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Authors: Lori Benton
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travel together…if you wish.”
She had her pride, this one. Hiding his amusement, he said, “I do wish it. But first, Little Sister,
Náhte’ yesa:yáts
—what is your name?”
For the first time, the girl seemed aware of her rudeness. The color in her face deepened as she replied, “I am She-Strikes-The-Water, daughter of the Deer Clan.”
8
February 1777
Schenectady
A ll right, Anna. The Ten Broecks are an hour’s ride down the Albany Road, so I’m away.”
Lost in thought, Anna straightened from the hearth in Lydia’s kitchen, where she’d been stirring syrups set to brew. She’d the vague impression Lydia had spoken but was caught off guard by the sight of her cloaked and standing at the door to the snowy back garden. “Oh…you’re going?”
“Yes,” Lydia said with slow exaggeration. “I am.”
“All right. I’ll visit Charlotte Stuhler later, see whether she’s resting as you prescribed.” Anna heard the dullness in her voice—like February, cold and desperate for spring. Mentioning Charlotte Stuhler hadn’t helped. Charlotte was Anna’s age, contentedly married and expecting her second child before the month was out.
It was quiet in the kitchen crowded with jars and bundled herbs, pungent with the brewing syrups. Lydia hesitated in the doorway, studying her with concern.
“You can go, Lydia. I’m fine.”
“How I wish that were so,” Lydia said but didn’t press. “Expect me home by supper.”
Anna nodded, then widened her eyes when Lydia still didn’t budge.
“Go.”
Though it seemed by conscious effort, Lydia smiled and swept out thedoor, leaving Anna to push along against the tide of loneliness that waited each morning to engulf her. Loneliness and worry.
Two Hawks. She’d relived their last moments together in the barn until the memories were polished as beads. Was he safe? Warm? Thinking of her?
She asked herself those same questions of William, though from a different frame of heart.
She knew Papa was safe and warm. What he thought about these days—besides the bateaux he was crafting for General Schuyler’s northern army—was anyone’s guess. Anna grieved over the distance grown between them that winter, a chasm of hurt, frustration, and thus far fruitless hoping on her part. Though she’d seen Papa in town, and at Lydia’s, on many occasions, all her efforts to engage him in conversation about Two Hawks had been stubbornly thwarted. Papa seemed determined to forget William’s twin existed, much less that they desired to marry. If only Two Hawks had done as she’d hoped he would back in autumn and asked Papa to be his apprentice…
She was still chasing that thought, and dipping out one of the syrups into a clay jar, when a thud at the back door made her drop the vessel. It shattered on the hearth, spattering syrup across the bricks and the hem of her petticoat.
Leaving the mess, she went to the door. “Lydia? Did you forget—”
The door swung inward. Two Hawks stood before her, clad in a long winter shirt, breath ghosting on the air. “Anna Catherine, I’ve come to—”
“I know!” she all but shouted, and with her heart unfolding like a flower in her chest—spring at last—drew him into the house and shut the door.
He laughed as he touched her with hands chilled from the cold. “What do you know?”
“You’re going to try.” She grabbed his hands and pressed them betweenhers, trying to warm them. She felt the smile straining her face, felt her whole being ablaze with joy. “With Papa, on the Binne Kill. Aren’t you?”
His smile for her was blinding as the sun. “If he will have me. Yes.”
She gave up trying to warm his hands and threw her arms around him. His thick woolen shirt was cold enough to make her shiver. She pulled back to drink in his face. “Stone Thrower? How is he?”
“Strong now. Well mended.”
“And Good Voice?”
“She is also well.” Two Hawks touched a fingertip to her cheek, then leaned down and
She had her pride, this one. Hiding his amusement, he said, “I do wish it. But first, Little Sister,
Náhte’ yesa:yáts
—what is your name?”
For the first time, the girl seemed aware of her rudeness. The color in her face deepened as she replied, “I am She-Strikes-The-Water, daughter of the Deer Clan.”
8
February 1777
Schenectady
A ll right, Anna. The Ten Broecks are an hour’s ride down the Albany Road, so I’m away.”
Lost in thought, Anna straightened from the hearth in Lydia’s kitchen, where she’d been stirring syrups set to brew. She’d the vague impression Lydia had spoken but was caught off guard by the sight of her cloaked and standing at the door to the snowy back garden. “Oh…you’re going?”
“Yes,” Lydia said with slow exaggeration. “I am.”
“All right. I’ll visit Charlotte Stuhler later, see whether she’s resting as you prescribed.” Anna heard the dullness in her voice—like February, cold and desperate for spring. Mentioning Charlotte Stuhler hadn’t helped. Charlotte was Anna’s age, contentedly married and expecting her second child before the month was out.
It was quiet in the kitchen crowded with jars and bundled herbs, pungent with the brewing syrups. Lydia hesitated in the doorway, studying her with concern.
“You can go, Lydia. I’m fine.”
“How I wish that were so,” Lydia said but didn’t press. “Expect me home by supper.”
Anna nodded, then widened her eyes when Lydia still didn’t budge.
“Go.”
Though it seemed by conscious effort, Lydia smiled and swept out thedoor, leaving Anna to push along against the tide of loneliness that waited each morning to engulf her. Loneliness and worry.
Two Hawks. She’d relived their last moments together in the barn until the memories were polished as beads. Was he safe? Warm? Thinking of her?
She asked herself those same questions of William, though from a different frame of heart.
She knew Papa was safe and warm. What he thought about these days—besides the bateaux he was crafting for General Schuyler’s northern army—was anyone’s guess. Anna grieved over the distance grown between them that winter, a chasm of hurt, frustration, and thus far fruitless hoping on her part. Though she’d seen Papa in town, and at Lydia’s, on many occasions, all her efforts to engage him in conversation about Two Hawks had been stubbornly thwarted. Papa seemed determined to forget William’s twin existed, much less that they desired to marry. If only Two Hawks had done as she’d hoped he would back in autumn and asked Papa to be his apprentice…
She was still chasing that thought, and dipping out one of the syrups into a clay jar, when a thud at the back door made her drop the vessel. It shattered on the hearth, spattering syrup across the bricks and the hem of her petticoat.
Leaving the mess, she went to the door. “Lydia? Did you forget—”
The door swung inward. Two Hawks stood before her, clad in a long winter shirt, breath ghosting on the air. “Anna Catherine, I’ve come to—”
“I know!” she all but shouted, and with her heart unfolding like a flower in her chest—spring at last—drew him into the house and shut the door.
He laughed as he touched her with hands chilled from the cold. “What do you know?”
“You’re going to try.” She grabbed his hands and pressed them betweenhers, trying to warm them. She felt the smile straining her face, felt her whole being ablaze with joy. “With Papa, on the Binne Kill. Aren’t you?”
His smile for her was blinding as the sun. “If he will have me. Yes.”
She gave up trying to warm his hands and threw her arms around him. His thick woolen shirt was cold enough to make her shiver. She pulled back to drink in his face. “Stone Thrower? How is he?”
“Strong now. Well mended.”
“And Good Voice?”
“She is also well.” Two Hawks touched a fingertip to her cheek, then leaned down and
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