Whispered Promise

by Colleen French

  Suddenly feeling self-conscious, she again tried to smooth the hopelessly wrinkled overskirt of her green and gray gown. "I didn't bring anything else. I was in a hurry, remember?"

  "Well, that won't do. If you're Howe's' cousin—"

  "—Third cousin. Lucy said they were third cousins though she'd never met the man in her life."

  "Third cousins then, but even a third cousin to the commander of the British army wouldn't be wearing that."

  Leah knew he was right. She just didn't like having to listen to him say so. If they were going to pretend to be Lucy Monroe and her new husband she would need to look wealthy, and English. "So what do you want me to do about it? I'll not accost any women on the street and we certainly haven't the time to have a gown made and fitted."

  "Don't you know anyone here in Annapolis? An old friend? One of your husband's acquaintances?"

  "No." She ignored the tone of his voice when he mentioned Edmund. Whether he liked it or not, whether she liked it, didn't matter a wit. The fact was that Leah was married to Edmund Beale and had been for nine years. "I don't know anyone." Then a thought struck. "No, wait a minute. My Aunt Valerie, do you remember her? She had a daughter my age, Mary. I heard that Mary moved home with her parents when her husband was recently killed during the New York campaign."

  "Well, Joshua is seeing what he can do about hiring a boat for us." Harrison swung open the door and gestured grandly. "So let's call on dear Aunt Valerie and Cousin Mary and see what we can do about making you presentable, Mistress Sally Monroe."

  Leah walked out of the bedchamber ahead of him. "Lucy, it's Lucy, Harrison."

  Chapter Nine

  "I said I don't eat dog!" William choked up a chunk of greasy meat and spit it on the frozen ground.

  "Eat!" The Mohawk brave, Two Halves, shouted, taking a handful of the meat and trying to force it into William's mouth again.

  Two Halves had William by the neck of his leather tunic, but William fought as hard as he could. He kicked, and swung his small fists, all the while keeping his mouth clamped tightly shut.

  "Eat!" Two Halves bellowed.

  "Let me have him, Father," Sky Feather called from where he sat gorging himself on the dog meat. "I will make him eat it bones and all!"

  "Eat!"

  William shook his head stubbornly.

  Asare, who had come upon Two Halves, Sky Feather, and the English boy, here in the Catskill Mountains earlier in the day chuckled. They were from the same village, he, and this father and son. Asare couldn't help-laughing at the struggle of wills between the Mohawk warrior and the boy prisoner. He didn't like Two Halves and his son much, so it did him good to see the English child get the best of the Mohawk brave. "Let him go, Two Halves," he called good-naturedly in the Iroquois tongue.

  "Yah te a! I told him to eat it, he will eat it."

  Asare waved a hand. He was beginning to become concerned for the boy's life. Two Halves had always been a hot head. But Asare knew he would have to take care in how he handled the situation or Two Halves would toss the child over the cliff they camped on. "The boy is strong willed, an admirable trait in a white child." He kept his tone light, as if he really didn't care. "Let him up, and come share a bowl of tobacco with me, my friend."

  Two Halves held William by the scruff of his neck. "I own him. I paid the redcoat soldiers for him. He will do what I say or," he pulled his hunting knife from his beaded belt, "he will die."

  "Kill him, Father, kill him," Sky Feather urged. "Better yet, let me do it. I've not killed a white child in weeks, Father."

  William whimpered at the sight of the glimmering blade Two Halves brandished, but he didn't open his mouth.

  Asare rose from his place at the campfire and walked to the struggling man and child. The boy had courage, something unusual in the English. He didn't want to see the child die. He hated to see anything die senselessly. "Sell him to me. Let me take this trouble off your hands. You have better things to do with your time than to wet nurse a white brat."

  Two Halves released William, slamming his face into the frozen ground.

  William lay still, his cheek pressed to the cold rock of the ground.

  "Sell him?" Two Halves returned his knife to his belt. "To you?"

  "I wouldn't, Father," Sky Feather said, drinking from a silver flask with the words To David, Love Margaret engraved on one side. "We can get more further north. There are men red and white who will pay a great deal for such a perfect young boy."

