Land of the Free (24 page)

“I just adore your
gown.”

“Thank you. It is the
creation of my husband’s fraternal grandmother. I thought it too
daring, but she prevailed.”

“No, no. It is in perfect
taste.” She smiled and lowered her voice. “As I have always said,
if you have them, flaunt them.”

Marina’s laugh turned many
heads.

“I would urge you to stay in
Washington, if that could be arranged,” Mrs. Madison said. “You
would add a new element of gaiety to our staid society.”

“I could never stay here
alone.”

“No, of course not. But as
long as Rachael Van Buskirk is here…”

“I will ask her how long she
intends to stay.”

“Excellent. Now let me
introduce you to some people.”

September 4,
1805

Washington, District of
Columbia

Rachael Van Buskirk poured
tea into Marina’s cup and then her own. “I am told that you were a
success at last night’s soirée.”

Marina giggled. “Well, I
wasn’t the outrage that I feared I might be.”

“You had nothing to fear, my
dear. A beautiful woman can be forgiven for nearly anything,
especially if she marries well.”

“Has John’s aunt discussed
my past with you?”

“No. I asked her and she
refused. I therefore presumed that there was some dark secret to
hide.”

“I was captured by Indians
and sold into slavery,” Marina said, lifting her teacup with an
unsteady hand. “I was raped more times than I can count. So many
times that I simply stopped fighting.” She tried to read the
expression on Rachael’s face but other than one slightly raised
eyebrow, it was blank. “The man in New Orleans who bought me used
me as a prostitute. John bought me from him and then bought my
freedom.”

“Do try one of these little
cakes.” Rachael offered the plate. “They are quite delicious. We
have nothing like them in New York.”

“Thank you.” Marina chose
one and put it on the dish beside her saucer.

“What did you say when Mrs.
Madison urged you to stay in Washington while Yank was in the
Northwest?”

“How did you know that she
asked?”

Rachael smiled.

“I think I told her that I
would discuss it with you,” Marina said. “John had not told me that
he had orders and I was rattled.” She put her cup in the saucer.
“How did you know that she asked?”

“Logic.” Rachael sipped her
tea. “I think it would be best if you returned to New York with me.
This is no place for a young, attractive, married woman, nor is the
Van Buskirk Home Place. We will stop there on the way to pick up
your clothes and the child.”

Marina offered no
argument.

“Nannette says that he looks
like my son John,” Rachael added.

“Who does?”

“Your child. Jack, I believe
you call him; although Nannette pronounces it as
Jacques.”

“Yes,” Marina said. “Jack
looks very much like the painting of John’s father at the Van
Buskirk Home Place. Although I don’t think Jack is as fair as was
his grandfather.”

“Grandfather.” Rachael
smiled. “John and Anna would have doted on him. As will I. With
your permission.”

“Of course.”

“What’s troubling you,
Marina?”

“John has still not
mentioned that he is going to be leaving. I cannot grasp the
meaning of that.”

“He thinks that he is being
kind by sparing you the worry. Do you know when he is to
leave?”

“Mrs. Madison thought it was
to be tomorrow.”

“Then Yank will tell you
tonight and we will depart tomorrow, after you see him
off.”

October 2, 1805

Vincennes, Indiana
Territory

As the boat was being
secured to the dock, Yank joined the line of passengers who
intended to debark and squinted into the sun at a two-story,
red-brick house with tall, whitewashed Roman columns.

“That’s the new Governor’s
Mansion,” the fat man in front of him offered. “They finished it
last year.”

“Handsome place,” Yank
acknowledged.

“Built with all local
materials too.”

“Is that so?”

“Yup. Governor Harrison
calls it
Grouseland
‘cause there’s so many grouse hereabouts.” He bumped Yank
with his elbow. “Get it? Grouse land?”

“Yes, I get it.”

“Bridge is new too,” the man
said, pointing. “Onliest bridge over the Wabash.”

“Except perhaps the bridge
that connects Lafayette with the village of Chauncey.”

“Well that don’t hardly
count.” The gangplank, now being secured, the fat man moved
forward, sparing Yank any more of his observations.

Once on shore, Yank
shouldered his kit bag and made the short climb from the riverbank
to the house where he was met at the door by a black servant who
asked him to wait. A minute later a very small man in the uniform
of a sergeant of the Indiana Militia appeared. “Yes,
sir?”

“Colonel John Van Buskirk to
see the governor. He should be expecting me.”

“I’m real sorry, sir, but
we’ve had a bit of confusion today. Let me go check.”

Yank nodded. “Very
well.”

The sergeant hurried across
the foyer and vanished into a pair of double doors then reappeared
seconds later. “The governor’s expecting you, sir,” he said
breathlessly as he rejoined Yank.

“That’s a
relief.”

“I’m to show you to your
room first. Can I take your bag?”

“No thank you.”

“It won’t look right you
carryin’ your own bag, sir.”

Yank shrugged. “It’s
heavy.”

“I’m stronger than I look,”
the sergeant replied, struggling to pick up the kit bag. “You go on
ahead upstairs and I’ll catch you up directly.”

“Those stairs look wide
enough for two to walk abreast,” Yank said, taking a grip on the
bag. “Let us carry it together.”

With a grateful glance, the
man proceeded toward the stairs. “This ain’t my regular duty, sir.
The sergeant assigned here got jumped by some Shawnees this
mornin’.”

“How badly was he
hurt?”

