“Do you think there will be a war?” she asked me.

  This is the first time we have talked about it. All I could answer was that I hoped not. We dared to voice our fears to each other — would there be fighting right around us? Would we be safe? And, worst of all, would the men in our families be killed? It was terrifying, but also a relief, to say these dreadful things out loud.

  Abbie is worried about her father. He talks all the time about how he is American-born and does not believe in fighting for Britain — just like Mr. Simmons. Besides, he has not time for it, what with making their new home. That is what he came to Upper Canada for, not to fight.

  I asked her if he had taken the oath to the King that Mr. Simmons talked about. Abbie looked scared. She said he did, when they first came here, but only so he could get land. He is going to ignore it.

  How Papa would disapprove of this if he knew of it! Abbie clutched my arm. “Susanna, what will happen to my father? I do not want him to fight, but will he be arrested if he refuses? Or will we have to go back to the United States like Mr. Simmons?”

  These questions were so confusing that I could not answer. We looked at each other with despair. Finally I told her what Hamilton suggested, to try not to think about it.

  So we jumped up and decided to swim. We took off our shoes and stockings and dresses and petticoats and pantalets and, wearing just our shifts, went into the creek. The little boys, who cannot swim, cheered us on from the shore.

  Hamilton has taught me how to swim but I am so skinny I have to really struggle to stay afloat. Abbie, being chubbier, is much more proficient. We splashed and dived and blew out water from our mouths. Then we undressed the boys, each took one, and walked with him into the deeper water.

  How they squealed and shrieked! I had Johnny and it was like trying to hold on to a wriggling, slippery fish. I swished him back and forth in the water while he crowed with joy.

  Finally we all sat in the hot sun until we were dry enough to put on our clothes. Johnny burrowed into my lap and then fell asleep as I held him. Abbie is so lucky to have little brothers, even though she does not think so.

  Tonight Maria scolded me about my dirty feet and made me wash them thoroughly before I sat down to write in here. She is still in a disagreeable mood and I am weary of it.

  These are such peaceful days. I cannot bear that anything will happen to disturb them. Do not think about it.

  17 June 1812

  Dear Constance,

  Tonight Maria forgot to tighten the ropes on the bed, and when she got in she collapsed onto the floor! You should have seen her with her legs up and the rest of her sunk in the mattress! I could not stop laughing. After a minute she started laughing too, and now we are friends again.

  18 June 1812

  Dear Constance,

  Hamilton is wretched. Catherine and her parents have moved back to New York in case there is a war.

  Before she left she promised him her hand. Because Catherine’s father thinks Hamilton is too young, however, they have to wait two years to be betrothed. Thus her promise is a secret, which I am not to tell anyone.

  Hamilton’s joy at Catherine’s acceptance is cancelled by his misery at her leaving. I have never seen him so dejected. Tabitha made him his favourite pudding for supper to cheer him up, but it did not help. He would not join us in the parlour but sat on the porch drawing on his pipe, an anguished expression on his face that I have never seen before. I tried to comfort him but he told me he wanted to be alone.

  It seems inconceivable that Catherine and her family will be living in a country that could be our enemy. Oh, Constance, I am trying to be brave, but tonight it is impossible.

  19 June 1812

  Dear Constance,

  I am going to try to simply tell you what I do each day instead of agonizing about what could happen. We spent the morning weeding and the afternoon quilting. I enjoy choosing each piece of fabric. One square of pink dimity is from a dress I had when I was five! I remember how proud of it I was.

  In the afternoon the shoemaker came by. He has not been in this district for months and there were several pairs of Hamilton’s and Papa’s boots for him to patch. Tomorrow Caroline and James are arriving to visit us. It will be a great pleasure to see Caroline again.

  20 June 1812

  Dear Constance,

  Do you have a sister, I wonder? Mine is very difficult. I am not talking about Maria. Despite how much she sometimes aggravates me we are fond of each other. I am speaking of Caroline.

