Papa was optimistic. “There should be. We'll go to the tailor's as soon as I've invested the note with the merchant. I'd like to have my new suit to wear, too.”
“I'm surprised at Sir John giving us an invitation,” Cade spoke up. “He's such an important man, and he doesn't even know us.”
“The landlord said Sir John sends a servant in livery to this inn with invitations to all people from Upper Canada who are staying here,” Papa replied as he rose from the table. “Sir John is also the Superintendent of Indian Affairs, I believe.”
Elizabeth window-shopped by herself while the rest of us visited a tailor. Down to earth Cade selected grey worsted for his suit. Sam eyed a bolt of red plush longingly. Papa steered him towards a sensible blue serge. With Papa's help I chose a brown worsted. For waistcoats Papa let us have our way. Cade wanted blue velvet, Sam the red plush, while I selected yellow brocade. Afterwards Papa brought forth Uncle William's blue broadcloth and red shagreen and the tailor took all our measurements.
“Could you have all the suits ready by Friday morning?” Papa asked him.
The tailor stuck his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat and peered at us through his spectacles. “My sisters help out when I'm rushed. Yes, you may pick up the suits by ten o'clock. Be here at nine on Wednesday morning for your fittings.”
We went from the tailor's to a shirt-makers and ordered one for each of us. They would be ready by Wednesday. Our next call was at a hosiery shop, and on the way there Elizabeth joined us. Papa bought white worsted stockings for all five of us, and Mama, too. Then Elizabeth whispered in Papa's ear, colouring slightly. He handed her some coins, and she went off on her own again.
Sam snickered. “I wonder what she'll buy?”
Papa regarded him sternly. “That's her affair, sir!”
Almost at once Sam forgot about Elizabeth. Papa halted outside a saddler's, admiring a fine piece of craftsmanship on display in the window.
Cade whistled. “Are you going to break down and buy a saddle?”
Papa nodded. “If there isn't one made up for sale, I'll order it.”
The saddler let us have the one in his window, magnificent, smelling of new leather and saddle soap. Joyfully Cade and Sam lugged it back to the King's Arms. On Wednesday the four of us hurried to the tailor's for our fittings and picked up our shirts. Aterwards Cade, Sam, Elizabeth and I used some of our pay to buy earthenware cups, saucers and plates for Mama, a velvet ribbon for Sarah, clasp knives for Smith and Stephen, a carved wooden toy for Robert and a tiny doll with a china head for Margaret. As promised, our suits were ready for us when we returned to the tailor's on Friday morning.
Papa's was a perfect fit and so were Cade's and Sam's. Mine, as Papa had instructed the tailor, was rather loose with space for me to fill out. Even at that I thought I looked more presentable than I had for years.
Back at the King's Arms we packed and caught the stage for Lachine. After a ride over a dreadful road that shook us all, we disembarked before an inn. This time Elizabeth shared a room with three other women, while the rest of us had another to ourselves. At about six o'clock we ate only small cakes and tea. Papa warned us about the lavish supper usually served at a ball, and we wanted to do Sir John's meal justice. In high excitement I donned the new suit and was ready before my brothers and Papa.
“I'll see if Elizabeth has finished dressing,” I said.
“Hurry her along,” Sam ordered. “She'll take longer than usual, to preen.”
“That's enough,” Papa said. “We'll meet you downstairs, Ned.”
Elizabeth was ready, and she opened promptly at my knock. My jaw dropped at the sight of her. The muslin gown ballooned out at both sides, making the skirt sway gracefully when she moved. Her lips were soft pink, and so were her cheeks.
“Oh, my, “I gasped, letting a whistle escape between my teeth.
She threw back her head and laughed. “You're very handsome in that suit. Turn round and let me see the back.”
“Elizabeth,” I said as I obliged. “I don't want to tease, but what did you buy with the money Papa gave you?”
“Nosy,” she teased back. “I bought some rouge and a marvellous petticoat with a hoop of bone. Don't you think it does wonders for this dress?”
“You look like the wealthy ladies of Montreal,” I agreed. “Are you sure you can navigate the doorway?”
“Of course, but I do have to turn sideways.”
