by Sara Donati
“None,” said Luke. “None at all.”
From the portholes they could see everything that was happening on the dock: the officers swarming, the shouting, the guards running back and forth. Blue-Jay and Daniel stood near each other in the line of prisoners, their faces turned toward the gates.
“Did he say Jim Booke?” asked Mr. Whistler of Tim Munro, a fisherman out of Burlington who wore the uniform of a first lieutenant. “Did I hear him right, Jim Booke?”
“You did.”
“Damn me,” murmured Mr. Whistler in reverential tones. “But that Bonner has got balls the size of muskmelons. To dress Jim Booke up like a redcoat and parade him in front of the whole garrison.”
“And money like Croesus, to outfit us all and the ship, and pay us, every man jack of us, a whole month's pay for a few days' work. To tell you the truth, I would have done it for nothing, if he asked me. Anything to bloody the nose of a lobsterback.”
With one part of her mind Hannah heard all this, but the rest of her, the biggest part of her, could not look away from the scene in front of the garrison. She should turn away now and see to her patients, talk to her aunt, make sure that all was ready for the men. But she could not make herself move, and thought she never could, until she knew Jennet to be safe. If she looked hard enough, she told herself, if she concentrated, she could make Jennet appear.
“What the hell is going on down there?” asked Mr. Whistler. “Looks like trouble.”
It was trouble, of the worst kind. Another one of Luke's men came in to share the news, a sailmaker out of Plattsburgh who could hardly speak for agitation.
“Slow down, Hitchens,” said Munro. “Are you telling us the commander's murdered and all the paymasters with him?”
“One of the paymasters ain't dead yet, but aye, that's the gist of it. And somebody's took two months' pay for a thousand men, sailors and shipbuilders and common soldiers—”
“Did you hear anything about Jennet Huntar? Did you hear that name at all?”
Hitchens sucked in his lower lip and pushed it out again. “Never heard that name mentioned, no.”
“And the priest?” Hannah asked, insistent. “Have you heard them talk about the priest?”
He was not a quick-witted man, this Hitchens, but he was pleased to be able to give a better answer. “Aye, there was talk of a priest, he's gone missing, too, and feared murdered.”
Hannah lost her balance and reached out to catch herself, stumbled and almost fell but for Mr. Whistler, who caught her arm.
“Steady now,” he said. “Steady. Look, they're sending the boys on board. It's got nothing to do with us, whatever happened to their blood money, and you can't regret the loss of that damn Caudebec, can you? We'll be off, wait and see, every last one of us, before the hour is out. Mrs. Huntar will be hiding nearby, never fear.”
Hannah turned her head and saw that Many-Doves, who said nothing, who saw everything, understood what Hannah had not—could not—put into words.
The priest was gone, and Jennet with him.
Luke's plan was an elegant one, so simple that it could follow its course without him. The ship would weigh anchor some miles downriver, where two dozen Kahnyen'kehàka waited with canoes and rafts to ferry the prisoners to shore. The same men would serve as guides, and with their help the prisoners would disappear into the woods and eventually over the border. The men too sick to travel would be taken to a hunting camp a few miles inland where they would be hidden and looked after until they were well.
Many-Doves named the women who would be there to look after the injured men. They were all known to Hannah, women she could trust with the men she had fought to save. After so many weeks of worry for strangers, she was free of them.
Hannah's brother and cousin would be back in New-York before midnight, and home again in a few days' time. The ship would not be missed, because it had never belonged to the Royal Navy to begin with. Stripped of its purloined colors and standards it would be scuttled. The truth wouldn't be known until the real transport came in a week's time, and by then there would be no trace of the Fair Winds, the men who had sailed her, or the prisoners.
All of whom were belowdecks. Their manacles had been struck off before the garrison was out of sight, and by the time they left this ship they would be new men, well clothed, with weapons and ammunition, food and water, everything they needed to make their way back home. She need not worry for them anymore.
