The Ghost (26 page)

How terrible, Rebecca said with a look of amazement. They were sharing confidences that they never would have in a drawing room, and yet they were sharing the same bed, in this magical place which seemed so close to God ' and Kiehtan. Sarah smiled at the legends Singing Wind had told her. Will you stay at the garrison for long? Rebecca asked with interest, and then yawned. She could feel the baby move inside her, and she knew that soon her other two would wake her. The days were long for her, particularly with Andrew away hunting. There was no one else to help her. Her family was in North Carolina.

I don't know how long I'll stay, Sarah said, yawning too, it was contagious. I'd like to stay forever. Rebecca smiled in answer and drifted off to sleep then, and a little while later, Sarah fell asleep too, unable to believe her good fortune just to be there.

Rebecca was up and out of bed long before the dawn the next day when she heard her youngest stir. She knew from the heaviness in her breasts that it was time to nurse him. It gave her pains when she did that sometimes, and she was afraid that the baby in her womb might come early, but her little one was so young, it seemed wrong not to nurse him. He was only eight months old, and he'd been frail. She didn't know how pregnant she was, but she thought maybe seven months or so. She was much bigger than the time before. Their first baby was a girl, and she was eighteen months old now. And once she woke up, Rebecca had her hands full. She tried to keep diem from waking her guest, and she kept them both busy with a bowl of porridge and a crust of bread for each. It was easier for her being in the garrison than on a farm somewhere. She would have had no way to work the land, and they were safer and had more food here. This way Andrew didn't need to worry about her whenever he left her.

And by the time Sarah woke at nine o'clock, Rebecca had washed both children, dressed them and herself, done the laundry, and there was bread baking in the oven. She had had a busy morning. And as she saw her hostess bustling around the tiny cheerful room, with a fire in the grate, Sarah was embarrassed to have slept so late and been so lazy. She must have been more tired than she thought. She had slept like the dead until the sound of horses and carts outside finally woke her. She knew that by the time she woke up that day, her carriage would have gone back to Boston. And both guides had said they were moving on early that morning. Singing Wind had to go back to his father and report on the farming utensils and equipment he'd bought for them, and George, the trapper, was heading north to trade with the settlers on the Canadian border. It was more dangerous there, he knew, but he didn't mind it. He knew most of the tribes, and all but a few of them were friendly.

Would you like something to eat? Rebecca asked her kindly, holding the baby in one arm, and trying to steady her little girl and keep her out of the sewing basket with the other.

I'll take care of myself. You look as though you have your hands full.

I do, Rebecca said with a broad smile. She was small and wore her hair in braids, and in the bright sunshine she looked more like twelve than twenty. Andrew helps me with them when he can, but he's away a lot, checking on the settlers, visiting the other forts. He has a lot to do here. But so did she, and her belly looked enormous now to Sarah.

When will the baby come? Sarah asked with a look of concern as she helped herself to a cup of coffee. It looked like any minute.

Not for a month or two, I think ' probably two ' I'm not sure. She blushed. Each of her babies had come right on the heels of the other, but she looked healthy and happy. But even Sarah could see that it was not an easy life here. It was simple and rugged, and devoid of all the conveniences that people were accustomed to. It seemed as though it was in another world than Boston, and it was. This was an entirely different life here, and she knew just from being here and sniffing at it, this was exactly what she wanted.

Sarah made the bed, and asked if she could help Rebecca with anything, but she said she was fine and planning to visit a friend on a neighboring farm who had just had a baby. And when Sarah felt sure she wasn't abandoning her, she left to find the colonel.

