Into the Wilderness (49 page)

Later
she remembered very little about the ceremony. The Reverend Lyddeker had a
distracted smile, a Dutch accent, and sprinkles of tobacco on his shirtfront;
Mrs. Schuyler stood nearby with her daughters Cornelia and Catherine to either
side of her, with the late afternoon sunshine setting on their blond heads like
halos. The room smelled of fresh—washed curtains and pipe smoke and the grove
of spruce that stood outside the open windows. And there was Nathaniel, smiling
down at her. When he had her hand in his and felt her tremble, he leaned over
and brushed her ear with his mouth.

"Come
now, Boots," he said softly while they waited for the witnesses to come to
order. "If you can stand up to Moses Southern, you can stand up to this.
It won't be long."

There
were only two real surprises: her own calm, now that it had come this far, and
the ring that Nathaniel put on her finger. She hadn't thought about a ring,
because she hadn't expected one. It was a simple gold band; she had no idea
where he had got it or how, but she was very glad of its cold and unfamiliar
grip. It was something to concentrate on when the final words were spoken and
she found herself no longer a spinster, but Nathaniel Bonner's wife, and being
soundly kissed by him in a room full of approving strangers.

* * *

The
long board had been set with linen and china and crystal, dominated at its oval
center by four silver waiters with brilliantly polished domes, slightly misty
with heat, these surrounded by another ring of open dishes. There were pickled
oysters, cold venison, brook trout stuffed with walnuts and cornmeal and fried
in butter, a massive ham studded with peppercorns, puree of squash, snowy
mounds of rice, stewed corn, green beans in a rich cream sauce. On the
sideboard, jostling for room with a legion of ale and wine bottles there was a
massive tipsy pudding, a bowl of fruit fool, plates of shortbread and of ginger
cake. Around this feast the wedding party crowded, shoulder to shoulder, the
room filled with ten different conversations in English and Dutch and
Kahnyen'keháka, the smells of roasted meat, pipe tobacco, fragrant beeswax
candles, and the great bouquets of spring wild—flowers which flanked the cold
hearth. It had taken more than an hour of introductions and congratulations and
toasts to the couple and their hosts to get settled here, and Elizabeth was
pleased to finally sit quietly. It was a loud and familiar company, and a
jovial one.

Under
the table Nathaniel's hand was lying pleasurably heavy and sedate on Elizabeth's
leg. She leaned against him comfortably, very aware of the right to do this
now. She was not in the least hungry in spite of the wealth of delicacies that
Mrs. Schuyler had seen piled on her plate. From her spot she could look out
over the lawns toward the river and the wilderness beyond it, cast now in the
early evening shadow. She might be out on the river right now, she knew, if it
weren't for the generosity and kindness of these people, their willingness to
put down their work in order to make a wedding party for her. So deep was she
in this daydream of what might have been that she started when a hand settled
on her shoulder.

"You
know what you got here, I hope," said Sally Gerlach to Elizabeth as she
filled her wineglass. From underneath an enormous mobcap the house—keeper's
owlish gray eyes blinked solemnly. "I don't know as anybody here will tell
you the truth about him, but I will. The truth is what a bride needs, you
realize. She can do without lace on her drawers, but the truth—" She
laughed, and with her the rest of the table laughed, too, the Schuylers and
their children and grandchildren, Anton Meerschaum, the minister, other men
whom Elizabeth had been introduced to but whose names she could not remember,
and Runs-from-Bears, who sat to Elizabeth's left and ate with great delicacy
from surprisingly small servings of squash and venison.

"Now,"
Sally said. "Who'll tell this girlie about her man and young John
Bradstreet."

"It's
a tale that's been told too many times already," Nathaniel protested.
 

"What
story is this?" Elizabeth asked.

"That's
a curious one you've got there," said the Reverend Lyddeker with a very
unclergylike wink. "She'll keep you busy."

"That
she will, Dominie," Nathaniel said, squeezing Elizabeth's knee. She
shifted a little. As if he had read her thoughts, he leaned over and spoke into
her ear, his warm breath stirring her hair.

