Hope's Journey Read online

  “Thank you, Mr. Dunn. I appreciate your help.”

  Hope did not care where she slept that night, so long as there was a roof over her head.

  CHAPTER 21

  The Kindness of Strangers

  At navy hall, Hope booked her passage to Milltown. She had no clear plan for her future, beyond showing up at Charlotte’s door. After that, she would work it out step by step.

  The ticket purchased, she and Ensign Dunn walked to the home of Mrs. Hill. It was a short distance outside Butlersburg, a two-storey white frame house with black shutters. A pair of lilac bushes flanked the front door. Ensign Dunn knocked at the door.

  Hope felt jittery waiting for his knock to be answered. As she listened to footsteps approaching, she half expected a raging demon of a woman—somebody worse than Mrs. Block—to scream at her to go away.

  But the woman who answered the door had a smiling face. Her voice was soft, with a friendly tone as she greeted Ensign Dunn and was introduced to Hope. She was, she said, delighted to meet Miss Cobman. Her smile faded as Ensign Dunn explained the reason Hope needed a place to stay.

  “Ah, you poor girl,” she said, laying a hand on her arm. “You have been through a very difficult time. Come in and have a cup of tea. You too, Godfrey. You must both be thirsty from all that walking.”

  She led the way to her kitchen, where a kettle steamed on the fireplace hob. They sat down at the plain, board table. When the tea was ready, Mrs. Hill poured for them. Then she produced shortbread from a tin. Hope was grateful that Mrs. Hill made no further mention of her plight. They discussed Hope’s voyage on the packet boat, a journey that Mrs. Hill had made several times in order to visit a sister who lived in Kingston.

  By the time two cups of tea and a plateful of shortbread had been consumed, Hope and Godfrey had abandoned formal titles. She was no longer Miss Cobman to him, nor was he Ensign Dunn to her. The world began to seem a better place. As long as they kept on talking and eating in Mrs. Hill’s cozy kitchen, Hope could keep thoughts of her father at bay.

  While Godfrey was gone to fetch Hope’s trunk from Navy Hall, Mrs. Hill took her upstairs to the room that would be hers for the night. It was simply furnished: a bed, a bedside table, a wardrobe, a washstand with a china pitcher and bowl.

  “I hope you’ll be comfortable here,” said Mrs. Hill.

  “I certainly shall,” said Hope, warmed by the woman’s kindness. She did not mention that this was the first time in her life that she would have a bedroom to herself for even one night.

  “Until supper is ready,” said Mrs. Hill, “you might like to rest.”

  “Can’t I help you?”

  “Of course, if you aren’t too tired.”

  Hope was tired, but she did not want to be alone with her thoughts. “I’d rather keep busy,” she said.

  Mrs. Hill sent Hope to her back garden to pull a few carrots. It was a neat little garden, with carrots and potatoes growing in straight rows, and sprawling vines of squash and melons, some nearly ready to be picked. There were two peach trees, the pink and yellow fruit bowing their slender branches.

  Dusk was gathering when Godfrey returned with Hope’s trunk. He could not stay, but left promptly to report to Colonel Butler that his mission was complete. “I look forward to meeting you again,” he told Hope, “under happier circumstances.”

  “I do too. But even if we never meet again, I’ll not forget your kindness.”

  “I am happy to have been of service.” He bowed.

  Supper was simple: ham, potatoes and carrots, followed by sliced peaches and tea. Hope filled her bedroom pitcher with water from the well to carry up to her room. After she had undressed and washed, she climbed into bed and blew out her candle.

  Suddenly, in the darkness her father’s face was before her, and she heard again his words, “I have no daughter.”

  It was as simple as that. She had his sympathy. He wished her well. But sympathy and good wishes did not fill the terrible emptiness she felt within. She rolled over and sobbed into her pillow.

  Then she felt anger rising through her grief. It’s finished, she told herself. If he doesn’t have a daughter, then I don’t have a father. I’m not going to cry for him again.

  Hope closed her eyes, determined not to shed another tear. She willed herself to sleep, but her thoughts and feelings were in such a jumble, such a mingling of heartbreak and anger, that she knew she would be awake all night.

