Disclaimers: Please see Part I for disclaimers to this story.

Comments to Redhawk. No bad mouth or lippin' off. Constructive criticism will be muchly appreciated.

1759

"Push, lass! Yer almost there!"

The 'lass' in question panted with exertion as another contraction hit her. With a growl that was more animal than human, she did as she was bade, almost sitting up in her attempt. She was supported from behind by her mother as the midwife encouraged her.

"Good, lass! I can see the head now." Ignoring the groan of frustration from the mother-to-be, the old midwife ran her hand along the distended belly. "I think the babe's about ready to have a look at the world."

"None too soon," the woman's mother spoke up, her voice reflecting her concern. She brushed her daughter's strawberry blonde hair out of the flushed face. "How are you, Rachel?"

The pregnant woman's face was a brilliant red and sweat poured off her body. "As well as can be expected, mum," she whispered breathlessly with an Irish lilt. "Though which of us is to be the more stubborn remains to be seen."

Kathleen O'Neill chuckled and wrung out a wet cloth to mop the heated forehead of her daughter. "Ye'll win out, eventually, love. Ye did with me." She brought the cool cloth to the woman's neck and cheeks. "I tried to keep ye the full nine months, but ye'd none of it."

Another contraction welled up and the woman groaned as she forced herself to apply more pressure. And suddenly she felt a loosening sensation within.

The midwife barely had time to capture the babe that abruptly chose to rush out of the womb. As she cut the umbilical cord and tied it off, the new mother slumped back into her own mother's embrace in exhaustion. The old woman smacked the newborn and the baby cried out at the indignity. She smiled and clucked at the baby, cleaning and wrapping it with a sense of a job well done.

Rachel McGlashan felt as if her entire body was made of pudding, all the energy spirited away. Without even realizing it, she dozed off through the cries of her firstborn child, not rousing until she felt the warm weight pressed onto her chest.

"Here, lass. Yer daughter needs ta be fed." The old midwife smiled. "And I need ye to push one final time fer me. Must get the afterbirth out."

The new mother found herself caught up in a wave of tender emotions as she guided the hungry, questing mouth to her breast. Almost in afterthought, she bore down one more time and a mess of placental membrane was ejected from her womb.

With evident experience, the midwife cleaned up the area, checking for any extensive bleeding carefully. Satisfied that all was well, she grinned up at Rachel. "I'll be going now, lass. Ye be gettin' some rest." She bustled towards the door, not expecting an answer. There rarely is after the first birth. With a happy grin, she let herself out of the room.

O'Neill eased out from behind her daughter, blue eyes sparkling with joy. "Congratulations, Rachel," she said softly, brushing aside the swaddling cloth to peek at her granddaughter. She was heartened to see reddish peach fuzz on the head. "It looks like she'll continue on the blonde legacy."

Rachel smiled lazily, a thumb running across the fuzz. "Thank ye, mum."

"Did ye and Jonathon come up with a name yet?"

The younger woman's smile broadened. "Aye. Mum, I'd like ye to meet Kathleen Sarah McGlashan." She chuckled at her mother's pleased surprise. "If 'twere a boy, we were plannin' on Stewart Franklin for Jon's da and mine."

"I'm honored, Rachel. Thank you." O'Neill turned as she heard the door opening. She stood back a bit as her son-in-law stepped anxiously into the room.

"Mrs. Perdy said it was all right..." the tall dark young man offered, uncomfortable with imposing.

Rachel smiled warmly and held out a free hand to her husband. "Jon! Come see yer daughter!"

McGlashan slowly approached the bed, his blue eyes shining almost in fear. His mother-in-law scooted a chair closer to the edge of the bed and gestured him to it. Grateful, he settled down on the edge.

O'Neill stepped away from the couple, remembering a time when she and her husband, Franklin, had done the same thing - doting on the newly arrived Rachel. The older woman stopped long enough to watch them for a few moments before sneaking out of the room.

Behind her, she could hear her son-in-law's awe filled voice. "She's beautiful, Rachel...!"

1765

"Kathleen Sarah McGlashan!"

The girl froze in mid step. When her mother used her full name, she knew she was in double trouble. 'Tisn't anything new, she thought ruefully as she turned back around and faced the wrathful parent. "Yes, mum?"

"If I've told ye once, I've told ye a thousand times, lass!" A toddler was gently pushed in the six year old's direction. "Take yer brother with ye! He wants to play as much as ye."

The little blonde girl sighed deeply, her shoulders sagging at the injustice of her life. "Aye, mum," she mumbled. Her body showed its reluctance as she reached out to take her younger brother's pudgy hand in her own. As Kathleen turned back towards the door, she tried her best not to take it out on him. 'Tis not his fault he's a slobbery little brat.

She failed to see the fond smile her mother gave them as they left.

Kathleen stepped out the door of the small hovel her family resided in and looked about. The sky was overcast and the fog was still trying to burn off from the morning. In the distance, she could see white spots dotting the hillside. Her grandfather was with the sheep this day, somewhere out there. Her father was off to the village to look for work.

As her mother whistled a tune while she cleaned up after their midday meal, the girl tugged Stewart around the side of the house. She deposited the three year old by the window next to a nice mudhole. Soon the two were happily creating pies in the gooey soil. Kathleen considered her lot in life as she molded the mud.

It had been harder since Gram O'Neill had passed away a few months ago. The old woman had been the light of the home, always cheerful, always finding the good in everything. Kathleen had spent more time with her grandmother than any other member of her family. Her lessons with the tin whistle had come to a halt now that her namesake had died. The girl sorely missed her presence, as did the rest of the household.

The sound of a door closing brought the girl back to the present. Da's home! Through the window, she could hear her parents speaking.

"Jon! Yer back early. Did ye find anything?" her mother asked.

