by Vicki Delany
If—when—she went to Cataraqui and tried to support herself, the only loyalty she would have would be to herself. The only freedom she might be granted was the freedom to starve to death.
Perhaps that was all that freedom was. Here, everyone worked so hard (well, almost everyone, and no one would call Marie free). The men had no master and were far from the regulations, and support, of the government. Life was a never-ending struggle, and people had died, seen their children die, for lack of food or heat over the winter.
Was that freedom?
No matter. The travelling preacher was here, and a barn raising was planned for tomorrow. After the work, when everyone paused to eat together and the young people might even begin a dance, Maggie would beg for a ride on the back of the preacher’s horse.
It was baking day, and Maggie covered the bread dough with a damp cloth to allow it to rise. Emily was having a rare day of play at a friend’s house; Marie, complaining that the forthcoming baby had kept her awake all night, was lying down; Nathanial and Jacob had gone to collect the two oxen jointly owned by a group of farmers that would help them plough a new field; Caleb was in the shed, attempting to repair a pot with a broken handle.
Dreaming of her new life—Maggie had decided that operating a boarding house might be her best option—she lit the stub of a tallow candle from the fire and headed out to the root cellar.
Every family had a cellar built under their house. A cool place where they could store excess crops away from the heat of the kitchen and the icy cold of the outside. The root cellar was dark and dreary, and she did not care to spend more time there than necessary. The hard-packed earthen ramp led to a roughly hewn plank that served as a door. She felt her way carefully. She pulled the door ajar on ill-fitting hinges and, holding the candle high, went in, her back bent as the roof was low. She sang softly, a song from long ago, a song her own mother had sung, to chase the darkness away. Long shadows leapt across the almost empty room. As they ran out of winter stores, the weather began to hint that it might begin to warm, and geese and ducks and pigeons traveled across the lake, heading north, sometimes in flocks so numerous they darkened the sky and the air was full of the sound of their cries and flapping wings. The men were out most of the day hunting. Even Nathanial had managed to bag a few tough old geese.
Maggie stopped her song and stood still, holding her breath, listening. Listening for the sound of footsteps, a voice, someone coming. Marie never came down here; she said it frightened her. It frightened Maggie, but she came anyway. Emily wasn’t allowed, because Marie thought it unsafe. The boys and Nathanial would come in the autumn, bearing heavy loads of vegetables or salted meat to lay by for winner storage, but never in the spring. Nevertheless, she waited until she was sure she would not be surprised.
She dropped to her haunches and pulled aside the stone. Her small bundle was safely tucked in place. She picked it up, unwrapped the cloth. Hamish’s gift. Her new life. Diamonds sparkled in the light cast by the candle. She closed her eyes and tightened her fingers around them, seeking strength and courage. She whispered a prayer that Hamish had found peace.
“Tomorrow,” she said. “Tomorrow.” She put them away, where they would be safe.
***
May 13, 1788
Maggie made long slow strokes though Emily’s brown hair while the girl turned the pages of her book. She separated the hair into three strands and deftly twisted it into a braid which she secured with a faded yellow ribbon.
“There you go. As pretty as a picture,” Maggie said and the child turned to her with a beaming smile. “I love you, Maggie.” Emily threw her arms around Maggie and hugged her hard.
A lump rose in Maggie’s throat. She pushed the girl away, a bit roughly perhaps. “None of that, now. Time to be off.”
The family had assembled to go to the barn-raising. Marie’s pregnancy was a small round bulge in her dress and she stood with her hand pressed into the small of her back as if the load she bore were a great weight. Maggie had tamed Marie’s hair into ringlets, and the dull brown curls fell around her pale, pinched face. She wore a blue bonnet and a forest green dress. The colors, Maggie thought, did not match.
But, Maggie knew, she herself did not look much better. Her dress was definitely looking its age, and her mother would be shocked to see the condition of her bonnet and the state of her shoes.
Then again, Maggie thought, her mother would be shocked to see the condition of her daughter.
No matter. She looked like the maid she was. Soon, all going well, she would be in Cataraqui and look like the woman of independent means she intended to be.
Nathanial examined his family, seeking flaws. His eyes settled on Maggie, standing at the back, her hands loose at her side. He studied her for a long time, and she did not look away.
He turned and led the way out the door.
“Oh, dear,” Maggie said, hesitating on the threshold. “I’ve forgotten to put the chickens in. We might not be home until after dark.” She couldn’t, of course, accompany the family to the neighbors carrying all of her worldly goods. She’d get her things and follow, leave her bundle hidden in the woods until time came to approach the preacher. She’d heard, from local gossip, that he was needed elsewhere and would be leaving immediately after the communal supper.
She planned to tell him that she had heard, finally, from her brothers and they were anxious for her to return to the bosom of her family. He might still refuse her the ride, in which case she would walk.
