A Wild Yearning (46 page)

By March, Caleb was looking so miserable the colonel found himself promising to have a steeple built onto the meetinghouse first thing in the spring, just in the hopes of seeing one of the reverend's crooked-tooth smiles. He didn't get one.

Then on the first day of April, the sun came up so warm the snowman lost one of his arms and his button-eyed face, in the words of Tildy Parkes, "got all squishy."

Anne Bishop, with the Parkes girls for company, took baskets out to pick spring greens from the edge of the forest along the east side of the clearing around the stockade. After living on hog and hominy all winter, the settlers always eagerly consumed the first tender shoots of dandelions and fiddlehead ferns.

Tildy, who was still too young to distinguish between what was edible and what was not, was given her own basket to fill. She squatted in front of a promising weed patch, her hanging sleeves trailing in a bank of soggy snow. "Mrs. Bishop, if these are spring greens, does that mean it's spring?"

Anne Bishop swallowed a sigh, for she knew what was coming.

"Why do you think they call them
spring
greens, you ninny?" Meg snapped. She sat her basket down with a thump and scowled at the world.

Tildy's face brightened. "Then when is my new—"

"Soon," Anne said, rubbing the little girl's head. "Delia will be here soon. You've got to give her time to get here."

Meg shocked them both by suddenly kicking her basket, sending it sailing into the trees. "She's lying!" She whirled on Anne, her face red with fury. Then it crumbled and she burst into tears. "You're lying... lying..."

Anne fell to her knees, gathering the girl into her arms. "Meg? Why are you crying?"

Loud sobs tore from Meg's throat. "You think I d-don't know she's d-dead. The Indians scalped and k-killed her just like... just like they did the others. You're only
saying
she's coming back, but she never will. You're lying..."

Anne's large hands clasped Meg's bony shoulders. She held the girl at arm's length so that she could look her in the eye. "Meg, listen to me. I stood right there in my front parlor and heard Increase Spoon say Dr. Ty had found your ma and that she's alive. Mrs. Hooker—you remember how she was going to have a baby? Well, Mrs. Hooker had some trouble on account of the baby, so they couldn't make the journey back right away. But the baby's been born by now and likely they're right this minute on their way." She gave Meg a little shake. "Soon now, honey. Your ma will be home soon."

Meg choked on a swallowed sob and her pointed chin came up. "Delia isn't my ma." Then the chin quivered and trembled, and fresh tears pooled in her eyes. "B-but I w-want her to come home. I w-want her b-back with us. I w-want it just like it was b-before..."

Anne hugged the girl tightly to her flat chest. "Oh, honey, she will, she will come back. I promise."

"Mrs. Bishop, why is that man running?"

Anne's head whipped around toward Tildy's pointing finger. At the same time the man spotted them and veered in their direction. As he got closer Anne saw he was one of the scouts her husband had sent out the morning before.

"I saw them!" he cried. "I saw them not more'n five miles upriver. They should be here 'long about nightfall."

At the man's words Anne's heart slammed into her throat and her mouth went instantly dry with fear.
Abenakis!
she thought, and clutched Meg's arms so tightly the girl uttered a tiny cry. Then she noticed the big grin plastered all over the man's face.

"Hank Littlefield, you like to have scared me out of what few years I have left. What the hell are you blatting about?"

He looked at her as if she were a fool not to know right off. "Why, Dr. Ty. Him and the women. And the baby! Mrs. Hooker had herself a baby boy. Hair the color of cornsilk and a cry that'll curl the skin on your back." He whooped a laugh. "I'm surprised you folk didn't hear it all the way down here."

They arrived just as the sun was sinking into the bay. All of Merrymeeting gathered to meet them. The town had put on an illumination to celebrate the event. A big bonfire burned in the middle of the green and a candle glowed in every window.

Caleb Hooker stood at the forefront of the crowd. He was so tense his whole body quivered. Then Tyler Savitch emerged from the forest. The doctor pulled a small travois behind him, but it was empty and two Indian women walked at his side. Caleb took one faltering step forward. Then he saw the cradleboard in one of the women's arms and the flash of blond hair, and he broke into a run.

