Genesee

Genesee

By Juliet Waldron

Digital ISBNs

EPUB 9781926965116

Kindle/Mobi 9781771457637

Web/PDF 9781771457644

Amazon Print 978-1-77362-236-1

Print ISBN 9781771457651

Copyright 2015 by Juliet Waldron

Cover art by Michelle Lee

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book

Dedications

To those American great-grandmothers

who have hidden their secret behind Christian Names

Prologue

The Mohawk River, September, 1761

With a final powerful stroke, a young man in buckskin pushed his laden canoe through the shallows and onto the gray gravel shore. He was dressed as an Iroquois warrior, but he could never pass for one.

His fair skin was sunburned, his hair gathered into a yellow braid which trailed down his back. A full dirty beard, equally yellow, obscured his square face.

In other parts of the country he might have been a Scot or Irishman, the kind that had practiced rustling and revenge on the borders of the Old World and now did the same in the New. Here, however, far down the Mohawk, it was more likely that this was a Dutchman who'd been out to trade.

His canoe did carry furs, but that was not all it carried. There was a big raw-boned woman too, and she had been paddling almost as strongly as the man.

Now she expertly lifted her paddle, dripping silver, and shipped it beside the furs. She was brown skinned, as dirty as he from travel, in a buckskin dress and trousers. Her dark hair lay in two oily braids over her broad shoulders.

There was a crunch as the man got out and muscled the canoe higher onto the gravel. At the same time, a thin wail sounded. The woman bent and picked up a once handsome – now travel-worn – blue papoose sack.

How is she? the man asked.

Ungry und vet, Mynheer Hendrik.

The woman splashed up to a spot beneath a willow, one that trailed long fingers in the water. A cry of anticipation arose as Anna put the papoose sack, decorated with a starburst design of porcupine quills, on the ground.

Her strong hands brought out a squirming, naked baby and laid her on the grass, a brown-skinned, black-haired girl. Methodically she began to clean out the sack, pulling out handfuls of wet moss and rabbit fur.

Ordinarily Anna would have first put the baby to her breast. The danger of allowing her to cry would have been too great in the wilderness. Here, however, through the trees, a group of cabins could be seen.

Even now, out of the cornfields, three people in rough country dress appeared, a woman and two men. The woman had a hoe; the men held long rifles.

Hendrik went out to meet them. Hello, Vanderlyn, he said. Hello, MacLeish, and you, too, Peggy, he added, inclining his fair head to the barefoot, weather-beaten woman.

Hendrik van Cortlandt! she exclaimed.

Yes, it's me, home at last.

Who have you got there with you, Hendrik?

That is Anna. There isn't a trail through Indian country she doesn't know. She guided me back.

The three stared beyond Hendrik to the woman nursing the naked baby, their eyes brimming with an equal mix of pity and revulsion. Why had Hendrik brought home this big, homely half-breed?

Hendrik van Cortlandt, barefoot Peggy declared, your Trudy's had a son.

What? Hendrik's strong jaw dropped foolishly.

Christ, man, exclaimed MacLeish with a chuckle, didn't you know her belly was full when you left?

Looking dazed, Hendrik dropped to his haunches, Indian fashion.

Guess he didn't, Peggy answered for him. Well, Sir, this five months past you've had a bonny son.

By The Almighty! Hendrik cried. Trudy?

Right as rain, said his informant. She stayed with us 'til he came. Named him Schuyler after her Dad.

We and the Douws watched your farm, added her husband. Paulus and I ran some squatters off this spring.

It seems I've got plenty to thank you for, Hendrik replied. In spite of the tan, he suddenly looked shades paler.

Well, 'tis right good to see you, MacLeish repeated. Beginnin' to think you wasn't comin' back.

I was beginnin' to think so m'self.

Tell you what, the hitherto silent Vanderlyn spoke into the ensuing pause, I'll ride down Oriskany and tell your Misses you're on your way.

Good idea, Hendrik replied. I don't want to pop up like the devil and scare her to fits.

Don't worry, Hendrik, said Peggy MacLeish, putting a reassuring hand on his broad shoulder. First she's gonna cry, then she's gonna hit you over the head with the whatever comes to hand, but, after she's done and all, she's gonna be mighty glad to see you.

As Vanderlyn strode away up the bank, MacLeish turned his attention to the canoe. I see you picked up a few skins, he said. The more obvious things Hendrik had brought back were ignored.

A few, the traveler replied.

