Thanks for your patience, dear readers.

Greetings from Indianapolis, Indiana where the Super Bowl is going on right now as I am posting this. Our city has had a huge case of Super Bowl mania for the last 10 days!

Sorry for not posting this chapter sooner. Real life always takes precedence over the fun stuff like writing. Sorry for any errors-I proofed this very quickly. I will try to correct them soon.

Hope you enjoy!

JScorpio

Chapter 12: Bordon's Diplomacy

Hugh Bordon stood to leave. He looked down at Betsy Burwell, staring at the table in a stupor of shock. The officer knew from his dealings with young prisoners that this was not easy on her.

"Miss Burwell, you could use some air," he opined, offering his hand to her. "Please let me escort you out onto the lawn."

The girl snapped out of the haze when she heard his deep voice, reminding her that she was still in the presence of the enemy, and that she would be in the company of redcoats for some time to come. Angry again, she jumped from her seat, pushing her chair back roughly and startling the man beside her.

"I don't care to be in the company of any redcoat right now!" she spat, her eyes narrowed at him.

Betsy pushed past him, stomping toward the door.

The officer's mind spun into action. The girl was upset and rightfully so. But even from his few days spent near this woman, he'd quickly ascertained that anger made her bold. And though he'd seen her shake in fear over the last couple of weeks, and just witnessed that fright a moment ago, the man knew she could challenge mindlessly at the drop of a hat. In her mad march to the door, he was afraid she was off to do or say something stupid again.

Thinking he'd do well to stop her before she got into trouble again, he lunged to the door. The athletic officer quickly jumped into the doorway, blocking the girl from leaving.

"Be sensible, miss," he said, looking down at her, his body spread eagled between the door frame. "A walk would do you well, and give you a chance to think."

"No, Captain!" she huffed. "Leave me alone!"

She pushed his arm aside without a fight from him and charged through the door. Hugh sighed, then spun about to see the girl walking down the breezeway steps. He watched her for a moment as she stepped onto the grass.

Good, she's going to take a walk and think. Hopefully she will calm down, he thought, still watching her.

Betsy didn't know what to do or think as she found herself walking. She stopped after only a few steps into the yard. The girl sighed and shook her head, then started off walking again to her right. After another few feet, she stopped again and spun about, now strolling toward the house.

From the breezeway, Hugh was still watching her. He cocked his head at her puzzling movements. Captain Bordon could tell that she was back into her stupor of disbelief. The officer started after her again, knowing he should get her walking the opposite direction of wherever Colonel Tavington was. Jumping down the steps, he quickly sidled up to her.

"Miss Burwell—"

"Leave me alone!" she said , pulling away from him, spinning on her heel to walk the opposite way.

The brawny officer grabbed her arm firmly, stopping her. She glared up at him.

He knew he needed to talk some sense into the audacious youth. The girl was going to have to grow up sometime and learn when to hold her tongue and what battles were worth fighting. And the sooner, the better—for both of them.

"Miss Burwell, you can either take my arm and stroll with me over to the side," he advised, nodding his head the direction he wanted to go, "or I can take your arm and drag you over there—"

"Like your commander dragged me into the ballroom?" she interrupted sarcastically.

She is doing it again, he thought, exasperated with her audacity. Can't she just be demure and graceful, he wondered. It would be easier on both of us.

Bordon eased his grip on her arm. "Well, I hope you won't make me do that," requested Hugh.

His calm tone disarmed her. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

"As you wish, Captain," Betsy relented, looking at the ground in a sort of minor defeat. She raised her eyes an instant later to find the officer's right elbow out to her. The girl slipped her left hand around his arm then let him lead them away.

The two walked in silence for a few yards to the shade of a large tree, where they stopped. They were away from the redcoats that were straggling onto the estate. Betsy watched them as they passed by carrying their equipment. Then she looked past the side of the house and out onto the front green, where more were waiting to disperse and set up their tents, as well.

The girl looked forlorn as she looked at the lobsters setting up their canvas abodes, making her home theirs as well. She had let go of Bordon's arm and now stood wringing her hands, helpless to do anything about the distressing situation. Betsy spoke mindlessly as she continued to gaze at the enemy streaming in around her.

