A Flight of Arrows (46 page)

Not a stick. A bow.

It was a surreal moment, seeing the pair of them, Two Hawks in his wedding clothes, William in a calico shirt that would have stood out as garish on the streets of Schenectady even without the silver armbands constricting its billowy sleeves and an equally colorful sash belting his trim waist, a breechclout and leggings, beaded moccasins on his feet, hair tied back with feathers.

Bright Arrow.

Reginald stood, observing some silent communication pass between the brothers that had Two Hawks stepping away, going into the house, leaving him alone with William for the first time in nearly two years.

“I would speak with you, sir.” William's tone was respectful, undergirded with a confidence Reginald didn't remember the last time he'd heard him speak, in his mother's lodge last August. “But first I need to give you this. I was waiting until after the wedding.”

He held out the bow. Only then did Reginald see that it wasn't an
Oneida bow. It was Welsh. And old. “I thought it lost,” he said, reaching for it. “Before General Arnold broke the siege at Stanwix.”

“It was,” William confirmed. “Taken in that sortie while the battle was underway. After the siege was lifted and St. Leger cleared out, I went to the fort and found Sam Reagan.”

Reginald was glad to hear the name. “How is our rascal Sam?”

That made William smile wryly. “You know Sam. He's landed on his feet as always. But he helped me find the bow, still among some of the plunder taken out of Sir John's camp, stored away in a corner. No one had claimed it. I did.”

Reginald hefted the bow, one he'd shot as a lad in Breconshire. In another lifetime. It must seem so for William as well. “Thank you,” he said. He looked up to find William staring at him with that disconcerting blue gaze.

“That isn't all I wished to say.”

Reginald nodded him on, heart thudding.

“I wanted to say I've made my decision. I'm going to stay with the People. My people.” William looked aside. Reginald followed his gaze. The young Tuscarora woman he'd first seen in the woods near the Seneca camp last summer, Strikes-The-Water, had come out of the house, holding William's sister.

“I want you to know something else,” William said. “Once all this fighting has passed and things begin to settle—and if it's still a thing a man can do in this country—I intend to finish what I began at Queens. I intend to read law. American law, perhaps.”

Reginald felt his heart leap. “You mean to continue your studies?”

“I do,” William said. “Whatever is coming, whatever this country will look like—under British rule or the states or Congress—it won't be easy for the Oneidas. Too much has changed, is changing, and I want to stand an advocate in whatever way I can. But this is what I want you to understand,” he hurried on. “I see now that I could never have hoped to do such
a thing without having been to Oxford, for having seen what I have of the world, and what my place in it could be.”

“William,” Reginald said, regret thick in his voice. “You know that if I had it to do over again—”

William held up a hand, a deliberate gesture that reminded him strikingly of Stone Thrower. “No more regret. That's what I'm trying to say to you, sir. That I'm thankful for all you provided for me, thankful to you and to Mother.”

Heledd. The reminder of her jarred. Had she been better off never knowing? Was she happy, those last years in Wales? He prayed she'd found peace. And then all thought of his first wife was swept from his mind by the sight of William holding out his hand.

“Will you take my hand, sir?”

Still clutching the bow, too choked to speak, Reginald grasped William's outstretched hand and held it tightly.

“If I continue with the law, I would do so as William Aubrey, if you will permit still the use of the name.”

Reginald's hand froze in that of his son's. He found his voice as quickly as he could, though it was but a croak, so gripping was his relief. “Yes. Yes, by all means. I would be pleased if you would.”

Their gazes held, William's blue eyes vivid in his sun-browned face, and the moment stretched taut with fragile promise before a shout was heard, coming from across the fields of knee-high corn. Breaking clasp and gaze, they turned to see Daniel Clear Day coming down the track from the creek.

Over the past year, the wiry old warrior had made more than one journey to Fort Niagara as part of Oneida peace delegations, in the hope of convincing the Haudenosaunee nations to cease their warring. Such efforts had thus far come to nothing. He'd been late in returning from one such trip when the rest of Good Voice's family made the journey east for the wedding. They'd come with worry for him. Though he'd missed the
wedding, Reginald felt relief to see him. But as the man drew near, he read something in the creased and leathery face that caused his heart to skip a beat.

“There is news out of Niagara?” he asked, striding toward Clear Day to meet him in the yard. But the man shook his head.

“I do not bring news about this war but about that one who gave his life for you.” Clear Day looked from Reginald to William. “About that one who was your father.”

Stone Thrower.

William lurched forward and took his father's uncle by the arm. “News? What news could there be?”

And could it be anything but evil? Reginald suddenly wanted to stop the old man's mouth. If he'd found out the gruesome details of Stone Thrower's death last autumn at the hands of those Seneca warriors, this was surely not the day for sharing it.

Clear Day caught the alarm in his gaze and again shook his head. “No. Of his dying I will not speak, only this. While in Niagara, I saw that one who took you captive in the battle. That one who chose my nephew over you and spared your life.”

Blue-Tailed Lizard. The old Seneca warrior who had once professed himself a follower of Samuel Kirkland's God.

“The one who killed my father?” William asked, his voice tight with sudden pain. “You saw him? Spoke to him?”

