Introduction

In 1779, when genteel Virginia spinster Roxanna Rowan arrives at the Kentucky fort commanded by Colonel Cassius McLinn, she finds that her officer father has died. Penniless and destitute, Roxanna is forced to take her father's place as scrivener. Before long, it's clear that the colonel himself is attracted to her. But she soon realizes the colonel has grave secrets of his own--some of which have to do with her father's sudden death. Can she ever truly love him?

Readers will be enchanted by this powerful story of love, faith, and forgiveness from reader favorite Laura Frantz. Her solid research and deft writing immerse readers in the world of the early frontier while her realistic characters become intimate friends.

Editorial Review

No editorial review at this time.

Excerpt

Kentucke Territory, November 1779

This is madness.

Roxanna Rowan leaned against the slick cave entrance and

felt an icy trickle drop down the back of her neck as she bent

her head. Her right hand, shaky as an aspen leaf, caressed the

cold steel of the pistol in her pocket. Being a soldier’s daughter,

she knew how to use it. Trouble was she didn’t want to. The only

thing she’d ever killed was a copperhead in her flower garden

back in Virginia, twined traitorously among scarlet poppies and

deep blue phlox.

An Indian was an altogether different matter.

The cave ceiling continued to weep, echoing damply and

endlessly and accenting her predicament. Her eyes raked the

rosy icicles hanging from the sides and ceiling of the cavern.

Stalactites. Formed by the drip of calcareous water, or so Papa

had told her in a letter. She’d never thought to see such wonders,

but here she was, on the run from redskins and Redcoats in the

howling wilderness. And in her keep were four fallen women

and a mute child.

They were huddled together further down the cavern tunnel,

the women’s hardened faces stiff with rouge and fright. Nancy.

Olympia. Dovie. Mariah. And little Abby. All five were looking at

her like they wanted her to do something dangerous. Extending

one booted foot, she nudged the keelboat captain. In the twilight

she saw that the arrow protruding from his back was fletched

with turkey feathers. He’d lived long enough to lead them to the

mouth of the cave—a very gracious gesture—before dropping

dead. Thank You, Lord, for that. But what on earth would You

have me do now? A stray tear leaked from the corner of her left

eye as she pondered their predicament.

The Indians had come out of nowhere that afternoon—in

lightning-quick canoes—and the women had been forced to

abandon the flatboat and flee in a pirogue to the safer southern

shore, all within a few miles of their long-awaited destination.

Fort Endeavor was just downriver, and if they eluded the Indians,

they might reach it on foot come morning. Surely a Shawnee

war party would rather be raiding a vessel loaded with rum

and gunpowder than chasing after five worthless women and

a speechless child.

“Miz Roxanna!” The voice cast a dangerous echo.

Roxanna turned, hesitant to take her eyes off the entrance

lest the enemy suddenly appear. Her companions had crept

further down the tunnel, huddled in a shivering knot. And then

Olympia shook her fist, her whisper more a shout.

“I’d rather be took by Indians than spend the night in this

blasted place!”

There was a murmur of assent, like the hiss of a snake, and

Roxanna plucked her pistol from her pocket. “Ladies,” she said,

stung by the irony of the address. “I’d much rather freeze in this

cave than roast on some Indian spit. Now, are you with me or

against me?”

The only answer was the incessant plink, plink, plink of water.

Turning her back to them, she fixed her eye on the ferns just beyond

the cave entrance, studying the fading scarlet and cinnamon

and saffron woods. With the wind whipping and rearranging

the leaves, perhaps their trail would be covered if the Indians

decided to pursue them. They’d also walked in a creek to hide

their passing. But would it work? Roxanna heaved a shaky sigh.

I’m glad Mama’s in the grave and Papa doesn’t know a whit

about my present predicament.

At daylight the women emerged like anxious animals from

the cave, damp and dirty and wild-eyed with apprehension. One

small pistol was no match for an Indian arrow. But Roxanna

clutched it anyway, leading the little group through the wet

woods at dawn, in the direction of the fort they’d been trying

to reach for nigh on a month. By noon the women in her wake

were whining like a rusty wagon wheel, but she didn’t blame

them a bit. They had lost all their possessions, every shilling,

and hadn’t seen so much as a puff of smoke from a nearby cabin

at which they could beg some bread.

