Voyageurs

by Margaret Elphinstone

  ’Adieu, Mark.’

  I was prepared this time, and didn't shrink away when he kissed me on both cheeks in the French fashion. ‘Farewell, Loic,’ I said steadily.

  He climbed neatly aboard, and I watched him paddle away into the gathering dusk.

  The next morning Alan and I went to the barber. When the fellow had done trimming me, I looked in his mirror, and saw my skin all white where my beard had been, and under the shaggy locks of hair that had grown almost over my eyes, for all that I'd hacked them off myself with my hunting knife from time to time. I used Alan's money to buy two trade shirts and two pairs of grey stockings at the Company store, but I could no longer conceive of wearing my boots in a canoe, so I had on the summer moccasins that Waase'aaban made for me. My squirrel-skin winter cap I'd laid aside – I'd lost the voyageur hat somewhere in my travels – and I bought a broad-brimmed beaver at the trade store. I was loath to do it, thinking how the beaver pelts had been carried all the way to London, and the hat all the way back to Mackinac again, which seemed to me not consonant with simplicity, but I wanted to restore at least a small part of my former self. It was a process that must be faced, along the miles that lay ahead of me, and I thought I might as well begin now.

  Rachel was spending much of her time with Madeleine La Framboise. When she was with me and Alan she scarcely spoke. She looked after Clemency well enough, but it alarmed me when I overheard her talking to the child, for she spoke in the Ottawa tongue, which could not sound natural in my own sister. In fact it made me furious. ‘She'll have to grow up speaking English,’ I said roughly. ’Thee speaks English. What does thee think thee's about? The child – and thee should thank God for it – will never be in Michigan again.’

  Rachel cast me a look of scorn and horror, seized the baby, who instantly began to wail, and fled the house.

  I watched her from the door. Her skirts flying, she ran straight to the garden of Madeleine La Framboise and rushed up to the door. I could hear her sobbing noisily as she went. That was more like the old Rachel. There seemed little point in following her, but an hour or so later I did go round, and knocked at the door. The black maid answered me, as she'd done when I came here a year ago. She offered to take my hat, but I said no, at which she shrugged, and showed me into the parlour.

  Madame La Framboise was alone. She greeted me ceremoniously. ‘You have come to find your sister?’

  ‘Ay.’

  ‘She is laid down upon my bed.’ Madeleine La Framboise gestured for me to be seated, and I sat down gingerly on the edge of a little armchair upholstered in chintz. ‘Your sister is not well, Mr Greenhorn.’

  ‘Isn't she?’ I was dismayed. ‘She's always been healthy enough before. What ails her?’ A horrid thought struck me. ‘Thee doesn't mean to tell me she's pregnant again?’

  For a moment I thought she smiled, but it must have been a trick of the light. ‘I am speaking of her mind,’ said Madame La Framboise. ‘She suffers, I think, more than you know.’

  I shook my head firmly. ‘Rachel's not mad,’ I assured her. ‘Not in the least. Sometimes’ – I didn't wish to be disloyal, but I was feart we were getting into deep waters – ‘she makes folk anxious, with her tantrums and such-like, but there's nothing in it. Why, when she was a little lass, she even found a way to make herself faint – one of the other lasses showed her how to do it – and she'd make play with that. But my mother said take no notice, and she soon got out of it, when it got her nowhere.’

  ‘I don't think you understand,’ said Madeleine La Framboise.

  ‘So Rachel tells me,’ I said ruefully, and sighed. There was nothing for it but to grasp the bull by the horns. ‘Tell me then, if thee pleases, what it is I have not understood, and what it is that we must do.’

  ‘I think you have not properly understood what it means for your sister to have lived among my people for three years, and how it makes it difficult for her to be with her family now.’

  ‘Thee means she didn't want to be rescued?’