  When Caroline lived with us she was serious but kind. She showed me how to knit and was always interested in my doings. Now all she does is criticize.

  Caroline is very religious, but in a different way from Mama and Hamilton. They have both taught me that God is loving. Caroline thinks He is revengeful, exacting punishment on those who do not do His will. I much prefer Mama and Hamilton’s God to hers.

  My troubles began as soon as Caroline and James arrived this evening. As we sat in the parlour I could not stop staring at Caroline’s bulging front. The last time I saw her she was not showing at all. What a miracle it is that God has placed a child inside her!

  But when I expressed my wonder at how large she was growing she said she was shocked, and that little girls should not say such things.

  Papa, who had come home a day early to see Caroline, told her not to be so harsh. He gestured for me to come and sit on his lap, which I was glad to do.

  Caroline answered that I should be reprimanded. When nobody did so, she frowned at me. I frowned back. Why has she changed so much?

  21 June 1812

  Dear Constance,

  It is not Christian to hate one’s sister. But tonight I have to confess to you that I do. I will tell you the whole sad story.

  This morning there were many people in church because Reverend Addison from Niagara was there. I thought he preached an excellent sermon, about how we should trust in the goodness of God as a tree planted by water spreads its roots and draws up nourishment. My icy fears melted at his words and I felt more hopeful than I have for a long time.

  We sang two of my favourite hymns — “Lo! He Comes with Clouds Descending” and “What Wondrous Love Is This.” Maria was standing next to me and I let my croaky voice blend into her pure one. Abbie was sitting behind us and we smiled at each other often.

  Papa and Hamilton, who greatly admire Reverend Addison, talked to him after the service while Abbie and I chased Paul and Johnny all around the churchyard. When I got into the wagon I felt utterly content with the morning.

  But Caroline shattered my bliss. On the drive home she could do nothing but criticize. She thought the sermon was weak and the singing too boisterous. Hamilton, who is still wretched from Catherine’s departure, disagreed with her. They argued so violently that Papa had to tell them to be quiet.

  When we got home Caroline took me aside and told me it was not respectful to run around the churchyard, and that I should not have kept looking at Abbie during the service. She accused me of not paying proper attention. When I retorted that I could repeat the whole sermon she ignored me.

  At dinner she said my table manners were appalling, just because I took a piece of pork that Hamilton did not want, from his plate. She said I did not sit straight enough in my chair. After we ate she inspected my workbox and said it was untidy. Then she asked to see my sampler and criticized how little work I had done on it since the last time she was here.

  Mama told her she was not being fair, that I have too much other needlework to have time for my sampler — especially since I do not get much sewing done when I am at school.

  “I do not approve of Susanna going to school,” said Caroline. “Girls should stay home and help their mothers.”

  I could tell that Mama was trying to keep her temper, as she changed the subject and asked Caroline what she had made for the baby. My face burned as I bent over my sampler. No, I have not spent much time on it, but what I have done is good work, neat and clean. I have finished the numbers and am halfway through the alphabet. Then all I have to do is choose a proverb for the top. Mama says I am as accomplished a sewer as she is herself.

  When I had stitched the N I asked Mama if I could read. She nodded and I took down Robinson Crusoe.

  “What is that, Susanna?” Caroline asked sharply.

  I showed her.

  She said it was not at all suitable for Sundays and asked where the book was that she had given me for my last birthday.

  Sighing, I put away my beloved Crusoe and took down A Token for Children instead. It is a hateful book, all about children who go to Hell because they are sinful. All about Caroline’s God.

  The day got much worse. I was so angry at Caroline that I was, I admit, deliberately naughty. I am ashamed to tell you what I did, but I must if I am to be honest.

  The stern, smug expression on her face every time Caroline looked at me, so different from her former kindness, impelled me to do it. While she was teaching Maria a new stitch, I crept out of the room and found Caroline’s new parasol. It is a very handsome one, with a handle shaped like a bird and much lace and ribbons.

