Catch the Wind: My Journey with Caroline

Since Captain Miller is the adult in charge here, I insist we follow his instructions and walk back to the village. Caroline starts to argue, but I point out that her mother and Mr. Tate have no idea where we’ve gone. Waiting around by the boats could get us captured, too, if the British take the raiding party. Reluctantly, she gives in, admitting her mother would be frantic to find us missing.

With a wave to us, Seth turns away as the men climb into the skiffs and shove off toward the island. Caroline admits how hard it is to watch a good friend leave without knowing what’s waiting for him. I understand that completely. It’s exactly how I feel about Mom leaving, and the sadness in Caroline’s eyes reminds me that trying to feel better about it doesn’t always work.

Quoting her grandmother’s line about how moping never accomplishes anything, Caroline shrugs in a way that suggests she doesn’t fully believe it herself. Her grandmother and Mom would probably get along, since Mom always insists staying busy is the best cure for missing her once she’s out at sea, advice I haven’t actually tried yet myself.

Rather than just standing around, I suggest heading back to Sackets Harbor, since there has to be something we can do to help win this war. Caroline asks if I actually believe that, and I’m a little surprised to realize that I do. Cheering her up, as it turns out, has done more for my own worries than moping ever could.

A narrow path threads through the woods above Lake Ontario as we head toward Sackets Harbor, mostly just trees and water broken up now and then by a clearing with a log cabin and a small barn or shed.

At one clearing, a woman stirs a massive iron kettle over a crackling fire, and we stop to say hello. Peering inside shows me she’s doing laundry, working the cloth through a film of soap bubbles. Sweat soaks her dress and her cheeks are flushed red. I chuckle silently to myself. I realize I have no business complaining about laundry once Mom leaves, not when a machine does the work for us.

Bread and cheese come with us for the next part of the walk, a gift from the woman before we go. I’m worn out by the time Caroline chirps that we’re almost there. She leads me down a barely-there trail toward the rocky shoreline. Lost in thoughts about how much harder every chore is in 1812, I don’t even notice she’s stopped walking until I bump straight into her back.

Caroline shakes her head before I can ask why, pressing a finger to her lips. Down on the beach, a young man rounds a rocky point, carrying something like a curved-blade ax, head down and shoulders hunched like he doesn’t want anyone to see him.

The man looks vaguely familiar. It takes me a second to place him. But then I realize it’s Jed. He’s the worker at Abbott’s Shipyard who hates taking orders from a woman or a girl. I wonder what would have him sneaking away from work in the middle of the day.