Gunwitch (9 page)

* * *

The lights Margaret had seen became lanterns illuminating a wooden dock that extended into the lake from a long, low house on the shore. A handful of empty pirogues and fishing boats, were tied to the dock. No one was visible. Some of the windows of the house glowed with light, but Margaret saw no movement there either.

She and Janett no longer clutched each other, but Margaret held her sister’s left hand with both of hers. The events they had just lived through already seemed unreal, as if the lights of the docks drove a nightmare back into the darkness. But a receding nightmare lingers even in the full light of day, and this had been real. Margaret kept her knees together, to prevent them from shaking.

Da had worked with gunwitches, Margaret knew, though that had been before she was born. She had even seen gunwitches, in their red uniforms, faced with black and jagged lines of yellow thread, like long lightning bolts down their chests. When other children had told her what they had heard about gunwitches and their magic, she had quoted Da with confidence: “Don’t believe everything you hear.” But she had never had a gun pointed at her before. And she had never felt the touch of magic before. All the horrible, half-whispered stories came back to her. She could not stop the trembling.

In front of her, Major Haley leaped out of the pirogue and onto the dock, holding the tie line. He secured the line then gestured to the girls. “Come along,” he said. “If what I have heard is true, you’ll have one more night of sleeping in a bed before you have to nestle down under the stars.”

“You go first,” Janett said to Margaret. “I’ll–I’ll hold the boat steady for you.”

Margaret stared at her sister. After a long second, though, she mastered her limbs enough to let go of Janett’s hand and scoot to the bow. She took the hand that Major Haley offered, and stepped on the dock. She moved to the side, to let Janett follow her.

She looked at the house again. There was still no sign of movement. She looked back along the dock and saw Miss Rose stepping out of her pirogue. She saw the woman catch her rifle, check it, then set it butt first on the dock and lean on it. Miss Rose saw Margaret looking at her, and straightened, slinging the rifle over her shoulder. Margaret turned away before their eyes met.

Miss Rose moved past them toward the house. “Why should they think we are?” She faced the house then. “Chico!” she shouted. “It’s me, you
bue grande stupido
. Stop hiding behind your
bambinos
and come see to your guests.”

Margaret let out a yell of surprise as men and women seemed to materialize from the shadows around the dock and in the windows of the house. They were all dressed in drab, shabby clothes, most of it worn leather. The women’s heads were bare, their hair pulled back. The men wore wide-brimmed hats. All of them had weapons. The light of the lanterns reflected on pistol barrels and long rifles and the flat sides of knives. Not all of them were full grown, Margaret saw. Some were hardly older than herself.

The door of the house opened and Margaret took a step back, pressing against Janett. The largest man she had ever seen stood silhouetted in the door frame.

“Rosa!” a voice bellowed from out of the silhouette. “
Benvenuto!
” The arms opened wide and the figure stepped forward.

The man’s features were at once terrifying and cheerful. His eyes gleamed under his craggy eyebrows and his beard split in a huge smile. He walked up to Miss Rose and took her in his arms. Margaret wondered that Miss Rose’s rifle, or her back, did not break under the pressure. “We didn’t know you were coming back so soon, Rosa.”

“I sent you word we were coming, you big ox,” Miss Rose said, levering and twisting her way out of the embrace.

“Maybe you outran the messenger?” Chico offered. “You are always in such a hurry,
mio dolce
. Rushing in, rushing out. Mama complains to me that I let you go too soon.” He looked around at the travelers. “Where is the lovely Chal-choot? Is she hiding from me again?” His eyes alighted on Margaret and Janett. “And who are these lovely ones?” he asked. “I understand now why my sons were so quick to show themselves.”

Margaret’s eyes darted to other faces and saw that many of the younger men and boys were looking at her and Janett. One of the boys, maybe fifteen, caught her eye and winked. She looked away and edged closer to Janett.

