The Baroness and the Preacher

By Billie Conner

In the late 1700's Baron Augustus MacTavish invested in a Fur Trading Company in the Pacific Northwest. After several difficulties arose he sent his young son Baronet Robert MacTavish to New York City to hire a Solicitor and investigate. Robert became embroiled in the society of the city and had an affair with a young prostitute called Miss Julie, and hires a professional trapper to go to the NW in his stead. It worked fine for two years, Then Miss Julie became pregnant, his father found out about his doings, and Robert was ordered home to Scotland. Miss Julie fared poorly walking the streets of NYC after the landlord threw her out for rejecting his advances. In December, her string ran out and she fell into the mud, snow, and manure of a NY street. She whispered the Solicitor's name to the policeman who found her. Two Nuns nursed her back to reasonable health and the lawyer gave her some money. She sets a course across Pennsylvania to find her sister's home in the mountains of NW Va. Three days after arriving there, she gives birth to a baby girl and tells her sister the baby's name is to be Mary Catherine, and dies; and this is her baby's story; how she marries a mountain preacher, raises a family of five children, discovers she is really a Baroness, and quite wealthy. It is also about a backwoods preacher who suddenly finds himself married to a person of royal heritage, and a wealthy one to boot. It tells of the events that befall them, the lives of the children, and how they all have to learn to deal with unexpected fame and fortune.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 21, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465390158

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Copyright © 2011 by Billie Conner.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2011960152

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4653-9014-1

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4653-9013-4

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4653-9015-8

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

CAST OF CHARACTERS

PART ONE

THE FAMILY

PART TWO

PATRICK SEAN O’CONNOR

PART THREE

THE SOLICITOR

PART FOUR

THE TRIP

PART FIVE

THE TRAIN

PART SIX

NEW YORK CITY

PART SEVEN

IAN MACTAVISH

PART EIGHT

CHRISTMAS IN NEW YORK

PART NINE

MACTAVISH LTD.

PART TEN

DUNDEE, SCOTLAND

CAST OF CHARACTERS

NATHANIEL (NATHAN) WOLDE—Adopted son of Ethan and Sarah Wolde. Farmer/preacher, husband of Mary Catherine Collingsworth. Parents killed in Indian Wars. Adopted by Ethan and Sarah Wolde.

MARY CATHERINE COLLINGSWORTH—Born out of wedlock. Daughter of Baron Robert MacTavish, Scotland, and Judith Conaway. Raised by Maddie (Judith’s sister) and Clarence Collingsworth as their own child. Married Nathaniel Wolde. Mother of five children. Stepsister of Ian MacTavish.

ROY, RALEIGH (RILEY), MARTHA JANE, SARAH, and LUCY WOLDE—Children of Nathan and Mary Catherine Wolde.

ETHAN WOLDE—Former British soldier, released from service due to severe wounds. Husband of Sarah. Adopted Nathan in Pittsburgh at age six.

SARAH WOLDE—Hospital nurse in Philadelphia. Tended to wounded Ethan Wolde then, later, married him.

CLARENCE COLLINGSWORTH—Metal worker/machinist/blacksmith. Husband of Maddie; foster parent of Mary Catherine, but actually her uncle.

MADDIE COLLINGSWORTH—Wife of Clarence, sister of Judith Conaway. Foster parent of Mary Catherine, but actually her aunt.

JUDITH CONAWAY—Sister of Maddie, mistress of Baron Robert MacTavish, mother of Mary Catherine.

BARON ROBERT MACTAVISH—Son of Augustus MacTavish, Dundee, Scotland. Companion of Judith Conaway, father of Mary Catherine Wolde, father of Ian MacTavish.

ANN LEIGH MACTAVISH—Wife of Robert MacTavish, Dundee, Scotland. Mother of Ian MacTavish, died following childbirth.

SYLVESTER ROTHCHILD—Solicitor in New York City employed by MacTavish Ltd., Dundee, Scotland.

LAWRENCE ROTHCHILD—Grandson of Sylvester.

ALBERT SAWYER—Former captain of China clipper ship. Retired from sea. Married to Martha. Captain of steamboat on Monongahela. Owns commercial warehouse, partner with Nathan in real estate venture.

MARTHA SAWYER—Wife of Albert. Schoolteacher; godmother of Martha Wolde. Mary Catherine’s dearest friend.

