Angel's Flight (21 page)

A moment later, her husband was back on course, approaching the place where she sat in that wonderful shade.

“Good day, Mrs. Church,” he said, with that beautiful smile. Again, he politely removed the tricorn from his sandy head.

“Good day, Mr. Church,” she replied. “What have you been doing since this morning?”

“
I’m
I’ve
just returned from reconnoitering with the young van Driessens,” he replied, getting down beside her. “I gave them a few pointers about setting up a defense for this place. They took it pretty well, although amateur soldiers are always the hardest to teach. Does every other man in this country own the military manual of Frederick the Great?”

“Don’t laugh at us, Jack. We may be provincials, but we do know how to read. And how to learn.”

“I’m not laughing. Mr. Balthazer van Driessen very earnestly showed me his copy of that selfsame manual. It was dog-eared and carefully studied. I confess I find this universal interest in books among you Americans intriguing. In the tents of most British officers, all you’ll find are cards, dice and naughty pictures.”

Angelica smiled, but did not answer.

“By God, Mrs. Church—” Her husband leaned to drop a kiss that momentarily brought the long, blowing, blonde lock against her rosy cheek. “—you look ravishing today. Or... is it ravished?”

She silenced him by popping peas into his mouth. The pause only lasted while Jack savored them. Then he said, “I wish with all my heart I didn’t have to go as soon as I get you back to your uncle in Kingston, but a lone man can only fight one battle at a time.”

“What do you mean, leave as soon as you get me back? You are going to speak to my Uncle Jacob as you promised poor Captain Vanderzee, aren’t you?”

Jack took her hand and gently squeezed the fingers. Above them, the lovely old maple rustled. Twinkles of light fell through the leaves’ dance.

“I’m days late now for my military errand. Besides,” he said, attempting to lighten the mood by teasing. “The deed is already done and the marriage contract sealed with a good deal more than a kiss.”

Angelica withdrew her hand from his and studied him gravely. “What shall I expect then, sir?” she asked.

“Now, Angel, you may rely upon my promise. But, I am loyal to my king, and I have a sworn duty as an officer of His Majesty’s army.” She rubbed her forehead. The ache had bloomed again.

“I shall take you to the door of your uncle’s house and leave you. I should account for myself in person, but I fear my appearance might eventually put your family in some difficulty with your neighbors.”

“Jack,” she whispered. “You’re making me afraid.”

“There is no reason. I shall write to your uncle and you shall carry the letter. I’ll do as I say, Angelica,” he said, gently capturing her hand again. “I’ll take you home, do my duty for the army, and then come back to you.”

“This is terrible.” She rubbed her forehead with the hand that remained free. “Every day something important, something I’ve been relying upon, changes. Please don’t make things pretty for me, Jack. I can deal with the truth better than all these evasions.”

“Since the conversation with Vanderzee, many things have changed,” he said earnestly. “I need to complete my mission at once and then return to protect you. I can’t risk being caught. You know what happens to spies.”

She stared at him. Fear multiplied with every word.

“Angelica, listen,” he said, speaking to the dread he saw in her eyes. “I have a duty to you. This is not only to love you, but to survive to take care of you. I know too much of the world to think that the game of Romeo and Juliet is for rational people. But, damn it, woman, here we are, right in the middle of the play.”

“Speak with my uncle,” she pleaded. “He’ll show you the truth of our cause.”

Jack’s eyes filled with tenderness. “If I were to be persuaded, it would be by you, my angel, but I cannot change. I’m resigned to the idea you will not change either.”

She lowered her head and tried to hold back the threatening tears. He raised her hand to his lips.

“Courage, dear heart,” he said, after the most tender kiss. “Our case is hard, but not hopeless. We shall see the end of this war, and we shall see it side by side as man and wife. I won’t let it happen any other way.”

In the flickering light filtering through the maple, that solemn pledge echoed in her ears. Her hands rested between his, so lean and brown. Raising her fingers to his lips again, he kissed the fourth, snugly encircled by the worn, pale band of gold.

“Keep faith with me, my beautiful Angel,” Jack entreated, his eyes sincere transparencies. “This is ‘til death do us part.”

Her faded green skirt lapped the brown of his breeches. Their blonde heads—hers of gold, his of ash—bent together as if in prayer, both dappled with dancing light.

Chapter Sixteen

They were on the familiar, rutted track that ran up the north branch of Esopus Creek, the eastern boundary of TenBroeck property. Hal was steady beneath. Angelica rode in front today, leaning back in Jack’s strong arms.

This was the land of Jacob TenBroeck, great-grandson of the very first Hendrick to arrive in America. There was a queer sensation in Angelica’s chest, joy and sorrow, a powerful potion.

She was within an hour of home. She was going to say goodbye to Jack—goodbye to a man who owned her, body and soul. This goodbye might last, just as it had with ‘Bram, forever.

Angelica thought she’d never seen so much beautiful weather so early. It was a paradox, of course, like everything this year. In this time of war, of wanton destruction, of killing and violation, nature had heedlessly dressed in her best.

