Into the Wilderness (100 page)

"I
will take you into the forest," Chingachgook said quietly, so that the
whole party stopped short. Nathaniel looked back to see his father and
grandfather shoulder to shoulder. They were so alike and so different: both of
them white—haired, and straight—backed, tough old men who had outlived most of
the people they had loved, but still they stood there looking at
Elizabeth
with real
affection and admiration.

The
dappled light moved on his grandfather's face and it seemed to Nathaniel almost
as if the bone glimmered softly through Chingachgook's skin. He stepped toward
the old man, as if he had cried out in pain.Then he realized that no one else
had seen anything alarming. A waking dream, then. Not to be ignored, but not
carrying the same urgency as a sleeping dream. He would talk to the women about
it when they got home; they could tell him what it meant.

Chingachgook
was telling Elizabeth about tracking, and what would be expected of her. "If
you want to learn to listen to the deer, then I will take you. You must listen
to them if you want to track them. I will teach you how to sing to them."
His expression was somber, and her smile faded.

"I
would like that." She sent a glance in Hawkeye's direction. "And I
will learn how to make you an apple pie, anyway."

The
path had been winding in and out of the wood to deposit them suddenly on a
secluded corner of the lake. The men dragged a canoe out of its protected spot
under a stand of redbud saplings.

"You'll
have time enough to practice on that pie," Hawkeye said gruffly. "Couldn't
go out after a deer now anyway, not until the rut starts; you'd end up in
Anna's pantry."

"Anna's
pantry?"
Elizabeth
laughed out loud.

"It's
what we call the gaol," said Nathaniel.

"There's
a gaol in
Paradise
? Is it ever used?"

"Oh,
aye." Hawkeye nodded. "When old Dubonnet—Dirty—Knife's father—lost
his temper over cards and took his tomahawk to Axel, for example. Don't look so
surprised! It weren't much of a cut—Dubonnet was drunk, and Axel was fast. He's
still drawing breath, after all. But they needed someplace to put Claude until
they could decide what to do with him. Anna had an old pantry she didn't use
much, so they put a lock on the door and that's been the gaol ever since."

Nathaniel
caught a speculative glance from
Elizabeth
,
quickly stifled when she saw herself observed.

"Just
one night, Boots."

"Pardon
me?" Her tone was slightly affronted. She didn't like being so easily
read, but Nathaniel could no more pass up the opportunity to tease her than he
could walk by her without touching her.

"I
spent a night in Anna's pantry when I was fifteen. I could see you
wondering."

"That
sounds like a story for another day. I thought we were going to join the
party?"

He
gestured her into the canoe with a sweep of his arm.

* * *

Once
on the lake his good humor fled quickly. In spite of the way the dusk colored
the mountains and the lake reflected it back, it looked like bad news to
Nathaniel. On the far shore the men had divided themselves into the canoes, two
to a craft, and paddled out in complete silence to form a fan that took in
about the first third of the marsh. They hovered there, waiting for a signal
from Billy Kirby.

Chingachgook
had started singing, a low chant to the spirit of the lake. Above his voice
Nathaniel could just hear Hawkeye explaining to Elizabeth what was about to
happen. The words were indistinct, but he saw her back suddenly straighten and
tense. She asked a question, but Hawkeye's answer was interrupted by a shout
from the other side of the lake.

"Go
to it, boys!"

The
far end of the fan moved in first, penetrating the marsh as quickly as the
dense growth would allow. There was a great swaying of the reeds, and then the
shadows crystallized into distinct shapes: a whole army of wood duck hens with
their fledgling young were being forced into the open water by the tightening
wedge of canoes.

Chingachgook's
melody rose and wavered over the lake as if to meet the frantic danger calls of
the hens. The fledglings were paddling furiously, some of them trying to lift
themselves into the air without success. Nathaniel scanned the marsh and the
lake and estimated forty molting hens with broods of six or eight young, no
more than a pound each in weight.

A
mottled brown hen made a headlong dash for the narrowing space between two
canoes just as there was another shout from Billy Kirby, and the men moved in
from the other end.

They
had it down to a science, all right. The man in the rear kept paddling while
the one in front harvested. It was amazing to watch Billy Kirby at work: he
could grab two fledglings in one fist and twist their necks so fast that all
you saw was the heap of feathers as he tossed them over his shoulder into the
empty middle of the canoe. All around him other men were hard at work, too, and
the air filled with tender new feathers.

Some
of the hens, better and faster swimmers, had made it out of the circle. Now,
seeing their young attacked they rushed back, fairly lifting themselves out of
the water in their fury. As they came within reach they were grabbed up, too,
and dispatched without pause. In a matter of five minutes the canoes were
filled with great fluttering mounds.

"At
least it was over quickly,"
Elizabeth
said on a hoarse, in—drawn breath.

But
it wasn't, not yet. The first full boat had made it to the shore to be met by
the women and children. As soon as it had been tipped up and emptied of its
cargo, there was a high yodel of excitement, and the Cameron brothers jumped
back in to paddle out again at full speed, ready for the next flushing.

"But
they must have more than two hundred ducks," Elizabeth said, indignantly. "Isn't
that enough?"

"They
don't know the meaning of the word," Hawkeye murmured. And with a
disgusted shake of his head and a nod to Nathaniel, they paddled for shore.

