Gunwitch

by David Michael

  Chal laughed, a sound like fountain, then said, “My years under the sun have been kind to me.”

  Margaret’s look became an open stare.

  “Do not be astonished, Margaret Laxton.” Chal smiled. “Your questions are plain on your face.”

  Margaret felt her face become warm with embarrassment, and she turned back to look across the water again. “I’m–I’m sorry,” she forced out. “I didn’t mean to stare–to be rude.”

  “You were not being rude, Margaret Laxton. Just open.”

  “Janett–and Mother–would call that being rude,” Margaret said. “And you can call me Margaret. Just Margaret.”

  Chal nodded again. “I am pleased that you like the waters, Margaret. We will ride the waters much over the next few days. Lakes and rivers, and the ponds and slow streams of the bayuk.”

  “Are you from the bayuk?” Margaret asked.

  Chal looked at her.

  “I mean, is that your home? Where you were born? I’ve never met a native before,” she added. She felt her face go red again as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Both Mother and Janett had tried to teach her to be less direct. She only seemed to remember their admonishments, though, after she opened her big mouth. She had heard that the natives were a proud race, and easily offended. She hoped she had not offended Chal.

  Chal’s laugh, this one like a small waterfall, did not sound offended. Margaret risked a look, and found Chal’s eyes waiting for hers.

  “You have not offended me, Margaret,” Chal said, leaning on the rail so she could face Margaret. Then she looked past Margaret, looked across the water of the lake, in a direction not quite perpendicular to their travel, and it seemed to Margaret as if the brown eyes were focused hundreds or thousands of miles away. “I am at home in the bayuk, as I am at home wherever the waters take me, but I was born far from here. In the south.”

  “Do you miss your home?” Margaret asked.

  “Yes, I do.” Chal sighed. Margaret felt a slight breeze brush across her face, even over the wind of their progress, as if the air of the lake sighed with Chal. “It has been a long time since the waters brought me north.”

  “Why don’t you go home then?”

  Chal’s smile looked rueful to Margaret, but still lit up her face. “Because there is still too much of the world I have not seen.”

  “Chal.” Miss Rose’s gruff voice called from behind them.

  Chal turned around, facing aft. Margaret did not turn around. She was not sure she could face Miss Rose’s impassive gaze again. Not just yet. Chal nodded to something Margaret did not hear, then she placed a hand on Margaret’s arm. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Margaret, but I have been told I am talking too much.”

  Now Margaret turned to give a quick glare at Miss Rose. Then she turned around again. “Janett tells me the same thing,” she said.

  As Chal walked away, her laughter faded into the soft pattering of the spray from Puncher’s wake.

  * * *

  Margaret eyed the narrow, flat-bottomed boat warily. Though the bow was up on dry land, where Major Haley waited for her to step into the boat, the stern was in the water. One of the soldiers, wearing his red uniform, sat in the stern, his oar held across his knees.

  “Just step in, Miss,” the man said. “I’ll keep her steady for you.”

  “Between Corporal Higgs and myself,” Major Haley said, “it will be like entering a carriage.” Margaret’s expression must have betrayed her thoughts on that comparison. “I thought you liked rowboats,” he added.

  “This isn’t a rowboat,” Margaret said.

  “That’s right,” Mr. Thomas said from where he stood nearby, overseeing the loading of the other boats. “It’s a pirogue. Even better than a canoe, I have been told, for the waters of this swamp.”

  Pirogue or canoe or misshapen rowboat, Margaret thought it looked too overloaded to safely accommodate herself, Janett, Corporal Higgs and Major Haley. And the bench she would be sharing with Janett made the cramped cabin of the Maryanna Rose look palatial by comparison.

  “I would feel safer, I think,” Margaret said, “if Janett were to be in a different boat. Pirogue.”

  “The two of you girls hardly make any load at all,” Mr. Thomas said, walking over. “You’ll be perfectly safe.” He put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze. “Trust me.”

  Margaret looked up into Mr. Thomas’ eyes, and he smiled down at her. “You’re sure that Janett cannot be in her own pirogue?” she asked.

