The Ghost

by Danielle Steel

  There's always some, Johnny, the young driver, said fairly. We can always run into a war party, or lose a wheel. The road was rutted, and icy at night. He felt responsible for her, and was not inclined to take risks, which had been his reputation.

  That could happen in daylight too, Sarah reminded him, and in the end, they all agreed to press on for a few hours and see if they could make good time. The two guides estimated that if they kept going, they could reach the foil: by midnight.

  They rode hard that night, and Sarah made no sound as the old carriage bounced along. It was almost as lively as a good swell on the Concord at times, but she would never have complained. All she wanted was to get there. And just after eleven o'clock, they saw the lights of the garrison in the distance. The four of them sent up a cheer, and pressed their horses forward, and this time Sarah felt sure they'd lose a wheel in the last stretch, but they arrived alive and in one piece at the main gates as Johnny shouted out to the sentry. But Singing Wind had ridden ahead, and they had recognized him immediately. The gates swung slowly open, and the carriage rolled slowly in and stopped just inside them. And with shaking legs, Sarah stepped down and looked around her. There were about a dozen men walking in the dark, talking quietly, some were smoking, and there were horses tethered to posts, wearing blankets. The garrison housed several long, simple buildings, in which the men were quartered. There were a few cabins for the families that lived there, and stores where they got their supplies. There was a main square, in fact, it looked very much like a village, all self-contained, all safely surrounded and guarded, with settlers living in the outlying areas all around them. They came here for help, and relied on the garrisons and the forts to protect them. Even late at night, with no one around, Sarah had a sense of belonging as she stood here, and there were tears in her eyes as she shook hands with the men and thanked them. As far as she was concerned, it had been an unforgettable, and entirely pleasant, journey from Boston. And looking back at it the four days had virtually flown by. And when she said it, they all laughed, even Singing Wind, who had found the going slow, because of the woman.

  Johnny took the carriage to the main barn to leave it there, and water his horses, and the two guides disappeared to find friends, as Sarah was left with one of the soldiers who had met them. He had been instructed by the colonel, when he'd arrived two days before, after a hard ride, to take her to one of the women. There were several families who lived here, and Sarah was to stay with them. He felt certain she'd be most comfortable with the women and children. And when the young soldier knocked on the door, a woman in a cotton gown and an old flannel wrap and cap came to the door wrapped in a blanket. She looked sleepy and young, and Sarah could see two homespun wooden cradles in the room just behind her. They all lived in one or two rooms, and she had come here two years before as soon as she had married.

  The young soldier explained who Sarah was, and the young girl smiled and said her name was Rebecca. She invited Sarah to come inside, out of the wind, and Sarah came in, carrying her only bag. She had brought very little with her, and she looked around in the light of Rebecca's candle. It was a small, rough room, in what appeared to be a log cabin, and when Sarah looked at her again, she saw that Rebecca was pregnant. And for an instant she almost envied her her simple life, in this perfect place, with her babies all around her. How sweet it would have been to live like that, rather than beaten in a castle, living with a man she hated. And all of that was behind her now, the agony, as well as the lost hope of mercy or fulfillment. But she did have what Tom Singing Wind had described as a kind of communion with the universe. She was, as he had said, in the hand of Kiehtan. And Kiehtan, according to Singing Wind, was fair with all beings, as he had been with her, when he let her find her freedom. She wanted nothing more now.

  As Sarah thought of it, Rebecca led her to their only bedroom. It was a tiny room, roughly the size of her cabin on the Concord, and it boasted a small rough-hewn bed, just barely big enough for two people. It was the bed she shared with her husband, and Sarah could see that she'd been sleeping in it, with her large, round stomach. But she offered it to Sarah now, and said she could sleep on a blanket in the other room near her children, if Sarah preferred that. Her husband was away with a hunting party, and wouldn't be home for several days. And Rebecca didn't mind giving up her bedroom to her guest, if Sarah preferred it.

