When he had finished reading he folded the letter. “The crew,” he said, his voice hoarse.

The ship, the weapons, the stores—all those things he could replace, and would, no doubt, before another day had passed. But the crew was another matter entirely. Capable men who had earned his respect and friendship, some of them with families.

Jennet said, “Shall I come with you?”

That was the last thing Luke wanted, and he told her so. From her expression it was plain to see that she was relieved. He wondered how much she knew about Poiterin’s methods, how much more she was holding back, and why. While he walked her back to Preston’s he managed to keep his questions to himself, and once they arrived there was no time. He stopped only long enough to borrow a horse and gather the things he might need.

Chapter 10

Nathaniel Bonner

Paradise

on the west branch of the Sacandaga

New-York State

Father,

We are in Pensacola, where we believed we would find a family by the name of Poiterin. These are the people who have been caring for Jennet’s and my son.

The Poiterins left this place a week ago when the British navy took possession of the port and made it clear that they will use this place as a point of departure for marching on Mobile and other points inland. They have gone to New Orleans, and thus so must we, though it will take us deeper into the war.

In our short time here we have learned some things about the Poiterins, who are Creole bankers and merchants. Disturbing and unsettling things that caused Jennet such extreme distress that I worry not just for her health, but for her peace of mind. She blames herself for putting the boy in the power of such people, though she seems to understand at the same time that she had no other choice, and that any reasonable person would have done the same.

Were my sister Hannah not here, I would be lost.

Because we are unsure of the Poiterins’ interests and motivations, we must approach them with some caution. Our plan is to go to the city and have Jennet make first contact. Not until then will we have any sense of what must be done to get the boy back. With the added complication of the war in the Gulf, I must tell you that I have no clear idea of when we will be able to start for home, though I fear it will not be soon, and may be as long as a half year, if a legal battle becomes unavoidable.

I send two copies of this letter by different post routes in the hope that at least one of them will reach you. Should the postal service continue in spite of the war in this part of the country and you would like to chance a letter, please direct it to the care of Mrs. Eugenie Preston, Maison Verde, Bayou St. John, Louisiana. This is the widowed sister-in-law of a Scots merchant resident in Pensacola who has been helpful to us in return for business accommodations.

I send you fond good wishes from Jennet and Hannah both, as well as my own. I remain your devoted son,

Luke Scott Bonner

Pensacola, Spanish Florida

11 September 1814

Chapter 13

Dearest Luke, my love,

He is here, he is well. He is beautiful.

We arrived three days ago, but it was only this morning that Madame P fulfilled her promise and allowed me to spend time with him. I can hardly write for agitation and joy and dread. Today he was mine for a while at least, but tomorrow is unknown.

I held him for an hour, in the shade of the veranda that overlooks the Bayou St. John. He is your son, from the shape of his toes to the way his hair grows in a whirl at the crown of his head. He looks at me so calmly, this son, this child you and I made. He looks at me as though he is trying to remember where he saw me last. He has not yet smiled at me, but then the young slave woman who cares for him, Jacinthe is her name, tells me that he has always been solemn and thoughtful for such a young infant. You see, in this he is your son as well. He will not take after his rash mother, whose reckless behavior has exacted so great a price.

I walked with him and talked as I would, in Scots, which I may not do when I might be overheard, for fear word will get back to Madame Poiterin.

The old lady is much as we were led to believe she would be. The small indignities she thinks up for me are bearable; anything, anything is bearable if it brings the day closer when I can leave here and put the boy in your arms.

She requires that I attend Mass and visit the confessional daily, at her own chapel. We owe Titine a great debt for accurately predicting this, because otherwise there would be no way for her to meet Hannah and you would never be reading this letter.

The priest who hears my confession daily is neither a good man nor a bad one, but he is certainly curious.

In the dim light of the confessional he wants most to hear those details that should interest him least. He asks questions about the island and the men there, what they might have done to me and to each other in my sight, if I dwell on such memories, if they cause me to sin. He asks me about you, whether I allowed you the privileges of the matrimonial bed, and if so, which ones, and how many times, all so (he tells me in a voice a little breathless and hoarse) he can decide a suitable penance. I can hardly imagine this going on every day until we are away, but I will do whatever is necessary.

Today already I was taken by the almost irresistible urge to describe for him exactly what it is that men and women do together. I don’t know if he would be satisfied then, or if it would simply incite further questions. I do wonder, too, if he reports my confessions to Madame P in detail. It is a most disagreeable idea, and yet I would not be surprised, such is the hold she—and her money—have over him.

Madame P claims that when I have convinced her and the Church that I am truly repentant she will allow me to join her household as her acknowledged granddaughter-in-law and H’s wife. If it were not for the war that creeps closer every day, I should say that the best course for us would be to take the boy and run now, immediately. Holding Nathaniel this morning this idea seemed not only appealing, but obvious and necessary, far more reasonable than giving him back into another woman’s arms without knowing if she will bring him again. Every day there is more talk of Jackson and his troops, where they are and what they are doing and when they will be here to fend off the British, who must surely strike at New Orleans very soon. The rumors tumble over each other: He is here already, in disguise; he has turned back for the north; he has fallen in battle. All I want is to be safe away, with you and Hannah and our son.