Marie muttered something about chickens and stupid girls and leaned against her eldest son for his support. Emily wiggled her fingers at Maggie, and Maggie wanted to leap forward, grab the girl and never let go. But she did not. She dutifully went out to gather up the chickens, which she had deliberately not done earlier. Then she came back into the house, took a seat at the table, and waited. When sufficient time had passed that none of the family were likely to return to collect something they’d forgotten, she packed quickly. A loaf of yesterday’s bread, a hunk of salted squirrel, as foul tasting as that was, some of the willow tea, a newly made tallow candle and a piece of flint, a sharp knife, the smallest pot. Miserly payment for her years of labor in this house, but she could only take what she could carry with ease. She spread her shawl on the table and piled everything on top of it. She brought the edges of the shawl together and tied the corners to make a bundle. She picked up the pathetically small package and left the house for the last time.
All she had to do now was collect the earrings and she’d be on her way.
A free woman.
Chapter Thirty-three
“Hannah!”
I jerked awake. I cried out as my arms flew up and my body stiffened. The book fell onto the floor with a thud.
Once again it was my brother-in-law who found me in the attic in the morning. I’d fallen asleep, the leather-bound journal open on my lap.
“Sorry,” he said, “were you asleep?” He didn’t look, or sound, at all sorry.
“Just resting.”
“You’ve been spending a lot of time up here.”
“I don’t sleep well, as you know. It’s dark. It’s cool.”
It was anything but cool in the enclosed space. Heat rises, of course, and all the heat of the house was in this room. Had I really been cold last night? Had I really seen swirling white mist and felt that someone was reaching into my brain?
Perhaps I had. After Lily had told me of her encounter with ‘the lady,’ I was not so quick to dismiss my own experiences.
I got to my feet. My body stiff after sleeping in a chair.
“What’s the plan for today?” I asked Jake.
“Work. As usual.”
He walked into the room. He was dressed in jeans and a loose blue shirt over a Toronto Maple Leafs T-shirt. His face was freshly shaven and his hair
damp from the shower. He bent over and picked up the journal. He flicked through it, and a flash of interest crossed his face.
“Wow, this is really old.”
“It is. There’s an entry from 1788.”
“You’re kidding me?”
“True. Looks like the book belonged to a shopkeeper or merchant of some sort initially. Then it was used as a journal or something. By the people who were here the day the land was being cleared. You should take it to the library, Jake. They have archives there, and they’ll know how to take care of it. It’s in pretty good shape, considering how old it is. The paper’s been protected by the leather, I’d guess. And down near the bottom of this box with all that stuff on top.”
He ran his fingers over the cover, a look of awe on his face. “Imagine. Here all this time and we didn’t know. I never got all the way to the bottom of the boxes.”
“I’d guess your ancestors started throwing their letters and accounts on top and everything piled up. You’re lucky the new owners didn’t chuck it all out when they bought the house. “
“Lucky. Yes. Did you read anything interesting?”
“There was a woman…I almost feel I know her. She had a hard life, made harder by…”
“By?”
“By the circumstances. They were Loyalists, like you told me.” How did I know that? I’d only read the scribblings of a child complaining about her parents and a woman thinking she’d turned old.
A thin line of light was touching the edges of the window. The household would be up soon. I rolled my neck, trying to work some of the kinks out.
“We’ve wondered,” Jake said, picking his words with care. “If there’s anything valuable lying around up here. Something from the old settlers, I mean. They were quite wealthy in the States, a very prominent family, before they had to leave. We, Mom and I, have never had the time to properly go through everything.”
“If they did bring anything with them, they would have sold it to survive, I’d think. That book’s valuable. Not in money, probably, but in history. In knowledge.”
“I guess that’s good enough.”
I got to my feet. I held out my hand for the journal.
“I’ll keep this,” Jake said. “Put it downstairs. Someplace safe.”
“I’d like to finish reading it.”
“Later.” He left and took the book with him.
I wondered if I’d ever see it again. If Jake showed the journal to his mother, she’d snatch it out of this house before you could say greedy.
I dressed in the lightest of clothes, shorts and a tank top, and went downstairs as the family was beginning to gather. Lily sat hunched over her cereal bowl, flicking through one of the books on Afghanistan. Joanne pulled out the frying pan. I filled the kettle and glanced outside while waiting for it to boil.
The sky was a brilliant blue and not a leaf stirred in the trees. The two horses galloped across the paddock.
Connor came in. In the last couple of days, he’d somehow started appearing at breakfast every morning. Joanne seemed okay with that, and was even going out of her way to prepare a more substantial meal than the family was used to on weekdays. She considered dinner to be important family time, but I thought it wouldn’t be long before he was pulling up a chair then too.
“Morning all,” he said. He ruffled Lily’s hair, and she pulled away.
Connor came to stand beside me. “Morning, Hannah. Sleep well?”
“Yes,” I lied.
Without asking, Joanne passed him a cup of coffee. Black. No sugar.
He thanked her and gave me a smile. A private smile, and reached out with his free hand to lightly touch my arm. A jolt of lightning passed through me, and I glanced away.
Charlie bounded into the kitchen. Connor picked him up and swung him around. The boy screeched with laughter, but Joanne said, “Hey, I’m cooking here. Careful.”
Fat sizzled as she tossed bacon into the frying pan, and the toaster popped up two brown slices.
