Dawn on a Distant Shore
Page 31
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He smiled then, the first broad smile she had ever seen from him. "The Canadians will be sorry that they ever took on the Bonners."
"I think the Schuylers already are."
He laughed softly. "General and Mrs. Schuyler seem to thrive on such adventures, and I am sure that their interest and concern for your father and stepmother are sincere. Nathaniel once did them a good turn that they have never forgot. You must know the story of how he saved their eldest son."
"Oh, yes," said Hannah. "But I was thinking more of one of the grandsons. I gave him a bloody nose this afternoon."
"I see," said Will. "The one with the unfortunate teeth, and manners to match?"
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "He called me a name."
"That seems in character."
"You aren't going to tell me I should not have tripped him?"
One corner of the pale mouth turned downward. "I suppose I should tell you just that. But I should have done exactly the same thing, and it would be hypocritical to pretend otherwise." He looked her directly in the eye. "I expect that it is not the last time you shall have to deal with such ignorance."
Hannah nodded. "That is just what my grandmother said before I left Hidden Wolf. She said that I would have to use my head rather than my fists."
"A wise woman."
"It is harder to do than to say."
"How true. I would suggest that you begin by observing your stepmother; she has learned the way of it. For the moment, however, I believe we are expected at the table."
The man in the striped breeches turned out to be a Captain Grievous Mudge. He had the biggest hands that Hannah had ever seen, a great waterfall of gray chin whiskers, and a mustache that twitched when he talked, which he did so forcefully and so fast that even Elizabeth's aunt had no opportunity to interrupt. The old lady seemed both fascinated and repelled as she watched the captain inhale peppery white soup, pheasant stuffed with prunes and raisins, ham, creamed potatoes, corn preserves and pickled snap beans--and exhale the story of his life on the waterways.
"I been transporting all manner of goods from Albany to Montréal for thirty year or more now," he concluded. He poked his silver fork toward the travelers. "I can transport you, too."
"Are you originally from New-York, Captain?" asked Amanda.
"I'm a Yorker born and raised," said Mudge, sawing at a hunk of ham with obvious pleasure. "But my mama was a Connecticut Allen, and I'm blood kin to Ethan and the Green Mountain Boys. Nobody knows the big water better." He glanced at Runs-from-Bears, who had been having a quiet conversation with Will Spencer at the far end of the table. "Well, almost nobody. There's the Mohawk, of course. Glad to have you along, Bears. Be like the old days when you tagged along with your daddy."
"I did not realize that you were acquainted," said Elizabeth, looking as surprised as Hannah felt. "Where did you meet?"
Runs-from-Bears looked up from his plate. "Ticonderoga."
The name was enough to set off nods of acknowledgment around the table. In New-York State, there was barely a body breathing who did not know the story of the battle for the fort in every detail. Hannah would have liked to hear it again, but the old aunt thumped the floor with her cane.
"Not another war story! What a bellicose young nation you are. No dinner party seems complete without a discussion of one revolution or another." Her hand made a long corkscrew in the air. "A most untidy business."
"It is the age we live in, Lady Crofton," said General Schuyler. "The world is changing all around us, and for the better, on the whole."
She clucked her tongue at him. "Poppycock. Now and then ladies are taken with the urge to rearrange their sitting rooms. Men do the same with their governments. Thus it has always been, and thus it will always be."
Hannah hid her smile in her serviette, not so much at Aunt Merriweather, but at these white people who did not know how to cope with a strong-minded woman whose tongue had been loosened by age. Amanda was almost humming her embarrassment, Mrs. Schuyler was examining her wine glasses, and the men made gruff or conciliatory noises. Even Will Spencer, who seemed to Hannah a reasonable man, was staring at his plate, his brow creased hard. Only Elizabeth and Bears were smiling openly.
"Captain Mudge will deliver you safely," General Schuyler said, moving the conversation back toward safer topics. "He's the man to deal with smugglers and ice floes."
"Smugglers!" Amanda flushed, and put a small hand on her husband's arm.
"Fur runners from Lower Canada," explained Runs-from-Bears. "Coming down with the winter's takings. They don't bother folks who stay out of their way."
Will Spencer leaned toward Hannah. "It sounds like high adventure. Are you ready for it?"
"Of course she is not," said Aunt Merriweather, turning a watery eye on Hannah. "Such a sensible girl. She will stay behind with me, will you not, child?"
"No, ma'am," Hannah answered politely.
The captain laughed heartily at Aunt Merriweather's pinched expression. "She's Nathaniel's girl, right enough, missus. Can't hold her back." He turned to Elizabeth. "Folks say you had some adventures of your own last summer, Mrs. Bonner. I'd like to hear the story. I knew Lingo, the old polecat."
Elizabeth's expression went suddenly very still. Hannah felt her own face coloring in apprehension; the subject of Jack Lingo was one best avoided, but all around the table heads were turning. Mrs. Schuyler's curious expression, wondering how Elizabeth would meet this challenge; Amanda's slightly confused one. The old aunt, looking annoyed at having less information than she believed was her due. Hannah doubted that she would credit it even if she were told the story of what had passed between Jack Lingo and her niece.
