Shiloh

by Lori Benton

  Joseph had tracked his stolen mare, found the children, and taken them to his clan sister, returned to her white father’s farm. At first they hadn’t trusted Willa, no matter she spoke their mother’s language better than they did. But Willa won them over at last. Though Joseph had promised to take them farther west, to where the Mohawks had fled with their allies, the defeated British, they chose to remain with Willa.

  “By then Papa wanted to marry Mama,” Maggie said, face bright with the memories of their family’s beginnings. “Mama agreed with the plan. So we adopted them as our parents.”

  “In a manner o’ speaking,” Neil MacGregor interjected, clearly tamping back a grin. But across the room, Matthew was shaking his head.

  “I take back what I said about your storytelling, Maggie. You left out the exciting part. What about the burning cabin and Francis—”

  After Matthew bit off his words, Ian blinked at the frozen expressions in the room, then followed their gazes to Maggie, whose face had drained of joy. She rose with her book and made for the door, pausing to murmur to their mother about preparing for the morning in solitude. She left without saying good night.

  Awkward silence settled, broken by the fire’s snapping, until Ian cleared his throat, turning to Neil. “Is that the same Francis ye mentioned before?”

  “Aye. The same.”

  Matthew muttered something in what Ian took for Mohawk, then looked around the room, scowling in self-recrimination. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking . . .”

  Joseph was watching their faces. “What is amiss with Francis?”

  “Nothing, we hope,” Willa said as Neil set down scalpel and stone and rose to add wood to the fire. “Weeks ago Goodenough and the Colonel noticed he was gone—on one of his hill rambles, we thought. But it has been over a month. He never stays away this long.”

  Still agitated, Matthew eyed the doorway through which his sister had passed, then shot up from the floor and went after her.

  The air left in his wake stirred, unsettled. Joseph’s pipe had gone out. He did not relight it. “I should have finished what I began that summer.”

  “No,” Neil said, taking his seat. “The man hasna troubled us again.”

  “Who?” Ian asked, thoroughly confused. “Francis?”

  A beat of silence passed before Willa said, “No. Another who did harm to us, the year the children came to us.” Her mouth had tightened as she spoke, her gaze on her brother sharpened in warning.

  “Aram Crane,” Joseph said, ignoring it.

  Shock rippled through Ian at the name. He straightened in his chair. “Crane? I met the man—or one going by the same name. In Cooperstown, last month.”

  Their startled looks had Ian telling the story of finding young James Cooper being accosted by Crane, after his disturbance in the tavern. The tale left them grim-faced, Joseph Tames-His-Horse most of all.

  “Joseph, you are not to blame for every ill that man has committed these past twelve years,” Willa said with surprising fervor, at which her clan brother raised his gaze in challenge.

  “Am I not?”

  “No. And as I have said, many times, better to let sleeping dogs lie.”

  “Crane was a British Army deserter,” Neil explained for Ian’s benefit. “He was the other reason Joseph came to Shiloh, twelve years ago. He was tracking Crane for the British, out of Niagara, and found him here.”

  “I had the man,” Joseph said. “Had him in my hands, a prisoner. He escaped.”

  After another prickling silence, Neil said, “Cooperstown is a long way off. Let’s dinna fash about Crane, aye?”

  Ian opened his mouth to relate what Moss Kent had told him about Crane—that he expected the man to go back north of the Mohawk River before winter, far closer to Shiloh than Cooperstown—but hesitated to feed the tension in the room. He looked instead at the darkened window. It grew late. He wanted to start another letter to Seona before he slept.

  One letter at a time . . .

  As if the Almighty had dropped the thought into his brain, he knew it was the answer to how the vision he had had at supper could come to pass, that of the souls who claimed his heart regathered. With that vision uppermost in his mind, he rose and bade his neighbors a good night, thanking them for their hospitality. Joseph headed out to the stable to tend his horse. Ian clapped his hat on to follow, but Neil intercepted him on the chilly veranda.

  “I ken ye’re wondering about Maggie and Francis,” he said softly, though all the windows of the house were shut. “While ye get your horse saddled, I’ll tell ye.”

