Dawn on a Distant Shore (16 page)

With a last check on
the twins, Elizabeth went to the window to look beyond the winter-barren trees to
the river. A rustling below her window, and a woman's shape moved away from the
house, a long cape sweeping out behind her in a dark arc against the moonlit
snow. Her hood fell away and Elizabeth saw blond hair. One of the daughters,
then. And slipping away in the night, perhaps to meet a lover.

Elizabeth rubbed her
eyes, and tried to focus. What she knew was very simple: Nathaniel and Hawkeye
and Robbie slept in a cold gaol far to the north; without intervention they might
well hang. There was no time to waste and no energy to spare, and certainly she
could let this young woman go on her way. She was forsaking a warm bed and
risking the favor of friends and family to go to her lover; Elizabeth could not
chide her for that. It seemed not so very long ago that she had gone to
Nathaniel in the dead of night. Of her own free will she had gone to him, a
backwoodsman in buckskin with an eagle feather in his hair, a man with nothing
to recommend him to the world but his honesty, his skill with a rifle, and an
affinity for the wilderness. A widower with a dark-skinned daughter. Anything
but a gentleman. She had married him on the run, turning her back on her
family, their view of the proper order of things, and their expectations, and
she regretted none of it.

Elizabeth woke on a
spring morning to find herself alone in the small cabin of Grievous Mudge's
schooner, the
Washington
. Beside her was an empty makeshift cradle and a
pile of neatly folded blankets. Blinking in the shifting sunlight, Elizabeth
lay for a moment and listened to the steady beat of waves on the hull, the
familiar rhythm of men's voices as they called to each other, a hiccup of a
cry, and Curiosity's comforting hush in response. With a yawn, Elizabeth walked
the two steps to push back the shutters that opened onto the main deck.

Pale blue sky,
cloudless and mild. One of the crew whistled by, his shirtsleeves rolled high.
How strange, to dread warm weather. But she managed a smile for Curiosity, who
sat on a coil of rope rocking the babies in the cradle of her skirt.

"We was just
about to come callin'," said Curiosity, catching sight of her. With a practiced
dip, she passed a wriggling Daniel down and through the window. Lily followed in
short order, and Elizabeth settled back down on the narrow bunk to see to their
needs. She longed to get out of the cabin, which smelled of tobacco and sweat
and wet winding cloths; she might have nursed the babies in the sunshine with a
shawl draped over herself and no one would have been the wiser, but she feared
offending the sailors. The dozen who manned this schooner seemed to be good
sorts, but like all seamen they were full of superstitions about women, and she
would do nothing to jeopardize their progress toward Montréal.

In short order
Curiosity was at the door with a plate of corn bread and venison stew. Somewhat
better fare than they might have expected on a schooner stripped down to the
bone for the short-run, fast transport of high-value goods, but then the
captain was fond of his food.

"Mighty pretty
morning," she announced, holding out a tin cup of weak tea. "Nothing
like a clear day on the water with the mountains all around."

"Yes,"
Elizabeth agreed, reaching for the cup over the pillow that supported the
babies. "It is pretty here. Where is Hannah?"

"Talking to
Mudge."

From the corner of her
eye, Elizabeth observed Curiosity's pinched expression. "Captain Mudge has
a few stories to tell."

"Some seem to
think so."

Elizabeth smiled to
herself. More than a week of muddy portages, cold rain, cramped living quarters,
and poor food seemed of less concern to Curiosity than the fact that Grievous Mudge
was a good storyteller. Elizabeth shifted a bit, and considered.

"You must miss
Galileo a good deal."

Curiosity looked up,
her dark eyes narrowed. "Of course I miss Galileo. Ain't I been wakin' up
next to the man for some thirty year now? We been apart now and then, but it ain't
ever easy. Miss my babies, too."

Elizabeth had to
laugh, thinking of the size and width of Curiosity's son and of her grown daughters,
the most competent of women. Then she shook her head apologetically.

"I am sorry.
Please forgive me. I do appreciate you leaving your family behind to come with us,
you know."