Beaver, MacLeish observed admiringly. You must have been far west.

Down Genesee.

MacLeish shook his head. Damn! he exclaimed, clearly envious of the adventure.

Now don't you go getting any ideas, his Peggy grumbled, yanking her man's sleeve.

Hey, come sit a while, said MacLeish, ignoring his wife and giving the now solemn Hendrik a brotherly back slap. Let's smoke a pipe.

As the men squatted and prepared, his wife, wiping her hands on her stained apron, walked over to the nursing woman.

I'm Peggy MacLeish, she said. Any friend of Hendrik van Cortlandt's is a friend of mine.

"Danke, said the woman softly. I am Anna." Detaching the black haired baby from her breast, she laid her over her shoulder and began to firmly pat its little back.

Into the baby's fretful grunts Peggy remarked, Ain't you feared them savages will come after this pretty little thing o' theirs?

Ah, dis ist Genesee, said Anna, her attention focused upon bringing up the burp. Zee hast no clan.

While Peggy MacLeish pondered the puzzle of that, a milky blat came from the baby.

Ehr Mutter ist tod – dead – so I – feed, Anna went on, struggling with English even as she lowered the baby to try the other breast. Zee angehoren – belong – to Mynheer Hendrik.

Peggy raised a tawny brow, mind working furiously. It wasn't uncommon for young Dutchmen to keep Indian wives during the three or four years they spent in the woods trading for beaver. The fur trade was the foundation of many a poor frontiersman's fortune.

But Hendrik's trading journeys had been over long before he'd married pretty Trudy. Suddenly, shockingly, understanding came. With utter clarity Peggy knew the reason why Hendrik van Cortlandt, a gentlemen if she'd ever met one, would bring a half-breed baby out of the forest to the house of an already much injured wife.

Not two months after Hendrik had taken his bride from Albany to the farm on Oriskany Creek, his baby sister Alyda, a wild little fool of fourteen, had run off with Black Wolf, a Seneca brave. Hendrik had gone after her, leaving behind a very frightened and very resentful new wife.

Tears sprang into Peggy's eyes. What happened to Alyda? she asked softly, touching the delicate naked shoulder of the baby.

* * *

The men sat with their pipes, squatting by the nose of the beached canoe. Sun sparked the creek. A gust of wind shook the willow, sent down a shower of arrow- shaped yellow leaves into the water.

Couldn't you find Alyda? MacLeish finally asked.

No, Hendrik said between puffs. He seemed at ease, but his friend saw the unnatural brightness growing in his eyes. By the time I got where he'd taken her, she was dead.

Christ, MacLeish growled. Then, he added, I hope you took a few scalps. By God, the next black hair I see –

And what good does that do? Hendrik interrupted with a sigh. It doesn't get the fellow responsible. All that does is keep it goin' round and round.

Shit! After what you been through? Talkin' like some fool preacher? MacLeish snorted. You know killin's the way it is – here – there, and everywhere on this round world. Damned savages don't respect you if you don't outright murder a few of 'em every once in awhile.

Oh, I killed a few, Hendrik wearily interjected. It was no boast, simply a flat statement. Not the one I wanted, though. If we didn't cover our tracks well enough, you may get your wish to shoot some Indians right soon. I wouldn't risk you by staying for even a night, but the child badly needs rest.

They'd be after that big ol' captive you took out? asked MacLeish, shooting a sideways glance at Anna.

Baby's got to eat. Hendrik stated the obvious

MacLeish raised a sandy brow. What will your Misses think? If I was you, my friend, I wouldn't push that woman a scant inch further.

Trudy and I have always understood each other, Hendrik said gravely, And, if not... He paused to draw deep on the white clay pipe, and slowly blow out a long plume of smoke. I hope she does understand, for only death shall part me from yon girl child.

MacLeish stared uncomprehendingly, while Hendrik silently and thoroughly scratched his wild yellow beard. Listen, MacLeish, the traveler finally said, plain and simple – that's Alyda's.

MacLeish's eyes narrowed. He spat, as if he suddenly had a bad taste in his mouth.

Black Wolf took her to Genesee Castle, where Anna was a slave. Anna took my sister under her wing. When Alyda died, Anna took up nursing her baby.

Christ! The pale eyes of MacLeish flashed. You've brought yourself home a peck of trouble. Mark my words, your Misses is gonna raise holy hell.

