Dawn on a Distant Shore (20 page)

"I don't know
exactly," said Iona. "He didn't come to me. He went to Somerville and
the magistrates to plead your case."

"Sassenach gentry
wi' their heids tegither," muttered Robbie. "Lord ha' mercy."

"If we're gone
there ain't any case to plead," said Hawkeye.

"Listen to
me." Iona's voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, her gaze drawing them all
in. "The scout who brought this Will Spencer to Montréal from Chambly says
that he got off a schooner that came up Champlain. There were other passengers.
A white woman traveling with a black woman and children, and a Mohawk."

Nathaniel's heart
leaped into an erratic rhythm. "Christ above. Elizabeth."

"And
Runs-from-Bears," whispered Robbie.

Hawkeye grinned.
"By God, she's come up here with Curiosity to break us out of gaol. I don't
doubt they would've done it, too, if Iona hadn't beat them to it."

"I should have
known," said Nathaniel. "I should have known she wouldn't stay
behind." And realized suddenly that he had been expecting this news for weeks
now. She had crossed the endless forests for him once before.

"They aren't in
Montréal yet," said Iona. "I'm sure of that much."

"They'll be
traveling up the Richelieu to Sorel," said Nathaniel. He glanced into the barnyard,
where Luke was keeping watch. He could not see the boy, but he could sense him
there in the shadows. "If Will just got in today, they won't be on the big
river yet, not at this time of year. We'll have to head them off."

Iona nodded.
"There's a boat waiting for you. Luke will show you the way. No doubt Somerville
realizes you're gone already, so you'd best be off."

"We're in your
debt," said Hawkeye, touching her shoulder.

She smiled in the
lantern light. "So you are, Dan'l Bonner. I will call that debt home someday."

"I'm worried that
Somerville will come after you," Nathaniel said, and saw how at the door Luke's
back stiffened. Robbie had a strange look about him, too. But Iona only pressed
Nathaniel's arm.

"Somerville is no
threat to me," she said calmly. "Rest assured. Now you had best change
and be on your way."

"Aye," said
Robbie. "But north instead o' south. I fear we may nivver see the end o' Canada."

To Nathaniel's
surprise, Iona stepped up to Robbie, and although she was half his size he started.
She reached up to take his face between her hands. "Don't talk such
rubbish, Rab MacLachlan." Her voice gentled suddenly, touched now with
soft Gaelic rhythms. "Keep your eyes and ears open,
mo charaid
, or Canada
will see the end of you."

It was good to run
again. Luke set a steady pace, weaving through the shadows. They slipped out of
the city, circling north to the river, away from the docks where the watch
would be alert and edgy after the fire. By now there would be patrols out
looking for them. Time and time again Nathaniel put his hands on the weapons
Iona had provided, testing the weight of a borrowed rifle, the worn grip of a well-sharpened
knife.

With every indrawn
breath of the cool night air he felt himself come more alive, his senses waking
from a long, unwilling sleep. He would run all night and all day without
complaint, run anywhere that took him toward Elizabeth and away from Montréal.

The spring moon was
waning, its light further checked by cloud cover, but Luke never hesitated in
his course, not until the smell of river water brought them up short. He
signaled for them to wait, and then slipped away through a stand of trees
toward the shore. Nathaniel calculated the time by the beat of his own heart.
If Iona had managed to find them a decent canoe instead of the clumsy bateaux
that filled the river, and if the tides were with them, they could be in Sorel tomorrow.
He peered into the darkness for some sign of Luke.

A low whistle and they
moved, one by one, down to the riverside.

Luke stood on the bank
next to a small boat. Behind him was the shadowy outline of a schooner at
anchor in the middle of the river.

"Holy God,"
breathed Robbie.

"And I thought
the best she could do would be a canoe," said Nathaniel.

Hawkeye gave a rough laugh.
"I'd like to know how she managed it."

Luke pushed his hair
out of his face. "It's the
Nancy
. She's waiting for you."

