Dawn on a Distant Shore

by Sara Donati

  “Had enough of me already?”

  From the other room, a hungry wail. “Never,” she said, her voice wavering. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to wait your turn. That is your son calling … and your younger daughter, too.”

  He let her go to reach for his breeches, grinning at her over his shoulder as he pulled them on, her wolfish husband, teeth flashing white. “Wait here.”

  “Curiosity will bring them,” Elizabeth protested, but he was already halfway out the door.

  Alone for a moment, she tried to set the cot to rights, smoothing the rumpled covers and damp sheets. There was no telling what trouble this day might bring; she was tired and more than a little sore from the intensity of Nathaniel’s attentions; she could not remember being happier. Aunt Merriweather would not approve or even understand, but it was simple enough: she was in love with her husband, and she had him back again.

  Nathaniel appeared at the door with two squirming babies firmly in arm. Elizabeth accepted them, murmuring calm words. She leaned back against the paneled wall and let the children settle down to nursing while Nathaniel busied himself lighting the lamp. Then he came to kneel next to the cot and watch, his chin on his hands and his face in shadow.

  “You don’t get much sleep, I guess.”

  Elizabeth looked up in surprise. “They have quieted a great deal this sennight past. Lily often sleeps through the night, now. Or at least until the dawn.”

  Nathaniel touched one curly head and then the other. “I wondered if I’d ever see them again.”

  “You’re not sorry I brought them so far?”

  “No,” he said, moving in closer to study Daniel’s hand, kneading the white skin of her breast. “I ain’t in the least sorry.”

  “Nathaniel,” Elizabeth began slowly. “There is something I need to talk to you about.”

  He sent her a sliding glance. “I thought so. Well, come on out with it, Boots.”

  Elizabeth pulled the blanket up tighter around the twins, cleared her throat, and then met his eye.

  “Before I knew that you were on board the Nancy, I made arrangements to have another boat meet us this evening, just north of Montréal. I thought we should have to have some means of getting away, and I feared that Captain Pickering could not be trusted with the whole truth.”

  “That makes sense,” said Nathaniel. “But how did you think to get us out of gaol to start with?”

  She shrugged. “I was hoping that diplomacy might be enough, with Will’s help.” Daniel was paddling his feet against her abdomen, and she winced as she shifted him. “But Captain Pickering gives me to believe that Somerville would have hung you in any case.”

  “Aye, well. Pink George is a fool. Carleton might have been more reasonable, but we’ll never know.” Nathaniel smoothed a curl away from her face. “So you found a boat with a willing captain …”

  She nodded, her gaze fixed firmly on Lily, who was slipping off to sleep again. “Yes. And I paid him half, as a deposit. To be sure of his cooperation.”

  “If that’s the case, then I don’t see that there’s much to worry about—we won’t show up, but he’s got money in his purse, and he’s no the worse for wear. Even if he wanted to go to Somerville with his story, he doesn’t know where to look for us. What’s his name?”

  “Stoker.”

  The focus of his gaze sharpened suddenly. “Stoker! Why Mac Stoker, of all people?”

  “Captain Mudge introduced us.”

  Nathaniel grunted. “I would have thought Grievous Mudge would have more good sense than that.”

  Now she flushed with irritation, and was glad of this new kind of energy. “Until Pickering sought me out, the Jackdaw was the only hope we had to get to Montréal today. Time was of the essence. I did the best I could, Nathaniel.”

  His expression cleared suddenly. “I know that, Boots. Christ, I know that.” And with a sideways glance: “Did he try to put his hands on you?”

  “No!” Elizabeth’s head snapped up. “He was rude, but did me no harm. I went to see him just before we sailed. He took the money, and told me where we would find him tonight. And that’s all there was to it.”

  “I’ll guess he drove a pretty hard bargain.”

  Daniel gulped out of rhythm and coughed, sputtering milk. Lily, already asleep, began to twist her face into a knot at the sudden disturbance.

  “Let me,” Nathaniel murmured, leaning in to gather Lily up close to his chest so that Elizabeth could deal with Daniel. When the babies were quiet, Nathaniel said: “Mac Stoker ain’t the kind to think of paying back money he hasn’t earned, and he’s not about to go calling on the Crown. He’ll spend the silver and forget all about it.” He turned to examine Lily’s sleeping face in the light of the hanging lantern.