She found his office easily, but he wasn't there, and she walked around the garrison for a while, watching everything that went on, the blacksmith shoeing horses, the men laughing and exchanging tales, the Indians who came and went, who looked different from Singing Wind, and she suspected they were the Nonotucks she'd heard of. They were an equally gentle tribe as the Wampanoags. There were no fierce Indians left around here, or so she thought, until she saw a group of men ride hard through the gates, and she thought she had never seen anything so ferocious. They were a group of about twelve men, most of them Indians, and looked as though they'd had a long hard ride. They had four supply horses galloping behind them, and the men who led them seemed to stop for nothing. The Indians looked nothing like Singing Wind, or the Nonotucks she'd seen that morning. They had a fierce harshness to them, in the way they looked, and even in the way they handled their horses. Their hair was long and black, and they wore beads and feathers, and one of them was wearing a spectacular breastplate. But even the way they spoke to each other frightened Sarah a little. But no one else in the garrison seemed to pay any attention to them. And as they pulled their horses up not far from where she stood, Sarah felt herself tremble. And she was annoyed at herself for her reaction. But they were so powerful, so breathtaking, they were like a storm rushing past her. And then she heard one of the men shout something to the others, and they laughed. There was a powerful sense of camaraderie among them, which even seemed to include the white men. And as their horses still pranced nervously, they dismounted. She saw several soldiers eyeing them, but they said nothing, and the Indians spoke quietly amongst themselves. It was obviously not an attack, but it looked like a delegation of some sort, and there was an undeniable sense of strength and unity about them. She stood watching them silently, unobserved, wondering who and what they were, and she found herself staring at their leader. He was the most mesmerizing of all, he had long, shining dark hair that flew out behind him as he walked, and he wore beautiful buckskins and boots. He looked almost European, but not quite, he had the noble carriage, and harshly carved face of the Indians he rode with, and he spoke in Indian dialect to the men around him. It was obvious just from the way he moved and the way they answered him, how much he was respected. He was a natural leader. He seemed almost like a prince of some kind in his warlike dignity, and it was easy to believe that he was the sachem, the chief, or perhaps the son of a chief. He looked to Sarah as though he were in his late thirties.

He turned sharply then, as she watched him, carrying an enormous musket, with a bow slung across his back, and she found herself face-to-face with him unexpectedly, and she jumped as he saw her. She was in no way prepared to face the man, however spectacular she thought him. He was like a painting she wanted to observe, an exquisite unknown sport of some kind, just watching him move and speak and turn was like listening to music. He was the most graceful and powerful man she'd ever seen, and at the same time very silent. But he was also terrifying, and she couldn't move from where she stood as he watched her. He stopped dead, staring at her, looking more ominous than any man she'd seen, and yet she did not feel like he would hurt her. He was like the Prince of the Unknown, he represented a world she could only dream of, and as his eyes searched hers, he turned away then, and walked into an office. And she was horrified to realize she was shaking violently once he'd passed her. Her knees were knocking so hard she almost couldn't stand, and she let herself down on the steps of the building she'd been standing near, as she watched the others disband their supplies, and move across the garrison. She still wondered what tribe they were from, and who they were, and why they had pounded into the garrison as though they had a legion of devils just behind them.

It took her ten minutes to stop shaking after her encounter with the leader of the group, and when she walked back across the garrison to the colonel's office again, out of curiosity she asked a soldier what tribe the Indians were from that she had noticed. It was easy to describe them.

They're Iroquois, he explained, looking unimpressed. He'd seen them many times before, but Sarah hadn't. And their entrance had been quite remarkable, as far as she was concerned. She knew, like so much else she'd seen here, she would never forget it. They're Seneca actually, which is part of the Iroquois nation, and one of them is Cayuga. There are six Iroquois nations. He reeled them all off to her as she listened avidly: Onondaga, Cayuga, Oneida, Seneca, Mohawk, and the last to join the confederacy were the Tuscarora. They've only joined up with the Iroquois for the past seventy years, and they're originally from North Carolina. What you're seeing here, though, is Seneca, and the little short one is Cayuga.

Their leader is quite an impressive sort, she said, still a little overwhelmed by the impression he'd made on her. She felt as though she had faced all the terrors of the new world, embodied in one man, and failed to be terrorized or defeated. But it had been close for a minute or two. He had been more than a little daunting. But she'd survived it. And here at the garrison, she knew it was unlikely that anyone would try to hurt her. And what had comforted her, as terrifying as he was, was that no one else seemed worried by him.