"Who does she
belong to?" Nathaniel asked, wanting to be away but wary of such unexpected
good fortune.

"Horace Pickering
is her captain."

All three of them
pulled up short. Robbie snorted. "Horace Pickering? The Englishman set tae
marry Giselle?"

"That's the
one," agreed Luke. "I don't think Somerville's search parties will
bother you on the
Nancy
."

The three men
exchanged glances, and then Hawkeye stepped into the skiff and picked up an oar.
"We ain't got much choice," he said. "But I wish she had told us
what she had in mind."

Their combined weight
pushed the little skiff deep into the icy water of the St. Lawrence. Luke sat in
the stern, listening to the river with his face turned away, every muscle in
him tensed. For all his youth there was a calm about him now, a quiet
competence and the sense of a good man in the making. In these few moments of
waiting, Nathaniel had time to wonder at it: Iona with a grandson, when there
had never been any talk he had heard about her children.

When they had reached
the
Nancy
, Nathaniel shook his hand. "You know where to come
looking for us if we can ever be of help."

"You're welcome
anytime," added Hawkeye.

The boy looked between
them, his expression blank. "I'll remember that."

Robbie's hand closed
on his shoulder. "Take care on the road hame, laddie." He had more to
say, but two figures had appeared above them on deck, and from upriver came the
sound of oars at work, and men's voices. With a nod to Luke they slipped onto
the
Nancy
.

The village that the
French called Sorel and the British called William Henry turned out to be
nothing more than a weary spot at the mouth of the Richelieu, a maze of busy
wharves and busier taverns, all stinking of rotting fish, mildewed sails, hot
tar, and brewing ale. But the sight of the St. Lawrence was so welcome and such
a great relief that Elizabeth could forgive the little town almost anything.

The good news was that
Captain Mudge's party had arrived just two days after the ice had broken up and
there was a great amount of traffic on the river in both directions, but there
was little else to be thankful for. To the captain's displeasure and Elizabeth's
despair, the schooner that should have been waiting for them, ready to sail,
had instead been hauled out of the river for repairs to her hull. Elizabeth
listened with only half an ear to the captain's agent, who told a complicated
story of a collision with a whaleboat full of drunken voyageurs; she had
already turned her mind to finding another way to Montréal, and that without
delay.

In a small place so
crowded with sailors and every kind of vessel, she reasoned out loud to
Curiosity, this should not be an impossible task. Most certainly they could
have found safe passage with one of the Royal Navy vessels--she saw two sloops
and a brig--but she could not chance the questions any British officer would
ask. Instead she fixed her attention on the
Nell
, which was unloading a
shipment of pitch and turpentine. Elizabeth rejected out of hand the
possibility that the
Nell
might be set to sail in the opposite
direction, to Québec: they had had enough bad fortune, and could afford no
more. Tomorrow they would be in Montréal, if she had to take up oars herself.

Captain Mudge traced
the owner of the
Nell
to a public house near the docks, only to find that
he would not deal with women or Indians, but was willing to spare Grievous
Mudge a few minutes. Runs-from-Bears shrugged off this slight and went off in
search of whatever news was to be had of their party in Montréal, leaving Elizabeth
and Curiosity to wait with the children in a crowded common room that smelled
strongly of fermenting yeast and spruce beer. Somewhere in another part of the
house the captains were in negotiations, no doubt over generous portions of
whisky.

A silver coin got them
a table near the hearth. The innkeeper's wife, harried and immune to the
miseries that travelers brought to her door, had at least provided a table
large enough for them to accommodate the cradleboards. The twins were content
to stay strapped and swaddled, as long as they were propped up and could survey
the room. There were bowls of steaming beef broth, a loaf of new bread, a dish
of baked leeks and onions, and a leg of spring lamb that even Curiosity pronounced
well turned. Thus they sat in relative comfort, waiting for word.