The sound of wood scraping as a chair was pulled out. Kathleen could almost see her father settling in at the head of the table. "No. No work to be had here. I did find somethin' interesting, though."

Her mother's voice had moved away from the window. Probably sitting by da. She eyed her little brother who'd gotten tired of the mudpies and was now content to slap the puddle. Dirty water splashed up and he giggled. Kathleen rolled her blue eyes.

"What is it?"

"There's a ship goin' to the New World next week. We could become indentured and start afresh in another land." A silence followed.

Outside the window, the little girl frowned. What's it mean? 'Indentured'?

Her mother's voice sounded strained. "Jon...."

"Now, Rachel, hear me out, lass." There was a pause as McGlashan gathered his thoughts. "We've got nothin' here, Rach. Haven't for some time. We don't own the land, we don't own this shack. We're workin' our fingers to the bone for somebody else!"

"I know, love...."

"No! You don't! We could be doin' the same bloody thing in the Americas, paying off our transport and getting land of our own. We'd be beholdin' to none!" The man's voice became softer. "I've heard the tales, Rachel. 'Tis the land of milk and honey, love, with green acres for as far as the eye can see."

Kathleen could hear her mother's sigh through the window. Meanwhile, Stewart had discovered the joys of tossing his mudpies into the puddle. Mum's goin' ta kill me, she thought as she realized just how filthy the little boy was.

McGlashan continued, forcing the issue. "The reason we didn't do it before was yer mum. She didn't want to leave her home. Yer father has no such compunction. We've spoken of it before. He believes as I, that there's nothin' here for our family." A pause. "Besides, yer sister's there. Ye know ye miss her."

The little girl stood up and grabbed hold of her brother's hand, trying to get him to stand as well. Stewart was resistant, wanting to play in the water more than obey her. He whined a bit and strained with his other hand to reach another mudpie to toss on the puddle.

Inside the hovel, her father continued the discussion. "I want our children to live free, Rachel. I want our son to be a man of substance, our daughter to raise her family on her own land."

Stewart began crying as he was pulled unceremoniously away from his point of interest. "No! No! No!" he yelled at his sibling in frustration.

"What the...?"

And then Rachel was in the window, peering out at her children. At first her face was a mask of concern which was immediately followed by a furious look as she took in the state of their clothing.

"Kathleen Sarah McGlashan!"

The little blonde girl winced, releasing her brother's hand. Double trouble again, she thought as her brother happily made his way back to the puddle.

Well, one good thing. I don't have ta keep an eye on bratty Stewart today! Kathleen dodged a pair of legs and continued to traipse along behind her mum and da. She firmly held onto a canvas bag that thumped her shins as she walked. Around her was the smell of the sea and fish and unwashed bodies.

The brat in question was perched on her da's shoulders, his blue eyes wide as he surveyed the crowd of people on the docks. Kathleen wistfully glanced up at him, towering above her, and wished that it was she on her father's shoulders. But da says I'm gettin' too big, she mourned.

"Come along, Kath." Rachel reached down and took her daughter's hand. "We're almost to the ship."

Kathleen quickened her step to keep up, excitement building in her heart.

Both the little girl's parents carried a heavy satchel, as did her grandda behind them. Additionally, there was a pack on her father's back that Stewart was perched on. The bags held most of the small family's entire world - clothing, personal items and such to include food to be eaten once on board. There were two trunks that were already in the hold, having been delivered by McGlashan the night before.

I'm goin' to the Americas! Her da had regaled her with tales all week as they sorted through their belongings and prepared for the trip. "Land as far as the eye can see, Kath! All free for the taking for whoever can till the soil. Honey flowing in the rivers and milk from the trees." Kathleen wasn't too sure about this last bit of information. It sounded like poppycock to her but she hadn't denied him, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

And then there was a break in the crowd and she was able to finally see. Her family had stopped and set their bags on the ground of the dock. Her da was talking to a man checking a list of names. A wooden ramp led up towards a huge ship and Kathleen's eyes bugged out at the sheer size of it.

"Grandda! 'Tis huge!" she exclaimed, tugging on the older man's trousers.

Franklin O'Neill chuckled. "Aye, 'tisn't it?" He crouched down to look at the ship from his granddaughter's point of view. "And we'll be on her fer over a month, Kathleen."

Considering it had taken an hour to get to this spot, which was far, far away compared to what she usually travelled, the girl was impressed. "A whole month!? The Americas are so far away then?"

"Aye, they are," her mother interjected. Blue eyes that matched the girl's clouded in sadness. "A long way from here."

Sadness for her mother welled up in Kathleen's heart. She flung her arms around her mum's waist and hugged her fiercely. "I'll miss home, too," she said. "But da says there's milk and honey for the takin'."

Rachel smiled at her daughter's attempts to cheer her up. She held her close in a warm embrace. "I know, love. And we'll all get fat and sassy in our new home."

"'Ere! 'oo's next!?" the porter called out.

"Come along, Rach," McGlashan called. "Da, let's go!" He herded his small family towards the ship and their future.

The first night was the best. Once all the passengers had been loaded on, their belongings settled and bedding assigned, the ship left port and headed for open sea. For the rest of the afternoon, the inhabitants became acquainted, fixed their meals and cozied up their tiny portions of the vast hold they had been put in.

Eventually, as the night came on, a few men found common ground. First one pulled out a fiddle. Then another pulled a tin whistle from his baggage. Followed by a third and fourth with a dulcimer and drum respectively. In no time, a lively tune was filling the air and several people had begun to dance.

"Look, da! He's got a tin whistle!" Kathleen announced, her eyes bright with excitement. "D'ye think I can get lessons from him?" She knew that her Gram's whistle was in her bag, one of the few keepsakes she had to remember the old woman by.

McGlashan pursed his lips in thought. "I b'lieve so, Kath. Let me speak to him and see if we can come to an agreement."

