A Flight of Arrows (5 page)

October 17, 1776

Aubrey farm

I
t was done. A
fait accompli
. Reginald had survived it and was home, sitting in his favorite chair by the hearth and recounting the tale.
No sense being angry now
, Lydia admonished herself. But he'd said he was only going to
build
the boats.

“A risky move it was, but a bold one,” Reginald said, addressing those gathered in the sitting room—Anna, Good Voice, Stone Thrower, Two Hawks, and Lydia, who, with three expectant mothers with imminent childbeds, had come meaning to entreat Anna to return to town. Thoughts of returning to Schenectady had fled upon Reginald's unheralded homecoming, a happy reunion sullied now as the truth of what he'd done sank in, filling her mind with the chop of dark water strewn with planking and the bodies of the dead…

“The British left us a gap near a mile wide between the flank of their anchored ships and the western lakeshore. Come midnight we rowed through it in file, sweeps muffled, lanterns hooded—praying British ears were still as deafened from the guns as were ours.”

Stone Thrower and Good Voice, together on a settee, leaned forward, intent on the tale, but from her chair Anna broke in, “Were you wounded, Papa? When you went into the water?”

Earlier in the yard, as Reginald dismounted his horse, Lydia had known straightaway he'd taken hurt. She'd refrained from mentioning it
thus far, but it didn't surprise her that Anna had noticed the subtle stiffness in his movements.

“Not but a few splinters,” Reginald assured his daughter, waving away the horrific detail. “The British gave us not one gun as we passed. I came last aboard the
Congress
with General Arnold, and long could I see the
Royal Savage
burning behind us.” As if feeling the keen edge of her gaze, Reginald paused. “Truly, Lydia, the wounds weren't grave.”

His blue-gray eyes were warm yet wary. The water between them was as littered with debris as that of Lake Champlain. Memory of the kiss they'd shared months ago rose like an ache in Lydia's throat. Reginald fixed his stare on the hearth fire—avoiding the gaze of William's twin, who sat cross-legged beside it—as he picked up the thread of his tale.

“We'd hoped to make Crown Point and there be resupplied, but the wind turned against us, coming up from the south. It was all night rowing—and look you, Lydia, do not hiss in your breath,” he added as she did exactly that. “ 'Twas hardly a man of us not wounded, see. All could lift an oar were needed.”

Lydia shared a glance with Anna, then pressed her lips tight.

“We anchored in the night to mend as we could. By sunrise we saw the British sailing hard after us. We pushed through the day, rowing, strung out along the lake. The wind was yet strong from the south as we tacked, our bows smacking the chop,
Congress
shuddering as though her timbers would crack to kindling.” Reginald leaned forward in his chair, his Welsh-lilted voice a gentler wave than those of which he spoke.

“Into another night we pressed, yet dawn showed the British fleet again come up with us, and we still twenty miles from Crown Point. Within hours the
Washington
surrendered, leaving
Congress
the nearest prey. We'd tacked toward the eastern shore with four of the gondolas. It settled then into a running chase, with Arnold keeping up a brisk return of fire. But we were taking losses…”

A glance at Lydia, and Reginald said no more of losses.

“By noon 'twas clear we were done for. Arnold ordered
Congress
and the gondolas run aground. We took what arms we could carry and fired the vessels. Arnold didn't strike our colors but let them fly above the flames.”

“A good defiance,” Stone Thrower murmured.

“That it was,” Reginald agreed. “ 'Twas no winning that engagement, see. But the British didn't press us. I've heard they do not mean to. Not from that quarter. Not this year.”

“Iyo.”
It was Two Hawks who spoke, from the floor by the hearth. He and Anna shared a deep look before seeming to remember they were under Reginald's nose and broke the gaze.

Anna colored pink in the firelight. Reginald opened his mouth to address his daughter.

“How far was this from Crown Point?” Lydia asked, snagging his attention.

“About ten miles.” Reginald shifted in his chair, pain tightening his mouth, and let whatever he'd thought to say to Anna pass. “We watched the fires take deck and sail. Then the magazines exploded, rolling flames into the air, scattering burning planks across the bay. Enough to break the heart, it was. Once Arnold saw the ships would make no prizes, we took to the wood and made our way to Crown Point.”

Lydia gaped. “Ten miles afoot, after all that? I wouldn't think—”

“I had it in me?” Reginald's mouth twisted. “A near thing it was, and I'll pay a price for it yet awhile.” He rubbed a hand at the base of his neck. “We reached Crown Point and warned the garrison the fort wouldn't hold, presuming then the British
would
press the attack. We put the place to the torch and proceeded to Ticonderoga, and here am I come home at last, who meant to be gone but a few weeks' time.”