"I
understand you're unsettled," he said softly. "But try not to wiggle
too much, Boots. We've outraged these good people enough for one day."

She
pinched him then as hard as she could. Nathaniel hiccuped and caught her hand.
He pressed it down against the hard plane of his thigh, laying his own hand
flat over it with fingers intertwined.

"Now
tell me the story," she said.

"Aha,
and demanding too," noted the dominie, peering at her over his wineglass.

"John
is the Schuylers' oldest son," Runs-from-Bears supplied kindly overhearing
this last comment.

"And
by God he would be under the ground these almost sixteen years if it weren't
for your Nathaniel," piped up Anton Meerschaum. He thumped the table for
emphasis so that the china clattered, and Mrs. Schuyler sent him a look that
would have made him cower, if he hadn't turned his whole attention to the
oysters in front of him.

"That
is the simplest version of the story," agreed Mr. Schuyler. "But you
should know, Elizabeth, that we are talking about the war. Perhaps that is a
topic not welcome to you?"

"Because
she's English doesn't mean she's a Tory, Philip," said Mrs. Schuyler in a
slightly disapproving tone. "She may have no opinion on political matters
at all."

"Bone—in—Her—Back
without an opinion is a strange idea," Bears noted dryly, earning a laugh
from Nathaniel and a sour look from the bride.

"Nathaniel
wouldn't marry a Tory," interjected Cornelia with some force. She was
eighteen, beautiful in a butter—and—cream kind of opulence that glowed, and
when she looked at Nathaniel—Elizabeth had seen her looking quite often—there
was a hesitancy and shyness that was not otherwise there. Elizabeth feared that
the girl was opening herself to teasing of the worst kind, but Nathaniel stared
down Cornelia's grinning brothers and answered her directly.

"You're
right," he said. "Unless it was a reformed one." Under the table
he found the soft web of flesh between Elizabeth's thumb and first finger and
began to massage it lightly.

"I'm
not a Tory sympathizer," Elizabeth confirmed, pulling her hand away.
"And I would like to hear the story of Nathaniel at the Battle of
Saratoga, if you'd like to tell me."

"I
don't think you've got much choice," Nathaniel noted.

"Well,
then," said Mr. Schuyler. "Catherine must start, as it begins with
her, back in Albany."

Mrs.
Schuyler was ready to do her part. "Nathaniel was with Sky—Wound—Round's
warriors when they came to town to negotiate terms with Philip. And he brought
me a letter from his mother."

"But
tell what he looked like!" called one of her grandsons.

"He
looked like a healthy nineteen—year—old, the son of my dear friend Cora Bonner,
on his way to war.

"Oh,
Ma," drawled Rensselaer. "He looked like a Mohawk out for
scalps."

"In
those days," said Run—from—Bears easily, "he was Kahnyen'keháka, and
he took his share of scalps."

There
was a sudden silence. Elizabeth felt all the attention in the room focus on
her; even Nathaniel's thumb had stopped its slow and careful revolution on the
palm of her hand.

"That
sounds like a different story," she said to Bears in what she hoped was a
neutral tone. "I'm curious about this one right now." And she leaned
a little harder against Nathaniel while she threaded her fingers through his.
But her mouth was suddenly very dry, and she picked up her glass.

Mrs.
Schuyler was frowning at her son. "Rensselaer, you were four years old in
September of '77."

"Nevertheless,
I remember well enough," he came back, more subdued now. "How could I
forget a Mohawk showing up at the door with his head shaved for battle and you
making him come in and have a bath. And he did it, too. I watched to see if
that tattoo of his would wash away, but it didn't."

There
was a welcome ripple of laughter in the room.

The
younger Philip Schuyler, a shy twenty—year—old who had barely spoken a word
thus far, and who couldn't meet Elizabeth's eye, now addressed Nathaniel.

"Do
you remember how we watched over your weapons and your wampum for you?"

"Yes,
I do," Nathaniel said. "Don't forget, it was my first time going to
battle, and I was just a little younger than you are now. There ain't much I
don't remember."