JOSEPH (JOE) and LUCY WINTERS—Migrating from New Jersey to Ohio. Lost all possessions when tornado hits barge carrying wagon down the Ohio River. Comes to live with Nathan on farm. Joe is killed in accident while cutting timber. Lucy marries Patrick O’Connor.

PATRICK O’CONNOR—Irish immigrant who lost wife to influenza. Meets Nathan who allows him and family to come live in old home place in return for help on the farm. Father of Sean, Michael, and Megan.

LUCY O’CONNOR—Widow of Joseph Winters who was killed in accident cutting timber. Marries Patrick.

SEAN, MICHAEL, and MEGAN O’CONNOR—Children of Patrick O’Connor.

JAMES MARSDEN—Vice-president for construction, B&O Railroad. Currently involved with extending B&O tracks through Fairmont to Wheeling. Hires Sean O’Connor, whom he plans to train to become his assistant.

IAN MACTAVISH—Son of Baron Robert MacTavish, stepbrother of Mary Catherine Wolde, mentor of his nephew Charles Raleigh Wolde.

THOMAS PATRICK—Warehouse manager for MacTavish Ltd. in New York City.

HANS and INGA WILHELM—Longtime members of the household staff and the MacTavish estate in Scotland who travel with Ian when he comes to America.

CAPTAIN THOMAS STUART—Captain of the clipper ship Catherine Ross, owned by MacTavish Ltd.

DAVID SULLIVAN—Nephew of Lawrence Rothchild. Came to territory to seek his fortune. Lived briefly with the Woldes. Business partners with family and extended family.

WILLIAM C. WILLEY—Sixth District congressman.

JANIE WILLEY—Wife of William.

C. J. WILLEY—Father of William.

GEORGE GRAY—Owner of Feed and Seed Store, Grant Town.

FRANCES H. PIERPONT—Chairman, board of delegates, Wheeling, Virginia.

JOHN WILSON SR.—Banker and mine owner.

ELIZABETH WILSON—Wife of John. DuPont heiress from Eastern Shore, Maryland.

JOHN WILSON JR.—Son of John Sr. and Elizabeth. Partner of David Sullivan. West Point graduate. Degree in engineering.

TOM LEWIS—Warehouse manager for Albert Sawyer.

JENNY LEWIS—Wife of Tom.

ARTHUR STANLEY—Big lumberman and saw mill operator in Valley Falls, Barracksville, and Mannington. Eventually merged with Roy and Michael’s construction company.

SAM JENSEN—John Wilson’s attorney.

ED BARLOW—Head teller in John Wilson’s bank.

WILFORD BOB JAMESON—Publisher of weekly newspaper.

BESSIE JENKINS—Owner of boardinghouse and restaurant in Barracksville, on Buffalo Creek.

LEWELLYN LEW SMYTHE—Head of construction company owned by Roy Wolde and Michael O’Connor.

CATHERINE ROSS, ANN ROSS, MARY ROSS—Names of clipper ships owned by MacTavish.

PART ONE

THE FAMILY

It was a very hot day (July 19, 1836) when Charles Raleigh Wolde came kicking and screaming into the world that Thursday afternoon. His mother—tired, weak, and sweaty—thanked the Lord for another miracle and went to sleep. Nathaniel Wolde picked up the baby boy and carried him into the kitchen, where he praised the Lord and thanked Him for another fine son. Dr. Jackson came in to say Mary Catherine was sleeping then placed the scales he was carrying on the countertop, took the baby from his father, and put him on the scales. My goodness, Reverend, it’s no wonder your wife had such a hard delivery, this boy weighs, hmm, why it’s ten pounds, and looks like two ounces. Here, you take a look, then we’ll let Mrs. Winters clean him up a bit and you can take him back to his momma. Your wife will be drifting in and out for a while, but I know she’ll want to hold that boy and he’ll be wanting some food. Now, Nathan, you know where to reach me if you need me. Say, where’s that other youngster? He needs to see his little brother. Here he comes now with Mrs. Winters. Well, I’ll be off, folks. See you Saturday.