Were they even going the right direction?

The dense woods seemed to shutter the sun so that it was

hard to determine which way was which. When the fort finally

came into view, it didn’t match the picture Roxanna had concocted

in her mind as she’d come down the watery Ohio River

road. The place was dreary. Lethal looking. Stalwart oak pickets

impaled the sky, and the front gates of the great garrison were

shut. Drawing her cape around her, she stifled a sigh. It needed

fruit trees all around . . . and a hint of flowers . . . and children

and dogs running about, even in the chill of winter.

But not one birdcall relieved the gloom.

As they came closer, she could see the Virginia colors flying

on the tall staff just beyond high, inhospitable walls. And then

something else came into view—something that matched her

memories of home and made a smile warm her tense face. A

stone house. She blinked, expecting the lovely sight to vanish.

But it only became clearer and more beguiling, and she drank

in every delightful detail.

Solid stone the color of cream. Winsome green shutters with

real glass windows hiding behind. Twin chimneys at each end.

And a handsome front door that looked like it might be open

in welcome come warmer weather. Situated on a slight rise in

back of the fort, the house was near enough to the postern gate

to flee to in times of trouble, though she doubted even the king’s

men could penetrate such stone. Who had built such a place in

the midst of such stark wilderness?

Papa never mentioned a stone house.

Roxanna was suddenly conscious of the company she kept—or

rather was leading. It wasn’t that she was afraid to be seen with

these women in their too-tight gowns and made-up faces, or

that she felt above them in some way. Glancing at them over

her shoulder, she pulled her cloak tighter as the whistling wind

of late November blew so bitterly it seemed to slice through

her very soul.

Her skittishness was simply this—she feared the reaction of

her father. Stalwart soldier that he was, what would he think to

see her arrive in such flamboyant company? He hadn’t an inkling

she was coming in the first place. But to see her roll in unexpectedly

with doxies such as these, and a pitiful child to boot . . .

“Is that Fort Endeavor, Miz Roxanna?” The weary voice was

almost childlike in expectancy. Dovie, only fifteen, had attached

herself to Roxanna with the persistence of a horsefly in midsummer’s

heat from the moment they’d met on the boat.

“Yes, that’s the fort, or should be,” she replied as the girl

clutched her arm a bit fearfully. “Best keep moving lest the Indians

follow.” Roxanna looked to her other side and grabbed

hold of Abby’s hand. The child glanced up, ginger curls framing

a pale face buttonholed by bluish-gray eyes, her dimpled

cheeks visible even without a smile. “We’ll soon be warm and

dry again—promise.”

At the rear, Olympia laughed, and the sound tinkled like a

tarnished chime in the frozen air. “I aim to be more than that,

truly. Or I reckon I’ll turn right around and find me another fort

full of soldierin’ men—or an Indian chief.”

Ignoring the babble of feminine voices, Roxanna looked over

her shoulder warily as they emerged from the woods. How in

heaven’s name had it come to this? She realized she was running

from discomfort to danger. Virginia no longer felt like home,

and she was desperate to leave its hurtful memories behind. But

this was far more than she’d bargained for.

Oh, Lord, was it Your will for me to leave Virginia . . . or my

own?

Every passenger on the flatboat they’d just forsaken seemed to

be running from something. Even Olympia had confessed she’d

left her life at the public house because she was tired of the lice

and the stench of the river and the men who manhandled her.

Her sister who had worked alongside her had died, leaving a

child behind. To her credit, Olympia wanted a better life for little

Abby. The girl hadn’t spoken a word since her mother’s death a

few months before, and Roxanna wondered if she ever would.

“I’ve heard that in Kentucke, women are so scarce even a fallen

one like myself can take my pick of any man I please,” Olympia

had announced aboard the vessel one evening. “And he’ll treat

me decent too.” She smiled with such satisfaction that Roxanna

almost envied her.

