Forgotten Promises

By Crystal May

Evelyn Carlton, daughter of the Duke of Hampshire, would never have imagined she'd run away and fall in love with a man who was not as English as she. Nevertheless, she finds herself head over heels in love with a handsome, rugged Seminole Indian. The decision to love Dark Thunder is easy, but the decision to give up her heritage--much more challenging. Can she survive the primitive Florida swamp and the hard life of the Seminole tribe Dark Thunder can't help being drawn to the delicate white flower whom he carries in his strong arms one foggy night. He also can't help being repelled, for she is not one of his tribe. Her white race has driven his quiet peaceful tribe into the hot humid swamps of southern Florida. A warrior with strong principles, Dark Thunder must decide between loving Evy and the life he's been raised to live.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 11, 2011
• ISBN: 9781257516063

Book preview

Vows

Prologue

If I had it all to do over again, would I change anything? Probably not. The sequence of events that I, Evelyn Carlton, shall record for you had to happen in order for the outcome to be the same. Logically I know this but illogically I look back with pain at some of my life and wish it could have played out differently. This wish, I’m sure, is not unique to me, as most of us poor frail humans have had bad things happen that we hope to forget. We’ve also done things we wish we could take back. In that respect my life is no different than yours.

My life has never been simple, traveling from bountiful riches to abject poverty. There seemed to never be an in-between. I’m not complaining. Others have had it far worse. My own best friend suffered the indignity of slavery and has managed to make a good life in the end. We all have this in us––this power to rise above and make the best of what we have. Whether we do it or not is up to us. I can only tell you where my journey took me.

Chapter One

Hurry…Hurry now Miss Evy. Des gwan lock that dere big gate. You don’t wants to be comin’ back late now. Shore nuff, they’s gwan be lockin’ you out.

I could clearly hear Amos’ voice off in the distance but when I held my hands in front of my eyes––I couldn’t see them. The inky darkness obliterating everything had fallen much too quickly, painting its ebony opaque mantle over the countryside. I stumbled along without a notion where my slippered feet were carrying me. If it hadn’t been for my dear friend’s rich baritone voice in the distance I’d have wandered off the narrow rock-filled path and fallen into the black bottomless bay.

Where the devil was Amos anyway? The large chocolatecolored burley man blended in so well with the moonless night I couldn’t begin to discern his outline on the path ahead. Lifting my voluminous skirts and petticoats to my knees, I ran in the direction of his disappearing voice.

I picked up speed, my breath coming in quick pants now. As sure as my name was Evelyn Louise Carlton I’d be locked out of the city again if I didn’t run for all I was worth and the thought scared the dickens out of me. As I followed the path indented with wagon ruts––ruts keenly felt through my kid slippers––I sprinted towards the safety of the walled-in city.

As I ran, I couldn’t help but think about the chilly night in December when I hadn’t made it back in time and found myself alone and defenseless beyond the city’s gate. Rattlesnakes, alligators and Indians inhabit the outer wilderness of St. Augustine. If it hadn’t been for Amos and his trusty old Bessie coming along––heaven knows what would have happened to me. I shudder to think.

My memory took me back to that December as I ran.

Gathering herbs in the wild growth wasn’t a very pleasant task with the mosquitoes and other blood-sucking little nuisances that preyed upon me but one I willingly undertook. Snakes and poisonous spiders that dwelt in the dense underbrush frightened me, but being cooped up in Mrs. Henderson’s tiny store as a bakery apprentice from dawn to dusk every day was almost as bad.

Don’t get me wrong; my boss is a very nice lady and as cute as a button. She has red pudgy cheeks and large friendly hands––hands that can knead dough into a fluffy delightful loaf of fresh bread and make the most scrumptious mouth-watering pies this side of the Mississippi. The heavenly smell of baked bread that wafts out the doors of that little bakery on Charlotte Street draws oodles of customers and makes the little store in the middle of town, Mother Hen’s Sweets, one of the most prosperous in the city. But that December day I was weary of the sweet cloying smell that filled my nostrils day in and day out. There were days when I was actually sick to my stomach just walking through the doors of that bakery when dawn was just beginning to break––times when I couldn’t look at a loaf of bread without gagging.