Miss Rose introduced the girls, including the name of their father. If the name of Colonel Laxton of Fort Russell impressed the listeners, none of them showed it. Then she introduced Major Haley and Mr. Thomas. She did not introduce the soldiers.

“I am Chico Mancino,” the man said, bowing to the girls. He stood tall then and threw out his arms. “Welcome to my lake, young ladies.”

Margaret cowered, fearing an embrace, but Chico only laughed. “And you too, gentlemen. Come inside, come inside.” He turned and gestured to the door, which remained open. “Mama awaits, and she will be pleased to see you all.”

* * *

The house seemed larger inside. Margaret was not sure how all the travelers and Chico Mancino’s extensive family fit. The weapons had disappeared, and she had no idea where they had gone. Inside, the faces were all smiles. She and Janett found themselves seated at a table while a woman nearly as large as Chico, who introduced herself as “Mama Mancino”, proceeded to fuss over the girls.

A flood of introductions washed over Margaret, leaving her clueless which name–Ugo, Alanso, Fico, Chico, Rinaldo, Emilio, and more–went to which of the young men and boys who bowed over her hand and exclaimed about her eyes. The older ones focused on Janett–of course–but there were more than enough that Margaret felt the room beginning to spin around her. She was saved when Mama Mancino came back. Mama shooed the boys away and set plates of food in front of the girls. “Eat up, eat up. You must have your strength for such a journey.”

“How did you know–?” Margaret started to ask, but Mama silenced her with a finger on her mouth.

“What are those?” Janett asked, pointing to a plate with a pile of … of … bugs? Margaret had no words for what was on the plates. Bugs like she had never seen, four inches longer and more, with long antenna and pincer claws.

“Kraveys,” Mama said. “Eat like this.” She picked up one of the bugs and put its head in her mouth and slurped. Then she pulled it out and cracked open the tail. “Then you eat the tail.”

Janett shook with revulsion. “I see,” she said.

“I’ll … I’ll try one,” Margaret said. She relished the look of nausea that crossed Janett’s face more than the feel of bug’s head in her mouth, but the taste was pleasing. Mama Mancino helped her with the tail. She laughed as Janett almost fainted. She picked up one of the kraveys and thrust it at Janett to see her sister’s face become even paler. “Try one. You’ll like it.”

* * *

For the second day in a row, Margaret was awakened before dawn. Today, though, she did not wake in the comfortable but sparsely furnished room she had shared with Janett in New Venezia. Instead, she found herself miles away from New Venezia, and still further from England, in a room filled with olive-skinned women and girls who smelled of Italian spices and native Amerigon herbs. Mama Mancino and her girls already bustled about, dressed and alert, when Margaret untangled herself from Janett.

Margaret pulled on her borrowed trousers, and folded her skirt. She would not need the skirt again until their trip was over. Which should be in less than three days. After the months of their trip, Da seemed impossibly close, only just out of reach. As if he were in the next room.

Suddenly, she felt afraid of seeing Da again. How long had it been? Nearly four years? Would he still recognize his Little Puncher? Would she still recognize him?

“Where is your skirt?” Janett asked, distracting her from her distress.

Margaret looked at Janett, who was still groggy and pale and disheveled. She could not remember when Janett had looked so out of sorts, even in the morning. Mama Mancino’s spicy food had not been kind to her older sister.

Margaret smiled at her sister, and took in a huge breath through her nose. “It’s time for breakfast,” she said. “Can’t you smell it?” She laughed when Janett turned away. “You need to get ready.”

Janett did not show herself until breakfast was finished, much to the disappointment of the Mancino men, young and old. But they seemed to feel adequately rewarded when Janett finally came out of the shared bedroom. Even the younger boys stopped what they were doing and watched Janett make her entrance.

Margaret shook her head as she saw her sister. The disheveled hair had been brushed to a sheen and arranged to best present the perfect face–which, though still pale, showed none of the puffy eyes nor other evidence of poor sleep. Janett wore the same dress as yesterday, but it had–somehow–been cleaned and straightened. Margaret wondered, as she had wondered most of her life, how Janett could create such a transformation. Miss Rose had her guns and her magic. Janett made magic with a hair brush and a corset.