“I just want me a little cabin with some chickens and a plot

of corn. Seems like that ain’t askin’ much,” Mariah added.

Beside her, Nancy arranged her tattered skirts and purred like

a cat with a pot of cream, “I’m partial to a soldierin’ man myself.”

Dovie’s faded blue eyes lingered on each woman, her round

face full of expectancy. “Why, Miz Roxanna, you ain’t said a

word about why you’re travelin’ to the wilderness.”

A hush fell over the group as they huddled about the shanty

stove. Roxanna expelled a little breath. “Well . . . my father’s at

Fort Endeavor serving as scrivener. He’s always writing letters

telling me how beautiful Kentucke is, how you can see for miles

since the air is so clear, that even the grass is a peculiar shade of

blue-green, and the forests are huge and still. Not leaping with

Indians like some folks say.”

“Sure enough?” Mariah murmured as the other women

huddled nearer.

“My coming to Kentucke is a surprise. Papa’s enlistment is

near an end, and we’ll be going somewhere to settle, just the

two of us.”

“Don’t you want to find a man—get married?” Mariah asked.

The innocent question stung her. Roxanna lifted her shoulders

in a show of indifference. “I’m not so young anymore—spinster

age, some say.”

The women exchanged knowing glances and began to titter.

“Seems to me you’re comin’ to the right territory, then. A

frontiersman ain’t gonna let a gal who’s a little long in the tooth

stop a weddin’, ” Olympia said, her smile smug. Reaching into

the bosom of her dress, she withdrew a Continental dollar and

waved it about. “I bet Miz Roxanna with her fine white skin

and all that midnight hair won’t last five minutes once she sets

foot in that fort.”

There were approving murmurs all around. Roxanna smiled

ruefully as Nancy reached over and snatched the bill out of

Olympia’s hand, tossing it into the stove. “That dollar’s worthless

and you know it. Show me somethin’ sound.”

Still chuckling, Olympia lifted her soiled calico skirt and took

a pound note from her scarlet garter. “Now, who’s to wed after

Miz Roxanna?”

“I say Nancy ’cause she’s so sweet.” Mariah sneered, rolling

her eyes.

This brought about such feminine howls a riverman stuck

his head in the shanty doorway.

“I ain’t sweet but I’m smart,” Nancy said, tucking a strand of

flaxen hair behind her ear. “I’ll take the first man who asks me,

so long as he ain’t wedded to the jug and don’t beat me.”

Mariah rubbed work-hardened hands together, the backs

flecked with liver spots. “I’ve got a hankerin’ for a cabin in the

shade of a mountain with a spring that never dries up, not even

in summer. If a man won’t take me, I’ll make do myself, just like

I’ve been doin’ since I was nine years old.”

Roxanna felt a stirring of pity for every scarred soul around

the hissing stove. “Why don’t we pray for husbands—for all of

you?” she said on a whim, watching their faces.

Olympia smirked and shook her head. “With all due respect,

Miz Roxanna, the only experience I’ve had with prayin’ women

is the ones who’ve prayed me and my ilk out of one river town

after another.”

“I ain’t never prayed before,” Mariah confessed.

“I like the idea. It ain’t gonna hurt none,” Dovie said quietly.

“Maybe it’ll help.”

Reaching out, Roxanna squeezed her hand. Despite their

worldly ways, these women could be surprisingly childlike, and

they responded to any compliment or scrap of kindness like a

half-starved cat.

“Praying isn’t hard,” she told them. “Sometimes when I can’t

think of what to say, I just remember the words I learned as a

little girl.” Opening the door of the stove, she added some dry

willow chunks. “It goes like this. ‘Now I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I

pray the Lord my soul to take.’ ”

Nancy nodded. “I learned that a long time ago in settlement

school back in Pennsylvania.”

“Well,” Mariah urged, “keep on a-goin’. Might as well add that

we’re all needin’ husbands.”

“Maybe we should hold hands,” Dovie suggested, reaching for

Nancy’s. “Once I peeked in at a prayer meetin’ and it seemed

that was what they did.”

