Hope's Journey Read online

  “Precisely,” said the deeper voice. “We have no residence suitable for a lieutenant-governor, and no hope of having one built before next summer.”

  “Well, Colonel, maybe we can modify part of Navy Hall.” This was the man called Mr. Hamilton. “If we can’t make it vice regal, at least we can make it comfortable.”

  “That’s likely the best solution.”

  Chair legs scraped on the floor, footsteps approached and the voices came nearer. The door opened, and a middle-aged gentleman wearing a ruffled shirt and blue velvet frock coat came out. Without glancing in Hope’s direction, he left the building.

  Hope jumped to her feet and turned to face the man who stood at the open door. He had piercing eyes and white hair—not powdered, but actually white. He was old, yet not stooped. His shoulders were squared and his posture erect. In his red coat with its gold epaulets and yards of gold braid, he looked the way a colonel ought to look.

  “Excuse me,” said Hope. “Are you Colonel Butler?”

  “I am.”

  “May I please speak with you?”

  He was already closing the door, but he stopped and looked at her. “May I ask the reason?”

  “My name is Hope Cobman. I wrote you a letter.”

  “Many people write me letters.”

  “It was about my father Sergeant John Cobman and my brother Private Silas Cobman. I’ve come to Niagara to find them.”

  “Oh,” said Colonel Butler. “I remember the letter.” He motioned her to enter and closed the door. “Please take a seat.”

  There was a big mahogany desk in the room, but he did not sit down at it. Instead, he pulled up a chair and sat facing her. “Yes, I recall the letter.” He spoke slowly, his tone courteous. Hope realized that he was trying to make her feel comfortable, and his thoughtfulness put her at ease. “I gave it to Sergeant Cobman himself,” said the colonel, “assuming he would contact you.”

  “He never did.”

  “I’m sorry.” Colonel Butler put his hand on his brow, then pulled his fingers through his hair. “I should have answered your message, if only to tell you that I gave the letter to your father. But I have been extremely busy. As you may know, Newark is to be the seat of government for Upper Canada. We have no suitable buildings to house the Legislature and the Law Courts. We have no fit residence for the lieutenant-governor. We have no church for the clergyman who is already on his way from England to minister to us. To add to the pressure, today’s packet boat brought word that there will be a royal visit next summer by Prince Edward, Duke of Kent.”

  Hope stirred uneasily in her chair. “With all those important things to look after, it’s no wonder you don’t have time to spend on such a small matter as this.”

  “No small matter!” His tone deepened. “Nothing is more important to me than the welfare of the men I led in battle. They lost everything by joining my Rangers. Their property was seized, and they’ll be hanged as traitors if they’re ever caught in the United States. That’s why I spare no effort in helping them settle in Niagara so they can begin a new life for themselves, as your father is doing.”

  “And my brother Silas?”

  “I’m sorry to give you sad news.” Colonel Butler bowed his head. “By the time we fought our last battle, nine hundred men had served in my regiment. Some Rangers I do not clearly remember. But I remember Silas.” The pitch of Colonel Butler’s voice was low and measured, yet gave a suggestion that he was familiar with grief. “My son Walter was his commanding officer. They died the same day. October 30, 1781, during a clash with rebel troops, crossing a ford at West Canada Creek.”

  Hope clasped her hands together. “So I have lost a brother whom I never met. Silas went off to war before I was born.”

  Colonel Butler leaned slightly toward her, and she saw the sympathy in his eyes. “Bad things happen in war. Soldiers die. Even those who live can be badly damaged.”

  Hope started. Did the colonel know about Elijah?

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Your father. You have to understand.”

  “Was my father … damaged?”

  “He did not escape unscathed, although others were worse afflicted.” Colonel Butler rose to his feet. “Come. You want to find him. I’ll have one of my young officers escort you. Ensign Dunn will enjoy the assignment.” He crossed the room to pull the bell cord.

  “I have a small trunk,” said Hope.

  “Leave it here for the time being. When you know where you’ll be staying, it can be sent on. Truth to tell, it’s hard to guess how your father will receive you.”

