The Ambitious Madame Bonaparte (18 page)

“Don’t be a goddamned fool,” shouted the colonel, who sat beside him. “The tribes of western New York have been peaceful for many a year. You are more likely to die tripping over your piss pot and breaking your neck.”

Jerome stirred. Betsy feared he was about to remonstrate with the men for their vulgarity, but instead he asked, “Is that true, sir, that the savages of western New York are subdued?”

The old man squinted at him suspiciously. “Yes, by gad, it is true. Where do you come from, young fella? You sound foreign.”

Betsy held her breath until Jerome said, “France. I am fleeing Napoleon’s tyranny.”

“Ah, cannot say I blame you for refusing to live under that blackguard.”

Intervening before the man could utter more criticisms of Napoleon, Betsy said, “Sir, would you be so good as to tell us what Revolutionary battles you took part in?”

To her relief, the colonel and Jerome began to discuss military matters.

AT UTICA, JEROME hired horses and bought provisions for the final leg of their journey, which would take at least ten days. “We should travel in easy stages since you are unaccustomed to riding all day.”

“Perhaps at the start, but my stamina may improve,” Betsy said, trying to hide her nerves about traveling through wilderness.

Jerome smiled at her. “Do not be anxious, Elisa. We have no need of hurry, and I do not intend to push you. This excursion is meant to restore your health.”

To Betsy’s surprise, the lands directly west of Utica were heavily settled. They passed farmhouses, fields of wheat and corn, a canal that linked the Mohawk River with a creek, and a reservation that the Oneida Indians had been granted for siding with the Patriots during the Revolution. The first night, the Bonapartes stayed in an inn because they failed to find deserted land for camping. Betsy was stiff from riding all day, so she was grateful to sleep in a bed.

Their second day, the road passed through mixed forests of beech, maple, hickory, poplar, elm, and oak. Dappled shade fell across the road most of the day, making for a pleasant ride, and Jerome amused Betsy by telling her about the tropical plants and birds of the West Indies.

Toward evening, they halted just before a wooden bridge that spanned a stream cutting across their route. Betsy noticed a rank smell in the air. Jerome gestured to the right, where an opening in the trees looked like the beginning of a trail. “I am going to explore that path and search for a clearing where we can camp.” He dismounted, tied his horse to a sapling beside the road, and headed into the trees.

Betsy pressed her lips together and peered after him until a bend in the trail took him from sight. Her horse moved restlessly, so Betsy patted it and murmured, “Whoa.”

As the minutes passed, she stared down the road, first in one direction and then the other. The smell was making her ill, and being alone made her uneasy. The undergrowth beneath the trees was so thick that it was impossible to tell if anything was hiding there.

When Jerome returned, he said, “There is a clearing. I think someone might have started to build a house here, but they did not progress very far.”

He helped Betsy dismount from her sidesaddle, and she walked a ways to stretch her sore legs. As she glanced down to check where she was stepping, she saw a long cylindrical object ringed with dark jagged bands lying across the road. Following it with her eyes, she realized it was a snake that had been run over by a wheeled cart; the body was smashed near the head and the dirt showed traces of blood. Betsy stepped back, even though she knew it was dead, and then looked for the snake’s tail. It had rattles.

“Jerome, we cannot stay here. There are rattlesnakes.”

He came up beside her to stare at it.
“Zut!
So that is the source of the stink.” Putting an arm around her, he squeezed her shoulders. “The serpent is dead and can do us no harm.”

“There may be others. Robert once found a whole nest of copperheads at Springfield.”

Jerome looked up at the sky. The sun had sunk behind the treetops, and shadow completely covered the road. “It is too late to go farther. If this region is infested with snakes, the danger will exist wherever we go. We should set up our camp now while there is still light.”

Betsy wanted to argue with him, but he grabbed their horses’ reins and began leading them down the trail he had discovered. Tears pricked Betsy’s eyes as she lifted her skirts and followed him. The trail was barely six inches wide. Ferns, small shrubs, and saplings encroached upon it from either side, and she disliked having them brush against her as she passed.