  Asare ignored Sky Feather. "You didn't really intend to keep him yourself did you? You have enough white slaves. I know someone in another village who would adopt the boy. He has no sons and yearns for one," Asare lied. He knew no such man. An Iroquois would never adopt a white child. Only fools like the Shawnee and Delaware did such things, but he felt sorry for the child.

  "He would not want this white boy!" Two Halves gave William a vicious kick in the side. "He cannot obey his superiors. He is obstinate."

  Asare reached out with one bronze hand and took William's small one. He pulled the trembling boy to his feet. "The child is a survivor. You have taken him far from his people. He does not know our language or our customs, but he walks, he eats, he drinks. He keeps his soul alive."

  "He does not eat dog," Two Halves scoffed.

  Asare tousled William's tangled dark brown hair. "So he does not eat dog. I don't either." With William's hand still in his, he led the boy to his place at the fire and patted his leather mat.

  Eyes wide with confusion, William sat down. It was obvious that the child didn't know what was happening. The boy reminded Asare of his own son many years ago. He smoothed his dirty, matted hair. Dressed in Iroquois garb with his sun-tanned skin and his hair that was nearly black, he looked like one of them. "Do not be afraid," Asare said softly in English, speaking as if the child were a frightened animal. "I am called Asare and I will not harm you."

  "He took that dog from a man's cabin whilst he was away. The dog had puppies. I'm not going to eat dog." William wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. "I've eaten a lot of disgusting things because he told me to." William glared at Two Halves. "He made me eat raw fish, bloody half cooked squirrel, even grubs, but I'm not eating dog. He can cut me ear to ear but I'm not going to do it. I got a dog back at Tanner's Gift called Freckles and she has puppies. I wouldn't eat Freckles even if he killed me for it."

  Asare had to laugh. What determination for such a young boy. How unusual to see anyone young or old stand for what he believed, even in the face of death. The Mohawk reached into his pack and pulled out a small leather drawstring bag. From inside he extracted a strip of dried smoked venison. He pushed it into William's hand. "Eat," he said in English. "And this man will see what he can do for you. What is your name?"

  "William."

  Asare nodded. "Wil-i-am. This is a good name, but I think I will call you Aeana. It means bow in my tongue. You are thin, you bend to others' will when you must, but you do not break."

  William began to gnaw greedily at the venison jerky and Asare turned his attention back to Two Halves.

  "Name your price," Asare said pushing a second chunk of the jerky into the boy's filthy hand. "How much do you want for this worthless white boy?"

  Two Halves named a price. Asare laughed.

  Two Halves named another price. Asare shook his head.

  The two men haggled for the next half hour until they finally came to a mutual agreement. Then they shared a bowl of stolen English tobacco to seal the bargain.

  Noticing that the boy had grown sleepy and was dozing off sitting upright, Asare motioned to him, speaking in rusty English. It had been a long time since he had spoken the language of the Jesuit priests he had been schooled by. "Get your mat. Sleep. In the morning you go with this man, Asare, not the others. I will take you to our village, north."

  William yawned, his eyes only half open. "Don't have a mat." He curled up on his side. "They make me sleep on the ground even when it snows."
>
  Asare gave a snort of derision. Two Halves was a fool. Didn't he understand the rules of the universe? If he harmed a child, even the enemy's child, somewhere, someday, someone would harm his child.

  Asare rolled out his own sleeping mat made of thick black bear hide. Lying down, he motioned to the boy. "Aeana, come. Tonight it will snow."

  William shook his head, curling into a tighter ball to protect himself from the cold north wind that blew down out of the mountains above them. "Not sleepin' with a redskin," he muttered. "The only good redskin's a dead one."

  Asare grabbed the boy's wrist and gently forced him onto the mat. The child struggled but only a little. Two Halves and his son Sky Feather laughed from across the banked campfire.

  "You'll come to regret this purchase, this man thinks," said Two Halves rolling up in his sleeping mat.

  Sky Feather belched loudly. "Be lucky if he don't slit your throat in the night with your own blade."