Daniel sat next to Hannah while Booke and Munro explained all of this, a dozen times and a dozen more, and still she found it hard to make sense of anything.
Blue-Jay was on the other side of the small cabin, a prisoner again, this time to his mother's ministrations. He endured the lecture she poured over his head like water from a breached dam while he ate the things she pressed on him, but there was no joy in him at this reunion.
They should be rejoicing, all of them, but they could not.
“You must have faith in Luke,” Daniel said to himself as much as to her.
“Read it to me again,” she said.
Daniel wiped the sweat from his brow. His hand trembled, and Hannah noted with a strange and almost cold detachment that he was in terrible pain, in spite of the fact that his arm was back in its sling. On the table before them was a dose of laudanum, as yet untouched.
“Please,” she said.
He looked at the letter in his lap. It had been written on a cover torn from a Bible, written in haste with a piece of charcoal, many of the words smeared beyond recognition. Delivered to them by a breathless boy just moments before the ship weighed anchor, Hannah had read it a hundred times already but must hear it again.
Daniel's voice came rough as he did what his sister asked of him.
My beloved,
The man you know as Father O'Neill has proof in his possession that would, first, cause my brother the Earl to forfeit all he is and owns to the King, and second, send us all to the gallows as American spies. If you follow me or have me followed, if you make any attempt to interfere or rescue me, O'Neill will pass the letters he has to those who can do my family and yours the most harm.
Jennet Scott Huntar of Carryck
Signed by my own hand the month of July in the year of our Lord 1813.
Mon cher, forgive me my foolishness.
Below those lines, Luke had written:
I will bring her home to Lake in the Clouds before the summer is done.
“But why the cards?” Daniel asked aloud, as he had asked before. He bent his head over the table to study them.
The seven of swords. The queen of swords.
“Why these cards?” he murmured again. “Why did she leave these particular cards?”
His eyes were clouded with worry, and his hands shook. But for once Hannah had no comfort to offer this younger brother, no wise or hopeful words, nothing but her own despair.
Chapter 41
Early August 1813, Paradise
“I still don't understand it,” Annie said to Gabriel. “I wasn't gone all that long. How come you let so much happen without me?”
When Elizabeth came out of the trading post she found the children sitting on the steps. They had been in the lake, as had every child in the village; it was so hot that they would live in the water, every one of them, if it weren't for the fact that they got hungry now and then. Elizabeth resolved, right then, to go up to Lake in the Clouds at the first opportunity, so she could do the same in privacy.
Gabriel was scuffing the dirt with his bare heel, scowling so hard that his lower lip turned inside out. “I told them not to do it. I told them not to get married until you all got back, but Lily wouldn't listen to me.”
“Maybe they could get married again,” Annie suggested. “Don't you think that would be nice? Now that Daniel and Blue-Jay are back, and Hannah, and my folks? They could pretend it was the first time, and have the party all over again. And Blue-Jay and Teres could get married again too, and wouldn't that be a fine party?”<
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“I think that's the stupidest idea I ever heard,” Gabriel said, disgusted. “It wasn't no fun the first time, except for maybe the cake Curiosity made. It had two dozen eggs in it, and two pounds of butter, and a whole cone of sugar. But it sure wasn't good enough to go through that all over again. All that kissing and crying.” He gave a mock shiver that sent the water flying from his hair.
“Well, I'm sorry I missed it,” Annie said stubbornly. “I'm sorry I wasn't here to see Curiosity run that preacher off too.”
That was enough of eavesdropping; Elizabeth had no wish to hear any story that involved the Reverend Stiles, not ever again. She coughed to alert them to her presence, which made Gabriel jump into the air. He scrambled away from the steps, his face contorted with surprise and guilt.
“Sorry, Ma,” he said. “Sorry. I didn't mean it, truly I didn't. It was an awful nice wedding, really it was.” He straightened his back like the soldier he wanted to be and almost barked the next sentence, one he had learned by rote. “I'm mighty happy for Lily and Simon, I sure am.”
