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Authors: Lori Benton

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“They called you He-Is-Taken,” Lydia said.

William nodded once, acknowledging the name. “Yes, but my mother wishes me to have a different name now. Bright Arrow was the name of
his
father. My grandfather. Stone Thrower…he called me this as…as the Senecas took him away. Perhaps he meant for me to have the name.”

They would never know whether Stone Thrower had gone into that clearing knowing all along that he would have to make the sacrifice he'd made, or whether his choice to speak truth to those warriors instead of the lie that might have delivered him had trapped him into making it, once it was revealed he no longer sought vengeance against Reginald—the only claim upon him the Senecas would have recognized. So many questions swirled in Reginald's heart, no doubt in William's as well.

He gripped Lydia's hand, seeking courage to face this, but William spoke again before he could find words. “There's to be a requickening ceremony. That's something they do—requicken the name of someone in the family who's passed. Although I think 'tis more usual for a name to come from the mother's clan than the father's.”

Such pain in the blue eyes that would not quite meet Reginald's. Loss. Bitterness. Regret. Reginald's throat constricted as he said, “ 'Tis a good name, Bright Arrow.”

But did it mean he would be staying in Kanowalohale, with Good Voice and his brother?

“I'd hoped to speak to you. I wanted to ask—”

Reginald broke off, feeling the pressure of Lydia's hand, reminding him to be patient.

“I know what you mean to ask.” William's face was set now, controlled, betraying nothing. “And I mean to give you answer, but I would tell it once to everyone, so I'd best catch those two.” He rolled his eyes in the direction in which his twin and Anna had vanished. “Before they disappear on us again. Will you both come now to my mother's lodge?”

47

T
hey were gathered in Good Voice's lodge, her family and the family Two Hawks would soon join. Clear Day was there, and the girl, Strikes-The-Water, who had spent much time among them since her return with the men, though it was clear to all that Two Hawks's heart belonged to Anna Catherine. Good Voice knew it was no longer for her second-born that the girl was drawn to her lodge. Strikes-The-Water was careful never to be caught staring at William, but Good Voice had a mother's sense about it. She was cautiously pleased.

She was more pleased about the thing her blue-eyed son was standing up to announce now. Banished from her heart was the fear that her firstborn would look upon her and his Haudenosaunee people with disdain, or any of the bad feelings she once dreaded he might feel. He had felt them once, he had admitted, but no longer. There had been much talk with him these past days, many tears to bathe the memories of his father each had shared and the sorrow they shared as well. There had been discovery. Joy. The weaving together of hearts, seen and unseen.

“I wished to inform you of what I've decided to do,” William began by saying. “I've thought long and talked to some of you…” He nodded to her, to Clear Day. “It's true I took an oath when I joined Sir John's regiment. It's also true I regret the taking of that oath and the decisions that led me to it.” At this he glanced at Reginald Aubrey, not long enough to meet that man's gaze but long enough to see Lydia raise her hand to Reginald's arm in a comforting gesture. Good Voice saw something like contrition, then confusion, ripple over her son's face before he looked away.

Pain of different sorts lived in many hearts, but so did hope. And hope was growing.

“I tell you that it's possible I'm splitting hairs,” William continued, sounding much in his speech like the man who had raised him in his early years, though already he had begun to pick up words of the people to whom he was born. “And that what I'm about to say reflects ill upon my honor. But look you, I'm no longer that person who fled into the arms of an army that has ravaged my…people. Whoever that man was.”

Though it was clear to Good Voice he was finding this talk hard to hear, Reginald Aubrey nodded for him to continue. She didn't miss the brief softening of her son's face before it firmed again.

“I'm told I've had another name. He-Is-Taken, my parents called me all the years they waited for my return. Now I am to have a new name, and my mother has asked me to remain with her here. That is what I mean to do for now. Stay in Kanowalohale. 'Tis here, and only here, that I can come to know this person to be called Bright Arrow.”

Murmurs erupted from those gathered in her lodge. Good Voice glanced around at all their faces. Strikes-The-Water looked surprised by William's words, but happy. Over Reginald Aubrey's face the feelings moved swiftly: resignation, regret, acceptance. Good Voice sighed for him in her spirit. The path his actions long ago had placed him on was not an easy one and never would be, but Creator had given him a good, strong woman to walk it with him now. A man could do much, become much, with such a woman beside him.

Good Voice caught Lydia's gaze and nodded, sending her encouragement without the need for words, thinking as Lydia nodded back,
It is not finished, this healing. This good that is coming of all the bad things. It will go on and be completed in time
.

Anna Catherine stepped forward. “I'll miss you, William, but I'm glad you'll stay, and I hope one day to better know this man, my brother, Bright Arrow—to know him very well.”