His eyes were a bit misty, but shining, when Nathan carried his new son into the bedroom and placed him in his mother’s arms. He reached and brushed the sweat-soaked hair back from Mary Catherine’s face, kissed her fevered brow, and thanked her for another whopping big boy. Two sons were truly a wonderful gift for a man who worked hard on a mountain farm to make a living for his family. Little Roy was almost three years old, the very image of his father, as thick and solid as a block of wood sawed from a hickory tree. Lucy was attending to Mary Catherine and the baby, so Nathan picked up Roy, carried him into the living room and sat down in his father’s old homemade rocking chair. It came to him suddenly, as he sat there holding Roy, seeing his blue eyes and yellow hair, that his new born son more closely resembled Mary Catherine. Isn’t that strange, he said to himself, but that’s God’s doings. And he never gave it another thought. He couldn’t know, at that moment, that one son would stay and be a rock for him to lean on during troubled times, but the other would one day surrender to the dreams in his head and the ache in his heart and go.

On a Sunday, seven years and three daughters later, the Reverend Nathaniel (called Nathan) Wolde paused for a few moments while walking down the steps from his church. His little congregation had already left, but he was looking across the yard at his family standing by their wagon. My family, came softly from his lips. He was very proud of them, and they were important to him. Nathan was truly a righteous and God-fearing man who felt a bit ashamed of having strong feelings for his family when many friends and neighbors lost all or part of their loved ones during the years of Indian warfare. Still, he could not help but cherish it when his farm and his preaching allowed them to spend time together. His earliest memory was living at an orphanage in Western Pennsylvania that was run by the Presbyterian Church, and being adopted when he was around six years old. The bits of information that he was given by the orphanage, or that he overheard when people talked about him, had faded and gone. He faintly remembered something about his parents having not been accounted for after an Indian attack against Fort Henry, and that a small baby had been brought to the church shortly thereafter.

Mary Catherine, standing with her hand resting on the side of the wagon, watched as her husband resumed walking slowly down the steps and felt a warm glow of affection come over her. She knew him well and could often read his thoughts by watching the expressions on his face. If anyone had asked her what Nathan said, Mary Catherine would have replied without hesitation, My family. She believed they had bonded with each other at their very first meeting because of the tragic stories they had shared about their childhood. Whatever the reason, she thought, we are happily bound to each other for as long as we live. Poor Nathan never knew his mother or father and thought they might have been killed by Indians. Mary Catherine, on the other hand, enjoyed a happy childhood as the daughter of Clarence and Maddie Collingsworth. Sadly, they both perished in a house fire one cold winter night while she was staying with a friend in Palatine so she could walk to work. It was shortly thereafter when she happened to discover the two people whom she dearly loved were not really her parents. She was twenty years old and alone.

Nathan, feeling eyes upon himself, turned and gave Roy a nod. He chuckled as the young lad quickly gathered up the reins and scrambled onto the front seat. As he continued to walk toward the family, pride almost consumed him. There were the three little stair-step girls twittering about like birds in the trees; Roy, a solid chunk, head straight, chin up, eyes on fire, and a death grip on the reins; and Riley, sitting on the tailgate, feet on the ground, reading some sort of a book. Lord knows what it might be about. As Nathan reached his wife’s side, he had this terrible thought. Mary Catherine is looking more tired lately . Maybe I should let Riley stay at the house more and help his mother. Hmm. I believe that would make them both happy. My wife, the dreamer, and her big adventurous son. Well, me and Roy can hold our own with the farm. That boy knows where he’s going—nowhere. He’s already there.

Nathan gently took his wife’s arm and helped her to the middle seat of the wagon where he would sit beside her. It was Martha’s turn to sit beside Roy on the front seat, so Sarah and Lucy made their way to the back where they could tease and otherwise pester Riley all the way home. Strange, Nathan thought, he doesn’t mind it at all. The boy adores his sisters, all the time telling them tales about places only the Lord knows about or reading stories from his collection of books. His sun rises and sets with his mother, but I do think the boy loves me too. At least, I know he respects me, for he always does what I ask without complaining. I feel poorly because I can’t answer some of his questions, nor can I ease the ache in his heart. Hmn, I must talk more with Mary Catherine about Riley, she seems to know what he’s all about. Ah, just look at Roy sitting up there in front, fully in command of a two-horse team, taking his family home. He’s my rock.