"Moments ago when I was in trouble, I thought for sure one of my servants would come help me," she lamented aloud, as if she was by herself, "instead it was a redcoat. An enemy rescued me from the enemy."

"Your servants are a busy lot," Hugh commented.

"Colonel Tavington had probably scared them enough that they didn't want to…." Her answer to his comment drifted off, lost in her mind; absent on her tongue.

"What happened between you and the colonel?" Captain Bordon asked in concern. "Did you provoke him?"

She took his question as a disguised comment. The girl felt it accusatory. Betsy turned toward him, scowling. "You assume that it is all my fault."

"Well, did you?" the captain pressed.

"No. I finished my bath and saw that you were still here," she explained. "That made me mad. I asked him why you were still here, when you were leaving and that you could not stay longer than tomorrow."

"Hmph. I see," the officer scoffed. "Questioning him was your first mistake, but ordering him was the worse of the two."

"I had no idea of your billet," Miss Burwell defended.

"You're a prisoner. We don't have to disclose anything to you," answered the captain.

"Yes, I know. I'm kept in the dark by you all the time," she accused in a lackluster tone. Her weariness of these men and her whole situation showed plainly through. "You might have told me of this and saved me some hurt and humiliation."

"I wasn't at liberty to tell you," Captain Bordon replied. "I did stop him from hurting you any further."

"Why? He's your commander."

"As I pointed out before, I prefer my prisoners to remain in one piece," the officer answered. He gazed momentarily at the girl when she didn't say anything back to him. He knew that all this was hard for a young woman her age to take in. But still, he had his duty.

"Miss Burwell, did you hear everything the colonel said."

She looked oddly at him. "Of course I heard him," she replied, sounding offended.

"But did you listen to what he said," Bordon pressed. "Did you understand everything?"

"Yes. I'm to answer all the redcoats' demands," she answered, irritated at his insistence.

Her dismissive attitude bothered him. Hugh knew she had heard but wasn't getting what he silently implied. He didn't think she had read the ominous warning hidden between the lines of Tavington's speech.

"Miss Burwell," began Hugh, "it's not enough to comply with all the demands."

"What else do you want?" she shouted, exasperated with him and all redcoats.

"Do not confront the colonel or anger him," the captain answered, "don't provoke him. Don't question him—"

"This is MY home," she objected.

"Yes. I'm trying to help you survive and remain unhurt during our billet here," he said, "or wherever else your captivity takes you amongst the King's army."

Betsy went silent as she recalled the first conversation she' d ever had with Captain Bordon so many days ago, as he redressed her wounds. He had warned her not to cross the colonel and to cooperate. She had seen him lose his patience in an instant as he had done with her questions to him just moments ago.

The girl heaved a sigh, then spoke. "I'll try not to anger him."

Suddenly a high pitched scream cut through the hot, thick air. Miss Burwell and Captain Bordon both looked toward the house, trying to discern what was happening.

"No! Don't!

Betsy thought it sounded like the shriek of a young girl—someone younger than her. She wondered if it was Polly, the newest of her young servants, shouting.

"Now what!" Hugh exclaimed in frustration, wondering what new problem there was now to deal with.

Miss Burwell lifted her skirts and trotted toward the house with the captain close behind her. As they rounded the corner, the trouble could be seen.

At the outside door coming up from the wine cellar beneath the house, there was a small group of British infantrymen holding bottles of spirits, laughing and passing them about between them. On closer approach, Polly, the twelve year old servant was in the middle of the group, protesting.

"You can't have this! It belongs to the mistress!" she shouted, trying to wrestle the bottles out of the redcoats' hands. One soldier could be seen on the stairs, handing bottles out to the group assembled.

As soon as Betsy saw this, she ran as fast as she could to aid the girl. She was angered that this group had just made themselves at home nearly the moment they entered the plantation.

They haven't even set their tents up and they're already raiding the liquor, raged Betsy's mind. Are they going to take all that we have, she wondered.

She came upon the group in only a few steps. The young woman snatched one of the wine bottles out of an unsuspecting infantryman's hand.

The soldier turned and eyed the new female who had joined the group. In an instant, the others were soon ogling her, as well. The maid in the middle was just a little girl. Miss Burwell, by no means having the shapely body of a mature woman, had a few youthful curves, while Polly was rail thin and straight as a board.