After a few minutes, they emerged into a small clearing. Betsy halted and looked around. The rocky stream ran along one edge of an open area dotted with stumps. Someone had chopped down several trees and dragged them to the far side of the clearing, which was higher than the ground beside the stream. Betsy could see that the axeman had cleaned the logs by stripping their branches. As she wondered why he had abandoned the site so soon after starting construction, a sense of foreboding settled on her.

Near the center of the clearing was a circle of rocks surrounding a shallow fire pit. Glancing into the woods, Betsy saw several mossy outcroppings of stone. The stench of dead snake was no longer noticeable; instead, she could smell leaf mold and resin.

As Betsy stood pensively, trying to imagine sleeping out of doors, Jerome went to his bags and found his hatchet. Then he removed his coat and began to chop some of the discarded branches for firewood. He told Betsy to gather kindling and tinder. When she started toward the edge of the clearing to look for dried grasses and bits of peeled bark, a movement caught her eye.

She halted and found herself facing a fox that stood just inside the first line of trees. The animal had frozen with its head slightly lowered. A tree blocked part of its body and ferns hid its feet, but Betsy could see its red fur, upright ears, and pointed snout.

“Jerome!” she said in a loud whisper. She turned her head to catch his attention.

He was in the midst of swinging his hatchet. After finishing the stroke, he wiped his forehead with his shirtsleeve. “What?”

Betsy looked back toward the woods, but the fox had gone. “Oh,” she said in disappointment. “It left.”

“Elisa, what are you talking about?” After leaning his hatchet against a log, he walked toward her.

“I saw a fox over there.”

Jerome bent to kiss her. “A pity I did not have my pistols to hand. I could have gotten you a fur collar.”

“I am glad you did not. It was beautiful, and foxes do not hurt people, do they?”

“No.” Jerome returned to his chopping. As Betsy gathered up twigs and leaves for tinder, she wished she had brought a basket on their journey. Then her mind returned to the fox. She had rarely been so close to a wild creature. The experience had unnerved her at first, but then she had felt a kinship with the animal, which after all was only trying to make its way in the world.

Dusk fell before they finished making camp, and mosquitoes began to bite. Jerome built a large campfire, and its smoke helped drive away the troublesome insects. Then he went down to the stream to fetch water.

As Betsy unpacked the bread and cheese they brought for their supper, she heard a loud half-snarling cry from somewhere in the woods, followed by a terrible, almost human scream. Too frightened to move, she stared into the darkness and waited. After a few moments, she heard something heavy moving in the brush, and she started to tremble. “Jerome?” she called, but her voice was too weak to carry. Betsy pressed both hands against her stomach and swallowed hard.

Then her fear fell away as Jerome stepped into the firelight. “Are you safe?”

“Yes. Oh, Jerome—” She rushed to him and clung to the lapels of his coat. “What was that horrible sound?”

Jerome put his arms around her and patted her back. “Some wild thing catching its prey, I think. Many animals hunt at night.”

Betsy began to cry. Hiding her face against his waistcoat, she murmured, “I cannot do this. Why did you insist on camping when there are perfectly good inns where we could stay?”

“Shhh, Elisa. You are tired, and this is all strange to you. The fire will keep wild animals away, and I have my pistols. I will protect you.”

She broke away from him and sat on a tree stump a few feet from the fire. “We don’t even know what kind of animal made that cry. There could be bears in the woods and—mountain lions. Oh, who knows what lurks out there!”

Jerome squatted before her. “Elisa, you are not listening to me. Everything in life has danger, but I would not risk your safety needlessly. I swear that I will protect you.”

His face was in shadow because his back was to the fire, so Betsy could not see his expression, but his tone was annoyed rather than reassuring. Betsy nodded to acknowledge his promise but did not speak. She felt drained of everything but fright.

Wearily, she rose and gathered the food she had dropped when she heard the animal cry. She brushed dirt off the bread, sliced off the end of the cheese that had fallen on the ground, and set their dinner on metal plates. They sat on a log that had been left by the fire pit and began to eat, but Betsy had little appetite.

Because she was so afraid, Jerome combined their bedrolls into one and held her tight. Betsy was certain that she would never sleep, but she soon fell into an exhausted slumber as a way of shutting out the terror.