  1 January 1797

  To Ian Cameron

  Shiloh, New York

  Dear Ian—

  Today I pen the New Year for the first time. Did everyone in your cabin have a good Christmas in the wilds of New York? How deep is the Snow there? We have more than enough on the ground and bleak skies again this day, so more must be coming. Icicles on the eaves are big around as my arm! I long for the day my fingers do not sting when I bring in water from the pump or buy wood from the sellers. I never knew how blessed with wood for burning we were at Mountain Laurel until I came to a place it must be bought.

  Our Christmas was quiet except for Gabriel. It is hard on him being cooped indoors when it is too cold to be outside. Sometimes he dashes about (Rambunctious your Mama says). Lest you think I am not raising him proper, most times he is a good Boy, though he is at his best on days he can be outside to run off his Rambunctious. How does Mandy do inside that cabin in Winter? Gabriel is saying about a hundred more words than when last I mentioned it but still has trouble with words with R in them, like his own name. Your Mama says you had the same trouble but now you can roll those Rs like a proper Scotsman when you want—which I know—so I am not bothered about it. We attended Christmas meeting, then made ourselves a Feast with a Turkey and trimmings. Ned is still in Deerfield but writes he will return by month’s end, though Penny will not come back to the house where her Sons are no more. Your Daddy says it might be best Ned get shed of the place after all.

  It is hard to warm the reaches of this House, as you know. We gather Evenings with our work in the keeping room. Sometimes we make up pallets by the fire, me, Mama, and Gabriel, then hang a quilt over chairs to make a tent. Gabriel says we are Bears in a cave. Your Mama read him a story with Bears in it. He has not stopped talking of Bears since. Do you have Bears in Shiloh? I promised I would ask.

  Your recounting of how the MacGregors became a Family was something to marvel over. It filled up my heart with warmth and my eyes with tears in a way I am still trying to fathom. I am sorry to hear about that Francis Waring gone missing, and that Maggie MacGregor is upset over it, even blaming herself, like Mr. MacGregor told you when you were taking your leave that Evening. Though I doubt her confessing her love for the man, a love he could not return, is likely to have sent him off into the Wilds for so long, causing everyone such worry, even if he is as strange as was described. It must be something else. But I do not know these Folk, so I cannot say of a certain.

  Catriona is saying she wants to write to Maggie MacGregor her own self. I suspect she has gone ahead with the notion and will be adding a Letter when I post this of mine. Your sister is behaving herself flichtie (your Mama’s word again), down in spirit some days, flying high as a bird others. She will say she is fine when I ask, or claim to be missing you and Mandy, which I am sure is true. I miss you too, though I felt something different in your last Letter, a distance I did not understand. Then I reached the part where you asked why I could not tell you my thoughts in my last Letter, that you worried you had asked too much of me. You admitted there is pain between us, that you know what you want to do about it, but think I am not ready for whatever it is. Maybe I could be if I can put a Question back to you. Do you still have those Matters of the heart you once mentioned concerning me? I need to know, because one reason there is still pain between us is because I have those Matters and I do not want my heart broke again.

&nb
sp; I like what you said about Gabriel, that his absence could never drive him from your heart. I hope to hear from you and that you will answer my Question—

  Seona Cameron

  Beachum Lane, Boston

  PS: I laughed about Ally getting himself two pups when he could not choose between. And those names he gave them. Nip and Tuck!

  16

  20 January 1797

  To Seona Cameron

  Beachum Lane

  Boston, Massachusetts

  My Dear Seona—

  Earnest Blessings to you, Gabriel, and all for a New Year begun in Peace. My own is made brighter having received your Letter. Two days ago I conveyed Catriona’s to Maggie MacGregor in Shiloh, where she teaches those children whose parents allow it (though the Lass is as blue-stockinged as my Sister, there are those who withhold even the most basic learning from their Offspring on account of Maggie’s Indian blood). Yesterday I had a visit from Neil MacGregor, who shared his and Willa’s relief; not for Months had they seen Maggie so animated as when she arrived home bearing Catriona’s Missive. Neil brought other news to share—Willa MacGregor is with child. All are astonished, none more than Willa, it being now ten years since their last, Liam, was born.

