Hope's Journey

by Jean Rae Baxter

  He handed her his knife. “You can strip off the leaves and fruit.”

  He chopped and she trimmed. Soon her hands were running with purple grape juice. After the vines were stripped, he spliced and twisted and bound them into a rope.

  By the time their rope was made, only a few pink streaks still glowed in the western sky.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “As ready as I’m ever likely to be.” She kept her voice steady.

  His eyes held hers in a hard, straight gaze. “When you reach the ledge, check to see if he’s still alive. If he is, I’ll throw down my blanket to keep him warm. Then you stay with him while I go to Butlersburg for help.”

  Hope took a deep breath. It was not the rope that she mistrusted, it was herself. She didn’t think she could do it. She would faint with terror. She would lose her grip. She would miss the ledge and land on the scree of broken limestone hundreds of feet below. Or in the river. She wanted to tell him all this, but her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth.

  Elijah took both her hands in his. She felt his warmth and strength flow into her. He said, “You are braver than you believe.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Rescue

  The first moments were the worst, until she found that her thighs, calves and ankles could help her to cling. The rough-barked stems were just the right thickness for a firm hold. She gripped with one hand while reaching down with the other to feel for the next good place to grab. The only sound she heard was the roaring in her ears. The only feeling she had was determination.

  Hope barely breathed until she felt hard rock under her feet. “I’ve done it!” she gasped. Lowering herself to her hands and knees, she crouched over the unconscious man. She cupped his mouth with her hand and felt the warmth of his breath against her palm.

  “He’s alive!” she called to Elijah.

  “Good. I’m going to pull up the rope to get it out of the way so the blanket won’t catch on it. Then I’ll throw a blanket to you. Cover him to keep him warm.”

  The rope of vines disappeared above her head. A minute later the blanket landed on the ledge. “I have it,” she shouted.

  “I’m leaving now,” Elijah answered. “I’ll go to Navy Hall. The duty officer can round up soldiers and rescue equipment. I’ll guide them here. Don’t expect us before morning. The men can’t bring Pa up until there’s enough light to see what they’re doing.”

  Now the reality sank in. She would be here all night on this narrow ledge. Trying not to panic, Hope covered her father with the blanket and then sat down as far as from the edge as she could, pressing her back against the rock face.

  Elijah’s voice reached her again. “Captain will stay with you.”

  She didn’t see how a dog on guard twenty feet over her head was going to give much protection. Yet she felt less alone just knowing he would be there.

  Elijah spoke sharply to Captain. “Stay!”

  A whimper.

  “Good dog.”

  Silence. So Elijah had left. Someone at Navy Hall would be sure to recognize him. The deserter. Yet he had not hesitated to go there any more than she had hesitated to descend the cliff. “We’re birds of a feather,” she said to herself, “my brother and I.”

  Her hands hurt where the vines’ rough bark had scraped her skin. The roaring in her ears stopped. Now she heard all sorts of sounds. The wind. The river. The jarring of nighthawks as they swooped over the gorge, scooping up their evening meal of mosquitoes and other flying insects. There were bats, too, but they made no noise. Bats usually made her nervous, but not tonight. They were living creatures, like her.

  There was one good thing about the dark. It kept her from seeing how far down she still might fall. Not that she wished to look. She remembered the way the bottom of the gorge had seemed to lift toward her, and how she had wanted to jump.

  The stars came out, first the bright one that she knew was not really a star. It was a planet. But people called it the Evening Star. Then the moon rose, full and bright. Its colour was orange tonight. Why was that?

  The moon gave off enough light for her to see her father’s face. He looked old. He was old. A sick old man. A feeling of tenderness spread through her, and she reached under the blanket to take his hand.

  His hand was icy cold. Gradually she felt it warm within her grasp. He opened his eyes, looked into her eyes. “Pa,” she said, “it’s me. Hope.” He closed his eyes again. She held his hand all night.