“There is no need to tell falsehoods,” Elizabeth said as she came down the stairs. “You are entitled to your opinion, though I do wish you really were happy for your sister. She is very content, you know.”
Elizabeth stopped in front of the children as Gabriel ducked his head in sorrow and—Elizabeth had no delusions about it—disagreement. Time and Simon would have to win the boy over, because she was certainly having no success with him. He was in mourning for the sister who was lost to him, and he could see it no other way.
She said, “There are parcels to carry home. I'm going to make a cake.”
Gabriel's expression was so comic that Elizabeth could hardly be offended.
“You needn't look so alarmed. It might not be as good as the one Curiosity made for the wedding party, but I trust it will be edible.”
“Why would you want to make a cake in this heat?” Annie asked, as ever the politic one of the two.
“Why, for your brother and his new wife,” Elizabeth said. “We couldn't be there when Blue-Jay married, but we can certainly do our best to welcome his bride to Paradise.”
Annie looked away quickly, too polite and kind to say what she was thinking, though Elizabeth could read it very clearly from the way her mouth jerked.
“There is no need to worry,” Elizabeth said with all the dignity she could muster. “I have studied the recipe very closely, and this time I believe I will be successful.”
“I better come along and help,” Gabriel said solemnly. “There might be some mistakes and you'll need help cleaning up.”
“You know, you could just give up on baking, Auntie.” Annie's expression was all solicitous concern. “You don't have to be good at everything.”
Did the child realize that she was mimicking Elizabeth herself? She swallowed her smile and allowed that it was true that her cakes often went wrong, but she wasn't ready to concede defeat quite yet. Baking was far more challenging than chemistry, where measurements could be depended upon and any result, no matter how unexpected, was interesting and worthwhile.
“I heard that you shouldn't be out walking in the sun,” Gabriel said, when they had come about half the way. “Da said so.”
Elizabeth pulled up short in surprise. It was true that Nathaniel's hovering over her had increased in proportion to the expansion of her waist. At times he was so excessively considerate that she could hardly contain her irritation. Beyond that, he wasn't above issuing commands, something he would never dare to do in other circumstances. An unborn child was a tyrant, and it made Nathaniel into one too.
All that had eased a little since the homecoming. They were all of them so preoccupied with Daniel's health that her own was forgotten, at least temporarily.
She was just about to ask Gabriel who exactly had decided that moderate exercise and sunlight were detrimental when she realized that they stood at that spot on the path where the doctor's place was visible between the trees.
Annie, who could be more direct than Gabriel when she really wanted something, did not bother with diversions. “Can we stop and see Curiosity? I'll bet she's got something cool to drink.”
“You just want to see Martha and Callie,” Gabriel said, grumbling a little that his cousin had not gone along with what he had counted as a very fine distraction.
“Never mind, I see your plan,” Elizabeth said. “You two are hoping that Curiosity will talk me out of baking this cake. Oh, ye of little faith.”
“No,” Annie said. “Or not just that.” She blushed her apology. “I'm sure you'll make a very good cake, Auntie. It's just that there's a post rider come and he's standing right there talking to Curiosity—and maybe there's a letter for us.”
Elizabeth's heart lurched into a faster rhythm, and for a moment she lost the ability to put a sentence together out of simple fear.
“Maybe there's word of Jennet and Luke,” Gabriel said, hopping in place.
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth said, trying to control the tremble in her own voice. And then she gave in to the inevitable. “Go and see, then.”
Gabriel dashed off before the words had completely left her mouth, but Annie, sweet Annie, came closer and touched Elizabeth's hand.
“Are you coming, Aunt?”
“No,” Elizabeth said. “You go ahead. I'll continue on my way home, or your uncle will come looking for me.”
