Shadowbrook Part 1

Shadowbrook: a novel of love, war, and the birth of America.

Beverly Swerling.

For Michael, R.I.P., and for Bill, as always.

These Things Are True ...

ABOUT EUROPEANS.

Britain and France spent the first half of the eighteenth century fighting over empire. This story takes place during the decisive battle in that long conflict. In North America it was known as the French and Indian War, in Europe the Seven Years' War. It was a death struggle fought in a New World, the glory and extent of which the opponents did not imagine, and home to a rich and remarkable culture they did not understand.

ABOUT NATIVE AMERICANS.

From the moment the Europeans discovered their paradise it was doomed, but the indigenous peoples-the Real People, as they called themselves-put up an immense struggle to hold back the tide. I have tried to be true to their history and customs, but this is a story and I am a storyteller. When I couldn't find details of a ceremony or a ritual, I made them up. My one rule was that I always extrapolated from what my research uncovered; teasing out the weave, never creating from whole cloth. Moreover, I never added or embroidered something that was by its nature pejorative. The bad stuff-or what seems so to us when judged by the standards of our culture and our time-is all there in the record.

ABOUT WORDS.

The linguists tell us that in the eighteenth century there were some hundred thousand languages and that now there are six thousand. Moreover, among all languages past and present, only two hundred or so have ever been written down. Native Americans had a complex and sophisticated system of pictographs, but essentially theirs was an oral tradition. Its strengths and its depth were wondrous, but much of it is lost. I worked with both Iroquoian and Algonkian dictionaries (all created in modern times to try and stanch the mortal wound) and have tried to give the flavor of the speech with some authenticity. I have, however, avoided the complicated accent marks that have been developed as p.r.o.nunciation guides. They are beyond the scope of this tale and my ability. So too the grammar. I apologize for the inevitable mistakes.

ABOUT RELIGION.

I know I have not been able to explain in proper depth or complexity the belief system of Native Americans. What the story contains is as true as my research allows; it is no doubt a vast distance from all truth. The rest, since it is part of my own Judeo-Christian heritage, is familiar territory. Here it is only necessary to say that Catholic theology is a long, ever-flowing river. What you see of the water depends on where you happen to be on the sh.o.r.e. The att.i.tudes, customs, and practices, even some of the core beliefs described in this story, are accurate for the Church of that time and the religious orders as they were then. It is in many cases not the same now.

This Too Is True ...

ABOUT US ALL.

Love in all its many splendors has not changed in any fundamental way. Two hundred and fifty years ago it was as it is now-enough to move the world.

Important Characters in the Story.

The People of Shadowbrook, also known as the Hale Patent.

AT THE BIG HOUSE.

Quentin Hale: Also called Uko Nyakwai, the Red Bear, and very occasionally by his secret Potawatomi manhood name of Kwashko, Jumps Over Fire John Hale: Quentin's elder brother Ephraim Hale: Father of John and Quentin Lorene Devrey Hale: Ephraim's wife, mother of John and Quentin Nicole Marie Francine Winifred Anne Crane: A young woman of French and English ancestry, traveling through the American colonies on her way to Quebec Kitchen Hannah: The Big House cook Corn Broom Hannah: A Big House maid Six-Finger Sam: A general handyman Clemency the Washerwoman: The laundress, and among the Patent slaves, the keeper of the oral history Jeremiah: In charge of the stables Little George: Jeremiah's a.s.sistant Runsabout: A Big House maid and mother of the twins, Lilac and Sugar Willie Taba: A young Ibo girl bought at the New York slave market in 1754 AT THE SUGARHOUSE.

Moses Frankel: The chief miller, in charge of the grinding of wheat into flour and corn [Indian] meal as well as the production of rum and ale Sarah Frankel: The wife of Moses Ellie Frankel Bleecker: Their daughter, a widow Tim Frankel: Son of Moses and Sarah; never married Deliciousness May: The mother of Runsabout and a Hale slave a.s.signed to the Frankels Big Jacob: Husband of Deliciousness and father of Runsabout; a Hale slave a.s.signed to the sugarhouse and gristmill. He is also the horse trainer of the Patent.