Anna had her arms crossed, her face a study in unhappiness. “And we never even knew this was happening to you.”

Reginald's expression softened. “I suppose there is still that of the soldier in me, unable to refuse such pressing need.”

Good Voice drew in a breath. With that one word—
soldier
—Lydia knew she'd been thrust back in memory to another war, another fort.

Seeking for something to say to cover the moment, Lydia glanced at Anna. Two Hawks had captured her focus again. It was wrenching to witness the depth of their longing, but…Lydia narrowed her gaze at the pair. There
was
longing in that shared gaze, but something else had supplanted it, at least in Anna's expression.
Pleading?
Two Hawks met it with a shake of his head.

Stone Thrower asked, “What of the other American ships?”

“They reached Ticonderoga,” Reginald said. “Even the crew of the
Washington
taken prisoner was returned under flag of truce and the promise of parole.”

The fire's snap was loud in the ensuing silence. Lydia felt tension gathering in the room. Again…there went Anna mutely pleading, as if she wanted Two Hawks to say something he didn't wish to say.

“We have waited for your return,” his father said. “After one more sleep, we start our journey home to Kanowalohale. We have decided this.”

Surprise, then dismay, chased across Anna's features. Whomever Stone Thrower meant by
we
, it hadn't included her.

Reginald too looked surprised. “You needn't leave so soon.”

“We thank you for sharing your home this long while,” Stone Thrower said, his handsome face burnished in the firelight. “But there is hunting to be done.”

Reginald rubbed at his neck again. “Rowan has told me of your help with the harvest. I mean to send you home with a fair portion of the yield.”

It was true. The Oneidas had been of great assistance to Rowan and Maura Doyle in Reginald's absence. Good Voice mostly, though Stone Thrower had done what he could, confined to crutches. It had been the first time he'd harvested corn—women's work among the Oneidas.

Good Voice said, “What you offer we accept. But still we go. Hunting will be hard, dangerous with spies going about the forest trails. But the furs will buy us many things needed. Not just food.”

“It is not only for us we go,” Stone Thrower added. “Some at Kanowalohale have none to provide. I am a warrior of my people. My place is with them.”

Looking both regretful and relieved, Reginald cleared his throat. “What of Johnson's regiment? Is there news?”

“That is for my son to answer,” Stone Thrower said.

Two Hawks sat straighter as he related the rumors that had circulated about Sir John Johnson and his regiment. “We put to rest each one until none remained to follow. We know where William is not—at the lake forts. We do not know where he is.”

Reginald was silent, absorbing this, then said, “Too long have I been gone from my place on the Binne Kill. But once my business there is in order…” He met Stone Thrower's questioning gaze. “I've had time for thinking about what Arnold did on Lake Champlain. I thought of doing likewise—finding a break in the British lines in the north, slipping through to find William.”

“No,” Lydia said before she could think better of it. “Reginald, winter is nigh upon us.”

Reginald ignored all but Stone Thrower, to whom he'd bound himself with a promise—that they would neither go after William alone.

“It is a bold plan,” Stone Thrower said. “It stirs my heart to hear it. But we have taken hurt, you and I. To cross such distance in snow would take a man in his full strength to do. And I have reason to stay. For now.”

“You don't know yet where to look for William,” Lydia persisted. “You cannot even be certain he's joined Johnson's regiment.”

“You do not let fly an arrow before you aim it,” Good Voice added.

Stone Thrower said, “We do well to heed the wisdom of our women.
We wait. Pray. Trust our lost one to Heavenly Father. Until we have a target to aim at.”

Reginald's jaw tightened. He closed his eyes, only to open them when Two Hawks stood abruptly. The young man's color deepened as all gazes turned his way, but it was Reginald's he held.

“I am glad you are safe from battle,” he said. “We have been much worried for you, wishing you home. Now I am going down to the barn.”

“The barn?” Anna asked in evident bewilderment.

Two Hawks jerked a nod. “Where I will sleep. I have moved my things to be ready for morning. Sleep well,” he said to the room at large, though his gaze rested on Anna's upturned face with its own pleading. For what? Turning away too quickly for Lydia to be sure, he passed between her and Reginald and went out.

Anna stared after him. Only Lydia seemed to notice her hurt. Reginald was reaching inside his coat. He brought out something small, wrapped in faded cloth. He laid it on his thigh and removed the wrapping to reveal two framed oval faces. Lydia was near enough to see one was a tiny portrait of Heledd, his late wife, who had returned to Wales nine years ago with…

“William,” she said, recognizing the face in the second frame.

“What is this?” Good Voice leaned forward, staring at what lay in Reginald's lap. Stone Thrower mirrored her movement.