"I ain't looking
for no apologies," Curiosity said briskly, running a hand along the
swaddling clothes that had been hung to dry on a string across the cabin.
"Came along of my own free will."

"Yes," said
Elizabeth. "So you did. I will always be in your debt."

With a grunt Curiosity
sat down on the edge of the bunk and, untangling Lily from Elizabeth's lap,
began to change her.

"Seem to me there
ain't any call for such talk between us. I know you don't like to be reminded, but
you made my Polly a happy woman and I won't ever forget it."

"What did
Elizabeth do for Polly?" asked Hannah, leaning in the open shutters on her
elbows.

"Nothing,"
said Elizabeth. "At least, nothing to discuss right now. Is that fresh
water you've got there?"

Curiosity raised a
brow in Elizabeth's direction but addressed Hannah, who passed a bucket through
the window.

"Your stepmama
bought Benjamin and his brother free from the Gloves, is what she done, so as my
Polly could marry a freed man. Got that Quaker cousin of hers from Baltimore to
handle the money, but it come from her and Nathaniel. And look at her, blushing
to hear the truth told plain."

"Not at
all," said Elizabeth, somewhat less than truthfully. "It's just that
Hannah's sleeve is covered with blood."

"It isn't
mine," Hannah said. "Mr. Little took some salmon this morning, and I
helped with the cleaning. We'll have a good dinner today."

"Is that
so?" snorted Curiosity softly, tickling Lily under the chin until she got
a smile. She traded her for Daniel, who yawned in her face. "Know as much
about cookin' as they do about storytellin'. No tellin' what injury that Little
might do to a good salmon."

"Oh,
Curiosity," said Hannah brightly. "Mr. Little asked if you'd come
along and have a look at Elijah's foot. It isn't healing the way he thought it
would. I think it might need to be opened up."

"You see?"
asked Curiosity, as if an infected foot told all that needed to be told about
Mr. Little's merits as cook, doctor, and human being. "I'll be along as
soon as I've wiped your little brother's hindside. And don't you start tending
that foot without me, child. You hear?"

Hannah grinned, and
disappeared into the sunshine.

"It's good to see
her in high spirits," said Elizabeth. "We should reach Chambly
tomorrow, and things will not be so cheery once we do."

Curiosity pressed her
lips together firmly. "I expect Canada mud wash off just like any other,"
she said. "You want to come along, have a look at this foot?"

"I think
not." Elizabeth pulled her clothing to rights. "You go ahead, and
I'll take these two for some sun while it lasts."

She strapped the
babies to her chest to go up on deck, where they mouthed their fists and stared
wide-eyed at the great expanses of snapping white sail. There was a sailor at
the helm, two mending rope near the aft mast, and another swabbing the main
deck; she supposed the rest of the crew was below, crowded together around
Curiosity and her patient. On the quarterdeck she saw that Will and
Runs-from-Bears were in deep conversation, their backs to her. Elizabeth made
no attempt to get their attention, glad of a few minutes of rare near-solitude
in the open air.

The wind was high,
whipping the water into cats'-paws. In the distance the mountains of the endless
forests were still dusted with snow, dappled with shadow and early light.
Elizabeth studied the east coast, trying to catch sight of some familiar landmark--she
had traveled down that very shore in the previous summer by canoe--but it was a
blur of cottonwood and maple, willow and black ash, showing only the vaguest tinge
of new green here and there.

Overhead a crowd of
ring-billed gulls screeched, pinwheeling with the wind. The babies blinked up
at them thoughtfully, their round cheeks sharp pink in the fresh air.

A spit of land off a
small bay capped by a tumble of boulders sparked some vague memory that she
could not quite grasp. Nathaniel could put English, Mahican, and Kahnyen'kehâka
names to every corner of the lake; perhaps he had told her a story about this
place.

A sailor swung by,
long arms roped with muscle. He had a face like a pickled walnut and a thin
mouth bracketed by crusty corners; a carved pipe swayed there with every step he
took. Elizabeth beckoned to him and he paused and touched his cap.

"Pardon me, but
could you please tell me what that bay is called?" She pointed with her
chin.