  Toward dawn the wind died down. Now the only sound was the rushing water below. The bats flew away. The moon set. Sitting on the ledge, holding her father’s limp hand, she watched the eastern sky fade from black to grey. As the first rays of the rising sun appeared over the top of the opposite riverbank, she heard an eerie racket that grew louder and louder. A flock of wild geese was flying up the gorge, honking as they soared. They passed in front of her, at least fifty geese so close that she heard the flapping of their great wings. Above her head, Captain barked.

  The geese had scarcely disappeared from sight when she heard male voices overhead. One of them was her brother’s voice. Hope looked up. Elijah and half-a-dozen soldiers wearing forage caps were peering over the brink.

  The rescue was conducted in an orderly way. First, a knotted rope was slung over the rim of the gorge, and then a soldier climbed down the rope, carrying a harness. He thrust Hope into it, awkwardly pushing and pulling her limbs to fit a strap between her legs and another under her arms and around her chest.

  “On your way up,” he said, “use your hands to push away from the rock face so you won’t bump.” These were the only words he uttered before calling, “Heave, ho!” to the men above. Up she went, hoisted into the air. Moments later, she was lying on the dry, skimpy grass at the top.

  The soldiers freed her from the harness. “Thank you,” she mumbled as she unsteadily rose to her feet. The soldiers carried the harness back to the brink and lowered it to the soldier waiting on the ledge. Elijah lined up with the others to hold the rope. She watched them brace themselves as if this were a tug-of-war. After a few minutes they hauled her father to the top.

  Now suddenly, when she saw that he was safe, the strength ran out of her. She heard the soldiers talking earnestly, but their voices were a blur of sound. Everything around her turned grey, then black, and the ground rose up and hit her on the head.

  She had no sense of time passing. When she regained consciousness, Elijah was holding her hand.

  “You fainted.”

  “I’ve never done that before.”

  “It’s all right. I think you’re the bravest girl I’ve ever known, and there are some mighty brave Cherokee girls.” He sat her up. “Now let’s see what shape you’re in. How do you feel?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He placed his hand on the back of her head. “You have a bit of a bump. Except for a few scrapes, there’s no other damage that I can see.”

  She turned her head toward the brink. The soldiers had placed her father on a stretcher. She watched as they carried him into the cabin. Elijah pulled Hope to her feet, and they followed.

  The soldiers laid the old man on his bed. Without a word, they left Hope and Elijah with him. She stepped close to Elijah. He put his arm around her. She had not noticed Captain, but now she saw that he was with them, too.

  “Pa’s in bad shape,” said Elijah.

  There was a bloody rip in one leg of his filthy breeches, and under the rip a gash that oozed blood. His eyes were closed but his mouth was open, a black hole. At the sight of him, Hope knew that she was about to burst into tears, but she also knew that this was something she must not do.

  “How can we help him?” she asked.

  “There’s little we can do.”

  Hope felt her throat close up. She nodded but could not speak. One month ago, her father had looked merely sick. Now he appeared close to death. Under the sheen of sweat, his skin was greenish grey. His bushy eyebrows jutted sharply above the su
nken hollows of his eyes. The lids were shut. His breath wheezed. He did not move except when a wince of pain went through him.

  Elijah pulled her gently to the door. “Let him rest.”

  When they left the cabin, they found the six soldiers standing at ease. The one who appeared to be in charge stepped forward.

  “Private Cobman, you are under arrest.”

  “Yes,” Elijah said calmly, “I suppose I am.”

  Hope waited for the soldiers to snap manacles on him, but nothing happened. They didn’t look as if they wanted to arrest him. Elijah looked from one to another. After a long silence, he said to the soldier in charge. “Sergeant, if I give my word that I won’t try to escape, will you allow me to stay with my father? You can see that it won’t be for very long.”

  “I have no authority to let you remain at liberty solely on the basis of your promise not to run away,” the sergeant replied. “You might mean it now, but a few hours consideration could easily change your mind.”