  All of a sudden it was morning. Hope blinked at the light that came through the crack in the shutters and raised herself on one elbow. She had been so sure that she would be unable to sleep! It seemed that she had been more tired than she had realized.

  Downstairs, Mrs. Hill was clattering about preparing breakfast. Hope sprang out of bed, washed and hurried to get dressed. When she came downstairs, Mrs. Hill had the table set. “It’s just toast and tea,” she apologized. “I can’t get eggs. The garrison buys up all that the local farmers can produce.”

  Mrs. Hill was kind and calm. She talked about the weather and about the preparations for Lieutenant-Governor Simcoe’s arrival the following summer. It was only after they had finished breakfast and Hope was about to leave that she said, “I am truly sorry that you find yourself in this plight.”

  “Thank you,” said Hope. She appreciated Mrs. Hill’s sympathy and was deeply grateful for her hospitality, yet she did not want to talk about her father.

  Mrs. Hill spoke again, “It is hard to be alone in the world. I remember well. My mother and father died in the same week during a cholera epidemic when I was fifteen. I almost wished that I could die, too. I was terrified that I’d be begging my bread from door to door and sleeping in the streets. But I survived, and so will you.”

  As Mrs. Hill turned her face away, it struck Hope that she found it hard to talk about this. Again she thanked her. When she asked what she should pay for the night’s lodging, Mrs. Hill said firmly that there would be no charge.

  She gave Hope a piece of rope to tie around the leather handles of her trunk, one at each end. This made it possible for her to carry her trunk on her back. Hope was glad to do this. Despite the discomfort, she liked the idea that she could carry her burden herself.

  At Navy Hall she learned that the Juliana was expected back from Queenston at noon and would sail from Butlersburg before sunset if the wind was right.

  There was one last thing she wanted to do before leaving, and that was to thank Colonel Butler for his help and to tell him about her meeting with her father. When she knocked at his door at Navy Hall, he opened it promptly and invited her to enter.

  He gestured that she should take a seat, and when she was settled in a chair, he sat facing her. “Ensign Dunn told me what happened. I was sorry, but not surprised.”

  “You prepared me for disappointment,” she said. “It could have been worse. He was kind to me, although I could not make him change his mind.”

  “Didn’t you ever wonder,” the colonel asked, “why your father didn’t look for your mother after the war ended? It was seven years ago.”

  “I always supposed he didn’t know where to look. He couldn’t return to Canajoharie, where my family used to live. As a Loyalist who had fought for King George, he’d be killed if he went there. Even if he did risk it, nobody in Canajoharie would know where my mother had gone.”

  “True,” said Colonel Butler, “but he must have been aware of an easier way to find her. If she was registered as a Loyalist refugee living at one of the border forts, it would not have been difficult.”

  “You mean, he didn’t try.”

  “When a war ends, most soldiers want to return to their families and pick up their lives where they left off. But sometimes a man has been changed into a different person, and he can’t face pretending to be the person he used to be. Some men in this situation take off for Indian territory. In your father’s case, his way of escape was simply to stay right here.”

  Colonel Butler stood up. “Now you must e
xcuse me. I have a meeting to attend.”

  She rose, and as he opened the door for her, he said, “At least you’ve seen him. I hope that’s some consolation. You are young. It’s time to get on with the rest of your life.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Trouble Underfoot

  Hope was raising her fist to knock on the Schylers’ door when a clear treble voice rang out from somewhere above.

  “Did you come to see Mama again?”

  She looked up. There was young Isaac in the apple tree in the front yard, straddling a branch six feet over her head. Amidst the green leaves and red apples she saw a pair of bright blue eyes and a thatch of blond hair.

  “I’m a monkey,” he said.

  “Yes. I see that you’re a monkey.” She resisted the temptation to tell him to be careful climbing trees.

  At Hope’s knock, Charlotte opened the door.

  “Hope! Come in! You’ve no idea how glad I am to see you.”

  This was good news to Hope, who had been feeling lonely and unwanted ever since leaving Niagara. As soon as Hope had stepped inside and set down her trunk, Charlotte gave her a hug. With her mouth close to Hope’s ear, she whispered, “Elijah’s here.”