In the late 1700s, Baron Augustus MacTavish reluctantly bought shares in a North American fur trading company. The Northwest Company was really a partnership of nine different fur trading groups having trappers working in the Pacific Northwest. They differed from the rival Hudson Bay Company in that the partners were themselves active in trapping, and were successful simply because each had a stake in the business. For the most part, they were all Scots and, therefore, bound by their nationality and kinship through the clan structure. At first, Augustus cajoled, then handsomely paid, a distant cousin to go to America and take care of the family’s business. Things were never smooth, but were workable, until the early years of 1800 when a series of problems arose between the Northwest Company and its rivals. This caused Augustus to believe a more personal involvement was required to protect his interests.

Twenty-year-old baronet Robert MacTavish was dispatched to the city of New York with some firm instructions from his father. First, he would establish an office in the city, and then he would hire the services of a solicitor. Once these were done to satisfaction, he would arrange necessary transportation and travel to the Pacific Northwest where he would obtain firsthand information.

When word got around that a handsome young gentleman, having both a title and money, had arrived in town, young Robert was quickly swept up like a whirlwind into the local society. These hard-drinking, fun-loving gentlemen were a far cry from life under the thumb of his tightfisted father. Still, in spite of the fun and frolic, he was able to satisfy the first two of his father’s demands, but was not inclined to comply with the third one. Why should he expose himself to the hardships of making such a long and difficult journey? Probably dangerous too. No, he would stay in New York where he could enjoy the company of his newfound friends. Why not hire someone to go in his stead? The idea grew much better the longer he thought about it, especially since he had recently been introduced to a lovely young lady called Ms. Julie.

Young Robert’s plan worked exceedingly well for a little over two years, mainly owing to the fact the Northwest Company solved its own problems without even learning of the existence of the young baronet. The lusty young Scot certainly preferred the big city life to dealing with greasy, stinking, bearded, long-haired trappers and crooked traders. So things went along passably well until his father found out, Ms. Julie got pregnant, and Robert went home.

Judith Conaway was Maddie Collingsworth’s youngest sister, and lived with her parents in Philadelphia. At age fourteen, Judith fled the family home looking for a more exciting life in the booming city of New York. Good fortune accidentally tripped her straight into the arms of Margaret DuBarry, a notorious madam whose clientele included many of the rich and famous men of the time. Almost a year later, the good Madam DuBarry introduced the now-beautiful and sophisticated Julie to the young Baronet Robert MacTavish. A suitable retainer was paid to the madam, and a three-year relationship began.

Judith did not panic when Robert hastened to obey his father’s demand that he return home immediately. She counted the little bit of money that she had managed to squirrel away from time to time. Madam DuBarry had loudly disclaimed any knowledge of her and Robert, which suited her just fine. She made a firm decision in that she would find a way to survive. Poor Robert, a true Scotsman, only paid for their lodgings one month at a time, which gave her two more weeks before the owner threw her out. And throw her out he did, when she refused him favors and the time expired.

The winds of October blew an awful chill, and she got sick. Her little hoard of money was almost gone, and Judith’s plight was worsening each day. November came, bringing sleet and snow. She made the rounds of soup kitchens, where she might get a bite to eat, and mission houses where she occasionally found a warm place to sleep. In mid-December, her endurance had reached its limit, and Judith crashed in the middle of the street. She was lying there in the slush and snow, the muck and the mud, when a young policeman saw her and ran over to where she lay. Just before she passed out, Judith whispered the name of Robert’s solicitor. Fortunately, it was a name the young policeman knew.

We may never know just how Judith Conaway found her sister Maddie; but she did, though she had never fully regained her strength. On the nineteenth day of June in the year 1813, Judith gave birth to a six-pound, four-ounce little girl. She warmly looked at her baby and told her sister, Her name is Mary Catherine, in honor of two sisters I knew once. Please take care of her for us. And then she died.

Clarence Collingsworth was not a farmer, a hunter, or a trapper, but he had always been a survivor. This had always been enough of whatever was needed to take care of his family. Due to necessity, he had proved a small piece of ground on the east side of the Monongahela River, near what would later become the little town of Palatine. What Clarence was, was a machinist, a mechanic, a metal worker, a blacksmith, or anything else in that line if work was available. He was overjoyed to find the Marion Machine Works, down the river a ways, and still happier when they gave him a job. He remained there until his death in the tragic house fire many years later.

