Dawn on a Distant Shore (15 page)

A man rode up on a bay
gelding and stopped at the gate. Another visitor, this one dressed in a
greatcoat, striped breeches, and a slouch hat with a drooping turkey feather.
So many callers. At Lake in the Clouds they could go a month without a visitor.

Voices on the stairs;
the general was coming this way. Hannah cast a regretful glance over the worn
leather volumes that lined the bookshelves, and slipped out into the hall.

Wherever she might go
there would be grown-ups talking about their journey. The children she had
played with in the afternoon were gone now, away home with their parents. She
wondered if they all lived in houses like this, filled with crystal and silver
and wood polished until you could see your face in it. Every window was glass,
every dish was porcelain, and beeswax candles burned in sconces of silver and
brass. No one here wore buckskin and the only linsey-woolsey to be seen was on
the backs of the sta2oys. The grown-ups were kind enough and more than generous
with what they had, but this was a strange silken world and it made Hannah uncomfortable
in her skin.

Redskin
, one of the older
boys had called her during the game of snow-snake; pimple-faced, he bared his
buck teeth when he smiled. He had waited until Runs-from-Bears was out of
earshot to do it. Dirty redskin, and then he yanked hard on her plaits.

He was big and clumsy
and she tripped him without a moment's hesitation and left him bloody-nosed in
the snow. Then Hannah ran back to the game, showing them all what a red-skinned
girl could do, sending the wooden snake slithering so far on the ice track that
they lost sight of it and the boys gave up, muttering among themselves.

There was an unlit
stairway at the back of the hall for the servants' use. Hannah found her way
there and sat, her knees up under her chin, listening to the house. In the kitchen,
maids argued in Dutch until the housekeeper sent them off to set the table.
Upstairs a baby wailed and then was quieted. In the front hall the overseer, a
huge barrel of a man with an old wig that kept slipping off his head, was
talking to the visitor. From behind the closed door of the sitting room came
the regular rise and fall of women's voices: Aunt Merriweather, as steady as
the tide; Elizabeth's gentle voice in counterpoint. Hannah wished suddenly to
be with Elizabeth, who understood this strange place. She had given up a life
like this to come to them on Hidden Wolf.

"May I join
you?"

Hannah was startled
out of her daydream. Will Spencer stood before her at the foot of the stairs. Everything
about him shone in the dimness: brass buttons and silver buckles, gleaming
white linen at his neck, even the thinning pale hair. He was middle sized,
slight of build. Hannah had the urge to take one of his hands and examine it,
to see if it was as soft as it looked. His only calluses came from holding a
quill, his only scars were drawn in ink.

She pressed over to
one side to make room for him.

"Very clever of
you to find a peaceful spot. They are few and hard to come by in this
household."

"Is this your
private hiding place?" Hannah asked.

"Certainly not.
There's room enough for both of us." He flipped up his coattails neatly
before sitting, took off his spectacles and pulled a handkerchief from his
pocket.

In Hannah's
experience, white men had three ways of dealing with her: most would ignore her,
a few might feel an obligation to question her on the fine points of her
education or parentage, and some would ask her silly or insulting questions
about the Kahnyen'kehâka way of life. He seemed to lean toward none of these,
which was a great relief.

"Are you coming with
us?" she asked finally.

"Of course."
He tucked his handkerchief into his sleeve. "Elizabeth needs my help. Perhaps
I can be of some assistance to your father and grandfather."

It was hard to imagine
how this quiet man in his silk hose and striped waistcoat could be of help, but
Hannah nodded politely.

"You are very
worried," he said.

"Shouldn't I
be?"

He thought while he
adjusted his spectacles over his ears. "Your stepmother is a very
determined and resourceful person. She has one of the finest minds I have ever
encountered and she certainly does not lack for courage. If I were sitting in a
garrison gaol I would breathe much easier knowing that she was working for my
release."

"That's not what
I asked you."

Will Spencer inclined
his head. "There is cause for concern. But I think that together we may
well manage to see a happy end to all of this. We have the law on our
side."

And the Tory gold
, thought Hannah.
"The gaol key would be enough," she said aloud.

He smiled then, the
first broad smile she had ever seen from him. "The Canadians will be sorry
that they ever took on the Bonners."

"I think the
Schuylers already are."

He laughed softly.
"General and Mrs. Schuyler seem to thrive on such adventures, and I am
sure that their interest and concern for your father and stepmother are
sincere. Nathaniel once did them a good turn that they have never forgot. You
must know the story of how he saved their eldest son."

"Oh, yes,"
said Hannah. "But I was thinking more of one of the grandsons. I gave him
a bloody nose this afternoon."

"I see,"
said Will. "The one with the unfortunate teeth, and manners to
match?"

She glanced at him
from the corner of her eye. "He called me a name."

"That seems in
character."

"You aren't going
to tell me I should not have tripped him?"

One corner of the pale
mouth turned downward. "I suppose I should tell you just that. But I
should have done exactly the same thing, and it would be hypocritical to
pretend otherwise." He looked her directly in the eye. "I expect that
it is not the last time you shall have to deal with such ignorance."

Hannah nodded.
"That is just what my grandmother said before I left Hidden Wolf. She said
that I would have to use my head rather than my fists."

"A wise
woman."

"It is harder to
do than to say."

"How true. I
would suggest that you begin by observing your stepmother; she has learned the
way of it. For the moment, however, I believe we are expected at the
table."

The man in the striped
breeches turned out to be a Captain Grievous Mudge. He had the biggest hands
that Hannah had ever seen, a great waterfall of gray chin whiskers, and a
mustache that twitched when he talked, which he did so forcefully and so fast
that even Elizabeth's aunt had no opportunity to interrupt. The old lady seemed
both fascinated and repelled as she watched the captain inhale peppery white
soup, pheasant stuffed with prunes and raisins, ham, creamed potatoes, corn
preserves and pickled snap beans--and exhale the story of his life on the waterways.