  Winter is bitter here. Snow is deep, the cold unrelenting—I have reacquainted myself with the Art of Snowshoeing and have built us a sleigh that Ally’s mare, Cupid, easily pulls. Mandy does well enough in the cabin but misses the Chickens, so Naomi bundles her warmly and takes her out to fetch in the eggs the Hens keep snug in their shed. I have done some hunting, though I do not like to be away above a night (tell Gabriel that, at present, all our Bears are snug asleep in their dens). We are well enough provisioned otherwise as I was able to purchase additional stores in Cooperstown in Autumn.

  Whatever else newsworthy comes to mind I shall write to Da, for I wish to address a Subject with you and feel I must do so while both my candle and courage last—that being the answer to your Question. Have I no more Matters of the Heart concerning you? Seona, it is uppermost of all I have, has been since before I was made to believe you had abandoned me and run to Freedom with Thomas. I wish I could turn back time and see through the machinations of my Kin who spirited you away, find you long before I managed it. Then I see my sleeping Daughter and cannot wish her away. I love Mandy. I love Gabriel. And I love you.

  My Heart pounds having written such bold words. Should I find the courage to seal this Letter and post it, know these lines are bathed in my Prayers that the Almighty might redeem our broken Hearts and grant us another chance at wholeness. I count the days until I hear from you on these Matters that so concern our Hearts.

  Meanwhile remaining Your Devoted Servant—

  Ian Cameron

  Shiloh, New York

  30 January 1797

  To Ian Cameron

  Shiloh, New York

  Dear Ian—

  I see you found the courage to post that Letter, written ten days ago by your Date and here I am reading it. It must have taken wing (an Angel’s?) as it has reached me so fast, and with all that snow still to hinder. It is good to hear Catriona’s Letter was so well received. I knew it already, for Letters have come from Maggie MacGregor.

  There is much I want to say about those Matters of our Hearts. First I must ask one Question more, hoping you will answer and not fret over how I will take it. Did Judith know you never stopped loving me? Because she loved you from a true Heart. I saw that plain. While it hurt like a knife cutting up my own, I was glad at least you had the sense to choose her over her Sister, who I think has loved no one but her own self ever.

  Now I will confess. When you left us last Summer, I almost begged you to stay. As you and that wagonful trundled off from the Chestnut Inn, I wanted to—

  I got called away of a sudden from writing this Letter, and for something you will want to know about. I have seen Thomas Ross! He is alive and keeping on with what he started down in Carolina, which your Mama tells me not to write plain. Thomas came to the house and supped with us. He heard about you selling Mountain Laurel, then the lot of you heading off to New York. He wanted to know all you had told us of Shiloh. I asked after Esther, but he has not been back to Chesterfield and does not know anything of her or of Maisy and Jubal. After supper he went his way, not saying it outright, but I know he means to continue his Work.

  Lest you think Thomas showing up has distracted me from what is between us, it has not. You said in a Letter some time back that there was never going to be an easy way through this. I cannot imagine it was easy for Judith, either. Not if she knew how you felt about me all the while. Did she know?

  I wait for your reply, hoping again for Angel Wings—

  Seona Cameron

  Beachum Lane, Boston

  17 February 1797

  To Seona Cameron

  Beachum Lane

  Boston, Massachusetts

  My Dearest Seona—

  Perhaps there is an Angel winging our Correspondence between us, for while more than ten Days have passed between the dating of your most recent Letter and my receiving it, still it has arrived more speedily than I dared hope, yet I hardly know where to begin my reply. I shall start with those responses which hold my Heart most lightly.

  Maggie MacGregor has indeed entered zealously into correspondence with Catriona. Willa informs me Maggie brings home a Letter from Keagan’s store every few days. Having grown fond of the MacGregors, I am gratified by this further connection between our Families.

  Onward to your News of Thomas. He lives—the wee gomeral—and you have all broken bread with him! I am relieved to know the Conviction that caused him to pursue his reckless course in Carolina has neither deserted him nor led to his untimely Death. Concerning Esther’s situation, I will pray the more fervently for her Safety and Deliverance. My means are limited at present, but God’s never are.