In the azure sky, a hawk made a slow spiral, his wings a motionless cross. The fields were high and green.

The valley of Esopus Creek was not especially wide. Rounded hills, once forested, were now either pasture or orchard.

“It is very beautiful here,” Jack observed.

Angelica believed his careful survey was not entirely a response to the visual charm. Nevertheless, no matter how much she chanted the words “Tory” and “spy” to herself, she could not make them more important than the man who held her in his arms. Not even “fortune hunter” could summon a chill.

Not now, when the time of parting was so near!

Huge willows, some so ancient they were falling apart, trailed green and brushy branches into tinkling shallows. A thicket of young silver maples lifted their graceful arms, trembling and blinking in the strong light.

The bustle of spring was on every side. Birds sang and flitted. Ducks splashed in the reedy edges. A pair of does, freckled fawns by their sides, glided into the thicket at their approach.

High above the trail stood a cabin. A line of smoke curved into the sky. In a fenced square by the barn, calves frisked, while their mothers calmly fed in the ruffling grass.

“Who lives up there?” Jack asked.

“The M’Kinlays. Tenants of my Uncle Jacob.”

“Hanging onto that hillside.”

“They’re Scots, used to worse hard scrabble than that. At least that’s what Mr. M’Kinlay always says. There’s a good flat piece nearby where they grow corn.”

A bend brought them to it, a field crowded with the fragile waving arms of sprouting corn. “The source of the god-awful mush,” Jack muttered.

“After all those years in Canada, you should’ve learned to like it.” She could almost feel the smile behind her. “Fried, or as a hot cake with enough maple sugar, it is almost edible.”

This said, he bent his head and kissed her shoulder.

“You really shouldn’t do that,” she cautioned. “It seems as if we are alone, but as I’m sure you know, someone will appear out of nowhere. They’ll want to see who we are and where we are going. News will get around quickly that Angelica TenBroeck has come home.”

“Angelica TenBroeck Church,” her husband corrected, tightening his arm possessively around her.

About a mile further on, they rode by a stand of enormous trees. “Why, look at those!” Jack exclaimed.

“They’ve never been cut.”

“Obviously. But why?” he asked. “Such a grove must be worth plenty. It could be easily milled, right here on this water.”

“My great-grandfather Hendrick promised the Mahicans who used to live around here that they could keep their sacred place.”

As she spoke, Angelica twisted round in order to gauge Jack’s expression.

“And to this day,” she continued, “they still stand, the biggest trees anywhere. You know, Jack, there was an Indian massacre once, way back when Kingston was still called Esopus, long before the English came.

“Even through that time, the TenBroecks and the Mahicans have lived together peaceably. Sickness has reduced the Indians, but there are still a few who come here. After they take their corn and those apples over there—” She paused to point to a ragged and unkempt group of fruit trees. “—they go to hunt in the mountains.”

“Do they own the land, or are they tenants?”

“Neither. My uncle always says it is theirs in the midst of ours. The women make wonderful baskets which they give us as presents.”

“And that is all?”

“It isn’t as if they are many or as if they live here all the time. They come and go.”

“Your uncle doesn’t care?”

“Well, sometimes I know he thinks about the money he could get for the trees, but our great-great-grandfather made a promise. Besides, in a way, they’re part of our family, too,” Angelica added gravely.

“Let me guess.” She could feel Jack’s grin behind her. “If any of those Mahicans cared to lay claim to a white man’s name, it would have to be TenBroeck.”

“Well, you know how it is when people live together.”

“I do indeed. I myself have promptly found a native wife.” Another kiss sweetly grazed the back of her neck.

“What I don’t understand,” she said thoughtfully, after small waves of pleasure had stopped reverberating, “is why I haven’t seen any of them today.”

“Your Indians? No doubt they’ve grown wary, just like everyone else,” Jack replied. “Perhaps they’ll stay in the hills this year.”

The emptiness of the sunny fields, the sight of the new corn shaking little green arms beside a lot of weedy competition, cast a pall over Angelica’s day. She sighed deeply.

“You’ve not only taken a native wife, Jack Church, but one from the camp of your enemy.”

Instead of answering, Jack chirruped to Hal, turned his head and trotted him briskly uphill, off the trail, and straight toward the huge trees.

“What?” she asked.

“I saw someone by the river.”

Angelica turned to catch a glimpse of two buckskin-clad men by the water. “It might be Charlie M’Kinlay and his Duncan fishing,” she offered. “Or it might be our Mahicans.”

“No one must see us,” Jack said.

They entered the woods. It was brushy at first, but became clearer as they penetrated the stand. Huge oaks and native beech rose over their heads. The mighty trunks lifted to a green canopy the sun could scarcely pierce.

Inside, it was as if the bright, warm day had never existed. The temperature dropped.

Hal shuffled through heavy, leafy litter. Only the most delicate and retiring ferns reared their heads in this shade.

