Blankets were stacked, along with all the warm clothing that could be spared. Ethan insisted that his new mantle be added to the pile, and the woolen stockings that Curiosity had made for him to take on his journey. Curiosity emptied her stores of everything sweet, sugars white and brown and maple, hard candy and gingerbread, dried apples and pears and cherries. Word had spread through the village and neighbors came with loaves of bread and dried meat and crocks of honey.
Sometime, very late, Curiosity took the little girls off to bed in spite of their protests. Gabriel disappeared and would not show himself until Curiosity gave up the idea of doing the same for him. Lily was glad to have the boy nearby; of all the family, Gabriel's pleasure at her sudden homecoming was unconditional, without unspoken questions or doubts.
Lily, working beside her mother, said very little. She did not trust her own voice; tears were a luxury that would have to wait until the work was done and the travelers were gone north.
Simon was going. Of course. She hadn't thought of it, and now there was nothing she could do to change that or even to delay it until they could speak to her parents of the arrangements between them. Not that there was any hurry, now. She felt faint at times, thinking of the things she would have to say, if only to her mother.
She would say them because she understood that to keep this to herself would build a wall that would always stand between them. She was frightened and ashamed to reveal the secrets she had kept, but they must be said.
For the first time since they came across Sawatis, Lily allowed herself to think of Nicholas Wilde and wondered what news there was; if he was even alive. Once or twice she felt Curiosity's sharp gaze on her, brimming with questions and worry. Lily forced herself to smile, and pinched her cheeks to give herself color, and turned her mind back to the work at hand.
In spite of everything she was thankful to be here, where she could reach out and touch her mother and talk to her about simple things. When he passed her Gabriel always stopped to wrap his arms around her waist and Lily swayed into his wiry embrace. Once he said, “Will Simon come back, sister?”
Before Lily could think how to answer, her mother spoke in her calm, even way. “I would suppose not,” she said. “His home is in Montreal.”
Jennet, who was near enough to hear this, cast Lily a questioning glance. Lily fixed her eyes on the chopping board and the knife, and refused to speak.
It was unfair to Simon, yes. She should speak up now and say: he will come back, because I have asked him to. He will come back, because there is unfinished business between us. But Lily needed time to think. Coward, she whispered to herself. Coward.
Yet another knock at the kitchen door, and then standing there in the firelight reflected off copper and brass, Nicholas Wilde. He was carrying two stout brown jugs, and he looked a hundred years old.
Next to Lily her mother stopped what she was doing, as did Curiosity and Many-Doves and Jennet and Hannah. No doubt the mice in the walls had gone still too.
He was not dead, nor was he in prison; here was proof, but of what? His innocence, his duplicity, his poor judgment, his good luck. Lily realized two things: he was looking at her in a way that asked certain questions, and their connection was no secret to anyone in this room. How that had come to pass, she could only guess; she would rather cut out her tongue than ask, just now.
“I've brought cider,” he said, his voice low and familiar and vaguely trembling. “I hope it might be some help.” And he touched his brow and backed out of the kitchen, never quite there to start with. Before the door closed he caught Lily's eye directly and without apology.
“Welcome home,” he said, and closed the door.
Hannah said, “You never got my letter about the hearing, did you? Your paths must have crossed, yours and the messenger.”
“No,” Lily said with a forced smile. “I didn't get it. But there's no time for village gossip just now.”
What a poor liar she was, and they all saw it on her face. But they were good women and none of them meant to shame her, and so they turned back to their work.
Lily felt her mother's gaze on her, warm and concerned and disappointed, in her mild way. If she looked up she would see the same thing in Curiosity's face. Lily would have preferred anger and shouted insults to disappointment. She blinked the tears from her eyes and made careful examination of an imaginary nick on her paring knife.
It was midnight before the women were finished, and then they sat, wrung dry and giddy with exhaustion, around the hearth.
“Where are the men?” said Jennet, as if she had just remembered that such creatures existed in the world.
“In the parlor,” said Sally.
Curiosity grunted. “No doubt with their dirty feet up on the good cushions.”
In his mother's lap Gabriel yawned. “They sent me away.” Too tired to show them the full measure of his resentment.
Elizabeth's long neck arched as she put her head back and blew a sigh at the rafters. “I cannot rouse myself to go ask questions, though I should.”
Many-Doves said, “Let them think they can plan what will come, if it comforts them.”
Jennet stretched a little and then looked around the circle. “I'm sorry to be so selfish,” she said, two spots of new color on her cheekbones. “But I canna wait any longer. What word do you bring from your brother Luke?”
Hannah saw Lily start up out of a near sleep, and blink in surprise. “Oh, my,” she said. “I meant to give it to you right away. I did promise him.” To Gabriel she said, “Would you get the parcel I left in the front hall?”
Suddenly they were all awake, roused by the promise of one of Luke's packages. When the boy came again, Jennet touched the bulky parcel and closed her eyes.
“It ain't going to open itself,” Curiosity said, a little impatiently. “Go on, girl. We could use something to smile about just now.”