She woke the next day to the sound of birdsong and the sight of early morning sunlight slanting through leaves overhead. Jerome was snoring softly. She rose, used the latrine he had dug, and then returned to kneel by him. Taking a deep breath of cool air, Betsy felt like shouting in triumph that she had done something she thought impossible. Instead, she shook Jerome. “Wake up, sleepy. Dawn breaks.”

He grunted and rolled over with his back to Betsy, but she tickled his side. “We made it through the night, husband, and I am filled with a passion for living this morning. Can you not think of anything better to do than sleep?”

Gazing at her, he wiped the sleepiness from his eyes. “Elisa, you astonish me. You are rarely this lively in the mornings.”

She laughed. “I had no conception that it could be so exhilarating to feel paralyzed by fear and overcome it. Is this what surviving a battle is like?”

“In small measure.”

Seized by mischief, she snuggled close to Jerome and growled into his neck. “I feel like a lioness.”

Jerome rolled her onto her back and pinned her shoulders to the ground, but his eyes were alight with passion, not anger. “You may be a lioness, Elisa, but do not forget who is the lion.”

Smiling, Betsy put her arms around his neck. Just before she kissed him, she whispered, “Then let me see if I can make you roar.”

AFTER THAT, BETSY no longer requested that they spend the night in an inn, although they did occasionally stop for hot, plain-cooked dinners of fresh venison, quail, or fish if they reached an establishment at a propitious hour. Each night, they exercised caution while preparing their campsite, but although they saw a few more dead snakes on the road and sometimes heard strange noises in the night, Betsy grew accustomed to living outdoors. From learning to carry on despite her fears, she felt a growing confidence.

The country they traveled through was nothing like the wilderness that Betsy’s father had predicted. Four days out from Utica, they were still finding bridges and sawmills. As they rode farther west, the region grew more heavily forested. Several times, they passed families in the process of clearing land and, in one case, building a log cabin.

The weather was sweltering that day, so they stopped at the half-built cabin to ask if they could have water from the well. As they drank from a ladle that the husband provided, Jerome inquired about how to erect a log cabin. When he learned that all the process required was a sharp axe and mud, he asked permission to dismount to inspect the building. While the man showed Jerome how to notch the logs to make them fit together, his wife asked if Betsy would rather have fresh milk.

“No, thank you, on a day like today, water is more cooling.” Betsy noticed the wife staring avidly at her clothes, as simple as they were. Although the woman was in her late twenties at most, she had dry, brown skin and rough hands. Impulsively, Betsy removed her hat and pulled off the rose-colored ribbon that circled the crown and formed a bow at the side. “This ribbon is not much, but may I offer it in thanks for your hospitality?”

“Oh, ma’am, you should not have ruined your pretty hat.”

“I want you to have this.”

Hearing the approaching voices of the men, the woman plucked the ribbon from Betsy’s outstretched hand, stowed it in her apron pocket, and curtsied.

Jerome mounted his horse and saluted the settlers before riding away. As Betsy brought her horse up alongside his, he said, “How should you like to settle in a place like this?”

She looked at him in astonishment. “Do you know anything about farming?”

“What is there to know? You clear the ground, plant the seeds, harvest the crops. I could build a cabin, and we would be beholden to no one. Napoleon could never touch us here.”

Thinking of the loneliness and labor such a life would entail, Betsy wanted to cry. Then as she listened to Jerome rave about how he would hunt and fish and she would make their clothes, she saw that the prospect was not real to him. He was indulging in a romantic fantasy to convince himself there was a way out of the vise tightening upon them.

Betsy decided to play along. “I should have to grow a vegetable garden and make preserves. We always had servants do such things at home.”

“You are clever enough to do anything.” After a pause, he said, “I would like to see Napoleon’s face when he learns that we scorn his empire and its honors. He will regret his high-handedness when he realizes it has driven me away.”

Betsy stifled her impulse to sigh. “I am sure he will, Jerome.”

ON THEIR NINTH day out from Utica, they began to hear a low thrumming sound ahead of them. The further they rode, the louder it grew until it was a dull roar, like the distant sound of violent waves crashing on shore. “That must be the falls,” Jerome said. “Burr said that you can hear their thunder for twenty-five miles or more.”