The little girl's smile widened and she looked up to her father with adoration. "Oh, da! 'Twould be grand if ye did!" And then she giggled as he swept her up into his arms and began to dance around.

And so, Kathleen Sarah McGlashan spent the remainder of the trip to the Americas in sheer bliss. When she wasn't required to take care of bratty Stewart, she spent all her time with Mr. Gallagher from Dublin who continued her lessons on the tin whistle.

1773

"Kathleen! Where's yer brother?"

The blonde sighed deeply and rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "I dunno, mum!" she called back over her shoulder. "'Twas supposed ta be cuttin' wood for da!" She returned her attention to the peas she was snapping into a bowl for their evening meal. Under her breath, she mumbled, "I don't understand why I'm ta know what he does every wakin' moment."

"Because yer the eldest and the one with the responsibility," her mother reminded, a faint smile on her face. She ignored her daughter's blush, patting her gently on the back as she reached for the bowl of peas. "I'll finish these. Ye go find Stewart and tell him his da wants help with the tilling."

"Aye, mum" Kathleen muttered. She rose from the stump she was using for a chair and stomped off to locate her errant sibling.

The prior year the McGlashans finally paid off their debt and had joined a group of like minded individuals heading west. They'd only just finished work on their new home, a single story cabin with three rooms, and had begun working the land in earnest. Things had been hard this first year, but it had looked up through the summer - the soil was fertile, the land was green and growing, and a natural spring ran near enough that a well wasn't necessary. Their nearest neighbor was the widower Adam Stevens three miles to the north. A bit further away were four or five other homesteads and the closest sign of civilization over six days travel to the east.

The disgruntled teenager made her way around the side of the cabin. Her brother was nowhere near the woodpile, the ax imbedded in an old stump. "That brat!" She stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the wilderness around their home.

A large stand of maple was near, on the northeastern side of the cabin. Kathleen could make out the sight of her father in the field to the west of the homestead, urging their cantankerous mule to pull the plowshare. Her grandfather was in front of the mule, tugging on the bridle and not doing much good.

Grandda's gettin' old, she mused with a tinge of sadness. He'll join Gram soon. She heaved another sigh. Back to the task at hand. "Stewart!" she called.

From a distance, she heard his voice. "What?"

Turning towards the small barn, she marched towards it. The door was standing wide and she stepped in, stopping to allow her eyes to adjust to the dimmer lighting. "Stewart?"

"Aye, Kath, I'm right here."

Kathleen could make out a smaller form over by a stall. "Da's lookin' fer ye, Stewart. Wants ye to help with the plowin'." She moved closer to her little brother. "What're ye doin' in here, anyway?"

The eleven year old was hanging on the partition and grinned over his shoulder. "Watchin' Caleb." He waved a hand at the animal in the stall.

The teenager leaned against the railing as well, peering in at the new addition to their farm. Their milk cow had given birth that spring to a calf. It had immediately captured the younger McGlashan's fancy and he spent near as much time with the animal as he did with his family.

"He's growin' like a weed," Kathleen observed.

Stewart's grin widened. "Aye, he is," he answered proudly, as if he'd something to do with the natural growth spurt of a young bull.

Kathleen shook her head in exasperation. "Ye better get out ta the field. Da's lookin' fer ye."

The boy sighed and brushed his unruly blond hair from his eyes. "Guess yer right, sis." He waved at the calf. "See ye tonight, Caleb," he offered before pushing away from the partition and heading for the door.

From outside, their mother's voice could be heard. "Kathleen!"

"Ah, I'm in trouble again," the girl grumbled. Her eyes flashed angrily at her brother's laugh.

Stewart patted her gently on the arm. "When aren't ye in trouble, lass?" he asked. "Ye've been on the wrong side of mum's temper so long, I don't think ye'd know what 'twas like ta not be." And then he scampered off before she could smack him.

Growling, Kathleen watched him go and wondered why what he said was so true.

"Kathleen Sarah McGlashan!"

"Aye, mum! I'm comin'!" She lifted the hem of her dress and jogged back around the house.

"I don't understand why I have to get all cleaned up, mum!" Kathleen complained from the wooden tub she currently occupied.

Rachel bustled about the main room of their home, putting the final touches on the cookies before popping them into the small dutch oven in the fireplace. "I've told ye, lass. We're havin' comp'ny fer supper."

The blonde frowned. "Does Stewart have to clean up, too?"

"Aye. He'll have ta clean up some as well," was the vague reply.

Somethin's not right here, Kathleen mused. Who could be comin'? The only neighbor near is the widower Stevens. And I never did this the last time he came ta eat here. The teenager worried the problem as she finished her bath.

"Here, love, let me help ye wash yer hair," Rachel interrupted her daughter's thoughts.

Now I know somethin's fishy! Mum hasn't helped with my hair in... well, in ferever!

"I've always loved yer hair, lass," Rachel murmured once she'd begun lathering the blonde tresses with soap. "It's so much thicker than my own."

Uncertain, Kathleen murmured, "Thank ye, mum."

"Ye've grown to be such a beautiful young woman, too. Every day ye look more and more like my ma." There was a comfortable silence. "Do ye remember yer Gram?"

"Aye, mum. She had white hair and taught me to play the tin whistle."

Rachel smiled at the memory. "Good. I'm glad ye do. She was a wonderful lady."

Despite herself, Kathleen closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, the strong fingers massaging her scalp feeling so nice. "What's really going on, mum?"

The older woman debated with herself for a moment. "Widower Stevens is comin' ta dinner."

"But why'm I gettin' all cleaned up then?"

"Kathleen," her mother started, "he's a lonely man. His wife passed away two years ago and he's out there on that farm by himself with no sons to help out."

The teenager's brow furrowed as she considered this statement. For some reason, she wasn't understanding what her mum was trying to tell her.