Who rode in with them? the soldier asked, but she could only describe him. I'm not sure who that was. Probably one of the chief's sons. He might have been Mohawk, they're a little more frightening-looking than the Seneca. Particularly in war paint, which they obviously weren't wearing. That was a relief anyway. Probably if they had, with the best will in the world, she felt sure she might have fainted.

She thanked the man for the information then, and went on to find the colonel. He had returned from his morning's ride by then, and seemed pleased by what he'd seen. His territory was in good order. And he looked particularly happy to see Sarah. It seemed years since he'd seen her in Boston. And he was extremely relieved to hear that the long trip had gone well, and she had arrived safely. It was impossible not to notice how pretty she looked too. Even in a simple brown wool gown, with a plain bonnet to protect her from the cold, she was a rare beauty. The cream of her skin looked almost like snow, her eyes were the color of a summer sky, and the lips which wore no rouge would have begged a younger man to kiss them. Yet she was perfectly demure, proper in every possible way, and the light he saw in her eyes was only excitement to be there. There was a subtle sensuality about her, but she kept it so well hidden, that all one sensed about her, if one didn't look too far, was warmth and friendship. And she thanked him profusely for letting her come here, which made him chuckle as he listened.

Amelia has always treated her visits to me as sheer torture, and something I must apologize for from the moment she arrives until the moment she leaves us. In the past five years, she had not come often. At forty-nine, she felt she was too old now for hardship. And it was easier for him to see her in Boston. But Sarah was another story. She had the land in her veins. And he teased her and said she was born to be a settler, but he was sure she knew he didn't really mean it. It was just a compliment he paid her.

He had organized a small dinner for her that night, and hoped that she was comfortable enough where she was staying. They had no rooms for guests, and had to rely on the soldiers' wives to accommodate people when they came. His own wife had to share his billet, which was some of what she hated. Sarah said that she was fine, and had already grown fond of Rebecca. But later at dinner she found that the colonel had invited Lieutenant Parker to dinner. And he was still as besotted with her as he'd been in Boston. She did everything she could to discourage him, until she finally reached the point of being quite rude to him, but he didn't seem to mind it. In fact, she almost feared he liked it. He interpreted her sharp answers as a form of interest. And she was even more distressed to find that some of the other guests thought she had come to Deerfield to see him.

Not at all, she said quite soberly to the wife of a major. As you know, I'm a widow, she said sternly, feeling like her own grandmother as she said it, but trying to look extremely daunting. Had she seen herself, she would have giggled. But the woman she said it to was not nearly as impressed as Sarah had hoped for.

You can't stay alone forever, Mrs. Ferguson, she said sweetly, casting an appreciative eye at the young lieutenant.

I intend to, Sarah said sharply, and the colonel laughed as he listened. And then he lowered his voice as Sarah prepared to leave. The lieutenant was lingering in the hope of escorting her to Rebecca's.

Shall I offer you my protection? the colonel asked kindly, and she nodded. He had understood her situation, and didn't want her to feel awkward. She was his guest after all, and clearly didn't reciprocate the lieutenant's tender feelings.

I'd appreciate it very much, she whispered, and the colonel smiled at her and informed Lieutenant Parker that he was very kind to wait for Mrs. Ferguson, but that he intended to see her home himself. He thanked him again, and told him he would see him in the morning. Sarah already knew that they had a meeting planned with an important delegation from the West, who had gone to discuss peace with the troublemakers led by Little Turtle. But after the colonel's words the lieutenant looked extremely dejected when he left them.

I'm sony, my dear, if he annoyed you. He's young, and very taken with you, I'm afraid. I can't blame him. If I were thirty years younger, I'd be tempted to make a fool of myself as well. You're only very lucky that I have Amelia to keep me behaving. She laughed at the compliment and blushed as she thanked him.

He refuses to understand that I'm determined not to marry again. I've told him very clearly. And he doesn't think I mean it.