  I took it into the kitchen — luckily Tabitha was in her room. We had no molasses but I carefully smeared honey onto each of its spokes. Then I closed it up again.

  I assumed that Caroline would not notice what I had done until she opened her parasol the next day, too far away to scold me. But when they were leaving she picked up the parasol and the honey started dripping down. She then made the mistake of opening it further. Despite my dismay, her shriek was very satisfying.

  Of course I had to admit my crime. Hamilton laughed and laughed, and Papa looked as if he wanted to. Maria, who had also been impatient with Caroline, stared at me with shocked admiration.

  I thought Caroline would split with anger. “She should be whipped!” she gasped, wiping honey from her hair. “I have never known a child so spoilt! Mine will not be allowed to get away with such behaviour.”

  Mama ordered me to go to my bedroom immediately, in a quiet voice which shattered me.

  I lay on the bed, bitterly regretting what I had done. Would Mama whip me? I knew I deserved it, but she never had.

  I am too ashamed to tell you what Mama said when she came up. She did not whip me but talked long and seriously about how wrong I was. Then I knelt at her feet and asked God to forgive me. Mama kissed me and told me she hoped that tomorrow I would be the good daughter I usually was.

  I hope I will be too. But I am still angry at Caroline, for if she had not been so cruel to me I would never have acted as I did today.

  22 June 1812

  Dear Constance,

  I helped Tabitha all day with the cooking to prove to Mama that I was good again. Tabitha is a plain cook. She usually scoffs at the recipes in the cookbook Papa bought Mama last year. Today, however, I persuaded her to try an unusual one for syllabub, without any sugar or eggs. First we put some beer and cider into a punch bowl and grated in nutmeg. Then I took the bowl to the barn and asked Ben to milk the cow into it. We let it stand for an hour, then scattered currants over the top. I sat in suspense at the supper table until it was time to taste it, but we all found it delicious. Mama praised me for encouraging Tabitha to be adventurous.

  23 June 1812

  Dear Constance,

  I am trying to write calmly, but it is difficult. I do not like growing older. When I was little I would fall asleep on my stool by the fire when Mama and Papa talked about their past, or I would only hear part of the story. Now I am wide awake and what I hear is increasingly disturbing.

  Papa had come home for the day, to share with us a letter he received from New Brunswick. It is the first time he has heard from his father for over a year. The letter said that the New Brunswick family is thriving and well.

  Our grandmother died several years ago. Hamilton has met our grandfather, but I probably never will. The letter prompted Papa and Mama to talk affectionately about the relatives they have not seen for so long.

  But then their talk became bitter. Papa began speaking of his brothers, especially Shubal. He related again how Shubal had been shot by Rebels. “If there is a war I will not be sorry to fight that country,” he said.

  Mama was very upset. “Thomas, remember that I still have family in the United States!” she told him.

  “Remember also that Richard was killed by the same Rebels who killed Shubal,” Papa replied.

  “How can you speak so? Those days are over! We have to forget about killing and revenge! I never want to live through times like that again!” She began to weep.

  Papa patted her arm, but he made her weep harder when he said quietly, “I am sorry, Polly, but we may have to.”

  No one noticed me slip out of the room and come up here to write to you. I cannot bear to hear them talk about war — not the previous one and especially not the one that might happen. It also shocks me greatly to hear Mama and Papa disagree. They have never done so before.

  I am going to blow out the candle and go to bed.

  24 June 1812

  Dear Constance,

  I am broken-hearted. A skunk has broken into the henhouse and eaten my favourite hen, the little white one I called Snowflake. She always came running up first when I went out with the food. But this morning only her head and claws were left. I knew it was a skunk because of the dreadful odour. Hamilton patched up the hole where it got in and tried to comfort me, but I cannot help weeping. How can such an exquisite creature be alive one day and dead the next?