* * *

It
was very hard to maintain a composed expression.
Elizabeth
forced herself to breathe in and
out evenly; to answer in a normal tone of voice when she was spoken to. They
found a spot to stand as far away from the bonfire and the growing mountain of
dead birds as could be managed, and there she stayed, greeting her students and
talking to their parents.

Against
her will, her attention was drawn again and again to the spot on the shore
where the women had begun the work of cleaning the birds. With the help of the
oldest children, each carcass was headed, briefly bled, and then slit open
without even a rudimentary plucking. The fledglings weren't good for anything
except the breast meat, Anna explained to her.

Then
why not let them grow into maturity?
Elizabeth
wanted to ask,
but the sight of Anna's strong thumbs digging to separate the meat from the
bone was more than she could take; she nodded and turned away as quickly as she
could without giving offense.

Boats
came and went, and the hill of inert bodies seemed to get larger in spite of
the furious pace being set by the workers on the shore. Nathaniel and Hawkeye
were talking quietly just behind her; Chingachgook had walked down the beach
and stood watching silently, his blanket wrapped around him and his eyes fixed
on some point on the water.

"Miz
Elizabeth?"

Martha
Southern stood off a few feet, her head lowered. She had her new baby strapped
to her chest with a shawl, and the little button of a face peered out at
Elizabeth
with perfectly
round eyes.
Elizabeth
had not seen Martha since her return.

"Moses
is out on the water," she said, as if reading
Elizabeth
's thoughts.

"Is
that your new son?" Elizabeth asked, glad of the distraction. She had
heard the story of the child's birth from Falling—Day.

"Yas'm,
this is our Jeremiah. Three months old."

"Congratulations,
Martha. He looks a fine, healthy boy."

"Yas'm,
that he is."

She
paused, and then held out a chipped wooden bowl which had been hidden in the
folds of her skirt.

"Would
you like some meat? It's just off the fire."

Four
tiny breasts; hardly enough for a single serving.
Elizabeth
felt a wave of nausea rising in her
throat as surely as the tide. She looked around herself in desperation, but
Nathaniel and Hawkeye had moved off to join Chingachgook and Axel. With a
start, she realized that her father stood just a few feet away on the rise that
looked over the lake, and that his attention was on her, all frowning
concentration, his disappointment and disapproval radiating in warm waves. She
swallowed hard, and wiped her brow.

"Are
you all right, Miz Elizabeth? Don't you care for duck?"

She
shook her head, and then sat abruptly on the sand. Martha came closer, her
gentle, plain face creased in concern.

"Martha,"
Elizabeth said softly. "Thank you very much for your kind offer, but I'll
have to ask you to take that away, now. The smell—" She swallowed hard
again, and met the younger woman's gaze.

"I'm
in a family way, you see."

The
anxiety on her face was replaced suddenly by an understanding and empathy so
sweet and welcome that
Elizabeth
's
nausea ebbed a few steps in response.

"Oh,
I see. That's good news, now ain't it? just a minute, let me put this
down—" And she hurried off, only to return in just seconds with a chunk of
plain bread.

"Bread
always did help my stomach to settle," she explained, handing it over.
Elizabeth
murmured her
thanks and took a small bite.

They
were alone; the children were busy on the far side of the bonfire burning
fingers and mouths as they plucked at the roasting meat, eating without thought
or pause. The women were elbow—deep in blood and feathers. Anna made a comment
and loud laughter rose over the lake in response. In the canoes the men were
still at work, far up the shore. No sign of Moses Southern.

"Could
I hold your baby? just for a moment?"

Without
a word, Martha reached into the cradle made of her shawl and handed him over to
Elizabeth. Then she settled down on the sand next to her with her arms slung
around her knees.

Elizabeth
took
the swaddled child into the crook of her arm and looked down at the face,
rumpled now in a thoughtful way.

"He
looks very serious," she said, testing the solid weight of him, warm and
slightly damp and definitely thrumming with life.

"I'm
afraid he takes after his pa," Martha said, and then bit her lip,
nervously. She cleared her throat. "You never held one before?"

"Not
one this small," Elizabeth said. "He's very compact."

"Unwind
him and he'll start working those arms and legs, like one of them craw lies
with a hundred feet. When he starts to walking, I'm the one who'll need all
that get—up—and—go."

The
child opened his mouth to burble at
Elizabeth
.
She made a similar sound back at him, and she was rewarded with a toothless
smile.

"There!"
said Martha. "He don't do that for everybody. Jemima is the only one he'll
smile for regular, like."

When
the baby's smile was replaced with a rumbling frown,
Elizabeth
handed him back to Martha, who
looked out over the water again, scanning it warily. Then she settled the child
back in the sling and opened her bodice to his seeking mouth.

"How
is Jemima?"
Elizabeth
asked, watching closely.

"Fractious
as ever," Martha said easily, casting her a sideways look.

The
baby made mewling sounds, gulping noisily and waving a suddenly freed fist in
the air.

"I
wished I could've sent her to school again," Martha said softly. "You
did her good, although I guess it didn't feel that way at the time."

"Maybe
in the fall,"
Elizabeth
said.

Martha
sighed, patting the curve of the child's hip. "You don't care for this
party much, do you?"

In
the twilight
Elizabeth
looked over the beach. Everywhere there were bloody piles of half—dismembered
fledglings, feathers ruffling in the breeze. Down the shore, another good—sized
hill of carcasses had been abandoned, untouched.

"I
don't understand, I suppose—why is it necessary to take them all?" Elizabeth
immediately regretted this question, fearing that she would not be understood,
or that if she were, that she would give offense.