"I been
transporting all manner of goods from Albany to Montréal for thirty year or
more now," he concluded. He poked his silver fork toward the travelers.
"I can transport you, too."

"Are you
originally from New-York, Captain?" asked Amanda.

"I'm a Yorker
born and raised," said Mudge, sawing at a hunk of ham with obvious pleasure.
"But my mama was a Connecticut Allen, and I'm blood kin to Ethan and the
Green Mountain Boys. Nobody knows the big water better." He glanced at
Runs-from-Bears, who had been having a quiet conversation with Will Spencer at
the far end of the table. "Well, almost nobody. There's the Mohawk, of
course. Glad to have you along, Bears. Be like the old days when you tagged along
with your daddy."

"I did not
realize that you were acquainted," said Elizabeth, looking as surprised as
Hannah felt. "Where did you meet?"

Runs-from-Bears looked
up from his plate. "Ticonderoga."

The name was enough to
set off nods of acknowledgment around the table. In New-York State, there was barely
a body breathing who did not know the story of the battle for the fort in every
detail. Hannah would have liked to hear it again, but the old aunt thumped the floor
with her cane.

"Not another war
story! What a bellicose young nation you are. No dinner party seems complete
without a discussion of one revolution or another." Her hand made a long
corkscrew in the air. "A most untidy business."

"It is the age we
live in, Lady Crofton," said General Schuyler. "The world is changing
all around us, and for the better, on the whole."

She clucked her tongue
at him. "Poppycock. Now and then ladies are taken with the urge to
rearrange their sitting rooms. Men do the same with their governments. Thus it
has always been, and thus it will always be."

Hannah hid her smile
in her serviette, not so much at Aunt Merriweather, but at these white people
who did not know how to cope with a strong-minded woman whose tongue had been
loosened by age. Amanda was almost humming her embarrassment, Mrs. Schuyler was
examining her wine glasses, and the men made gruff or conciliatory noises. Even
Will Spencer, who seemed to Hannah a reasonable man, was staring at his plate,
his brow creased hard. Only Elizabeth and Bears were smiling openly.

"Captain Mudge
will deliver you safely," General Schuyler said, moving the conversation
back toward safer topics. "He's the man to deal with smugglers and ice
floes."

"Smugglers!"
Amanda flushed, and put a small hand on her husband's arm.

"Fur runners from
Lower Canada," explained Runs-from-Bears. "Coming down with the winter's
takings. They don't bother folks who stay out of their way."

Will Spencer leaned
toward Hannah. "It sounds like high adventure. Are you ready for it?"

"Of course she is
not," said Aunt Merriweather, turning a watery eye on Hannah. "Such a
sensible girl. She will stay behind with me, will you not, child?"

"No, ma'am,"
Hannah answered politely.

The captain laughed
heartily at Aunt Merriweather's pinched expression. "She's Nathaniel's
girl, right enough, missus. Can't hold her back." He turned to Elizabeth. "Folks
say you had some adventures of your own last summer, Mrs. Bonner. I'd like to
hear the story. I knew Lingo, the old polecat."

Elizabeth's expression
went suddenly very still. Hannah felt her own face coloring in apprehension;
the subject of Jack Lingo was one best avoided, but all around the table heads
were turning. Mrs. Schuyler's curious expression, wondering how Elizabeth would
meet this challenge; Amanda's slightly confused one. The old aunt, looking
annoyed at having less information than she believed was her due. Hannah doubted
that she would credit it even if she were told the story of what had passed
between Jack Lingo and her niece.

"What's
this?" the old lady sputtered. "Who is this Lingo? A friend of yours,
Elizabeth?"

"No, Aunt,"
Elizabeth said hoarsely. She touched the base of her throat where a silver chain
disappeared into her bodice. "No friend of mine."

General Schuyler
coughed softly. "He was just an old
courier du bois
, Lady Crofton."

"A
Frenchman?" asked Aunt Merriweather, in the same tone she might have said
heathen
.

The general inclined
his head. "I believe he was French born, yes. But more important, he was a
thief, and a scoundrel of the highest order. It is not a tale for polite
company."

"Hmmpf!"
commented the captain around a forkful of ham. His eyes flashed in Elizabeth's direction,
but he swallowed down his curiosity.

"I think the
travelers are more concerned about the condition of the portages," said
Mrs. Schuyler, neatly cutting off the aunt's response.

"Yes," said
Elizabeth, more calmly. "I had been wondering about the portages."

The captain swallowed,
the mustache twitching with a life of its own. "There's only one thing to
do when you've got to cross those carries in April," he said, reaching for
the potatoes.

Aunt Merriweather put
down her glass with a thump. "Well, man, what is to be done then? Speak
up!"

"Pray for a
frost, missus," said the captain, meeting her glare with perfect Yorker calm.
"Pray mighty hard."

Late in the evening,
much later than she would have wished, Elizabeth found her way to her room. Hannah
was already deeply asleep on a camp bed near the banked hearth, the twins in
their cot within her reach. Elizabeth knew that Hannah would wake at the twins'
first stirring, and that they might even settle at the sound of her voice. She
had a sure and loving touch far beyond her years.

Elizabeth reached down
to smooth a strand of hair away from the little girl's brow. Such a serious
child, and so dear. She should have left her behind at Lake in the Clouds where
she would be safe, but she had given in. As a girl, her own curiosity about the
world had been thwarted so often; she could not do the same to Hannah, not with
so much at stake. She was young, and still there was so much of Nathaniel in
her.