  “What!” Hope’s hand flew up to cover her mouth.

  “He showed up three days ago. Sit down. I’ll make tea. Then I’ll tell you about it.”

  Hope pulled up a chair at the long wooden table while Charlotte made tea. Baby Joan was asleep in her cradle. Martha and Jack were playing with wooden animals on the braided rug that covered half the floor. They greeted their mother’s visitor politely and then returned to what interested them more.

  When the tea was ready, Charlotte sat down across the table from Hope. She leaned forward. “He’s under the floor.” She spoke so quietly that Hope could barely hear her words.

  Hope whispered, “In your root cellar?”

  “We don’t have a root cellar. He’s right under us. Nick sawed a floor plank in two places so a length can be lifted out. He made the cuts under the table, where they wouldn’t be noticed. Elijah is lying on the earth, in the space between two timbers that support the planks.”

  “That sounds uncomfortable.”

  “It is. He can’t sit up. But Nick and I have no safer place to hide him.”

  “I just returned from Niagara,” said Hope. “I found Pa, but he doesn’t believe I’m his daughter. He says my mother must have been unfaithful.” Hope’s voice faltered. “I came here because I couldn’t think where else to go.”

  “What? Your mother unfaithful! Never!”

  “Please. I can’t bear to talk about it. I want to hear about Elijah. Where has he been? What brought him here?”

  “He’s been living with the Cherokees in Tennessee. Last summer he married a Cherokee girl. They’re expecting their first child. He was talking so much about his mother and sister that finally his wife said, ‘Go. Ease your mind. Return when you have seen them.’ So he set out on his long journey. When he reached Kingston, he learned that his mother had died. That news made him even more determined to find you. His search led him to the orphanage. The orphanage sent him to a lawyer.”

  “Mr. McIsaac.”

  “Yes,” said Charlotte. “And Mr. McIsaac told him that you’d gone to Niagara to look for your father. He explained that you had been indentured to Ephraim Block, who might be able to provide more information. He gave Elijah directions to reach Block’s cabin. When Elijah arrived there, Ephraim wasn’t home. He’d gone to Montreal.”

  “I know about this,” said Hope. “I was present when Mr. McIsaac told Ephraim about British commissioners who’d be in Montreal to hear Loyalists’ claims for compensation. I suppose Mr. McIsaac didn’t realize that Ephraim had already left for Montreal.”

  “That sounds likely. When Elijah arrived at Block’s place, he found Adam Anderson, the boy from the next farm, staying there to look after the dog and the chickens while Ephraim was away. Adam seemed happy to have a visitor. When he learned that Elijah was looking for you, they had a long conversation. In telling him about your letter to Colonel Butler, Adam mentioned Nick and me. As soon as Elijah heard that I lived in Milltown, he came here. He wanted to see me as an old friend, and because he hoped I could help him find you.” Charlotte refilled their teacups. “The problem is, many men from Elijah’s old regiment have settled around Milltown. They know he’s a deserter. If he’s recognized, his life is in danger. He thinks somebody may already have spotted him. When he told me this, I urged him to go back to Indian territory as fast as he could. But after coming all this way, he refuses to leave until he’s seen you.”

  “I want to see him as much as he wants to see me,” said Hope. Suddenly she was filled with excitement, a feeling so close to happiness that she could not help smiling. She forced her voice to stay soft and low. “I have an idea! There’s an abandoned cabin on Ephraim’s land, back in the woods. A hermit used to live there. Indians visit from time to time. Except for Ephraim and me, I don’t think anybody else knows about it. I can take Elijah there. He’ll be safe for a couple of days while we catch up on each other’s life. Then he can go back to the Cherokees.”

  “I like your plan,” Charlotte said thoughtfully. “It will be good for you and Elijah to spend time together. When I was a child, my three older brothers were the most important people in my life—apart from my parents. Like me, you had three older brothers, but you never knew them. That’s very sad. Nothing can make up completely for what you missed, but this will help.”