  “I understand.” Elijah held out his hands for the manacles.

  “My orders are to return the platoon to Navy Hall. I should take you with us.” The sergeant cleared his throat. “It took a lot of courage for you to walk right into Navy Hall last night. You knew you’d be up for a court martial. That’s didn’t stop you. Private Cobman, you are a brave man.”

  “John Cobman is my father. I couldn’t have done anything else.”

  The sergeant cleared his throat again. “I’m going to let you stay.”

  He picked two men to remain behind as guards. Elijah’s reprieve would last for twenty-four hours. Then the platoon would return. If for any reason Elijah left the cabin, the guards were not to let him out of their sight.

  The guards went with him to pick up the water bucket from the edge of the gorge and fill it with fresh water from the neighbour’s well.

  CHAPTER 35

  I Bequeath

  Elijah cut away the fabric of his father’s breeches, washed the wound and applied an ointment that he carried in his pouch. Then he and Hope sat down, she on one side of the bed, and Elijah on the other. For hours they watched their father’s chest move up and down while listening to the rattle in his chest. Hope was beginning to think that he would never wake up, that sometime that day or during the night, he would pass away without opening his eyes. He would depart peacefully from this world to whatever lay beyond.

  Late in the afternoon a strong wind rose. It whistled and moaned through the chinks and cracks in the window frames, under the door and between the logs. A draft blew down the chimney, making the fire sputter and filling the cabin with stinging, eye-watering smoke.

  She was wiping her eyes when her father woke. He did not speak for a few moments but watched her steadily. Finally he said, “So you’re really here.”

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “I thought it must be a dream.”

  “No dream. Elijah’s here, too.” She wanted to say more, but a sore lump seemed to have lodged in her throat.

  “Elijah is here?”

  “Both of us,” said Elijah.

  Pa turned his head. His eyes lit up when he saw his son. “I never expected to see you again.”

  “I had to come. There are things I need to tell you.”

  “Then do it now. You won’t have another chance.” He gave a terrible cough.

  Hope rose, took a cup from the shelf and dipped it into the water bucket. She raised her father’s shoulders and held the cup to his lips while he drank.

  “Thank you, Hope,” he said, then spoke again to Elijah. “Say what you’ve come to say.”

  “I’ll get right to the point,” said Elijah. “I came here to tell you that Hope is as much your child as I am. Hope says you don’t believe it.”

  Pa turned his head to look at Hope. “I can see that you believe it, dear young lady. You proved that last night. No daughter could show more devotion. I receive it with great gratitude. I’d be proud to be your father, but …” He coughed. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

  “Not good enough,” said Elijah. He rose from his chair, walked around the bed to stand at Hope’s side and looked down at his father. “I was thirteen when you and Silas left. There are things a woman can’t easily talk about to a boy that age. But Ma was already with child when you left. She didn’t know it, or at least she wasn’t sure. A few months later, when her condition was clear, she explained to me that she’d thought at first it was just her age affecting her. That made sense. She had a son twenty years old. She thought she was too old to conceive.” Elijah stopped for breath, and then continued. “I swear to you that there was no other man anywhere about. I can’t fathom how you could imagine such a thing, knowing Ma. Church every Sunday. Grace before meals. No swearing. Not one drop of spirits in the house. No woman could be stricter in her morals. And I can tell you one more thing. Every day, she was on her knees praying for your safe return.”

  “Enough!” Pa raised his hand. “Stop! You need say no more. You make me ashamed. Completely ashamed.” His hand fell back down onto his blanket. “What can I do to make amends?”

  “Acknowledge Hope as your daughter, and do it in a way that the world will recognize. Make your will. Name her as your heir.”

  “Not just her. You too.”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me. Get me paper and a pen.”

  “Where will I find them?” Elijah asked.

  “On the shelf by the door.”

