Webber’s face turned pale. “It would be a tragedy.”
“Indeed it would.” Broken Trail stood up. “That is my reason for bringing this serious problem to your attention. Whatever the consequences, I cannot withdraw my charge against Mr. Dudgeon. You may not believe me, but others might.”
Webber rose to his feet. There was a moment of utter silence. He looked at Broken Trail as if he were seeing him for the first time. “Yes. I understand.” He came from behind his desk, crossed the floor, and opened the door for Broken Trail to leave.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Broken Trail relaxed his hold on the imaginary feather. It had done its job.
There, he said to himself as he walked back to Cabin Five, let’s see what the rest of this day will bring.
CHAPTER 22
The Rest of the Day
BREAKFAST WAS TENSE for Broken Trail. It must have been tense for Mr. Dudgeon, too. He paused at the dining hall door, looked around, and took his place at the head of a table where Broken Trail was not sitting. All through breakfast, he acted as if nothing had happened.
The real test was to come.
Broken Trail was one of the first to enter the classroom. He walked directly to his seat in the far corner. From there he watched the other scholars take their places. Margaret was not among them. He had not expected her to be.
Heads turned in the direction of where she ought to be seated. Mr. Dudgeon seemed to avoid looking either at Margaret’s empty desk or at Broken Trail. His pink scalp was pinker than usual.
For Broken Trail, the air was charged with tension that others did not seem to feel. The hands of the clock on the classroom wall scarcely moved. Dictation. Grammar. Bible Study. Arithmetic. He tried to concentrate on his schoolwork but couldn’t focus on anything except the crisis that he knew must come.
At last the bell rang to free the scholars for their midday break. Before the boys had time to rise from their seats, there was a knock at the door. Mr. Dudgeon straightened his shoulders as he walked from his desk to answer it.
There stood the porter in his black frock coat. His level voice revealed no emotion. “Sir, President Webber requires you to call upon him immediately.”
The schoolmaster’s face turned pale. He looked as though he could not breathe. Not waiting for the scholars to leave the room, he hurried out the door.
The boys sat looking at one another.
“I wonder what’s wrong,” said Samuel.
There was a rush of opinions from all sides.
“I suppose this has something to do with Margaret.”
“Maybe he put his hand up her skirt.”
“Did you see the way he went white as ashes?”
“He’s in trouble.”
Edward rose quietly from his seat and left the classroom.
Broken Trail left right after him. He stood at the building’s back entrance and watched Edward run along the path to the maids’ quarters. Edward knocked at the door. A woman opened it, shook her head, and closed the door. Then Edward headed for Mrs. Greene’s storeroom. He went inside. A minute later, he came out.
Edward stood on the doorstep scratching his head. After a few moments, he slowly walked back to the main building and entered the dining hall.
The coast was clear.
Broken Trail went directly to Mrs. Greene’s storeroom.
Mrs. Greene was standing at the counter sorting a pile of shirts. “Good day,” she said as soon as he stepped in. She leaned across the counter. Her voice dropped to a whisper, even though no one else was there. “President Webber has been to see me.”
“Did he tell you I made a complaint to him about Mr. Dudgeon?”
“No, he didn’t mention that.” She paused. “How did he take it?”
“He defended Mr. Dudgeon. He didn’t believe me, or at least he didn’t want to believe me. But by the time we’d finished talking, he was taking my complaint seriously. It looks as though he’s doing something about it. At any rate, he has Mr. Dudgeon with him in his office right now.”
“I see.” She slowly nodded her head. “President Webber didn’t so much as mention Mr. Dudgeon’s name. His manner to me was courteous. He said that he had come to tell me of his decision to allow you to take Margaret back to Old Oneida. He’d been waiting for some older respectable person to go with her. But recently he realized that she was homesick and pining for her family. Out of pity, he has decided to let her travel with you as her escort in spite of his qualms. However …”
“Go on.”