She can't, Hendrik said. That baby is all that's left in this god-forsaken, blood-soaked world of my little sister.

And if Black Wolf comes after her?

He won't. Genesee is with her mother's kinfolk now, just the same as if her mother was Iroquois. If he does, though, Hendrik paused to draw his long skinning knife and thoughtfully regard the gleaming edge, I'll feed the strutting bastard to the crows.

Chapter 1

ALBANY, NEW YORK

May 1776

Genesee van Cortlandt, her cousin giggled. Good Lord! What are you doing? You'll break your neck.

The prettily rounded figure of a young Dutch woman with rosy cheeks and an enviable head of tumbling honey brown curls leaned out an open window. Close by the substantial two-storey brick house a huge tree grew, an apple tree with spreading limbs, a tree her father had been so fond of that he had put his workmen to the trouble of enduring its presence while they built the house.

The speaker was in fashionable undress – a shift and stays covered by a crewel stitched morning gown that had, in quieter times, come from London. Behind her a couple of well dressed and well fed Black girls crowded, peering out the window and adding their exclamations to hers.

Look at Miss Jenny, one of them cried. Just like a cat!

On a broad limb of the tree, a limb which had been rudely cropped in order to keep it from intersecting with the wall of the house, her long straight black hair held with a scarlet ribbon, without a cap and dressed only in a fine white muslin shift, was a slender, supple girl. For a heartbeat, she steadied herself and then proceeded on small brown bare feet along the mottled limb.

Genesee didn't acknowledge the others. All her attention was focused on balancing. There would be a whipping descent through a lattice of branches to a bone-snapping conclusion if something went wrong.

Jenny knew what she was doing was foolhardy. Still, it was always fun to play the wild frontier woman and shock her elegant Cousin 'Nelia.

When she reached the trunk, Jenny smiled triumphantly. A flash of even, healthy white glowed against nut-brown skin.

And where are you goin', Miss Jenny? asked one of the slaves, her round face and beribboned cap bobbing beside that of her young mistress.

Down, came Jenny's casual reply as she indicated the grass, and then I shall climb back up again.

Never! her pretty cousin declared with a giggle of disbelief.

Wait and see. Jenny caught a lower branch and swung boldly down onto the limb below. The ease and daring of the maneuver led to gasps from the onlookers and a shower of apple blossom, for it was that time of year.

Although this descent was taking place by the window of an untenanted bedroom, Jenny was low enough now for caution to be in order. She didn't want one of the housemaids to catch sight of her.

Cousin Cornelia had accepted a proposal of marriage from a man her father, wealthy Stephan van Cortlandt, deemed unsuitable. Hence for the last month, she had been imprisoned in her bedroom. Only 'Nelia's maids and a few female relatives were allowed access.

No one will ever lock me up, Jenny thought.

You know Papa's going to have an apoplexy if he finds you downstairs, Cornelia exclaimed. Her pretty face expressed a most unfilial pleasure at the idea.

Wrapping her arms around the trunk, Jenny stared into the spiral of limbs below. Perhaps if she went sideways she could see where next to go. It was still too far to risk jumping.

That was when two young men in the blue and buff uniforms of the Continental army came rapidly around the corner. Their gaze was aimed to the upper window, as if they had come expressly to speak with the lady imprisoned there. As soon as they spied Cornelia, they removed their hats.

Do I have the honour of addressing Miss Cornelia van Cortlandt? The shorter and fairer of the two politely queried the lady high above as she languidly leaned upon the sill.

You have, sir, 'Nelia replied, coolly withdrawing her gaze from the limb upon which her cousin stood, imperfectly screened by white blossom and new leaves. And who might you be?

Captain Alexander Dunbar of the Army of Independence, at your service, Miss Cornelia.

The taller officer kept looking over his shoulder, as if he were expecting to be caught. The speaker appeared unconcerned. His blue eyes were fixed upon the buxom girl framed in the window.

Jenny, peering down through the branches, saw a perfectly erect and slender young man of medium height. His fair skin and rosy cheeks gave him a china doll beauty.

Many young officers defied regulation with flowing locks, but in this case the cut was military, shorn close to the head. Alexander Dunbar's coppery hair was curly, doing its best to defy the extremity that had been worked upon it. There was only one nod to fashion, a thin braided queue which made a bright rat's tail down the back of his neat blue jacket.

I would love to make your acquaintance further, Miss Cornelia, myself and Captain Troup, he gestured at his tall friend, who smiled and inclined his head. For tales, not only of your beauty, but the charm of your conversation have reached our ears.