"Well, aren't you a pretty little bird," one of the soldiers smirked.

"Give those back!," shouted Betsy, trying to grab more of the bottles from them men. "This is my father's private store."

"And who do you think you are, missy?"

"The plantation mistress!" she retorted.

Betsy and Polly both began trying to grab the bottles back from the soldiers. Soon the petite little maid was pushed away and landed on the ground. Miss Burwell tried to punch the one that had knocked the girl down.

Hugh Bordon, who had fallen behind, saw the group and the diminutive servant now on the ground. With that, he stomped over to the group, enraged at their behavior.

"See here you men!" he bellowed. He broke through the group, shoving the men aside to get into the middle. "What are you doing?"

"Our commander wanted some spirits," one answered.

"Aye. He sent us to get them," another defended.

"Put the bottles down and leave," Bordon commanded.

"And who are you?" a brave young redcoat asked.

"Captain Bordon. Green Dragoons' second in command."

The men knew that this farm was billeted to the cavalry, and that they were in a sense, the dragoons' guests. The men slowly put the bottles down on the ground.

As they did, Miss Burwell reached down to help her servant back to her feet. Betsy watched the dragoon adjutant as he took command of the trouble.

"This plantation's family is willing to share its liquor," he said, collecting the bottles of wine, holding them against his middle as his arms loaded. Betsy soon reached over and took some from him, helping him to collect and hold the containers.

"However," he continued, "Your leaders will make their requests for spirits to Miss Burwell, the plantation mistress." The captain motioned to her. "Or to Mrs. Leyanova, the house mistress."

Polly soon joined in gathering the bottles, finally freeing the captain's arms. He went on addressing the infantrymen. "And while you are here, you will treat this plantation's women with respect. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir," they nodded. They dispersed quickly, headed toward their commanders to inform them of the arrangement set forth by the dragoon adjutant.

Polly curtsied shyly and quickly to Captain Bordon, recognizing him from the meeting they'd had an hour ago with Colonel Tavington and the other dragoons. She soon disappeared down the steps into the cellar, taking some bottles with her.

Betsy was thankful that the captain had been there to rescue her servant and herself—as well as the plantation's store of liquor—from the busy hands of the raiders. For once, she was relieved to have a redcoat officer nearby. And Captain Bordon was proving himself to not only be diplomatic and smart, but a gentleman, as well.

"Thank you for helping with this," she said in a soft voice. "I was afraid that they meant to clean us out."

"You're welcome."

He bowed his head to her, then turned to walk away. Hugh stopped when he heard the girl call after him.

"Captain," she said as she stepped near him. "Thank you for saving me from the colonel," she said timidly, blushing with embarrassment. "I was angry. I didn't stop to think that my actions would enrage him so. I should have remembered." She brought her palms up, still bandaged from when Tavington had sliced them days ago, to look at them, silently conceding to the captain that her hands should have served as a reminder.

"Miss Burwell," Bordon said, his voice laced with empathy and understanding, "you will survive this occupation if you think and act smartly."

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Betsy yawned as she walked along behind Captain Bordon, following him to the stables where his horse was. She looked about at her plantation, which had transformed into a canvas village in just 24 hours. The girl thought about how yesterday at about this time, after a long ride, her blindfold had been lifted to reveal that she was home again. She sighed as she recalled how happy and relieved she felt to be back. And after just a short hour of a relaxing bath and bliss that she was back at home, it was revealed to her that the redcoats had taken over her farm and had moved in.

Miss Burwell, not wishing anymore British company, had spent the evening in her room, even taking dinner in there. Exhausted after the kidnapping ordeal, she desperately wanted to sleep. Her distress over this new situation kept her awake all night, tossing and turning.

Another issue contributing to her insomnia last evening was the whole plantation staff knowing that she was engaged to George Clark. The humiliation of finding out at the same time as everyone else that her father had pledged her troth to Major Clark stung her still. Indeed the embarrassment of being made by the British to read Harry's intercepted letter aloud in front of all her servants and the dragoons still made her cringe. The girl would have liked to have been informed of her situation in confidence with her father.

To add to it, the servants were treating her as a betrothed girl when she herself had barely the time to digest it. It was a little much to bear at age 15.