“He doesn’t want it known that he gave permission for a young man and a girl to travel together through the wilderness. To explain her disappearance, he’ll spread the word that Margaret has run away. That’s what I have to tell the maids.”
“What do you mean, ‘her disappearance?’ Where is she?”
“I’m hiding her in my rooms. Tonight, when I have supplies packed for her to take, she will set off on her own and wait for you to join her tomorrow.”
“Where are we supposed to meet?”
“Margaret told me about the place where you and your friends went for your smoke ceremony.”
“The smudge. Is that where she’ll wait?”
“Not there. It’s too close to the school. But if you keep on the main trail, past that spot, before night you’ll come to a creek. Margaret described it to me. A fast-running creek with a gravel bottom. Beside it there’s a huge boulder. Pink granite. Make your camp beside that boulder. When she sees your fire, she’ll come to you.”
“I want to see her now.”
“She’s resting. But I don’t think you should visit her anyway. Somebody might spot you going in or out. Act as if you think she’s run away.”
He shrugged. “I don’t like this secrecy, but if you think it’s necessary … I’ll go along.”
“Can you remember exactly what to look for, or shall I write it down?”
“You don’t need to. I’m trained to remember. Tell Margaret I’ll see her there. Tell her not to worry.”
After thanking Mrs. Greene, he went to the dining hall, hoping for a meal. He was too late to be admitted. Most of the scholars had finished eating and were leaving. Edward, who was among them, gave Broken Trail a look filled with suspicion.
As Broken Trail was turning away from the closed door, Mr. Johnson emerged from the dining hall.
“Ho!” said Mr. Johnson, who sometimes dropped into the old way of speaking. “I hear you’re leaving tomorrow to visit Captain Brant at Brant’s Ford.”
“That’s right, sir.”
“When you see him, give him my greetings.”
“Do you know him? I didn’t realize …”
“Yes, I know him. The village where I grew up isn’t far from Johnson Hall. I never missed one of Sir William’s Sport Days. Neither did Thayendanegea. He spent a lot of time visiting his sister Molly. Her children were my half-brothers and half-sisters. They lived in luxury. I didn’t.” He gave a bitter smile. “When people think of Thayendanegea as a Mohawk war chief, they tend to forget that he was also Sir William Johnson’s brother-in-law.”
Broken Trail did not like this conversation. It made him uncomfortable. He had the feeling, not for the first time, that Mr. Johnson was jealous.
“I’ll tell him you send your greetings.”
“When you come back, I’ll be interested in learning what you find out. I’ve heard some angry people—his own people—say that he’s selling off Six Nations land as if it were his own property.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Ask him. If he’s training you to help him in his work, he’ll tell you what’s going on.”
Broken Trail felt confused and angry. “Thayendanegea has done a lot for his people.”
“And for himself.” Mr. Johnson gave a humourless laugh. “Make up your own mind.”
“I’ll do that. Right now I must hurry or I’ll be late for class.”
“Don’t bother hurrying. You must h
ave missed the announcement. Middle School has a half holiday this afternoon. Mr. Dudgeon has been relieved of his duties.”
CHAPTER 23
On the Trail
AT DUSK BROKEN TRAIL walked in the pine woods. He sat down on the fallen tree where Margaret had played her flute the evening before. The pine needles were still scuffed where he had thrown Mr. Dudgeon to the ground.
His hand pressing the amulet under his shirt, Broken Trail said a prayer of thanks that he had come safely through another time of trial. He had not only survived, he had won a victory.
At supper, everyone had been talking about Mr. Dudgeon’s dismissal. Broken Trail had not heard anyone express regretor sympathy. There had been several theories about the nature of his offence, with general agreement that it involved Margaret. There were more theories about why she ran away. Broken Trail had kept silent throughout these discussions.
At the end of the meal, President Webber had made a rare visit to the dining hall to announce that for the time being the Middle School class would be split in two, Mr. Sinclair taking one half of the scholars, and Mr. Johnson the other. As he was leaving, he stopped at Broken Trail’s table to tell him that he had a letter ready for him to deliver to Captain Brant.