There were two letters, first of all. One Jennet handed to Elizabeth and the other she put carefully aside. Then a lumpy object wrapped in paper proved to be two brightly painted tops; those went to Elizabeth too, though Gabriel followed them with his eyes. Then came beautifully embroidered handkerchiefs, a small muslin bag of oddly smooth nuts, a box of nutmegs and curls of cinnamon bark, a large tin of cocoa that brought exclamations from Gabriel, a length of silk in a deep bright crimson and one of figured damask in blue-green, packets of tea, and at the bottom of the box, two soft packages wrapped in many layers of silk paper. Jennet took the first one in her lap.
“Oh, my,” said Sally as the paper fell away. A length of lace spilled over Jennet's lap to the floor.
“Lace,” said Curiosity, with a crackling satisfaction. “Fit for a bride.”
“Valenciennes lace,” added Elizabeth, catching one end in careful fingers to examine it more closely. “What workmanship, and look at the pattern. I have never seen the like.”
“The color suits your complexion just right,” Curiosity said. “That's a thoughtful man you got yourself, Jennet.”
“What's in the next one?” Sally asked.
“Some silk, maybe,” Curiosity said, as excited as a bride herself.
They all leaned forward as the paper was unwound and another length of lace came to light.
“It's not for me,” said Jennet, reading a piece of paper that had fallen into her lap. “It's for Lily. ‘A wedding gift,' it says.”
In the silence that followed they heard the men's voices in the hall. Lily, who had gone very pale, looked no one in the face. She said, “It is complicated.”
“I suppose it must be,” said Curiosity. “But we ain't slow, child. You tell us, and we'll ask questions when we get confused. Or maybe we should call in Simon. He's right good at putting things in words, I'll bet he can explain it.”
Gabriel, invigorated by the news, stood up as the hall door opened. “Da,” he called with all the energy of a boy bent on bringing down the roof. “Our Lily's getting married!”
In the doorway
Nathaniel pulled up short, and then came into the kitchen slowly. Behind him were Runs-from-Bears and Ethan.
Lily touched the lace in her lap: a pattern of swirled petals and delicate leaves in a pale rose color. When she looked up she saw her father's face and her mother's, both of them slack with weariness and worry and yet watchful, as if a strange creature had walked into the room and they were not sure, quite yet, what to make of it.
Then Simon was there too, his expression so sober. Lily wanted him to smile, to make light of it all. To take away this question that hung in the air, almost visible: more than she could bear, now.
He said, “It is a matter that should wait, I think, until I come back from Nut Island.”
“From Montreal,” said Jennet. “When you come back from Montreal.”
All eyes turned to Jennet. Lily was so thankful to her cousin that she might have wept.
Jennet said, “It has been months since I've seen Luke. I would like to go to Montreal, just for a short visit. Since you are going that way anyway, Simon Ballentyne, you'll not refuse me, will you?”
Chapter 25
Luke Scott Bonner, Director
Forbes & Sons
Rue Bonsecours
Montreal
Dearest,
If you are the wise and thoughtful man I believe you to be, you will not strike out at the messenger who brings you this letter. Simon Ballentyne has done only as I compelled him to do. If he has taken my advice, you are reading this alone, and he will absent himself until you have had time to remember that if you must be angry, it should be at me, and me alone.
I am in Canada, with your sister Hannah. We are well; we have adequate shelter and food and are in no danger of our lives or persons. We are, as you will have guessed, on the Île aux Noix, or Nut Island. I will use the English, as the French name is far too exotic for such a rough jumble of blockhouses and barracks and parade grounds and boat works.
Sawatis and Runs-from-Bears are here, just returned from their short visit with you. Thus you know what brought us here, so let me give you the most important news straightaway: your brother and cousin are alive, if in some danger. It is for them we came, but it is only today that we are assured of the possibility of caring for them.
After three days of waiting, your sister was finally admitted to an audience with the garrison commander, a Colonel Caudebec, originally of Québec, a man unknown to Simon and thus I would guess to you as well. The colonel was at first affronted by your sister's temerity and then too harried to resist her persistent logic; he has granted us permission to come inside the garrison from sunrise to sunset every day, if we restrict ourselves to the stockade.
There are only two surgeons here, and they see to the needs of hundreds of the soldiers and sailors and militiamen who come through daily. And had they time, I doubt they would find their way into the stockade for fear of the smallpox, which has taken many lives in the past weeks.
Now I ask you to remember that I was vaccinated against the smallpox at the same time you were, by Hakim Ibrahim. Likewise are the rest of your family safe, for your sister saw to their vaccinations long ago, the summer that she interned at the Kine-Pox Institute in Manhattan.
Here is what we know thus far of the conditions in the stockade after Hannah's first brief visit there today:
There are some fifty prisoners in a room designed for thirty, at the most. A month ago there were still more of them, but illness has reduced their number by a full third. Many have dysentery. Others have wounds that are poorly healed and require surgery, and perhaps amputation. They exist on a diet of poor gruel and bread. The food we brought with us, which seemed so much, is already gone. Hannah's medicines will last a little longer.
