The men she'd contracted with in Shelburne said she'd have her house by late spring, particularly since what she wanted was so simple. She wanted a long, plain log house, with a main room, a small dining area, a single bedroom, and a kitchen. She needed sheds and outbuildings, but they could come later, and a cabin for the two or three men she'd need to help her. Nothing more. And the men she'd hired said they'd have it put together for her in no time. Possibly June, maybe even before that. Everything was going to be made locally. They'd use whatever hardware they had on hand, only the windows had to be made in Boston and sent to Shelburne by oxcart. There were actually some handsome houses near her too, but they were even more elaborate than what she wanted. Sarah wanted only the simplest of dwellings. She had no need and no desire for anything fancy.
And all she could think about that spring was the house she was building in Shelburne. She had spent the winter peacefully in Boston, reading, keeping her journal, being entertained by friends. She heard that Rebecca gave birth to a little girl and knitted a little cap and sweater for her. And then finally in May she could stand it no longer. She took the long trip back to Deer-field again, and rode to Shelburne as often as she could to watch them build her house, log by log, piece by piece, bit by bit, as they fitted it magically together. And they had been as good as their word. By the first of June, she was ready to move in. And she hated going back to Boston again, to pack up her belongings, but there were still some things she needed. It took her two weeks to find them, and in mid-June she set out again, in a carriage, with a cart piled high with her things, and two guides and a driver. And there were no incidents. She arrived safely first in Deerfield, and then at last in Shelburne. And as she unpacked her things, she was overwhelmed by how beautiful the area was in summer. The clearing she lived in was lush and green, the trees reaching far above her and shading the house that had been built for her, exactly to her specifications. She had half a dozen horses, some sheep, a goat, two cows. And she had hired two boys to help her.
For the moment, they hadn't planted much of anything. She wanted time to study the land, to learn about it, although they had planted corn. That was easy. And one of the boys she'd hired had spoken to some neighboring Iroquois about what to plant, they were so wise about everything that grew in the region.
By July, the colonel had come out to see her once, and she had prepared a wholesome dinner for him, cooked by her own hands. She cooked for her two hired hands every night, and treated them as her children. The colonel was not only touched by the simple beauty of her home, and the few but lovely things she'd chosen to bring with her, but he found he could not understand why she had given up what must have been a privileged, noble life in England, and it would have been almost impossible to explain it to him. The horror of her life with Edward still gave her nightmares. And she was grateful every moment, every hour, every day for her freedom.
She walked almost daily to Shelburne Falls when she had the time, and as summer wore on, she came to love it more and more. She sat on the rocks for hours sometimes, sketching, writing, diinking, with her feet in the icy water. She loved jumping from one rock to the other, and trying to imagine how the enormous holes in the rocks had come there. She knew the Indians had wonderful legends about it, and she could imagine celestial beings using them as toys, hurtling them across the heavens. Perhaps once long ago, they had been comets. But in her time at the falls, she found a peace she never had before, and she could feel old wounds begin to heal at last. It had taken that long. She looked healthier than she ever had before, and freer. She had finally left all the demons and the sorrows far behind her. Her life in England seemed like a dream now.
She was walking home from the falls one afternoon, singing to herself in the late July sunshine, when she heard a sound nearby, and then she saw him. Had she not known his history by then, he would have frightened her again, so fierce did he look, as he sat watching her, bare-chested and in buckskin pants, riding bareback. It was the Frenchman.
She looked up at him, and neither of them spoke, and she imagined he was on his way to the garrison. In fact, he had already been, and he and the colonel talked about her.
The colonel still considered her remarkable, and his wife was still mourning the fact that she had been unable to convince her to stay in Boston.
But she seems to want to live out here, in the wilderness, don't ask me why, a girl like that. By all rights, she should be back in England. She doesn't belong here. And Francois quite agreed with him, though for different reasons. He thought the life she'd chosen for herself was dangerous for her, yet her indomitable courage when they'd met six months before had indelibly impressed him. He had thought of her more than once since that time, and as he rode north alone from Deerfield, on his way to visit the Iroquois, he had decided to stop by and see her, somewhat on the spur of the moment. One of the boys who worked for her had told Francois where she was, although the boy had been frightened of him at first, and thought he might be a Mohawk. But Fran+oois had been extremely polite to the boy, and tried to be careful not to scare him. He said that he and Mrs. Ferguson were old friends, although that was not quite the case, and she would have been surprised to hear it. And when she saw him watching her, she looked less than pleased to see him.
Good afternoon, he said finally, dismounting, aware of his state of undress in the native style, and wondering if she would be bothered by it. But she seemed not to even notice. What she objected to was his spying on her. She had seen him sitting there, watching her, as she walked home on the trail. She couldn't help wondering why he'd come there. The colonel sends you his greetings, he said, falling into step beside her, as she glanced at him, still surprised to see him.