So it was simply wonderful to be able to breathe the fresh salty sea air and scamper along in the bright sunshine while I searched for herbs to supplement my growing supply. Mrs. Henderson had given me the day off while she trained a new assistant. Thank heavens for small favors. I was free to pursue my own interests for the first time in a month.

I’d learned how to use herbs to keep a body well and sometimes even to heal from the slaves on my uncle’s plantation. From the list of vital herbs I sought I only lacked goldenrods to complete my day’s hunt. When at last I found a bed of them I plucked the long shafts of gold and sneezed into my hand at the tickle the mischievous little yellow flowers produced.

Pleased with my day’s work, I wandered over to the aqua blue bay and sat on the edge of bank, dangling my tired feet in the tepid clear water. A cooling breeze whispered over the water, causing little ripples to form as I daydreamed. A yawn overtook me and suddenly I realized how tired I was.

I pulled my feet out of the water after few minutes, dried them with the hem of my dress and slipped my kid shoes back on. A live oak just a short distance away called to me and I sat in the pool of comfortable shade it afforded, leaning against the rough trunk––after thoroughly searching it to make sure there were no ants lurking in the deep fissures. Unable to keep my heavy eyelids open, my mind traveled to the place it visited frequently––my home in England. My mother and father were with me again and I was a happy spoiled child in a beautiful manor house.

That was the last thing I remembered before I dozed off. The next thing I knew I was rudely awakened by the sound of the church bells ringing in the distance, signaling the end of the day. The large ornate gate would be slamming shut soon––keeping out the savage Indians, raiding marauders, and poor young girls who’d fallen asleep near the bay. Panic fluttered in my stomach as I considered the distinct possibility I wouldn’t make it back in time. How could I have slept so soundly against that hard old tree? All I knew was I didn’t even want to imagine what I’d do if I had to spend the night out there in the wild brush.

I grabbed my little woven basket of herbs and ran in the direction of the city. It was twilight, crickets had already started their sweet serenade and small animals were scurrying for places to spend the night. Even they had the sense to know it wasn’t safe to be out in the wilds in plain view when darkness fell.

With my skirts hiked up, I ran for all I was worth and arrived just in time to see the great gate swing closed in the distance. I hadn’t made it in time! Panting and flushed with the effort of running, I gave up and sat, dejectedly, in the middle of the rutty road. Tears filled my eyes as I contemplated my options. There weren’t any. The only thing I could do now was to make it through the night without getting myself eaten by a panther or alligator, or, horrors of all horrors, ravaged by an Indian. I’d heard too many blood curdling stories of what they did to white women when they caught them and I chilled with fear at the thought of it. There could be nothing more fearful, short of meeting the Almighty, than being captured by one of those evil savages and being forced to submit to their tortures.

Fear-ridden, I moved close to the large stone wall and sat with my back against it and looked out over the dangerous wild beast the night had become. It was amazing how just a few hours could put such an entirely different complexion on things. What had once been sunshine and freedom had turned into dark and foreboding in the absence of the sun’s warming light.

I dozed off for a moment despite my fears and was awakened by a disturbing screech echoing in the cloying darkness. Hoping it was just part of my fearful dreams, I closed my eyes. Daylight couldn’t come fast enough to suit me.

The sound came again, only louder and closer.

I started when I heard it…a whining, chilling resonance in the night. I cringed as I listened to the high-pitched wail that shivered its way to my bones and seemed to draw even closer as I listened. It sounded like a baby crying in the night and the urge to investigate its origination was over-whelming but I managed to stay put after I thought about it for a bit.

