Your sister is writing a letter to you, but as I did promise you regular reports on her health and state of mind I send you my observations. Every day she seems a little improved. Jennet, I think, must be given a good part of the credit. She understands Hannah in a way I cannot, though I have spent much time in thought on how to best serve her needs. Jennet knows when to speak, when to admonish, when to cajole, and most importantly when to listen quietly and ask no questions. I will confess to you alone that sometimes I envy their closeness, but then I am ashamed of my selfish thoughts.

Hannah has begun to teach Gabriel and Annie how to use the bow and arrow, and she is a patient if exacting teacher. When she does not need to go to the village to see patients she is happy to take up whatever household chores present themselves, and it seems to me that she dislikes being out of doors, an idea so truly outlandish that it seems strange to put it down in words. And yet the impression persists.

Every day Hannah visits with Dolly Wilde and brings her teas to drink. In fact it seems as though cautious optimism is not out of place, as Dolly sometimes seems to recognize the people around her now. Whether this is Hannah's treatment or the natural course of her condition no one can say. And still when I happen to see Nicholas in the village he is very drawn and pale, though he greets me politely and asks after you and your brother both. Yesterday when your father took your newest drawings into the trading post to show, Nicholas spent a long time looking at them.

We have had only one short note from your twin, written on poor paper with poorer ink but in his true hand. I will copy it out at the end of this letter for you to read. Your father tells me that there is nothing in its cautious language to cause us concern. In this, as in so many things having to do with men's wars, I must depend on your father's interpretation and be directed by him. If only my imagination and dreams were so easily constrained.

I do hope this bundle of our thoughts and good wishes reaches you by means of your brother's mysterious trade connections, and that it brings you some relief from your homesickness. We think of you every day with great affection and pride.

Your loving mother

Elizabeth Middleton Bonner

October 30, 1812

To my dear family, mother and father,

A courier leaves at dawn headed for Canajoharee and so I burn my last candle in order to send you our news. Please know that Blue-Jay and I are both well in body and spirit. The worst injury we have between us thus far is an infected blackfly bite on my arm which I cleaned out and cauterized with the tip of my knife, as Sister would approve.

The war here on the St. Lawrence is a strange affair. We drill in full view of the British on the other side of the river and they do the same. All real business takes place under cover of night. Blue-Jay has made himself especially useful as he moves like an owl in the dark, and thus has he won Jim Booke's admiration. We all call our captain by his family name, for he thinks very little of the American army and will not use any of the titles that he might claim for himself. He has begrudging admiration for one officer only, Jacob Brown, who commands all the regulars and militia from Oswego to Oswegatchie, where he has set up headquarters.

We are not much loved here by the Yorkers, who had been selling their beef on the hoof to the British army at tremendous profit and now must pretend at least to obey the law. On the street I heard one farmer say to another that he found it damned hard to call any man an enemy who offered him such a good price for his cattle. In general the farmers and tradesmen alike are unwilling to support Mr. Madison's war, as they call it, though they shout loud enough for us to protect them when the British come raiding, and steal what they might have otherwise paid good coin for.

The only regulars General Brown has under him are a unit of riflemen in smart green uniforms. They are excellent shots, every one of them, but Booke dislikes the captain who leads them, called Benjamin Forsyth. He is a spectacular rifleman in his own right, but his bravado outstrips his common sense too often, or so claims Jim Booke.

Be content to know that we are honing every skill a soldier needs to stay alive and do his duty, and we are learning from the best. Booke may dislike the American army and distrust the government that gave it birth, but he truly hates the British Crown and is single-minded in his goal to chase them off once and for all. He is a hard taskmaster but an honest and fair one, and we count ourselves fortunate to be under his command. I hope one day that you will make his acquaintance, but as he is shy of crowds and any settled place, I fear that day may never come.

My love to all the family, to Curiosity and Uncle Todd and especially cousin Ethan, and anyone else who might ask after me. To my beloved sister and brother in Montreal, when you next write to them, my most affectionate greetings and hopes that Lily has forgiven me my trespasses.

Your son

Daniel Bonner of

Jim Booke's militia

7 September in the year 1812

Dear Sister Lily and Brother Luke,

Cousin Jennet puts down my words for me because the quill behaves in her hand as it will not in mine and she need not bother our mother to ask how to write every word. Mother would do this service but first she would change around what I say in order to suit her ear and Jennet has promised to put down all my words as I say them. You see it's true for our brother Luke sends a letter that doesn't sound like him, and yet our mother is proud and says what a good writer he is become. I asked her then, for what reason do we write letters but to hear each other's voices? And she said I would understand better when I had studied more, though she did look thoughtful and was quiet for a good while after.