A young sailor in the
bright blue coat of the Royal Navy caught Elizabeth's eye. He had ginger hair
much like Liam's and he inched by their table, sending them a sliding, sideways
glance that hesitated on Hannah, and finally jerked away. Elizabeth realized
now that while she had seen many Indians on the docks and in the streets,
Hannah was the only one in this public house. Suddenly the high cost of the
table took on new meaning, which made her distinctly uneasy and vaguely angry.

"I don't like
Sorel," said Hannah, calmly dismembering an onion layer by layer. She said
it once in English, for Curiosity, and then again in Kahnyen'kehâka, for
herself.

"There's a bright
child," said Curiosity, stabbing at her meat.

"Further evidence
of her good sense," agreed Elizabeth. "But we shall make the best of Sorel,
nevertheless. I believe there are rooms for rent here, perhaps even a tub and
hot water."

Curiosity eyed the
innkeeper's wife and snorted softly. "For the right price, maybe."

Hannah finished her
onion and leaned over to wipe a line of dribble from Lily's chin. "I'd
like to clean up," she conceded. "If there's time."

"There may well
be," said Elizabeth. "Here comes Captain Mudge and I'm afraid it
doesn't look like good news."

In fact the news was
not good. The captain and owner of the
Nell
was uneasy transporting
women and children under normal circumstances, and no amount of coin could move
him to do so on his first run of the season. Elizabeth sat, digesting this
latest setback, in silence. With one finger she touched the spot between her
breasts where she wore a single five-guinea gold piece on a long chain, along
with her other treasures.
No amount of coin,
she thought
. I wonder.

Relieved of his bad
news, the captain lit his pipe and leaned back on the settle.

"There's another
boat," he said in a gruff but apologetic tone. "I know the captain,
and he'd take you, for the right price. But it ain't exactly ladylike on board,
Mrs. Bonner."

"It is not a very
long journey," Elizabeth said, casting a glance at the twins, who blinked back
at her. "When does he sail?"

Captain Mudge gnawed
thoughtfully on his pipe. "Sooner rather than later."

Elizabeth caught
Curiosity's eye.

"Seem like there
ain't much choice," said the older woman.

"Hannah?"

She nodded. "We
might as well move on."

"Well,
then," said Elizabeth. "Perhaps we should go talk to this
captain--"

"Stoker. An
Irishman," said Grievous Mudge. With a creak and a groan he pushed himself
up from the table, reaching for his tricorn. "You'd best wait here,"
he said. "If he don't want to be found I could be a while putting my hands
on him." He cast a look over his shoulder at the innkeeper's wife, leaned
forward and whispered. "You'll need a room. There's one upstairs, she'd
give it to you until the morning for a reasonable price. It has a door and a stairway
of its own, you see."

"This Irishman
ain't exactly made hisself popular, I take it," said Curiosity, with
little regard for whispering.

The captain raised one
grizzled eyebrow in salute of her quick understanding. "It would be a
sight easier," he agreed.

"What about
Runs-from-Bears?" asked Elizabeth.

The broad mouth turned
down at one corner. "No need to hand over a list of visitors."
Another quick peek over his shoulder and then back again to Elizabeth. "No
need at all."

She might have rested,
for the feather beds were freshly made with clean linen, and there had been hot
water enough for all of them. The babies, bathed and fed, were sleeping deeply,
and so was Hannah, twitching slightly in her dreams. After some urging,
Curiosity had even put up her feet and gone to sleep, a worry line etched
firmly between her brows.

But she could not
rest, and so Elizabeth sat in a chair by the window, drowsing now and then but
mostly staring out at the town and river. There were still some ice floes in
the St. Lawrence, poking up here and there like rotting teeth. She counted
sails and pennants for a while, stark white and dirty gray, blues and yellows
and reds against a fitful sky. A bateau headed upriver with a hump of barrels lashed
to its deck, courting a reluctant wind with a single sail. Finally oars went
into the water to help it along.