  Of course not, Sarah said, touched by her willingness to give up even her bed to an unknown woman. I can sleep on the floor if I have to. I don't mind at all. I've been sleeping in a carriage for four days and I didn't mind that either.

  Oh no! Rebecca blushed furiously, and then finally the two women agreed to sleep together in the only bed. Sarah undressed quickly in the dark, so as not to disturb her more than she had to, and five minutes later, the two women who had just met lay side by side like sisters. It was a whole new life here. And as she lay thinking about it, Sarah whispered shyly in the dark, as if they were two children trying not to wake their parents.

  Why did you come here? Rebecca asked her. She could not resist asking her the question. Perhaps there was a man she was in love with. Rebecca had thought she was very beautiful, and didn't think she was very old. Rebecca herself had just turned twenty.

  I wanted to see it, Sarah said honestly. I came here from England two months ago to make a new life' . She thought she'd best propagate the same lie here she'd told since the beginning. I'm a widow.

  How sad, Rebecca said with real feeling. Her own husband, Andrew, was twenty-one, and they had known and loved each other since they were children. She could not even imagine a husband and wife sharing less than that, let alone a life like the one that had forced Sarah to flee England. I'm sorry.

  It's all right. ' And then she decided to be at least somewhat honest with her, it seemed unfair not to be. I never loved him.

  How terrible, Rebecca said with a look of amazement. They were sharing confidences that they never would have in a drawing room, and yet they were sharing the same bed, in this magical place which seemed so close to God ' and Kiehtan. Sarah smiled at the legends Singing Wind had told her. Will you stay at the garrison for long? Rebecca asked with interest, and then yawned. She could feel the baby move inside her, and she knew that soon her other two would wake her. The days were long for her, particularly with Andrew away hunting. There was no one else to help her. Her family was in North Carolina.

  I don't know how long I'll stay, Sarah said, yawning too, it was contagious. I'd like to stay forever. Rebecca smiled in answer and drifted off to sleep then, and a little while later, Sarah fell asleep too, unable to believe her good fortune just to be there.

  Rebecca was up and out of bed long before the dawn the next day when she heard her youngest stir. She knew from the heaviness in her breasts that it was time to nurse him. It gave her pains when she did that sometimes, and she was afraid that the baby in her womb might come early, but her little one was so young, it seemed wrong not to nurse him. He was only eight months old, and he'd been frail. She didn't know how pregnant she was, but she thought maybe seven months or so. She was much bigger than the time before. Their first baby was a girl, and she was eighteen months old now. And once she woke up, Rebecca had her hands full. She tried to keep diem from waking her guest, and she kept them both busy with a bowl of porridge and a crust of bread for each. It was easier for her being in the garrison than on a farm somewhere. She would have had no way to work the land, and they were safer and had more food here. This way Andrew didn't need to worry about her whenever he left her.

  And by the time Sarah woke at nine o'clock, Rebecca had washed both children, dressed them and herself, done the laundry, and there was bread baking in the oven. She had had a busy morning. And as she saw her hostess bustling around the tiny cheerful room, with a fire in the grate, Sarah was embarrassed to have slept so late and been so lazy. She must have been more tired than she thought. She had slept like the dead until the sound of horses and carts outside finally woke h
er. She knew that by the time she woke up that day, her carriage would have gone back to Boston. And both guides had said they were moving on early that morning. Singing Wind had to go back to his father and report on the farming utensils and equipment he'd bought for them, and George, the trapper, was heading north to trade with the settlers on the Canadian border. It was more dangerous there, he knew, but he didn't mind it. He knew most of the tribes, and all but a few of them were friendly.

  Would you like something to eat? Rebecca asked her kindly, holding the baby in one arm, and trying to steady her little girl and keep her out of the sewing basket with the other.

  I'll take care of myself. You look as though you have your hands full.