  Against the dark heart of the night, the porthole was as round as a coin. Silver coin; yes. A handful of silver coins paid for passage, and she had left the Jackdaw so proud of herself and how she managed Mac Stoker that she never even realized that the chain she wore around her neck was gone. Someone had cut the chain as neatly as any London pickpocket, and not even Runs-from-Bears had noticed.

  But sooner or later Nathaniel would see that it was gone. If only she had listened to Bears and stayed away from Stoker; but she had let her fear get the best of her common sense. Perhaps men were right and women were not capable of rational thought; perhaps she knew herself not at all. Let Mac Stoker be satisfied with money for work never done and with a single gold coin. A strange prayer, and one she feared would not be heard. A man like Stoker was rarely satisfied once the smell of gold was in his nose.

  “Elizabeth.” Curiosity was at the door, the long plaits running over her shoulders like dark rivers shot through with silver. “Let me put those babies down again,” she whispered. “So you two can get some sleep.” The keen brown gaze missed nothing, not the state of the bed or the flush that still mottled Elizabeth’s breast or the bite marks on Nathaniel’s shoulder, but she simply took the sleeping babies and slipped away.

  When the door had closed behind Curiosity, Nathaniel put out the light and dropped his breeches. There was enough moonlight to show her the long flat muscles of his thighs and the intensity of his purpose; it was dark enough so that she could burn bright with the knowledge of her own reckless actions and he would take it for modesty, and for passion. At least that much was real; there was a stirring deep in her belly at the sight of him, as sharp and bright as the single silver earring that sparked against the dark column of his neck.

  “So, Boots,” he said, one finger moving up the slope of her calf so that her toes curled tight. “Now that you’ve got that confession off your chest, tell me, is it sleep you’ve got on your mind, or the lack of it?”

  It was midmorning before the Nancy sailed into the narrowing of the St. Lawrence that would take them into port at Québec. Even belowdecks the bosun’s raised voice could be heard as he sent the crew scrambling to shift sails.

  Because they could not show their faces on deck in a port crowded with the king’s soldiers and excisemen, the Bonner party stood at the transom windows in Pickering’s quarters, watching the traffic on the river. More masts and sails than could be counted; barks and schooners, two frigates, sloops and cutters, merchantmen and whaleboats, private packets, bateaux and canoes, some of them big enough to seat twenty men. Many of them were Royal Navy vessels, which made Elizabeth glad of the heavy draperies that could be pulled shut; she did not like to look very long at the harbor, which had the feel of a carnival just barely in control.

  Curiosity juggled Lily to a more suitable spot on her shoulder and shook her head at the sight of it. “I thought sailors was supposed to be tidy-minded.”

  Hawkeye snorted softly. “You’ll see precious little tidy about Québec at the beginning of the season. The North West Company is just gearing up for the trek to Grand Portage—in another week they’ll be off for Lachine and this place will seem like a nunnery. Not that we’ll see it.”

 
“Look,” said Hannah, pointing to the long dock that seemed to be their destination. Boatworks and a storehouse of brick, all belonging to Forbes & Son Enterprises. The dock itself was dominated by a three-masted merchant ship, square-rigged, newly painted, carved and gilded on every surface. A merchantman, as bright and beautiful a ship as Elizabeth had ever seen.

  Hannah said, “Isn’t that Captain Pickering’s ship? Do you see? The figurehead he told us about, the Lass in Green.”

  “So it is,” said Nathaniel. “The Isis.” Elizabeth saw him send Hawkeye a look over the child’s head.

  “What are all those little clapboard windows?” Hannah carried on.

  “Gunports,” said Robbie. “She’s armed tae the teeth, is the Isis. Ye see, lass, she carries a valuable cargo but she doesna always sail in convoy as do most o’ the merchantmen. She’s broad bottomed for cargo, and square-rigged, too—that means that she canna run verra fast, and so she mun be able to protect hersel’, for there are privateers enough on the seas these days and a new war wi’ France, forbye.”

