep it. Although he spoke no English and she was still struggling with his dialect they seemed to understand each other.

Azeban fashioned a doll for Sarah from some twigs and leather cut from his clothing. He gave Lizzie one of his bead necklaces. By the time he could manage to hobble on his damaged leg the weather was getting much colder. "We go," he managed. Lizzie understood. This place would be far too exposed once the snows came. With everthing loaded and Azeban pointing the way, they headed back into the valley and along a trail which took them further north and  to a wooded area with a small stream. "Here," he said.

With only his tomahawk, and still in some pain, Azeban set about felling some of the smaller trees. He instructed Peter in the method of weaving the thinner shoots through the thicker to make walls. Securing these to larger trees with wooden pegs and covering the whole with mud from the stream, they soon had some semblance of a house. The area was bristling with wildlife and Peter soon became adept at filling the pot. The larger animals provided skins which, when treated, became their bedding.

The winter was harsh. They were thankful for the protection of our wikiup. The wagon, removed from its wheels, became their store. The horses had been coralled. As the weather eased, Azeban and Peter set about extending the homestead. The children were given separate sleeping quarters. The Indian had shown no fleshly interest in Lizzie up till now. Once alone, he tentatively made overtures; overtures which she readily accepted. He was her husband, even without the blessings of the church.

The Hunting Party

Late spring brought the visitors to their homestead. A hunting party made up of six warriors. Azeban greeted them as old friends; offered them hospitality. Lizzie had by now learned enough of their language to understand the conversation. They were ribbing him for taking a white woman as his squaw. When they saw the children the ribbing turned to outright hostility.

Azeban insisted they leave but they had other ideas. They pushed their way into the store and tried to help themselves to the food. Peter tried to bar their way but one of them shoved him over. Azeban jumped on the attacker from behind, pushing him face first into the dirt. The other pulled his knife and they rolled around fighting for control. Finally, Azeban thrust his own knife into the interloper's side. He quieted then. The onlookers, seeing that Azeban was prepared to defend his home at all costs, left the store and mounted their horses.

Peter and Lizzie helped the wounded Indian to his horse. The others were surprised, expecting  to see him finished off. Azeban shouted something unintelligible as the six rode away. "I worry they will come back with others," he said. Lizzie wondered how well Azeban knew this area. "Is there a fort anywhere near?" she asked now. "Two moons, that way." He pointed further north. "I think we need guns to defend ourselves," she insisted.

Lizzie was now well accustomed to riding bareback using the Indian harness Azeban had fashioned. She was the only one who could go to the fort. With a pocket full of sovereigns she set off at first light. She recognised the trail left by the hunters and made certain to travel in a different direction. She rode all day and half the night. Only when she came to a wooded area did she seek to rest; only then for an hour or so. As the sun came up she took off again, following the path of a river which Azeban had told her ran near to the fort.

She found what she was looking for. A trading post stood close to the gates of the fort. "I want two rifles, two handguns and a shotgun; and plenty of ammo." The trader looked like all his Christmases had come at once. "You plannin' a war Missy?" She tossed a handfull of coins on the counter and he asked no more questions. She threw in an ammo belt, a holster and a set of saddle bags for good measure. "I'll take some beef jerky for the ride," she added. "You can have that on the house."

Tired, she made the return journey at a slower pace. She still kept a watchful eye for the hunting party the nearer she got to home. Fortunately, the trip was uneventful. The weapons were loaded and strategically placed around the homestead. Lizzie strapped on the holster and the ammo belt, then holstered one of the handguns. "If they come back now, we'll be ready for them," she said.

The Posse.

Several days went by with no trouble. Azeban and Peter went hunting most days. They did not go far; just in case. Azeban still used his bow but Peter had taken to using the rifle. Lizzie was not happy for such a young boy to be handling firearms but needs must. The sun was high when they returned. "Go wash," Lizzie ordered Peter. Azeban was skinning the deer they had killed.

A glint of sun on metal was the first warning. Lizzie saw it. Her hand went to the holster. A rider came in at full pelt, knocking Azeban to the ground before he had a chance to react. Two more riders followed, jumping from their mounts and grabbing Azeban. Another man came from nowhere and grabbed Lizzie from behind before she had a chance to pull her gun. "We come to rescue you from this savage m'am." Azeban was now hogtied. Lizzie struggled against her captor but he had her arms pinned to her side.

A tiny little figure with long blonde curls emerged from the homestead carrying a gun that was nearly as big as her. With both hands she struggled to point the weapon at the two men either side of Azeban. "Leave my daddy alone," she squealed. Behind her, Peter now came up to the rear of my captor and poked the rifle into his back. "You heard her. Leave my parents alone." The man released his grip on Lizzie, who now pulled her own weapon.

"We know this savage has been holding you hostage m'am," said the guy with Peter's rifle poking his spine. "He is not a savage, he is my husband." The men looked at each other in a knowing way. "M'am, there's no shame in being taken. Don't be scared to leave and go back to your own people." Lizzie began to see things from their point of view. She knew that Indians did take white women hostage and make them their squaws.

"This time you've got it wrong. He did not take me. If anything it was the other way around. I can assure you that I am with him because I want to be. Why can't you just leave us to live our lives?" Lizzie's speech threw the men a little. "I thought freedom was an inaliable right under the constitution," Lizzie continued. That went right over their heads. "It is my choice to be with this man and you have no right to come here and attempt to drag me away." The leader was now listening. "The way you would feel if the Indians came and dragged your wife off, well that's how we're feeling right now."

"OK, you've made your own bed. Let him go." They did untie Azaban, but not before giving him a kicking. Peter fired his rifle, missing the first guy by inches. The kicking stopped and Azaban was finally released. "Dirty Indian lover," the main guy spat at Lizzie. As they mounted up Lizzie carefully took the handgun from little Sarah. Peter ran to Azeban to help him up. Sarah flung herself at Lizzie. "Have they gone now Mummy?" Azaban and Peter joined them. "Will they be back Dad?" Azaban could not answer that.