“Always you rush rush rush,” Mama Mancino said to Miss Rose as they gathered on the dock and prepared to leave. “The sun, she is not even fully awake and you go.”

“You were up before we were, Mama,” Miss Rose said.

Mama Mancino snorted. “With so many lazy kids, and a lazy husband, what else is a good wife to do?”

Chico’s hearty laugh drowned out everyone else’s. He squeezed his wife and spun her around. “It is you, Rosa, that makes her like this, my Mama Mancino. When you are away, she is gentle and loving and quiet as a mouse.”

Now it was Mama Mancino’s laugh that echoed off the lake.

Margaret could still hear the couple’s laughter as she and Janett sped across the brightening lake, once again sharing the small bench in their pirogue.

* * *

In the middle of the morning, they reached the mouth of what Mr. Thomas announced as the Amicizia River. They took a short break, eating some of the food Mama Mancino had insisted they accept. Janett declined to partake despite Margaret’s insisting. Once they had eaten, they pointed their boats into the river’s current and continued.

The Amicizia’s channel twisted back and forth, and twice during the afternoon, the girls had to walk as the pirogues were dragged across the land from one bend in the river to the next.

Margaret noticed the nature of the bayuk changing as they traveled, becoming less swamp-like. The trees grew taller and further apart. The river became wider, with fewer side channels and sandbars.

Again, Margaret found herself looking at Miss Rose, wondering how an Englishwoman could seem so at home in such a wild place. In the light of day, even in the soft gray-green light of the bayuk, the events of the night before faded. Miss Rose looked like nothing so much as a scout, a woman of the woods.

When they stopped for lunch, Margaret made herself sit down near Miss Rose. Neither Miss Rose nor Chal talked as they ate. Instead, they kept a constant watch, the two of them covering opposite directions, looking past each other and peering into the trees and underbrush. Both women had their rifles near to hand.

“Will we see any natives?” Margaret asked.

Miss Rose chewed and swallowed a spoonful of the spicy rice dish Mama Mancino had sent along before answering. “You’ve met the Mancinos.”

Miss Rose gave her a quick look, then resumed her scrutiny of the forest around them. “We may. This area has been rather well trampled by us Europeans, though, so there aren’t as many natives in this region as they’re used to be. Those that are still here tend to stay out of the way, in the bayuk.” She paused, and Margaret followed the woman’s gaze. All Margaret saw was leaves and branches and trees and the colorful flowers and stems of underbrush.

“We may,” Miss Rose again. “But it would likely be best if we didn’t.”

No large house full of cheerful Italian-Amerigons waited for them when the sun set this day. The soldiers pulled the pirogues up the bank and into the cover of the underbrush. Then Miss Rose led them to a clearing a short distance from the riverbank.

Janett protested the primitive conditions and the rough meal. Then confronted Miss Rose about having no place to change, and no separate sleeping quarters. Janett looked aghast at Miss Rose when the woman said, “It’s best if you just sleep in your clothes. We may have to move at a moment’s notice.”

Margaret exercised years of practice and shut out her sister’s complaints as she curled up in the blankets Major Haley laid out for her. Just before she drifted off, she heard Mr. Thomas setting the watch around the camp.

“I’ll take the first watch,” he said.

Feeling safe, Margaret went to sleep.

* * *

Shouts and someone nearly stepping on her head woke Margaret. She sat up, trying to make sense of what was going on, and bumped into whomever it was that had almost stepped on her. A man’s hand on her shoulder stopped her, and pushed her down again.

“Stay down.” Major Haley’s voice, whispering.

In the darkness she could not see him clearly, even as close as he was, almost on top of her. It was still full night, and the canopy of trees blocked the light of the stars and the Moon. He squatted beside her, holding a rifle.