The next morning, Broken Trail dropped into President Webber’s office to pick up the letter. President Webber greeted him cordially, not once mentioning Mr. Dudgeon. He gave the letter to Broken Trail, shook his hand, and wished him a safe journey.
After leaving the office, Broken Trail stood for a moment by the porter’s desk with the letter in his hand, gazing at the crisp red seal. If only he could snap that seal and read the report! But he knew he wouldn’t do that, no matter how great his curiosity.
He tucked the letter into his pouch. After returning to the cabin, he dressed in his everyday deerskin clothes, leaving his school clothes behind in the box under his bed. He made a bedroll of his blanket. Into his carrying basket went his head-dress and his best garments of finest leather, which he saved for feasts and other special occasions.
As Broken Trail was closing his carrying basket, Abraham came into the cabin.
“I brought some bread from the dining hall for you to take. With all the confusion, I wasn’t sure anybody had prepared provisions.”
“Nobody did. Thank you.”
“There’s something else I want you to have for your journey.”
“What is it?”
“Come see.”
Broken Trail followed Abraham to the far end of the cabin, where he knelt and, using his knife as a pry, lifted a loose floor board. Reaching down, he took from the space under the floor a long thin bundle wrapped in a tarpaulin. He set it down and unwrapped it carefully. It was a flintlock rifle. In the bundle with it were a powder horn, a bag for bullets, and a ramrod.
Broken Trail gasped. “You’re not allowed to have a rifle here!”
“What’s a warrior without a rifle?” The snake tattoo on Abraham’s cheek gave a twitch.
“Where did you get it?”
“From a settler who didn’t like my walking past his barn. That’s the problem with a rifle. It’s slow to reload. The man missed me with his first shot, then I was on him with my tomahawk before he could fire again.”
Broken Trail nodded. “I’ll remember that. But I’ll just use your gun for hunting.”
He slung the rifle across his shoulders by its strap, attached the powder horn by another strap, and soon was ready to go.
Abraham looked at him approvingly. “I’ll walk you to the stable.”
“What about school?”
“There’s so much confusion, nobody will notice who’s absent.”
“I’m not going to fall behind as badly as I feared,” said Broken Trail. “With Middle School scholars to teach, as well as their own students, Mr. Johnson and Mr. Sinclair won’t be able to cover everything we’re supposed to be learning. This is turning out to be a good time to go on a long trail.”
“I hope someday you and I can go on a long trail together,” said Abraham. “The place we should go is the Ohio Valley. There’s a Shawnee warrior that people are talking about. His name is Tecumseh. Panther in the Sky. When he’s not going from village to village rallying the tribes, he’s sinking river-boats to keep settlers from crossing the Ohio. He’s just seventeen, but already famous.”
“My age,” said Broken Trail, feeling a little jealous.
“Mine, too. If men talk about him at Grand River, let me know what they say.”
“I’ll do that. Tecumseh. Panther in the sky. That’s a name with power!”
Abraham left him at the stable. Broken Trail led Dark Cloud from his stall.
The path started among the pine trees. It was broad and clear. Even at night it had been easy to follow. By day it was easier still.
Before long he reached the glade where the smudge had been held. There was the flat rock where Margaret had lit the medicines in the smudge bowl. Sage for cleansing. Sweet grass for bringing quiet to the mind. Cedar for the body’s healing. Tobacco for carrying prayers to the Great Spirit. Broken Trail dismounted. He looked into the little space at the base of the flat rock where Margaret had placed the smudge bowl. It was gone.
Broken Trail remounted Dark Cloud and rode on.
Late in the day he reached the creek that Mrs. Greene had told him about. The pink granite boulder was not far from the water’s edge. After hobbling Dark Cloud, he found grubs under a log to use as bait. He took a fishhook from his pouch, and soon caught a trout for his supper.
Back at Sedgewick School, his schoolmates would be eating their evening meal in the dining hall about this time. As he sat grilling his fish over his campfire, he felt as though they were part of a different life.