He stopped himself just in time from crushing wife and baby into his arms. His eyes devoured his wife's face, noting the bloom of health, the clear, shining gray eyes. "Elizabeth... Oh, dear God. Elizabeth..."

Smiling shyly, Elizabeth lifted the cradleboard and peeled back the fur blanket. "Reverend Hooker, meet your son. Ezekiel."

Caleb's hand hovered over the baby's face, then he gently stroked one fat cheek with the tip of a finger. Ezekiel burst into a loud wail, and Caleb, horrified at what he'd done, snatched back his hand.

Elizabeth laughed. "I think he's hungry."

Ty's arm had encircled Delia's waist as he led her toward the people waiting for them on the green. Delia frantically searched the group for Meg and Tildy and when she spotted them, a huge grin blazed across her face. At a little nudge from Ty, she broke into a run.

Tildy skipped up to meet her, her fat knees kicking up her pinter. She flung herself against Delia's legs. "It's spring, Delia! It's spring!"

"Why, so 'tis, little puss!" Laughing, Delia swung the little girl up in her arms, settling her down on one outthrust hip. She landed a loud, smacking kiss on Tildy's plump cheek. Then turning, she met Ty's eyes as he joined her and they shared a warm smile full of love and promise.

"Hello, Delia."

Delia spun back around. Meg walked toward her, stiff-legged, her arms folded tightly across her thin chest. She jerked to a stop and her wide brown eyes fastened onto Delia's face.

Delia's smile was dazzling. "Meg Parkes, I swear you've shot up like a bean stalk. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if one day you aren't as tall as your... as tall as Dr. Ty here."

Meg took two more tentative steps and, after a moment's hesitation, slipped her small hand into Delia's. Again Delia looked at Ty and tears of happiness filmed her eyes.

"I thought the Indians had killed you," Meg said in a tiny, strained voice.

Delia squeezed her hand. "Oh, Meg, I've such stories to tell you and Tildy. Dr. Ty fought a huge giant of an Abenaki warrior to get me back," she said, causing Ty to scowl and roll his eyes.

"Golly!" Tildy exclaimed, climbing from Delia's arms to assault Ty's legs. "Did you really fight a giant, Dr. Ty? Was it Goosecup?"

He tangled his fingers in her curly blond hair. "He wasn't a giant, Tildy. Only a man."

A loud snort signaled Anne Bishop's arrival. "Don't bother turning modest at this late date in your life, Tyler Savitch." She smacked him lightly on the arm with her open palm. "You sure did take your own sweet time coming home," she said in her most vinegary voice. She had yet even to look at Delia.

"Anne?"

Anne's shoulders jerked. Her head fell back and her lips pressed hard together. "Delia McQuaid. I bet you haven't done a lick of reading all winter." Then her face twisted and a sob burst from her throat and she flung herself into Delia's arms.

Everyone crowded around them then, all talking at once. Delia had Tildy back in her arms and Meg had her fist twisted into the fringe of Delia's buckskin dress, as if she were afraid to let go for fear Delia would be carried off again. They all watched Ty while he tried to answer the questions the men fired at him about the Abenaki and whether he thought they'd be on the warpath again this spring.

After a moment Delia became aware of Anne Bishop's tart voice speaking in her ear. "... He's been living up at the logging camp all winter. But Giles sent a fellow up there soon as you all were spotted. I expect he's halfway down the mountain by now and coming at a dead run."

"Anne, what are you talking—" Delia began. But the question died in her throat as she saw Ty's eyes lock on something in the distance behind her and a startling change come over his face. It seemed to drain of blood all at once, like water gushing out of a cask after the bung's been pulled. It left his cheekbones standing out in stark relief and his eyes staring wide and dark. He was immobile with shock... and something else.

Fear.

At that instant Anne Bishop's hand fell on Delia's arm. "Why, what did I tell you? Here he comes right now."

"But that's—No..." Delia said, denying it even as she turned around, suddenly knowing what she would see.

