A Dark and Promised Land

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Nathaniel Poole. A Dark and Promised Land

Cover

Dedication

Table of Contents

Glossary of Selected Historical Terms

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Copyright

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She is twenty-one and thinned by their voyage; her hair is the colour of cedar, the Pict or Norman ghost in her bones. A smattering of freckles. Full lips, almond-shaped face, the beginning of parentheses lines about a wide mouth. A brown birthmark below her left nipple and on her thigh above her left knee. The possessor of a fine Celtic courage, her father often claiming her to be a descendent of Boudica.

She looks around at the tiny cabin; her home for the many weeks it has taken to cross the north Atlantic. There is little to collect, nothing to leave behind. It is as if her presence here never occurred, and she wonders how something of such importance can show so little evidence.

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“In winter such axe could kill a man or his family,” she says. “Bad guns, bad axes, sick clothes …”

Rose cannot help but feel that although Isqe-sis is tending her, the Indian would just as rather leave her to bleed. She feels a rising indignation; what has she done to incur this person’s wrath? Was not she the offended party? She sees a small, silver crucifix peeking from a fold in Isqe-sis’s capote.

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