Lilac and Sugar Willie: Slave twins, children of Runsabout, but a.s.signed to the sugarhouse. They are four years old when Quent returns to Shadowbrook in 1754.

T THE SAWMILL.

Ely Davidson: The sawyer Matilda Kip Davidson: Ely's daughter-in-law Hank Davidson: Ely's son Josiah, Sampson, and Westerly: Brothers aged fourteen, twelve, and eleven; Hale slaves a.s.signed to the sawmill Solomon the Barrel Maker: A cooper, and a Hale slave born on the Patent Sally Robin: The beekeeper and supplier of honey and various unguents and medicines used on the Patent; Solomon's woman since she was purchased at the New York Slave Market in 1720 AT DO GOOD-THE INDIAN TRADING POST OF THE PATENT, MANAGED AND STAFFED ENTIRELY BY MEMBERS OF THE SOCIETY OF FRIENDS, ALSO KNOWN AS QUAKERS Esther s...o...b..rry Martin s...o...b..rry: Esther's husband Judith s...o...b..rry: Their daughter; later Judith s...o...b..rry Foster Prudence: Their slave Edward Taylor: Treasurer of the community Hepsibah Jane Foster: Daughter of Judith Daniel Willis: A Friend from Rhode Island who has come to bring an antislavery message given him by the Light Within The People of the Town of Albany in New York Province John Lydius: A trader and sometimes arms dealer Genevieve Lydius: John's wife, a metisse who is half Piankashaw Indian and half French Peter Groesbeck: Landlord of the Albany tavern at the Sign of the Nag's Head Annie Crotchett: A prost.i.tute who plies her trade at the Sign of the Nag's Head Hamish Stewart: A one-eyed Scot, a Jacobite Stewart of Appin, and survivor of the infamous battle of Culloden Moor.

a.s.sorted randy barmaids, crafty millers, entrepreneurial widows, drunken tars, layabouts and ne'er-do-wells; along with the many G.o.d-fearing huisvrouwen and burghers left from the days of Dutch rule.

The People of the Potawatomi Village of Singing Snow Cormac Shea: A metis, son of a Potawatomi squaw and an Irish fur trader Ixtu: The village Teller Bishkek: The manhood father of the metis Cormac Shea, and of Quentin Hale Kekomoson: The civil sachem of Singing Snow at the time of the story Sohantes: The wife of Kekomoson Shabnokis: A squaw priest of the powerful Midewiwin Society Las.h.i.+: Bishkek's youngest daughter Pondise: Her son The People of Quebec in New France THE FRANCISCANS.

Pere Antoine Pierre de Rubin Montaigne, O.F.M.: Father Delegate of the Franciscans in New France Mere Marie Rose, P.C.C.: Abbess of the Poor Clare Colettines of Quebec Soeur Marie Celeste, P.C.C.

Soeur Marie Francoise, P.C.C.

Soeur Marie Joseph, P.C.C.

Soeur Marie Angelique, P.C.C.

THE JESUITS.

Monsieur Louis Roget, S.J.: Provincial Superior of the Jesuits of New France Mansieur Philippe Faucon, S.J.: A Jesuit priest and an artist who doc.u.ments the Canadian flora, called Magic Shadows by the Huron Monsieur Xavier Walton, S.J.: An Englishman and a Jesuit, also a surgeon THE CIVILIAN GOVERNMENT.

Francois Bigot: Intendant of Canada, the steward and paymaster of the entire province Pierre Francois Rigaud, marquis de Vaudreuil: Governor-General of Canada after June, 1755 AT PORT MOUTON IN L'ACADIE (NOVA SCOTIA) Marni Benoit Military Figures Joseph Coulon de Villiers de Jumonville: A French officer; his death heralded the beginning of the Seven Years' War.

Tanaghrisson, the Half King: Born a Catawba, raised a Seneca; at the time of the story spokesman for the Iroquois Confederacy in the Ohio Country George Was.h.i.+ngton: A colonel in the Virginia Militia. Twenty-two years old when the story opens in 1754 Pontiac: An Ottawa war sachem.

s.h.i.+ngas: A war sachem of the Lenape, also known as the Delaware.