  Mr. Thomas laughed, his hands still on her shoulders. “Now I see,” he said, “that it’s not only the safety of our crafts that concerns you.”

  “Stop being a pest, Margaret,” Janett said, and pushed past Margaret and Mr. Thomas. “Here, I’ll get on and show you it’s completely safe. Major Haley, if you would give me a hand?”

  “It would be my honor,” the major said. He put his hands on Janett’s waist, then lifted her easily into the pirogue.

  “Thank you, Major,” Janett said, her face showing a slight flush. She positioned herself on the plank of wood that served as a support and a bench, and made a show of arranging her skirts to take up only half the available space.

  Mr. Thomas’ grip on Margaret’s shoulders tightened for just a second as they watched this display, then he took his hands away. Margaret rolled her eyes. Janett always had that effect on men. They fell over one another to help her sister into carriages, out of carriages, through doors–even to walk, sit, and stand. And they got jealous if they did not reach her first. On the boat, and in the fort, Janett had scarcely had to raise her hand unaided. Margaret thought it was a wonder men let Janett breath on her own–though she now recalled there had been one or two who had taken it into their heads that Janett needed their assistance with that, as well. Da, and then Mother in Da’s absence, had put a stop to that.

  “See?” Janett said. “There is plenty of room for you, Margaret.”

  Margaret looked at the other three pirogues pulled up on the bank of the river. Mister Zeek and Puncher had headed back across the lake as soon as Mr. Thomas and the soldiers had unloaded the crates and barrels to the lakeshore. Then the men had split the supplies across all of the pirogues that had been waiting for them. “What about Miss Rose and Chal’s? Could I ride with them?”

  “No,” Mr. Thomas said, his voice less cheerful now. “The other boats bear a greater load of supplies. You must ride with your sister.”

  “Fine,” Margaret said. She walked up to the pirogue. She ignored the hand that Major Haley offered. She hiked her skirt up and stepped into the pirogue.

  “Margaret!” Janett said.

  Margaret ignored her sister, and positioned herself on what was left of the narrow bench.

  “Move ‘em out,” Mr. Thomas shouted.

  Miss Rose pushed the pirogue she shared with Chal away from the bank and jumped into the bow. Her feet never touched the water.

  After Miss Rose and Chal had their boat facing upstream and were rowing, Major Haley pushed the pirogue with Margaret and Janet into the water. His boots splashed in the water, and as he jumped in the pirogue tilted enough to make Janett cry out. And to push Janett against Margaret.

  Margaret braced herself on the side of the boat and pushed back against Janett, hoping they would not capsize. It was going to be a long trip.

  * * *

  The afternoon was divided between hours spent in the boat, cramped against Janett while Major Haley and Corporal Higgs rowed or poled, and even longer hours spent walking beside Janett as the men lifted and carried or dragged the pirogues like sledges between channels or around small cataracts.

  It might not have been hours. The trees of the bayuk blocked the sun in most places, making it difficult to reckon time. But it felt like hours, Margaret thought. Even without direct sunlight, the temperature climbed until Margaret regretted wearing her skirt over the trousers. She considered taking off the superfluous skirt, but dreaded Janett’s reaction.<
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  Janett had spent the first hour in the pirogue talking. Incessantly. First to Major Haley, until the constant rowing had reduced his replies to monosyllables, then to Margaret, while Margaret stared longingly at the pirogue in front of them where Chal and Miss Rose picked the party’s path. Janett talked about the trees and plants they passed, exclaiming at the flowers and birds, ruining Margaret’s more silent appreciation of the same. Janett’s voice became like the drone of the flies and mosquitoes that hovered in the humid air around them. Margaret amused herself with thoughts of swatting her sister.

  Her eyes kept returning to Miss Rose. Both Miss Rose and Chal handled their oars, and their pirogue, as competently as the men. More so, it seemed, since their rowing and steering appeared effortless. Chal’s skill with the pirogue did not seem surprising. Probably because Chal was a native and Margaret had heard the natives of North Amerigon were second to none as woodsmen. Or as woodswomen, it seemed. But Miss Rose was an Englishwoman. Margaret had never thought that such an Englishwoman as Miss Rose existed anywhere. Or could exist.

