Dawn on a Distant Shore
Page 30
"I can hardly believe it is almost a year ago since I saw them last," said Elizabeth. "To think that I might have forgot my own first wedding anniversary--" And her voice cracked as she stopped herself.
Curiosity's eyes narrowed. "Don't you lose hope, now. No reason to believe that you won't see Nathaniel before your anniversary come around. And this time there won't be Richard Todd interfering."
"True enough. But there is the small matter of George Somerville."
With a flick of her fingers, Curiosity dismissed the lieutenant governor. Elizabeth hoped it would be so simple.
General Schuyler's study smelled of old paper and strong ink, tobacco and ashes in the cold hearth. Hannah's breath hung milky in the air, but it was quiet here and there was a deep chair by a window that looked toward the river. She stood there a moment to watch the last of the afternoon sunshine spark rainbows from fingers of ice that hung from the eaves. One crackled suddenly and fell to the softening snow.
A man rode up on a bay gelding and stopped at the gate. Another visitor, this one dressed in a greatcoat, striped breeches, and a slouch hat with a drooping turkey feather. So many callers. At Lake in the Clouds they could go a month without a visitor.
Voices on the stairs; the general was coming this way. Hannah cast a regretful glance over the worn leather volumes that lined the bookshelves, and slipped out into the hall.
Wherever she might go there would be grown-ups talking about their journey. The children she had played with in the afternoon were gone now, away home with their parents. She wondered if they all lived in houses like this, filled with crystal and silver and wood polished until you could see your face in it. Every window was glass, every dish was porcelain, and beeswax candles burned in sconces of silver and brass. No one here wore buckskin and the only linsey-woolsey to be seen was on the backs of the sta2oys. The grown-ups were kind enough and more than generous with what they had, but this was a strange silken world and it made Hannah uncomfortable in her skin.
Redskin, one of the older boys had called her during the game of snow-snake; pimple-faced, he bared his buck teeth when he smiled. He had waited until Runs-from-Bears was out of earshot to do it. Dirty redskin, and then he yanked hard on her plaits.
He was big and clumsy and she tripped him without a moment's hesitation and left him bloody-nosed in the snow. Then Hannah ran back to the game, showing them all what a red-skinned girl could do, sending the wooden snake slithering so far on the ice track that they lost sight of it and the boys gave up, muttering among themselves.
There was an unlit stairway at the back of the hall for the servants' use. Hannah found her way there and sat, her knees up under her chin, listening to the house. In the kitchen, maids argued in Dutch until the housekeeper sent them off to set the table. Upstairs a baby wailed and then was quieted. In the front hall the overseer, a huge barrel of a man with an old wig that kept slipping off his head, was talking to the visitor. From behind the closed door of the sitting room came the regular rise and fall of women's voices: Aunt Merriweather, as steady as the tide; Elizabeth's gentle voice in counterpoint. Hannah wished suddenly to be with Elizabeth, who understood this strange place. She had given up a life like this to come to them on Hidden Wolf.
"May I join you?"
Hannah was startled out of her daydream. Will Spencer stood before her at the foot of the stairs. Everything about him shone in the dimness: brass buttons and silver buckles, gleaming white linen at his neck, even the thinning pale hair. He was middle sized, slight of build. Hannah had the urge to take one of his hands and examine it, to see if it was as soft as it looked. His only calluses came from holding a quill, his only scars were drawn in ink.
She pressed over to one side to make room for him.
"Very clever of you to find a peaceful spot. They are few and hard to come by in this household."
"Is this your private hiding place?" Hannah asked.
"Certainly not. There's room enough for both of us." He flipped up his coattails neatly before sitting, took off his spectacles and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket.
In Hannah's experience, white men had three ways of dealing with her: most would ignore her, a few might feel an obligation to question her on the fine points of her education or parentage, and some would ask her silly or insulting questions about the Kahnyen'kehâka way of life. He seemed to lean toward none of these, which was a great relief.
"Are you coming with us?" she asked finally.
"Of course." He tucked his handkerchief into his sleeve. "Elizabeth needs my help. Perhaps I can be of some assistance to your father and grandfather."
It was hard to imagine how this quiet man in his silk hose and striped waistcoat could be of help, but Hannah nodded politely.
"You are very worried," he said.
"Shouldn't I be?"
He thought while he adjusted his spectacles over his ears. "Your stepmother is a very determined and resourceful person. She has one of the finest minds I have ever encountered and she certainly does not lack for courage. If I were sitting in a garrison gaol I would breathe much easier knowing that she was working for my release."
"That's not what I asked you."
Will Spencer inclined his head. "There is cause for concern. But I think that together we may well manage to see a happy end to all of this. We have the law on our side."