  "Perhaps," Asare answered, tucking the bear hide around himself and the boy as he closed his eyes. "But perhaps not. Good night, men of the Mohawk." He opened his eyes again, looking down on the sleeping boy. "Goodnight, Aeana" he said in native language. "Sleep well and dream of happier days."

  The boat listed to the left and the chair Leah sat on began to slide, wood scrapping against wood in a eerie groan. She grasped the small wooden table and held tightly; with her other hand she presented her cards.

  Harrison groaned. "You cheat!"

  Slowly the boat rolled to the right, sliding her chair back into the table. "I don't cheat. You're a poor card player and a worse loser."

  Harrison scooped up the cards and began to shuffle.

  Leah adjusted the lace cap on the back of her head. She'd visited Aunt Valerie and Cousin Mary and come away wearing a fashionable, but sturdy India mordant-painted and dyed cotton-chintz caraco jacket, and a worsted, quilted, blue petticoat. She wore a linen handkerchief for modesty, which tucked into the mock stomacher sewn into her bodice. The flowered jacket and blue petticoat were brighter than she was used to wearing, but it was suitable for the part she played as Lucy. Secretly, it felt good to Leah to dress attractively, even if no one she knew would ever see her.

  The ship creaked and groaned as it rolled and rocked in the evening storm on the Chesapeake Bay. Once arrangements were made by Joshua, Leah and Harrison had boarded the Mary Mae, a single masted sloop at noontime. They were the only passengers save for the captain and his crew of four or five. The price of passage from Annapolis to Head of Elk had been exorbitant, but Leah had paid without protest. For that price, the captain, a Tory by the name of John Taylor, would ask fewer questions, Joshua had insisted.

  She and Harrison set themselves up as planned as two loyal English citizens traveling north to New York. Leah wanted no Englishmen to know who she was. With her husband being held captive, she didn't want the English to suspect anyone was looking for him. It could be too dangerous for Harrison and herself as well as Edmund and William.

  A knock came at the door of the cabin. Harrison looked up at Leah across the table. Leah's gaze darted to the door.

  Harrison went back to dealing the cards. "Yes," he called in the voice of Charles Whitacker, Lucy's new husband.

  "John Taylor. I've brought you a little liquid refreshment, Whitacker. Might I come in?"

  Harrison looked back up at Leah. She shrugged as if to say, 'What choice do we have?' "By all means," Harrison called. "Come in, sir."

  Leah picked up the cards Harrison dealt her and began to arrange them in her hand.

  John Taylor came through the cabin door, steady on his feet despite the rocking ship. "Good evening to you both." He carried a bottle of port and three shiny pewter cups.

  "Good evening," Harrison laid down a card.

  Leah glanced demurely over her cards. "Good evening, sir, so glad you could join us."

  Taylor motioned to the table. "Do you mind if I sit?"

  Harrison lifted a haughty eyebrow. "You certain you can spare the time? Do tell me someone is in control of this vessel."

  Taylor laughed as he grabbed a three-legged stool from beneath the single rack built into the bulkhead on the far side of the room. He dragged it across the floor and pulled it to the table. "My first mate is as capable as I, I assure you, perhaps more so."

  "My feet get wet and I warn you, you'll not get the balance of your fee."

  "You get your feet wet, sir, and in all likelihood, I'll not be needing the coin as we'll all be fish food on the bottom of the bay." He looked to Leah. "Pardon me for my candor, Mistress."

  "Are you telling us we're in some sort of danger?"

  He uncorked the bottle and began to pour a portion of port into each pewter cup.

  "None for me," she said.

  "Danger, goodness no. The storm will pass in an hour's time." He handed Harrison the cup of port. The two men struck the cups and drank deeply.

  Leah played another card. She was nervous. Something told her this was no social call. Taylor wanted something.

  Taylor took another sip from his glass and crossed his legs, making himself comfortable. He wore canvas breeches, a black wool cloak and high boots. He appeared to be a man of means, but from his speech he was of the middle class and trying hard to cover it. "So you say you're headed for New York. I've a cousin in New York. What part of the Colony?"

  "New York City of course," Leah said.

  "Of course," Taylor echoed. "And you're but recently wed?"

