by Sara Donati
“And if you're wrong?”
Hannah's head jerked up. “I'm not. I'm not wrong.”
“Late at night, you don't sit up sometimes, thinking maybe you heard his voice?”
She stiffened.
“I thought so.”
After a long time her father said, “Manny's been waiting for you to come find him, you know. He needs to tell you as much as you need to hear it.”
He started to get up, but Hannah held out a hand to stop him. She said, “Before he died, Liam said that Paradise would be too small for me. That I couldn't be content here, after . . . everything. I thought at first it was just his bitterness talking. He was bitter, Da, and with cause. But I can't forget what he said either.”
Her father was looking at her, hard. It was his turn to be unsettled, and Hannah felt some satisfaction and some embarrassment.
“Where is it you're thinking of going?” Nathaniel asked, his voice even and steady. As if they were talking about what to have for supper.
“Nowhere,” she said, more sharply than she intended. “There is nowhere I want to go.” What she meant to say, what she could not bring herself to say, was more complicated: she belonged nowhere else. There was no place for her to go.
“And you can't quite sit still either.”
“Yes,” she said on a sigh. “That's it.”
Her father said, “There was a letter from Ethan, come just before you got home.”
“I'm not interested in Manhattan—” She began, and stopped herself when she saw by his expression that she had jumped to the wrong conclusion.
“He's got four new families willing to settle here, take up the empty farmsteads, and maybe more. All of them got some kind of trade. All of them got children. I suppose he was thinking he needed to fill up the new schoolhouse.”
“Is he sending along a teacher too?” Hannah asked, a little unnerved by this unexpected turn in the conversation.
“Not yet, though he's looking. I got the idea he could scare up old Queen Bess if we asked him to, or that Mr. Kant your mother likes so much.”
“Ah.” Hannah wrapped her arms around her knees and put down her head. “And what about a doctor? Is that what you're thinking, you should ask Ethan to find a doctor for Paradise?”
Nathaniel Bonner was not easily flustered. He looked her straight in the eye. “That's a question for you to answer, daughter. I've been wondering, to tell the truth—”
She interrupted him again. “If I still wanted to give up medicine.”
“Pretty much.” And then, after a longer pause. “You needn't worry about leaving people here without a doctor, is what I'm saying. If that's on your mind.”
Hannah gave a sharp laugh. “What I need are answers, not more questions.”
Nathaniel pushed himself up, his long legs unfolding. “I know what you need,” he said, looking down at her. The sun was at his back and she could not see his face, but Hannah had the idea that he was smiling at her. “It just ain't in my power to give it to you. But I'll say this. Moving on ain't a cure either. There's something your ma said to me a long time ago, I never have forgot it. She said, every one of us has got a few demons that we carry with us wherever we go, whether we want to or not. They can't be shook off or run away from.”
“You want me to stay in Paradise,” Hannah said.
“I'm asking you not to run off for the wrong reasons,” he said, holding out a hand to help her to her feet. Then he smiled at her, and cupped her face with his hand. “And I'm hoping you'll stay around too. Right now, though, we got to get down to the village. Your stepmother has got this supper party planned, and she'll need some help.”
Hannah walked out on a rock that leaned over the lake, balancing there as she had done so many hundreds of times, as a girl and young woman, poised for the fall.
“Will you stop by and see Manny?”
Her father's question came to her above the roar of the falls and it followed her down into the water, cold and clear and absolute.
From the door Curiosity said, “Elizabeth Middleton Bonner, you promised.”
Elizabeth started and dropped the spoon in her hand so that it clattered on the table.
“You promised that you'd come to me next time you got it in your head to bake a cake. And now look at you. You ain't got the sense God gave a gnat, I swear. Stoking the oven in this heat.”
“But this time I think I have figured it out,” Elizabeth said, too pleased with herself to take Curiosity's grumbling seriously. “I went very slowly, really I did.”
“Hmmm.” Curiosity came closer and sniffed at the batter in the bowl. “Well, I suppose we got a miracle or two due we could call in.” And she laughed her deep, rough laugh when Elizabeth smacked her on the shoulder.
“Who tattled on me?” Elizabeth asked. “I suppose it must have been Gabriel and Annie.”
Curiosity raised her eyebrows so high that they disappeared beneath her headcloth. “Ain't nobody said a word to me about you and a cake. I would have been over here long ago if they had. I come to bring a letter.”
“Let me guess, Ethan has found another ten families to settle here.”
“Not yet, though I wouldn't put it past the boy. No, this letter here, this one for Nathaniel. Address was writ in a fancy hand and that's all I know.” Curiosity studied the writing as if there were something hidden in the curlicues that would reveal itself with enough contemplation. “I ain't sunk so low as to open a letter don't got my name on it, no matter how curious I might be.” She pushed up her sleeves.
“Hand me that pan, I'ma grease it for you.” And then, in a tone that was too carefully modulated: “Daniel come talk to you yet?” Curiosity said.