The bristled jaw
worked. He spoke around the pipe in clipped Yankee rhythms. "That there's Button
Bay, or so we calls it," he said.

"Button
Bay?"

"Ayuh, it's a
strange thing, missus. Walk along the shore there and you'll find that all the
stones have got holes in 'em, you see, like buttons. Young'uns like to string
'em together." Eyes like polished pebbles fixed on the babies. "It'll
be a while afore these two get up to such games. A lad and a maid, ain't that
so?"

Elizabeth nodded, and
he leaned in to peer into Daniel's face.

"Look at 'em
eyes," said the sailor, his grin showing off teeth like oak pegs.
"Green as the sea when she's feeling feisty. Make a sailor one day, he
will."

Daniel suddenly let
out a great chuckle, the small nose crinkling and bare gums showing pink. Elizabeth
started, for while the babies smiled often, neither of them had yet produced
real laughter. Lily looked at her brother with some puzzlement.

"You see!"
said the sailor. "He knows the truth when he hears it, don' he now?
There's no stoppin' a lad born to the sea."

"Did you go to
sea as a boy?" asked Elizabeth, charmed by his grin and his admiration of her
children.

"Ayuh, so I
did." He pulled the pipe from his mouth and cocked his head over the side to
spit, never taking his eyes from her. "The Cards of Port Ann was all born
for the sea, every last one of us. Why, I saw China when I was no more than
fourteen. Believe it or not, missus, when I were seventeen we took a merchant
bound home for Bristol. Crippled in a storm north of Cuba, near broke in half. We
took her neat and simple before she went down and my good captain sent me home
with forty pound of fancy spice, a whole ton of sugar, fifty gallons o' rum,
and near a thousand dollar-- me! Tim Card as you sees before you, not a respectable
whisker on my face that day I walked into me mam's kitchen and thumped down the
coin. Gave it all to her, too, every bit of it. Except the rum, of course. She
was a bible-reader, was my mam. Had no use for rum." Another flash of the
teeth.

"You've always
sailed on privateers, then?" asked Elizabeth, a bit unnerved. She had first
come to New-York on a British packet, and during that long journey she had
heard many stories from the captain, a former Royal Navy officer who detested
privateers as much as he feared them. But Tim Card carried on, eager to tell
his story.

"Oh, ayuh.
Lobster pots left me cold, you see. And I ne'er was what you'd call the
military type. The merchants, now--what's in it for a lad, I ask you? Two
brothers before me went out on a merchantman and wound up pressed into a Tory
frigate. And that's the last we saw of Harry and Jim. Not for me, says I to my
mam and off I went to find my fortune. Sailed ten year with Captain Parker on
the
Nancy
and longer still with Captain Haraden. P'rhaps you heard tell
of him, how we took the
Golden Eagle
in the Bay of Biscay. Not long
after that I come up here to crew on the spider catchers."

"This must be
very tame, after your earlier adventures."

The sharp gaze moved
over the water. "Don' let the looks of her deceive you, missus. She's got
her tricks, and you'd best not forget it." He rubbed his cheek with horny
nails so that the stubble rasped.

"Yes,"
Elizabeth said. "You may not believe it to see me as I am dressed now, Mr.
Card, but I am not unfamiliar with these waterways. Last summer I traveled the
full length of this lake with my husband, by canoe."

That brought the old
sailor up short. He narrowed one eye at her, his head cocked, sparrowlike.

"Is that
so?" he said thoughtfully. His gaze took in her good gray traveling gown,
the lace at her neck and wrists, the heavy shawl, and then he shrugged.
"If you traveled these waters with Nathaniel Bonner you were in good
hands, then."

"Do you know my
husband?" Elizabeth asked, surprised and pleased and eager for any word of
him.

"Ain't many in
this part of the world who don't know of Hawkeye and his boy Nathaniel,"
grinned the old sailor. "I've laid eyes on him once or twice. He would've
made a fine sailor." The bright gaze was drawn back to the lake.
"Ayuh, I never felt the need to go back to the sea after I been on this
water. And privateering is a younger man's game, truth be told." He peered
at her. "You've heard tales of the privateers, I suppose. Little better
than pirates."