Fire Along the Sky
Page 120
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That earned her a sharp look. “Even the ones who fight for England?”
She said, “Even them. They have their own reasons.”
“You would be an asset to Montgomery's efforts here, Miss Bonner. I am tempted to take you with me.”
Her mouth snapped shut with a sound. She started to speak and then stopped herself. After a moment, during which he waited with something like curiosity in his expression, she said, “You would interfere with the business of a private citizen?”
He inclined his head, as if he might actually consider this line of reasoning. “In time of war, yes. Of course. Does that surprise you?”
“Sir, you are a stranger to me. How could anything you do surprise me?”
At that he laughed. A sharp, barking sound but a laugh nonetheless. Turning back to the window he rocked on his heels, his chin bedded on his chest while he thought.
“It is tempting,” he said finally. “But no. I don't care to bring the wrath of Carryck down on my head. There are more important things to attend to just now.”
Lily forced herself to take a deep breath, once and then again. She felt his eyes on her.
“You may go,” he said. “You and Mr. Ballentyne.”
She said, “I want my things returned to me. My letters, and whatever else you have taken from the sleigh.”
He tilted his head at her. “But of course, Miss Bonner. I am at your command.”
She saw him hesitate. A little color had come into his face now, and Lily realized that they were not done, after all.
He said, “I wish you a safe journey, Miss Bonner. It is a dangerous one, certainly.”
“I grew up in these forests,” Lily told him. “They do not frighten me.”
“It is not trees that you need fear,” said Major Wyndham. “But men.”
Once Simon had assured himself that Lily was well, and she had done the same, they set out. Neither of them was in the mood for talk, once the basic information had been exchanged, and so they traveled in silence. Lily, so agitated that she could have run the rest of the way to Lake in the Clouds, found herself pushing with her feet against the floorboards.
Mile by mile, Simon retreated behind a mask she could not quite read: fury, certainly, but also something of damaged pride. There was nothing to say to that; no matter how undeserved the guilt he was feeling—and Lily was not sure, to be honest, that he hadn't misjudged—anything she might say would only make it worse. Men did not like to be comforted in times like this, even if she had had any comfort to offer.
In the first fading light of the afternoon Lily looked up and saw that they had ended where they began, at Sorry Tom's cabin. The King's Rangers were gone; if not for the trampled snow and the leavings of the officers' horses, Lily thought, there would be no sign of them having been here at all.
Simon brought the sleigh to a standstill and sat for a moment, contemplating the reins in his hands.
She said, “Why? Why are we here? I have to get home, my father must be told—”
“Wait,” Simon said. He put a hand under her elbow and urged her out of the sleigh. “Go inside, I'll be as quick as I can.”
He had found a branch to serve as a crutch. With it propped under her arm Lily hopped, awkwardly, into the cabin while he pulled the team and sleigh around to the stable.
Inside she closed the door behind herself and was glad of the cold dark, for that moment when she did not know if she could keep herself from screaming. In time she found her way to the stool that still stood before the hearth, cold now, and sat. The room smelled of the quail they had roasted for their supper and the men who had slept here last night, crowded shoulder to shoulder, laughing and telling their jokes by the glow of the banked coals.
When the door opened to frame a bloody dusk-red sky it was Sawatis who stood there, with Spotted-Fox and Simon just behind him.
Stripped of mantles and furs and weapons, Sawatis was much more the boy she had grown up with. He crouched before the fire and poked at it, and Lily saw the scar on his arm and remembered how he had come by it falling out of the boys' fort, one summer when he had been four or five. Her brother and his had brought him back to Lake in the Clouds where Many-Doves had stanched the bleeding with yarrow leaves and tied the wound shut with corn husks and then sent him out to play again.
Lily said, “Tell me.”
It was quickly done, as they did not know very many of the details. The news came to them as all news did: a Mohawk who scouted for the British at Nut Island had seen Blue-Jay and Daniel among a group of prisoners brought to the fort just five days ago. He told another Mohawk, who carried the news to the next, who took it with him to Good Pasture and delivered it to the longhouse of the Wolf, where Blue-Jay's brother lived with the rest of the clan.
The news arrived at Good Pasture at an awkward time. For days the war council had been sitting in deliberation on where they would fight in this new war, or if they would fight at all. Some of the men, not many, wanted to travel over the border to fight for the Americans; most thought that fighting for the British would serve them better. Some of the older men, Spotted-Fox among them, were not interested in yet another white man's war.
The news from Nut Island had taken Sawatis and Spotted-Fox away from the council fire. Together they set out immediately for the garrison on Nut Island, to see what might be done. Spotted-Fox had connections to the militia and he was respected by the British, who wanted all the Mohawk support they could muster; it was even possible that Blue-Jay would be released to him. Together with Red-Wing and Three-Horns, Mohawks who had been fighting for the British since the war broke out, Spotted-Fox had gone to make an appeal to the commander. And come away empty-handed.