Self-consciously they bowed their heads. Roxanna stayed

silent as they made their petitions before adding her own at

the very end. “Father, You know what we have need of before

we even ask. But we ask anyway, knowing You are patient and

kind and the giver of all gifts. I ask that You send each of these

women a husband—but only men who are honest and kind and

good. Help them to be the women You made them to be. Help

them to know You.” She looked up, eyes searching the shadows.

Curled up on a cot against a far wall, Abby was fast asleep. “And

please bring Abby’s voice back—let her speak again. Amen.”

Dovie didn’t let go of her hand. “Why, Miz Roxanna, you left

yourself out.”

Swallowing down a sigh, Roxanna dredged up a half smile.

Truly, some things are past praying for.

“I ain’t goin’ to bed till you’re prayed up,” Olympia said, crossing

her arms.

They joined hands again, the only sound the stove’s popping

and water sluicing under the hull beneath their feet. One by one

they all prayed again, this time for Roxanna, and it seemed she’d

never heard such sincere whispered words. But it was Dovie’s

petition that lingered the longest.

“Help my friend Roxanna, Mister Eternal. Prepare her a man

she can’t take her eyes off of and who can’t take his eyes off her.

And let it be right quick, if it pleases Ye.” view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

From the publisher:

1. The Colonel’s Lady opens by introducing Roxanna Rowan, the main character. How would you describe her in the first few chapters? How has she changed by novel’s end? Would you have traveled several hundred miles into hostile territory in that era to join a loved one? Why or why not? Do you feel Roxanna’s motivations were sound or flawed? Do you think she is running away from something or toward something, as she herself sometimes wonders?
2. Colonel Cassius McLinn is based upon the actual historical figure, George Rogers Clark. Though a man of multiple talents and Herculean accomplishments, he had a tragic end. If Roxanna hadn’t come to Fort Endeavor, how might Colonel McLinn’s life have been different based on his portrayal in the novel? What heroic qualities does he have? Which qualities are less than heroic?
3. Spies were rampant during the Revolutionary War on both the British and American side. Who did you suspect might be the British operative at Fort Endeavor? Were you surprised when the spy was revealed? What seemed to have been the spy’s motivations for betraying his country?
4. Forgiveness is a major theme in the novel. Roxanna is faced with forgiving Cass, her mother, and even her soldier father for being absent when she needed him most. In the most real sense, her choice to forgive Cass results in saving his life. What might have happened if she had withheld forgiveness? How would their lives have turned out differently? Why is it always better to choose forgiveness than to nurse a grudge?
5. Another major theme in the novel is loss. Name all the things, large and small, that are taken from both Roxanna and Cass. How did they respond? If you were in their shoes, how might you respond to losing everything? To whom or what would you turn?
6. Bella becomes Roxanna’s closest friend during her stay at Fort Endeavor. What traits does Bella have that serve her well during that very difficult time and circumstance? How was she a help to Roxanna? How was Roxanna a friend to her? Why was their friendship unusual for this period in history?
7. Like Roxanna, our direst circumstances often yield the greatest blessings. How has this been true in your own life? Why is it always best to trust God from the outset even if things do not seem in our favor? As Christians, what should our attitude be toward suffering and loss?
8. Fort Endeavor is a prototype of many garrisons that existed during the Revolutionary War. Conditions in these places were extremely taxing. What would you have found the most difficult to deal with? The loss of privacy? Poor rations? Illness? Fear and isolation? Why?
9. Colonel McLinn is a complicated man who has two sides to his personality. He is both a gentleman and a soldier. In many ways, the stone house is the embodiment of who he really is. The fort is who he has become. How does Roxie help him regain his true self during the course of the novel?
10. What do you love most about historical fiction? What did you like best in The Colonel’s Lady? What spiritual truths did you find within the hearts and lives of these characters?

Weblinks

»	Publisher's Book Info
»	Author Laura Frantz's blog

Book Club Recommendations

Recommended to book clubs by 0 of 0 members.

Member Reviews

There are no user reviews at this time.
Rate this book