“This is English law?”
“It is.”
“It is a bad law. Is a woman a life form different from man that she should do nothing but serve him? Does she not hold the welfare of the tribe and its prosperity in her hand? Without woman, man is nothing but a pitiful creature. Therefore, she deserves a place of honor, not a position of servitude. You come live with me with the Iroquois,” he went on to say. “The women in our tribe hold the balance of power of the tribe and they are no man’s subject.”
“Truly? ’Tis much about your society that we could learn, I think. But whether we agree or not, ’tis not the manner in which English law is conducted.”
“Law or no law, subject or no subject, do you forget that this is the same man whom you suspect killed your parents? ”
“Yes, I have not forgotten, and perhaps if I had the finances necessary, I could fight him in the courts and win my freedom, although I still think those courts will favor a man of influence.”
“Or you could stay here. Instead of putting yourself in a bad situation, I will go and learn what I can of your friend and then return to you here. Once we discover what has happened to her, or if she requires our help, we can either assist her, follow her or go into the west, where we will still find freedom and a people who will not judge our marriage because of who we are.”
“It sounds so good, sir. But do you forget your duty to Wild Mint?”
“I do not,” he said.
“Then what is your plan as regards her?”
“I might have to return to Mohawk Territory from time to time to search for her killer, but I will no longer make this the reason that I live. There is another now who is important to me … you. I would live in truth. I would be alive. And if I can, I would live with you.”
Sarah glanced away from him. Oh, yes, it sounded so perfect. Except for one thing. She said, “I fear, sir, that it wouldn’t work. Eventually, you would begin to dislike me because I influenced you to turn your back on a pledge you made to another. And as for me, I would always be looking behind my back to see if someone were coming for me to take me back into servitude. Better it is that we confront our obligations here and now, rather than drag them with us elsewhere.”
He sighed, and was silent for so long that Sarah began to wonder if he had drifted off to sleep. At last, he said, “You are right. You are wise. We will both go to Albany, but, as I said before, we will use stealth, and we will go in the evening, when the staring eyes of the English villagers will have a difficult time seeing us together. And if you are to go back there, you must first visit these ‘courts’ that you talk of and tell them the truth of John Rathburn. Only then might I feel that you will be safe. Only then will I take you.”
Sarah nodded. “Yes. You’re right, and I will. You have been seeking to help me and I appreciate your concern. Please bear with me, however, for first I must see about Marisa and discover if she is safe or not. Then, with my mind at ease, I’ll do as you say and visit the constable in Albany, where I will tell him what I suspect of John Rathburn.”
“Can you not visit this constable first?”
“Aye, I could,” she said. “Is this what you wish?”
“It is.”
She sighed. “Then so be it.”
They had camped in the wooden grove of trees on the north side the Rathburn estate. White Thunder had discovered a tree that would make a good base while they were in Albany. It was a tree that looked much like the one that Marisa had once described, Perhaps it was the same, for it was a solid oak that looked as though it had been hollowed out by a lightning strike. Here, in the hollowed-out section of the tree, they left their food, extra moccasins and a few other bags. And though Sarah would rather not have to sneak into a village where she had lived for so many years, she could readily understand White Thunder’s hesitation. Besides, there would be no harm in visiting the constable before she had, of necessity, to confront John Rathburn.
With this explicit purpose in mind, she and White Thunder had visited the offices of Constable Phelps, only to discover that he was gone. They had even traveled to his home, but when that still produced no result, Sarah had insisted it was now time to find Marisa.
At present, both she and White Thunder were safely hidden by the bushes and trees of the woods that surrounded the Rathburn estate. Their plan was simple: Sarah would try to solicit the cook’s help. If anyone would know what had happened to Marisa, it might likely be Mrs. Stanton, the cook. Not only was her heart good, she had always held sympathy for the girl that Marisa had once been and the young lady she had become.
White Thunder seemed unusually alert, as though his attention were not only here but scattered over the entirety of the estate, watching for trouble. At last, he indicated that they should approach the kitchen door.
They crept up to it. Sarah knocked. White Thunder stepped to the side, out of the light.
No one answered. Sarah knocked again.
This time, they were in luck. A kitchen maid answered.
Immediately Sarah asked, “May I see Mrs. Stanton, please?”
The maid gave Sarah a confused, searching glance, most likely trying to discern exactly who Sarah was.
To ease the kitchen maid’s unspoken questions, Sarah said, “Cook knows me, for I used to work here, too. My name is Sarah. Please, would you find Mrs. Stanton and tell her that Miss Sarah Strong is here to see her?”
The maid nodded, closed the door and turned away. Sarah waited, trying to frame in her mind what she would say.
Without delay, Mrs. Stanton stepped to the door. Sarah watched as the cook opened the door a crack, and peeped out, saying, “Miss Sarah? Be it true that ye are here?”
“’Tis I, Mrs. Stanton. And I have had quite the adventure getting here.”
“Why, Miss Sarah, it is ye. Enter, please.” She opened the door wide.
“I have someone with me, Mrs. Stanton—an Indian. May we both come in?”
“Aye, child. I could’ve gathered from yer dress that ye’ve been rescued by the Indians. Miss Marisa was the same.”
“Miss Marisa? Is she here, then?”
“Nay, Miss Sarah, she is not.” Cook’s glance skipped off of her to stare at something at Sarah’s back, and Sarah assumed that White Thunder had stepped out of the shadows to stand behind her. “But,” Cook continued, “she was here fer a time. Locked in her room, she was, while that evil man tried ta marry her off to an ugly old good-fer-nothin’. Now get ye in here. Would ye like some stew? I’ve only jest made it.”