  I do, Rebecca said with a broad smile. She was small and wore her hair in braids, and in the bright sunshine she looked more like twelve than twenty. Andrew helps me with them when he can, but he's away a lot, checking on the settlers, visiting the other forts. He has a lot to do here. But so did she, and her belly looked enormous now to Sarah.

  When will the baby come? Sarah asked with a look of concern as she helped herself to a cup of coffee. It looked like any minute.

  Not for a month or two, I think ' probably two ' I'm not sure. She blushed. Each of her babies had come right on the heels of the other, but she looked healthy and happy. But even Sarah could see that it was not an easy life here. It was simple and rugged, and devoid of all the conveniences that people were accustomed to. It seemed as though it was in another world than Boston, and it was. This was an entirely different life here, and she knew just from being here and sniffing at it, this was exactly what she wanted.

  Sarah made the bed, and asked if she could help Rebecca with anything, but she said she was fine and planning to visit a friend on a neighboring farm who had just had a baby. And when Sarah felt sure she wasn't abandoning her, she left to find the colonel.

  She found his office easily, but he wasn't there, and she walked around the garrison for a while, watching everything that went on, the blacksmith shoeing horses, the men laughing and exchanging tales, the Indians who came and went, who looked different from Singing Wind, and she suspected they were the Nonotucks she'd heard of. They were an equally gentle tribe as the Wampanoags. There were no fierce Indians left around here, or so she thought, until she saw a group of men ride hard through the gates, and she thought she had never seen anything so ferocious. They were a group of about twelve men, most of them Indians, and looked as though they'd had a long hard ride. They had four supply horses galloping behind them, and the men who led them seemed to stop for nothing. The Indians looked nothing like Singing Wind, or the Nonotucks she'd seen that morning. They had a fierce harshness to them, in the way they looked, and even in the way they handled their horses. Their hair was long and black, and they wore beads and feathers, and one of them was wearing a spectacular breastplate. But even the way they spoke to each other frightened Sarah a little. But no one else in the garrison seemed to pay any attention to them. And as they pulled their horses up not far from where she stood, Sarah felt herself tremble. And she was annoyed at herself for her reaction. But they were so powerful, so breathtaking, they were like a storm rushing past her. And then she heard one of the men shout something to the others, and they laughed. There was a powerful sense of camaraderie among them, which even seemed to include the white men. And as their horses still pranced nervously, they dismounted. She saw several soldiers eyeing them, but they said nothing, and the Indians spoke quietly amongst themselves. It was obviously not an attack, but it looked like a delegation of some sort, and there was an undeniable sense of strength and unity about them. She stood watching them silently, unobserved, wondering who and what they were, and she found herself staring at their leader. He was the most mesmerizing of all, he had long, shining dark hair that flew out behind him as he walked, and he wore beautiful buckskins and boots. He looked almost European, but not quite, he had the noble carriage, and harshly carved face of the Indians he rode with, and he spoke in Indian dialect to the men around him. It was obvious just from the way he moved and the way they answered him, how much he was respected. He was a natural leader. He seemed almost like a prince of some kind in his warlike dignity, and it was easy to believe that he was the sachem, the chief, or perhaps the son of a chief. He looked to Sarah as though he were in his late thirties.

  He turned sharply then, as she watched him, carrying an enormous musket, with a bow slung across his back, and she found herself face-to-face with him unexpectedly, and she jumped as he saw her. She was in no way prepared to face the man, however spectacular she thought him. He was like a painting she wanted to observe, an exquisite unknown sport of some kind, just watching him move and speak and turn was like listening to music. He was the most graceful and powerful man she'd ever seen, and at the same time very silent. But he was also terrifying, and she couldn't move from where she stood as he watched her. He stopped dead, staring at her, looking more ominous than any man she'd seen, and yet she did not feel like he would hurt her. He was like the Prince of the Unknown, he represented a world she could only dream of, and as his eyes searched hers, he turned away then, and walked into an office. And she was horrified to realize she was shaking violently once he'd passed her. Her knees were knocking so hard she almost couldn't stand, and she let herself down on the steps of the building she'd been standing near, as she watched the others disband their supplies, and move across the garrison. She still wondered what tribe they were from, and who they were, and why they had pounded into the garrison as though they had a legion of devils just behind them.

