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.”
At that last remark, Monroe’s shy smile disappeared. Beneath his dark wavy hair, his gray eyes went wide and he looked so startled that I feared he might fall out of the sleigh. “Whatever can you mean? You’re telling fibbery.”
“You insult me, sir,” I cried, like a man ready to challenge him to a duel. Laughing, I explained, “It’s true. I remember well how all the chiefs, clan mothers, and greatest warriors, row after row, stood silently around an open space where green grass gleamed.” Major Monroe now seemed enraptured, so I continued. “I dressed in white and they in the splendor of war paint. And I held tight onto my father’s hand when, with much pomp and ceremony, the chieftains put their hands upon my head, commented on my black eyes, and gave me an Indian name.” I pronounced the name in their language. “It means ‘One-of-us.’”
Though Monroe could not seem to decide if he ought to be awed or horrified, Lafayette, riding beside the sleigh, turned to marvel. “Then, mademoiselle, you know not only the symbols but the language of the Iroquois League?”
“Some.” I nodded, for I’d been raised in a home where Dutch, English, and Mohawk were all spoken.
Lafayette rubbed at his reddened nose. “Ah! We have the company of a pretty lady and the blessing of her knowledge. Pity, Monroe, you must leave us soon.”
Monroe had come with us as far as he could. Having discharged his duties in Albany, he felt bound to return to winter headquarters at Valley Forge. But as we reached the road where he would take his leave of us, Monroe didn’t seem to want to go.
It was hard to credit that such a big strong soldier could be so shy, but as he prepared to leave, Monroe reddened to the tips of his ears and stammered. “D-do you think your father would find it permissible, Miss Schuyler, for me to write to you?”
Was it such an improper thing for Virginians to correspond with a lady friend without her father’s permission? Or did he mean to imply the beginnings of a courtship? I wasn’t sure, but I am more apt now to think it was merely an attempt at gallantry owing to the antiquated peculiarities of James Monroe. Or maybe to
