The Ghost (25 page)

The colonel promised to get in touch with her in the next few days, and they both agreed not to give his wife any of the details. They both knew that she was going to be furious at what Sarah was doing, and the fact that her husband was going to help her do it. But he felt sure that she was going to be quite safe, otherwise he wouldn't have helped her with her plan to get to Deerfield.

Sarah thanked him profusely, and walked back to her hotel, although it was quite a long distance. But she was so exhilarated she wanted to get some air, and as the wind stung her face, and burned her eyes, Sarah only smiled as she pulled her cloak more tightly around her.

Chapter 13

SARAH SET OUT on the fourth of January, 1790, in a very old, but very solid, rented carriage. The driver she'd hired with it was young, but he'd traveled the area for a long time. In fact, he'd grown up within a day's journey of Deerfield. He knew all the trails for miles around, and his brother lived at the Deerfield garrison, and Colonel Stockbridge had been well pleased with him when he found him. His name was Johnny Drum and he was just a little older than Sarah. The other two men rode on horseback alongside. One was an old trapper, George Henderson, who'd spent years traveling up to Canada to trade furs, and had spent two years in his youth as a prisoner of the Huron. Eventually, he had taken a Huron bride, but that had been long since. He was old now, but people said he was one of the best guides in Massachusetts, and the other guide was a Wampanoag. His name was Tom Singing Wind-+ and his father was the sachem of his tribe, a holy man and a leader. Tom worked as a guide at the garrison, but he had come to Boston to see some men about trading for farm equipment for his tribe, and Colonel Stockbridge had asked him to do him a favor, by traveling with Sarah. He was a serious-looking young man, with long dark hair, and sharply carved features. He wore buckskin breeches and a buffalo coat, and he spoke only to the men whenever possible, and never to Sarah. It was a form of respect for her, but she couldn't keep her eyes off him as he rode alongside them, when they began their journey. He was the first Indian she had ever seen, and he looked every bit as noble and stern and ominous as she would have expected. Yet he didn't frighten her, and she knew from everything the colonel had explained to her that the Wampanoags were a peaceful tribe of farmers.

It was snowing as they rolled slowly out of town and headed west, and Boston was already stirring in the early morning. They were carrying with them all their supplies, furs, blankets, food, utensils, water. The two guides were expected to cook for them, and the old trapper was reputed to be a fine cook, but Sarah was more than willing to help him.

They rolled out of Boston at first light, and Sarah sat in the carriage, watching the snow fall outside, and she had never felt as excited in her life, not even when they set sail out of Falmouth on the Concord. It was as though she knew this was one of the most important journeys of her life. She wasn't sure why, but she knew without a doubt that she had been meant to come here.

They left town from Scollay Square, and traveled for five hours before they stopped to rest the horses. Sarah got out and walked for a little while, and she marveled at the beauty of the countryside. They were already just past Concord, and after half an hour they rolled on again. It had stopped snowing by then, but everything was covered in thick, white snow as they reached the Mohawk Trail and headed west toward their destination. Sarah wished she could be on horseback with them, but the colonel had insisted that she be driven. It would have been hard terrain for her, but she knew she was equal to it, and she was impatient to move ahead quickly and reach their destination.

They ate roasted rabbit on a spit, prepared by Henderson that night. They had packed it in snow, and brought it with them from Boston, and after the long day's ride, it tasted delicious. And as always, Singing Wind said very little to them, but he seemed pleasant and good-humored. He cooked some dried squash he had brought and offered it to all of them, and Sarah thought she'd never tasted anything as delicate or as sweet. It seemed like a feast to her, and after they ate, and attended to their various needs, she curled up in the carriage under the trapper's heavy furs and slept like a baby.

She woke at first light, when she heard the others stir and the horses begin to commune with each other. It had stopped snowing and the dawn lit up the day like a fire in the heavens. And as they began to roll, Johnny Drum and Henderson began singing. And as she bumped along in the coach alongside, Sarah sang softly with them. They were singing songs she had learned long before in England.

And when they stopped to eat that night, Singing Wind once again provided all kinds of dried vegetables and he was a master at cooking them in ways that would please the settlers' palates. While Johnny took care of the horses, Henderson shot three small birds, and they ate them too, and it was yet another meal that Sarah knew she would never forget. Everything was so simple here, so much more real, so honest, and so infinitely precious.

And on the third day, as they rode on, Henderson told them tales of when he had lived with the Huron. They were all in Canada now, but when they had been allied with the French against the English they had been all over this part of the world, and a real menace. In fact, he claimed they had kidnapped him not far from Deerfield. But Sarah knew they were long gone, and she wasn't frightened as she listened. They talked of the trouble Blue Jacket of the Shawnees was causing in the West, and the stories Singing Wind told of him were quite unnerving. Sarah began speaking to him dien, and asking him questions about his tribe, and she thought she saw the flicker of a smile in his eyes as she asked him all the things she wanted to know about his customs. He told her that all of his family were farmers, that his father was the sachem, the chief, but his grandfather had been a powwaw, a spiritual leader even more important than the sachem. He explained that his tribe had a special bond with all things in the universe, that everything around them had its own spirit, and in its own way, was sacred. He told her how Kiehtan, which seemed to be his word for God, had control over all things in the universe, all creatures, all beings, and one must always give thanks to him for food, for life, for everything that Kiehtan gave them. He explained the Green Corn Festival to her, which was their celebration of an early harvest, and she listened to him with wide eyes, in rapt attention. He explained that all beings must be fair to each other, and be guided by Kiehtan, and that if a man mistreated his wife, in his tribe, the woman could leave him. And as she looked at Tom, so proud, so strong, as he sat astride his horse, she wondered why he'd said that, if he knew or sensed that she had been mistreated. He seemed unusually wise for a young man, and the values he described to her sounded more than reasonable. In fact, they sounded very civilized and quite modem, and in some ways nearly perfect. It was hard to imagine that these were the people the early travelers to this part of the world had called savages, and some did even now, particularly in the West. There was obviously nothing savage about him. And it intrigued her too to realize that one day this man would be the sachem, the chief of his tribe, and how wise he would be to our ways, after spending so much of his time with the settlers. His father was a wise man to send him forth among them, as an ambassador of sorts. And as she watched him ride, she knew that in a lifetime she would never forget this moment.

The fourth day seemed the longest one as they reached Millers Falls, and continued their journey. They saw several forts, but only stopped once, and were given some food and fresh water. They knew it was not far now, but at nightfall, they had still not reached the garrison, and the question was whether to continue through the night, or wait till morning. They were all anxious to get to their destination. On their own, they would have pushed on, but with a woman with them, none of them dared to press her. But it was Sarah herself who said she thought they ought to go on, as long as there was no danger.

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.