"I
think it was seeing that white men were going to fight with the Iroquois that
put the idea in John Bradstreet's head in the first place," said Mrs.
Schuyler thoughtfully. "About running off, I mean."

Elizabeth
glanced up at Nathaniel. "Men? Was your father with you?"

"No,"
answered Mrs. Schuyler for Nathaniel. "Cora wouldn't let Dan'l near a
battlefield that fall, he was down with a recurring fever. She didn't much care
for Nathaniel going off, either, but he was—" She broke off then, and
clearly didn't know how to continue. Elizabeth had already figured out for
herself that at the time all this had happened, Nathaniel must have been very
recently married to Sarah and obliged to accompany her father into battle, but
she didn't know how to make Mrs. Schuyler aware of her knowledge.

"The
other white man was a Scot," said Nathaniel. "Married into the tribe,
by the name Ian Murray."

"Is
that the one who took Works—with—Her—Hands as wife?" asked
Runs-from-Bears, showing the first curiosity since the story had begun, and
then looking thoughtful when Nathaniel nodded.

Mrs.
Schuyler leaned toward Elizabeth. "So you see, the war party came in one
hundred and fifty strong, with Nathaniel and this Ian Murray in it. And our
John couldn't stand being down in Albany when the war was taking place on the
doorstep up here."

"So
John ran away from your home in Albany to follow Nathaniel and the
Hode'noshaunee up to the battlefields," Elizabeth summarized for herself.

"Indirectly,
he did," confirmed Mrs. Schuyler. "It was about a week after the
battle at Freeman's farm—" She paused as if to gather her thoughts, but
there was a tic in her cheek that did not escape Elizabeth. At first she
thought it was anger, but then she saw the set of Mrs. Schuyler's mouth and
realized that there was much more to it, fear still not resolved after sixteen
years.

"When
there was no more news of fighting, John thought he could come up here and
rescue his pony," she finally continued. "And to this day when I
think of it, him taking off in the night with a sack of food and an old musket
to travel some thirty miles through Burgoyne's lines—he was twelve, you must
remember—" She put her hands flat on the table and her mouth compressed
into a tight line.

"He'd
get his ears boxed all over again if he were here," finished young
Catherine with a wince. "Never mind he's twenty—eight years old."

"And
rightly so," said Anton with an upraised finger. "Just look what it
did to his parents, the worry.

"So
how did he find you?" Elizabeth asked.

"He
didn't," Nathaniel said. "And that's where the story starts, I
guess."

He
took his time to fill his glass and then, when the whole room had settled, he
began.

"We
missed the first battle by a day. At the time I was mad as hell about it—pardon
me, Dominie—that's how young I was. More than a thousand dead, you couldn't
walk ten paces without stepping in blood in some spots, and me disappointed to
have missed it. We stuck around, though, because Gates pulled back before the
Tories were down for good."

Mr.
Schuyler looked suddenly very put out. Elizabeth wondered what the story was
behind this, but Nathaniel moved on with a nod to his host.

"And
another battle was a sure thing. So they set us to work like the rest of the
militia and the soldiers, building fortifications and the like. It was
frustrating, let me tell you, being sent up to battle and to end up with a
shovel in my hand. I was glad of it when they called me in to put me on scout
duty."

Nathaniel
paused to drink, but the rest of the table was perfectly still. Even the
teenagers, who had been rocking on their chairs and itching to be let free,
were suddenly fixed and attentive.

"So
I got familiar with the terrain on the other side of things—"

"Behind
the British lines?" asked Elizabeth, puzzled.
 
There was a disapproving frown from Mrs.
Schuyler and Elizabeth realized that this story was a precious one, with its
own parameters that didn't allow stray questions. But Nathaniel was patient, if
his audience was not.

He
raised a brow. "A passing familiarity with the enemy's situation is
generally what you need, Boots," he said. "So I did some looking
around. The Hode'noshaunee fighting for Burgoyne, well, they had already
started heading out by that time, and they weren't in a hurry to turn me in.
Now, it must have been about ten days after we set up camp that Varick came to
find me.