‘York?’ I repeated, looking up. ‘What about York?’
‘Listen, will you, for God's sake! Even you must care! So many things have happened! York is taken! The Yankees have burned York!’
I stared at him, clutching my letter in my hand. ‘The Americans . . . they're in Yonge Street? Why didn't thee say so at once?’
‘I was telling you about Michigan, which surely concerns us the most. This news came through today: York is taken. And, God help us, Brock is dead!’
‘He died defending York?’
‘No, Mark. He was killed at Queenston last October. The Americans tried to cross the Niagara and invade Upper Canada. We beat them back. We had the victory, but at what a cost! And this was last October! Since then Sheaffe's been making a mull of the whole business, as you might expect. How could that man succeed Brock? We've been away too bloody long.’ Alan laid his shoulder against the door and shoved it open savagely.
‘Thee can hardly wish now thee'd come home sooner,’ I pointed out mildly as I followed him inside.
He ignored that. He was pacing up and down, his stick tapping on the floor. I crouched down to mend the fire. ‘Where's Rachel?’ I asked. Alan looked round vaguely. Clearly he'd forgotten all about her. I answered my own question. ‘She'll have taken the bairn to bed, seemingly.’
‘So while I was lying on my back in that bloody wigwam, our troops beat the Yankees back at Frenchtown on the Raisin River,’ went on Alan. ‘That's south of Detroit – way south of here.’
‘I thought Detroit was taken months ago?’
‘It was. The Americans brought this new army up from Kentucky. It was the same old plan – to cross the Niagara and invade Upper Canada. Winchester bungled it. Instead of pressing on they put up a fort to over-winter – only they were short of rations – no winter clothing – their case was a good deal worse than ours. Even so, they beat Procter at first. But when it came to a pitched battle we made short work of them.’
‘Thee means they were all killed?’
‘No . . . not exactly.’
‘Not exactly killed?’
‘I mean, mostly they were taken prisoner – they were induced to surrender, for fear of reprisals from our Indian allies. In fact, brother Mark, Michigan is ours!’
‘Thee means thy Indian allies killed them after they'd surrendered?’
‘Not all of them, brother Mark, not all of them.’ I was intimate enough with Alan to know when he was being evasive. ‘If it had been Brock now . . . But then if it had been Tecumseh leading the Indians . . . It's true; I didn't like what I heard. The worst of it is, it gives the Yankees fuel for libel, and by God you can be sure they'll use it.’
‘If they speak the plain truth, Alan, there's no libel in that.’
He ignored me. ‘But we kept them out of Upper Canada! Brock saw to that at Queenston. But Brock's dead. What's the good of a victory if you don't follow it up? Our Indian allies are still coming in. The worst of it is, now we've lost Brock we don't have a decent general to our name. God knows what'll happen this season.’ He knocked against the table, and a stoneware bowl went crashing to the floor, where it broke into two pieces. ‘Damn!’
‘Sit down,’ I said. ‘Thee's taken Michigan; thee doesn't need to break up the house as well. Has thee eaten?’ Oddly enough, Alan's anxieties over a war that meant nothing to me had the effect of soothing my own mind. Two hours ago I'd been beyond hunger, caught up in my own small whirlwind of loss and pain. Now I was dragged back into this world of strife and conflict, my senses were unaccountably restored to me. I picked up the flinders from under Alan's feet. ‘It wants but half a dozen rivets to be almost as good as it was,’ I said, examining them.
‘Is that all you can say? Is that all you care about?’
‘No. But small things must still be thought on, or where would we be?’ As I spoke I was rummaging in the bread crock and dresser cupboards. ‘Is this all the food in the house?’ I asked, as I set out bread and water and a little of our own dried meat on the table.