Scarouady: Spokesperson for the Iroquois Confederation in the Ohio Country after the death of Tanaghrisson.

Thoyanoguin, also known as King Hendrick: A war sachem of the Mohawk, also known as the Kahniankehaka. Members of the Iroquois Confederacy, they were called the Guardians of the Eastern Door.

Major General William Johnson, of the New York Militia (Yorkers): An Indian trader born in Ireland, in America since 1738 and married first to a German indentured servant, later to a Kahniankehaka squaw; adopted as a chief of that tribe Major General Edward Braddock: Commander of His Majesty's forces in America at the beginning of the Seven Years' War General Jean Armand, baron de Dieskau: Commander of the French and Canadian forces at the beginning of the Seven Years' War General Louis Joseph, marquis de Montcalm-Gozon de Saint-Veran: Successor to Dieskau.

General John Campbell, earl of Loudoun: Successor to Braddock.

Major General Jeffrey Amherst: Successor to Loudoun.

James Wolfe: A British colonel at the Battle of Louisbourg in 1758; a British Major General at the Battle of Quebec in 1759.

Book 1.

Shadowbrook.

Chapter One.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 27, 1754.

QUeBEC, NEW FRANCE.

MISERERE MEI, DEUS ... Have mercy on me, Lord, according to the greatness of Your mercy.

The five women had no mercy on themselves.

They beat their backs with knotted cords. Each wore a black veil, pulled forward so it shadowed her face, and a thin gray robe called a night habit.

The blows rose and fell, hitting first one shoulder then the other, and every third stroke, the most sensitive skin on the back of the neck. Occasionally a small gasp escaped one of the women, barely audible above the singsong Latin chant. De profundis clamavi ad te, Dominum ... Out of the depths I cry to You, O Lord. Domine, exaudi vocem meam. Lord, hear my voice.

The narrow rectangular s.p.a.ce was lit by twelve tall white candles. The white-washed stone walls reflected the elongated shadows of the women, who knelt one behind the other on the bare stone floor. Occasionally, when the woman in front of her managed to find a new burst of strength, a spurt of blood would spatter the one behind.

The knotted cords were carefully crafted, fas.h.i.+oned to a centuries-old design. The length must be from shoulder to thumb of the woman who would use it, the rope st.u.r.dy and two fingers thick. The seven knots were s.p.a.ced evenly from end to end. It was called the discipline and was given to each nun on the day she made her vows as a follower of St. Francis, a Poor Clare of the Strict Observance of St. Colette.

Quoniam non est in morte qui memor sit tui ... It is not in death that You are remembered, Lord. In inferno autem quis confitebitur tibi ... In the eternal fire who will recall You?

An iron grille in the front of the cloister chapel enclosed the holy of holies, the small ornate tabernacle containing the wafers that had been consecrated in Holy Ma.s.s and were now the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ. The grille was covered by heavy curtains so those on the other side in the visitors' chapel could not see the strictly enclosed daughters of St. Clare.

In the middle of that Wednesday night only one person was present in the public section of the chapel, a man who knelt upright with his arms outstretched in the position of his crucified Lord. He could hear the soft, sighing sounds of the knotted ropes punis.h.i.+ng soft female flesh. His shoulders twitched occasionally in response.

Antoine Pierre de Rubin Montaigne of the Friars Minor was also a follower of St. Francis, a priest of what the Church called the Seraphic Order, men who had originally vowed to own nothing and beg for their daily bread. The rule had been modified over the five centuries since Blessed Francis preached the glories of Lady Poverty, but its priests retained the humble t.i.tle "Father." Rubin Montaigne was Pere Antoine to all, most especially the women on the other side of the altar screen.

In the nuns' chapel the pace of the scourging had become more urgent by the time of the great cry of the Miserere: Have pity on me, Lord, for I perish. The cords flicked through the air too quickly to be seen, white blurs in the candlelit gloom.