  "Yes," Harrison answered, drawing from the dealer's deck. "Just this summer. I came from England to be with my dear Lucy until it's safe enough for us to travel home. I imagine the Crown will have the upper hand on this uprising by spring, and then we'll be sailing."

  Taylor studied Harrison carefully. "You're from England you say? Funny, but you've the look of a colonial, a colonial of mixed blood."

  Leah didn't look up at Harrison, wondering how he would respond. Would he admit he was half Indian? That in itself would not be suspicious. There were many colonials who had Indian blood somewhere in their bloodlines. However these men tended to side with the American Cause rather than Mother England.

  Harrison slapped his hand face down on the table. "Just what is it you're trying so rudely to say? If it's my heritage you ask of, my grandfather was French. It's the French coloring I carry."

  Leah almost had to laugh. She'd heard the same explanation out of men before, men who sought to hide their native American blood. Still it sounded so ridiculous coming out of Harrison's mouth. It was almost as if he mocked those men who denied their true heritage.

  Taylor was immediately apologetic. "I didn't mean any affront I assure you. I was just—"

  Leah tossed her cards on the table. "Checking our loyalties?"

  "No," he gave her a quick, nervous smile. "Not at all. I—"

  "Didn't my husband tell you when he secured our passage that I am a cousin to Commander Howe?" She stood up angrily. "And I must tell you that I find it highly insulting to be interrogated in such a manner! And my dear cousin would be highly insulted as well, I would think."

  Taylor rose. "I apologize again. It's just that one can never be too sure. The army has warned me to take care in transporting anyone. There are too many spies moving across English lines."

  "Women spies?" she demanded.

  Taylor was backing toward the door. "Believe it or not, Mistress. Yes. Women spies."

  She followed him. The sloop was still rolling, but she kept her balance. Overhead she could hear the howling wind. "Well, I can assure you I am no spy, but feel free to accompany me to my cousin's tent and ask him yourself if you like!"

  "No." He held up his hands. "I assure you that won't be necessary."

  "Would you be so kind then to take leave of our cabin and see to what we're paying you handsomely for." She swung open the door and a rush of cold, damp, salt air blew in. "Steering this boat!"

  Before Taylor could answer her, she slammed the cabin door behind
him.

  When Leah looked back at Harrison he had a silly grin on his face. She slid the bolt on the door and came toward him. "What's so amusing?"

  He had pushed back in his chair, propping one leg on the tiny table. He'd also poured himself another portion of Taylor's port. "You. You sound so righteous. You're a very good actress."

  "What about you?" She lifted a hand covered by a linen fingerless mitt. "Your skin color is due to your French blood?" She gave a little laugh. "Spare me!"

  He chuckled. "It was all I could think of on the spur of the moment. But surely no good Englishman would claim red blood, even if it was fact."

  She rested her hands on her hips. He was right of course. And it had been clever. If she guessed right, she and Harrison would have no trouble getting off this boat behind English lines and walking out unhindered.

  She watched him as he sipped from his pewter cup. Dressed in a coat and breeches with his hair pulled back in a queue he appeared to be nothing of the savage she had found in that Indian village. The question was, which one did she prefer? This man seated before her was of course the familiar, the clothing, the language, the attitudes. This Harrison could be any man in Delaware. But the Harrison she had known back in the village had been more introspective and expressive in his feeling. If she had married him so long ago, which man would he have been? As he grew older would he have just naturally taken on more of the personality traits of his mother's people?

  He was watching her now, making her uncomfortable. She walked toward the sleeping rack built into the wall. "If we've not been blown too far off course by this storm, we should dock by mid-morning," she said, making conversation. "We'll buy horses and ride for New Jersey from there."

  "Tomorrow will be a long day. You should get some sleep."

  She looked at the single bed and then back at him. "So where are you planning on sleeping, dear Charles?"

  He smiled his Englishman's smile. "With my dear Lucy," he answered in an equally sweet tone. "Of course."

  She cut her eyes at him. "Come now, do you think me addlepated? Surely you didn't think I'd fall for the one bed, two people trick, did you?"