Why did you come? she asked him bluntly, still angry over the terror he had caused her in the forest the previous winter. She had thought they would never meet again, and was surprised to see him.
He looked at her for a long moment, and then bowed his head, as his horse followed behind them. He had thought of this for a long time, and was sorry now he hadn't come sooner. He had heard from some of his Seneca friends that she was living near Shelburne, in a clearing in the forest. There were few secrets in that part of the world, the Indian world was filled with rumors.
I came to apologize, he said, looking straight ahead, and then finally he looked at her. She seemed surprised, as she moved along beside him. She wore a plain blue cotton gown with a white shirt and an apron, not unlike the clothes the servants had worn on her father's farm when she was a child in England. She led a simple life now, not unlike her father's servants. But Fran+oois saw her very differently. She seemed like a spirit from another world, the kind of woman he had never met but only dreamed of I know I frightened you very badly last winter. I shouldn't have done that, but I thought it was wrong of you to be here. This is not a place for most women. The life is hard, the winters long ' there are many dangers. She heard his accent again, and in spite of herself found she liked it. It was mostly French, and had just a touch of Indian, from speaking their dialects so much of the time for so many years. He had learned English as a boy and spoke it well, and he no longer had the opportunity to speak French very often. The cemeteries are filled with people who should never have come here. But, he conceded with a slow smile that lit his face in a way she'd never seen before, it was like watching sunlight on the mountains, perhaps you, my brave friend, are meant to be here. He had come to think differently about her ever since that night in the forest, and for months, he wished that he had told her. He was glad to have the opportunity to do so now, and happier still that she was willing to listen. She had been so angry at him that night, that he feared she would never let him near her. There is an Indian legend about a woman who traded her life for her son's ' she died for his honor ' and lived forever among the stars, a beacon for all warriors to find their way in the darkness. He looked up at the sky as though there were stars there even though it was still daylight, and then he smiled at her again. The
Indians believe that all our souls go up to the sky and live there when we die. I find that comforting sometimes when I think of the people I have known, and who have left me. She didn't want to ask him who they had been, but what he had just said made her think about her babies.
I like that too, she said softly, glancing at him with a shy smile. Perhaps he wasn't as wicked as she had once thought him, though she still didn't completely trust him.
The colonel tells me we have something in common, he said, walking along slowly beside her. We have both left lives behind us in Europe. That much was obvious from their respective accents, and she wondered suddenly if the colonel had told him something more than that, though she couldn't imagine that he knew anything more than the rumors she herself had heard in Boston. It must have taken a great deal to bring you here, on your own ' you're still young. Giving up your life there must have cost you dearly. He was still trying to figure out why she had come. Despite what the colonel had said to him six months before, he sensed that it would have taken more than her husband being an unpleasant sort to drive her all the way to Deerfield. And he wondered if she was happy in her retired, simple life, tucked away near Shelburne. But he could tell from looking at her that, if nothing else, she was at peace here.
He walked all the way back to her log cabin with her, and then seemed reluctant to leave and ride on. She hesitated as she looked at him. Despite what he had said, they seemed to have very little in common. He lived among the Indians, and she lived alone here. But in some ways, he could have been an interesting friend. She was intrigued by the legends and the Indian lore she had heard, and she was always anxious to learn more about them.
He stood watching her once they got back, and she smiled at him, remembering how fierce he had once seemed to her. But now, in his buckskins and his moccasins, with his hair loose in the wind, he seemed exotic but harmless.
Would you like to stay for dinner? It's nothing fancy. Just stew. The boys and I eat very simple fare. She'd had a stew pot on all afternoon, both Patrick and John, her hired hands, were from Irish families, and they came from Boston. All they cared about was that the food was plentiful, and she kept them well housed and well fed, and was grateful for their assistance. Both boys were fifteen, and were good friends. And as Fran+oois looked down at her, he nodded.
If this were an Indian family, I would be expected to bring a gift. I have come with empty hands, he said, apologizing again. But he hadn't intended to do more than check on her, give her the colonel's greetings, and then move on. But something about her, her soft voice, her gentle manner, the intelligent things she talked about, made him want to stay there.
He wore a buckskin shirt when he came into the cabin that night. He had fed and watered his horse, and washed his face and hands. His hair was tied back in a leather thong, with a feather and a small knot of bright green beads, and he wore a necklace of bear claws. And they sat at table together, as though they were in Boston, and had known each other forever. The boys had eaten earlier and she had set the table for the two of them with a lace tablecloth, and used the china she had bought from a woman in Deerfield. It was from Gloucester, and had been brought from England years before. And the candles in the pewter candlesticks flickered a warm light on their faces and cast shadows against the wall, as they chatted.