  When they had to get out of the pirogues, Miss Rose and Chal helped carry their own. Their example made Margaret feel useless, walking beside Janett with no burden to carry.

  “Let me lean on you, Margaret,” Janett said. She placed her hand on Margaret’s shoulder, not waiting for a reply.

  No burden, Margaret amended, except her sister. Looking down, she saw that the hems of both of their skirts had become damp and muddy from the walking, and from getting into and out of the boats. She decided she would risk Janett’s outrage tomorrow and pack her skirt away for the rest of the trip. Miss Rose had been right. Skirts were not made for walking through the bayuk.

  The bayuk ended abruptly, the trees and underbrush parting like a curtain to reveal the sun nearly setting on the far side of another lake.

  “That’s Lake Mancino,” Major Haley said, as he and Corporal Higgs dragged their pirogue to the bank and pushed it into the water. Showing his fatigue, Major Haley let the boat slip away from them. Corporal Higgs grabbed at the rope that trailed from the bow, snagging it before the pirogue could get too far out. “My apologies, Corporal.”

  “Weren’t nothing, sir.”

  “We’re not stopping here?” Janett asked.

  Margaret, still supporting her sister, looked up. “The sun is almost down,” she said. “Shouldn’t we be finding a camp?”

  “Not yet,” Mr. Thomas said. “Rose and … her friend … have chosen the location for our first night’s repose.”

  “It’ll take us about two hours to get there,” Miss Rose said. She glanced at Chal, then added, “Maybe less. We should be able to make good time on the lake.”

  “The sun will be down in two hours,” Mr. Thomas said.

  “Then we shouldn’t waste more time,” Miss Rose said, and turned her back on Mr. Thomas.

  As she sat in the boat and watched the ripples of their travel on the surface of the lake, Margaret remembered seeing Miss Rose for the first time, pistol drawn and ready to fire, threatening Mr. Thomas. She had thought at first that it must be a joke. Mr. Thomas had told her and Janett that he and Rose Bainbridge were old friends. Perhaps this was a prank such as old friends played on each other, like the mischief she and Janett sometimes got into. But the look in Miss Rose’s eyes had not been that of an old friend. For the first time in her life Margaret had considered the possibility that a man would die–maybe be murdered–right in front of her. Then Miss Rose had noticed her and Janett, and backed down, putting the pistol away and eventually agreeing to come with them on this trip.

  She noticed that Mr. Thomas’ pirogue, which he shared with two of the soldiers, was slowly coming alongside hers. After a few more minutes, Mr. Thomas was even with her.

  “Why so serious, Margaret?” he asked, spacing his words between his strokes with the oar.

  She smiled at him.

  “That’s better,” he said, and gave her a big grin in return. Then he focused on his rowing again.

  She trusted Mr. Thomas. She and Janett had first met him in the week after their arrival in New Venezia. He had been at the fort, running messages for General Tendring. He had said that he had seen Da at Fort Russell, and that Da was looking forward to their arrival. Mr. Thomas had said that he would do everything in his power to help them reach Fort Russell and see their father. He had helped persuade General Tendring. He had planned the trip and here they were, on their way.

  Still, there was something about Miss Rose that she trusted, as well. Or, maybe trust was the wrong word. Margaret respected Miss Rose, and envied her. Her direct manner. Her willingness to challenge the men as if she were their equal. That was what had prompted Margaret to acquire the bulky trousers from the young man in the stables. She had no doubt now that the trousers had been a good idea. But Miss Rose hardly looked at her.

  “Are you going to let us pass you by, Major Haley?” Mr. Thomas said. His pirogue now paralleled theirs, and he and the major were side by side, separated by ten feet of water.

  “You have three rowers to my two,” the major replied. “That’s hardly sporting.”

  “But you have the fairer cargo, Major Haley. Perhaps tomorrow we can trade. I will gladly give up Corporal Tishman and Private Cummings for the lovely Janett and Margaret Laxton.”