William opened his arms to her, then looked across her head at Two Hawks. Good Voice felt a melting in her chest as her sons shared a grin that rose crooked at the same corner, making them look so alike, their mother could only stare from one to the other and marvel. And feel yet another sorrow. In a couple of moon's time, Two Hawks would be leaving her, going to live in that world where men were often unkind, even cruel, to such as he. But not all. Not Aubrey. And she would see him again. There would be much passing back and forth between their families now.

Beside her, her husband's uncle stepped forward and raised his hand, a gesture to draw attention and command silence. Clear Day did not often make speeches, but Good Voice sensed one coming now. Anna released William and returned to Two Hawks. He pulled her to his side, and she nestled beneath his arm as the old man, deep sadness etched into his face, cleared his throat and began.

“Listen, my family. I am going to speak to you, in the place and, I think, with the heart and words of that one who is no longer with us.” The old man paused, a sheen gathering in his eyes, then continued, “We have in these days seen much of grief and the breaking of bonds. There was a thing called the Covenant Chain between the Haudenosaunee and the British. That is a thing that has been broken for us. And the Confederacy of the Six Nations is a chain that has been broken. But
Gayanashagowa
—The Great Binding Law—is a tree that has not been toppled. My heart hopes one day our peoples will be united again beneath its sheltering branches, though it be a long path coming to it.”

Good Voice pressed her lips together, reminded of the terrible thing done at Oriska. As they'd trickled back to sift through charred remains, the anger of the People had grown, their need for vengeance sharpening. There would be retribution against Thayendanegea and the Mohawks. And not just from her people. All along the valley of the Mohawk River, white families were burying their dead and vowing revenge. How long would they be forced to travel round that dark and bloody circle?

Clear Day's voice, cracked with age but strong with confidence, cut through her worrisome thoughts.

“But it is another chain of which I mean to talk about now. One that is not broken. It is a chain of friendship between two families.” He spread his arms wide, rope-veined hands extended. “I see it in the faces shining in the light of this fire. It is a chain forged through sorrow and pain, but it has come through that fire bright with hope and love. I think in time it will grow brighter as some hearts heal.”

He looked steadily at her eldest son, then at Reginald.

“We have cause to mourn, but we also have cause to rejoice, for Creator has restored our lost one at last, and soon the family of Good Voice of the Turtle Clan and the family of Aubrey will be united in heart and in blood.”

Anna Catherine, crying openly, and Two Hawks shared a lingering look. Good Voice felt the tears come to her own eyes, helpless to stop them, as she watched her son wipe away those from Anna Catherine's cheeks. She wrapped her hands around her swollen belly, feeling the child within kick and turn, and the heart above the unborn one burned with its aching.
Oh, my husband, that you should not be here to witness this, to hear these words, to see the child that is to come
…

Stone Thrower had seen his firstborn. Spoken to him. Touched him. Bright Arrow had told her everything, every word that passed between him and his father and brother at Oriska, during the journey to rescue Aubrey, and in that dreadful clearing. She would hold these words as treasures in her heart, as she once held the words Two Hawks shared about the boy called William Aubrey, told to him by Anna Catherine. And she would not rage against her husband's fate. She would not proclaim it unfair. She would believe, she would hope, that all things, even this, would weave together for good for her. For her sons. And for this new child to be born into a world that was changing so fast it threatened daily to throw her off her feet.

“The path Creator has laid for us to walk,” Clear Day went on, as though he'd read her thoughts, “has not been an easy path. Not always straight. And it will not be easy in the coming days. But when Creator said He would make rough ways smooth, I believe He was not talking about moving us to an easy path. He meant He was going to make our stride long enough, our legs strong enough, to carry us through. And when we reach our limits, He puts us on His back and He carries us and shields our eyes and hearts from that which would destroy our souls.”

Good Voice murmured her approval and wept a little more over these good, strong words of her husband's uncle.

They waited to be sure Clear Day was finished saying all he meant to say, then Reginald stepped forward. He held three strands of white beads, the wampum given in the greatest act of forgiveness Good Voice expected ever to witness. He raised them so all could see, a symbol of the covenant chain between them.

“Daniel Clear Day, your words are life and healing to me.” Aubrey paused, struggled with emotion, and cleared his throat. “Look you, I know 'tis not your custom to name the dead, but I will name him now and give him the honor he is due, for it was Caleb Stone Thrower who forged this chain of friendship through his obedience to the Almighty, through his mercy, through many prayers for my soul, and through his sacrifice…”

Again he paused, and Good Voice was astounded at the softening in the man, the love he had come to feel for her husband.

“May the grace and forgiveness he offered me be the pattern by which we live our lives from this day forward. May that same spirit always shine in our hearts. And in the hearts of our children,” Reginald Aubrey concluded.

