A Flight of Arrows (44 page)

She was crooning under her breath.

William breathed in the scent of his mother and said that he was sorry, unable to articulate why he said it, that it was for her grief, her loss—the loss she'd borne for his lifetime, the loss she was about to begin bearing. He was weeping when, against his hair, she said, “I see your father is not returned with you, and I can think of only one reason that should be.”

“I am sorry,” he said yet again, still embracing her. “My father…He gave his life for us.” He could say no more, nothing of that wrenching choice Stone Thrower made, speaking truth to those warriors when he might have lied and saved himself, or of the Senecas howling for his blood as they left him.

His mother groaned and sagged into his arms, only for a moment
before she straightened and stood tall again. William raised his head as her hands found his face, and she did not take her sorrowing, loving gaze from him as she said, “Be not sorry, my beautiful son. For Creator does not leave us comfortless. We have each other now, and I will tell you everything there is to tell about that one who was your father. For all the rest of our days together, I will be telling you his story.”

August 16, 1777

Kanowalohale

B
ut I have no clan,” Anna said, her thigh pressed close to Two Hawks's as they sat together on a log above the creek, dappled in the shade. The day had warmed, but a breeze came over the water, caressing her skin and lifting loose strands of her braided hair, ruffling the feathers in Two Hawks's scalp-lock. “Our children…”

“Will be ours,” he told her, brushing a finger over her lips. “Will be treasured.”

She searched his eyes, needing to be sure. In them was the sorrow they were all enduring—the grieving for Stone Thrower was still fresh and deep—but also the hope for their future, rekindled in each of their hearts because of Good Voice who, when told the story of Stone Thrower's sacrifice for Papa, had straightened her shoulders and through her tears said, “My husband is with his Heavenly Father. No man can touch him now. He made a good death, the best any warrior could hope to make, for by it he has saved both friend and sons and done for me the thing I asked of him so long ago. For look! Here is my firstborn taken from my side now returned to me—by the very one who took him.”

Anna had wept when Good Voice crossed to Papa and put her hands to his face and spoke words of kindness and healing to him who most needed to hear it.

Had there ever been a woman of such courage and grace as Good Voice of the Turtle Clan?

“Bear's Heart,” Two Hawks said to her now. “We have settled this thing between us, about our children.”

“I know.” She cupped his cheek, then traced the line of his healed wound across his bared scalp. Already the hair was coming in, soft bristles that soon would hide the evidence of the violence done him.

“Kunolúhkwa,”
he said.
I love you
.

“And I love you.” She thrilled to the sound of those words in his language. “I know it won't be easy…”

“For the joy set before me, I will face whatever lies across this path we will walk together.” Even as Two Hawks spoke, sorrow passed afresh across his eyes; sorrow was never far from any of their hearts despite the moments of radiant joy that broke through again and again like rays of pure sunlight. “I have tried to be like one who lived his life in two worlds…”

It was another grief he was feeling now, Anna realized. He'd told her of his friend, the blacksmith and scout from Cherry Valley, Thomas Spencer, how he had lived, how he died.

So many deaths.

“Ahnyero,” she said.

Two Hawks nodded. “His was the example I tried to follow. He is gone now too, but there is another who left us a better example. Another of two worlds—of earth and heaven. I will be looking to Him now.”

She was going to cry again. She didn't want to cry, not when she was so happy in this moment, so she kissed him soundly. He kissed her back, until the peeling of giggles broke them apart and they looked up to see three—no
four
—dark-eyed children spying from the trees above. Seeing they'd been spotted, the little ones squealed and darted back through the woods to the village, their innocent laughter a balm to Anna's soul. Tomorrow might hold its new sorrows, for this war was far from over. She was learning to embrace whatever joy came
now
. With all her heart.

Already barefoot, she sprang off the log, hiked up her skirt, and waded
into water and sunlight. Turning, calf deep, she saw Two Hawks watching her from the shade, the look in his eyes far from innocent. He came off the log like a panther rushing, feet splashing creek water in high sparkles. Grabbing her around the waist, he swung her in a circle, and now it was the two of them laughing, and the laughter was good medicine.

Down by the creek they walked, hand in hand along its bank of pebbled sand, escorted by dragonflies that darted over the water and hovered along its edge. Reginald had left his crutch propped against a tree where the path opened to the water's course. Lydia matched his limping pace, as she had nearly always done, through all the seasons of their lives.

It was settled; they would wed as soon as may be after their return to Schenectady, a journey to commence upon the morrow. Reginald, gifted thus with a second chance at life and love—at however staggering a cost—was, amid the grief for Stone Thrower, awash in a sense of grace unlike anything he'd known and yet…
William
.

