Silvia laughed at that, a high, half-hysterical titter.
“No,” she said, stopping abruptly. “No, I have not. I had no money and little help. But I have kept my girls fed, as best I could.”
“The girls. Pru and Patience, they’re with you? Here?” The excitement in his voice was unfeigned, and Rachel’s shoulders relaxed a bit. Perhaps he had been constrained from leaving, even though no longer a slave.
“Prudence, Patience, and little Chastity,” Silvia said, with a note in her voice that dared him to ask. “Yes, they are with me.”
He froze for a moment, looking closely at her face. Even from the back, Rachel could easily envision what Silvia’s expression must be: shame, defiance, hope … and fear.
“Chastity,” he repeated, slowly. “When was she born?”
“February the fourth, in ’78,” Silvia replied clearly, defiance uppermost, and Gabriel’s face hardened.
“I take it thee married again,” he said. “Is thy … husband … with thee?”
“I did not marry,” she said through her teeth.
He looked shocked. “But—but—”
“As I told thee. I kept my children fed.”
Rachel felt that she really must not be witness to such painful intimacies between the Hardmans. But a dried honeysuckle vine had attached itself to her clothing and her feet were sunk in the remains of dead tomato plants; the wind had died suddenly and there was no way she could move in the midst of this ghastly silence without detection.
“I see,” Gabriel said at last. His voice was colorless, and he stood for several moments, hands knotted before him, clearly making up his mind about something. His face changed as he thought, and the emotions of anger, pity, shame, and confusion smoothed into a hard surface of decision.
“I did marry,” he said quietly. “A Mohawk woman, the niece of the Sachem. He is—”
“I know who he is.” Silvia’s voice sounded faint and far away.
Another long moment of silence, and Rachel heard the tiny clicking noise as Gabriel licked his lips.
“The … Mohawk have a different notion of marriage,” he said.
“I would assume they do.” Silvia still sounded as though she were a hundred miles away, taking part in this conversation by means of smoke signals.
“I could—I could … have two wives.” He didn’t look as though the prospect of dual matrimony was a pleasant one.
“No, thee can’t,” Silvia said coldly. “Not if thee thinks I would be one of them.”
“I shouldn’t think thee would judge me,” Gabriel said stiffly. “I have uttered no word of reproach for—”
“The look on thy deceitful face is reproach enough!” The shock had worn off, and Silvia’s voice cracked with fury. “How dare thee, Gabriel! How long has thee been here, with every facility for writing and communication, and thee sent no word? Had I been a respectable widow, and had thee not separated us from Yearly Meeting and other Friends in Philadelphia—I would have married again, deeply though I mourned thee.” Her voice broke and she breathed audibly, trying to regain her control.
“But no one knew whether thee was dead, detained, or … or what! I couldn’t marry. I was left with nothing … nothing … save that house. A roof over our heads. The army took my goats and trampled my garden, and I sold everything other than a bed and a table. And after that …”
“Chastity,” Gabriel said, in a nasty tone.
Silvia was upright as an oak sapling, fists clenched at her sides and trembling with rage. When she spoke, though, her voice was calm and ringing.
“I divorce thee,” she said. “I married thee in good faith, I loved and comforted thee, I gave thee children. And thee has abandoned me, thee has treated me in bad faith and intend to continue doing so. There is no marriage between us. I divorce and disown thee.”
Gabriel looked completely flabbergasted. Rachel understood that divorce was possible between Friends but had never known anyone who had done it. Had such a thing really just happened in front of her?
“You. Divorce me?” For the first time, anger flushed his face. “If anyone was to declare the union between us void—”
“I did not deceive my spouse. I did not commit bigamy. But I will say that our marriage is ended, and thee has no means by which to prevent me.”
Rachel had edged out of sight in reflex, a palm clutched over her mouth, as though she might exclaim in protest at the scene before her. She was preparing to steal away when Gabriel spoke again.
“Of course, I will keep Patience and Prudence,” he assured Silvia, and Rachel froze. She felt obliged to peek cautiously round the building again, if only to be sure that Silvia’s silence did not mean she’d dropped dead from shock or fury.
She hadn’t, though she had turned slightly, and it was plain from her congested face that only inability to choose among the words flooding her throat was keeping her from speaking.
“I missed them cruelly,” Gabriel said, and from the look on his face, he probably meant it.
“Thee naturally didn’t miss Chastity,” Silvia said, her voice trembling—with rage, Rachel was sure, though from the expression on Gabriel’s face, a mingled look of pity and exasperation, she didn’t think he’d diagnosed his wife’s mood correctly.
“I—do not condemn thee,” he said. “Whether it was … rape, or … or choice, thee—”
“Oh, most assuredly choice,” Silvia hissed. “The choice between spreading my legs or seeing my children starve! The choice thee left me with!”
Gabriel stiffened. “What—Whatever the cause of her birth, the child cannot be condemned or held guilty,” he said. “She holds the light of Christ within her, just as all men do, but—”
“But thee is unwilling to acknowledge Christ in her—or me, I suppose!”
Gabriel’s jaw clenched hard and he struggled for a moment, clearly seeking to control his exigent emotions.
“Thee interrupted me just now,” he said evenly. “I said I will keep Patience and Prudence with me. They will be happy, safe, and well cared for. But I will give thee a sum of money with which to maintain yourself and the—child.”
“Her name is Chastity,” Silvia said, just as evenly. “And thee knows why, though she never will, God willing.” She took an audible breath and breathed out a slow, dragon-like plume of white. “I shall most certainly keep her—and her sisters as well. I will not speak ill of thee to them; they deserve to think that their father loved them.” There was just the slightest emphasis on “think.”
“Thee has no right to take them from me,” Gabriel said. He didn’t sound angry now; only matter-of-fact. “Children belong to their father; it’s the law.”
“The law,” Silvia repeated, with contempt. “Whose law? Thine? The King’s? The Congress’s?” For the first time, she looked about her, over the spreading dark fields and the leafless trees, the houses in the distance, hazed with smoke. “Did thee not tell me that the Mohawk have a different view of marriage? Well, then.” She set her gaze on him again, eyes hard as stone. “I shall speak with thy master, and we will see.”