He walked toward her with his long-legged, hitched stride. He had let his hair grow longer and it swung about his shoulders, flashing golden in the flickering flames of the bonfire. The creases in his cheeks deepened with his wide smile. The biggest smile she had ever seen from him.

"Delia!" he cried.

"Nat?"

"Delia!"

Nat Parkes bore down on her with such exuberance, Delia was afraid he would fling his arms around her. She backed up a step, clutching Tildy tightly to her breast, as if she could use the little girl as a shield. "Nat... we thought you were dead."

He halted right in front of her, his eyes intently searching her face. He laughed a bit too loudly. "You do look like you've just seen a ghost."

"The 'Benakis hit Papa on the head!" Tildy exclaimed, tugging Delia's hair to get her attention.

Delia stilled the little girl's hands. She stared at Nat and tried to say something, but her face felt so stiff she was afraid it might break.

After what seemed forever she was finally able to force her mouth open. "But, Nat, I saw..." She shuddered even now at the memory. "You were dead. The Dreamer scalped you."

Laughing again, Nat ran a hand through his hair, as if reassuring himself it was still there. "Everyone did at first. But it was the boy from Topsham you saw. He was cold that day and I lent him my coat," he rushed on at her look of disbelief mixed with confusion. "When the Abenakis attacked, I..." He flushed vividly. "I ran. I made it as far as the timber line when one of them got me from behind. He smacked me on the side of the head with a war club and I fell backward, into a ravine. I guess it was too much trouble for the savage to come after me for my scalp. Or maybe he got distracted by somebody else.

Anyway, I lay there unconscious for a good six hours." His glance flickered over to Ty. "The doc had already started after you by the time I was found. Later, we sent word back with Increase Spoon. I guess you didn't get it?"

Ty said nothing. He didn't move. Delia was afraid to look at him, but then she couldn't stop herself. Slowly, she turned her head.

His face still wore that expression of utter horror, as if he'd been given a glimpse of his own death. Then his eyes clashed with hers and his grew hard with challenge. She wondered what he wanted her to do. Did he expect her to declare their relationship to Nat right here and now, before Nat's children and all of Merrymeeting?

She shook her head slightly, sending him a pleading look, then felt her heart clench with pain as she saw his mouth twist into a bitter, scornful smile.

He spun around and strode off, back toward the wilderness forest from which they had emerged.
Ty!
Delia cried out to him silently as she watched his stiff figure diminish into the tree-shrouded darkness.
Please don't leave me to face this alone. I need you. You're my hus—

She clapped her hand over her mouth, cutting off the thought the way she would a scream. Her head snapped around and she looked into a pair of pale-lashed, solemn gray eyes. The beaming smile had faded and a more familiar frown was back in place.

"Delia?" Nat said.

Delia pushed the spruce beer jug filled with hot water to the foot of the pallet, then tucked the blanket snugly under Tildy's round, dimpled chin. "You rest your feet on that, little puss. There's frost in the air tonight." She brushed the curls off the little girl's forehead and kissed the soft, pink skin.

"But Mr. Snowman lost his arm today, Delia."

Delia's mouth turned down in a sad, exaggerated frown. "Oh, poor Mr. Snowman. I'm so sorry. Shall I order the sun not to come out tomorrow so he won't melt off any more of Mr. Snowman's appendages?"

"Don't be silly," Tildy said with a snort, sounding like a miniature version of her caustic big sister. "It's spring now. Mrs. Bishop said when spring came Mr. Snowman would melt and my new ma would come home." Her face suddenly crinkled with worry. "You're home now, Delia, aren't you?"

Delia kissed the smooth forehead again, her throat constricting tightly. "I'm home, sweetheart."

"You won't go away again, will you? Promise?"

Helplessly, Delia's head fell back. Her eyes squeezed shut. "Oh, Tildy, I'm not sure I—"

"But you
have
to, Delia!" Tildy cried, a sob gurgling in her throat. "Please promise. Promise you won't go away again. I didn't like it when you were gone. Papa went up to the camps and he wouldn't come back. And Meg cried a lot, didn't you Meg?"