The staff were already whispering their congratulations and best wishes to her in just the brief time she had been home. She could do nothing but blush, seeing their discomfort at her dismay and surprise. Mrs. Leyanova, in some half cocked attempt to console the girl through the shock of the rudely announced engagement and the arrival of unwanted enemy houseguests, blurted her words as she helped Betsy ready for bed last evening.

"Someday soon this war will be over," she cajoled, "Then you'll be happily married to Major Clark, nursing his babies at your breasts!"

The well meant thought overwhelmed Miss Burwell, catching her up in a whirlpool of panic, distress, and embarrassment. This damned war had changed her well ordered life. It had taken her father and brother away from home to fight. She felt sure that the stress of it had caused the hard and irregular labor that killed her mother and stillborn sister in childbirth. And it forced the need for her father to forego the gaiety of a grand announcement of a betrothal and lovely society wedding in favor of no announcement and marrying her off quickly to a man she barely knew.

The worst thing that kept her awake was that she had just passed her fifteenth birthday a week ago, while in the dragoon camp. No one noticed or mentioned it, going by with no fanfare, unlike her fourteenth birthday last summer. How different things were then: her mother still alive and ready to give birth to a sibling; no war or enemy in the area; her father and brother still home. Things were so different now and almost too much for the youngster to bear. The sum of everything made her toss and turn all night, until her sheets were a mess.

She arose this morning tired and wishing she could stay in bed, in her room, with the door locked. Betsy felt more like sulking than socializing. Nevertheless she had been roused from the solace of her room and requested to show the dragoons' second in command around the farm. And after a hasty breakfast, she started off to this task.

The officer wanted to familiarize himself with the workings of the plantation and which slaves and servants usually attended to those chores. He also desired to get to know the workers, hoping to win their favor, trust and cooperation. As an intelligence officer, he was always looking about, watching to see who could be turned to the British cause, and who might best be used by them to their full advantage. Most of all, he was always working to wear them down with his diplomacy in hope that they would let their guard down and drop bits of useable information to him.

And now, after a few hours of leading Captain Bordon around, she now followed him, bleary eyed and drained from little sleep. The man, after having used up the last of his notepaper jotting notes on his tour of the farm, needed to drop past the stables to retrieve another journal from his saddlebag. He looked back to find the girl trailing him still and called to her.

"I'm sorry to have to interrupt our trek about the farm," he apologized over his shoulder. "I didn't have a chance to get everything unpacked from my saddlebags and brought into the house last night." Indeed, the man had been up late directing the dragoons and militia as to where to place tents that all he wanted to do was find a bed to sleep in. He and Colonel Tavington had taken up residence in the main house—Harry's house. Grandfather Burwell's house, next door and mostly empty, would be reserved for visiting officers.

There hadn't been much shifting for Miss Burwell. She had been allowed to stay in her room. Having a house and farm full of strange men—enemy soldiers—unnerved all the residents. It too, was another reason on the list of things that contributed to Betsy's inability to get any sleep last evening.

Betsy tromped along quietly behind the captain, not engaging in small talk, as if reserving her words and energy for the rest of the afternoon, continuing to show Bordon about. She saw him duck into the stall, which backed up to the hay storage area. She could see bales being tossed out to be taken somewhere. The wall was too high to see who was baling the straw.

Captain Bordon sighed as he rummaged through his saddle bags trying to find another journal. The girl stood idly by, bored, alternately looking at the rafters of the barn, then down at the toes of her shoes. Both were silent aside from an occasional whinny from Tarsis, Hugh's horse, and a questionable stamping of the beast's feet, as if asking why his master wasn't feeding him or saddling up for a ride.

The conversation from the busy men on the other side of the stall seemed to echo thru the barn, even though they were speaking in low voices. Miss Burwell recognized the voice of one of them to be Jonathon, the young stable hand. He was talking in an incredulous voice to someone whose voice Betsy did not know.

"Is the Northwest Territory really as vast as they say it is?" the boy asked as a pitchfork could be heard piercing one of the bales. Betsy now understood that the other young man was Private Callon, the boy who'd come to settle his sister Polly after their mother's death. The girl smiled at the fact that the soldier might speak of her intended, George.