I helped her on with her cloak and went first down the stairs. The hooped petticoat took up nearly all the width. The others were standing in the hallway below. Papa was speechless at the sight of his eldest daughter.
“I'm glad it's a mild night,” Cade remarked. We don't need to hide these fine suits under our coats.”
We left the inn and walked up the roadway to a large, square-timbered house set behind a wrought iron railing. The gates were open in welcome. Up a circular drive we walked. The house was ablaze with lights, and other guests were arriving,—most on foot like ourselves, a few in carriages.
Through double doors we entered a wide, brightly lit hallway. A footman in livery took Papa's card and directed Elizabeth to a room at the side to leave her cloak. The dance had already started, and while we waited for Elizabeth we had a good look at our fellow guests. They were wearing everything imaginable. We could just as easily have come in the outfits we had worn on the raft. Some people were dressed in the latest fashions, but some were in leggings and bush shirts or ordinary work clothes. Many were Indians, the women in their short dresses of deerskin.
“Will you please join the receiving line, sir?” another servant in livery addressed Papa as Elizabeth joined us. “To be presented to Sir John and Lady Johnson?”
“Thank you,” said Papa, leading the way.
Sir John was a thickset man of medium height, his hair powdered. He was in uniform, a green coat with dark blue trim and gold lace over white breeches and waistcoat. Lady Johnson was short, plump and motherly-looking. When our turn came to greet our hosts, the servant called Papa's name. Sir John smiled, shyly, I thought, as Papa shook his hand. We boys bowed and Elizabeth dropped her curtsy. She had scarcely risen before a young man in a scarlet coat came forward and asked Papa for his permission to dance with her.
“I'm Lieutenant Duncan Campbell of the 26th Regiment,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” seemed to be all Papa could say. He was looking at Elizabeth as though she were a stranger to him.
The dashing young officer led her onto the floor as the orchestra was striking up an unfamiliar rhythm. “She only knows reels and jigs,” Sam murmured, subdued for once.
“She'll be fine,” Papa said. He seemed to have recovered his composure.
Fine Elizabeth certainly was. The British regular officer led her through what Papa said was a minuet. I caught a glimpse of Reuben Sherwood, staring open-mouthed at my sister. Would Dave Shipman have a rival when we got home? Sure enough, when Lieutenant Campbell escorted her back to Papa, Reuben was at her side, asking permission to be her partner for the next* dance.
The orchestra struck up the tune for a reel, and I was tempted to kick up my own heels. I looked over the gathering for a suitable partner in that vast sea of faces. My eye lit on a girl with long, dark hair and a white muslin gown similar to Elizabeth's. Plucking up my courage I asked her to dance.
“I'm Nehemiah Seaman,” I introduced myself. “And I live not far from Johnstown.”
“May I, Mama?” the girl asked a woman sitting beside her.
“You may,” she said, rising. “I'm Mrs. McCready and this is my daughter Margaret.”
I thanked her and taking Margaret's hand I led her towards a set that was forming. “Where do you live?” I enquired.
“At a place called Buell's Bay,” she answered.
“Only three miles from our house!” I exclaimed “Why haven't I seen you before?” I could not have missed Margaret among the few people of that village.
“I've never been there. M
y father is a tanner, and he has just started his business. He left us here till he had built a cabin. Mama and I are leaving to join him tomorrow morning when the brigade starts upriver.”
We had no more time for talk. We were third couple and the top couple was starting down the dance. When the music stopped I followed her to the side where her mother was seated. Papa joined us and asked Mrs. McCready to dance a jig that was called. The next dance was a gavotte, which I did not know. I apologized to Margaret as we walked off the floor. To my astonishment, there was Papa, expertly guiding Mrs. McCready through the steps.
Cade and Sam were stepping out whenever a dance they knew was called. Margaret and I did the same, but I don't think Elizabeth missed one dance all evening. Too soon midnight came, and supper was announced. Food and wines were laid out on tables upstairs, in a wide hallway like that on the ground floor.