  25 June 1812

  Dear Constance,

  It was very hot today and Mama, Maria and I took a picnic to the creek. They paddled and I swam. Maria would not come in past her ankles — she says swimming is not ladylike. She used to enjoy it as much as I. What airs she puts on! I hope she will not change as much as Caroline has.

  Mama dried my wet hair and I leaned against her. For the first time in many days I felt at peace.

  26 June 1812

  Dear Constance,

  It is still extremely hot. The air is heavy and moist, like a weight pressing on us. Mrs. Seabrook finds it very trying due to her condition, and has taken to her bed. Abbie has to do all the cooking and thus I scarcely see her.

  27 June 1812

  Dear Constance,

  A storm has relieved us of the oppressive weather. Thunder sounded closer and closer and the rain gushed down in the afternoon. I was so glad to see it that I ran outside and danced in the yard, holding my face up to the coolness. Tabitha pulled me inside in case I got struck by lightning. I went upstairs to put on dry clothes and laughed at Maria cowering under the covers. She has always been frightened of thunder, whereas I find it exhilarating.

  The storm diminished to a light rain. Mama and Hamilton went to call on the Paulings, and Maria, Tabitha and I sat in front of the kitchen fire. Tabitha told us some of the ghostly stories from her homeland, about bogles and boggarts and witches and black dogs. The scary tales made us draw closer to each other, but each time she finished one we begged for another.

  The last one she told was about the moon being buried in a marsh. Tabitha has a low, compelling voice and I could see the white faces and empty eye sockets of the dead people who rose out of the water. It brought back the fear that lurks so close to me these days. The story has a happy ending, for the forces of good win over the forces of evil. But I could not shake off my dread.

  Please, God, do not let it happen.

  28 June 1812

  Dear Constance,

  God did not hear me, for it has happened. We are at war. I am so frightened I can hardly hold this pen, but perhaps if I tell you about everything my heart will stop hurting so much.

  We were all asleep when there was a loud pounding at the door. Outside, Jack barked frantically. Maria and I both sat up at the same time. We heard Hamilton go down the stairs.

  I went to the window and opened it. At the door was our neighbour, Mr. Culp. Hamilton let him in and I could not hear what they were saying. About half an hour later Mr. Culp galloped off. I wanted to go down and ask Hamilton what it was about, but Maria would not let me.

  When he told us this morning Mama started weeping. “Not another war!” she kept saying. “Oh, my poor boy. What will happen to you and Thomas? I cannot bear it.” She was so wretched that she went back to bed and stayed there for most of the day. I kept bringing her cups of tea and bits of food to tempt her, but she would not eat.

  I could not comfort her. Indeed, she scarcely seemed to notice me, but seemed far away, weeping softly and whispering Richard’s name. To see her like this frightened me even more than the news of war.

  Hamilton told Maria and Tabitha and I everything Mr. Culp had said. Apparently the officers at Fort George were entertaining the officers of Fort Niagara when they got word that their two countries were at war. The American officers stayed to finish dinner, then went back across the river. How very strange, to be one minute friends and the next, enemies.

  Although today is Sunday, Papa has not come home. I wonder if he was at the dinner? General Brock is arriving at Fort George from York today.

  I asked Hamilton what he would do. He said he did not know, but he soon found out. A few hours later a rider came with a message from Papa. Hamilton was to assemble the men in the vicinity and to march them down to Fort George as soon as possible. He put on his uniform and immediately rode to the inn, where the companies were gathering.

  Then I had to comfort both Maria and Tabitha, for Charles and Samuel would be fighting also. We did not have much time for weeping, however, for we had to quickly pack Hamilton’s box with flannel shirts, blankets and medicine. I slipped in some of his favourite comfits.

  We only saw Hamilton again briefly, when he returned to say goodbye. He went upstairs to Mama first. When he came down he could scarcely contain his words as he described all the men who were waiting for him to lead them to Fort George.