Get to it, Alex, the other man urged.

"Miss Cornelia, I have been entrusted by a mutual friend with billets doux."

At this, Cornelia bounced like a puppy and clapped her smooth hands together. Both of the young men grinned, and theatrically raised fingers to their lips.

Jenny was praying that they would keep their eyes on Cornelia and not look into her tree. Beneath her shift was nothing at all. The faint breeze of this warm spring day was gently tickling bare flesh.

Are you a good catch, Miss? curly headed Dunbar inquired.

Saucy! Cornelia was merry, choosing to misinterpret. She tossed her curls. "What do you think?" She had missed flirtation dreadfully ever since she had been locked up.

In two minutes' acquaintance you have taken his measure, Miss. Captain Troup wore a big grin.

Dunbar took what looked like a tennis ball from his pocket and waved it at Cornelia. Ready! he called, missile in hand. As he prepared to throw, he moved back, seeking a better angle. The black maids giggled in anticipation.

They were interrupted by the blowing approach of a hard ridden horse. Without so much as a by-your-leave, Captain Dunbar and his friend ran the other way.

Above, Cornelia wrung her hands. Jenny crouched, still as a hunted cat.

The horseman now in view was a fat young man who reined in his sweating animal just beneath the window.

Still playin' Juliet? he shouted. If you'd say yes to the right fellow, you know, you could get out of there.

Say yes to you, I suppose you mean, John de Laet, Cornelia retorted with a disdainful toss of her curls.

Of course, the interloper replied. What do you know about this Gray fella anyway?

Jenny leaned her dark head against the tree, studied the top of de Laet's hat, not many feet away, and prayed he wouldn't look up. John would not only report to her uncle, but, she knew, do his best to see under her shift.

Mr. John Gray is a gentleman of Oxfordshire, Cornelia retorted. His family is not only high born but probably twice as rich as yours.

Oh, that I doubt very much, cried de Laet, much nettled. Why hasn't he proved it to your father?

Cornelia didn't deign to reply. Instead, she scornfully flounced away from the window.

Gotta talk to Miss Cornelia nicer den dat, Mr. John, advised Black Betty with an impudent white grin.

'Nelia! Please! The fleshy lover rose in his stirrups and gave a pitiful wail.

Another horseman rode up. This, Jenny saw, was 'Nelia's younger brother, Nick.

What luck, she thought. There had not been a soul around until she had climbed out here. Now it was like a market day.

Do stop bawling, Nick chided. You sound like a calf who has lost his mother. Come on, old fellow, he added a little more sympathetically. If you dine with us, Papa will make her come down. Then you may gaze at the capricious creature to your heart's content.

Not waiting for a reply, Nick tapped his horse and trotted away. After a final yearning glance at the window, John de Laet sadly followed.

Cornelia reappeared hopefully. Jenny looked left and right, wondering what was next. The officers had, after all, dodged away in the direction of the heavily trafficked kitchen wing. If Mrs. van Cortlandt caught sight of them, they would be warned off, for 'Nelia's Mr. Gray was in the Patriot army too. Any blue coat near the rear of the house was suspect.

Catching hold of the limb above, Genesee began to pull herself up. Retreat, at this point, seemed prudent. It was impossible to know when or if the messengers would return.

She ascended a level, but wished that she hadn't. Here, hunkered down among the leaves and glowering from a nest, was an anxious mother robin.

At a near run from the back of the house, the blue coats made a rushing return. Jenny stood rock still, and pretended, to the bird and to herself, that she wasn't there.

This time with only the preamble of a wave, Captain Dunbar tossed the ball. The missile flew unerringly.

The smack of the landing was greeted by a muffled shriek of laughter. The young men took several judicious steps backwards, taking cover beneath the spreading limbs of the apple.

That was the moment the robin decided Jenny was not to be tolerated. Taking wing with a squawk, she made a swooping dive straight at her shiny black head.

Jenny, who had spent enough time tree climbing with her brothers to have felt the wrath of disturbed nest sitters before, instinctively flung up a hand to ward off the bombardment.

The gesture threw her off balance. Accompanied by a gasp of surprise and a rip of muslin, she fell.

Captain Dunbar, head up at the last minute, gallantly tried to catch the girl accelerating towards him. In the next instant they were sprawled upon the ground, the young officer on his back, Genesee across him.