“Astonishing,” Jack murmured, pulling the horse to a halt and
glancing around. “These giants in a land so long settled. I have seen trees like this in
the
Canada
s
, but who would have thought that here—”

“They must not be touched,” Angelica replied. “We swore we would not cut them for as long as there are two parties to the agreement.”

Jack gazed up, his tricorn now in one hand. “Where is the sun?” he asked himself. “It isn’t easy to see which way to go.”

“I know the way.” Angelica pointed confidently. “Go toward that big fellow there.” She pointed to the massive trunk of an oak.

As they approached this tree, one of the signposts of the grove, Angelica spied the offerings. Shells and stones, strips of wampum, colorful bird’s eggs and tiny woven baskets were laid in the nooks and hollows woven by roots of the giant.

“Please stop,” she asked as they drew alongside.

Jack obligingly halted his horse.

“Let me down for a moment,” she asked. “I must look.”

Once on the ground, Angelica went to the base of the tree and knelt to examine the offerings.

“None of this is recent,” she finally declared, getting to her feet again. “It’s the same way the fields look. They planted their corn and went away.”

Jack nodded agreement. He leaned down to offer her assistance in mounting.

“Oh, heaven, Jack,” she exclaimed, pausing to rest her hand on Hal’s warm, ruddy side. “Do you suppose something terrible has happened?”

“Don’t go jumping to conclusions. That cabin back there was in good order.”

She didn’t take his hand, just stood next to his booted leg, her mind crowding with terrors.

“Give me your flask,” she finally said.

Solemnly, seeming to guess her intent, he handed her the little flask from inside his jacket. Falling to her knees beside one claw-like root, Angelica splashed a little on the ground.

“I wish I had something else to give,” she mused, corking the bottle.

Fishing around in her pocket, she came up with a couple of shiny silver buttons from the Clove. She laid them among the roots next to the wampum.

“Oh, great tree, watch over all your children,” she said under her breath as she laid them down. It was the prayer the little Indian girls
had always used.

Then, without another word, she stood and reached to Jack. He leaned to pull her up. She thought he might comment upon her heathenish act, but he was silent. She had a strong impression he’d seen such things before.

“It reminds me of a cathedral,” he observed, tapping Hal to move him along again. Jack’s head lifted and turned as he admired the enormous space, the twinkling of the distant green canopy.

“I keep wishing we’d see a deer,” he added, “just to give me a true idea of the scale of these trees. The trunk of that ancient fellow back there was wider than a lot of cabins I’ve seen.”

“Jack...” Angelica leaned against his chest. “What are we going to do?”

“Exactly as we’ve planned, Angel. I’ll do my duty and you’ll do yours. Then, Christmas at the latest, I’ll be back for you. We shall do our best to survive, to ride out what is to come.”

“And if you do not come back?”

“You, Mrs. Church,” he replied lightly, “will make a lovely widow. A long line of applicants for your hand will immediately form.”

“Don’t even say it as a joke,” she whispered. The past was pressing close, a wall of ice threatening to crush her heart.

They were aiming at a place where sunlight descended into a circle of green. As they came closer, they saw the body of a recently fallen giant. There was a chasm where the roots had been torn from the ground.

Skirting this, Jack asked, blinking and tilting his blonde head toward the sun, “How close are we to your home?”

“About three miles.”

A chuckling brook came down the slope here. In August, it would go dry, but now it fed the creek below.

“Jack, I’d like to stop here a little.”

“Of course. Hal needs a drink anyway.”

Jack dismounted and helped her down. Leaving Hal to sip from the creek, they walked hand in hand into the welcome warmth of the sunny green space.

“This reminds me of our picnics,” she said, gazing at the wildflowers and weedy small trees. “These saplings would make perfect bowers. We’d light a fire and set out the pies and pickles while the boys hunted or fished.”

Jack smiled and took out his knife. After catching one of the slender trees and bending it down, he proceeded to scale a long strip of
bark. He used this to lash the tree to the base of another close by, bending it into an arch.

Angelica smiled happily. Jack understood exactly.

Without another word, they set to work. One after another, saplings were caught and bent. Angelica wove the branches together into an impromptu leafy shelter.

As he bent the last small tree, Angelica fetched Jack’s cloak, which was rolled and tied to the back of the saddle. This she spread inside the bower.

There were crumbling journey cakes wrapped in a cloth, as well as small birch bark pouches of sugary and salty pemmican, but they didn’t want food.

As soon as they’d got down inside, Jack cast his hat away. “Now,” he said smiling, “shall we have our picnic?”

***

Wind gusted and
ruffled her petticoat, a cold exhalation upon bare flesh. Something passed over them—breathless, silent—like an owl’s wing. Overhead, a tiny purple finch caroled riotously.

“My Angel. My heart.” As Jack whispered, he stroked her cheek. Gazing deep into her eyes, he said with sorrowful conviction, “Away from you, I shall be as empty as a gourd.”