We formed a merry party round a large table, except for Elizabeth, who was at another with Lieutenant Campbell, surrounded by regular officers. Reuben's was the one glum face in our midst. He was downright surly when he told me Captain Sherwood, Samuel and Scipio, had already left for Johnstown. At last, the ball ended, and we thanked Sir John and Lady Johnson. Lieutenant Campbell joined us for the walk back to the inn.
“A pity you don't live in Montreal,” I heard him tell Elizabeth.
“That's for the best,” Papa whispered to Cade and me.
Groans resounded through our room when Papa ordered us up before daylight. Bones were stiff, heads heavy after the wine, but the brigade would not wait for tardy revellers. When we arrived, Reuben was on the wharf, looking as sleepy as we felt. I noticed he made a bee line for the same bateau as us. He and Elizabeth sat up front, deep in conversation.
“Poor Dave,” I said. To my surprise I was thinking of Margaret, and I did not feel that familiar stab of jealousy when I linked Elizabeth to Dave.
“I pray you're wrong,” Papa whispered. “Reuben's too old for her. Besides, she's not ready to be serious yet.”
I spotted Margaret McCready and waved, but I was too shy to try Reuben's trick of riding in the same bateau. Sam would tease me without mercy if he noticed anything.
When, days later, we were walking beside the Long Sault Rapids, Reuben showed no enthusiasm for helping the crews. He seemed to think Elizabeth needed his arm. She put up with him for a bit then ran to me.
“Race you to the head of the rapids,” she cried.
As I dashed after her I felt as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. The old familiar Elizabeth was back. My sister was not as grown up as she had been acting of late.
Before we climbed back aboard our bateau, I managed a private word with Margaret. At the time Sam was ahead, helping the crew pull one of the boats. After Margaret returned to her own boat, I suddenly felt very much alone. From now on, when Papa wanted someone to do an errand to Buell's Bay, he could always call on me.
We reached that village in glorious Indian summer. Joyous yelps echoed over the water as the brigade drew towards shore. An ecstatic Goggie ran back and forth along the jetty. Dave was standing watching, equally ecstatic, I suspected. The dog's enthusiasm got the better of him. Dave lunged, too late. Goggie was in the water, swimming for our bateau.
“Oh, no!” Elizabeth moaned. “If we lift him in everyone'll get soaked.”
“He'll swim back and soak us on the jetty,” Cade laughed.
Whining and churning his legs the dog came on, turned and followed us. When the bateau was docking he swam to shore. As Cade expected, he waited to shake himself till he had leapt up and licked Elizabeth's face. We sprang away from the spray that rained from the black and white coat.
“May I drive you home, Mr. Seaman?” Dave enquired.
“Thank you, Dave, how thoughtful,” Papa said, smiling as he swung some of our baggage out of the boat.
Mr. Buell's hired boy winked at me. “Dave's been here every day this week looking for you.”
“Not for me,” said I, raising my eyesbrows in mock surprise.
As always, Mama was overjoyed to see us. “I've had the strangest feeling that you'd met with some sort of calamity,” she said, looking steadily at Papa.
“Trouble, my love?” Papa was all wide eyed innocence. “We've had a successful journey, and are hundreds of pounds richer.”
“We did…Ow!” Sam yelped as Cade stepped hard on his toes.
“Blundering oaf!” Cade hissed.
Mama put her hands on her hips. “So! Something did happen.”
“We ran into Captain Fonda,” Papa admitted lamely.
“Sorry I let the cat out of the bag,” Sam said, contrite.
“Don't be,” Mama rejoined. “I had a feeling in my bones. If you'd tried to keep the secret I would have known you were hiding something. Just what did happen?”
“He recognized me and threatened me,” Papa began. “We took him before a magistrate and laid a charge. Now he's in jail and will soon be deported from Canada. We're truly safe from his vengeance at last.”
The brief recital was a marvel for what it did not reveal, but Mama was satisfied. I resolved to watch myself. The full story of the knife attack in our room in the London Coffee House must remain buried forever. Cold iron indeed!
What did matter was the success of our great timber raft. Money is not everything, of course, but those few hundred pounds made a wonderful difference to our way of life. Although we took other rafts as the years passed, none gave us the same thrill as that first great raft of the autumn of 1792.
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