Iyo
. They were fitting words for this sacred moment, this moment of remembering and looking ahead. Good Voice of the Turtle Clan looked around her lodge at all the shining faces, but it was those of her sons, and the women who had chosen them—though her firstborn was likely
unaware of it as yet—that pulled the strings of her heart with the surest strength. In them she could see the promise of children to come—a promise to which her soul clung.

And so she stepped forward, a hand resting on the child in her belly, and to all the good words already said added, “In the hearts of our children, and their children's children, like a fiery arrow may it shine and point the way.”

E
PILOGUE

June 1778

Aubrey farm

T
he wedding was held on a clear summer day that promised to wax warm with morning's passing. Few friends had elected to be present—recent frontier raids by the war chief, Brant, had turned the hearts of many against all Indians, even those Oneidas loyal to the Americans—but they were surrounded by family, hers and his. Soon to be
theirs
. As Papa placed her hand in Two Hawks's, declaring to the attending minister he gave her willingly to be married, and she faced her husband-to-be, his strong brown hands clasping hers, Anna glanced round at those crowded into Papa's sitting room to witness their vows.

Good Voice wore her best and brightest garments, silver in her hair and on her arms and ears, beads around her neck. Her daughter, Autumn Moon, watched the proceedings nestled against her mother's shoulder, with eyes like polished brown pebbles beneath a cap of silky black hair. Beside them stood the Doyles, Lydia, and Strikes-The-Water, lovely and skittish—it was her first time inside a white man's house. Standing next to her was William, or Bright Arrow, as he preferred now to be called. This day marked his first visit to the farm since the night he learned of his true heritage and rode away in furious rejection of it. Rejection had transformed into acceptance, and, over the months, an embracing of his Oneida identity, an acceptance forged through joy and sorrow.

Stone Thrower's absence was keenly felt this day, though with nearly a year passed, the time of formal grieving had been set aside, freeing Two
Hawks at last to marry. His family had arrived yesterday, when Anna, Lydia, and Maura Doyle had been up to their ears in cooking, baking, and last-minute stitching to the embroidered cream gown Anna now wore. There had been insufficient time yet to talk to William or to coo over his baby sister, born in the Moon of Giving Thanks. Anna didn't know if William had yet spoken to Papa, beyond the courteous greeting she'd witnessed. Even now a prayer crossed the edges of her mind.
Let it be today
…

Papa left her to stand beside Lydia, who took his arm, smiling up at him. Anna thought the smile looked strained. Little wonder, vastly pregnant as she was with Papa's child who, by Lydia's calculation, was a week late in making its natal appearance. Beneath her gown Lydia went barefoot, her feet too swollen to fit her shoes.

Anna made a mental note to remind her stepmother to rest, once the ceremony was done. She would talk with them all, embrace them all, laugh and cry and remember with them all, but now her gaze settled on Two Hawks, who had never looked away from her, as the minister led them through the vows to love and cherish.

Lips speaking…hearts pledging…a part of Anna seemed to stand apart from it all, seeing the man before her in exquisite detail: brushed brown coat and matching breeches, the cloth at his neck white against the skin of his throat; hair grown long around his handsome face, raked back in a queue, glossy as wet ink; full lips curved with happiness, showing straight white teeth as he spoke; eyes clear beneath the strong line of his brows, seeing only her. Seeing her as only he had ever done.
Bear's Heart
.

She thought of how they used to look at one another, meeting as children at the wood's edge—unabashedly fascinated by the new, the strange. Now she saw all the ways they were the same, and the way he was looking at her, with a promise of long-awaited intimacy that tingled through her and found its echo deep within, a resounding yes, and yes, and
yes
.

Two Hawks slipped a ring onto her finger, the silver metal warm from his hand, and pledged to her all that ever would be his. Then the minister was praying, pronouncing them bound forever in the eyes of the Almighty and those witnessing: Jonathan and Anna Catherine Aubrey.

Voices then. Laughter. Her husband's dazzling smile…

Papa was the first to embrace her. “Anna Aubrey. My dear girl.” She hugged him tight, whispering words she'd said many times in recent months. “Thank you, Papa.”

Then Lydia stood before her, biting her lower lip and smiling.

Or was it a grimace? Anna hugged her tight from the side and was startled when Lydia didn't quite stifle a groan. The daze of happiness cleared like mist before a stiff wind. She placed a practiced hand on the swollen belly between them.

“Lydia? Are you…?” She felt the telltale tension in her stepmother's flesh. “You
are
.”

Papa, talking with Two Hawks, caught Anna's tone, looked their way, and blanched. “Lydia?”

Clearly mortified, Lydia admitted, “I was trying to hold on. I didn't want to spoil your—” The last words were bitten off between clenched teeth.