  Overhead a great shuffling and Pickering’s voice raised in a series of quick orders, the groan of chains and a splash as the last anchors were dropped. A calling of voices from the wharf to the quarterdeck, and back again.

  “Look, Elizabeth, your cousin Will.” Hannah tugged at her sleeve.

  “Yes,” said Elizabeth, heaving a great sigh. “Thank heavens.” And then she saw that Will was not alone. A lady waited on the dock beside him. She wore a round gown of Mantua silk the color of green pippins, with a long emerald-green sash. A matching cape billowed in the wind, and with one gloved hand she held down a straw-colored gipsy hat tilted to expose coiled dark blond hair. It was tied under her chin with a silk handkerchief the same color as her sash. The cost of the silk alone would have paid a sailor for two years. Elizabeth could not make out the lady’s face, but the tension in Nathaniel’s hand on her shoulder told her what she already suspected.

  Hannah tugged on Elizabeth’s sleeve. “Who is that?”

  “That is Miss Somerville,” Elizabeth said calmly. She smiled at Nathaniel, wanting him to see that she was not worried, or even curious. At least the first was true, but she did not know if she could convince him of that. “Will accompanied her here to Québec as a favor to her father.”

  “She looks a very fine sort of lady to be out among the boats,” said Hannah, taking Miss Somerville’s measure. Elizabeth wondered how much she had heard about Giselle’s history.

  Curiosity clicked softly with her tongue. “You remember, child. Pickering told us about Miss Somerville. They’re set to marry, and soon.” A sliding glance to Elizabeth and her mouth turned down at one corner; Curiosity knew, if Hannah didn’t, but Curiosity was not the kind to judge a woman harshly on the strength of men’s stories.

  “Will we get to meet her?” asked Hannah.

  “I doubt it,” said Nathaniel. “She’ll have other things on her mind.”

  And so will we, added Elizabeth to herself, for she had caught sight of a schooner, moving fast on the water. Not nearly so fine a vessel as the Isis, far smaller and in need of paint. On deck stood her captain with a long glass in his hand. The Jackdaw.

  Runs-from-Bears caught Elizabeth’s eye, and raised a shoulder in a question she could not answer.

  12

  My dearest Husband Galileo Freeman,

  Runs-from-Bears leaves for home shortly and he will fetch this letter to you. God grant we follow, and not long after. We hope to sail tomorrow, in what ship we don’t know yet, to what port we ain’t yet sure, but Hawkeye and Nathaniel are firm in their faith that it can be managed. Bears will tell you the story of how we came to be in this frenchified place, as it is too long and tiresome a tale to put down on paper.

  To the Judge word that his grandchildren are in rude good health. His daughter’s spirits have come up too since she has Nathaniel with her again. Little Hannah bids me tell you that the leather purse you worked for her does good service. She wishes you well as do all our friends here.

  My loving greetings to our children. I trust our daughters have not forgot the lye barrel as it is high time to set soap. This year more pompkin and yellow onion should be put out, for last we ran short. Husband, remember your long underwear, for all that it itches. Otherwise the night damp will be sure to bring on your Miseries and I ask you, which is worse?

  Your Loving Wife of these Many Years,

  Curiosity Freeman

  writ by her own hand this Fifth Day of May,

  1794

  Bas-Québec, on board the Nancy

  Dearest Many-Doves,

  Nathaniel and Hawkeye are now restored to us in good health, and so I understand very well your joy as your husband comes home to you after so long an absence. Runs-from-Bears will give you all the news that prudence prevents me from putting to paper, but know that we will be with you as soon as it is in our power.

  The children thrive, for which we thank Providence and pray the same is true of young Blue-Jay. Hannah bids me tell you and her grandmother that she has learned to bind a sprained ankle and that she is very sorry to have missed the maple festival, and so are we all. I fear she misses you more than she will admit, although the twins are a comfort to her and she takes great interest in everything she sees.

  I write to beg you to visit the schoolchildren, or send them word. Summer session will begin as soon as we are returned. To Liam, my fond regards and gentle reminders that he should not neglect his reading, writing, or ciphering while we are gone. I hope to see evidence of his industry and good progress.