She said, “Even them. They have their own reasons.”
“You would be an asset to Montgomery's efforts here, Miss Bonner. I am tempted to take you with me.”
Her mouth snapped shut with a sound. She started to speak and then stopped herself. After a moment, during which he waited with something like curiosity in his expression, she said, “You would interfere with the business of a private citizen?”
He inclined his head, as if he might actually consider this line of reasoning. “In time of war, yes. Of course. Does that surprise you?”
“Sir, you are a stranger to me. How could anything you do surprise me?”
At that he laughed. A sharp, barking sound but a laugh nonetheless. Turning back to the window he rocked on his heels, his chin bedded on his chest while he thought.
“It is tempting,” he said finally. “But no. I don't care to bring the wrath of Carryck down on my head. There are more important things to attend to just now.”
Lily forced herself to take a deep breath, once and then again. She felt his eyes on her.
“You may go,” he said. “You and Mr. Ballentyne.”
She said, “I want my things returned to me. My letters, and whatever else you have taken from the sleigh.”
He tilted his head at her. “But of course, Miss Bonner. I am at your command.”
She saw him hesitate. A little color had come into his face now, and Lily realized that they were not done, after all.
He said, “I wish you a safe journey, Miss Bonner. It is a dangerous one, certainly.”
“I grew up in these forests,” Lily told him. “They do not frighten me.”
“It is not trees that you need fear,” said Major Wyndham. “But men.”
Once Simon had assured himself that Lily was well, and she had done the same, they set out. Neither of them was in the mood for talk, once the basic information had been exchanged, and so they traveled in silence. Lily, so agitated that she could have run the rest of the way to Lake in the Clouds, found herself pushing with her feet against the floorboards.
Mile by mile, Simon retreated behind a mask she could not quite read: fury, certainly, but also something of damaged pride. There was nothing to say to that; no matter how undeserved the guilt he was feeling—and Lily was not sure, to be honest, that he hadn't misjudged—anything she might say would only make it worse. Men did not like to be comforted in times like this, even if she had had any comfort to offer.
In the first fading light of the afternoon Lily looked up and saw that they had ended where they began, at Sorry Tom's cabin. The King's Rangers were gone; if not for the trampled snow and the leavings of the officers' horses, Lily thought, there would be no sign of them having been here at all.
Simon brought the sleigh to a standstill and sat for a moment, contemplating the reins in his hands.
She said, “Why? Why are we here? I have to get home, my father must be told—”
“Wait,” Simon said. He put a hand under her elbow and urged her out of the sleigh. “Go inside, I'll be as quick as I can.”
He had found a branch to serve as a crutch. With it propped under her arm Lily hopped, awkwardly, into the cabin while he pulled the team and sleigh around to the stable.
Inside she closed the door behind herself and was glad of the cold dark, for that moment when she did not know if she could keep herself from screaming. In time she found her way to the stool that still stood before the hearth, cold now, and sat. The room smelled of the quail they had roasted for their supper and the men who had slept here last night, crowded shoulder to shoulder, laughing and telling their jokes by the glow of the banked coals.
When the door opened to frame a bloody dusk-red sky it was Sawatis who stood there, with Spotted-Fox and Simon just behind him.
Stripped of mantles and furs and weapons, Sawatis was much more the boy she had grown up with. He crouched before the fire and poked at it, and Lily saw the scar on his arm and remembered how he had come by it falling out of the boys' fort, one summer when he had been four or five. Her brother and his had brought him back to Lake in the Clouds where Many-Doves had stanched the bleeding with yarrow leaves and tied the wound shut with corn husks and then sent him out to play again.
Lily said, “Tell me.”
It was quickly done, as they did not know very many of the details. The news came to them as all news did: a Mohawk who scouted for the British at Nut Island had seen Blue-Jay and Daniel among a group of prisoners brought to the fort just five days ago. He told another Mohawk, who carried the news to the next, who took it with him to Good Pasture and delivered it to the longhouse of the Wolf, where Blue-Jay's brother lived with the rest of the clan.
The news arrived at Good Pasture at an awkward time. For days the war council had been sitting in deliberation on where they would fight in this new war, or if they would fight at all. Some of the men, not many, wanted to travel over the border to fight for the Americans; most thought that fighting for the British would serve them better. Some of the older men, Spotted-Fox among them, were not interested in yet another white man's war.
The news from Nut Island had taken Sawatis and Spotted-Fox away from the council fire. Together they set out immediately for the garrison on Nut Island, to see what might be done. Spotted-Fox had connections to the militia and he was respected by the British, who wanted all the Mohawk support they could muster; it was even possible that Blue-Jay would be released to him. Together with Red-Wing and Three-Horns, Mohawks who had been fighting for the British since the war broke out, Spotted-Fox had gone to make an appeal to the commander. And come away empty-handed.