‘There's no food in Mackinac, brother Mark,’ said Alan irritably. ‘Does nothing interest you but your own empty stomach? Obviously not, or you might realise by now what kind of winter it's been here. The garrison's been on basic rations since September. The first supplies came through from Montreal a week ago. Captain Roberts lies at death's door. The troops had no winter supplies at all. Roberts ordered coats for the soldiers to be made out of trade blankets – that's one thing we did have here – piles of them, in fact. And then the whooping cough broke out in the village – never been heard of in these parts before – and a score of children died of that. There's still a war on, brother Mark. It may not make any difference to you, but this is still the front line. If we don't hold on, that's the end of Upper Canada. If we do hold on it's probably the end anyway. York is fallen. Brock is dead. We're still waiting to see if more Indian allies come in from the west. Some of our Indians did come in from northern Michigan. Askin fitted them out and sent them down to Detroit. I don't know how many came because of me. I guess I'll never know.’ Alan aimed a kick at the kindling basket with his good foot. ‘I should have been with them! You and Loic would've come back here, and I'd have rallied the Indians myself and gone south with them. Those were Brock's orders, and now he's dead, and I've done nothing! It'd be just the same if I'd never come here. I might as well have stayed with the North West all the time. I wish I bloody had!’
‘Perhaps my sister wishes thee had too.’ The words were no sooner out than I wished them unsaid. Inwardly I was furious at what he'd just disclosed. Of course I should have guessed it long ago. It wasn't just the betrayal to me, but the unspoken admission that Rachel's recovery had never figured in his plan at all. When we set out, I now saw, privately he wasn't even admitting it as a possibility. It was all I could do to master my own temper, without tramping up and down the room like a caged bear the way Alan was doing. I could have told him too – indeed, I often had – that wars could lead to no good end. He seemed to think, too, that I had no worries of my own, and in an access of self-pity I thought that wrong in him.
As if on cue, the door of Alan's room opened, and Rachel came out, looking sleepy and tousled. ‘Alan, can thee stop shouting? Thee'll wake the bairn.’
I could think of no words more calculated to put a man out of temper, but I was quite wrong. Alan looked from one of us to the other, and suddenly grinned at me. ‘I beg your pardon, brother. What can a man do with such a family but behave righteously under all conditions? To hell with the war and all our prospects. Put my want of temper down to hunger.’ He sat down at the table, and pulled the loaf towards him. ‘Rachel, will you eat?’
‘I'll be back shortly,’ I said. Outside it was quite dark. I walked past the fort to Market Street, where I heard a babble of voices from the tavern where we'd dined my first evening in Mackinac, and over them the thin strains of a fiddle. Above the black rectangles of the houses the stars were out. A new moon had risen over Bois Blanc. I could see the circle of the old moon inside the shining crescent. I watched it for a while, while the heat of rage within me slowly subsided. When I went home Alan and Rachel were sitting opposite one another at the table, eating bread and meat in apparent harmony. They glanced at me as I sat down to join them.
‘ ‘Tis the shock, too,’ I remarked presently. They looked at me enquiringly. ‘Coming back,’ I explained, as I took out my knife and cut myself a hunk of meat. ‘Coming back to all this. It's a shock.’ I looked up and caught Rachel looking at me scathingly. I didn't need to be told that compared to her I had nothing to complain of. I braced myself for a setdown, but she didn't speak. She tossed her head instead, and pulled the mangled loaf towards her.
Alan said presently with his mouth full, ‘One thing, though. We hold the lakes. The Yankees can't take us on at sea.’
‘It appears they don't need to,’ snapped Rachel. ‘They can get to York anyway.’
At the thought of this filthy war carried into Yon
ge Street my heart seemed to lurch within my breast. Under cover of my end of the table, I cleaned my knife on my bread, and slit open my letter. My hands were trembling. I was afraid Rachel would ask me what I was at, but I could wait no longer. I held the paper on my knee hidden by the table, and read by candlelight.
3rd Day of Eleventh Month, 1812
To our Friend in Christ Jesus, Mark,
It was kind in thee to write me a letter. It was a gift to us all to have thee with us last winter. My good-sister Sarah was brought to bed of a fine boy on the 29th Day of Fifth Month last. His name is John, for he hath been indeed a gift from God to this small family. The house is the less sorrowful for his presence, and yet it grieves me when I think how my father and mother and Hannah and Elizabeth would also have delighted in him. Thomas and I think he hath a look of my father, particularly when he smiles, which he hath been able to do since he was two months old.