  “Nay,” Major Haley said. “They are a burden I readily choose.”

  “As any good Englishman would, sir!”

  “Gentlemen,” Janett said, “we are right here. Please do not speak of us as if we were absent. Or are baggage. Give us paddles, Major Haley, and you will see we are not merely cargo.”

  Mr. Thomas laughed. “Well spoken, Janett.”

  The muscles of Major Haley’s back tensed as he sat up straighter than before. “I would sooner collapse of exhaustion bearing you, Miss Laxton, than suffer the humiliation of your hand on an oar handle.”

  He did not turn around, but Margaret could imagine his face showing a flush. Janett had provoked him to similar embarrassments many times over the past weeks, even more since they had arrived at New Venezia. Margaret did not understand why he put up with her.

  The men became silent again. In the west, the sun touched the tops of the trees and turned the surface of the lake into a mirror of the deepening blue sky above them. The only sounds were the deep breathing of the men, and the water splashing on their oars.

  Margaret reached over the side of the pirogue and brushed the surface of the water with her fingertips. As she looked at the water streaming around her fingers, she thought of Chal’s laugh. Feeling someone’s eyes on her, she looked up again and saw the native girl had turned to glance at her over one shoulder. The setting sun made a silhouette of Chal, and Margaret could not see the girl’s eyes. She thought she saw Chal’s teeth exposed in a smile, but she could not be sure. Margaret blinked against the brightness, and when she could see again, she saw only Chal’s back. Had she imagined the whole thing?

  The sun continued to set, its light now at a level above their heads. It was too early to see stars yet, but Margaret thought she could see one reflected near the bank of the lake. As she watched, the star moved closer and resolved into a point of light. Another point of light appeared near the first. Then another. The three lights formed a line like Orion’s Belt across the surface of the lake.

  “Are we nearly there, Mr. Thomas?” Janett asked beside her. “Surely it’s becoming too dark to safely travel like this?”

  Before Mr. Thomas could reply, Margaret said, “Look!” She half-stood and pointed. “They’re putting out lights for us.”

  “Sit down, Margaret!” Janett said, and grabbed Margaret’s arm.

  The pirogue rocked as Margaret lost her balance and fell against Janett. “Stop it! Lay off!”

  Various shouts of, “Girls!” rang out. Margaret sought to pull away from Janett, as the boat see-sawed back and forth. But Janett’s eyes had grown huge with fright and her grip on Margaret was tight. Margaret saw Major H
aley turning around, probably hoping to help, but he shifted his weight to the wrong side and the pirogue tilted further. Margaret, immobilized by her older, stronger sister, braced herself for the cold chill of the lake.

  A shot thundered and Margaret saw a bullet strike the surface of the water below her, where she expected to be dumped with the screaming Janet, the startled and apologetic Major Haley, and poor Corporal Higgs.

  But she did not fall. The pirogue and all its passengers became completely still as the air around them stiffened and became as hard as metal. Margaret would have screamed then, but she found she could not force her mouth open. Or move her arms. Janett’s screaming became muffled as something forced her jaws together. She could not see Corporal Higgs, but in front of her Major Haley seemed stopped in midfall, hovering just off the boat.

  They were no longer moving, Margaret noticed. Past the suspended form of the major, she saw the other pirogues, dozens of yards away. Mr. Thomas was beginning to turn his pirogue to come back to them. The pirogue with Miss Rose and Chal, though, was perfectly still, despite Miss Rose standing in the bow, her right arm extended toward Margaret’s half-capsized boat, a smoking pistol in her hand.

  Margaret wanted to scream again, but still could not. Miss Rose had shot at them!

  “If everyone could please calm themselves,” Miss Rose said, her voice carrying clearly across the water. “Then I can set you down and we can continue on our way.” She still looked down the barrel at them. And she still stood. “I hate wasting a shot,” she went on, “but I decided it was better to lose one shot rather than risk your safety.”

  Margaret wanted to say that shooting at them risked their safety much more than a cold dunking, but all that came out was a frustrated grunting. Janett’s muffled screams started again.