“I found these among the things William left behind. Heledd must have had them commissioned soon before she passed. He looks to be nearly the age he is now. Here.” Reginald held out the portrait that had captured their attention, his voice gone gruff with feeling. “See the face of your son.”

As Good Voice's hands cradled the miniature, Anna wept openly, watching William's parents, hearing as did Lydia the involuntary sounds each made, eloquent of years of pain and loss and wondering.

“They are much alike,” Good Voice whispered at last. “The brows, the mouth…”

“But the eyes…” Stone Thrower said. “He is like you.”

Anna shot to her feet and all but ran from the room. Good Voice and Stone Thrower barely glanced up at her going, but Reginald raised his eyes to Lydia. Eyes still haunted by guilt.

N
eed pulled Anna from the house, where Two Hawks's parents lingered over their first bittersweet sight of William's face. Forsaking shawl and propriety, she followed her heart's tether through the dark, down the wagon lane to the barn, ducking into shadow as Mr. Doyle, finished his chores, left the barn headed for the cottage he shared with Mrs. Doyle. Heart thumping, she laced her arms against the cold and waited for his boot scuffs to fade.

Papa would be angry if he knew she was doing this. But she had to know. Why hadn't Two Hawks spoken?

It had come to her on her birthday, the idea of Two Hawks working with Papa on the Binne Kill, crafting bateaux, learning the business. Becoming what she'd been for Lydia these past years. An apprentice. Made in a rush at the kitchen table, in a rare moment of privacy, the proposal had caught Two Hawks off guard. When he'd hesitated, she'd reminded him of something he said years ago, when they'd argued over what constituted a man's proper work. “
A man may build a canoe without shame
. You told me that, remember? A bateau is like a canoe.”

“It is so,” he'd conceded. “But why do you wish this?”

“Papa won't give us permission, much less his blessing, to marry if you remain a stranger to him. Papa needs to know you.” Two Hawks's continued hesitation had made the pit of her stomach drop away. “Will you consider it, working with Papa?”

Mrs. Doyle had trundled in then, apron full of potatoes from the cellar. She stopped short, eyeing them. Two Hawks had stood.

“I will consider,” he'd said, and left her hoping what she'd heard in his voice hadn't been reluctance but the constraint of Mrs. Doyle's watchful presence. But it
had
been reluctance. His refusal to speak to Papa proved it.

The barn door creaked as she pushed it open. Inside, by lantern light, Two Hawks was unrolling his blanket in an empty stall near the door. At her entry, he bolted to his feet in a fluid motion. Startlement fled his expression, replaced by a look she didn't want to see. Regret. “You should not be here.”

She shut the door to keep light from spilling out. She'd reined in her tears. She would say her piece and not cry through it.

“Why?” She choked on the word as tears came. “Why did you say nothing? It would have worked. It still could. You could sleep in Papa's workshop. I'd be in town with Lydia and could see you every day. There are clothes you could wear. William didn't take all of his with him. They'd fit you perfectly until—”

Two Hawks crossed the space between them so swiftly, she broke off in surprise. He stopped near enough that she could feel his warmth, but he didn't raise a hand to touch her. “I never said I would ask your father this thing you wish. I said I would think about it. I have done so.”

“And now you're leaving?”

“I must. For a time.” His face was shadowed, the lantern behind him. He kept his arms at his sides. She curled her hands around them, beseeching. The linen of his shirt was soft beneath her fingers, his muscles firm, lean.

An ache lodged in her throat. “I want you to stay.”

A tremor went through him, and he closed his eyes. “Others have need of me.”

She stepped back, her shoes rustling straw. Somewhere in the darkened barn a horse ruckled. “For the hunting? Stone Thrower said he would hunt.”

“He spoke the words of a father and husband,” Two Hawks said, eyes
opening to her, still shadowed. “But he is not ready to be the only provider for my mother. I must also provide. An apprentice is given no pay, and I cannot ask your father to hire me. I have no skill at his work. It would not be right.”

“It would keep you safe!”

“At the expense of my people's safety? They need every warrior, now more than ever, to stand ready for whatever is coming.”

“Two Hawks, you aren't a warrior. You don't have to fight.”

He took her by the shoulders, dark eyes earnest and torn. “You must understand. I will not stand by and let my people suffer harm.”

My people
. She lowered her chin.

Cupping her face in his hand, he raised it. “Listen. Your father is no longer a warrior, yet when he was needed, he fought on that lake. I think him right for doing it. He held off the British from the north, he and that brave general, Arnold. How can I do less than this man whose blessing my heart craves?”