“We would be delighted. But what happened?” asked Sarah. “Did Marisa marry the man her uncle had selected for her and then leave?”
“I daresay not. She escaped, and in doin’ so, she forced that evil man John Rathburn to write out his own confession. He did it, too, had little option.”
“He had little option? Why? What happened?”
“He tried to kill her.”
Sarah gasped and almost swooned. For a moment, she could hardly speak. “Miss Marisa?”
Cook nodded.
Eyes wide, Sarah asked, “But he didn’t accomplish it?”
“Indeed not.”
Sarah let out her breath. Gingerly, she laid a hand on Mrs. Stanton’s arm, then asked, “How did it happen?”
“Him and that giant Thompson tried to kill her—happened in his study, it did. That Indian lad of hers saved her—kilt Thompson dead.”
“Thompson is dead? Can’t say that I’m sorry. But, Mrs. Stanton, what did Mr. Rathburn confess to?”
“I wouldn’t be knowing that exactly, but rumor has it that he had business with a Dutch settlement, and he destroyed it and the murdered of all those people, and—”
Sarah had sat down all at once, looking for all the world as if she might faint.
“Miss Sarah, are ye all right?”
“Aye, I am fine. I think. But please, don’t stop. Please continue with your story, Mrs. Stanton.”
“Are ye certain?”
Sarah nodded.
“Though it happened long ago, long before ye came to live here, Miss Sarah, Miss Marisa forced John Rathburn’s hand at a confession of that Dutch settlement.”
“Then he truly was responsible for my parents’ …” Sarah placed her hand over her heart.
“What was that, Miss Sarah?”
“It was nothing, Mrs. Stanton. Please do continue.”
“I be thinkin’ that if he done it once, he done it many times. But I guess all we’ll ever know about is that poor Dutch colony.”
“Aye, you could be right.”
“He has been under house arrest since he made that confession, and I daresay he’ll remain that way until his trial, and ’tis Albany’s own constable who be here with him tonight.”
“The constable is here?”
“Aye, that he is.”
“But Miss Marisa is not?”
“No. She left with that Indian gent who saved her.”
“Is she truly well? She is not harmed?”
“The last time I saw the girl, she was well … and happy.”
“And Thompson? You say that Black Eagle killed him? ”
“Aye, lass. He was kilt dead, right here in this very house. He tried to kill Miss Marisa. But her Indian lad took care of Mr. Thompson, and like ye, I say, good riddance.”
Sarah nodded. “He did deserve it, Mrs. Stanton. He tried to kill Miss Marisa while we were en route to New Hampshire. Had it not been for that same Indian gentleman, she might not have survived. Me neither.”
Mrs. Stanton nodded. “’Tis true, what ye say. But come now, ye look like ye’ve been through the gates of hell and back. Ye and yer friend are welcome here in me kitchen for as long as ye wish to stay. Sit. Eat.”
Sarah did as ordered. Indeed, she didn’t think she could have stood to her feet at the moment had she tried. It was as though she had been delivered one shock after another.
True, she had suspected that Rathburn was responsible for the deaths of her parents. But it was one thing to suspect it, another to be confronted with the reality of it.
Still, good manners came to the fore, and with all the well-said thank-yous, Sarah picked up a spoon and forced herself to eat.
In due time, however, noticing that Mrs. Stanton was hovering near her, Sarah asked, “Did Miss Marisa say where she was going?”
“Nay, lass, she dinna.”
“I suppose I’ll have to see Mr. Rathburn so as to obtain his approval to go and find her, since she is still in my charge.”
“Lass, dinna ye hear?”
“Hear what?”
“When Miss Marisa made that evil man write a confession sayin’ how he’d destroyed that Dutch colony, she also forced him to confess that he had no right to keep you in servitude. Before she left, she not only told me so, she showed me the confession.”
“She did what?”Sarah came up out of her chair.
“Yer free, lass. Yer free of him.”
With a clatter, Sarah dropped her spoon onto the floor. She stood dumbfounded. She was free? As easy as that? There would be no court of law to pronounce her a fugitive from justice? No master to appease? It was over?
Turning her glance onto Mrs. Stanton, she asked, “You’re certain, Mrs. Stanton?”
“I be certain. But don’t ye take me own word fer it. Constable Phelps is here. Go and ask him yerself.”
“I will, Mrs. Stanton. I will. But not tonight. For now, I need to sit and try to assimilate all that you’ve told me. For much has changed since I was last here.”
“That it has, lass. That it has.”
Since Marisa wasn’t in residence at the Rathburn estate at present, and Sarah was apparently her own free person now, there seemed to be no reason for her and White Thunder to stay. Eventually they bid Mrs. Stanton farewell, and stepped back into the darkness of the night.
Sarah barely knew what to do with herself. For fifteen years, she had lived under the yoke of servitude. It had become a way of life for her. Now what was she to do?
She must have asked the question aloud, for White Thunder suggested, “Stay with me. Become my wife.”
“Yes,” she said, although her attention seemed scattered. She simply didn’t know how to take it all in.
“Then you will become my wife? Stay with me? Live with me?”
“Yes,” said Sarah, this time with more passion. “I would like that very much.”
White Thunder smiled at her before he turned away to take the lead. Happily, they made their way back into the woods.
Twenty-five
“
He
is here.”
It was Wild Mint. She stood before them in physical form, blocking their path, although Sarah had to admit that Wild Mint’s body substance was weak and filmy, as though one could easily put their hand through her … if they dared.
“The man who killed me as well as our child, is here.”