There were unfriendly Indians who lived in the swamps and numerous savage animals to consider. The thick underbrush was almost impossible to negotiate and it was dark as the inside of a tar barrel out there. No, no one with common sense would leave a relative place of safety and go in the direction of something so possibly dangerous. Content with that thought, I tucked my large bonnet behind my head and managed to close my tired, burning eyes once again. I tried to ignore the possibility of impending doom that kept creeping up on me but no matter how hard I tried, my eyes kept popping open and checking the dark shadows surrounding me. Terror chilled me instantly. Something was moving dangerously near to where I, a waiting target, sat. Thick underbrush crunched from the weight of the unknown beast’s feet as it moved closer and closer to where I’d sought refuge. With nothing to defend myself and darkness obliterating my attacker, I pulled my knees up to my chest, attempting to become as small as possible and dared to hope whatever it was would pass me by.

Prepared to meet my Maker, I shuddered as I prayed, Oh God, just let it be fast. I don’t think I could stand being torn apart. The last few words stuck in my throat as I forced them out. Tears rolling down my cheeks, I glanced out towards the sound and waited. And then, wonder of all wonders, the crack of a gunshot rang out through the night––and then there was nothing––but deafening silence.

After a few moments I called out, Who’s there? Can you hear me? Not a sound. Not even the crickets that once chirped so loudly. I only want to thank you for saving my life.

Waiting for the welcome sound of another human voice, I got to my feet to meet my rescuer. And then a thought––more terrible than the unknown beast that had stalked me––dawned on me. A white-hot bolt of fear shot up my spine at the thought I could be so stupid, causing a cold goose-pimply rush to culminate in my head. What if the person who shot the animal was…was…gulp… an Indian? I was calling to him and letting him know where I was, like a lamb to the slaughter. The horrible stories I and every woman in St. Augustine had heard about the ruthlessness of the savage Indians returned unbidden to my mind and made my stomach flip at what I’d unthinkingly done.

Quickly dropping back down to the ground, I rolled back into my little ball and hoped the night was dark enough to keep me safe from whatever lurked just outside my vision. Frightened to draw a solitary breath, I waited, hands clenched so tightly in little balls, my fingernails drew blood in my sweaty palms.

And then he came.

The underbrush crunched under his feet as he made his way in my direction a menacing step at a time…heavy steps, determined and heading straight for me. Why, oh why had I been so impetuous? Anything that happened to me now was my own fault. I deserved whatever I got for being such a dunderhead but the feeling of relief was so overpowering when I heard the shot ring out, I didn’t stop to think that the shooter might be just as dangerous as the beast. For the second time that night I begged the Almighty for a quick dispatch. Not relishing torture of any sort, death seemed a good option…a quick merciful death.

Is you all right? A deep booming voice stood so near I could feel his body heat through my damp petticoats. Dat was shore a big panther, yes he was. You is mighty lucky that I was here with my ole Bessie or he shore would’ve gobbled you right up, you being so small and all. Yes, ma’am. Gobbled you right up.

I stood; desperately trying to focus my eyes in the inky darkness at the kindly man whom I was now sure wasn’t an Indian. His manner of speaking was familiar…a manner that was the same as the slaves on my uncle’s plantation.

Yes…uh…thank you. I owe you a debt of gratitude…Mr.….uh…I’m Evelyn Carlton. My friends call me Evy. You can…please, call me Evy. Wiping my moist hand on my dress, I reached it into the darkness to shake his.

You can call me Amos, Missy. I ain’t nobody. I’s just passin’ through on my way to somewhere new to lay down dese weary bones.

Just at that moment the struggling moon managed to fight its way through the filtering clouds and shine a silvery light on the man’s head. It was fitting that he’d be given a halo, being the angel who saved me that night.

I’m so glad to meet you. I was locked out of the city tonight because I fell asleep by the bay. I thought for sure I was going to be eaten alive. Why don’t you just stay here in St. Augustine instead of moving on?

Oh no, I couldn’t do dat, Miss Evy. I don’t knows anybody round this neck of the da woods. He bowed his head and fingered the hat that had seen better days that he’d just pulled off his curly dark head.

My gaze traveled over the large lean muscular body noting that his clothes hung in rags around his legs. His old shotgun, Bessie, leaned against the wall next to me, no doubt his most prized possession.