  I come now to that Subject most gripping to my Heart. Aye, Judith knew of my love for you—from the day I asked her to be my Wife to the day our Son was birthed and they went together to be with the Lord in Heaven. But know, Seona, that during the time I was married, with you and Gabriel gone to Boston, I learned to cherish Judith, to value the woman she was, as a Wife and as Mandy’s Mother. That I loved her were the last words she heard on this Earth. With no notion whether that is what you wanted or dreaded to hear, I can only assure you of its Truth, which is what I want between us, even if it brings with it a sting. Healing often does.

  I have begun reading aloud Scripture of an Evening after we in our cabin have supped. Just now we find ourselves in the Book of Hebrews, the Twelfth Chapter. “Wherefore lift up the hands which hang down, and the feeble knees; and make straight paths for your feet, lest that which is lame be turned out of the way; but let it rather be healed.” That part about straight paths reminds me of something I heard Willa MacGregor say, which she explains is a Mohawk way of thinking. It is this: I want the path between our Hearts to be made straight, cleared of all Obstacles. Cleared of hurt and misunderstanding, for our Healing. Do you desire that as well? Will you come to us in Shiloh, you and Gabriel, and make this place (and once more my Heart) your Home?

  Tonight another snow is falling but I hope tomorrow the sleigh and our sturdy Cupid will deliver me the miles into Shiloh to post this Letter, in hopes our attending Angel will see it whisked to you with haste. Though thought of waiting even a Day for your reply finds no purchase in the Heart of your Devoted Servant—

  Ian Cameron

  Shiloh, New York

  28 February 1797

  To Seona Cameron

  Beachum Lane

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Dear Seona—

  Doubtless I am hasty in writing less than a Fortnight since posting my last Letter, but find I bear the waiting poorly, fearing what I wrote concerning Judith, or my hope of your coming to Shiloh, has caused distress. Is that how I should judge your Silence, or is it the vagaries of the Post and your reply merely delayed in reaching m
e? Or that I failed to mention Lily? I assumed she would accompany you. Forgive me that omission. Let me make the Invitation explicit: if Lily wishes to come to New York, she is welcome.

  Now I must broach another Concern. Yesterday Willa MacGregor walked over to relate, with no small discomfort, that she read a Letter from Catriona found tucked into a book left behind when Maggie went into Shiloh one recent morning. She meant nothing unseemly by it; Maggie, so Willa thought, has been in the habit of sharing Catriona’s letters with her. Plainly not all her letters.

  Is there something amiss with my Sister concerning that man who caused Da and Ned such difficulty last year? The name Morgan Shelby was mentioned in the Letter in a manner that raises concern—that he has troubled Catriona as well. The precise nature of troubling was not made clear but seemed of a most serious nature, which is why Willa asked if I was apprised of the situation. I am not but wish to be.

  No doubt this Missive will cross your reply to my last and my impatience will be soothed (and perhaps my Concerns for Catriona allayed) by the time you read this belated Postscriptum from your Devoted Servant—

  Ian Cameron

  Shiloh, New York

  12 March 1797

  To Seona Cameron

  Beachum Lane

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Seona—

  Winter shows Signs of easing its grip on the Wilds of New York, yet still no word from you! I have leapt over Impatience and slid headlong into Worry. It is not like you to go so quiet, even if what I asked was met not with Joy, as I hoped, but dismay. You asked for Truth. I ask only the same—

  Ian

  13 March 1797

  To Ian Cameron

  Shiloh, New York

  Dear Ian—

  I have just received your Letter dated 17 February. Did our Angel get himself turned about? I will write briefly and send this on its way in Hope that you do not wait so long to know my Answer. I do desire to come with Gabriel to Shiloh. Mama too. She and I talked of it before your Letter came. How ought we to go about it? Your Daddy says he will help but he must hear from you. I am in such a state of Nerves my hand trembles, and you may not make heads or tails of these my words, so I will end this and write more when I have better possessed myself.