  “Please tell me how he received the letter.”

  “He was surprised. I remember how he unfolded the paper and ran his eyes over it. Then he looked up and said, ‘I have no daughter.’ My answer was, ‘The lady seems to think you do.’ He replied that he would take care of the matter. But it seems he never did.”

  “I see.” Hope stood up. Before she could think what to say next, a young officer entered the room, making a fine appearance in his scarlet coat with its shiny silver buttons. His was a very young face, with smooth skin and pink cheeks. He would be, Hope thought, an agreeable companion.

  “Miss Cobman,” the colonel said, “may I present Ensign Godfrey Dunn.” His formality made her feel very grown up, especially when Ensign Dunn responded with a bow before standing stiffly at attention to receive his orders. He was to escort Hope to a particular location three miles away, up the Niagara River, overlooking the gorge, and he was to attend her until she had no further need for his services.

  “Very good, sir,” said Ensign Dunn.

  She shared this opinion. Hope did not know what lay ahead, but she felt stronger not to be facing it alone.

  CHAPTER 19

  Too Close to the Brink

  Ensign Godfrey Dunn clearly enjoyed his assignment. He kept pointing out things for Hope to admire. A bald eagle soaring over the canyon. A swallowtail butterfly on a twig. The wild grapevines trailing their bunches of dusty, blue fruit. He named the trees they were passing: oak, ash, maple, chestnut, hickory and black walnut. Hope tried to show a proper degree of interest, but her mind was too much on the coming meeting with her father.

  The road followed the course of the river, edging at times uncomfortably close to the very brink of the Niagara Gorge.

  “I’d hate to have to walk along this road in the dark,” said Hope.

  “There have been a few accidents,” her escort said, “usually after too many drinks at the Butlersburg tavern. I see how careful you are not to venture close to the edge. Are you afraid of heights?”

  “I suppose I must be, but I didn’t know it until now. I’ve never before seen a cliff as steep as this.”

  “There’s nothing to fear. The rock is solid limestone. We can walk right to the edge to give you a good look.”

  “I … I … I’m in a hurry to get to my father’s home.”

  “This won’t take a minute.” He offered the crook of his elbow. “You can take my arm if you’re nervous.”

  “I’m not nervous.” She rejected his elbow, followed him to the brink and peered over.

  At the bottom of the cliff, the dark river ran far below. Massive slabs of fallen rock lay along its banks. As Hope looked down, a wave of fear washed over her and she felt the bottom of the gorge lifting toward her. There was a roaring in her ears. She took a step forward.

  A firm hand grabbed her arm. “Whoa! Steady there!”

  “What?” She lifted her eyes from the abyss.

  “I thought you were going to faint.”

  She shook her head to clear away the dizziness. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  He led her back to the roadside. “I do apologize,” he said. “I didn’t intend to frighten you like that.”

  “It was such a queer feeling. I wanted to jump. I couldn’t help myself.”

  “There’s a word for how you felt: vertigo. I advise you to stay away from heights.”
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br />   He released her arm, and they walked on. Hope’s experience at the edge of the gorge seemed to have affected him, for he stopped pointing out interesting things to look for in that direction.

  As soon as her panic subsided, she turned her thoughts again to the coming meeting with her father. What Colonel Butler had said alarmed her, especially his description of her father’s reaction to the letter. He had said to Colonel Butler, “I have no daughter.” Maybe she was making a mistake. What if she was following a will-o’-the-wisp leading her to some place where she did not want to go? But it was too late to turn back, even if she wanted to. And she did not want to turn back. If Pa thinks he has no daughter, she resolved, I’ll just have to change his mind.

  “There it is!” Ensign Dunn’s voice broke in upon her thoughts. He pointed to a log cabin at the end of an overgrown path. Its appearance was not reassuring. It looked in bad shape. The mud and moss used to plug the gaps between the logs seemed to be washing out. Two small windows flanked the plank door. One window was boarded over.

  “Is this it?” she asked. “Does Sergeant Cobman really live there?”