No, missy. I’ll just take ole Bessie here and git headed in the direction of that ole Fort Mose where they likes us black men well enough and welcomes us with open arms. Yes, Miss Evy, I’ll just be going now.

As I watched him something told me he had no idea where the illusive Fort Mose was. I couldn’t just let him go to get lost in the wilderness––not after he’d saved my life. And what direction is that, Mr. Amos?

He hesitated, his big hand worrying the brim of his hat faster and faster. I ain’t no mister, Miss Evy. Just call me Amos. And I guess it would be fair to say dat I don’t rightly know where dat there Fort Mose is for shore. His teeth sparkled white in the silver glow as he smiled and then chuckled a little at his answer, admitting I’d hit the nail right on the head with my question.

Amos, I think you should stay right here. My thoughts sprinted at break neck speed. I had to find him a home, some decent clothes and maybe a good hot meal. It was evident the poor man wasn’t getting enough to eat from the way his clothing hung on him.

Now that you’ve saved me you’re responsible for me. Haven’t you ever heard that if one saves someone’s life, that rescuer becomes responsible for that person’s life forever? I vaguely remembered hearing the old adage somewhere, but wasn’t sure if I had it quite right. Nevertheless, always a champion of the downtrodden, I thought it was worth a try. If I could get Amos to stay, I could take care of him…a thought that cheered me and made me feel good to my satin covered toes.

His big face looked worried in the dappled moonlight as his huge black eyes rose to look in mine. No, Missy. I never did hear tell of dat. Is you sure about dat? Cause if you is, I guess I better find a place to hunker down right here. It would be pleasin’ to be lookin’ out for a fine young miss like you, Miss Evy. Mighty pleasing’ at dat.

Well then, it’s settled. When I get back into the city tomorrow I’ll find a place for you to stay. I bit the inside of my cheek out of habit as plans to take care of Amos evolved in my brain. Now, let’s see, where could I find him a place to stay…a place that accepted freed slaves…somewhere inexpensive…near my place…

He broke into my thoughts as if he could read my mind. "Miss Evy, did you forgit that I’s supposed to be takin’ care of you? His huge hand thumped on his chest in embellishment of his words. I kin find me a place to stay round here. Some folks in the swamp be lettin’ us colored folks stay there. I don’t really needs to go to no fort. I just thought maybe I could help out is all. But now dat I’s responsible for you, I guess I’ll just be stayin’ close by. Dat way, if’n you need me, I can come fast as a little ole rabbit. Yes sir, fast as a rabbit."

I guess, if you’re sure you have a good place to stay, then it probably would be better than in the city. You know how some folks are…putting on airs and all. I personally can’t see how one person can think he’s better than another. But, I guess you’re much wiser than I am, my friend. I smiled warmly and slumped back down next to the wall. Unable to stifle a yawn I apologized for my rudeness as Amos sat beside me a few feet away holding his rifle firmly across his lap.

You looks as tired as I is. I thinks maybe we best try to get some sleep. Won’t be long ‘til they’s be opening dose gates. You try to get some sleep now, Miss Evy. It almost be daylight. Old Amos be takin’ care of you now. You can count on dat, yes, sir. Even as he uttered the last words his tired head fell to the side and even breathing indicated he’d fallen asleep. Tiny snores escaped his mouth as his jaw relaxed.

I hugged my chest and smiled; delighted I’d found a new friend…a real friend. I couldn’t help but wonder how old he was. It was difficult to determine in the limited light of the moon but it didn’t matter at all for I’d found a true friend at last…a person who didn’t judge me or try to take advantage of me. I vowed I’d take care of him. Correction. We would take care of each other.

Finally content that Amos would let no harm come to me, my eyelids blinked and then closed and I slept the sleep of a baby, safe in its mother’s arms. When I awoke the next bright sunny morning I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept so soundly. It was really wonderful to have a friend like Amos to take care of me––something I’d highly recommend.

