***
If you suddenly found that your world had turned upside-down and what you thought that you had was no more by the actions of another, what would you do?
More to the point of this, what would you do if you only knew that you had to move ahead, rather than be alone in a land where you know absolutely no one?
How about if that land was largely unpopulated?
Hey, it'll be winter soon enough as well, ...
Sometimes things can be decided a little quickly with the right person in a place far from where you're from.
0_o<'/em>
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Town Wharves, Moy, Upper Canada, 1792
It was already growing dark when two men met on a wharf at Moy. The place was a smaller center for the fur trade as well as a terminus for people passing through to and from the United States. Just as York would one day take a different name and flourish as the city of Toronto, Moy would one day become the city of Windsor. One thing which would not change was that it lay just across the river from Detroit.
The two men made their introductions to each other and began to walk along the wharf with a two-masted schooner in the background.
"This one is not old," one of them said in a bit of surprise, "I came here expecting to see an old worm-ridden tub. She is as-new as I see her here and still has years of service to give. Why sell her now?"
The other man nodded as he began to point out a few features barely visible in the dark illumination of the ship's and dock lighting, "You must quite obviously return in the daylight hours to see most of her attributes, sir, but yes, you are correct.
Nancy was built just across the river there in the Detroit yards only three years ago. She was built by our own masters there. The place is American territory, but the formal passing-over of it has not occurred even yet. You know how governments act as though they have more time than money, as though time itself was a commodity that is inexhaustible.
That notwithstanding, however, I have the pleasure of telling you that Nancy is eighty feet long, with a beam of twenty-two feet and a draft of eight feet. Her hold has a capacity of sixty-seven long tons or three hundred and fifty barrels.
She's quite the speedy lass with a fair wind up her skirts and can step along nicely. Oh, and she can turn about sharply if you've a mind or the need of it. Her draft is not all that deep and she can manage to navigate a good distance up many larger rivers and being a schooner of her size, she has no trouble in sailing upwind -- a selling point to be sure if she is to be worked in these waters.
We're putting her up for sale as we presently have excess capacity on these lakes, from a commerce point of view. Nancy's master at present is her original one, a Captain William Mills. He and most of the crew I believe, would be happy to sail her for her new owners. They love the girl that much."
The other man nodded as he peered a little at the bowsprit carving, "I shall endeavor to be here not long after first light to get a good look at her, as you say.
That's a very lovely woman there. A bit of fine carving work, I must say. It must do the woman proud who provided the inspiration for it."
The first man nodded, "She was commissioned by Mister John Richardson, one of our senior partners. Nancy is named after his eldest daughter, who I believe, was also the inspiration for that figurehead. It was carved by a firm known as Skelling in New York.
I must also point out, since it grows quite dark at present, that Nancy is rather lightly armed, having only four three-pounder guns. She has never sailed into any difficulty, but the guns are there in order to preclude such, if necessary. She relies on her speed to get her out of trouble if needs must."
The other man chuckled as they walked off to resume their preliminary negotiations at a nearby tavern, "I've known many trollops back in London who have done the same back in my day, though what I see in the admittedly poor light is a high-spirited wench who looks to be able to dance a fair jig when she's working."
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Outside of Penetanguishene, Upper Canada, 1792
Étienne had been sleeping soundly for a while, worn-out from the day, but he awoke a little as he felt someone lying down beside him.
"Maman?" he asked in a sleepy voice.
"Non, mon petite cher," Kiwidinok smiled as she hugged him from behind, whispering, "It is only me, your Kiwinidok, Étienne. Your mother does not want to come to bed yet. She wishes to talk with my friend Nehaseemo for a little while, that is all. But I am as tired as you from all of the paddling today, so I have come to make sure that you do not feel lonely."
She kissed the back of his head as she wrapped her arm around him over his nightshirt, "You do not mind sharing your warmth with an old woman?"
Étienne smirked as he looked back a little, "No, and you are not old."
The remark earned him another kiss on his head. "Polite and charming as well as handsome. I see why your mother is so proud of her fine boy."
"Kiwidinok?" he began, "What's she like, your daughter?"
The woman found herself stuck for a moment as she considered her reply. "Ayashe is not one who makes friends as easily as you, Étienne. She is cautious at first. I think that you might say that her friendship must be earned. But I think that you will find that you might need her. Most of the other children where we go have grown up there from birth. They can be a little rough to get to know, so do not expect to make many friends easily.
Ayashe is one who thinks that she has no need of friends at all. I think it comes from being a girl who sees everything as a fight to prove herself equal to boys in anything. That makes her forget about having friends, I think. Perhaps you may need each other, I cannot say.
But that is for another time," Kiwidinok smiled, "Now it is time for a pair of tired canoe paddlers to sleep. Lay your head down, my friend, and dream well."
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Lise watched as he removed his buckskin leggings. There was not much light and he seemed to be doing it a little slowly. She even wondered if he was doing it that way as a means of increasing her feeling of anticipation over what would likely come.
He laid them aside and then he rose up on his knees to remove his breechcloth. Lise found that she was actually holding her breath -- which was stupid, she thought. He was a man, not some stallion, and she was a woman. What was there in this that would make her feel so, ... nervous, the way that she found herself feeling now?
Was she really going to do this?
She knew that she wanted to, and perhaps one of the strongest background motivators was the knowledge that she'd only ever had one man -- who really hadn't been much of one back then. What had that been, she asked herself? She guessed that he might have been fifteen. From what she knew now, no fifteen year-old goes for a long time; not long enough for her, anyway. It had only begun to feel really good and then he was done.