“I did both of those things,” Clear Day said. “And I have this from him. It is for you and for your mother.”

From beneath his shirt, the old warrior pulled out a corded, bead-worked pouch and took it from around his neck. Reginald saw a light of recognition in William's blue eyes as he took it, then a rush of longing. He held the little pouch his mother had beaded and Stone Thrower had worn for months against his heart to his own chest a moment, then to his nose. He quickly opened it and removed the tiny oval portrait of himself.

None of them spoke for a time. Strikes-The-Water had crossed the yard to join them, Autumn Moon in her arms, and fetched up now beside William. She peered in silence at the miniature, then up at William's face, something of awe in her expression.

“I also have a story to tell, but where is my nephew's wife and your brother?” Clear Day asked William, for all his sober countenance a sense of anticipation thrumming through him, almost palpable. “They must hear it too.”

All three started to explain in haste where everyone else was at present and what they were doing, but before they could finish, Anna came out of the house. Her hair was disheveled, her wedding gown changed for a workaday one. “Papa?”

Sight of her sent a jolt through Reginald like a dash of cold water. A hand took hold of his shoulder as if to steady him for whatever was to come. It was William's hand.

Seeing it, Anna broke into a tired smile. “We're all finished. Lydia's well, and so is your son. They're both very well.”

Reginald felt his knees go out from under him, but William was there, supporting him until he found them again. He tried to speak. Couldn't.

Anna laughed. “Don't you want to come see him?”

He broke free of William's hold, limping toward his dear girl, who laughed again as he enveloped her in a hug. Then he was hurrying through the door, hearing her call out to those he'd left in the yard, “And you, Bright Arrow. And Strikes-The-Water. And Clear Day—you made it after all. Wonderful! Lydia is requesting everyone's attendance.”

While they gave Reginald and Lydia a few moments to themselves, Clear Day, with lips that sometimes trembled thinly over the words, told them of his meeting with Blue-Tailed Lizard, who had seen him among the
delegation of Oneidas at Niagara, approached him with caution, and taken him aside to tell him an astonishing thing.

“That one who chose my nephew as his prisoner, who stood by and allowed him to be killed, later had a thing happen to him that he did not foresee coming.”

Good Voice drew a breath in deep, searching the face of her husband's uncle. She had seen the little portrait of Bright Arrow he had brought them, the one her husband had cherished and that her firstborn had hung around his neck. Now the old man's glance held hers, asking was she ready to hear what more he brought them.

Nodding, she braced herself.

“That one went back to his home at Ganundasaga, to his women there.” Clear Day continued, “Instead of a captive, he brought them the story of my nephew, the things he said in that clearing, and how he died. And do you know what happened then? They began to weep, those women of his clan. They began to talk about what sort of man would do such a thing and why. They began to remember, not just things about my nephew when he lived among them, but about Kirkland and what he said to them, things they had once professed to believe—that they had opened their hearts to Creator through the blood of Jesus-on-the-cross. And now here is the thing about all of that: they have come back to believing. They walk the Jesus path again. Even that old lizard has found the path he once lost and is walking it again. This because of my nephew and what he said and did.”

They were all in tears now, speechless, each grappling with thoughts and feelings. It was Two Hawks who gained possession of both first, and his face grew radiant as he slid his arm around Anna Catherine beside him. “Uncle, I am glad to know this about my father, that such good came of what he did. I am glad to have this news this day—though I would rather have him with us again.”

“Amen,” Good Voice whispered, standing there with the precious
daughter her husband never had the chance to look upon held against her heart. Tears of joy and sorrow streamed onto her baby's head. “We will always wish him with us until we go to be with him. But here is a great good Heavenly Father has done through this thing that is still hard for us to bear. We will also remember our blessings. Both my sons are safe. Today one of those sons has a wife.” She offered Anna Catherine a smile of welcome, thinking of her calm and steady presence in the room beyond, and all that had just happened. “Now a son is born to the family of that wife. Today we will have good thoughts, thoughts of peace, thoughts of hope for our future. So come, let us go and see this new son and tell his parents there is more good to be celebrated on this day.”

They all filed into the room freshened now with clean linens and the window thrown wide to the warm June air. Sunlight streamed in, falling across Lydia, propped on pillows, hair streaming in dark banners around her face, a tiny swaddled infant asleep in her arms—and an ecstatic father sitting on the bedside near them, radiating pride and looking younger than any in the room had seen him look in a very long time.

Good Voice made room for Bright Arrow, Anna Catherine, Two Hawks, and Clear Day. Rowan and Maura Doyle squeezed in. Strikes-The-Water hung back at the doorway but came farther in at Bright Arrow's beckoning.

The full story of Stone Thrower's unexpected legacy among Blue-Tailed Lizard's family was told again at Lydia's request, then Reginald Aubrey, once he had gained mastery of his voice again, stood and with tears in his eyes said, “On this day that has been thrice blessed, by marriage…” He showered Anna Catherine and Two Hawks with a tender glance, then turned a similar one upon Bright Arrow. “By grace. And now by birth…I wanted all of you here to witness a thing.”