hair. He was cleaning his pipe with a twig, something Phoebe had seen him do a hundred times or more by her own fireside. It made her feel comfortable.
“Peter” — she inched herself a little closer and lowered her voice as though enemies lurked behind every tree — “I do not know that I should tell you. It is not mine to tell.”
“Little Bird, I have not lived to be twenty years of age, nearly half of it in the white man’s world, by casting words about as the milkweed casts seeds.”
Phoebe was very still. Should she tell Peter about the message? She knew he would not divulge its contents because she knew his word was good. She knew, too, that the Mohawks fought as allies with the British and that Gideon’s note had said to take the message to the Mohawk Elias Brant. But it seemed somehow like a betrayal to tell Gideon’s story to anyone.
“I must tell you,” said Peter, “that I knewyou had left your uncle’s home. A relative of mine who had reason to be in Hanover saw you there. He—”
“He was following me. I knew there was someone!”
“He sent me word, and we were watching for you, Little Bird. It is not wise for you to be alone in the woods. Not three days since there was a great battle south and west of here near the Hudson River at a place called Freeman’s Farm. The British lost that battle — but that matters little to you. What matters is that now not only are the woods full of wild animals, they are full of soldiers, deserters from both armies, and not all good, kind men. A young girl alone is not safe. You have no one, and you have not even a firearm to protect you. I doubt you have as much as a hunting knife.”
“I have a knife.” Phoebe turned away and reached under her skirt to bring the wooden-handled paring knife from her pocket.
Peter looked at it, and then at her, in astonishment. “You … you mean to defend yourself against assault with that?”
Phoebe looked at the knife. Suddenly she felt ignorant and small. “I … I thought—”
He did not let her finish. “Little Bird, it will not do. There are desperate men in these forests. Some are wounded, they are all, doubtless, hungry, and all have been without women forweeks. There cannot be one among them who would be stopped by your little kitchen knife.”
Peter’s mother spoke up. “Ro’nikonhri:io is right, daughter of my son’s teacher. It is not good for you to be away from your home, out in these bad times, where you do not understand the ways of the forest. It is not good.”
“We are none of us safe,” said Peter. “My father was killed in July at the battle at Hubbardton, by Lake Bomaseen, across the mountains. My mother’s brother has been scouting for the British in those hills along the Upper Connecticut River. When my mother and sister are safely in his care, I will join my brothers to fight with the British. Now, will you tell me what brings you out into this danger?”
Keeping Gideon’s story to herself no longer seemed so important to Phoebe. Peter had been so concerned about her that he had spent precious time looking for her when his family needed him. And, too, he had made her see how much she needed his help. So, in as few words as possible, she told him about finding Gideon in her house in Hanover and everything that had happened afterwards.
She drew a deep breath. “So you see, Peter, I must do this for Gideon. You must see that.”
“I do see, Little Bird, how you feel, but the danger is very great. Furthermore, you will not travel as swiftly as your cousin would havedone, and you may not get this message to Fort Ticonderoga in time to be of use to General Powell. No, I think you must turn back.”
Phoebe said nothing for a time. She had not considered that she might get Gideon’s message to the fort too late. There was a sudden weight in her chest. But there were those Loyalist families needing help. She had to get word of them to the General.
“No, Peter, I must not
“Peter” — she inched herself a little closer and lowered her voice as though enemies lurked behind every tree — “I do not know that I should tell you. It is not mine to tell.”
“Little Bird, I have not lived to be twenty years of age, nearly half of it in the white man’s world, by casting words about as the milkweed casts seeds.”
Phoebe was very still. Should she tell Peter about the message? She knew he would not divulge its contents because she knew his word was good. She knew, too, that the Mohawks fought as allies with the British and that Gideon’s note had said to take the message to the Mohawk Elias Brant. But it seemed somehow like a betrayal to tell Gideon’s story to anyone.
“I must tell you,” said Peter, “that I knewyou had left your uncle’s home. A relative of mine who had reason to be in Hanover saw you there. He—”
“He was following me. I knew there was someone!”
“He sent me word, and we were watching for you, Little Bird. It is not wise for you to be alone in the woods. Not three days since there was a great battle south and west of here near the Hudson River at a place called Freeman’s Farm. The British lost that battle — but that matters little to you. What matters is that now not only are the woods full of wild animals, they are full of soldiers, deserters from both armies, and not all good, kind men. A young girl alone is not safe. You have no one, and you have not even a firearm to protect you. I doubt you have as much as a hunting knife.”
“I have a knife.” Phoebe turned away and reached under her skirt to bring the wooden-handled paring knife from her pocket.
Peter looked at it, and then at her, in astonishment. “You … you mean to defend yourself against assault with that?”
Phoebe looked at the knife. Suddenly she felt ignorant and small. “I … I thought—”
He did not let her finish. “Little Bird, it will not do. There are desperate men in these forests. Some are wounded, they are all, doubtless, hungry, and all have been without women forweeks. There cannot be one among them who would be stopped by your little kitchen knife.”
Peter’s mother spoke up. “Ro’nikonhri:io is right, daughter of my son’s teacher. It is not good for you to be away from your home, out in these bad times, where you do not understand the ways of the forest. It is not good.”
“We are none of us safe,” said Peter. “My father was killed in July at the battle at Hubbardton, by Lake Bomaseen, across the mountains. My mother’s brother has been scouting for the British in those hills along the Upper Connecticut River. When my mother and sister are safely in his care, I will join my brothers to fight with the British. Now, will you tell me what brings you out into this danger?”
Keeping Gideon’s story to herself no longer seemed so important to Phoebe. Peter had been so concerned about her that he had spent precious time looking for her when his family needed him. And, too, he had made her see how much she needed his help. So, in as few words as possible, she told him about finding Gideon in her house in Hanover and everything that had happened afterwards.
She drew a deep breath. “So you see, Peter, I must do this for Gideon. You must see that.”
“I do see, Little Bird, how you feel, but the danger is very great. Furthermore, you will not travel as swiftly as your cousin would havedone, and you may not get this message to Fort Ticonderoga in time to be of use to General Powell. No, I think you must turn back.”
Phoebe said nothing for a time. She had not considered that she might get Gideon’s message to the fort too late. There was a sudden weight in her chest. But there were those Loyalist families needing help. She had to get word of them to the General.
“No, Peter, I must not
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