“Killed dead. And they took
his hair.”

“I wasn’t aware of any
recent hostilities,” Yank said as they mounted the staircase, side
by side.

“Always somethin’, sir. If
it ain’t the nations it’s some tribe or a pack o’
renegades.”

“How large is your
garrison?”

“Two hundred fifty here and
that many upriver to the fort.”

“Isn’t there a regiment of
regulars here too?”

“They’re up to the fort too.
But I think it’s only a battalion.” Panting, he stopped at the top
of the stairs and let go of his half of the burden. “Your room’s
the third on the right, sir.” He caught his breath. “They should of
started you a nice warm fire already. I’ll go fetch a servant to
help you unpack.”

“I don’t need any help,
thank you. When was I to see the governor?”

“He just told me to get you
settled, sir. I reckon he’ll send me or somebody else when he’s
ready.”

“Very well. Thank you,
Sergeant.”

The bedroom was well
appointed, with a large four-poster bed, a small sitting area in
front of the fireplace and writing desk by the window. Yank was
unsure if he would actually be staying here, so he put his kitbag
in the corner and then sat down by the fire to wait.

An hour later the sergeant
reappeared at the door and led Yank downstairs to the vast council
chamber where Governor William Henry Harrison was seated at the
head of a long, empty table. He was a stern looking man with a long
nose and a mouth that looked like it wanted to smile but simply
could not manage one. “Thought I’d seen the last of you,” he said
as he stood up and offered his hand.

“You know what they say
about bad pennies, Bill,” Yank answered, shaking the governor’s
hand.

“Take a seat, Yank. Hope you
don’t mind meeting in here. I’ve got another meeting going on in my
office.”

Yank sat down without
comment.

“Do you understand what’s
happened since you were last here?”

“I read the State
Department’s file, Governor, but the truth is I was more confused
than informed by it.”

“Well let me see if I can
explain.”

“Please.”

“In May, Chief Buckongahelas
died of either smallpox or influenza. Do you remember
him?”

“I know he was chief of the
Lenape and a friend, but I never met him.”

“Oh. I thought you had.
Well, it doesn’t matter much. What does matter is that a rumor got
started that Buckongahelas was killed by witchcraft and Tecumseh’s
brother Tenskwatawa started a witch hunt.”

“Tenskwatawa,” Yank
repeated. “Open Door?”

“Yes.”

“Is that the same brother
that was called, Lowawluwaysica, or
Open
Mouth
?” he chuckled.

If Harrison was amused, he
didn’t show it. “The people of the Nations now call him the Shawnee
Prophet because he’s believed to possess magic powers including the
ability to foresee the future.”

“I know the man, Bill. He’s
a braggart and a drunk. His visions of the future, if he indeed has
any, are alcohol induced.”

“That may well be true but
the people believe he’s big medicine and he’s using that influence
to encourage them to reject the ways of whites.”

“Meaning what?”

“No Christianity, European
clothing, tools, like that.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound
British-inspired.”

“Maybe not. But he’s also
saying that the land belongs to all Indians and that no tribe has a
right to sell any land to us.”

“He won’t get far with that
argument. These Indians have been claiming each other’s land by
right of conquest since the beginning of time.”

“Anyone who disagrees with
him gets accused of witchcraft and some have been
executed.”

“What about Black
Hoof?”

“Black Hoof was accused but
hasn’t been harmed so far.”

“Then I take it that he’s
not one of Open Mouth’s followers.”

“No. Not yet,
anyway.”

“I suppose I should go see
him right away, then. Is he still at Wapakoneta?”

“Yes.”

“What about Little
Turtle?”

“He’s still abiding by the
terms of the treaty.”

“Still on the Eel
River?”

“Yes, still
there.”

“Where can I get a
horse?”

“Can’t you stay the
night?”

“Better not.”

“Are you still cross with
me, Yank?”

“Cross?”

“Over the slavery issue in
the territory.”

“I don’t agree with you at
all on that issue, Governor, but I’m not at all cross and never
have been.”

“Slavery’s essential to
economic development.”

Yank stood up. “Debating
that is a waste of time. Neither of us is going to change his
mind.”

“The Congress agrees with
me.”

Yank wrinkled his brow. “Why
is it important to you that I agree?”

Harrison shrugged. “I
learned everything I know about soldiering from you when we were
with General Wayne. You’re one of my oldest friends.”

“If our continued friendship
requires my agreeing with your every political view it’s destined
to crumble.”

“Have I done something else
that you disagree with?”

Yank shook his head. “When
you left the army, you took a different path from mine.”

“I’m still in the
army.”

“You know what I
mean.”

“No I don’t.”

Yank considered his words
for a moment. “You’ve moved beyond me. Other than the President,
you govern more territory than anyone in America. Whether or not I
agree with you is no longer relevant.”

“I need people who’ll tell
me their unvarnished opinions, now more than ever, Yank.” He waved
his hand. “I’m surrounded by ‘yes-men’ who tell me what they think
I want to hear and agree with every fool thing I say.”

Yank sighed. “Making slavery
legal in this territory is a giant step backward.”

“I want your opinion on
everything but that issue.”

Yank laughed and started for
the door. “Nice seeing you again, Bill.”

“I need Madison to believe
that the British are supplying the Indians, Yank,” Harrison
said.

Yank stopped and walked
back. “If that’s what I discover, why wouldn’t he believe
it?”

“You may have trouble
finding proof, but I know they’re doin’ it.”