I watched the scene, feeling a smile cross my face. The ballet of breakfast. Joanne flipped bacon and eggs, Connor tossed hot toast onto a plate, Charlie put the brown paper bag containing his sandwich and juice box into his backpack, Lily ate cereal and flicked pages, and Jake took jam and marmalade out of the fridge.
“How about we go for a horseback ride when you get home, Lily?” I said.
Her face lit up, but her mother’s did not.
“The police are finished in the woods, right?” I said. “They told us we could go wherever we like. I’d like to go for a ride.”
“Good idea,” Jake said, with a glance at his daughter. “If it’s a short one.”
Lily beamed.
“Short’s good for me,” I said.
Joanne piled fried eggs and bacon onto two plates and put them in Jake and Connor’s places. Then she served a smaller mound of food to herself and Charlie and sat down.
“I was at the Grill last night. There’s nothing new, so they say, on the break-in at Harrison’s place,” Connor said. “Troublemakers and shiftless lay-abouts seems to be the general feeling.” He snorted. “All would be solved, I’m told, if they brought back the strap.”
“Hello!” A shout from the door. Liz and Allison.
“Good morning.” Allison had a big smile on her chubby face.
“You’re in a good mood,” Joanne said.
“Aaron’s here,” Allison said.
Liz rolled her eyes. “The reunion of the lovebirds was positively sickening to behold.”
Allison stuck out her tongue. She wasn’t a pretty girl: her cheeks too round, her chin too small, her nose too big, but this morning she glowed with health and youth and happiness. “A whole weekend of sheer unbridled debauchery lies ahead.”
“What’s debauchery?” Charlie asked.
Allison gasped and clapped her hand to her mouth. Connor laughed.
I glanced at Lily, but her head was down, lost in thought.
“It means to have fun,” Joanne told her son.
“So, I’m going to have debauchery at Ryan’s cottage this weekend?”
Connor roared with laughter, and Jake gave him a dirty look. “I completely forgot, Allison, I gave you the weekend off, right?”
“That’s right.” She lifted her arms and spun in a circle.
“Why did you do that?” Joanne said. “It’s the middle of July, one of the busiest market days. You can’t manage on your own.”
“I can’t change my plans,” Allison wailed, horror-stricken. “Aaron’s come specially. He’s working up north for the summer, planting trees.”
“You don’t have to,” Jake said. “Connor can come to market with me.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“I don’t know anything about selling vegetables.”
“You don’t know anything about growing them, either,” Jake snapped. He threw his napkin onto the table and stood up. “Doesn’t stop you taking a wage, though.”
Connor straightened in his chair. A vein pulsed in the side of his neck, and his eyes narrowed. “I do my work.”
“When I’m watching you.”
“Hey,” Joanne interrupted. “Leave it. If you have issues, sort them out later. Right now, we all have work to do.”
Jake and Connor stared at each other across the breakfast table. Even Lily pulled herself out of her funk to watch them. Jake turned away first. “I’ve ordered a load of hay for those damned horses. I have to go and pick it up later. Connor, be in the greenhouse at five tomorrow. We leave for market early.” He stalked out of the kitchen.
Connor sat back down and sipped at his coffee. Joanne spooned up her eggs quickly. “Come on, everyone, time to go. Charlie, you didn’t take anything out of that back
pack after I closed it last night did you?” After camp, he’d be going to a cottage with his best friend Ryan for the weekend.
“Nope.”
“Good. Finish your breakfast. It’s time to go. Lily, run upstairs and comb your hair. It’s a mess. Connor, eat up. We have a full day’s work to do.”
“Yes, boss.”
Chapter Thirty-four
When she got home from day camp, Lily ran through the house in a blur of pink and blue and dashed upstairs. She was back in minutes, dressed for riding in black stretch pants, helmet tucked under her arm. Earlier, I’d changed into jeans and thick socks and was ready to go. I’d packed cheese sandwiches and juice boxes and had been out to gather the horses and tie them to the railing at the side of the barn.
“Ready?” Lily said, her beautiful face bright with anticipation. She’d gotten a lot of summer sun, and a patch of freckles had seeded itself across her nose. Her hair hung down her back in a sun-kissed braid.
I considered teasing and telling her I’d changed my mind, but I couldn’t be that mean. “Let’s go.”
Allison and Liz were in the greenhouse, working with long neat rows of miniature lettuce seedlings, and Joanne was rinsing out the boxes they’d use to take produce to market. The women’s T-shirts were stuck to their backs and chests with perspiration, their hair was damp, their faces smudged with dirt mixed with sweat. Lily dashed in to tell her mom we were going, and then we walked together to the barn. A couple of chickens began to follow, but they soon found more interesting things to take their attention and dropped away.
Beauty saw us coming, tossed her mane in greeting, and stretched out her head. Lily touched the horse’s nose with her forehead, lifted both hands to stroke the powerful neck, and told her we were going for a ride, and wouldn’t that be fun. Beauty tossed her head up and down in agreement. Tigger eyed me as if to say, “Not you again.”
Lily dashed in and out of the barn, collecting saddles and blankets, and I stuffed our snack into saddlebags. We prepared the horses as Lily chatted happily to Beauty, and Beauty listened, her head bent and pointed ears held high.