When there was no response, Rachel continued. "And yer not goin' ta find many other choices out here in the wilderness for a husband, Kathleen."

Blue eyes flew open as the full weight of her mother's comment hit her. Marry him! She wants me ta marry him! "But.... But, mum," she sputtered, pulling away and turning to peer in horror over her shoulder. "He's an old man!"

Rachel's mouth pinched together in irritation. "He's not that old, lass. He's only twenty-eight." To forestall further comment from her eldest child, she held up her soapy hands in warning. "And a good provider. Why, he's got a good ten acres of land in seed now, and it's growin' every year!"

"I don't care how much land he has!" the teenager yelled. "I'll not marry him!"

The older woman sighed explosively and rose to her feet. She picked up a nearby towel and wiped off her hands, speaking all the while. "It's not like we're tryin' to marry ye off today, Kathleen! We're only invitin' him to break bread with us, give the two of ye a chance to get to know one another. Yer too young to be married yet."

The blonde brushed soapy bangs from her eyes. "I am?"

"Aye, lass. Do ye think we're that barbaric? To wed our oldest child to a stranger at fourteen?" Rachel sighed again and shook her head sadly. "It's just that there's not many options fer a pretty young lass out here. We can only do the best we can."

"Aye, mum." Kathleen ducked her head in shame.

"Promise me ye'll give him a chance, Kathleen." When her daughter raised her eyes to look back, Rachel returned to kneel by the tub. "Promise me. It's not Widower Stevens' fault, either. Don't be takin' things out on him."

The slumped shoulders were far more eloquent than the words murmured from the teenager's mouth. "Aye, mum. I promise."

"Good!" Rachel rose to her feet, a smile on her face. "Now, rinse yer hair, love, and I'll help ye dry off and get dressed." She moved away to check on the cookies, humming under her breath.

The teenager heaved a heavy sigh and did as she was bade.

Dinner had been a strained affair from Kathleen's point of view.

Her mother had dressed her in her finest and helped put her hair up. All the while, she was regaled with hints of how to carry herself in the presence of their dinner guest. When the men came back from the field, the responses were mixed. McGlashan and O'Neill were properly awed at the beautiful young woman blushing by the fireplace.

But when Stewart giggled at her, Kathleen lost her decorum and chased after him as he bolted out the door. Despite the stern commands from their da to return, she caught the little brat and knuckled his head for his disrespect.

Widower Stevens arrived on a horse at the required time, a tall, thin man dressed in dark clothing. The men immediately gathered together and began discussing the weather, the crops, and the animals. Stewart kept himself underfoot, trying to entice the visitor to the barn to see Caleb.

Kathleen watched surreptitiously from a window. He's not a bad looking man, she finally allowed. If we 'twere to be married, our children would be blond. And he appears to be gentle and kind. The teenager sighed and turned away, catching her mother watching her, a smile on her face. With a grimace, she returned to stirring the pot of stew.

Everyone sat at the table for the evening meal, though the women stayed more on their feet while they served the men and boy. Conversation ranged through various topics from the standard day-to-day existence to the rumblings from the colonies to the east.

"Ye know, there's talk of revolution in the colonies," Stevens commented. He smiled up at his neighbor's daughter who refilled his cup of water. "We get news so late here, though, I doubt we'd hear of anything 'til years after the fact."

"Aye," McGlashan nodded. He pushed back from the table. "Stewart, get my pipe. There's a good lad." As the man opened the tobacco pouch and began packing the bowl, he continued. "I'd heard that a British ship ran aground last year at Rhode Island. 'Tweren't long before the colonists themselves burnt it out."

"Things are gettin' volatile, and that's fer certain," Stevens said. "Out here, though.... Not much call to get involved. Don't reckon that the British will get this far into the wilds."

"Probably not," McGlashan agreed.

"But, da," the boy piped up. "Didn't the British get this far up north? They were fightin' with the French up by the lakes."

Their guest nodded. "True, lad. But, now they've got all the land b'tween here and there full of colonists who aren't happy with the way things're goin'. At least up north they had the support of the colonies."

The talk continued on as the women gathered up the remains of the meal. The men eventually wandered outside into the night to smoke and chat some more of politics and the like. Rachel used the time wisely to speak with her daughter.

"See, Kathleen? That wasn't so bad now, was it?" She scraped the remains of the meal onto a single plate.

Reluctantly, the teenager nodded. "Aye. 'Twas all right."

"And ye see what I meant? Ye could do worse out here for a future husband, ye know."

"I know, mum. I know."

1775

"Dinner was wonderful this evening, Kathleen."

"Thank ye, Mr. Stevens. I'm happy ye enjoyed it."

The pair were seated on the newly added front porch of the McGlashan homestead, enjoying the evening. Inside the cabin could be heard the sounds of the teenager's family cleaning up from the meal, settling in for an evening before the fire. Tonight, Rachel had made sure that their visitor was aware of her daughter's contribution to the meal.

Stevens' weekly visits were a regular occurrence, as were the after dinner discussions between the couple. More and more as time progressed, they were gently pushed together by Kathleen's parents. Neither of them were ignorant of the reasons.

The man inhaled deeply of the night air and looked at his companion. She's a beautiful lass. Young and healthy. And her parent's are willin'. Coming to a decision, he leaned forward in his chair and took the teenager's hand.

Kathleen eyed him carefully. There'd been many a time that they'd held hands, but his blue eyes seemed more... intense than usual.

"Kathleen," he began, "I would like to ask yer father fer yer hand in marriage." When there was no immediate response, Stevens continued. "It seems the right thing to do. Neither of us have many other options out here. And I'm not gettin' any younger. I can't promise you that it'll be an easy life, but it can be a rewardin' one."

The blonde swallowed, her heart in her throat. Well, it's finally come. She dropped her gaze to her lap, her brow furrowed in thought.