  It took her ten minutes to stop shaking after her encounter with the leader of the group, and when she walked back across the garrison to the colonel's office again, out of curiosity she asked a soldier what tribe the Indians were from that she had noticed. It was easy to describe them.

  They're Iroquois, he explained, looking unimpressed. He'd seen them many times before, but Sarah hadn't. And their entrance had been quite remarkable, as far as she was concerned. She knew, like so much else she'd seen here, she would never forget it. They're Seneca actually, which is part of the Iroquois nation, and one of them is Cayuga. There are six Iroquois nations. He reeled them all off to her as she listened avidly: Onondaga, Cayuga, Oneida, Seneca, Mohawk, and the last to join the confederacy were the Tuscarora. They've only joined up with the Iroquois for the past seventy years, and they're originally from North Carolina. What you're seeing here, though, is Seneca, and the little short one is Cayuga.

  Their leader is quite an impressive sort, she said, still a little overwhelmed by the impression he'd made on her. She felt as though she had faced all the terrors of the new world, embodied in one man, and failed to be terrorized or defeated. But it had been close for a minute or two. He had been more than a little daunting. But she'd survived it. And here at the garrison, she knew it was unlikely that anyone would try to hurt her. And what had comforted her, as terrifying as he was, was that no one else seemed worried by him.

  Who rode in with them? the soldier asked, but she could only describe him. I'm not sure who that was. Probably one of the chief's sons. He might have been Mohawk, they're a little more frightening-looking than the Seneca. Particularly in war paint, which they obviously weren't wearing. That was a relief anyway. Probably if they had, with the best will in the world, she felt sure she might have fainted.

  She thanked the man for the information then, and went on to find the colonel. He had returned from his morning's ride by then, and seemed pleased by what he'd seen. His territory was in good order. And he looked particularly happy to see Sarah. It seemed years since he'd seen her in Boston. And he was extremely relieved to hear that the long trip had gone well, and she had arrived safely. It was impossible not to notice how pretty she looked too. Even in a simple brown wool gown, with a plain bonnet to protect her from the cold, she was a rare beauty. The cream of her skin looked almost like snow, her eyes were the color of a summer sky, and the lips which
wore no rouge would have begged a younger man to kiss them. Yet she was perfectly demure, proper in every possible way, and the light he saw in her eyes was only excitement to be there. There was a subtle sensuality about her, but she kept it so well hidden, that all one sensed about her, if one didn't look too far, was warmth and friendship. And she thanked him profusely for letting her come here, which made him chuckle as he listened.

  Amelia has always treated her visits to me as sheer torture, and something I must apologize for from the moment she arrives until the moment she leaves us. In the past five years, she had not come often. At forty-nine, she felt she was too old now for hardship. And it was easier for him to see her in Boston. But Sarah was another story. She had the land in her veins. And he teased her and said she was born to be a settler, but he was sure she knew he didn't really mean it. It was just a compliment he paid her.

  He had organized a small dinner for her that night, and hoped that she was comfortable enough where she was staying. They had no rooms for guests, and had to rely on the soldiers' wives to accommodate people when they came. His own wife had to share his billet, which was some of what she hated. Sarah said that she was fine, and had already grown fond of Rebecca. But later at dinner she found that the colonel had invited Lieutenant Parker to dinner. And he was still as besotted with her as he'd been in Boston. She did everything she could to discourage him, until she finally reached the point of being quite rude to him, but he didn't seem to mind it. In fact, she almost feared he liked it. He interpreted her sharp answers as a form of interest. And she was even more distressed to find that some of the other guests thought she had come to Deerfield to see him.