After a while, she asked, “I thank you, sir, but how long will we have to remain in the tree?”
“Until I am certain the men and the dogs who hunt you have gone and the danger they present is no longer a problem,” he replied.
“This could be a long while,” she murmured.
“Sh-h-h.Quiet now.They come.”
“But, sir, how can you be certain they will not find us? Those dogs might catch my scent.”
“There is no scent now. It is why we climbed through the trees to this spot.”
“But, can they not smell my scent if they come in close to this tree? What if they look up and see us?”
He smiled, but it was only for a moment before he asked, “Do you not know that dogs do not look up until something forces them to do so? Most animals do not raise their heads to see what is above them.”
“But, men do,” she countered.
“So they do. But, they will not do so this time. And if they do, they will not see us because we are well hidden. Now, you must be quiet and do not think of anything, if possible. Men can sometimes sense your thoughts.”
“I will try to do it, sir. But, because of my fear of not being able to escape from them, it might be hard to do.”
“I know,” he responded. “But, do try to do it. Now, no talking. They are close.”
Abagail wouldn’t have been quite female if she hadn’t noticed
how handsome this young man was, he who was sitting behind her and who held her easily with one arm. His was not the first Indian face Abagail had seen since her arrival in Saratoga. Some of these Indians were more handsome than others, but none were ugly, though she had thought, when she had originally come here, that they would be ugly…and evil, too.
But, she had seen at once this was not so. They were simply people like any other people. Indeed, Abagail feared Miss Stockenridge more than any Indian or white man, though the white men at the inn, because of the strong drink, tended to be cocky, loud and obnoxious. But, of those who frequented theinn, none of those men had done her harm, though they teased her relentlessly with loud laughter and invitations to drink with them.
It was certain Abagail didn’t enjoy the work of being a service maid to these men at the tavern. The work was long and hard. She labored from early morning until the deep hours of the night; indeed, all days of the week, excepting Sundays when she was allowed to attend a sermon at the inn.
But, as soon as the sermon was concluded, Abagail was forced back to work. Her duties at the inn were not harsh, though the days were long and she seldom finished all the work in one day, so numerous were the chores.
It was her job to sweep and scrub the floors and tables, take out the trash and burn it, wait on the customers, serving them both food and drink. She often helped the cook in the kitchen. And, she cleaned the rooms and made up the beds the inn kept specifically for travelers, since the Saratoga Inn was one of the few taverns—if not the only one—in these northern woods.
And, oh, the stories she heard from these men of the forests: stories of the war raging about them up and down the coast. But, now new stories were told because the war had recently come into the territory of the Oneida Indians, they being one of the six tribes of Indians who made up the Iroquois Confederacy. And, according to the men at the tavern, Saratoga was now a town much involved in the American War for Independence.
Because most of the Oneida Indians spoke English, she often listened with awe to these Indians telling the stories of their past, including their government—what it was and how it had come about. Imagine, Indians who had constructed a government, one established to bring peace. Did any government of the “civilized” world have a similar and sole goalof bringing peace to the land where they lived, as well as to all men and women?
Although Abagail wasn’t educated, even she knew the governments of the European world were based on bringing the loser’s treasures and goods into the victor’s hands, or to quiet a rebellion. Either way, it was theft of a different sort.
Peace? Since she had been alive, she had not been witness to any peace. Always there were wars and men who fought in them bravely.
But, at least she didn’t have to worry about the war extending too far into these northern woods. There were few British Loyalists here in these woods. Indeed, she had soon learned the Saratoga Inn and the territory all around it was loyal to the Patriots and such patriotism included the Oneida Indians. At least, since Abagail had come here, there had not been a single shot fired in the act of war.
However, there were very few white women in this part of the country, only herself and Miss Stockenridge. However, recently a family of five, the MacIntoshes, had come to the inn awaiting safe passage to lands in the west, hopefully to find freedom there and a place to call their own. Both the mother and father of the family had been indentured servants, sent here by England, their contracts being bought and sold on the open market. And, only recently, after seven years of hardship and toil, had they, at last, worked through their contracts.
Now they were embarked upon going west, where they hoped to make a new life for themselves. The three children were all girls ranging from about the age of fifteen to five years old. And, though they were English, sent here by the king, they held no side in this conflict between the British and the Americans. All they wished for was some land of their own and the right to farm it.
Abagail, being an indentured servant herself, had spoken often to Teresa, the mother of the family, and had looked at their plight with both awe as well as a hope for her own future. Apparently, after laboring for others for all the years of one’s contract, one could become, at last, free.
Only this hope kept Abagail’s spirits from the deepest gloom, if only because Miss Stockenridge used the whip more often than she ought. And, Miss Stockenridge could not be reasoned with. It was Miss Stockenridge who had bought her contract, and Miss Stockenridge who believed she owned Abagail.
The strong arm around her waist jostled her a little, and Abagail looked down, gasping as she saw the hounds that either Miss Stockenridge or someone like her had set upon Abagail.
The young man behind her placed his hand over her mouth, bringing with it the sharp woodsy scent of the trees, and, putting his lips close to her ear, he whispered, “Make no noise. Think no thoughts.”
She gave one short, brief nod.
