The young marquis seemed enthralled. “Do you know why?”
We could never emphasize enough to outsiders that the Iroquois were not to be confused with other Indians. The People of the Longhouse were a democratic nation, and a powerful one, represented by statesmen who had skillfully played the British and the French against one another for decades. “Because if we can convince the Six Nations to remain neutral, we’ll deprive the British of their Indian guides and war bands.”
Lafayette’s smile turned sly. “May I?” he asked, and when I nodded, he took up the belt to inspect it. “These symbols, do you know what they mean?”
“Well that,” I said pointing, “that is the tree of the Onondoga nation—the Keepers of the Central Fire, the custodians of records.”
“And this?” Lafayette traced an open rectangle.
“The Oneida,” I said, overcome by the sudden impression that he was testing me like a schoolmaster, and had been doing so since the start of the conversation. “People of the Standing Stone. They’re friendly to us.”
“Your father has invited me to go with him to Johnstown for a conference with the Six Nations.”
I saw my father’s strategy at once, and I warmed with hope. Despite the Six Nations’ vow to remain neutral, many of them had sided and fought with the British against us. We couldn’t hope to get them to join us instead, but in light of our victory at Saratoga, there might now be an opportunity to make them honor their vow.
If they would come to a meeting.
General Gates had turned a deaf ear when Papa urged him to pursue a diplomatic course with the Iroquois. There was no glory in that for Gates. But, thus far, the marquis had proved to be as fair-minded as Major Monroe claimed. Maybe we could convince him.
Iroquois neutrality could change everything. It could help win the war.
And it might be just the victory Washington needed.
“I hope you’ll accept Papa’s invitation to go,” I said, because if Lafayette presided over the treaty convention, the Six Nations might attend for that reason alone.
After all, Lafayette had one thing Papa did not. He had the King of France behind him.
“Indeed, I will go, mademoiselle,” he said. “But given your knowledge, perhaps you should go, too.”
“Yes,” I said, before my mother could even lift a disapproving brow. Before, even, I could discern whether or not it was an invitation made in earnest or jest. I knew only that it was the moment, in all my restlessness, I had pined for. And I was sure my father would understand that restless longing. “Oh, yes, I intend to go.”
Angelica was not the only Schuyler daughter, after all, who could forge her own path.
Chapter Four
WE WERE HEADED into Iroquoia.
The snows were still so deep we were obliged to go by horse-drawn sleigh, my father leading the way beneath gnarled tree branches that bowed, encased in glistening ice. Our slow pace frustrated the hard-charging Lafayette, who was eager to rendezvous with the Iroquois Confederacy.
And I was nearly as impatient, for so much was at stake—not just the Indians’ neutrality, but the war itself. I’d once asked myself how a daughter could make a difference. Now I might have the opportunity. Though I’d attended Indian conferences before, never one like this—in the company of soldiers, as if I, too, were a warrior in a fight I believed in.
Bundled in a fur cloak, I rode nestled beside Major Monroe, who I suspected had been tasked to watch over me. “Are you warm enough, Miss Schuyler?”
It was the fourth time he’d asked.
“I am. Thank you, Major. Are you always so attentive?”
I didn’t even have to look at him to know he was blushing. “I try to be attentive to ladies, who are so delicate.”
This made me laugh, because he said it through chattering teeth. “I daresay the weather seems to go harder on Virginians. Perhaps I should be the one to offer you my coat this time?”
I regretted pricking at his pride because he scolded, “Ladies of Virginia would not go out in this weather. Nor would their fathers condone their presence on such an adventure . . .”
I couldn’t tell if Monroe was jesting or if he truly disapproved. My father had never discouraged my sisters and I from taking an active part in his affairs; before she eloped, Angelica had dutifully sent Papa military intelligence reports from Albany, and I had sometimes accompanied him on his travels. I would later learn that the daughters of New Netherlanders expected to enjoy a bit more independence than other American women, but at the time it seemed only natural. “Why shouldn’t he condone it? I have lived alongside the Six Nations all my life.” When that didn’t seem to convince him, I added, “Besides, when I was thirteen, I was adopted by the Iroquois.”