We have thought of thee and prayed for thee and Rachel each day. Perhaps even as I write thee has found her. Pray God it may be so. ‘For the Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and plenteous in mercy.’ But if it be not so, then his will be done. The thoughts of our hearts are with thee, Mark, and we look ever for news of thee, and of our beloved Rachel, and hope always to hear good tidings.
The times have not been easy. The rumours of war, and the depredations made upon our community by the war tax, and the persecution of our young men for the militia, hath been compounded by a lack of harmony within our Meeting, which hath been very grievous to us. I ask thee to hold us all at Yonge Street in the light, and to pray that our differences may be speedily resolved. It is one thing to have war raging without, and another to suffer conflict within. When I say within, I mean both within the Meeting and within our own hearts also, for who cannot be stirred by the winds of controversy that blow upon us from every side, it now seemeth, even from the midst of our own Meeting?
The Declaration of War, though long expected, wrought sadly upon us. The whole world seems plunged into an outward conflict that hath no reasonable prospect of coming to an end. When the news of war came, there was Ministry in Meeting from the twelfth chapter of Revelation, about the woman clothed with the sun, and the moon under her feet, and upon her head a crown with twelve stars, and about the Dragon, which is war, being thrown down from heaven. I cannot say I understand the passage, but the words which stay in my mind are these: And I heard a loud voice saying in heaven, ‘Now is come Salvation, and Strength, and the Kingdom of our God.’ I hope and pray it may be so: that out of the calamitous events of our time a Kingdom of Peace may truly come, even on earth as it is in heaven.
David Willson is no longer in unity with us, but holds meetings at his own house on First Day and Fifth Day. For this he was disowned three weeks ago, and this hath made much turmoil amongst us, as thee may well imagine. He left us because he thought us not passionate enough in our desire for peace, nor courageous enough to act upon the visions of that Kingdom of Mercy which God hath opened to us. I think David Willson over-given to a histrionic style of ministry, which is not seemly, but I am concerned that we may not reject the substance of enlightenment because we like not its style. For if ever a flock required a sign from its loving shepherd, this is that flock. We wander in a wilderness of our own making, and the wolves howl at the door.
Meanwhile several among us have joined with David Willson at Gwilimbury and proclaim themselves the Children of Peace, subject not to the letter of the scriptures nor to the oppressions of a violent world, but guided only by the Light that illuminates every man in his own heart.
Friend Mark, we think of thee often, and hold thee in our hearts and prayers. The God of Peace be with thee.
In Friendship
Clemency Armitage
‘What is thee doing, Mark?’
I folded the paper and looked my sister in the face. Clemency had said nothing I could not share. ‘I'm reading a letter from Yonge Street. Thee can see it after supper.’ I put the folded sheet on the table, and addressed her plainly. ‘There are no Friends here but thee and me, Rachel. There is none else in Mackinac to witness to our Testimonies. Tomorrow is First Day. Will thee and me have our Meeting for Worship here in McGulpin's house? We can put up a notice on the door, to say that any who wish may attend. ‘Twould not be alone’ – I said this to reassure myself as much as her – ‘for they'll be meeting at Yonge Street too, and at Mosedale, and everywhere else where there are Friends. Will thee join me in that?’
I saw her colour rise and the tears come to her eyes. It was the first time since I'd found her – the first time, perhaps, in the annals of our joint lives – that she looked at me as though she saw me clearly: not just her brother Mark, but the man that I am, myself. ‘I'm disowned, Mark,’ she said quietly.
‘No matter. Is not Meeting for Worship open to any who desire to come?’
‘Ay,’ she said, still looking at me as if the scales had fallen from her eyes at last. ‘Ay, if that's what thee wishes. I will come.’
1 This was my last visit to Bois Blanc. I last had news through Loic ten years ago, when Alan met him at Sainte Marie du Sault. Waase'aaban, Loic said, had married an Ojibwa from the Huron shore of Michigan very soon after I left. After the Treaty of Saginaw was signed, which ceded nearly half the lands of Michigan to the United States Government, her husband chose to leave his own country, and take his family into the Ojibwa territory west of Fort William, far beyond the rapacious purchases of the white man. That would have been in the spring of ‘20, the year after the signing. And that was the last Loic had heard of Waase'aaban, at the time.