  ‘Mr Greenhow,’ she said, and there was a pause. Whatever she had been going to say, I am fairly sure she did not say it. Instead she told me, ‘I think you have done the best you could, and before long your sister may thank you for it. For the rest of her life she will be grateful to you, I make no doubt. But for now . . .’ She looked at me speculatively for a moment. ‘I think it would be well if Rachel stays here for a little. Will you explain that to her husband, please? I think it will not be for long. In any case, I go to Grand River quite soon. But for now, I think this is best.’

  Explaining it to Alan was not so easy. Since he was never at home, I thought Rachel's absence for a few days would make very little difference to him. I was wrong, but I felt I'd done enough dealing with my sister's crotchets, without having to pander to Alan's. ‘If thee doesn't like it,’ I said irritably, when I'd listened to him rant for close on ten minutes. ‘Thee can go next door and fetch her back. But I'll have naught to do with it.’

  Naturally he didn't go. Over the next few days I saw Rachel and Madeleine La Framboise in the garden, or out walking. I missed my little niece – each day that passed marked a lost opportunity with her that would never come again – but I kept my distance. I was rewarded; within a week Rachel came back to us, walking in one evening as if nothing had happened. I never heard her speak Ottawa to the child again – but then I was not always by. The little girl now wore an amulet of some kind round her neck on a leather cord, which I could not like, but I held my peace, and Rachel was similarly restrained with me.

  Now that my mission was accomplished, I was anxious to get back to Yonge Street, and render our Friends there any assistance I could. There was no reason for me to stay longer at Mackinac, and every reason for me to go. Alan and I went down to the South West Company office to see if I might get a passage across Lake Huron with the supply boats, which were plying to and fro in spite of the Americans, now that the lakes were open. At the factory we found the clerks passing round an Upper Canada Gazette barely two weeks old, printed in York. The existence of the paper spoke for itself, and within its pages the good news was confirmed: the Americans, having raided and burned the Parliament Buildings at York, were unable to sustain a military presence across the lake, and had retired to the New York shore. The worst losses had been the stores in the military depot, and the destruction of a half-built vessel in the shipyard. Both had been fired on General Sheaffe's orders, rather than allow them to fall into American hands.

  ‘So you needn't hurry after all,’ said Alan. ‘Your friends will have suffered no hurt; the Yankees were only in York six days and never went inland. Stay a few more weeks. I have to be busy, and it's good for Rachel to have you here, just for a little while.’

  I let him persuade me. As far as I know Rachel confided in no one but Madeleine La Framboise, and I dared not begin to imagine what they said to one another. But that must soon end, for Madeleine La Framboise was preparing to go to her trading post on Grand River, just as if there were no war on at all. Alan was hardly with us in the daytime. I wondered if Rachel was used to his neglect, as I was. Of course they were closeted together at night. I know not if she told him then any more than she told me. She gave away nothing of the relations between them, but seeing the way that Alan's eyes rested upon her – he was perfectly unconscious of it, I think – I was quite sure his love for her was not only rekindled, but requited too. I prayed that they might not again be separated, for I judged Alan's memory to be none of the longest, in terms of faithfulness, but now that he had Rachel back again, at bed and board, it was as if he'd never been parted from her. He had her measure, too, and I was glad of that. He never seemed in the least discomposed by her sharp ways. I could only wish him joy of her, but still they didn't wish me to take my leave.

  Sixth Month came and went. At first the news was all bad. The Americans took Fort George on the Niagara River, and then the British abandoned Fort Erie and withdrew from the Niagara shore. An American army, as Alan had
predicted, crossed over by boat and followed the British into Upper Canada. What the Americans had they failed to hold, however, for less than two weeks later Fort Erie was won back, and on 5th day of Sixth Month seven hundred British troops of the 8th and 49th Regiments beat back an American army numbering three thousand at Stoney Creek. The two American commanding officers were captured, and Upper Canada was again saved from invasion.

  At Mackinac all was quiet. The British garrison and the American civilians co-existed in an uneasy alliance against the threat of hunger. Supplies were coming in fairly regularly now that the lakes were open. We were starved more for news. For all that that the Michigan Territory was supposedly part of Upper Canada, it supplied little of our wants at Mackinac. The local Indians brought in fresh fish, which was a welcome addition to our diet, but corn was at a premium, and would remain so until after harvest. Only the Lord knew what would have happened by then.