He ate the trout with bread that Abraham had brought him from the dining hall. When he had finished eating and giving thanks, he rested his back against the granite boulder, which was still warm from the heat of the day. As darkness fell, he listened to the sounds all around him. Small creatures scurried in the dry grass. Crickets chirped. From far off came the desolate howling of wolves. Where was Margaret? He didn’t like the way those wolves were howling.
Abruptly the crickets stopped chirping. Broken Trail sensed a new presence. It was a stirring in the bushes. He stiffened, sitting rigid with his back against the boulder. By staring hard he could make out a blurry shape. Bigger than a raccoon, smaller than a bear.
He called into the darkness, “Margaret? Is that you?”
“It’s me.”
She crawled out of the bushes toward him. He stood up and held out his hand to help her to her feet. Her fingers were icy cold. By the light of his fire he saw that her face was dirty and her braids were unravelled. One cheek was swollen and her eye half shut where Mr. Dudgeon had struck her. The skirt of her gown was bunched up in front of her and tied in a bulky knot.
“I was waiting for you,” she said.
“I know you were. Mrs. Greene told me you had everything you needed to spend one night in the forest. But what happened? Are you all right? You look terrible. It’s not just what Mr. Dudgeon did. You look like you’ve been crawling through bushes.”
“I heard some men coming behind me on the trail. So I hid in a thicket. It was full of brambles. But I’m fine.” Margaret unknotted the skirt of her gown and smoothed the wrinkled fabric over her hips.
“Would you like something to eat?” Broken Trail asked. “I have bread.”
“No, thank you. Mrs. Greene packed me biscuits and cheese. I’m not hungry, but I am tired.”
“We both need to rest. We’ll start out at dawn after we’ve had some sleep. Do you have a blanket?”
She rummaged in the bushes and pulled out a basket. From it she took a woollen blanket, wrapped it around her body, laid herself down close to the campfire, and closed her eyes.
Broken Trail followed her example. But before he closed his eyes, he propped himself on one elbow and looked at her by the glow of the embers of h
is fire. It was good to be with a friend on a long trail.
CHAPTER 24
Song to Mother Moon
TRAINED TO SLEEP lightly, Broken Trail woke up to the faint sound of someone moving about. He burst from his blanket, his hand already gripping his knife.
It was Margaret. She was rummaging in her basket. By the early morning light he saw that her face was washed and her hair neatly braided. Her bruised cheek and puffy eye were the only reminders of how miserable she had looked the night before.
Tilting her head, she studied his face. “You slept well. Now we should eat and be on our way. I have a little biscuits and cheese left from the food Mrs. Greene packed for me. It is enough for one meal.”
Broken Trail’s spirits lifted at the thought of food. “After it’s gone, we can find what we need along the way,” he said. “You’ve been on this trail before, when you travelled to Sedgewick School. How many days will it take?”
“Five, if we don’t waste time.”
He sat up. “Then let’s eat and be on our way. I want to reach Brant’s Ford by the middle of Falling Leaves Moon.”
When they had eaten, he went off to fetch Dark Cloud. By the time he found him, untied his hobbles and led him back to the camp, Margaret had rolled up both blankets and stamped out any remaining embers from last night’s fire. They were ready to go.
He laid his hands on the stallion’s withers and swung himself up. Then he paused, waiting. There stood Margaret, with her long gown trailing about her ankles.
“Can you manage?”
“Of course.” She pulled her skirt into a bundle, as she had been wearing it when she crawled out of the bushes, and knotted it. Now he saw that under the gown she wore a pair of boys’ breeches, cut off at the knee.
“Mrs. Greene thought of everything,” said Margaret.
Broken Trail’s eyes lingered for a moment on her smooth brown legs, and then he held out his hand to assist her. When she took his hand, the warmth and strength of her grasp startled him. She sprang lightly onto Dark Cloud’s back. In a moment she was settled behind him, and they started down the trail.
The White Oneida Page 10