Bordon, kneeling still over his pack, had already found his journal. But now knowing that they'd stumbled upon a conversation about a vital theater of defense, he decided to have a listen, hoping they would expose some intelligence he could use. He stole a quick glance up at Miss Burwell, but could see that she wasn't watching him. Indeed, she was listening as intently to them as he was. He decided to draw out his rummaging so as not to arouse any suspicion. So, he busied himself, smiling and snickering under his breath, pulling over another pack as the men talked and Betsy daydreamed.

"Yes!" Andrew Callon answered. "Acres and miles of trees and prairie and rolling hills and game. Mostly unspoilt land. Why the trees are so tall and thick. Buffalo and all manner of beasts and fowl crawl and fly. You like to never go hungry. You can go days without ever seeing another man or Indian."

"Truly?"

"Yes! I'm anxious to get back there, but I have to see to my sister first."

"And Major Clark!," the sixteen year old farmhand exclaimed, "Is he really not afraid of anything? There are stories of him all over the gazettes!"

"Not much scares him," answered the private. "He has little patience with the British and Indians—anyone—who threatens the settlers. And famous he is! Everywhere we go people know him. If they don't know his face, the minute he is introduced, they recognize his name."

Another bale of hay landed with a thud in the walkway. Betsy scarcely noticed. She was busy thinking of the handsome Major Clark, remembering him from Charles Towne last summer. The girl also thought of having him as a husband. Good Lord, she thought inwardly, he is so well known and sought after. When will we ever have time alone?

"He certainly is popular with the women on the frontier," Callon remarked.

"Women? He is?" asked young Jonathon, still enthralled over the exploits of the frontiersman Clark.

On the other side of the stall, hidden by a high wood planked wall, Miss Burwell scowled. She knew that young soldiers seemed to be distracted by women. But certainly not George, she thought.

Hugh looked up from his rummaging to catch the young girl frowning. He folded his pack shut and quickly stood up. Though he was an intelligence officer and welcomed the uncensored information, he did have some pity for his prisoner, knowing she had been through a lot these last couple of weeks. The captain didn't think she needed to be exposed to barracks gossip. The officer tucked his journal into his jacket and prepared to usher the girl from the barn. He would find a way to wrestle more information from this rebel private later, away from Miss Burwell's ears.

"Oh Yes," Andrew assured. "In the settlements, the women follow him about. He is a highly sought after dance partner at any of the parties he gets to attend."

Jonathon skewered another straw bale and tossed it into the aisle way, where it landed solidly next to another bale. He stopped to rest a moment and listen to the amazing words from the mouth of Private Callon.

"And even the Indian women—"

"I thought he had no tolerance for them," interrupted Jonathon.

"He has made friends with some of them out of necessity," Andrew recanted. "And the ones he has befriended really seem to like and admire him and his bravery. So much so that they want his blood in their tribes."

"You mean he…" the incredulous young Andrew's voice trailed off, as if he could not mention something so taboo.

"Yea," said Callon with a bit of a nasty smile on his lips and a nod of his head. "The chiefs want his blood mingled with theirs…..into their future generations. They welcome and even sanction him having congress with the redskin maidens they select….or that he desires."

Betsy's jaw dropped and her eyes rounded at the revelation of what her fiancé was doing on the frontier when he wasn't fighting. She was clearly shocked, and Bordon was worried about her hearing this talk. He reached to take her arm to guide her away, but was stopped when she jerked suddenly, facing away from him and at the wall, as if she could see the two young men on the other side of it.

"I've been with him on occasion when he disappears into the tents and lodges with the Indian girls," the private boasted. "He has even had a squaw once in awhile, whenever an Indian husband wants Clark's seed in his family. The red men don't seem to mind their wives bearing a half breed child with that major's traits."

The girl sucked in a deep breath, stunned at hearing this. She felt a tingle on her skin, now flushed with humiliation that people knew and talked of women that her future husband consorted with.

The loud thump of another bale of hay tossed onto the ground made her jump and brought her from her stupor of astonishment. Betsy looked to the side and saw Captain Bordon standing there with a look of concern on his face, apology in his eyes. She realized now that he had heard all this about her gallant fiancé. Embarrassed that he had, she spun on her heel, picked up her skirts and ran from the stables.