  Elijah looked around. He saw the rough shelf that was supported by pegs driven between the logs. On it were a Bible, a stack of paper, an ink pot and a quill. When Elijah had fetched the writing materials, Hope raised her father’s shoulders and held him so that he rested against her chest. She had been through this before. First her mother, now her father. It was hard, bitter grief to lose them both.

  Elijah brought the Bible to provide a hard surface for writing. He spread the sheet of paper on the Bible, dipped the quill into the ink pot and placed it in his father’s hand.

  The old man mouthed the words as he wrote:

  “In the name of God, Amen. I, John George Cobman, of West Niagara, Concerning the uncertainty of this Mortal life …”

  The quill needed ink. Elijah, holding the ink pot, dipped the quill and gave it back to his father.

  “… and being of Sound Mind and Memory, thanks be to Almighty God for the same …”

  More ink required.

  “… do make this my last Will and Testament in manner and form following …”

  Again, more ink.

  Merciful Heavens! Were all these words necessary? Hope could see that her father looked tired, that his hand was shaking and the writing uneven. Would he have the strength to finish? Elijah’s eyes met hers. Was he wondering the same thing?

  “Pa,” said Elijah, “would you like me to write all this down? Then you can read it over before you sign it.”

  “No, these are my own words, and they must be written by my own hand. I’m nearly there.” Elijah dipped the quill for him again.

  “That is to say, I give and bequeath my land and all other worldly goods to my son Elijah and my daughter Hope, to be divided equally between them.”

  He looked over what he had written. The letters were misshapen and the lines uneven, but legible. “We’ll need a witness to my signature,” he said.

  “There are two men who can witness it waiting outside.” Elijah motioned to Hope that she should call them. In moments they were there.

  “Do you know the date?” the old man asked.

  “October 1, 1791,” one soldier answered.

  Pa signed his name and wrote the date. “I have done,” he said. Taking the pen from his father’s hand, Elijah let out his breath in an enormous sigh of relief. The soldiers signed as witnesses and left the cabin.

  Pa lay back down again. Making his will had left him exhausted. After a minute he tried to rise, fell back. Hope thought he would not speak
again. But he was not finished.

  “Hope,” he said. “Daughter.” He gave a weak smile. “Daughter,” he repeated, as if he liked the sound of the word. “Please forgive me.”

  “Nothing to forgive.”

  “Is there anything you can ask of me that I can grant?”

  Hope hesitated. There was one question that had troubled her for a long time. It seemed unkind to ask it at such a time. But her father wanted to make amends, and if she did not ask, she would wonder for the rest of her life.

  “Pa, if you could tell me why you never tried to find Ma.”

  “Ah, that’s a question with which I’ve often reproached myself.” He paused. “At first there was no way to look for her. I didn’t know whether she was still in Canajoharie, because so many Loyalists had fled. Colonel Butler kept the Rangers together. He was arranging to settle his regiment on land bought from the Mississaugas. Then it took three years for the land to be surveyed. So I waited. I told myself I’d look for Sadie as soon as I got my location ticket and built a cabin. Until then, I had no home to bring her to.” He stopped speaking, coughed weakly.

  “More water?” Hope asked.

  He nodded. After sipping a little, he continued, “The work went slowly. By the time I had land cleared and the cabin built, the sickness was taking hold of me. I knew what was coming. I’d seen people die from consumption. How could I take care of a wife? She’d just be taking care of me. And anyway, by that time I lacked the strength to start looking. I expected to die alone.” He looked at Hope and Elijah, both standing at his bedside. “Having you here seems a miracle to me.”

  He closed his eyes and a look of peace came over his face. Hope waited, thinking more remained to be said. A blessing, at least. She prayed that he would rally again, but that was all. The hours passed. Just before sunset, his breathing stopped.

  “He’s gone,” said Elijah.

  “Goodbye, Pa,” Hope said. She walked away and stood in a corner of the cabin. She did not try to stop her tears. Her knees gave way. She sat on the floor. Sobs shook her whole body.