"It's me! Mercy Carter! Oh, Mr. Williams! Do you have news?" She flung herself on top of him. Oh, his beautiful beard! The beard of a real father, not a pretend Indian father or a French church father. "My brothers," she begged. "John and Sam and Benny. Have you seen them? Have you heard anything about them? Do you know what happened to the little ones? Daniel? Have you found Daniel?"
Mercy had forgotten that she had taken off her tunic to go swimming. That Joseph did not even have on his breechclout. That Mercy wore earrings and Joseph had been tattooed on his upper arms. That they stank of bear.
Mr. Williams did not recognize Joseph, and Mercy he knew only by the color of her hair. He was stupefied by the two naked slimy children trying to hug him. In ore horror than even Ruth would have mustered, he whispered, "Your parents would be weeping. What have the savages done to you? You are animals." Despair and shock mottled Mr. Williams's face.
Mercy stumbled back from him. Her bear grease stained his clothing.
"Mercy," he said, turning away from her, "go cover yourself."
Shame covered her first. Red patches flamed on her cheeks. She ran back to the swimmers, fighting sobs. She was aware of her bare feet, hard as leather from no shoes. Savage feet.
Dear Lord in Heaven, thought Mercy, Ruth is right. I have committed terrible sins. She did not look at Snow Walker but yanked on the deerskin tunic. She had tanned the hide herself, and she and Nistenha had painted the rows of turtles around the neckline and Nistenha had tied tiny tinkling French bells into the fringe. But it was still just animal skin. To be wearing hides in front of Mr. Williams was not much better than being naked.
Snow Walker burst out of the water. "The white man? Was he cruel? I will call Tannhahorens."
No! Tannhahorens would not let her speak to Mr. Williams. She would never find out about her brothers; never redeem herself in the minister's eyes. Mercy calmed down with the discipline of living among Indians. Running had shown weakness. "Thank you, Snow Walker," she said, striving to be gracious, "but he merely wanted me to be clothed like an English girl. There is no need to call Tannhahorens." She walked back.
On the jetty, Joseph stood with his eyes fixed on the river instead of on his minister. He had not fled like Mercy to cover himself. He was standing his ground. "They aren't savages, Mr. Williams. And they aren't just Indians. Those children over there are Abenaki, the boy fishing by the rocks is Pennacook, and my own family is Kahnawake Mohawk."
Tears sprang into Mr. Williams's eyes. "What do you mean--your family?" he said. "Joseph, you do not have a in this terrible place. You have a master. Do not confuse savages who happen to give you food with "
Joseph's face hardened. "They are my family. My father is Great Sky. My mother--"
The minister lost his temper. "Your father is Martin Kellogg," he shouted, "with whom I just dined in Montreal. You refer to some savage as your father? I am ashamed of you."
Under his tan, Joseph paled and his Indian calm left him. He was trembling. "My--my father? Alive? You saw him?"
"Your father is a field hand for a French family in Montreal. He works hard, Joseph. He has no choice. But you have choices. Have you chosen to abandon your father?"
Joseph swallowed and wet his lips. "No." He could barely get the syllable out.
Don't cry, prayed Mercy. Be an eagle. She fixed her eyes upon him, giving him all her strength, but Mr. Williams continued to destroy whatever strength the thirteen-year-old possessed.
"Your father prays for the day you and he will be ransomed, Joseph. All he thinks of is the moment he can gather his beloved family back under his own roof. Is that not also your prayer, Joseph?
Mercy had forgotten that she had taken off her tunic to go swimming. That Joseph did not even have on his breechclout. That Mercy wore earrings and Joseph had been tattooed on his upper arms. That they stank of bear.
Mr. Williams did not recognize Joseph, and Mercy he knew only by the color of her hair. He was stupefied by the two naked slimy children trying to hug him. In ore horror than even Ruth would have mustered, he whispered, "Your parents would be weeping. What have the savages done to you? You are animals." Despair and shock mottled Mr. Williams's face.
Mercy stumbled back from him. Her bear grease stained his clothing.
"Mercy," he said, turning away from her, "go cover yourself."
Shame covered her first. Red patches flamed on her cheeks. She ran back to the swimmers, fighting sobs. She was aware of her bare feet, hard as leather from no shoes. Savage feet.
Dear Lord in Heaven, thought Mercy, Ruth is right. I have committed terrible sins. She did not look at Snow Walker but yanked on the deerskin tunic. She had tanned the hide herself, and she and Nistenha had painted the rows of turtles around the neckline and Nistenha had tied tiny tinkling French bells into the fringe. But it was still just animal skin. To be wearing hides in front of Mr. Williams was not much better than being naked.
Snow Walker burst out of the water. "The white man? Was he cruel? I will call Tannhahorens."
No! Tannhahorens would not let her speak to Mr. Williams. She would never find out about her brothers; never redeem herself in the minister's eyes. Mercy calmed down with the discipline of living among Indians. Running had shown weakness. "Thank you, Snow Walker," she said, striving to be gracious, "but he merely wanted me to be clothed like an English girl. There is no need to call Tannhahorens." She walked back.
On the jetty, Joseph stood with his eyes fixed on the river instead of on his minister. He had not fled like Mercy to cover himself. He was standing his ground. "They aren't savages, Mr. Williams. And they aren't just Indians. Those children over there are Abenaki, the boy fishing by the rocks is Pennacook, and my own family is Kahnawake Mohawk."
Tears sprang into Mr. Williams's eyes. "What do you mean--your family?" he said. "Joseph, you do not have a in this terrible place. You have a master. Do not confuse savages who happen to give you food with "
Joseph's face hardened. "They are my family. My father is Great Sky. My mother--"
The minister lost his temper. "Your father is Martin Kellogg," he shouted, "with whom I just dined in Montreal. You refer to some savage as your father? I am ashamed of you."
Under his tan, Joseph paled and his Indian calm left him. He was trembling. "My--my father? Alive? You saw him?"
"Your father is a field hand for a French family in Montreal. He works hard, Joseph. He has no choice. But you have choices. Have you chosen to abandon your father?"
Joseph swallowed and wet his lips. "No." He could barely get the syllable out.
Don't cry, prayed Mercy. Be an eagle. She fixed her eyes upon him, giving him all her strength, but Mr. Williams continued to destroy whatever strength the thirteen-year-old possessed.
"Your father prays for the day you and he will be ransomed, Joseph. All he thinks of is the moment he can gather his beloved family back under his own roof. Is that not also your prayer, Joseph?
( Caroline B. Cooney )
[ The Ransom of Mercy Carter ]
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