  Hope nodded. “It will.” She rubbed the sole of her shoe along the floor board, thinking that her brother could hear the scraping. It seemed a miracle that Elijah was only inches away. She wondered if he knew that she was here, and if he could hear any part of what was being said.

  “You can go tonight,” said Charlotte. “Most of the land between here and the Blocks’ place is Clergy Reserve. The Church isn’t required to clear its land. No farms. No roads. But Elijah has lived with the Cherokees long enough to know how to find his way through the forest in the dark. You can walk there in two hours.”

  A cry came from the cradle. Charlotte pushed back her chair. She said in a normal voice, “Joan needs feeding. After I’ve looked after her, it will be time to start dinner.” She lowered her voice again. “Elijah must stay where he is until the children are asleep. Martha and Jack are too young to have any idea what’s going on. As for Isaac, it’s not that he couldn’t keep a secret, but he would run all over town yelling, ‘I’ve got a secret! I’ve got a secret! And I won’t tell anybody what it is.’”

  “He thinks he’s a monkey,” said Hope.

  Charlotte laughed. “That’s what I think, too.”

  CHAPTER 23

  The Man beneath the Floor

  There was a knock at the door while Charlotte was tending to the baby.

  “Come in!” she called.

  The door opened and an old man entered, leaning on a crutch. He wore a red and black checked shirt and a red neckerchief. His white hair was tied at the nape of his neck. He was the same old man that Hope had seen through the window of the general store on her first visit to Milltown.

  “I didn’t know you had a visitor,” he said. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “Of course not, Papa. This is Hope Cobman. I’m sure you remember her.” She paused, “Hope, I don’t think you remember my father.”

  “I don’t remember you, sir, but I’ve heard all about you,” said Hope. “My mother told me how she hid you and Mrs. Hooper and Charlotte in her root cellar.”

  “Indeed she did,” said Mr. Hooper. “That was a long time ago. My daughter has told me that you came to visit her in June. I’m pleased that this time I have a chance to greet you.”

  “Papa, would you like a cup of tea?” Charlotte asked.

  “No thank you, daughter. I’ve just dropped by to ask if Jack and Martha would like to go for a walk.”

  The two children jumped up and ran to him shouting
, “Yes! Yes!” Martha wrapped her arms around his knees.

  “Not until they’ve put everything back in the toy box,” said Charlotte. “That’s the rule.”

  With Hope’s help, that was quickly done. In a few minutes Charlotte and Hope were alone, except for baby Joan.

  “Papa often takes them for a walk for half an hour after closing his store,” said Charlotte. “It gives me a chance to catch my breath. I’m glad he came today. Without the children here, we can speak freely. ‘Little pitchers have big ears,’ as they say.”

  She brought the baby to Hope. “Would you like to hold her while I shell peas?”

  “Glad to.” Hope pushed back her chair from the table and reached out to take the baby, which nestled contentedly on her lap. “Joan looks like you,” she said. “Same dark eyes.”

  “She’s the only one who does,” Charlotte said with a laugh. “The other three are blond like Nick.”

  Charlotte sat on a stool to shell the peas. “You know, Nick’s taking a big risk by hiding Elijah. We’re both taking a big risk. Every child in the school is the son or daughter of a discharged soldier. If the parents knew that the schoolmaster was hiding a deserter, there’s no telling how many would take their children out of the school.” Her busy hands stopped moving as she looked at her baby. “We’d be ruined.”

  Then she straightened her shoulders and snapped another crisp pod. “Nick wants to help Elijah. He understands how he feels. You see, Nick broke with his own family because of the war. His father called him a coward when he refused to join General Washington’s army. Then he threw him out. They haven’t seen each other since. Nick’s father doesn’t know he has four grandchildren. Maybe he wouldn’t care. But it bothers Nick.”

  “Maybe he can go back for a visit and make peace with his father.”

  “He can’t.” Charlotte stood up and dumped the empty pods into the bucket under the dry sink. “First, he stole a horse to make his escape from a rebel recruiter. Then he went to work for the British, carrying dispatches. If Patriots caught him back in the Mohawk Valley, they’d put a noose around his neck.”