“Ah. No. It’s—” I stopped abruptly. I’d turned the object over in my hand and saw that he had—as he usually did with things he made—scratched his initials, JF, into the bottom of the piece.
“What’s wrong, a nighean?” He came to look, and taking my hand in his, turned it over so the peg lay exposed in my palm.
“Er … nothing. It’s just … Um. Well.” I could feel my ears getting warm. “It’s a, uh, present for Auld Mam.”
“Aye?” he looked at it, baffled.
“Do you happen to remember Roger telling me he’d been visiting up there and talked to her and she told him that when she, er, visited the privy, her … womb … fell out into her hand?”
He looked up at me, startled. Then his eyes returned to the thing in my hand.
“It’s, um, called a pessary. If you insert it into the—”
“Stop right there, Sassenach.” He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, lips pursed.
“It’s really beautiful,” I assured him. “And it will be perfect. It’s just—I thought—maybe having your mark on it would make her feel … self-conscious?” It had also occurred to me that Auld Mam, being Not Quite Right in the Head, might, conversely, feel special, singled out by Himself. Which was well and good, but might easily lead to her removing the pessary in company to show it off.
He gave me a look, reached out, and delicately tweezed the pessary from my palm with two fingers.
“Not nearly as self-conscious as it would make me, Sassenach, I tell ye. I’ll sand it off.”
83
The Forefeather of a Great Horned Owl
Royal Colony of New York
Early October 1779
RACHEL’S FINGERS TREMBLED, TYING the knot of Oggy’s clout, and the end slipped out of her left hand, the clout came apart, and Oggy’s small penis, exposed to cold air, instantly stiffened and sent a jet of steaming urine a good three feet in the air, narrowly missing her face.
Ian, sitting on the bed half dressed beside his son, laughed like a loon. Rachel gave him a look of annoyance, and he stopped laughing, though the grin stayed on his face as he took the damp cleaning rag from her hand. He slid down onto the floor and began mopping up, saying something to Oggy in Mohawk. The words seemed to burrow under her skin, itching.
He’d been talking to Oggy in Mohawk more and more as they crossed into New York, drawing ever nearer to Canajoharie. Not that she blamed him. Patience and Prudence were enchanted by the sound of the language and could now say a number of useful things, including “Don’t kill me,” “Give me food,” “No, I don’t want to lie with you,” and “I belong to Wolf’s Brother, of the Wolf clan of the Kahnyen’kehaka, and he will castrate you if you molest me.”
She could hear them solemnly practicing these remarks in the next room, where Jenny was helping Silvia to get everyone dressed in what passed for their best. For today, they would reach Canajoharie.
She felt as though she’d swallowed a half pint of musket balls, these rolling heavily in her stomach. They had worried—well, she had—about encountering roving soldiers, random battles, or the men war cuts loose from society, but with the help of God, Ian’s skill at seeing things coming and avoiding them, and—no doubt—sheer blind luck, they had crossed seven hundred miles without meeting serious trouble. But today they would reach Canajoharie—and, just possibly, meet Works With Her Hands. “She was lovely. I met her by the water—a pool in the river, where the water spreads out and there’s not even a ripple on the surface, but ye feel the spirit of the river moving through it just the same.”
The musket balls dropped one by one into her entrails as she remembered Ian’s words. “She was lovely …”
And she had three children, one of whom might be Ian’s.
She closed her eyes and said a brief, fierce prayer of apology, with a request for quietness of mind and peace of spirit. She rested her hand on Oggy’s wriggling body, saying it, and the peace of spirit came at once. He was Ian’s son, without doubt, nor could she doubt Ian’s love for him—or for her.
“Ifrinn!” Ian exclaimed. She felt a sudden hot wetness bloom against the palm of her hand, and a dreadful stink filled the air. “We’ll never be away at this rate, laddie!”
As he hastily wiped and reclouted Oggy and Rachel mopped up the overflow, Ian turned suddenly, kissed her forehead, and smiled at her, his eyes tender above his tattoos.
Thank you, she thought toward God, and smiled back at her husband.
“I told thee that Friends have no doctrines, did I not, Ian?”
“Aye, ye did.” He cocked his head, waiting, and she raised a brow at him and handed him one of the wire fasteners Brianna called safety pins, with which to secure the clout.
“That does not mean that we therefore approve of all manner of behavior, merely because it’s the normal practice of others.”
“Mmphm. And, um, which normal behavior is it ye had in mind that ye willna stand for?”
“I had in mind polygamy.”
He laughed, and her spirit bloomed afresh.
THEY REACHED CANAJOHARIE in the afternoon, and Ian found them two rooms in a small, relatively clean inn and then sent a message, written in Mohawk, to Joseph Brant, one of the most powerful military leaders of the Mohawk—and a relative of Emily’s—introducing himself and asking audience. Before nightfall, an answer had come back, in English: Come in the afternoon and we will drink tea. I will be pleased to make your acquaintance.
“He’s well spoken,” Jenny observed, taking in not only the message but the paper it was written upon, which was handsome—and secured with a wax seal.
“Thayendanegea’s been to London, Mam,” Ian replied. “He probably speaks English better than you do.”
“Aye, well, we’ll see about that,” she said, but Patience and Prudence giggled and began to sing, “Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been? I’ve been to London to visit the Queen!”
“Has he been to London to visit the Queen?” Patience asked, breaking off.
“Your mam can ask him for ye,” Ian replied, making Silvia go pink to the ears.
Oggy would have to accompany them, as Rachel would burst if obliged to do without him for too long, but Silvia assured Rachel that Prudence and Patience could easily tend Chastity—and should anything untoward occur, such as the inn suddenly taking fire or an intrusion by bears, they were fleet of foot and could be trusted to take their sister along while making their escape.
Both Silvia and Jenny had offered to stay behind—and so had Rachel—but Ian was firm: they must all go with him.
“It wouldna be seemly for me to show myself alone, as though I have nay family. Thayendanegea would think me a pauper.”
“Oh,” said Jenny, raising a brow in interest. “So that’s it, is it? If ye can support a gaggle o’ women and children, that proves ye must have a wee bit o’ coin put away in your mattress?”
“That’s it,” he agreed. “A bit of ground, at least. Wear your silver watch, Mam, aye? And if ye wouldna mind wearing Rachel’s other cloak, Friend Silvia?”