  Meanwhile Rachel and I walked out most days, taking the child, up to Dousman's farm, where the bairn liked to look at the animals, or along the shore, sometimes as far as the beach where the British had landed. Away from the fort and the village the island basked in midsummer quiet. We walked along well-trodden paths in the dappled shade of the woods, and sometimes, when no one was about, I swam in the lake, which was still chill but getting warmer, while Rachel and the bairn paddled in the shallows. We explored the strange rock formations, and climbed up and down the little hill. The islanders at the outlying farms grew used to seeing us. At Dousman's farm we sometimes went in for a glass of milk, but usually we passed the time of day with folk and went our ways.

  Thus we created a little pool of peace of our own in the very eye of the storm. The war raged without, and we heeded it not. We were both well aware of the parting that was to come, and on one occasion we spoke the knowledge that we shared: that this time, when we said farewell, we would most likely never see one another more, at least, not in this world. Never did I feel so much in charity with Rachel, nor had peace between us ever lasted unbroken for so long. The weather was kind, and its benign warmth was reflected in our hearts. I thanked God for this brief blessing vouchsafed to us, and while it was given I was content to turn my back upon the wide world, and live within our little Eden as if we were still children together back at Highside. The bairn thrived, and began to say English words, including my own name. When Rachel and I talked, it was often to talk about old times. At first I was reluctant, thinking that such memories would be hurtful, but Rachel persisted, and I think we came to a better understanding than we'd ever known. She told me a little about her travels with Judith, and once she talked – and wept – about the child that died, and the early months of her marriage.

  ‘I was lonelier then than I've ever been in my life, Mark. I'd cast myself off, by my own act. I'd only myself to blame. That made it worse. One gets to a certain point of loneliness where the outside world no longer matters. Anything can happen. There seems no point in resisting. The strange thing is, by not resisting, one finds a way back into the world. But to lose oneself so far – it's dangerous, Mark. There are no limits to what can happen to thee then.’

  I supposed her to be talking about her sojourn among the Indians, and I said, ‘Thee's safe home now. Thee can forget about thy captivity, in good time.’

  ‘No!’ Clearly I'd said the wrong thing, as usual. ‘No, never! What's “safe” to me? What's “home"? There's no such thing any more! Thee tells me to forget, Mark, as if I were a bairn waking from a bad dream. I tell thee, I'll never forget! I'd never wish to! It's a terrible burden, but it's a gift too, to become two people in the space of one life. It's not a captivity. I think it might be a strength, if only I have the courage to make it so. One thing I know: I can never look at anyone wholly from the outside ever again.’

  ‘Thee thinks about it too much.’ I wished I understood better what she was talking about, but I tried to reassure her. ‘Thee must go on with thy life, not always be looking back.’ I looked at her. ‘But if thee can't forget, wouldn't it help thee to tell me what happened?’

  ‘I can never tell thee,’ said Rachel with finality, but then she softened suddenly – her moods changed as fast as Alan's did – and she laid her hand on my knee, where I sat beside her on a grassy bank above the shore. ‘I love thee well, Mark. I'll never forget what thee's done for me. I wish I could talk about it . . . I know thee wants me to explain . . . I can't. Has thee never noticed, the more thee and I talk to one another, the less we agree? I think it was always so, and now more than ever, perhaps. I'm sorry, have I hurt thee, saying that? I don't mean to; I have much to thank thee for.’

  ‘I'm not likely to judge thee,’ I said, not answering her last question. She had hurt me, and not for the first time. No one else ever seemed to think my understanding so deficient.

  ‘I have hurt thee.’ She was watching me more closely than I liked. ‘And thee hurts me, sometimes, more than thee knows. I wish . . . When thee gets home, I'd like thee to remember . . .’

  ‘Ay?’

