into the small garden, feeling her throat tighten. Poor little mite, she thought. Wasn’t it bad enough being without her father, without being taken away from those she loved by strangers? She followed Agatha inside the house. It smelled lovely—of baking and polish and all the other smells that mingle together to smell of comfort and home.
‘Have you known Mr Claybourne long?’ Amanda asked as Agatha busied herself making tea.
‘Sam and me have known Kit for five years. I know all about what they say he’s done, but don’t you believe it. He’s a good man. We like him—and I would trust him with my life if I had to—and our five children adore him. Kit never killed that woman. I’d swear it on my life.’
‘And what of Sky? What shall I tell her?’
Agatha glanced at her sharply, alert. ‘Tell her? What do you mean?’
‘Mr Claybourne has asked me to take her back to England with me—to be looked after by his cousin. She will be well looked after, you can depend on that. Read the letter, Agatha,’ she said, handing it over. ‘He explains everything in that.’
Agatha read what Christopher had to say, then she nodded, her eyes moist and her face set in sombre lines. ‘It will sadden my heart to part with her, but I can see it’s for the best that she goes. She’s a bright child who learns quickly. When she begins to hear the rumours about her pa, she’s bound to find out what happened. It cannot be kept from her and the stigma will always be with her. When do you go to England?’
‘The day after tomorrow.’
Pain slashed across Agatha’s features. ‘So soon. And you want to take her with you today?’
‘Yes,’ Amanda said softly.
Agatha nodded, resigned to letting Sky go. ‘I’ll get her things together. She never knew her mother—a lovely little thing she was, Cherokee. Sky has come to accept me in that role and we all love her dearly. But I always knew the day would come when she would have to go, that Kit would take her to his own people in England. How is he?’
‘Bearing up, I’d say.’
‘And will they really hang him?’
‘I don’t see how it can be avoided. He continues to reiterate his denials of guilt—even though there does not seem to be anyone else who could have done it.’
‘What kind of justice is it that will hang a man like him?’ There was anger in Agatha’s voice as she wiped away a tear with the corner of her apron.
‘What kind of man is he?’ Amanda asked gently.
‘Kit? Why, he’s a man of the open, an active man, and I know how much he must hate being confined. He’s his own man is Kit. Often he would disappear into the woods following trails made by the Indians with nothing but his rifle. He would be gone for days and return to lead Sam back to a freshly killed and skinned deer. The mountains became his mentor. He learned to read the signs of the sky and forest like an Indian. He became a hunter and a trapper—shooting a deer or trapping possum.’
Amanda could imagine Kit, striding towering and unafraid through the Smoky Mountains, as controlled and silent as a great cat. ‘Then I can imagine how difficult his imprisonment must be for him.’
‘I will never believe he’s guilty. The attorney who conducted the legal proceedings against Kit was a friend of the Riders. The jury listened to him and Kit didn’t stand a chance. He swayed them with his clever talk and worked on them with his sympathies, portraying Mrs Rider as some kind of poor, defenceless widow, when in truth she was anything but. The jury was out less than ten minutes when they filed back with the verdict of guilty.’
‘He told me he was fishing at the time Mrs Rider was killed.’
Agatha nodded. ‘And so he was—with Judd Freeman. They often went off for days and weeks at a time. Kit would always leave Sky with me. On that last trip, as soon as they reached Charleston Judd went off again and he’s not been back since. He could be anywhere between here and Boston. He won’t know anything about this, otherwise he’d be back to save his friend.’
‘Hasn’t anyone tried to contact him?’
‘Sam has—and others—but no one’s seen hide nor hair of him. The trouble is that he lives on his boat. Our only hope is that he puts into port somewhere and hears about it.’
At that moment Charlotte appeared with Sky. The child was clutching a little bunch of flowers in her hands, which she handed to Agatha.
‘What does Papa say, Agi?’
Placing the flowers on the table, Agatha gently touched her dark head. ‘I know this is a big surprise for you, sweetheart, but your papa wants you to be very brave and grown up. He says you are to go with this lady on a journey across the sea.’
The look of happiness on Sky’s face fled and a kind of bewildered worry took its place. ‘Are you coming, too, Agi?’
Tears sparkled in Agatha’s eyes. ‘No, love. I have to stay and look after Sam and the children. You know what they’re like. Just think what they might get up to if I wasn’t here to keep them straight.’ Agatha saw Sky’s constricted throat swallow with difficulty.
‘I don’t want to be sent away,’ she whispered.
‘No one is sending you away. It’s just that your papa has to go away for a while—and thinks it best that you go to England.’
‘Will Papa find me there? He will, won’t he, Agi?’ she said, her face full of hope.
Dragging their eyes away from the forlorn little face, wet with silent tears, Agatha and Amanda looked at each other, each knowing what the other was thinking. How hard it would be when the time came telling this three-year-old child that her papa was in heaven.
Knowing how much Sky was going to need her in the weeks ahead, for her sake as well as her own, Amanda had to be strong and clear-headed. But how small she was. It seemed ridiculous to be sending such a tiny thing away to the remote unknown. On impulse she knelt beside her and took her hand.
‘I know this will be hard for you to get used to, Sky, but your papa really has asked me to take care of you. He told me he loves you very much, and that you are to remember him in your prayers every night.’
‘I’ll always pray for Papa.’
‘We’ll have lots of time to get to know each other and perhaps I can show you Charleston and the shops before we leave on the enormous ship. Is there anything you would like to take with you?’
‘Only Papa, but I know he can’t be with me just now,’ she said in a quaintly philosophical way for one so young. ‘I like ponies, too—like Papa. He said he would get me a fine pony of my very own when he got back.’
‘When we get to England—which is where I am taking you—lots of young ladies have ponies of their own, and so will you. But since we can’t very well take a pony on the ship, is there anything else you would like?’
Suddenly her eyes brightened. ‘I would like a doll of my very own, one I can dress in nice clothes.’
‘Then I shall see to it that you have the prettiest