Stevens squeezed her hand tenderly. "I'll not expect an answer this trip, Kathleen. I know it's an important decision fer ye. I don't want ye to feel pressured inta somethin' ye don't want."

"Thank ye, Mr. Stevens," the teenager murmured in a low voice.

Releasing her hand, he brought his fingers up to her chin and raised her head to look at him. He'd never touched her in this manner before and her blue eyes were wide as she peered into his own.

"Please, Kathleen. My name is Adam."

There was a long pause. Slowly, the girl nodded. "Aye, then. Adam."

Stevens' smile widened and he rose to his feet. "'Tis time fer me ta be headin' home. Ye'll confer my thanks ta yer family?" He settled his wide brimmed hat on his head.

"Certainly... Adam," Kathleen responded, blushing at the use of his first name. She stood as well, and stepped off the porch with him towards his horse. Once there, she was astonished to find him kissing the back of her knuckles.

"'Til next week then, my Kathleen." And then he was on his horse. With a tip of his hat, he grinned at her before wheeling the horse around and trotting away.

Kathleen crossed her arms in front of her and watched him go.

It had been a long week of soul searching for the teenager. She tossed out feed for the chickens with only half a mind. The voices of others filled her head with praise, making it hard to think, to decide.

Her mum. "He'd be a wonderful husband, Kathleen. A good provider and father."

Her da. "Ye know, Rach, that Stevens is a right smart feller. He's figured a way of rotatin' the crops that puts out a higher yield all 'round!"

Even bratty Stewart. "Da! Mr. Stevens wants to use Caleb as a stud fer his cows! Says he's the biggest bull this side of the big lakes!"

"I wish ye'd all just shut up!" she mumbled in exasperation.

"I've not said anythin'," was the argued response.

Kathleen turned to see her little brother watching her curiously. She sighed and rolled her eyes. "I was talkin' ta myself, Stew." She returned to her chore, clucking at the hens and hoping her sibling would drop it and leave.

But such was not the case. The youth set the empty pails down and moved to sit on a nearby stump. "What's up, Kath? Ye've been actin' daft all week."

"It's none of yer concern."

Stewart shook his head. "Yer my sister, Kath. 'Tis my concern. Ye've been this way since Mr. Stevens' last visit." He brushed the hair from his eyes as he studied her. "Did he hurt you somehow? Take advantage?"

The older sibling heard the muted anger in his voice and stopped to stare at him in surprise. What's this? "No," she said. "No, he didn't." The look of caring on Stewart's face was so alien to her, she began wondering if he'd become a changeling. Unable to help herself, Kathleen asked, "And what if he did, Stew?"

The blond brow, so like hers, furrowed. "Then I'd have ta get da's musket and set Mr. Stevens straight." He sat up a little straighter and puffed out his chest in manly resolve.

Kathleen tilted her head as she studied this strange youth. She stopped feeding the chickens entirely and stepped closer. "Why?" she whispered, trying to comprehend.

"Why?" Stewart asked, confused. "Because yer my sis, that's why! He might be the only man out here fer miles, but that doesn't mean he can have sport with ye." He shrugged. "I mean, I like him and all, but I'd still defend yer honor."

A small smile crossed the girl's face. "Even if he'd make me a good husband? A wonderful provider and father?"

"Aye. Even then. If ye'd none of him, than none of him ye'll have, if I have any say over it." Stewart scooted to one side, his sister sitting on the stump beside him.

"But, he's smart and friendly and kind and generous," Kathleen added, bringing up all the things she'd been told by their parents.

"And so's Caleb," the youth responded sarcastically. "But that's neither here nor there." He peered closely at his sister, placing a hand on her knee. "What's wrong, Kath?"

Kathleen debated with herself, chewing on her lip and staring at the chickens scratching at the ground without seeing them. "Mr. Stevens... Adam has asked me ta marry him."

Blue eyes blinked at her. "Have ye made a decision?"

Shaking her head, she said, "No. I haven't. But he'll be expectin' an answer tonight after dinner."

"Well, da always says two heads are better 'n one. Maybe I can help ye?"

The blonde snorted a bit. "I don't think so, Stew. 'Tis not like I'm tryin' to find different solutions to a problem. A simple yes or no will do him fine."

"Aye, Kath, but yer obviously unsure. Maybe talkin' it over with me'll help set things straight in yer mind." He looked at her with an open face, nodding gently.

P'rhaps he's right. What can it hurt? Ye need to give Mr. Ste... Adam an answer. She finally nodded and her sibling sighed in relief. "All right then. What do ye wanna know?"

Stewart pursed his lips in thought and scratched idly at his neck. "Do ye love him?"

Another snort and Kathleen shook her head. "I don't know, Stew. I don't think so. I like him well enough and all, but I don't think I love him."

"Well, then. Does he love ye?"

The blonde's wry grin quirked her lips. "I'm sure enough of that to say no. Adam feels the same way I do, I b'lieve."

Stewart frowned. "Maybe we're goin' 'bout this the wrong way." He picked up a twig from the ground and began peeling the bark from it. "Kath, what do ye want ta do with yer life?"

"I've never given it much thought," the elder sibling said with a shrug. "I've always known I'd find a man, get married, have babies. I've always wanted ta have lots of babies." Her blue eyes grew distant, searching her memories and dreams. "'Tis funny, ye know? I can remember dreaming of havin' lots of children and raisin' them up in my own home. But, fer the life of me, I can't remember of ever thinkin' of a husband ta share my life with."

"Well, ye can't have one without t'other," Stewart smirked.

"Hush!" the blonde said with a smile, bumping her shoulder against his.

"So, ye like him. And he likes ye. But havin' a husband 'tisn't all that important ta ye," the youth summed up.

"Aye, that about covers it."

Stewart nodded in contemplation. "Then I'd say yer best option would be ta marry him. At least there's a basis for friendship - 'tisn't like ye hate each other. And then ye can have all those babies ye've wanted."

