She had no choice but to go to him. She set Daniel down. Perhaps they would...

She had no choice but to go to him. She set Daniel down. Perhaps they would spare Daniel. Perhaps only she was to be burned.
She forced herself to keep her chin up, her eyes steady and her steps even. How could she be afraid of going where her five-year-old brother had gone first? O Tommy, she thought, rest in the Lord. Perhaps you are with Mother now. Perhaps I will see you in a moment.
She did not want to die.
Her footsteps crunched on the snow.
Nobody spoke. Nobody moved.
The Indian handed Mercy a slab of cornmeal bread, and then beckoned to Daniel, who cried, "Oh, good, I'm so hungry!" and came running, his happy little face tilted in a smile at the Indian who fed him. "Mercy said we'd eat later," Daniel confided in the Indian.
The English trembled in their relief and the French laughed. The Indian knelt beside Daniel, tossing aside Tommy's jacket and dressing Daniel in warm clean clothing from another child. Nobody in Deerfield owned many clothes, and if she permitted herself to think about it, Mercy would know whose trousers and shirt these were, but she did not want to think about what dead child did not need clothes, so she said to the Indian, "Who are you? What's your name?"
He understood. Putting the palm of his hand against his chest, he said, "Tannhahorens."
She could just barely separate the syllables. It sounded more like a duck quacking than a real word. "Tannhahorens," he said again, and she repeated it after him. She wondered what it meant. Indian names had to make a picture.
She smiled carefully at the man she had thought was going to burn her alive as an example and said, "I'll be right back, Tannhahorens." She took a few steps away, and when he did nothing, she ran to her family.
Her uncle swept her into his arms. How wonderful his scratchy beard felt! How strong and comforting his hug!
"My brave girl," he whispered, kissing her hair. "Mercy, they won't let me help you." In a voice as childish and puzzled as Daniel's, he added, "They won't let me help your aunt Mary, or Will and Little Mary either. I tried to help your brothers and got whipped for it."
He stammered: Uncle Nathaniel, whose reading choices from the Bible were always about war, and whose voice made every battle exciting. He needed her comfort as much as she needed his.
"Uncle Nathaniel," she said, "if I had done better, Tommy and Marah--"
"Hush," said her uncle. "The Lord set a task before you and you obeyed. Daniel is your task. Say your prayers as you march."
In a tight little pack behind Uncle Nathaniel stood her three living brothers. How small and cold they looked.
Sam lifted his chin to encourage his sister and said, "At least we're together. Do the best you can, Mercy. So will we." They stared at each other, the two closest in age, and Mercy thought how proud their mother would be of Sam.
"Mercy," cried her brother John, panicking, "you have to go! Go fast," he said urgently. "Your Indian is pointing at you."
Tannhahorens was watching her but not signaling.
He isn't angry, thought Mercy. I don't have to be afraid, but I do have to return. "Find out your Indian's name," she said to her brothers. "It helps. Call him by name." She took the time to hug and kiss each brother. How narrow their little shoulders; how thin the cloth that must keep them from freezing. She had to go before she wept. Indians did not care for crying. "Be strong, Uncle Nathaniel," she said, touching the strange collar around his neck.
"Don't tug it," he said wryly. "It's lined with porcupine quill tips. If I don't move at the right speed, the Indians give my leash a twitch and the needles jab my throat."
The boys laughed, pantomiming a hard jerk on the cord, and Mercy said, "You're all just as mean as you ever were!"
"And alive," said Sam. When they hugged once more, she felt a tremor in him, deep and horrified, but under control.