The man sat her down on a stool in the light, dipped his rag in the thick red liquid, and began to paint her face. He started at her hairline and painted the temples first and then the forehead; he worked the paint down between her eyes and down the nose, then up to the cheekbones; at last he dipped the rag again, lifted it to fill in the cheeks and chin, and then swept out left and right to cover both jawlines.

He gestured to Daniel and then began to paint the boy’s face and hair. When he finished he got up and grasped a strand of Mary’s hair, saying that it needed no paint. No, it had its own red.

And then they heard the sound of the cross-fenced door of Fort Duquesne swinging open.

Light from sludgy torches illumined the fort as the raiding party and its two prisoners entered. Groups of French and Indians looked on; two women who were Seneca moved up to see Mary at close range as she passed through the little crowd.

Inside a small room in the fort, one of the Shawnee turned to lock them in and leave them. Mary’s gaze was fixed on the deerskin bag he had slung over his shoulder. He noticed this and spoke. “You want to see?” He started to reach into the depths of the bag.

Mary turned away and left him staring at her back, so he shrugged, let the short flap of the bag fall shut, and went out of the door.

“Those were the scalps in there,” Daniel said. “Did you want to see them before he took them away?” But she made no reply. He started to cry. She did not or could not make the effort to respond; she would have to abandon him to whatever inner strengths he had.

In the morning, a Frenchman who was not part of the raiding party came and beckoned to Daniel. Then he said to Mary, in heavily accented English, “As for you, today you will find a new home.”

Mary roused herself long enough to ask where they were taking the boy.

The Frenchman stared at her. “His new home,” he said.

“Where?”

But the man did not respond. And then they were gone. After a few moments, Mary stepped over to the door that had just closed and touched it.

She would never see Daniel again, nor would she hear word of him.

Later the door opened once more and the two Seneca women, sisters, who had looked closely at Mary the night before entered and merely observed her: her painted face, her chestnut hair, her freckled forearms, her torn clothing, her moccasins. The two sisters turned to each other. Finally one said to the other, “The shape of her face is a little like that of our brother’s.”