She searched his face, his words filling her with admiration—and fear. “Is there no hope for peace?”

“We must pray for peace but strengthen our arms for battle.” That he was right only deepened her frustration. She tried to pull away. He didn't let her. “Why do you think your father did what he did on that lake?”

“Because he's a man. And men are stubborn, foolhardy creatures, too brave for their own good!”

To her annoyance, Two Hawks grinned. “That is maybe true, but he did it for you.”

“Me? All I wanted was him home safe.”

“What do you think he wanted? Because you are his treasure, he would see you protected.” Two Hawks's thumb moved gently along her jaw. “When I say I am needed by my people, do you not know you are part of that? Here is something for which your father and I have one heart: I would make your world safe if I can. However I can.”

Tears slid down her cheek, across his fingers. He was good. And brave. And selfless. When she was none of those things.
I love you
. It was all she wanted to say. As soon as she found breath.

“Leaving the rest aside,” he went on, “I do not wish to see my father bring himself more harm. He is strong to travel but not to do all that needs to be done for winter. He will try to do it if I am not there to help.”

I love you
wasn't everything she wanted to say, after all. “Papa said you could stay. All of you.”

What a child she sounded. Why couldn't she be brave for him? Let him do what he felt he must do? If he was disappointed in her, he hid it well.

“It was generous, but my parents wish to be home, among our people. They are needed. As am I.”

I need you
. She leaned her forehead against his chest, aching for his arms around her. Only his hands linked them, gripping her shoulders. If she pressed against him, moved but a little…

“I'm so selfish,” she said.

His breath released, warm across the crown of her head. “Bear's Heart, do you think it easy for me to leave you? In my heart I am just as selfish.”

Thrilling to the sound of the name he'd given her, she raised her face, saw the need in his eyes. He was on the edge of control. She'd pushed him there. Again. It was unfair of her, making him always be the strong one. She would show him she could be strong too. And as insufferably sacrificing.

Stepping back was a tearing inside her. “I shouldn't have come.”

His gaze was so intense, she thought for an instant he would come after her; he didn't. “Our words needed to be said. I was wrong to walk away and leave them unsaid.”

They stared at each other. Yearning. Hurting. Hoping.

“Go back to the house,” he said. “I do not wish to anger your father or put another branch across the path between us.”

Anger flared in Anna's chest, tightening her jaw. “After all he's done, I cannot understand why he doesn't see you as—”

“No.” Two Hawks shook his head. “Do not close your heart to him in anger. Whatever else he has done, it is plain he loves you. I will honor that, and him, because he is your father.”

The one pure thing
, Papa once called her. The one pure thing in his life. She didn't feel pure. Nothing felt pure anymore. And yet…Good Voice and Stone Thrower, Two Hawks as well, had forgiven Papa. She'd had weeks to talk with them, to understand that though it had been wrenchingly hard to do, they truly had forgiven. And it had freed them.

“All right. I'll see you in the morning, before you go.” Her lips felt numb over the words.

Two Hawks's gaze held sorrow. And tenderness. “Sleep well.”

“And you.” She put her back to him. Her hand was on the barn door when his voice stopped her.

“Bear's Heart. I would be in two places if I could. But
you
will have my heart. Tomorrow as I go, it will tear out of me and stay with you.”

“And mine you will take with you,” she said to the barn door, loud enough that he would hear.

“I will guard it well.” Longing thickened his words. “Remember, and think about this…You and I would never know this love if not for what Aubrey did.”

Lydia watched the figures diminishing along the track toward the creek and beyond, to the unknown paths that traced the wilderness between them and Kanowalohale. Good Voice led William's dappled mare, loaned by Reginald to carry the cornmeal her labor had earned. Stone Thrower, a limp in his stride though he'd cast off his crutches, carried on his person the miniature of William—a parting gift. Two Hawks took what he'd
come with, weapons and blanket. But each of them was leaving without the one thing they'd most hoped to find, and for that Lydia's heart was grieved.

“I cannot say 'tis unhappy I am to see them go,” said Maura Doyle, who'd left breakfast half-cleared to see their guests away. “Though I wish…But there it is. And those pots won't scrub themselves, will they?”

She sighed and went inside the house.

As Lydia stared after the departing Oneidas, Two Hawks, walking behind his parents, halted and looked back. Standing between her and Reginald, eyes red and puffy, Anna caught her breath. Lydia reached for her hand. The tension thrumming through the girl mounted until she feared Anna might bolt away and leave them.

Two Hawks turned his back and followed his parents. It had been but a last parting gaze.

With a muffled sob Anna pulled away, but instead of bolting down the lane, she hurried into the house.

“Anna,” Reginald said as the door closed.