For a dazed instant, Alexander Dunbar was drowning in a cascade of night, of black shining hair thick as a pony's tail. The girl, with a wild toss, threw it back over her shoulder.

The eyes that gazed into his were black as her hair. Though her features were delicate, he thought she was too brown, too all over dark, to even be Spanish.

Dunbar knew about more than what was normally exposed – face, neck and arms – because the loose fitting white shift, not held in place by stays, had slipped off her shoulders. The fine brown of her skin was the same everywhere, right down to one pert, girlish breast.

Miss – ah – are you all right? Alexander, still flat on his back, attempted a formal inquiry. He rested a hand upon one delectable bare silken shoulder.

He did not obey his impulse and seize the girl. He did not press his lips against that tender new-budded breast. He was a perfect gentleman, although a lusty voice inside was calling him a thousand kinds of fool for not taking advantage of the situation.

Stunned by the fall, Jenny stared at the young man beneath her. Apple blossom dotted his close-cropped head like confetti.

The cue came from his exotic eyes, a kind of hot spring blue flooding with black. Truth was felt and seen at the same time. The breath of this bright spring day – and of the young officer – warmly touched her nakedness.

Yanking her shift into place, embarrassed to her soul, she slapped him. Then, with a leap and a flashing flurry of white muslin and brown bare legs, Jenny dashed into the high grass of the orchard and vanished.

Wait till I tell McHenry about this! Troup grinned from ear to ear as he extended a hand to help his friend up. Alex took the offered hand, but not before pocketing a scarlet ribbon this Beauty had left behind.

From above there came a chorus of choking laughter.

I didn't mean to offend your servant, Miss Cornelia, Alexander offered, stepping out from under the tree.

The lack of clothes and shoes – and especially the brown skin – all signaled this was the station of the pretty creature that had fallen upon him. Captain Dunbar was West Indian bred, a place where dark skin and servitude naturally went together.

Even if she was climbing a tree in her nightgown, she's Miss van Cortlandt too, you wicked impertinent fellow! Cornelia cried passionately, shaking a finger at Dunbar like a schoolmistress. How dare you insult my cousin? 'Tis shameful behavior in one – one who professes to be a gentleman.

Please – ah – excuse me, Miss Cornelia, Alexander replied, stammering with astonishment. I – I did not know.

'Nelia spun away from the window, and then executed a sweeping return, for she'd remembered the precious letter.

Nevertheless, Sirs, she amended in a voice that had gone sweet, I owe you all my thanks for the treasure you have so trustily delivered.

Summarily, long pale hands pulled the shutters closed. The two men were left staring at each other in a shaft of light and idly drifting blossom.

God, Alex, how ever do you merit such adventures? his friend exclaimed, slapping him on the back. Still, at least I was privileged to be your witness. A pretty, nearly naked lass did actually fall out of that tree. A gift better by far than an apple.

Alex, grinning, didn't answer. Instead, he bent his head and concentrated upon brushing petals from his hair.

That must have been, Troup muttered, the half-breed Miss van Cortlandt I've been hearing about.

A half-breed Miss van Cortlandt? Alexander asked, straightening.

They started a leisurely stroll towards the front of the house. The message for their friend Gray delivered, they could now present themselves to the master of the place, Stephen van Cortlandt. They actually had business, having been sent to discuss some matters of provisioning by their commander, General Schuyler.

Odd that Gray didn't say anything about her, Alex remarked.

His mind was full of the girl. Those beautiful eyes, those white teeth, the spicy fragrance, the elastic feel of her body, had been violently arousing.

Well, Gray did most of his courting before the war started, in New York City, Troup explained. He and Miss Cornelia danced together for an entire winter season at the Governor's house. Then the war began and her Papa called her home, and a good thing, too, the way things are going.

And Gray is still a gone man, Alex observed.

A wealthy English Tory converted to our Cause – and all because of a fair Patriot lady, Troup agreed. His grin showed that he enjoyed the irony.

Yes, the lady above is indeed fair, Alexander agreed. He unabashedly adored the fair sex, fell in love with comic whole-heartedness, a kind of pratfall of passion, like an unwary walker stepping into a hole. The ladies wholeheartedly returned the compliment, for Alexander was not only handsome and well made but utterly charming.

Still, most of these recent plunges had stopped well short of consummation. Since coming from Saint Thomas to a more puritanical New York to attend college, Alexander had sternly controlled this side of himself. It hadn't been easy,