  ‘When I was little, I liked to be with thee more than anything,’ said Rachel suddenly. ‘Thee wouldn't always let me come with thee. Less and less, in fact. I was hurt. I would have liked above all things to be thy brother. Will thee remember that?’

  ‘Ay.’ My own memory of the past was that the older she'd got, the more impatient she'd been with me. Often she'd say things that made no sense, and made me feel stupid and humiliated, though I did my best to hide it. I don't think we were made to understand each other. Very soon we'd be parted. There was nothing I need explain; I wanted the last days to be good ones. ‘Ay,’ I said again. ‘I'll remember that.’

  On First Days we put up our notice of Meeting for Worship at McGulpin's house, and after that first time when it was just the two of us, four or five people usually came. They were nearly all women. I think mostly they were curious, but I believe the silence may have spoken to them in some degree. I didn't ask: their inward lives were no business of mine, but I like to believe they found a little space of peace among Friends in that time of war. It was a small pebble cast into a whirlpool, and the ripples from it were swallowed up at once. But there is no knowing who was touched a little, and in that I put my faith, as ever.

  The time came when we had to think of the future. Alan was to go to Fort William in Seventh Month, when the brigades would come through from Montreal for the North West Company rendezvous. He had to see the agents, he said. The future of the South West Company, and the relations between the North West and the American Fur Company would remain in doubt so long as there was war. There'd been no news from the Pacific. ‘That's where the issue will be decided,’ said Alan. ‘I have to find out.’

  ‘And what will thee do then?’

  ‘I don't know. I'd like to go back to the North West. When I get to Fort William I'll talk to Sim and Tomas. I'm sick of this bloody war. You could say I've made a mull of it, for my own part. I'll do what I have to do for my country, but I'll be damn glad when it's over.’

  ‘I thought thee enjoyed it? I didn't know thee fought for England?’

  ‘I don't enjoy it,’ said Alan shortly. ‘Whatever I thought at the beginning, I don't enjoy it now. And I'm not English. This isn't an English war, Mark. Do you see Napoleon at Mackinac? I don't.’

  ‘So what is thy country then? Great Britain?’ I'd never seen him disillusioned before, and I was curious.

  Alan shrugged. ‘How should I know? I knew once, but I don't now. Where I live, I suppose. I don't want the Yankees in Canada. I'll go on fighting for that if I have to. But I wish it were all over.’

  ‘So thee will fight, or go back to the North West. And what of Rachel? And the bairn?’

  ‘If I get Montreal leave this winter, I can get them settled there. I'm hoping that's what the agents will say. By next spring this leg should be as good as ever. If they'll take me back to the North West, I can keep your sister in clover, brother Mark, whatever the Yankees may do. The fact is we'l
l win this war – you don't need to worry about that – and I'll look after her, better than I did before. That I promise you.’ He looked sideways at me – we were sitting on the bench outside in the cool of the evening – ‘I'm serious, Mark. I will look after her, you know.’

  I came out of Mackinac a hybrid creature, in patched grey breeches and a deerskin tunic (my plain coat was tattered beyond redemption, and suitable cloth was short in Mackinac). Alan, Rachel, the bairn and I left for the Sault in a South West Company canoe. I'd forgotten how fast eight voyageurs in a canot du nord could speed through the water. I wasn't required to paddle, so I was able to look about me. I'd never done this journey in daylight. We crossed St Martin's Bay, and followed the shoreline east, skirting several small islands, and finally rounding the point and heading north-west past St Joseph's Island and into the Straits of St Mary's. There was no border to worry about now. We kept our eyes open, for although the British held the Lakes, and the Indians hereabouts were friendly, there was no knowing whether American ships might be lurking among so many islands. The lake breathed around us in a gentle rise and fall, so smooth that when I looked back I could see a line of little eddies where the paddles had dipped. We hugged the left shore close enough to see each tree along the forest's edge. The islands on our right lay in a blue haze, sometimes close and sometimes so far off they could have been a bank of cloud. I watched the long line of St Joseph's Island and thought of the time I'd talked to Alan in John Askin's house, less than a year ago.