The lad had barely spoken to him since their escape from the Senecas. Gone was the peace Reginald had found concerning William, thinking himself not long for this world. The Almighty had seen fit to leave him alive, still to reckon with the consequences of his past, which hadn't miraculously vanished with his acceptance of forgiveness—God's and Stone Thrower's.

William had spent most of the past two days with Good Voice, sometimes with the Tuscarora girl, Strikes-The-Water, sometimes with his brother—though Two Hawks and Anna were so absorbed in each other, they often had to be coaxed into a broader interaction. Reginald knew what the future held for those two. Two Hawks would remain for now in Kanowalohale, where all warriors and scouts were still needed for their people's protection, but, God willing, by the winter he would return to
Schenectady and resume his apprenticeship at the Binne Kill. And, in due time, he and Anna would marry. But no word had been said in Reginald's hearing of what William meant to do. Accompany them to Schenectady? Remain at Kanowalohale with his Oneida kin? Return to his regiment?

Mere thought of that last possibility tightened Reginald's brows, blinding him to cloudless sky, clear water rushing over sand and stone, but not to the treasure of his heart beside him, looking up at him with a decidedly knowing eye.

“Reginald.” Lydia faced him, tethered by their clasped hands. “You're fretting again. Do try to desist. William is alive and reunited with his…” She hesitated, and he knew she'd almost said
family
. “With his mother, his brother. The rest will sort itself out. In time.”

“A very long time is what I'm thinking.” No doubt it would take until the end of his days, his final breath, the rooting up of the bitter fruit sown over many years, replacing it with better seed that would, in time, bear a sweeter harvest. He was thankful to have begun the sowing of it, but, oh, the grief he read in William's face…

The lad had found his rightful father, only to lose him before he could truly know him. Over the past two days, Good Voice had told him much. So had Two Hawks. And Clear Day, who had loved his nephew like a son. So would Reginald, if William could ever receive such words from him.

But stories could never replace the man.

“This path to healing will be a long one for us all.” Lydia's eyes, un-shaded by hat or bonnet, were bright and clear in the sunlight glinting off the water. “And none of us will come through it without some further hurt, I'm sure. But we will pray William, and each other, through it.”

Her smile came, so full he knew it was over that
we
. It would be the two of them praying, husband and wife. Until death parted them.

“Always,” he said, leaning down to kiss her.

Laughter from beyond a bend in the creek caught their attention mid-kiss. They continued along the bank to find Anna and Two Hawks
wading the shallows, Anna with her hair simply braided, clothed indistinguishably from the Oneida women. His dear girl was radiantly in love, despite the heaviness that weighed them all.

“You've lost your crutch, Papa.” Anna waded out of the creek and scooped up her discarded moccasins. Two Hawks followed, taking up his. “Does this mean we're heading home soon?”

“Tomorrow, my girl.” Reginald shifted his gaze to Two Hawks, who came to stand beside Anna, their hands brushing just short of a clasp. “And you? You're still resolved upon a life with us, come winter?”

He could see the young man noted his choice of words. Two Hawks was choosing more than a wife. He was choosing a way of life. He'd come to Reginald the previous day to formally ask his blessing to marry Anna—a blessing now twice given. Then the lad had done him an honor he'd never expected, certainly could never deserve.

“I would ask another thing of you. In taking Anna Catherine as my wife, coming to live and work with you, I will need a name. I wish it to be yours. This is a thing Anna Catherine wishes also. She has always desired to share your name. Will you let us be called by it?”

It had needed a moment for Reginald to find his voice, though not his answer. “Yes,” he'd croaked. “Anna Aubrey she'll be. And you…Jonathan Aubrey?”

“A good name, yes? I will make you proud that I wear it.”

But Reginald had told him in no uncertain terms that there was no need to strive for a thing he already possessed.

Now the lad was returning his gaze, his fingers and Anna's entwining as if helpless to do otherwise. “I am resolved,” he said, then cast a look at Anna that couldn't mask the yearning behind it. “And impatient.”

“I completely sympathize,” Lydia said and shared a blushing grin with Anna.

Behind them, above the noise of the creek, a throat's clearing stole their attention. They turned, the four of them. Surprise coursed through
Reginald as the ache in his chest expanded. He hadn't heard William's approach down through the trees from Good Voice's lodge.

“William,” Anna said. “We were talking of heading home.”

“I heard you. That's partly why…” Shifting his gaze to Reginald, he appeared to gather some measure of resolve himself. “I need to speak with you, sir.”

Reginald felt the laboring of his heart, cramped and crowded as if the grief he carried over this young man was a physical thing taking up space in his chest. But alongside grief there now lived hope.

He was hardly aware of Anna and Two Hawks taking their leave. “William,” he said, throat tightening over the name.

“Bright Arrow.” William's tone was brusque, though full of emotion. Color crept into his face as he continued, “That is what I am to be called here.”