Hugh sighed and rolled his eyes. He wished now that he would have asked Miss Burwell to wait for him outside the stables, then maybe she wouldn't have heard the disgraceful exchange. The man understood that that was distressing talk for any woman to have overheard, especially hard on a young, life inexperienced girl. Blaming himself, he trotted out of the barn and after the young woman.

"Miss Burwell!" he called after the girl.

Betsy heard the captain calling. She was aware that she was running, but not sure where she was headed to. The girl had only wanted to find a place to hide from the embarrassment she felt.

"Miss Burwell!

When she heard the officer call a second time, she stopped running. Betsy heaved a sullen sigh and looked down at the ground. She swallowed hard, trying to hold back tears of shame. The girl turned around slowly to face the captain. He had a sympathetic look on his face.

"Men often exaggerate when they gossip like that," he said simply.

"Only when they are speaking about themselves," she shot back.

"Not necessarily," Hugh said, hoping to smooth over the situation. "Sometimes they brag about the situations they're in or something the men with them did."

"You heard him yourself, captain," she replied back, her temper and distress clearly showing. "My supposed fiancé is spreading his seed all over the frontier! He's bedding women in the settlements and Indian maidens!"

"Miss Burwell, he was boasting."

"It didn't sound as if he was."

"You don't even know if it's true," Bordon pointed out. "He never stated that he had been with him and seen him disappear into these natives' tents."

Betsy looked down at the ground and shook her head. The girl then sighed and put her hand on her forehead, her head throbbing as the private's words repeated themselves within her mind.

She turned away from the captain. "What kind of man did my father give me too?", she lamented to herself, as if she was alone.

Captain Bordon thought for a moment, still wanting to alleviate the girl's dismay. He decided to impart something to her that he usually wouldn't discuss with a female. However, though she was young, she was due to be married. She needed to grow up and know the ways of men sometime.

"Miss Burwell, you must try to understand something," he began, slowly, measuring his words.

The girl turned back to look at him, wondering what he had to say. She stood quietly and let him continue.

"It is a time of war. And as you have experienced, things do not remain the same," said Hugh, delicately. "And sometimes men act differently when they are far away from home…..away from wives and sweethearts. Men have urges."

Betsy gave him a scathing look, thinking that he was trying to defend George's behavior while away. The girl didn't want another soldier—especially an enemy—excusing what her fiancé was doing during his free time on the frontier.

The girl opened her mouth to answer the captain, then she drew in a sharp breath. Suddenly, she recollected a conversation her father and mother had last summer before he left. Harry spoke with Katy about how General Washington had given orders to all leaders to try to keep their men's behavior decent. Colonel Burwell had lamented aloud to his wife, wondering how he could make the young soldiers act as gentlemen, banish all the women from camp, yet keep the morale up. Now Miss Burwell understood what the captain was trying to explain.

Before she could speak, another memory flashed across her mind. She remembered her mother missing her father terribly when he was away from home. She recalled the look of relief coupled with deep love in her parent's eyes, how they held each other, and how they kissed when they would reunite. The girl now understood that the two of them had urges and longings to be satisfied when away from each other.

All these thoughts, but she still didn't like hearing gossip of her future husband's lewd behavior. What would it do to his reputation, then theirs as a society couple when he returned and they married, she asked herself.

"Women have urges, too," she defended.

"They're not to be acted on," the officer warned squarely.

"Why?" she asked, anger washing over her demeanor.

"Because men want to marry proper ladies, not trollops," Hugh counseled, his voice deep and serious.

She knew what he was trying to tell her, but she still was not happy about the situation or his attempt to explain it.

"Why is it excused when men have urges?" she asked, frustration on her face. "It is something the soldiers brag about and something women and officers overlook."

"It is not always excused," the captain maintained. "Our generals have warned the men to act like gentlemen and have even made some of the men take responsibility for their by blows."

Betsy crossed her arms in front of her chest. She was irritated that men were treated differently and allowed to act so. The girl remembered her brother, Steven, being allowed by her father to do things she was never let to do.

"Well, maybe I will start a set of my own rumors," she said. "They will certainly travel back to the frontier with Private Callon. Then we'll see what Major George Rogers Clark thinks."