In the normal course of things, Clarence built himself a kind of rudimentary work shop behind their house, near the edge of his little plot of land. One day, a large sea chest arrived in town, brought downriver by keelboat and subsequently delivered to the Collingsworths’ home. Clarence and Maddie made only a cursory examination of the chest but quickly decided its best resting place would be against the back wall of Clarence’s little shop. Both felt it should stay there unopened until their beloved daughter Mary Catherine was old enough to understand its contents. That’s exactly where Mary Catherine found it years later, only a few days after the burial of her mother and father. She had been told that an exploding can of fuel oil had prevented any chance of their rescue from the fire.

Mary Catherine walked down to her father’s shop to see if there might be something she could sell. She was all alone now, and money could quickly become a problem, especially with the prospect of warmer weather still months away. She knew her parents always kept a leather bag containing silver and gold coins hidden in the house, but suspected it had been found by someone helping put out the fire. Still, she was more fortunate than a lot of others, for she still had her job at the Palatine Pottery Company, where she had worked for the past two years. She didn’t know it, of course, but she had inherited her mother’s courage. She would survive. So, with a heart full of hope, she opened the door and stepped inside. What she saw quickly brought tears to her eyes, for there—lined up against the wall or on shelves or in wooden boxes—were axes, picks, shovels, hoes, mattocks, all just needing a handle. There were plowshares, mole boards, huge sledgehammers, horseshoes, hooks, as well as chisels and wedges. All these things made over the years by that gentle man with the big hands that could pluck a thorn out of a little girl’s foot. She dried her eyes and looked around. Suddenly, she spied a big old chest sitting against the back wall, partially covered.

What on earth could that be, and why is it here? she wondered. It looked as if it hadn’t been disturbed for a long, long, time. She saw it was locked, but locks didn’t matter when you were in a room full of hammers and chisels.

Mary Catherine used her sleeve to wipe the dust off the top of the chest. She saw that it had a gold-looking plate bolted to its lid, and there appeared to be letters etched into it. Wiping harder with more enthusiasm, she soon discovered that it was a name: ROBERT MACTAVISH, ESQ. Who on earth could that be, and why is this thing sitting in my father’s shop? Obviously, it’s been here for quite a while.

Undismayed by the huge lock, she rummaged around, found a suitable chisel and also a hammer, and the lock soon became history. After nursing her skinned knuckles and a mashed thumb, Mary Catherine slowly lifted the lid and looked inside, not knowing its contents would change her life forever.

She sat in silence for a few moments, taking it all in, staring at the contents of the trunk and wondering what it all meant. She could clearly see that part of it was clothing and thought it must be some kind of a uniform coat. What a brilliant red color. Reaching and pulling it out, she saw that it was indeed just that, and definitely part of a uniform of some sort because there were several medals and ribbons fastened to it. Mary Catherine had little knowledge of military matters, but she felt sure that the two stars on each of the shoulders meant the coat belonged to someone of considerable importance. Laying it aside, she pulled out another article of clothing, made from dark green plaid cloth. Holding it up, she laughed, for she knew exactly what this was: a kilt. She recalled hearing her father jokingly speak of them as having been worn by British soldiers from Scotland. This was further confirmed when she removed more articles of clothing, including some thick woolen stockings and a pair of heavy, but well-made, shoes. At the very bottom of the chest, she found a short sword encased by a jeweled sheath.

Mary Catherine had been kneeling in front of the chest but finally had to get up and give her knees some relief. She stood there and stretched a bit, turning her head from side to side to get the kinks out of her neck, all the while thinking about what she had found. Well, I’ve got a bit of information now, but what do I make of it? Surely the chest had been delivered to her parents by mistake. But no, that couldn’t be true. The kind and patient man who had made all these tools and who had a job of some consequence at the Machine Works did not put this chest in his shop by mistake. Mary Catherine was positive there was some reason for it. Well, there’s that old saying I’ve often heard him use: in for a penny, in for a pound. Might as well get back to it. Maybe I’ll find an answer when I dig into the stuff on the other side of the chest.

She could see several books of various sizes and shapes, and there appeared to be several pages of handwritten letters or notes. She figured the best thing to do would be take it all out, lay it aside, and sort through it piece by piece. In the process of doing this, she happened to put her hand on what seemed to be a leather-bound packet of papers tied with a leather thong. She picked it up and immediately thought it must be important because someone had evidently used great care to make sure the contents would be kept safe. Maybe this will give answers to some of my questions.