Blue-Jay has lost two toes to frostbite and may lose more. He took a bullet to his right leg, which was dug out for him by one of his compatriots. What infection resulted is mostly healed. Like many of the prisoners he has had typhoid, but unlike the majority of those unfortunates, he has survived and is recovering. He is thin, but in relative good health.
News of Daniel is more complex. His injuries are as follows: he took a bullet in his left side. Hannah bids me tell you that if the bullet had done irreparable harm, he would not have survived this long. Whether or not she will have to remove it surgically remains to be seen.
All the other injuries follow from the fact that he was in a tree when he was shot, and fell from a considerable height. He suffered a blow to his left shoulder and arm, and a number of ribs were cracked or broken.
Somehow he was spared typhoid, which would most certainly have killed him in his diminished condition.
Hannah had only a few minutes with him today, but she bids me assure you (and by extension, your parents) that with proper care, medicines, and food, he will recover. We are here to see that he gets all those things, and more.
The best indication of Daniel's condition I can send you is this: when Hannah came to him he was asleep, but woke and seeing her asked if she had brought any maple sugar from the first tapping. His second question was about his sister Lily, and his third, about his mother. Then he fell asleep again with maple sugar on his tongue.
You may not believe me, but I did not plan this turn of events. I truly meant to come straight to you, and to stay as long as you would allow me. But given the conditions here, what choice is there left? I could not, I simply could not leave Hannah here alone while I went on to feather beds and hot baths and amusements in Montreal.
You will argue, I can hear you across the miles, that she is not alone. But while these good men look out for our safety, they cannot go into the stockade to care for those whose need is far greater.
For what assurance it might provide, let me tell you of our lodgings in the followers' camp. We have paid for the privilege of putting down our pallets in a hut that belongs to an Abenaki woman who does laundry for some of the officers. In exchange for tobacco and coin she has given us much information and advice and a place at her smoky fire. It is of course the coarsest of housing, but we are only there while Sawatis builds a shack for our use, and in any case, we are there only to sleep.
You will want to come here, to take me away. I ask you to reconsider. If you must come, bring food and warm blankets and money to bribe the soldiers who guard the stockade, on whose goodwill and whim we must depend. Bring your support, your understanding, your patience. If you cannot, please stay away, but send us Simon with the things we need, and I will write to you as often as time permits.
Of course we must count on you to relay this information to your father and stepmother. It is your decision whether or not you will pass on all the details. And yet I must remind you that your stepmother is a strong woman and will not thank you for keeping the whole truth from her.
Finally, you should know that neither of us have ever used your name, nor shall we. The commander does not know of our connection to you, to Carryck, to Daniel, or to any family in New-York State. Here I am known as the Widow Huntar.
I will come to you, I promise, as soon as I can do so in good conscience.
Your loving bride,
Jennet
6th day of March, 1813
Chapter 26
When they had been on the island for not quite a fortnight, the thaw came upon them and forced a concession from Jennet, who had only scoffed at the stories: Canadian mud was not just water and earth, but a force unto itself, and a bloody-minded one, at that.
It all happened very suddenly. One night it snowed, the next day snow turned to rain, and within hours the island, overpopulated with pigs and dogs, mules and horses and men, had been churned into a great sticky pudding that sucked boots from feet and brought sleighs to a standstill. There were still frosts at night, and deep ones, but every day the weather was a little warmer, and the mud deeper.
“Sugaring days come around late this year,” one of the prisoners told her in the same wistful tone he spoke about his wife and children. “But the sap's running now, I can smell
it in the air.”
So many of the prisoners were farmers and backwoodsmen; they talked very little about the war, but never tired of talking of the weather. Most of all they seemed to get pleasure in arguing: about the best way to tap a sugar maple or neuter new lambs or set a trap for a raccoon that wouldn't stay out of the corn. The muddy floor of the stockade was easier to forget, Jennet realized, when they set their minds on blackfly in July or harvesting flax.
At night when she and Hannah went back to their little shack, they found dried mud in their belly buttons and the creases behind their knees and under their arms. The hems of their dresses and stockings were caked with it; there was mud in their hair and eyebrows and in the baskets they used to carry supplies into the stockade. The only respite from the mud was the ice-clogged, swollen river, crowded with every vessel the British navy could commandeer.
Within days Jennet had forgotten completely what it meant to be warm and dry and clean. It was only the work that distracted her from chilblains and blood blisters and the growling of her own stomach. There was little food, or time to eat it; certainly she would waste no time on vanity.
Except that today she must rouse herself to notice such things and more. Shivering still from her sponge bath, Jennet took a gown from her traveling box. It should have been suitable for her meeting with Colonel Caudebec, except that the damp had found it first and the damask was sprinkled liberally with mold, and wrinkled beyond repair. Even to her desensitized nose it stank.