They talked about the Indian Wars years before, and he explained some of the tribes to her, mostly among the Iroquois, but he told her about the Algonquin, and the local tribes as well. He told her how different it had been when he first came there, how many more Indians there had been before the government had forced them to go north, and west. Many of them were in Canada now, many of them had died on the long march north. It made it easier to understand why the Western tribes were fighting so viciously for their land against the Army and the settlers. In some ways, he sympathized with them, although he hated what they were doing to the settlers. He would have liked to see some kind of peace treaty signed, so things could calm down. But so far, they had accomplished nothing.
No one wins in these wars. It's not an answer to the problem. Everyone is hurt by them ' and the Indians always lose in the end. It saddened him, he had a great respect for the Indians, and Sarah loved hearing about them. More than that, she loved watching him, as he told his many tales. He was a man of many lives, many interests, many passions. He had given so much of himself to the new world, and she knew he had long since won the respect of settlers and Indians as well. And as they sat and talked, his eyes were filled with questions about her.
Sarah, why did you really come here? he asked finally, she had let him call her by her Christian name almost as soon as they sat down to dinner.
It would have killed me if I'd stayed there, she said sadly. I was a prisoner in my own house ' or his house actually ' my husband's. I was traded at the age of sixteen for a good-size piece of land. Rather like a treaty. She smiled at him, and then her eyes saddened again. He treated me abominably for the next eight years. He had an accident one day, and it seemed as though he might die. For the first time in all that time, I thought of what it would be like to be free again, not to be beaten ' not to come to any harm ' and then he recovered, and everything was just the same as it always had been. I ran away to Fal-mouth, bought passage on a small brig that was scheduled to set sail, and came to Boston. I had to wait three weeks for the ship to set sail once I booked passage on her, and every day seemed like a year. She smiled as she remembered it, and then she frowned again. He beat me again ' terribly ' and ' did terrible things to me, just before I left, and then I knew that even if I died at sea, I had to do it. I couldn't have stayed another hour, and truly, I think if I'd stayed, he would have killed me. If he hadn't beaten her to death, or broken her spirit, she would have died in childbed almost certainly with their next baby. But she said nothing of that to Fran+oois, and asked him instead why he had never gone back to France. She was curious about him as well, and grateful for the company he provided. She read so much and spent so much time alone that it was a pleasure to have another intelligent human being to talk to. The boys who worked for her were sweet, but they were simple and uneducated and talking to them was like speaking to children. But not so with Fran+oois. He was sophisticated and wise, and truly brilliant.
I stayed here because I love it ' and I'm useful here, he said quietly as she listened. I would have served no purpose at all if I'd gone back to France. And now the revolution has come, I'd be dead by now if I'd gone back to Paris. My life is here, he said simply. It has been for a long time. It was clear that he didn't want to talk about himself. But she nodded, it was easy to understand why he stayed. She couldn't imagine being in England again. It was part of another life. And you, my friend? he asked. It was easy to forget how they had met now, sitting at her table, eating the dinner she had prepared. What will you do now? You cannot live alone forever in this outpost of yours. It's an odd life for a young girl. He was fourteen years older than she was, but she laughed at what he'd just said about her.
I'm twenty-five. You can hardly call that young anymore. And yes, I can live here alone forever, that is precisely what I intend. I want to build onto the house next year. And there are some things we still need to do to it before winter. I'm going to have a good life here, she said firmly, but listening to her, he frowned.
And when a war party comes? What will you do then? Trade your life for those two boys outside, as you did last year? He was still impressed by that, and would never forget the look in her eyes when she offered him her life for the young soldier's.
We are no threat to them. You said yourself the Indians are peaceful here. I wish them no harm. They will know that.
The Nonotuck and the Wampanoag perhaps, but if Shawnee come from the West, or Huron from the North, or even Mohawk, then what will you do, Sarah?
Pray, or join my Maker, she said with a smile. She was not going to worry about it. She felt safe where she was, and the other settlers said there were rarely problems. They had alr
eady promised to send her word if any war parties were seen in the environs.
Can you shoot? he asked, still looking worried about her, and she smiled at his interest. He no longer looked fierce to her, he was her friend now.
I went hunting with my father as a young girl, but I have not done so for many years. He nodded, he knew what he had to teach her. And there were things about the Indians he still felt she should learn. He was also going to spread the word among his friends in the neighboring tribes that there was a woman here, unarmed, alone, and that she was under his protection. The word would travel far and wide among them. They would be curious about her, some would come to look, or watch from the distance. They might even visit, or come to trade with her. But once they knew she was connected to him, they would do her no harm. He was White Bear of the Iroquois. He had been in the sweat lodges with them and danced with them after their Wars. He had shared their ceremonies with them. And Red Jacket of the Iroquois had accepted him as his son many years before. And when his wife and infant son had died, murdered by the Huron, they had been buried with her ancestors, and taken by the gods, while Francois mourned them.
The Ghost Page 23