"'Tis true," the girl agreed, though deep in her heart she felt the wrongness of the decision. But, logically speakin' 'tis the truth all 'round. Somehow Kathleen knew, however, that this was not the path her life would take. She could feel it to her bones. And until my life goes another way? Sit here at my parents' home? Become an old maid?

Kathleen turned to look at her little brother. She covered her face with a smile and patted his hand. "Thank ye, Stewart. Ye've been a big help this day."

"Ye can always talk ta me, Kath," he promised. "We've had our differences in the past, but I've grown up some. Things are different from when we were children."

The fact that he was still a child caused a glimmer of laughter inside and Kathleen stifled it admirably. "Aye, Stew. Yer right. Things are different." She rose to her feet and scooped up the pail of chicken feed. "Ye'd best be fer gettin' the water fer mum. She'll not wait much longer."

Seeing that the conversation was over, the boy stood and did as he was bade. "That's the fair truth of it," he mumbled. He trudged away towards the creek, empty pails barking his shins.

Kathleen watched him go, her heart filled with love for the brat.

The wedding was the perfect excuse for a party. While McGlashan continued working the crops, Stewart was allowed to take their mule around the outlying area and issue invites to the other homesteads. It took him nearly three nights on the road and he returned happy with several responses to attend.

After the youth's return, Stevens rode off to the nearest township to make arrangements with the magistrate who would be officiating over the wedding. The journey was six days in either direction, so the McGlashan clan proceeded to juggle the working of both their own land and their neighbor-cum-son-in-law's.

And in Kathleen's home, preparations began in earnest.

"Oh, mum!" the teenager sighed in exasperation. "I've tried this dress on a hundred times now!" She stood on a stool near the fireplace as her mother fussed around the hem of a green gingham outfit.

Rachel tugged on the hem to readjust the waistline, studying her daughter's clothing with a practiced eye. "Aye, and ye'll be tryin' it on a hundred more 'til we get it right," she insisted, mumbling through the pins in her mouth. "Now, stand still, lass! Or ye'll be lopsided at your wedding!"

Glowering at the ceiling, Kathleen mumbled, "Aye, mum."

The older woman continued to pin up the hem of the dress, humming away. When she was finished, she stepped back to observe her handiwork before finally giving the girl permission to step down and helped her out of it. "I've heard from the Heinrich's that they'll be here with bells on the day b'fore," she gossipped, gathering the gingham in hand and rustling over to her chair by the fireplace.

Kathleen pulled another dress over her shift. "Why the day b'fore?"

"Ta help with the preparations. Mrs. Heinrich makes a fine potato cake, if ye recall." Rachel settled down, the dress in her lap, and strung a needle with thread. "She and her children will come and Mr. Heinrich'll stay b'hind until the next day." Adjusting the cloth, she stopped to wipe a strand of greying blonde hair from her eyes. "I think we'll set them up in the barn. I'll have Stewart muck it out the day b'fore."

The teenager finished dressing and moved to the table where the fixings for an apple pie were set out. As she began paring the apples, she asked, "How many will be attending?"

Rachel rocked gently in her chair. "Oh, looks ta be 'bout a dozen, no more. The Heinrichs, that new couple down south of here, and the Anders. 'Twill be an excitin' day fer ye, Kathleen! Ye'll look so pretty in yer wedding dress." She beamed over at her daughter.

"Aye," the blonde girl responded dutifully, not feeling all that excited at the prospect of becoming Mrs. Adam Stevens. More like.... dread. She continued peeling the apples, her mother's humming not soothing as it once had been.

By all the regular ways of reckoning, the wedding was a grand success. The homestead was packed to the rafters with well-wishers. Women and girls clustered around inside the cabin, fixing their best dishes for the festivities. The men and boys milled about outside, smoking pipes, looking over McGlashan's farmstead and with Stewart constantly pressuring people to come look at Caleb the bull in the south field.

At a little past midday, Stevens arrived with the magistrate in tow. While the pompous little official puffed about the small clearing designated as the wedding site, the men drug the groom off to the stables. Once there, he was given a shot of homemade liquor that made his pale eyes water and was gussied up for the ceremony. Meanwhile, the women fawned over the bride, pinching her cheeks, helping her into her dress, discussing the attributes of the new husband-to-be and generally making Kathleen all the more nervous for their efforts.

And then it was time. Stewart, dressed in his finest, burst into the cabin. "Are ye ready then?" he asked, raising his voice to get over the clamor of the women.

"Yes!" Rachel called from behind the crowd.

The women separated from behind, finally opening to reveal Kathleen. The green gingham dress was long and full, a high waist accentuating the bosom. Long sleeves puffed out on the upper arms, closing in to fit tightly around the forearms and wrists. Handmade lace had been attached to the cuffs and low collar and additional material had been used as a belt, a bow tied in the back. Her blonde hair had been put high on her head, with ringlets and spit curls spilling down here and there.

"Kath! Ye look...." Stewart blinked. "Ye look incredible, lass."

Kathleen blushed a little, not used to compliments from her bratty sibling. "Aye. Thank ye, Stew."

The youth stepped forward, his eyes still shining with some unknown emotion. "If ye weren't my sis, I'd marry ye myself."

The teenager drew herself up at the giggles from the women around her. She glared down at her brother in sisterly exasperation. "Like I'd have ye, ye brat."

"Kathleen Sarah McGlashan!" her mother said into the shocked room.

Stewart blinked again, coming to his senses. And then a grin split his face and he punched Kathleen on the upper arm. "Aye. I'm a brat. But it beats bein' a lily livered canary whistlin' on the pipes all day."

Rachel sounded even more distressed as she gasped, "Stewart Franklin!"

The siblings ignored her and swept each other up into an embrace.