Elizabeth sent her a sharp look. “I suppose I was the last to hear about this newest plan of his, as usual. He gets permission from everybody else and then comes to me.”
“I think it will do the boy some good, Elizabeth,” Curiosity said. “He's got some demons to tussle with, and it's best he do it up there on that mountain where he come into the world. Many-Doves right there to make sure he don't starve, and Bears will see to it he too busy to feel sorry for himself.”
Elizabeth stopped and pressed a hand to her eyes.
Curiosity's tone softened. “I know it hard, with him just home and all.”
The tears she had been holding back for so many days loosed themselves without warning. They rolled down Elizabeth's face in great heavy drops that spilled into the batter before she could catch them.
“Never mind,” Curiosity said. “A little salt won't hurt it none. Might just do the trick too.”
“It's from a lawyer,” Nathaniel said, looking at the letter on the kitchen table with something less than enthusiasm. He had no love of lawyers, nor of anyone associated with the legal profession, a prejudice Elizabeth had never been able to cure him of.
“It won't bite.” She meant her tone to be playful, but feared it was more impatient. Not that it would worry Nathaniel; he wasn't a man to be hurried.
Elizabeth was sitting with her feet up, directing Sally in the setting of the table while she fanned herself with a folded newspaper. There were just the three of them in the kitchen for the moment.
Nathaniel met her gaze and she gestured with her chin at the unopened letter. It was written on heavy paper, and the seal cracked open with a pop.
“Well?” Elizabeth said. “Is it from a lawyer?”
“Aye. A Mr. Prime, of Manhattan.” His eyes ran down the page in a skittering movement, his mouth pursing harder with each line scanned.
“Liam Kirby's lawyer,” he said.
“Liam Kirby?” Elizabeth echoed. Sally heard the name too, and turned toward them.
“Read it for yourself, if you don't believe me.” He held the letter out to her, and Elizabeth shook her newspaper at him.
“No need to be so cross. What does he want?”
“Well,” Nathaniel said, turning the page over and reading on. “First off, it looks like L
iam claimed Martha as his natural daughter and heir just before he died—”
Elizabeth started to interrupt, but Nathaniel's sharp look stopped her.
“Says here somebody sent him a letter writ by Liam, witnessed and all.”
“Why, that must have been Hannah,” Elizabeth said. “And she said nothing at all.”
Nathaniel hummed his agreement. “Second, it seems Liam asked that Will Spencer and I be appointed her guardians. And—”
His eyes ran more quickly over the third page of the letter. “There's an accounting of what Martha's got coming to her.”
Sally put a bowl of cucumbers down on the table with a thump. “Go on, then, before I die of wondering. What did he leave little Martha?”
“Everything he owned,” Nathaniel said, putting the letter down. “Which makes Martha a very wealthy young girl. If this Mr. Prime is to be believed.”
Over supper it was all they could talk about. Nathaniel read part of the letter aloud while the faces around the table gave him their perfect attention.
Some of Daniel's old humor came back to him for the moment. He said, “Maybe I should have joined the navy after all, if there was that kind of prize money to be got.”
“It's not all prize money,” Nathaniel said. “Mr. Prime writes that Liam inherited most of it himself. From a widow by the name of Mrs. Nora Kerr of Park Street.”
His head swung around to Hannah, who had started visibly. “Do you know that name?”
“Yes. I knew Mrs. Kerr when I was in Manhattan. She was a friend of Uncle and Aunt Spencer's. Kitty and I dined with her while we were there.”
It seemed a lifetime ago, those days in Manhattan. Hannah was struggling with the memories, though she tried not to show it. “Mr. and Mrs. Kerr took Liam in when he was first in the city.”
“Well.” Elizabeth was clearly relieved to hear such a reasonable explanation. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her hands over her belly.
“What were you worried about, Ma?” Daniel asked with a half-grin. “Did you think this Mrs. Kerr was some loose woman who left him all her money out of gratitude for his attentions?”
“You are crude, Daniel,” she said in a conversational tone. Nathaniel saw that she wanted to correct her son's poor manners, but was too pleased to see some of his old spirit to discourage him. If he wanted to get up on the table and dance a jig she would have said nothing at all to ruin the moment. The old Daniel, the one they were still waiting for, had been joyful in spirit and able to share that with everyone around him.
“Have you spoken to Martha yet?” Lily asked.
“After supper,” Nathaniel said.
“I wonder what the girl will think, to hear such news.” Simon asked the question of no one in particular. “To know herself wealthy in one stroke.”
“Relieved,” said Lily. “Thankful.”
“Frightened,” said Daniel. He looked at the faces around him. “My guess is, she'll be worried about Jemima coming back to lay a claim.”
Elizabeth's face flooded with color and then drained again.
Daniel said, “I'm sorry, Ma, but you know it's true. If Jemima got wind of this—” He looked toward the letter. “All that money and land, she'd be back here in a blink.”