  The young ensign flushed, as if embarrassed not to have something better to show her. “I don’t want to be in your way,” he said. “I’ll just walk around and look for butterflies until you’re finished.” He added by way of explanation, “I’m making a catalogue of the different kinds.”

  As Hope stepped onto the rickety step in front of the door, a rattlesnake slithered underneath. She raised her fist to knock, hoping that she looked less nervous than she felt. She drew two deep breaths to quiet her thumping heart. Then she knocked.

  She heard footsteps, followed by a bump, as if someone had stumbled.

  The man who opened the door was not what she had expected. His hair and his eyebrows were grey, not black. She knew he would be thin, but not this thin. His cheeks were sunken. His brown eyes gleamed with the same feverish brightness she had seen in her mother’s eyes. He had the same pallor. For one shocked moment Hope froze where she stood.

  “Yes?” he said gruffly.

  She opened her mouth, but her words stuck in her throat.

  “What is it you want?” he asked.

  She forced out the words. “I’m your daughter.”

  He shook his head from side to side. “I have no daughter.”

  “Colonel Butler says you read my letter.”

  “Yes, I read it. I’m John Cobman and Silas was my son. But I’m not your father.”

  He stood in the open doorway, one hand on the door, ready to close it. She took a step toward him. With her face raised, tilted to meet his gaze, he could not fail to see her snub nose and blue eyes.

  His eyes widened. He stared at her. A long time seemed to pass before he said another word. His voice shook. “For sure, you’re Sadie Cobman’s daughter. You’d be a twin to her at that age.” He gave a deep, rattling cough. “But that doesn’t mean you’re a child of mine. I don’t know why she sent you here, but—”

  “Nobody sent me. Ma died more than a year ago.”

  He dropped his hand from the door. “Sadie dead! May God have mercy on her soul.” He bowed his head for only a moment and then raised it. “So it’s all your own idea. The letter. This visit.” He looked at Hope pityingly. “I’m beginning to understand the reason for your search. It’s because you have no one. You’re alone in the world. Like me.” He opened the door wider. “Will you come in?”

  CHAPTER 20

  Twists and Turns

  He opened the door wider, and she entered. The cabin was small, approximately ten feet by ten. By the light that came through the unbroken window she saw an unmade bed with a filthy blanket on top, two wooden chairs and a table. There was a plank floor that looked as if it had not been swept for months. Two shelves were built into the cabin wall. On the upper shelf, which was on a level with Hope’s head, she saw a Bible and writing materials. On the lower shelf were tin plates, bowls and cups, none of which looked clean. The air was foul with the stench of stale sweat, dirty clothes and sickness.

  He held out a chair at the table for her. When she was seated, he walked unsteadily to the opposite side of the table and lowered himself into the chair facing hers. “Look,” he said. A spasm of coughing seized him. He hacked noisily and then spat into a bloody cloth he held to his mouth. The blood, the coughing, the dirt and the smell all combined to make Hope feel queasy. “Look,” he repeated, “I don’t want to be too hard on your mother. I haven’t been a saint all my life. No reason to think Sadie would be any different.” He wiped a dribble of blood from the corner of his mouth. “I can understand how she got friendly with somebody else while I was away fighting for King George. These things happen.”

  Hope’s brain reeled. She could not believe that her father would say such a thing about her mother. Pressure mounted in her head, a throbbing at her temples. Then disbelief turned to rage. She stood up and leaned forward, glaring at him.

  “No! Ma wasn’t like that. She never loved any man but you. She talked about you all the time.” Hope stepped back from the table, knocking over her chair. “I won’t listen to you speak about Ma that way. I’m leaving right now.”

  He started to rise, bracing himself with both hands planted on the table top, then sank back into his seat. He sat with his eyes closed. His skin looked greasy with sweat.

  Hope stared. “Are you all right?” A foolish question. Of course he wasn’t.

  He gasped. “Wooden bucket under the shelf. Bring me water.”

  She found the bucket and looked inside. It was empty. “You’re out of water. Where’s your well? I’ll fetch some.”