"Ye look fantastic, Kath," the youth whispered.

"Thank ye, Stew," she whispered back.

Outside, the sounds of Mr. Heinrich's accordion filtered through the still open door.

"There 'tis then," a woman nearby piped up. "Time to get a move on, younglings."

Kathleen released her brother and gulped down the sudden overwhelming fear that threatened to crowd out all thought. Stewart pecked her once on the cheek and ran back out the door, preparing to take his place as Stevens' best man. The women around her filtered out to take their places with their husbands and parents with the exception of Mrs. Anders and her young daughter. These were to be Kathleen's matron of honor and flower girl.

Rachel gave her daughter a quick, reassuring hug and a kiss. "Ye'll do fine, lass," she whispered. "Ye look so beautiful!" Blue eyes already glistening with unshed tears, she hugged the teenager fiercely to herself once more. And then she was out the door to take her place with the rest of the wedding party.

Mrs. Anders looked to the young bride. "Kathleen...?"

The teenager fought down her rising bile and forced a smile to her face. "Time to get married."

The ceremony went off without a hitch, her mother and half the other women crying in response. The groom looked resplendent in his best suit, his brown hair pulled back and tied with a bow and the buckles on his Sunday shoes shining brilliantly. When he'd seen his bride for the first time in her splendor, his eyes glinted with unshed tears of happiness.

After the wedding, everyone gathered for a feast and fest. The clearing in front of the cabin was utilized as a dance floor as McGlashan and the Heinrich's boy pulled out fiddles and were joined by Mr. Heinrich's accordian. While there were more women than men at the function, that didn't stop anyone from merrily dancing away. Having little experience with dancing, Kathleen felt a bit odd. Whenever she and her brother danced, she usually led. It was difficult to give way to her new husband.

As the afternoon got on, gifts were unwrapped - a quilt from her mother, a matching set of braided leather bracelets from her brother, an ivory pipe that had belonged to her grandfather and was given to Stevens. The guests had also brought various and sundry gifts to help the new couple start their home, despite the fact Stevens' home was already well stocked after years of use.

Afterwards, the newlyweds said their farewells. The guests loaded their gifts and Kathleen's personal belongings onto a cart and Stevens helped his young wife up. As they drove away, the sounds of the merriment continuing behind them, Kathleen realized she'd never even seen her husband's home before. Nothin' like divin' in with both feet, eh?

Three miles passed and the sky was beginning to darken. The cart arrived at a tidy little homestead. Stevens began speaking of where the well was located, where the fields were, what he hoped to plant next spring. Kathleen listened with half an ear, peering at the small cabin as he pulled up in front.

"Here, Kathleen," Stevens said, wrapping the reins around the brake and hopping down. "Let me help ye inta the house. I'll unload the goods onta the porch and put up the cart after." He came around and reached up to her.

Swallowing, a flutter of nerves whirling through her stomach for a moment, the teenager rose and let her husband sweep her down to the ground. He placed her arm through his crooked elbow and guided her up the steps.

"'Tis just a small home, sweetling. But, 'twill easily be added on when the babes come." Stevens pushed the door open and paused, peering down at her with a soft smile. For the second time, the first being the wedding ceremony, he kissed his bride gently. "Welcome home, Kathleen."

"Thank ye, Adam," the teenager murmured, casting her eyes down and blushing. And then she clutched at him and let out a tiny shriek as he scooped her up into strong arms.

"I've got ta carry ye over the threshold, sweetling," he laughed, doing just that. Once inside, he set her down, holding her up as she gained her balance once again. "Here. Let me light a lantern fer ye."

The dark interior brightened as the lamp was lit. Stevens settled the glass over the flame and stepped back, surveying his home. With a rueful grin, he glanced at her. "'Tisn't much at the moment, sweetling. This ol' place hasn't seen a woman's touch in far too long."

Despite her nerves, Kathleen curiously glanced around the single room. A fireplace was on the opposite wall, cold and dark. To her left were a row of cupboards from wall to wall standing waist high. The resulting counterspace was covered with a fine layer of dust, a small collection of books and the usual clutter of a home. In the far right corner was a large wooden framed bed, neatly made up. The teenager swallowed anxiously and avoided looking at it.

Stevens stepped forward and gave his wife a quick peck on the forehead. "I'll be back soon, sweetling." And then he strode out of the room.

The sounds of items being set onto the wooden porch filtered through and the teenager continued her perusal. She removed her shawl and noticed pegs hanging from the wall beside the door. Hanging it there, she settled her hands on her hips.

The table wasn't filthy... exactly. She considered the state of her brother's belongings and snorted. Aye, Adam's a bit neater and that's a fact. There were two benches on either side of the table and a chair at one end. The lantern glowed from the center, illuminating the small cabin.

Kathleen moved around the room, clucking at the film of grime that seemed to invade every nook and cranny. The mantel above the fireplace held a small silver frame. It was the only thing that wasn't layered with dust. She picked it up to peer at it closely. The picture inside was a tiny painting of a woman with dark hair and somber grey eyes.

"My first wife, Amanda," Stevens said softly.

Startled, the blonde jumped and nearly dropped the artwork. Her husband reached around her and smoothly caught it before it could fall to the floor. With a blush, she turned and began apologizing. "I'm sorry, Adam."

"Don't be, love," the man said. His blue eyes held a measure of tender sadness. He settled the frame back on the mantel. Almost absently, his other arm wrapped around her and he held her close. "What's past is past and I'll not discuss it this night." Stevens grinned down at her. "'Tis our wedding night." And he ducked down for a kiss.

The butterflies in her stomach raged as they fluttered about.

When all was said and done, it wasn't near as bad as she'd been making it out to be. But, as Kathleen lay on her side, staring at the wall of the tiny cabin, she cried in silence. She missed her mum and da and even bratty Stewart. She missed her home.

