They stayed in St. Francis for several days.
Mercy was careful not to be around Ebenezer Sheldon again, and careful not to examine the reasons why. Minutes before the Kahnawake Indians stepped into their canoes to paddle home, Mercy spotted the adopted boy walking alone. She darted between buildings to catch his arm. "Forgive me," she said in English. The language felt awkward and slippery, as though she might say the wrong thing. "I know you're not supposed to talk to us. But please. I need to know about your adoption."
Annisquam's look was friendly and his smile was pleasant. "You're one of the Deerfield captives, aren't you? I'm from Maine. Caught a few years before you."
She ached to know his English name, but he did not offer it. She must not dishonor whatever he had achieved. If he had become Indian, she must not encroach upon that. "Please, I need to know what happened when you were left alone inside the powwow's longhouse."
His freckles and his pale red hair were so unlikely above his Indian clothing. "Nothing happened. I just sat there."
Mercy was as disappointed as if he had forgotten his English. "I thought you would have been given answers." Her voice trembled. "Or been sure."
Annisquam looked at her for a long moment. "Nothing happened. But they scrub away my past. I born once more. I was one person when they pushed me under the water and another person when I left the powwow's. I'm not sure my white blood is gone. I will never forget my family in Maine. But I have set them down."
Mercy's head rocked with the size of that decision. How had he done that? Every captive carried both: both worlds, both languages, both Gods, both families. the powwows and the chieftains cried.
But so many voices spoke. How had Annisquam known which voice told the truth? How had he been sure what to set down and what to keep?
"But your parents," she said. "What would they think? Would they forgive you?"
His smile was lopsided and did not last long. "My parents," he said gently, "are waiting for me."
They stared at each other.
"Go with God," he whispered, and he walked away from her to join the man who had put the wampum belt around his neck and the woman who had washed him in the river.
Mercy was careful not to be around Ebenezer Sheldon again, and careful not to examine the reasons why. Minutes before the Kahnawake Indians stepped into their canoes to paddle home, Mercy spotted the adopted boy walking alone. She darted between buildings to catch his arm. "Forgive me," she said in English. The language felt awkward and slippery, as though she might say the wrong thing. "I know you're not supposed to talk to us. But please. I need to know about your adoption."
Annisquam's look was friendly and his smile was pleasant. "You're one of the Deerfield captives, aren't you? I'm from Maine. Caught a few years before you."
She ached to know his English name, but he did not offer it. She must not dishonor whatever he had achieved. If he had become Indian, she must not encroach upon that. "Please, I need to know what happened when you were left alone inside the powwow's longhouse."
His freckles and his pale red hair were so unlikely above his Indian clothing. "Nothing happened. I just sat there."
Mercy was as disappointed as if he had forgotten his English. "I thought you would have been given answers." Her voice trembled. "Or been sure."
Annisquam looked at her for a long moment. "Nothing happened. But they scrub away my past. I born once more. I was one person when they pushed me under the water and another person when I left the powwow's. I'm not sure my white blood is gone. I will never forget my family in Maine. But I have set them down."
Mercy's head rocked with the size of that decision. How had he done that? Every captive carried both: both worlds, both languages, both Gods, both families. the powwows and the chieftains cried.
But so many voices spoke. How had Annisquam known which voice told the truth? How had he been sure what to set down and what to keep?
"But your parents," she said. "What would they think? Would they forgive you?"
His smile was lopsided and did not last long. "My parents," he said gently, "are waiting for me."
They stared at each other.
"Go with God," he whispered, and he walked away from her to join the man who had put the wampum belt around his neck and the woman who had washed him in the river.
( Caroline B. Cooney )
[ The Ransom of Mercy Carter ]
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