"Just shut up, Tildy!" Meg snarled, her thin cheeks flushing brightly.

"Don't fight, girls." Delia cupped Tildy's face. Her cheeks were wet and sticky with tears. "Now, you two go to sleep. I'll be here in the morning. I promise you that."

She kissed Tildy again and the little girl pulled her Indian doll from beneath the covers. "Give Hildegarde a good-night kiss too."

Delia obediently kissed the doll's dark face. Then she stood up to smooth down the covers, tucking them beneath the hay pallet. The hay rustled as Tildy squirmed, burrowing deeper. The room filled with the smell of summer.

Since December, with Nat up at the logging camp, the Parkes girls had been living with Anne Bishop at the manor house. But tonight Nat had insisted he wanted his reunited family to spend the night alone together in the shed that had been allotted to him within the stockade.

The shed was only one room, but Nat had rigged a curtain down the middle by stringing a blanket on a rawhide rope. Now, Delia dawdled over seeing the girls to bed. She didn't want to go around to the other side of the curtain and face Nat.

She didn't want him to start asking her about the winter months spent with the Abenaki, because she wouldn't be able to talk about those times, so full were they of Ty and their love. Their marriage...

Oh God, Ty, Ty... our marriage.

She knew she had to think about what she was going to do, but she couldn't bear it. The situation was impossible. Nathaniel Parkes was alive and she was married to
him,
not Ty. Ty, the man who owned her heart. Ty, the man she loved above all others, above her own life, above...

Anything?

Swallowing a sigh of deep despair, Delia straightened. But as she turned to leave, Meg's voice called out to her from the other side of the room. "Delia? Could you... I want to tell you something."

Delia eased down on the very edge of Meg's pallet, careful not to touch the girl, for Meg had so often rebuffed Delia's attempts to show affection that she had long ago learned to maintain a careful distance.

Now she realized instinctively that Meg was ready, more than ready, desperate for a mother's love. And so she leaned over and planted a soft kiss on the girl's thin cheek. "Good night, Meg."

To Delia's astonishment Meg kissed her back. A quick kiss, so light she barely felt it, but a kiss nonetheless.

As Delia pulled away, she saw that Meg was studying her face with enigmatic brown eyes. "Delia? I prayed to God after the Indians took you."

"Thank you, Meg," Delia answered. "I'm sure that's what kept me safe and helped Dr. Ty find me."

Meg swallowed loudly. "I promised God that if you came back, I'd never be mean to you again."

Delia couldn't help laughing. "That was a rather rash promise, wouldn't you say?"

Meg giggled. "I suppose so..." Then her laughter dwindled and she plucked nervously at the covers. "I also promised God I would call you Ma if you came back."

Delia covered the girl's hands with her own. "Meg... I told you that first day we met I had no intention of trying to take your ma's place. Your ma loved you very, very much, and you loved her, and you must keep that love alive in your heart. I only hope that someday you can come to love me, too. But in a different way, of course. As a special friend."

Delia waited, but Meg remained silent. After a moment, Delia stood up. But as she turned, Meg's voice came to her, soft and a little fearful. "Good night... Ma."

"Sleep well, Meg. I love you."

Delia was startled when she turned around to see Nat standing just inside the curtain, one hand holding it back. After a moment's hesitation, while they stared at each other, she came toward him and he stepped aside, letting the curtain fall into place behind them.

"They missed you," he said.

Delia couldn't reply.

The only furniture in this side of the room was a truncated plank board table and two stools. She saw that Nat had brought a pot of tea and two black jack mugs from the communal kitchen in the blockhouse. She poured the tea into the boiled leather cups and then sat down on one of the stools, gripping the mug in her two hands. Steam wafted up in a soft, moist cloud around her face. She rubbed her palms over the mug's smooth leather side. Her hands were cold. She was cold all over.

