WITH THAT ULTIMATUM, Silvia turned and walked determinedly toward the house. Gabriel Hardman pursued her, his crutch thumping in his anxiety to catch her up, but if she heard his importunities at all, they had no effect.
Finding herself alone, Rachel shook herself violently, trying to dislodge her memory of the last few minutes, so as to let her feelings settle in some way. She went into the privy, and despite its dankly malodorous nature, she dropped the latch and felt a welcome sense of privacy and quiet surround her. The gentle workings of her own body eased her, too, with their quiet reassurance. Her brother, Denny, had told her once that Jews—a race much given to prayer—had special brief prayers to be recited on private occasions such as this, thanking the Creator for the untroubled working of bladder and bowels. That had made her laugh at first, but she thought now that there was good sense in it.
The tingling of her slowly re-engorging breasts made her aware of other workings, and she gave quick thanks for her child as she came out into the biting air.
“And for wee Chastity and her sisters, too,” she added aloud, realizing suddenly that the terrible scene she had just witnessed between the Hardmans was certain to draw three innocent children into its vortex. “Lord, they don’t even know about their father yet!”
She looked anxiously toward the house, but neither Silvia nor Silvia’s erstwhile husband was in sight. The door opened, though, and her own husband came out, his face lighting when he saw her.
“There ye are!” He lengthened his stride to reach her sooner and clasped her in his arms. “I thought maybe ye’d met a snake in the privy, ye took so long. Are ye all right?” he asked, looking at her face with sudden concern. “Did ye eat something that disagreed wi’ ye?”
“Not the food,” she said. She wanted to cling to him, but her breasts were so sensitive at the moment that she detached herself. “Ian—”
“The wee man’s roarin’ for ye,” he said, cocking his head toward the house. He was; Rachel could hear Oggy bawling from where they stood, and her breasts at once began to leak. She ran for the door, Ian on her heels.
“See,” Ian said to Oggy as she snatched him up, “I told ye Mammaidh wouldna let ye starve.” They were in the guest chamber Catherine had given them when Brant had delivered Wakyo’teyehsnonhsa’s message, and Rachel sank down on the bed, fumbling her stays loose with one hand. Oggy lunged for her, seized the available nipple like a starving alligator, and the shrieks abruptly stopped.
“The Sachem’s taken a fancy to my mother,” Ian said, in the sudden silence. “He’s challenged her to a contest—pistols at ten paces.”
“A contest, or a duel?” Rachel inquired, closing her eyes in the bliss of relief as her milk let down. The free breast was dripping, but she didn’t care.
“Either way, I’ve got five to one on Mam,” Ian said, laughing. “Her father taught her to shoot, and Uncle Jamie and my da took her on the moors to hunt rabbits and grouse when they were lads. She can hit a sixpence at ten paces, so long as the pistol is true.”
“With whom is thy bet? Joseph Brant, or the Sachem?”
“Oh, Thayendanegea, to be sure. What’s amiss, lass?”
She opened her eyes to see his face a few inches from hers; she could feel the heat of his body in the chilly room and nestled closer.
“I take it thee doesn’t know that Friend Silvia’s husband is here?”
Ian blinked.
“What—the man that’s supposed to be dead?”
“Unfortunately, he isn’t. But he is here. They met, just now, outside the necessary.”
“Unfortunately,” he repeated slowly, and raised one eyebrow. “Why would it be better for him to be dead?”
Rachel heaved a sigh that made Oggy grunt and latch on more ferociously.
“Ouch! I have no objection to the poor man going on living, it’s the ‘here’ that’s the problem.” She told him briefly what had happened.
“And what about Patience and Prudence?” she demanded, re-settling Oggy on her lap. “From what you told me of thy first meeting with them, they’re well aware of the straits in which their mother found herself and how she dealt with their circumstances. They clearly love her and are loyal to her, regardless. But now their father has come back, and they love him, too!”
“But they dinna ken yet—that he’s not dead and he is here?”
“They don’t.” Rachel closed her eyes and kissed Oggy’s small round head, soft with its scurf of silky dark hair. “I have been thinking how we might assist them and Friend Silvia, but I see no good way forward. Does thee have any notions?”
“I don’t,” he said. He went and looked out of the window. “I dinna see either of them. Not that I ken what the man looks like, but—”
“He limps badly and walks with crutches. The Shawnee who captured him cut half his foot off with an ax.”
“Jesus. No wonder he didna go home, then.”
“Silvia said she would speak with his—her husband’s master—I suppose she meant Joseph Brant. Perhaps they’re with him?”
Ian shook his head.
“Nay, they’re not. That’s what I came out to tell ye—Thayendanegea’s gone. I’d told him right off why I’d come, and when we’d finished wi’ eating, he said he’d go himself to Wakyo’teyehsnonhsa and arrange for me to see her.” He lifted his chin toward the window, where the pale afternoon light was coming in. “It’s eight miles, he said, but he’d be back for supper, if he left straightaway.”
“Oh.” The news was a shock, only because she’d quite forgot the small matter of Ian’s former wife. “That’s … very good of him.”
Ian lifted one shoulder.
“Aye, well, it’s manners to send word, if it’s a formal visit—and this is,” he added, glancing at her. “But ye’re right, it’s good of him to go himself. I dinna ken whether it’s respect for Uncle Jamie, or for Wakyo’teyehsnonhsa—”
“He thinks highly of her, then.” Rachel tried to make that a statement and not a question, but Ian was sensitive to tones of voice.
“She’s one of his people, his family,” he said simply. “She was with him in Unadilla, the last time I saw her. Long before you and I were wed.” He turned to the window again, shading his eyes against the light.
“Where d’ye think Silvia’s gone?”
No more than a moment’s thought supplied the answer.
“She’s gone to get her daughters,” Rachel said, with certainty. Ian stared at her.
“Is she in any condition to ride?”
“Absolutely not.” Agitation made Rachel stiffen, and Oggy dug his fingers into her breast in order to hold on. “Ow!”
“I’d best go find her then. Give Mrs. Brant my apologies about her dinner.”
85
A Moonlicht Flicht
IAN PAUSED TO PUT on his bearskin jacket—there was only a haze in the sky, but it was the lavender color that foretold snow, and the air was chilling fast—but didn’t bother to arm himself beyond the knife in his belt. Even if Gabriel Hardman was a lapsed Quaker, he didn’t think a maimed man on crutches would be a difficulty. He was glad that he hadn’t roached his hair for this visit; if he had to ride to Canajoharie and back in the cold and snow, his own pelt would serve him well enough.