Pere Antoine, Delegate of the Franciscan Minister General in Rome, the ultimate authority for members of the order in New France, had decreed that in addition to the traditional scourging that took place every Friday before dawn, the Poor Clares of Quebec would take the discipline every Monday and Wednesday after the midnight office of Matins. They would offer this special penance until the territory the British called the Ohio Country, but which had long been claimed in the name of Louis XV, was made secure, truly part of New France. When Holy Mother Church moved south to convert the native tribes, these nuns and their scars would be the jewels in her crown.

Turn Your face from my sins and all my iniquities shall be forgotten ...

None wielded the discipline with greater vigor than Mere Marie Rose, Abbess. The shoulders of her night habit were stiff with the caked blood of past scourgings. When they buried her the garment would serve as her shroud, and she had already issued instructions that it should not be laundered. She would go to her grave with the evidence of her fervor.

Iniquitatem meum ergo cognosco ... My sins are known to You.

For my sins, for the sins of my daughters, for the glory of G.o.d. The words filled the abbess's mind, blended with the pain, the chant uniting the two, pulsing in her blood. Miserere ... Have mercy, Lord. On the king. On this New France. On our brave soldiers.

The shoulder muscles of Pere Antoine were on fire. His arms felt like lead weights, but he did not allow them to drop. The pain was a kind of ecstasy and he exulted in it. For the Church. For the Order. For the conquest of the land below the pays d'en haut and the defeat of the heretic English.

Chapter Two.

THE THREE INDIANS moved in single file along a track no wider than a moccasin. The thick virgin forest of the Ohio Country, claimed by both the French and the English but possessed by neither, shuddered as they pa.s.sed, then closed around them, barely disturbed.

Quentin Hale trotted easily behind the braves. His shoulders were twice as broad and he was a head taller, but he was as noiseless and surefooted as the Indians, and as tireless. The four men jogged along the treacherous path as they had for most of the night, with no break of rhythm or purpose.

The braves Quent followed were two Seneca and a Cayuga, members of the Six Nation Confederacy that called itself Haudenosaunee, the People of the Longhouse. Those who hated them for their prowess in battle called them by the Algonkian word Irinakhoiw-snakes. In the mouths of the French-who hated them for the strength of their union, which led to power in trade, and for their alliance with the English-the word became "Iroquois." Years before, after defeating the local Shawnee and the Lenape, whom the whites called Delaware, the Great Council of the Haudenosaunee sent representatives of their member tribes to live among the subjugated peoples. The Iroquois in the Ohio Country had come to be known as the Mingo.

It was shortly before dawn, late May, and warm and humid. A downpour had ended a while back, but the trees still dripped moisture. The braves, naked except for breechclouts and moccasins, blended with the forest. Quent wore moccasins as well, and buckskins greasy with sweat and the smoke of many fires. A rifle was slung over his shoulder, black, with a highly polished oak stock, s.h.i.+ny bra.s.s trim, and a barrel nearly five feet long. The grooved bore that made the long gun stunningly accurate had been invented some twenty years earlier, but the weapons were still rare, and the few around mostly in the hands of whites.

Every once in a while the Cayuga turned his head and eyed the rifle. If there is to be a battle, he thought, and if Uko Nyakwai is to fall, Great Spirit make me the one to be beside him.

Uko Nyakwai, Red Bear in the Iroquois language. Red for his hair. Bear for his size, and the size of his courage. Sometimes his rage. The Cayuga knew he wouldn't get the long gun while Uko Nyakwai was alive.

Could it be true that this bear had once pulled a tree out of the ground with only his hands and used it to kill twelve enemies? And that he did this thing for a woman, an Ottawa squaw called Shoshanaya, but she died anyway? And after her death the Red Bear left his father's land in the country of the lakes and vowed never to return? Probably only a squaw's tale told by the fire.

The Cayuga fingered the wolf totem at his neck. His own gun, a musket known as a Brown Bess, was the ordinary type issued to British troops and colonial militia. No after-kick-the long guns had a vicious recoil-but impossible to aim. To have a long gun ... Ayi! Such a thing would make him invincible.

All the Indians had tomahawks as well, and knives. So did Quent, but he also had a miniature Scottish dirk tucked into the small of his back. And his face was clean except for sweat and a stubble of red beard. The Mingo were painted for war.