Mary Catherine’s hands trembled from the excitement (and perhaps a little fear too) when she tried to untie the knot. At last, she opened the packet and unfolded the papers. Right on top was an official-looking document from a solicitor in the city of New York, dated almost twenty years ago, and addressed to a Ms. Judith Conaway. Now she was more than a little afraid, for she knew she was intruding upon someone’s privacy. Yet her only choice seemed to be that she continue, so she began reading the letter that would change her life in a way she could never have imagined.

Dear Ms. Conaway,

Not having heard further from you since you left suddenly, and in poor health, to find your sister, I thought it only proper that I write and inquire as to your welfare. I pray that you are now the mother of a fine child and have regained your health in the Collingsworths’ home. I have said naught to the good baron as to your whereabouts, and have fended off his inquiries about the child. When he made his hasty retreat, he left behind a chest containing some of his possessions and instructed me to forward it to him in Scotland. However, partially from an old man’s pangs of conscience—but mostly because of the dastardly way you were abandoned while carrying his child—I decided to ship the trunk to you at your sister’s residence. I further took the liberty of including the sum of five hundred pounds sterling, which I will subtract from the baron’s account with our law firm. I am sure you can put this to good use rearing his child. Please let me know if I can be of any further assistance, but do not tarry overlong, for I grow older and feebler by the day.

Your Humble Servant,

Sylvester Rothchild, Esq.

Behind the letter was the money.

She sat in a sort of shocked silence for a few moments, then hugged her knees and began softly crying. The words of the letter penetrated to the very depth of her soul, forcing her to acknowledge their meaning. She was truly alone now, for those words had taken away her beloved mother and father. How would she live? Mary Catherine had no one in whom she could confide. And the money? It must be worth a small fortune here on the frontier. What could she do with it? Should she hide it? It was just too much to take in. All of a sudden, she felt the warmth of her mother’s arm about her shoulders. Always remember, my child, when it all gets to be a bit much, HE will always be there reaching out HIS hand to you. Of course, she thought, reaching a conclusion from her mother’s words. I will go up the river to that new church and speak to the pastor. I pray that he can help me find a way to ease this awful pain in my heart and tell me what do about this dreadful situation I find myself in. Of course, she could not know it, but her prayers had already been answered. Up the river at the church his father had built, Reverend Nathaniel Wolde stood waiting.

Ethan Wolde met and married his wife, Sarah, while serving His Majesty in eastern Pennsylvania. He had asked to be pensioned after receiving severe wounds during the so-called Lord Dunmore’s War of 1774. As a reward for his long and faithful service, he was rewarded with a grant of four hundred acres of land, which lay somewhere between the Monongahela and Ohio Rivers, south of Fort Pitt. Then came the Revolutionary War, keeping them in Philadelphia, while Ethan slowly recovered from his wounds. The times were tough, but so were they, and they persevered. Just before the turn of the century, Ethan began trying to find out whether or not his British land grant would be accepted by the new government. A member of the Continental Congress thought his claim was legitimate, but said final approval would have to be given by the Governor of Virginia. Imagine his surprise when he discovered that, not only would his grant be honored, but the state had awarded him another four hundred acres. Virginia was having considerable difficulty finding people willing to settle in this far away mountainous region of the state, and they were anxious to establish a sort of buffer against the ‘noisy’ French who constantly probed the area agitating the Indians. Their only conditions were for Ethan to erect a permanent dwelling, according to their specifications, and grow one crop, not specified, within a period of one year.

Although he had not fully recovered from his wounds, Ethan was very anxious to go west and find his land. However, Sarah was a ‘town-girl,’ and as such, she did not share her husband’s enthusiasm and was not anxious to move to a territory only a few years removed from the bloody Indian wars and massacres. She knew Ethan planned to go by way of Fort Pitt and fully intended to find out more about her new home before she left its safety. Ethan was both a practical and methodical man, having spent most of his adult life in His Majesty’s army, so it didn’t take long for him to put together everything they would need for the long journey. Sarah didn’t fully understand why Ethan had chosen to buy six mules instead of oxen or horses like everyone else, and especially, why six? When she asked the question, he had said, Four of them make up the team and will pull our wagon. The other two are ‘just in case.’ Makes sense, she thought, but he still didn’t say why he bought mules.