Steeling herself, she looked up. The room was lit by a single candle shielded with a hurricane globe that hung from a bracket by the door. It cast harsh shadows across Nat's face, emphasizing the scores on his forehead and the creases around his wide mouth. He stood with rounded shoulders, one hip cocked to take the weight off his stump, his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his breeches. He stared down at the puncheon floor.

Slowly, he looked up and met her eyes. His were serious and perhaps a bit afraid. "I've missed you, too, Delia," he said, so softly she barely heard him. Her disbelief must have shown on her face for he plunged on. "I know I didn't appear to appreciate you much while you were here—"

"I could do nothing right, Nat." The words came out more bitter than she had meant them to, certainly more bitter than she felt.

"No, that's not true," Nat protested, his voice breaking. "You did plenty of things right. Only I was too wrapped up in my own misery to see them."

He came up to her, standing on the other side of the narrow table. She could feel his gaze on her, but she could no longer look at him. She didn't know how to deal with Nat's confession. Battered by conflicting emotions, she was overwhelmed, and so she sat stiff-backed and tight-mouthed, unable even to breathe.

"What is it, Delia?" he asked, a guilty flush darkening his face. "Are you angry with me for not coming after you?"

Delia's hands tightened around the mug. A loud sigh heaved up out of her chest, along with her pent-up breath. "No, of course not. Ty—Dr. Savitch stood a much better chance of finding us. And of bringing us back."

Nat sighed as well, with relief, although his flush remained. "That's what I thought. Although I try to pretend I'm as good as a whole man, the truth is I can't manage walking too far on my wooden foot. And I'm a farmer, not a timber beast. I know squat-all about tracking. I only would have wound up getting myself killed, and Meg and Tildy—I'm all they've got. No, that isn't strictly true now, is it? They've got you."

"But you're their father—"

"And you're their mother." He swung out the stool and dropped into it, leaning his elbows on the table and fixing her with earnest gray eyes. "They love you, Delia. We've seen that tonight. And you love them."

"I do love them, Nat," Delia said hurriedly, relieved to be on this safer ground. "They're wonderful children."

Smiling shyly, he drew a mug in front of him and rubbed his finger around the rim. His eyes flashed up at her, then down again to the table, engrossed in watching his own finger move around and around. "You don't love me though, do you?"

Delia had folded her arms across her chest, her hands clasping her elbows. "Nat, I—"

"Never mind." He pushed the mug so abruptly away from him that tea slopped over the side. "You don't have to explain. I haven't exactly given you cause to love me. Or even like me—"

"I like you, Nat. You're a wonderful man and a wonderful father, a good provider, and—"

"A lousy husband," he cut in, his voice harsh with self-accusation. "At least to you. The Lord knows, we've had our differences before this happened, but it's been a long winter and I've had a lot of time to think up there at the logging camp. I know I've been unfair to you, expecting you to be like Mary when you're... when you're yourself. I've thought often about that day we married, about the vows we made to take each other for better and worse. To forsake all others. Yet I've been clinging to Mary as if—"

"Oh no, Nat! You must never forsake Mary—"

"Not forsake the memories of what Mary and I had, I don't mean that. But up till now I've still thought of myself as married to Mary, and that was wrong. Mary was my wife, but she's dead. You're my wife now, my only wife, and that's what I mean by forsaking all others. I'm a man of strong faith, Delia, and I made vows before God. I'd like to start this marriage over and start fulfilling those vows."

Why now?
Delia wanted to rail at him.
Why do you tell me these things now?

She felt sick—with guilt and pity and dread. She gripped her hands together and forced her chin up. "Nat, there's something... Ty—that is, Dr. Savitch and I—"

A hard knock caused Delia to start so violently that she almost knocked over the pot of tea. The stool scraped loudly across the floor as Nat stood up. With two hitching strides he was pulling open the door.

"Oh hello, Dr. Ty."

Delia's hand flew to her throat, where her heart now lodged, beating painfully. Nat blocked her view of him; she wasn't sure she could bear to see him anyway. Yet she strained to hear his voice.

His words were flat and toneless. "Nat. I'd like to speak to my—to Delia."