The Blacksmith's Daughter: A Mystery of the American Revolution by Suzanne Adair Page A

near Keowee.   It lies north-northwest of here by some seventy miles.   Now may the wisdom of the old ones guide
your lips and feet with this knowledge."
    ***
    Leaves resonated with nocturnes of
birds, and fireflies lilted in the twilight.   Joshua dismounted before the print shop and helped Betsy off her
horse.   From inside, she heard her six
cousins hollering and thumping about.   Joshua, who'd kept quiet most of the trip back except for sharing a few
anecdotes about Mathias, took her hand in his and said low, "Will you go
to South Carolina in search of them?"
    She considered her visit to the
Creek village.   Ambivalence wound
through her soul again.   The Cherokee
village where her parents hid must be similar to the Creek village.   How much more comfortable she felt back in
Alton, at Clark's side.   Her eagerness
to seek her parents sputtered a bit.   "Perhaps."   Longing
tugged at Joshua's expression.   "Mathias is your only living brother.   Will you go?"
    "I have four children and a —
uh — quarrelsome wife.   But she
understands about family."   He
released her hand.   "If my niece,
daughter to my missing brother, must undertake a journey to South Carolina, I
consider it a matter of honor and duty to accompany her."   He bowed.   "Likely even with my wife's blessings."
    "Ah, Joshua.   Thank you."
    "Huzzah!   It's Cousin Betsy!"   Children spewed from the house and pounded
down the steps to encircle Betsy and Joshua.   After they'd taken turns hugging her, they focused on him.
    "Mr. Joshua, Mama says you and
Betsy are cousins!"
    "That makes us your cousins,
too, doesn't it?"
    "Hug me!"
    "Hug me, too!"
    Betsy watched, amused, while her
youngest cousins attempted to leap on Joshua and the eldest boys stood off to
the side grinning, having decided they were too grown up for such a
display.   Joshua laughed, at ease with
children swinging off him like monkeys.   "Ho, there, one at a time, will you?"
    From the front porch came the deep
voice of Susana's giant-of-a-husband, John.   "Well, Joshua, welcome to our family."   The boards on the porch squawked beneath his
weight as he lumbered down the steps.   "Looks like Will had a good basis for his long-term friendship with
the le Coeuvres, ho ho ho."   The
children hanging on Joshua scattered.   John pumped his hand and slapped his back as if Joshua were Betsy's
father.   "Stay for supper,
hey?   We've plenty of food."
    "No, thank you.   I must head home for supper."
    "Join me at the Red Rock
later, then.   I'll buy a round."
    Joshua tipped his hat.   "Excellent.   I shall see you there."   With a wink for Betsy, he mounted his horse and rode off, several of the
children waving after him.
    "Say, woman, how about a hug
for your uncle?"   John reached for
Betsy and hugged her, restraining his usual spine-popping pressure because of
her pregnancy.   "You sure you're
expecting?   Susana was out to here by
four months."   His meaty hand
snagged the shoulder of his eldest son.   "Take your cousin's mare back to the stable and rub her down."
    "Yes, sir."   The youth led Lady May around back.
    Betsy spotted Clark trotting his
horse toward them on the dusty street, and she waved.   John seized the next older boy.   "And you rub down Clark's horse when he gets here."
    Clark alighted, pecked Betsy's
cheek, shook John's hand, and submitted to a round of hugs from cousins.   After providing a vague response to her
query about his visit that afternoon with the tanner, Mr. Givens, Clark
followed Betsy up the porch steps, preceded by John and four children while the
second eldest boy trudged to the stable with his horse.   At the threshold, Clark murmured to Betsy,
"What's this about you being the daughter of an old French spy?"
    Gossip in Alton flowed as free as
sand from the river, and was just as common.   Betsy wondered whose tongue had wagged the most.   No sense in trying to straighten out the
truth with her husband until they had some