Amos was still calling to me like I was right behind him when I came out of my recollections; yet it seemed he was getting even farther and farther away because his voice was fading in the distance. These impossible soft-bottomed shoes! How was a person supposed to run on a rutty road with them? It was difficult enough to walk around in the busy city with all the holes and horse manure that abounded in the thoroughfare.

Pain stitched my side as I pounded the indented ground beneath my tired feet. My overworked lungs felt as if they’d burst and my head pounded from all the bouncing it took as each of my feet hit the hard unforgiving ground beneath me.

And then an inescapable thought nudged my mind and grew in intensity…I wasn’t going to make it in time! That gate was going to swing shut and leave me outside again. At least this time I had Amos with me to get me safely through the night. The thought gave me some comfort as I counted my steps and concentrated on making a longer stride with each one in an attempt to speed up. I was finally making some progress. I was pleased with my effort and let myself grow reckless. I strayed into a deep carriage rut that ran on the side of the path and twisted my ankle. The sharp hot pain that shot through my foot and up my leg was crippling and I crumpled to the ground, holding my foot and rubbing it. I cried out loudly in anger and frustration, hoping Amos could hear me.

Amos, stop. Help me, I’ve hurt my ankle, I shouted into the night in desperation, my cries swallowed up by the fog. Why didn’t he turn around to see where I was? When I tried to rise and attempted to put my weight on the offending ankle, a sharp pain exploded at the sight of injury, causing tears to form in my eyes.

Oh tarnation, what am I going to do now? I shouted aloud in frustration at the darkness. "Let the gate be damned…and most likely closed again."

Just as I took a deep breath and was ready to let out another loud yell, a hand clamped over my mouth, stifling the words in my throat and sending shivers down my spine. My senses told me immediately that it was a strange hand not Amos’ dark one and it tasted of something sweet––strawberries. My back to my captor, I strained to turn my head in his direction. His hand released my mouth. He must have sensed I wouldn’t scream. He was right. I don’t know if it was because I was no longer frightened––or if I was so afraid, my throat wouldn’t work.

He moved back from me a couple of feet and sat on his haunches, studying me in the moonlight.

Who was this man, and what did he plan to do with me? And for heavens sake, where was Amos?

I could only imagine how I looked sitting there on that dirt road. My homespun dress fluttered in the wind and my silver blonde hair had shaken loose from its rigid bun and blew around shoulders in the breeze that had come up and blew the fog away. The frosttipped moon chose that moment to emerge from the sheltering dark clouds and lit up my face that no doubt had fear written all over it.

I covered my mouth with my hand and tried to keep from screaming. Oh God, oh God, oh God, rushed from my lips. I could see clearly now. The man who sat studying me so intensely was an Indian. My better sense told me to act calm. I remembered being told to never let them know you were afraid…or was that about wild animals? Why could I never remember how those sayings went? I smiled pitifully in hopes of calming the situation and whispered, my throat to tight to speak aloud, Please don’t hurt me.

The man dressed strangely in native clothes, what little there was of them, remained silent, his gaze roving over my body. He acted as if he’d never seen white woman before.

His dark features were not friendly. He probably hated white men, and for a good reason, too. We had come from strange countries across the big water and killed many of his people in our effort to take over the Indians’ native land. His eyes narrowed while he studied me as I attempted to stand again and whimpered when I put weight on my left ankle. Finally holding it in the air and balancing on one foot, I stared him right back, face to face, in the now bright moonlight.

Without a word he moved towards me. I instinctively hopped back, this time wincing in pain, and cried out against my better judgment. Much faster than I with my wounded ankle, he closed the distance between us swiftly and lifted me into his arms––his strong muscles rippling with the effort.

I noticed he was bare-chested. He carried a long sleeve white shirt tucked but hanging out of the waist of his full-length pants. His muscle bound chest was damp where my face brushed against it. He must have just finished bathing in the bay for he smelled clean and sweet. The strawberries! He’d probably stopped along the way to sample some of the wild strawberries that I liked so much when they were in season. Turning my head to see where we were going as he walked on as if I weighed nothing, I could see the outline of the Fort Marion