  Hawkeye, Robbie, and Nathaniel send their greetings and loving affection to you, your mother and brother, as do Curiosity, Hannah, and I. You are always in our thoughts. With deepest affection

  Elizabeth Middleton Bonner

  5th of May in the Year 1794

  Québec

  Dear Liam,

  I have never writ a letter before but Elizabeth helps me write one now to you, to say that we are soon on our way home. Runs-from-Bears will tell you how it is that my Father and Grandfather and Robbie are free. It is a good story.

  On the long carry to the big lake we passed a sawmill. There was a man strung up from a dead oak and his hands struck off, we could not ask for what crime. Robbie’s red dog Treenie is dead. A soldier shot her. It made Elizabeth gey sad, but this morning her cousin Will Spencer sought us out. That has been a relief to her, I think.

  My little brother and sister are in health, and so are all of us, except Curiosity, who has caught a cold in her chest. She says it is Canada at fault, for no reasonable place should have such a cold, damp spring.

  I wonder if you took that bear yet and if you hunt with my uncle Otter. If your leg is bothersome you might ask my Grandmother for a poultice. If I was there I would bind it for you.

  We have met a man called Hakim, which means Doctor. He wrote his whole name down for me on a scrap of paper, it is Hakim Ibrahim Dehlavi ibn Abdul Rahman Balkhi. He comes from India where I think they must know very much about healing. He is a surgeon on a great ship called the Isis, which sails tomorrow for Scotland. His skin is not so brown as Curiosity’s and not so red as mine. I think my Grandmother would like to meet him. I wish that you could, too.

  Your Friend Hannah Bonner,

  also called Squirrel by the Kahnyen’kehàka of the Wolf Longhouse, her mother’s people

  13

  Across the river from the cliffs that served as a natural palisade for Quebec’s upper city, the voyageurs and fur traders had established a town of their own, and it had an Indian heart. Even before Nathaniel and Hawkeye and Runs-from-Bears had managed to best the tide and the ice floes and get the canoe to shore, the sound of drums came across the water. For Hannah it was like a homecoming.

  They beached the borrowed canoe on a grassy slope where fifty others like it dried in the afternoon sun. Hawkeye hired a Huron boy to watch over it and Hannah followed the men into the confusion, her hand firmly in
her father’s and Runs-from-Bears walking behind her. Her attention shifted constantly, for there was a great lot to see, and she wanted to remember it all to tell to Elizabeth and Curiosity.

  The North West Company was hiring for the Montréal brigade, looking for voyageurs to paddle their cargo canoes inward to the great lakes. There they would meet the trappers who came out of the northern forests with beaver and mink and fisher furs. Hannah wondered if someday she would see the great white north. She would not mind hard paddling, if it took her someplace worth seeing. But there were no women around the man in dirty nankeen breeches and a rusty leather jerkin who was doing the hiring. He was talking in a big voice to a crowd of Abenaki and Cree in a combination of English and French and Atirondaks; it was a language stripped to the bone, just enough to conduct business: money and distances to be covered, rations of pemmican and pea-and-pork soup. Hannah had never seen any Cree before, although she had heard stories. Her father tugged on her hand before she could make out very much about them beyond the earbobs of silver in large circular shapes.

  They walked past men and women with wares spread out on blankets: breeches and leggings, shirts of red-checked cotton, dull homespun, butter-yellow deerskin; hard-tack, venison jerky, and cakes of maple sugar; dried sausages as wide around as a man’s wrist, but harder; bundled tobacco and stubby clay pipes to smoke it with. A woman of mixed blood with one eye as milky white as a wampum bead crouched before bowls of dried cranberries and blackberries, stringing them onto long threads.

  Now and then someone would call out to them, raising an arm in greeting: long time no see, or by the Christ you’re far from home! But they did not stop to talk or even slow down. Hannah could feel her father’s urgency in the way he held on to her hand. So far they had seen one redcoat, but he had been arguing over the cost of a ragged bundle of second-grade beaver pelts and hadn’t taken any note of them. They were counting on the crowd, and on the voyageurs’ dislike of the English, to keep them out of trouble.