Anna didn't know whether to hug Lydia or shake her. “How close in time are the pains? Has your water broken? No, you couldn't have hidden that. You didn't, did you?”

Lydia shook her head. “It hasn't broken yet.”

Two Hawks was at her shoulder. “Bear's Heart. What can I do?”

“Look after Papa?” She met his gaze with longing, hating to abandon him, but a baby didn't take the convenience of its midwife into account when deciding to be born. Anna kissed her husband's mouth, lingering briefly, then sought his understanding with her eyes.

He gave it. “You are the one she needs. Go.”

She didn't go alone. As she propelled Lydia toward the bedroom,
Maura Doyle was on her heels, having seen what was afoot and run to the kitchen for water and kettles and towels.

Anna glanced back once at the scene of her wedding, at the guests and minister standing about the room, and saw Good Voice hand her daughter over to Strikes-The-Water, coming to join them.

He tried to be the attentive host, to encourage their guests to partake of the bride's cake and refreshments laid out on the table decorated with loops of tiny white paper chains, but Reginald was undone. He found himself gazing at the shut bedroom door, in agony for Lydia's agony, unable to prevent his thoughts winging back to a dim hospital casemate full of the dying…

God in heaven, have mercy
.

He wasn't certain how he made it outside. Rowan and Two Hawks had to do with it; they stood one to either side of him in the yard while he drew gulps of air and his heartbeat settled, his mind cleared.

“Better?” Two Hawks asked.

“A bit.”

“I thought you would go over into the cake.”

Reginald smiled at the bridegroom, barely married before his bride abandoned him to her calling, but felt the effort sag. “ 'Tis not what either of us expected today, is it?”

Two Hawks gripped his arm. “Anna Catherine is with her. And my mother and Mrs. Doyle.”

He didn't say all would be well. He'd merely named Lydia's allies in her battle. And formidable allies they were. Reginald was more reassured than he'd have been by empty promises.

They waited. Others came and went, talking to him in the yard. Ephraim Lang. A few of their crewman who had known them long. A few neighbors who took their leave with proffered prayers and words of encouragement.
Two Hawks saw them away, performing the duties of a host, taking up the slack Reginald had let fall.

An hour passed. Then another. Reginald paced the yard, sat, paced again, refused to eat. Once he heard a babe's wailing and wrenched up off his seat on a fence rail with his hip protesting, only to realize it had been Good Voice's daughter.

Sometime after that, Two Hawks came out again and sat beside him, strong hands braced on his knees. He'd removed his coat and rolled the sleeves of his shirt off his forearms. “Mrs. Doyle says all is well thus far. It is a first baby for her, so it can take much time. We are praying.”

Reginald grasped the young man's shoulder in a brief squeeze. Barely a month had passed since Two Hawks had returned from General Washington's camp at Valley Forge, where he'd gone in April with nearly two hundred Oneida warriors. They'd fought with the Continentals and acquitted themselves well at a place called Barren Hill. Again and again the Oneidas had amazed him with their sacrifice and dedication to their chosen allies in this seemingly unending war. Though conflicts had sprung up like wildfires all over the frontier, no further reprisals on the scale of Oriska had fallen from the hands of their fellow Iroquois since last summer's cruel destruction, but it had been a difficult winter for the Oneidas. Many warriors had scouted instead of hunting, and no one felt safe, not those who went out or those left vulnerable and hungry at home. And yet when the call came in spring of that year to join General Washington in the east, the Oneidas had answered.

Reginald hadn't expected Two Hawks to go, until William came through Schenectady and urged him to it. It had been the first Reginald had set eyes on him since their parting the previous August. Arriving by canoe with the warriors of Kanowalohale, he'd been distinguishable from them only by his lighter skin, his full head of hair. William hadn't wanted to see Reginald but had visited with the women and his twin at the house they still maintained in town.

It had been hard for Anna to see the pair go off to war together, but Reginald was surprised at the wrench to his own heart. He grieved after William, worried for his safety, yearned to fulfill his seemingly impossible promise to Stone Thrower to be a father to both the lads, yet he found his worry for Two Hawks just as deep. It was good to have him back, safe and whole. Good to see his Anna so happy on this day. Good, too, to see the bond that had formed between the brothers during that brief campaign, even as he was forced to watch from a distance, still waiting. Hoping.

Where was William, come to that? Reginald thought he'd seen him with Rowan, headed down toward the barn. That seemed hours ago.

“Sir,” said Two Hawks, pushing off the fence rail to his feet.

Reginald looked up, blinded by the sun, high now in the west. Two Hawks was gazing past him. Reginald swiveled to look, and there was William standing in the lane, a stick in hand.

BOOK: A Flight of Arrows
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