Behind her, sprawled on his back, Stevens slept. He snored gently, blissfully ignorant of his new young wife's distress.

It had hurt, at first. Her mother had told her it would. And Kathleen knew she'd be sore for the next day. Yet, it had become an interesting sensation. But, did it have ta take so long? she wondered, wiping tears away. She wondered how often she would have to submit to her husband, how often he'd want her in that way. 'Twill be worth it in time. We'll have lots of wee babes roamin' 'round.

Kathleen thought of her own bed in her parents' cabin, thought of hearing her brother as he talked in his sleep, thought of waking up to hear her mother preparing breakfast and her da groaning about getting old before his time. Another spate of tears reached her and she clutched the quilt her mum had made to her chest.

1777

Kathleen tightly twisted the cloth in her hands, holding it over the tub of water. When she'd satisfactorially removed most of the excess, she tossed the damp item into a nearby basket. It was a beautiful spring afternoon. Birds were chittering to each other in the stand of pine trees nearby, the only sound that could easily be heard. If the young woman concentrated, she could hear her husband in the fields behind the cabin, cussing at the horse he worked.

Today was laundry day, an all day affair. Before her were two large wooden tubs, one of them sitting on a table. There were also two buckets nearby that she'd been using to transfer water from the well. The table tub held the soapy water she'd been using to clean their clothes and now she was rinsing the final load in the second tub, stirring them with a large stick before pulling each piece out to wring dry.

And that's the last of it, she thought with a happy sigh. Using her apron, she dried off her hands and used a corner of it to wipe the sweat from her forehead. At this rate, I might be able ta take a bath b'fore dinner. Kathleen picked up the heavy basket of wet clothing and brought it to the ropes she'd had her husband string up between the cabin and the trees two years ago. Most of their clothes already hung there, flapping in the light breeze, and she prepared to add more to their company.

It had been a good marriage to date. While she didn't exactly love Stevens, she had grown rather fond of him. He was always so gentle and kind, trying his best to not show his disappointment as yet another month went by and still no children. Kathleen couldn't understand what the problem was. Their intimacy was a regular thing - twice a week, except during her monthly time. As time went on, their lack of offspring had begun worrying them both.

"If God deems it, Kath, ye'll be blessed," her mother's voice whispered in her head. Though, having children denied her because God deemed it so wasn't a comforting thought.

Kathleen shook off her somber thoughts. Adam doesn't want ye sad, lass. Finish the chore, take a bath and get his dinner ta table. Instead, she focused on happy times.

The previous sabbath was spent at her parents' home. Stewart hadn't been there, having gone down the way a piece to have dinner with the Anders' and their sweet eldest daughter. So, the two couples enjoyed a quiet evening of conversation and food. The only fly in the ointment had been the talk of the local natives in an uproar.

"Apparently, a fellah down south of here cheated one of them when he traded," McGlashan said, puffing on his pipe on the front porch.

"No, I doubt it. Seems the savages are stickin' to their neck o' the woods. Haven't heard of them comin' any further north."

Kathleen scowled at herself as she hung one of her husband's shirts. "Nothin' like cheery thoughts, lass," she complained. Pushing the conversation from her mind, she hummed to herself as she hung the laundry to dry.

Once finished, the teenager looked up at the sun, wiping her hands on her apron. Adam'll be in for a break soon. He's nothin' if not methodical. With a grunt, she tipped over first one and then the second tub of water. When they were drained, she leaned them up against the table to air dry and retrieved more water from the well. After transferring the two buckets to the cabin, Kathleen scooped up the basket and went inside.

The basket was returned to the foot of the bed, ready to catch their dirty clothing for the next laundry day. Deciding she didn't have time for a bath after all, Kathleen opted to have a quick washing. One of the water buckets was partially poured into the kettle over the fire and she stirred it into the mixture of stew that had been simmering all day. She placed the second bucket on the table and pulled a coveted bar of lavender soap from the cupboard, along with a rag and a piece of linen.

The blonde hung the apron up on a hook by the door and returned to the table. Undoing the buttons on the front of her dress, she bared herself to the waist and dipped the rag into the water. She rubbed the bar of soap onto the wet cloth and proceeded to scrub her body, gasping at the initial coolness against her overheated skin. Once a fine lather had been achieved, she submerged the rag back into the bucket, swirling it around and rinsing it out. Again, she scrubbed, wiping the soap from her skin. The piece of linen was used to dry off.

As she shrugged back into the arms of her dress, she heard the door behind her open. "Adam! I didn't hear ye on the porch, love," she said, reaching for the buttons at her waist. "Sit down and I'll get ye somethin' ta drink."

Two things happened simultaneously. The sound of her husband's musket reached her ears - from out in the fields. And a rough hand grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around.

Kathleen looked up into the dark and dangerous eyes of a native warrior. Blue eyes wide, she clutched her dress to her chest, covering herself, and stepped back. "Get away from me!" she whispered urgently, unable to make her voice work any louder.

The warrior looked at her partial state of undress and a wicked grin crossed his face as he stepped forward.

Out in the field, Stevens heard his young wife scream. He clutched his belly, trying unsuccessfully to hold his guts in place as he used his other hand to crawl towards the cabin. The two warriors with him spoke to each other in a strange language and he felt the sharp pain of a knife bury itself between his shoulder blades.

And then all was dark.

Cast of Characters:

Jonathan McGlashan - Kathleen's father

Rachel McGlashan - Kathleen's mother

Stewart Franklin McGlashan - Kathleen's brother

Franklin O'Neill - Rachel McGlashan's father, Kathleen's grandfather

Kathleen O'Neill - Rachel McGlashan's mother, Kathleen's grandmother

Widower Adam Stevens - nearest neighbor and Kathleen's husband

Kathleen Sarah Stevens (nee McGlashan) - daughter of Rachel and Jonathon