“But would she have a claim on it?” Elizabeth looked at the letter as if it might answer her question. And then: “I fear she might. Martha is her daughter, and she is not yet of a legal age.” She put both hands on her belly, as she always did when something frightened her, as if to give the child growing there comfort she could not spare herself.
Daniel was too wound up in the idea of Jemima to notice the distress he was causing his mother, but Lily was not. She jumped in before Nathaniel could.
“I don't think we need worry about that,” she said firmly, sending her brother a hard look. “I would wager that Jemima is as far away from here as the money she took from—from that preacher will allow her to go. How she could possibly hear about what happened to Liam, or this bequest—I can't imagine it.”
Nathaniel put down his fork. “I expect you're right, Lily. But it's probably best if we don't advertise the news anyway. It's enough for Martha to know, and Curiosity.”
“And the lawyers in Manhattan,” said Daniel.
“Aye, well,” Nathaniel said. “I suppose I'll have to deal with them, like it or not. I'm just thankful Will Spencer is in the city so I won't have to go down there myself.”
Simon had been quiet through this exchange, but there was something bothering him. Elizabeth saw it too. She said, “Simon, tell me what you are thinking.”
Nathaniel had a good deal of respect for Simon Ballentyne, and he had come to like him. There were times, though, when he was too quick to speak his mind. In that way he and Lily were alike, and Nathaniel worried occasionally that she had chosen the man because he challenged her in ways few men could. A marriage based on that particular kind of spark alone could go cold, and it worried him.
Lily put her hand on Simon's arm and made a low, warning sound, but he only covered it with his own and went on to answer the question put to him.
“Perhaps the girl would want her mother to come back if she had the choice. Jemima may be mean tempered and cruel hearted, but it would take more than that to cut the tie that binds mother to daughter. And I'm wondering if she'd hesitate to say what she truly wants for fear of offending the people who have been kind to her.”
For one strange moment, Nathaniel had the odd idea that his former mother-in-law's spirit was in the room, and that she had used Simon's mouth to speak her mind from the grave. Falling-Day would have said exactly the same thing, and she would have been just as right.
Elizabeth was looking as surprised as Nathaniel felt, but there was no displeasure in her expression. She said, “Why, Simon, what a philosopher you promise to be.”
“I suppose that's why you married him, sister,” Daniel said dryly. “His debating skills.”
Lily was still enough of a newlywed to blush, but she lifted her chin and looked her brother directly in the eye. “That's part of it, aye. I hope one day you'll do as well for yourself when you go looking for a bride.”
Daniel's jaw clenched so hard that the muscles there rolled and twitched. His eyes were tear bright and hard, and in them Nathaniel saw that the boy had given up on any kind of normal future for himself.
Across the table he met Elizabeth's eye.
You see? Her expression spoke to him clearly. You see now how it is with him?
He was starting to see it, yes. Nathaniel looked at his middle son, and understood that he had come home from one war to fight another.
Author's Note
One of the things I like best about this kind of storytelling is the opportunity to lure unsuspecting readers into historical waters, most especially when the times and places in question are little known. American history, as it is taught in the schools today, pays scant attention to the War of 1812. Most students are shepherded from the Revolution directly to the Civil War, and more's the pity, to have such important and exciting stories fade away into nothingness.
All that is an introduction to a confession: in pursuit of a good story, I have fiddled with the facts. The war, as it happened in the summer of 1813 in French Canada and New York State, looked a lot like the story you'll read here, but not exactly like it. As the narrative required, I nudged dates (but just a little); I took the two major events of the summer of 1813 in the region in question and played havoc. Among other things I changed the names of the ships, regiments, and persons involved. Sometimes I created battalions out of whole cloth. I did this to free myself from the need to be fair to individuals and the historical record. So, there's no need to contact me to tell me what I got wrong; I know (for example) that the King's Rangers never existed in this time and place, because they are my invention.
Occasionally you will find real historical personages popping in and out of the story. Who is real and who isn't is a question I'm not go
ing to answer here. If I've done my job well and you're curious enough, you will pursue that question on your own. There are a multitude of excellent military historians who have written about the period.
As ever, I am thankful to the many people who answered my innumerable questions on matters from gunpowder to the rigging of sails. I am especially thankful to Wendy McCurdy, Nita Taublib, and Irwyn Applebaum at Bantam; to my friend and agent Jill Grinberg; to my always and forevers, Bill and Beth.
Also by Sara Donati
INTO THE WILDERNESS
DAWN ON A DISTANT SHORE
LAKE IN THE CLOUDS
FIRE ALONG THE SKY
A Bantam Book / September 2004
Published by Bantam Dell
a division of
Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2004 by Sara Donati
Endpaper maps by Laura Hartman Maestro
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Donati, Sara, 1956–
Fire along the sky / Sara Donati.
p. cm.
1. United States—History—War of 1812—Fiction. 2. Scottish Americans—Fiction. 3. Women immigrants—Fiction. I. Title.