And the Tory gold, thought Hannah. "The gaol key would be enough," she said aloud.
Curiosity's eyes narrowed. "Don't you lose hope, now. No reason to believe that you won't see Nathaniel before your anniversary come around. And this time there won't be Richard Todd interfering."
"True enough. But there is the small matter of George Somerville."
With a flick of her fingers, Curiosity dismissed the lieutenant governor. Elizabeth hoped it would be so simple.
General Schuyler's study smelled of old paper and strong ink, tobacco and ashes in the cold hearth. Hannah's breath hung milky in the air, but it was quiet here and there was a deep chair by a window that looked toward the river. She stood there a moment to watch the last of the afternoon sunshine spark rainbows from fingers of ice that hung from the eaves. One crackled suddenly and fell to the softening snow.
A man rode up on a bay gelding and stopped at the gate. Another visitor, this one dressed in a greatcoat, striped breeches, and a slouch hat with a drooping turkey feather. So many callers. At Lake in the Clouds they could go a month without a visitor.
Voices on the stairs; the general was coming this way. Hannah cast a regretful glance over the worn leather volumes that lined the bookshelves, and slipped out into the hall.
Wherever she might go there would be grown-ups talking about their journey. The children she had played with in the afternoon were gone now, away home with their parents. She wondered if they all lived in houses like this, filled with crystal and silver and wood polished until you could see your face in it. Every window was glass, every dish was porcelain, and beeswax candles burned in sconces of silver and brass. No one here wore buckskin and the only linsey-woolsey to be seen was on the backs of the sta2oys. The grown-ups were kind enough and more than generous with what they had, but this was a strange silken world and it made Hannah uncomfortable in her skin.
Redskin, one of the older boys had called her during the game of snow-snake; pimple-faced, he bared his buck teeth when he smiled. He had waited until Runs-from-Bears was out of earshot to do it. Dirty redskin, and then he yanked hard on her plaits.
He was big and clumsy and she tripped him without a moment's hesitation and left him bloody-nosed in the snow. Then Hannah ran back to the game, showing them all what a red-skinned girl could do, sending the wooden snake slithering so far on the ice track that they lost sight of it and the boys gave up, muttering among themselves.
There was an unlit stairway at the back of the hall for the servants' use. Hannah found her way there and sat, her knees up under her chin, listening to the house. In the kitchen, maids argued in Dutch until the housekeeper sent them off to set the table. Upstairs a baby wailed and then was quieted. In the front hall the overseer, a huge barrel of a man with an old wig that kept slipping off his head, was talking to the visitor. From behind the closed door of the sitting room came the regular rise and fall of women's voices: Aunt Merriweather, as steady as the tide; Elizabeth's gentle voice in counterpoint. Hannah wished suddenly to be with Elizabeth, who understood this strange place. She had given up a life like this to come to them on Hidden Wolf.
"May I join you?"
Hannah was startled out of her daydream. Will Spencer stood before her at the foot of the stairs. Everything about him shone in the dimness: brass buttons and silver buckles, gleaming white linen at his neck, even the thinning pale hair. He was middle sized, slight of build. Hannah had the urge to take one of his hands and examine it, to see if it was as soft as it looked. His only calluses came from holding a quill, his only scars were drawn in ink.
She pressed over to one side to make room for him.
"Very clever of you to find a peaceful spot. They are few and hard to come by in this household."
"Is this your private hiding place?" Hannah asked.
"Certainly not. There's room enough for both of us." He flipped up his coattails neatly before sitting, took off his spectacles and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket.
In Hannah's experience, white men had three ways of dealing with her: most would ignore her, a few might feel an obligation to question her on the fine points of her education or parentage, and some would ask her silly or insulting questions about the Kahnyen'kehâka way of life. He seemed to lean toward none of these, which was a great relief.
"Are you coming with us?" she asked finally.
"Of course." He tucked his handkerchief into his sleeve. "Elizabeth needs my help. Perhaps I can be of some assistance to your father and grandfather."
It was hard to imagine how this quiet man in his silk hose and striped waistcoat could be of help, but Hannah nodded politely.
"You are very worried," he said.
"Shouldn't I be?"
He thought while he adjusted his spectacles over his ears. "Your stepmother is a very determined and resourceful person. She has one of the finest minds I have ever encountered and she certainly does not lack for courage. If I were sitting in a garrison gaol I would breathe much easier knowing that she was working for my release."
"That's not what I asked you."
Will Spencer inclined his head. "There is cause for concern. But I think that together we may well manage to see a happy end to all of this. We have the law on our side."
And the Tory gold, thought Hannah. "The gaol key would be enough," she said aloud.