A week before they were to leave Philadelphia, Ethan opened his foot locker and took out two envelopes. One contained all of his personal papers, and the other had the documents and maps relating to his land grants. This would be the first time he’d tried to find their location on the map. He was so excited over getting them, he simply hadn’t taken the time to look. Anyway, wherever the land happened to be, that’s where they would be going, so it didn’t really matter. Now that they were getting close to time to leave, Ethan had decided to take a look.

The man at Governor Dinwiddie’s land office in Alexandra, Virginia, told Ethan he would have to surrender his copy of the British land grant; but he, a Mr. Tyler, would write him a new Virginia land grant for a total of eight hundred acres—said land being located inside the boundaries of the Monongahela on the east and the Ohio River on the west. Ethan was then told he must go to the Land Office in Morgantown, Virginia, and present his grant claim to Mr. Harold Sevier. Mr. Sevier would show him on the map where land was available for settlement, and he would be free to file on land of his own choosing.

Sarah, he called loudly, come here quick and look at this map. I’ll be doggone, I simply can’t believe it! Right here where we’re going is where I was wounded. I know this place, for sure.

Sarah looked where Ethan’s finger was pointing but saw nothing that would dispel her fears that Indians were still lurking behind all those trees. The very fact that this was where her husband had been wounded made it even more terrifying, but Sarah resolved to put up a brave front and try to make the best of it. That Ethan was determined to go was for certain, and where her husband went, she was going too.

It was a long and arduous journey—about three hundred miles or so, Ethan had told her. Frankly, crossing the Susquehanna River had really unnerved her, and she knew somewhere farther on, they had to cross the Appalachian Mountains. What that would be like, she dared not think. Ethan was unusually patient, and Sarah knew he wanted her to believe it was because he understood how she felt, but she knew it was also because the wounds he received in both legs were beginning to bother him. He was pushing to average ten miles a day, but it was not to be. They were forced to stop at three small towns they encountered along the way and spend two days resting at each one of them. Sarah also discovered that, although going up the mountain was painfully slow, it lacked a lot in comparison with the ride down the other side. She said so many prayers, she thought God must be tired of hearing from her. Ethan had promised her they would stay a week in Pittsburg, and laughed as he said, to lick our wounds. It was, he said, a little less than a hundred miles to Morgantown from Pittsburg.

During their stay in Pittsburg, Ethan and Sarah attended services at a Presbyterian Church and, while there, heard that the church also sponsored an orphanage. At that time, neither of them had given any thought about adopting a child, but Ethan, having long been away from the church, decided they would visit the orphanage anyway, and maybe he would leave an offering. They were greeted by the supervising pastor who, for some reason, suspected they were migrants just passing through, but he asked them about their plans. When Ethan told him where they were going and what they hoped to do, the pastor asked, And do you intend to do this all by yourself—just you and your wife, I mean? I happened to see you walking across the wagon lot, and to be honest, you didn’t seem too spry. Something about your legs, sir?

Yes, Ethan admitted, and told him about his wounds. Since you’re so observant, Pastor, I expect you’ve noticed I’m missing a few fingers too.

Well look here, Mr. Wolde. You both seem to be good people, and just maybe I can be of some help. We have a young lad who’s been with us since he was just a tiny baby, which would make him about six years old now. A fine boy—healthy, good attitude, quick to learn. In my opinion, he would be a lot of help to you both. Would you like to meet him? Please, come and see my young friend.

It was love at first sight.

Nathaniel was adopted by Ethan and Sarah Wolde who had given him his new name and who became, over the years, caring and doting parents. Sarah looked upon the boy as someone who would be a companion as well as a helper. Ethan saw a young lad with bright blue eyes, wide shoulders, and a strong body, who, in but a few years, would be a good helper on his farm. What a blessing, he thought. Nathaniel knew he was the one who had been truly blessed.

Ethan, Sarah, and Nathaniel arrived at the Land Office in Morgantown, Virginia, early in August of the year 1800. Ethan presented a very official-looking gentleman with his grant for eight hundred acres of land that had been signed by Governor Dinwiddie. Are you Mr. Harold Sevier?