Bordon narrowed his eyes at the girl. He knew what she implied: anything, even if it would threaten her reputation, to get revenge upon Clark for her own hurt.

"You don't want to do that," the officer opposed. "It is not a good idea."

"Why?", Betsy asked.

"Because no man will want to marry you," Hugh answered flatly. "Those rumors will ruin your reputation and that of your family name."

Miss Burwell put her hands over her face as she felt tears of frustration leaking from her eyes. She turned away from the captain, humiliated over this whole situation, and that she couldn't hold her emotion at bay. After a minute, she took a deep breath then wiped the tears from her eyes. After a small sigh, she turned around and faced Captain Bordon.

"Why would I want to marry a man that has lain with savages?" she asked in earnest.

"Miss Burwell, you should confront Major Clark when next you see him," he stated, "but tread carefully if you do, for all this is probably not true."

His words fell on deaf ears. The girl kept on wondering aloud. "What am I to tell my future Clark children….how am I to explain why there are tall, light skinned savages with red hair and blue eyes running about?"

"You don't know for sure that he's had any unions with these Indian women," Bordon comforted, "or if he has, that they have even produced any half breed children."

The two stood silent for a moment. Bordon had no idea what else to say to console the girl. Betsy was lost in her distress over the situation.

Hugh broke the silence. "Miss Burwell, you are dismissed. Why don't you go on back to the house. I can find my way around the plantation."

She nodded her head in agreement and turned to walk toward the house. Before she left, the captain spoke again.

"I'm sorry that you heard that," he apologized. The officer turned and walked toward a group of outbuildings.

Betsy felt confused. She was glad that the usually diplomatic Bordon had tried to comfort her and explain things to her. Yet she was upset to hear the ugly truth, which she had sort of felt already in her soul: that women were expected to put up with the behavior, and that women would always be treated differently.

For some unknown reason, she called after the officer.

"Captain Bordon."

He stopped in his tracks and turned back to face the girl. "Yes?"

"My fifteenth birthday was last week and no one even knew," she informed in a forlorn tone.

Hugh Bordon lifted his eyebrows in small surprise. He nodded his head to the girl. "Well, happy belated birthday, Miss Burwell."

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Author's note: There are old rumors around here in Indiana, part of the old Northwest Territory captured by George Rogers Clark, that he had had relations with Indian maidens sanctioned happily by these chiefs that liked him and did want his traits and blood running in their generations. Rumors too, that he had bundled with a woman or two in some of the settlements. No one has been able to prove this and he didn't leave a detailed diary behind of his personal life. I did check some of the Native American genealogical blogs on line to see if anyone claims descendency from him, and saw nothing of this. That doesn't mean that he did or did not leave any children behind by Indian women or even that he had any liaisons with them. It is family legend, handed down from his sisters and brothers, then his nieces and nephews that he had been engaged to Teresa De Leyba, a spanish girl who lived in St. Louis, which was Spanish territory at the time of the American Revolution. She was thought to be the sister or daughter of the Spanish governor of the Spanish territory at that time. Governor De Leyba and his wife died while here in the colonies, and Teresa either was sent back to Spain, or went back willingly. For some unknown reason, the engagement was broken off between Clark and De Leyba, and he never married after that. There is also another rumor that he had an affair when he was older and lived at Clark's Point in southern Indiana on the Ohio River, with a mulatto woman servant. I followed some blogs on that one as well but couldn't find an exact source.

Interesting note: Of the 6 Clark brothers, only two-the oldest, Jonathon, and the youngest,William (of Lewis and Clark Expedition fame) married and had children. George and Edmund died as old age bachelors with no "known" children. Johnny and Richard died as young bachelors right after military discharge, with no "known" children. All four of the Clark sisters-Anne, Lucy, Elizabeth, and Fanny, all married and had children. Anne, Lucy, and Fanny all lived into old age. Elizabeth was still young when she died-dying in childbirth with her 4th child.

Another interesting note: One of the Clark's decendents, on William's bloodline, are the Churchills. Yes-of Churchill Downs Horse Racing Track (The Kentucky Derby) in Louisville, Kentucky.

Anyway, I thought the rumor of Clark with Indian maidens would be a good source of contention for our young Betsy.