  “My well’s gone bad. I’ve been using my neighbour’s. Shaw’s place. Lot next to mine … up the river.” He tried again to stand but again crumpled into his chair.

  In an instant she was out the door.

  Ensign Dunn, his head bent over, was staring raptly at a bush or at something in the bush. Right now she did not want to talk to anybody. The bucket bumping against her leg, she raced down the path to the road and then turned right, heading upriver.

  The road was narrow and the cliff was steep. Hope stayed as far from the edge as she could. She did not have far to go. The neighbour’s cabin stood at the end of a path that ran north from the road. Halfway up the path was the well. There was a dry stone wall two courses high around the dug hole. Beside it lay a coiled rope and a smooth rock the size of a baby’s head. Hope tied the rope to the handle of the bucket and placed the rock inside. The water was about six feet down. It looked clear. She lowered the bucket. With the rock to make it sink, the bucket quickly filled.

  Bringing it up was the hard part. Maybe she should have taken Ensign Dunn away from his butterflies. But she managed to haul up the bucket, hand over hand. With a feeling of satisfaction she untied the rope and plunged her hands into the cool water to remove the rock. The bucket was two-thirds full. Enough water to last her father for a few days.

  She was coming up the path to the cabin when Ensign Dunn saw her, tilted to one side by the weight of the bucket. He ran to her and took the bucket from her hand. “Why didn’t you ask me to go with you? My assignment was to help you, not chase butterflies.”

  She had no suitable answer. “I wish I had,” she said meekly. “He asked for water, and from the way he looked, I knew his need was great. He told me his well was bad.”

  “Very bad. I saw it,” said Ensign Dunn, “and I smelled it. It stinks like rotten eggs and there’s a dead raccoon half sunk. It’s been dead a long time.”

  At the door she stopped and took the bucket from him. “I won’t be long.”

  Her father had somehow got himself onto the bed. He was lying on his side, shaking with fever.

  “I’m back,” she said. She found the dipper, filled it with water and brought it to the bedside. Hope knew how to manage this part. She had done it for her mother so many times, raising her with one arm around her shoulders while holding the dipper to her mouth. I
t felt right to be doing the same for her father. He needed her. She could take care of him. But he did not want her, and there was nothing she could do about that.

  When he had finished drinking, he lay back resting, his eyes fixed on her. She sat beside him, hands clasped in her lap. After a time, she saw the flicker of a smile, and then the look on his face that she had dreamed of. Tender. Full of Concern. Fatherly.

  “You’d best go back where you came from,” he said. “There’s nothing I can do for you. I hope you’ll find your father. If I had any advice on where to look, I’d tell you. But I haven’t. And so I wish you well.”

  She squeezed his hand and then stood up. “Goodbye.”

  Ensign Dunn was sitting on the step when she left the cabin. He stood and held out his hand. She took it. Because her knees were shaking, she did not let go of his hand.

  “He doesn’t believe that I’m his daughter. I can’t stay here.”

  “Shall I take you back to Butlersburg?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Neither Hope nor Ensign Dunn spoke for a long time. They were nearing Navy Hall before she let go of his hand. Hope asked, “How long will I have to wait for the next packet boat?”

  “Only until tomorrow. It will be the same ship that brought you here. The Niagara River is navigable only as far as Queenston. That’s where cargo is unloaded for the portage around Niagara Falls. Everything going to Detroit or to the settlements on Lake Erie has to be taken off the ship at Queenston, transported overland and then loaded onto a different ship at Fort Erie. When the Juliana’s been unloaded, she’ll sail back to Butlersburg to pick up mail and passengers for her return voyage to the eastern end of Lake Ontario.”

  “I’ll be on that boat,” said Hope. “I’ll book my passage this afternoon and then find somewhere to stay for one night. There’s an inn, I suppose?”

  “It’s rough and dirty. You wouldn’t want to stay there. I know a better place. It’s the home of a widow, Mrs. Hill, who belongs to our church. I mean, we don’t actually have a church, but we meet for worship. I’m sure Mrs. Hill will take you in.” He hesitated. “I don’t intend to be impertinent … I mean, it’s not any of my business—”