In the shade of a stand of beech trees Elizabeth stopped and lowered herself onto a stump. To catch her breath. To order her thoughts.
More than Daniel's health, more than Hannah's state of mind, Elizabeth was worried about Jennet and Luke, and so was Nathaniel. They often talked half the night, trying to work out from the little bit of information they had what might have happened. Nathaniel found the letter Luke had written so many months ago, and read the parts about the priest aloud.
“I should have paid more attention,” he said, mostly to himself.
Elizabeth didn't correct him, because it would do no good. And because he was right. They should have paid more attention, and insisted that Jennet put herself out of harm's way. But they had been thinking of Daniel's welfare, of Hannah and Blue-Jay, and they had been selfish.
Just a few days after the wanderers had returned home, a special messenger had arrived, one of the men whom Luke depended on to move back and forth across the border without detection. He brought a single item: a broadsheet folded into quarters. Elizabeth had read it so many times that she could almost recite it word for word, but in the course of the day she felt the need to see the ink on the page, as she did now. She took it out of her basket and read it again.
Substantial Reward!!!
For information leading to the apprehension of the liar, murderer, thief, and abductor of women calling himself Father Adam O'Neill.
This man has impersonated a Roman Catholic priest for more than a year, insinuating himself into military camps and garrisons from the Great Lakes to the Sorel. Once he had gained the confidence of the officers, it was his habit to rob the paymasters and disappear.
On June 25 the imposter Father O'Neill murdered Colonel Marcel Caudebec and three other officers in the garrison at Île aux Noix before disappearing with almost five thousand pounds. At the same time he abducted a young widow as a hostage.
The lady is by name Mrs. Jennet Huntar, originally of Scotland. She is twenty-nine years old, short of stature and slender, with blond hair in curls, cropped short. Her eyes are blue, and she has a small red scar in the shape of a star on her left palm. Her life is in danger while she is in this man's power.
The criminal known as O'Neill is a man a full six feet tall, strong of build, about fifty years old. He wears his black hair long to cover the fact that his right earlobe has been severed. Nothing is known as yet of his real name, his place of origin, or his destination, except that he meant to go south when he left Canada, probably by ship.
For any reliable information on this criminal the subscriber
will pay generously, in proportion to the usefulness of the report.
Luke Scott, Forbes & Son,
Rue Bonsecours, Montreal
The text was repeated in French, and in the margin Luke had written a few short sentences. He was putting an advertisement with similar wording in every newspaper from Halifax to Saint Domingue. What he didn't write, what he didn't need to say, was that his search had been less than fruitful in its first days.
“Ma,” came Daniel's voice from just behind her. Elizabeth, lost in her thoughts of Luke and Jennet and the man called O'Neill, jumped a foot into the air. She hid the broadsheet in the folds of her skirt even as she scolded herself for such foolishness.
Daniel put his hand on her shoulder and held it there for a moment.
“I've been calling your name, didn't you hear me?” He settled down next to her on the log and stretched out his legs, strong and lean and burned brown by the sun.
“Lost in my thoughts,” Elizabeth said, patting him on the knee. He was wearing a hunting shirt, breechclout, and summer moccasins and he carried only a knife on his belt and no other weapon, not even a rifle. Because he could make no use of one, though he spent hours every day trying to relearn the things he had been doing without reflection since he was a boy.
In spite of all that, and even with an arm in a sling, her firstborn son looked to her to be a perfectly made human being. He was too thin, but that would soon be remedied. His color was much better already.
Elizabeth touched the eagle feather that hung from the cord that bound his hair. He caught her hand and held it away from himself.
“Ma.”
“Yes, I'm sorry.”
Something else that had changed: the son who had once loved to have his scalp rubbed, who had climbed into his mother's lap when he was far too big for such things, all traces of that boy were gone. Daniel disliked being touched, as he disliked being indoors or in any confined space, as he disliked sleeping in a bed. He slept outdoors, on a pallet he put down in a different place every night.