CHAPTER 26
NONE CAME TO OUR FIRST DAY MEETING BUT OURSELVES, but the news of our advertisement soon spread about the place, and as a result we were visited on the Second Day following by none other than Madeleine La Framboise. Rachel and I were sitting together on the bench behind the house, while the bairn played with the neighbour's cat, which was rolling in the grass at our feet. It was a good-natured tabby that had been used to come into our kitchen begging for scraps when Alan and I had lived at McGulpin's house before.
Our visitor, finding no one in the house, came round to the back to find us. As soon as she saw her, Rachel ran to meet her, and greeted her in the Ottawa tongue. That made me uneasy, especially when they spoke together so rapidly that I couldn't catch the words. Presently Madeleine La Framboise walked over to me. ‘So, Mr Greenhow, you found your sister after all.’
‘Ay,’ I said. A new thought occurred to me. ‘Thee knew!’ I stated, and looked her in the eyes.
‘You did very well, Mr Greenhow,’ she said, ignoring me. ‘I congratulate you.’
‘Thee knew!’ I repeated, for I would not let it go so lightly.
‘Mr Greenhow,’ she said to me. ‘You know nothing of this country. Who has suffered most, do you think? Your sister is restored to you, and I give thanks to God for all his mercies.’ She turned away from me, and smiled at the bairn, who'd sat up in the grass and was staring at her, wide-eyed.
‘This is my daughter, Zhawenjigewin,’ said Rachel, her chin up.
Before Madeleine could speak again, someone called from the front of the house. ‘Alan! Mark! Is anyone there?’
‘It's Loic!’ I left the two women to each other, and fairly ran round the house.
Loic smiled when he saw me, then embraced me. I didn't recoil; I was just as pleased to see him though had not the same way of showing it. ‘Loic! I'm glad to see thee. Come thy ways in.’
After three days of trying to read my sister's unpredictable silences, it was a relief to be able to speak plainly. They were all well on Bois Blanc, Loic told me. It would be better, however, if I stayed away. Waase'aaban's mother had insisted on taking her younger daughter back to the village. Pakané's brother had arrived, but no one had told him anything, and with luck no one ever would. Waase'aaban was sad. ‘But she will live,’ said Loic. ‘And you, Mark? I am sorry it has ended in such a way. You will be all right,
though, I think?’
‘Ay,’ I said. Then I thought Loic deserved a little more. ‘I would have married her,’ I told him. ‘I would be with her now, if I could. And yet when I think it over I understand what Beedaubun said. Perhaps I come from too far away. Perhaps we could not have understood each other enough. I don't know.’
’Oui,‘ said Loic, ‘and perhaps also you are a little relieved that you are still free? If that is so – and I think you cannot deny it – I would not think too hardly of yourself. There is no man alive who has not thought that, or wished that, however much he loves his woman, or however sad he is to lose her. For now you may go your ways, and not worry about it any more. And perhaps for a while it was very good, and so you have no cause to be sorry.’
‘I did wrong,’ I said sombrely.
‘Bah! What is wrong? It pleased you. You pleased Waase'aaban – of that I am very sure – and now you are free, you will make love all the better to the next woman. In this I see no cause for sorrow.’
‘And what of Waase'aaban?’
‘Waase'aaban? She is among her own people. She is loved. What more would you? If you say that it was bad to make love to her, you insult her, I think. If you would speak of her with respect, you must admit now that it was good. Isn't that so?’
‘Ay,’ I said, half convinced.
I walked over to the Company Office with Loic, but Alan wasn't there. We eventually ran him to earth coming out of the rear gate of the fort. There was a note from Rachel when we got back to McGulpin's house which said, Gone to la maison de Mme La Framboise. I don't know if Alan or Loic shared my relief, but I was glad we had that last afternoon to ourselves, just the three of us. Alan paid Loic double for all the extra months we'd been away. He said the Company had just paid him, so he could make himself all the richer by giving the excess away.1 Otherwise we just sat and talked, and when Anne appeared to cook the meal we moved outside, until the sun sank behind the house next door. Then Loic and I carried his father's little canoe down to the shore, so he could tow it home. I helped him get both canoes afloat. Before he got in he turned to me, where we stood in calf-deep water.
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