Behind Quent and the braves were thirty-some soldiers of the recently formed Virginia Regiment. Like all the colonial troops they had agreed to serve for only a few months, as long as they could be spared from their farms and village shops. They were paid eight pence a day while a common laborer got three times as much. The men had enlisted because they'd been promised land somewhere along the Monongahela and Allegheny rivers after they got rid of the French.

By Quent's reckoning it would be a cold day in h.e.l.l when they started plowing that land.

The soldiers thudded along the woodland path in clumsy, ill-fitting boots. Their tricornes snagged on the low-hanging branches, and their woolen jackets and trousers were saturated with rain. Every one of the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.ds was scratching. Except for Was.h.i.+ngton.

The young officer strode at the head of what was left of the column-they'd lost at least seven to the long dark night and the twisting, narrow forest path-pretending his braided finery didn't stink and itch. d.a.m.ned fool on a d.a.m.ned fool's errand, Quent thought. Not your worry, he reminded himself. You signed on to guide and do a bit of translating, not tell a twenty-two-year-old field-commissioned lieutenant colonel with his first command that the snakes aren't to be trusted. Least of all Tanaghrisson, the Half King. Because nothing was more dangerous than an Iroquois who'd stopped taking orders from the Great Council and decided to go his own way.

Somewhere a kingbird chattered her dawn chorus.

Quent saw the shoulders of one of the Seneca two places ahead of him move as he tongue-clicked a response. Tanaghrisson and nine more braves were running along a parallel track. The two groups had been shadowing each other for an hour.

The kingbird chattered again, fainter this time. The Seneca replied. The other party was breaking away.

Quent felt Was.h.i.+ngton's hand on his shoulder. He slowed and half turned. Both men were over six feet Their eyes met; Was.h.i.+ngton's looked eager. Probably couldn't wait to be blooded. The Virginian had come to the Ohio Country first as a surveyor, then as a messenger sent to warn off the French. That directive had been ignored. So Was.h.i.+ngton, a young man with neither training nor experience, had been ordered back by the governor of Virginia to raise a regiment, build an English fort, and roust the Canadians, by force of arms if necessary. b.l.o.o.d.y fools, all politicians.

"Those bird calls," Was.h.i.+ngton whispered, "that was the Mingo, wasn't it? What's happening?"

"We're almost there. Tanaghrisson and his braves are taking another route. They'll position themselves on the far side of the French encampment."

Was.h.i.+ngton nodded, keeping his face expressionless so the older man wouldn't know how much he'd hated having to ask This Quentin Hale made him uncomfortable. That hair, for one thing. Worn unfas.h.i.+onably short because, he said, it made him harder to scalp. It was a flaming red flag, a constant challenge. So too the cold, ice-blue eyes.

People knew the name Uko Nyakwai as far away as Virginia. And in Virginia, where such things were important, they said Quentin Hale's mother had been a Devrey from New York City, and that his grandfather Will Devrey had made a fortune bringing black gold from Guinea to be sold in the slave market on Wall Street. They said the Devreys were sprung from a penniless Englishwoman, an apothecary come to New York back in the 1660s when it was New Amsterdam. They said she married a Dutch doctor, strangled him in his sleep, then hanged him covered in pitch from the town gallows, so the Dutch would believe it was the devil's doing. Superst.i.tious fools, most of the Dutch.

Better bloodlines on the Hale side. Gentry, from Kent originally. Now Quentin Hale's father owned thousands of acres around the northern lakes of New York Province, a prosperous plantation called Shadowbrook.

So how had his son come to be a woodsman and sometime guide in the Ohio country rather than the landed gentleman he was born to be? G.o.d alone knew.

His legs felt heavy as millstones. Every breath was like swallowing fire. Wretched savages, would they never slow down? And Hale, did he not need to breathe like any other white man? Never mind, word was he could nick a man's right earlobe at a hundred paces with that long gun. Likely they would see something of that shooting this very morning. The notorious Red Bear and his long gun under the command of Lieutenant Colonel George Was.h.i.+ngton of Virginia. Jesus G.o.d Almighty, it was hard to believe.