"I think the Schuylers already are."
He laughed softly. "General and Mrs. Schuyler seem to thrive on such adventures, and I am sure that their interest and concern for your father and stepmother are sincere. Nathaniel once did them a good turn that they have never forgot. You must know the story of how he saved their eldest son."
"Oh, yes," said Hannah. "But I was thinking more of one of the grandsons. I gave him a bloody nose this afternoon."
"I see," said Will. "The one with the unfortunate teeth, and manners to match?"
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "He called me a name."
"That seems in character."
"You aren't going to tell me I should not have tripped him?"
One corner of the pale mouth turned downward. "I suppose I should tell you just that. But I should have done exactly the same thing, and it would be hypocritical to pretend otherwise." He looked her directly in the eye. "I expect that it is not the last time you shall have to deal with such ignorance."
Hannah nodded. "That is just what my grandmother said before I left Hidden Wolf. She said that I would have to use my head rather than my fists."
"A wise woman."
"It is harder to do than to say."
"How true. I would suggest that you begin by observing your stepmother; she has learned the way of it. For the moment, however, I believe we are expected at the table."
The man in the striped breeches turned out to be a Captain Grievous Mudge. He had the biggest hands that Hannah had ever seen, a great waterfall of gray chin whiskers, and a mustache that twitched when he talked, which he did so forcefully and so fast that even Elizabeth's aunt had no opportunity to interrupt. The old lady seemed both fascinated and repelled as she watched the captain inhale peppery white soup, pheasant stuffed with prunes and raisins, ham, creamed potatoes, corn preserves and pickled snap beans--and exhale the story of his life on the waterways.
"I been transporting all manner of goods from Albany to Montréal for thirty year or more now," he concluded. He poked his silver fork toward the travelers. "I can transport you, too."
"Are you originally from New-York, Captain?" asked Amanda.
"I'm a Yorker born and raised," said Mudge, sawing at a hunk of ham with obvious pleasure. "But my mama was a Connecticut Allen, and I'm blood kin to Ethan and the Green Mountain Boys. Nobody knows the big water better." He glanced at Runs-from-Bears, who had been having a quiet conversation with Will Spencer at the far end of the table. "Well, almost nobody. There's the Mohawk, of course. Glad to have you along, Bears. Be like the old days when you tagged along with your daddy."
"I did not realize that you were acquainted," said Elizabeth, looking as surprised as Hannah felt. "Where did you meet?"
Runs-from-Bears looked up from his plate. "Ticonderoga."
The name was enough to set off nods of acknowledgment around the table. In New-York State, there was barely a body breathing who did not know the story of the battle for the fort in every detail. Hannah would have liked to hear it again, but the old aunt thumped the floor with her cane.
"Not another war story! What a bellicose young nation you are. No dinner party seems complete without a discussion of one revolution or another." Her hand made a long corkscrew in the air. "A most untidy business."
"It is the age we live in, Lady Crofton," said General Schuyler. "The world is changing all around us, and for the better, on the whole."
She clucked her tongue at him. "Poppycock. Now and then ladies are taken with the urge to rearrange their sitting rooms. Men do the same with their governments. Thus it has always been, and thus it will always be."
Hannah hid her smile in her serviette, not so much at Aunt Merriweather, but at these white people who did not know how to cope with a strong-minded woman whose tongue had been loosened by age. Amanda was almost humming her embarrassment, Mrs. Schuyler was examining her wine glasses, and the men made gruff or conciliatory noises. Even Will Spencer, who seemed to Hannah a reasonable man, was staring at his plate, his brow creased hard. Only Elizabeth and Bears were smiling openly.
"Captain Mudge will deliver you safely," General Schuyler said, moving the conversation back toward safer topics. "He's the man to deal with smugglers and ice floes."
"Smugglers!" Amanda flushed, and put a small hand on her husband's arm.
"Fur runners from Lower Canada," explained Runs-from-Bears. "Coming down with the winter's takings. They don't bother folks who stay out of their way."
Will Spencer leaned toward Hannah. "It sounds like high adventure. Are you ready for it?"
"Of course she is not," said Aunt Merriweather, turning a watery eye on Hannah. "Such a sensible girl. She will stay behind with me, will you not, child?"
"No, ma'am," Hannah answered politely.
The captain laughed heartily at Aunt Merriweather's pinched expression. "She's Nathaniel's girl, right enough, missus. Can't hold her back." He turned to Elizabeth. "Folks say you had some adventures of your own last summer, Mrs. Bonner. I'd like to hear the story. I knew Lingo, the old polecat."
Elizabeth's expression went suddenly very still. Hannah felt her own face coloring in apprehension; the subject of Jack Lingo was one best avoided, but all around the table heads were turning. Mrs. Schuyler's curious expression, wondering how Elizabeth would meet this challenge; Amanda's slightly confused one. The old aunt, looking annoyed at having less information than she believed was her due. Hannah doubted that she would credit it even if she were told the story of what had passed between Jack Lingo and her niece.
