Into the Wilderness (105 page)

"My
God," Elizabeth said. "What has happened?"

Many-Doves
said, "There's trouble. Bears was afraid to leave the other women alone,
and so I came on horseback."

Nathaniel
reached her in one stride. "Tell me."

"Billy
Kirby arrested your father for taking a buck out of season.

"Billy
Kirby?" In amazement and outrage,
Elizabeth
found her voice.

Many-Doves
nodded. "He was voted sheriff the day you left the village."

Elizabeth
made
a noise of protest, but Nathaniel was focused, as he always was, on the more
important issue. The anger would come later. "He's locked up?"

"Since
last night." Many-Doves sent a significant glance to Samuel Hench.

"My
cousin,"
Elizabeth
said, distracted.

"This
is not the time for introductions," Samuel said with a small bow, and
retreated into the shadows on the other side of the road. When he was out of
earshot, Many-Doves continued, speaking directly to Nathaniel.

"Chingachgook
may have walked the path by now; he was injured or they would have taken him,
too." And then in a rush: "The judge fined them each a hundred
dollars or a week in Anna's pantry, but we didn't have it, Nathaniel, Your
grandfather wouldn't let us use the gold—" Again an uncomfortable look
toward Samuel Hench, but his back remained firmly turned. "And Bears said
it was too dangerous to use the silver. He thinks that's what they were hoping
for, with this trick. So I came after you. Do you have that much cash?"

"There's
enough cash," Nathaniel said. "But maybe not enough time. I'll have
to ride hard. I'll wake MacIntyre and borrow a horse."

Elizabeth
said, "If we can borrow one horse we can borrow two.

"Boots."
His fingers pressed so hard into her upper arms that she winced, but he held
her gaze. "You can't ride hard, you know that. Not astride, I won't let
you risk it."

Flooded
with frustration and disappointment, Elizabeth bowed her head. He was right;
she could not risk a full day's ride at the pace he would set.

"You
and Many-Doves come with the wagon, and don't dawdle. I'll need you
there."

It
was hard to swallow; it was hard even to breathe. Just weeks ago she had sworn
she would not be separated from him again; it seemed that this place still had
lessons to teach her. She could not put aside the image of Chingachgook,
wounded and perhaps dying while his son sat in a makeshift gaol. She pressed
Nathaniel's hands, and nodded.

Samuel
Hench accompanied them as far as
Fort
Hunter
, where they would
cross the Mohawk. Standing at the bank of the river while they waited for the
ferry, he offered to put off his business in
Johnstown
in order to see them home to
Paradise
.

"Thank
you kindly, but we will manage very well,"
Elizabeth
said, too distracted and worried to
go to much trouble reassuring him. To her relief, he did not take offense or
argue with her; he simply went down the embankment to negotiate the crossing.

"The
river is running fast," Many-Doves observed. She had been very quiet since
they set out at first light, talking only when Samuel Hench was out of earshot
or when Elizabeth asked her a direct question. Whether this was worry for what
was happening in Paradise, or a simple distrust of a man she did not know,
Elizabeth could not tell. But she was right: the river was running fast.
Elizabeth
watched the
ferryman, a Kahnyen’keháka called Tall—Man, shake his head vigorously in
response to Samuel Hench's request.
Elizabeth
felt her stomach go hollow at the idea of a delay.

"If
we can't cross today—" she began. But Many-Doves handed her the reins and
jumped off the wagon before she could finish her thought. Her plaits bumped on
her back as she ran light—footed down to the ferry.
Elizabeth
could not hear what she said to
Tall—Man, but she saw him listen to Doves and finally nod his head,
reluctantly.

"I
do not like it," Samuel Hench said when Elizabeth had joined them there. "It
is too dangerous. I promised thy husband that I would see ye safely across this
river. He was worried about the crossing, and told me so."

"There
is no time," Many-Doves replied curtly. She did not wait to hear his
response, but went to help Tall—Man with the horses and wagon.

In a
softer tone,
Elizabeth
said: "I thank you for your concern, but we must be on our way. My
husband's grandfather may be dying, and there is more trouble."

The
horses were letting out soft, high nickering. Usually biddable and
good—natured, they had to be coaxed onto the ferry with hooves clattering
hollowly. Samuel Hench left her to help.
Elizabeth
stood watching the river, ill at ease and unsure of herself.

But
the winds stilled, suddenly, and the heaving of the ferry with them. Tall—Man
let his sons ply their poles and work the drag line while he stood with a stern
eye fixed on the river, as if this would make the waters behave. One hand he
kept on the neck of Samuel Hench's mare. The other rested lightly on the wampum
belt crossed on his chest. Safely on the other side, he raised a hand to the
sky as if to thank the winds.

"I
believe you were very worried,"
Elizabeth
said to her cousin when they had the earth under their feet again.

"Thy
husband told me of a dream having to do with a river," he replied. And
then: "Why dost thou look surprised?"

"I
am not surprised that Nathaniel should have a dream," Elizabeth said. "Only
that you should take his dream as literally as he does."

Samuel
Hench's open, honest face went suddenly very still and grim. "Cousin,"
he said. "If thou wilt survive in the wilderness, thou must take heavenly
direction in whatever form it comes to thee."

"But
there is the river, behind us, and we are all whole and ready to move on,"
Elizabeth
pointed out, only somewhat discomfited at being taken to task.

Behind
her, Many-Doves said: "There is always another river."

The
younger woman was looking at Samuel Hench with an expression which had lost
much of its wariness and reserve. In return he inclined his head.

Elizabeth
climbed up onto the wagon, and once seated, held out her hand to her cousin. "I
will remember that, or I will try to. Thank you very kindly for your company,
Cousin Samuel. I wish you good luck in your business endeavors in
Johnstown
. She paused,
and smiled.

His
grip was firm and dry. "I will come to visit thee in Paradise, as
promised." The calm gaze held hers without wavering. For one moment she
had a strong sense of her mother, and she released his hand only reluctantly.

Many-Doves
spoke to the horses and they began to move away. Samuel Hench sat straight—backed
and watched them go, the broad rim of his Quaker hat casting a shadow across
his face so that she could not read his expression.

* * *

The
weather threatened disaster: a strong rain would turn the roads to mud and add
an extra day onto their journey. The wind sent the beech trees into a flutter
of green and silver leaves. Overhead a hawk rose and fell on fitful breezes.

"If
we push hard we can be there late tomorrow," Many-Doves said after a long
silence. "If you feel up to it."

They
had been eating from the provisions packed by Mrs. Vanderhyden, and there was a
scattering of crumbs on her shoulder.
Elizabeth
brushed them away for her.

"Now
you sound like Nathaniel," she chided softly. "Will not even you
trust me to rest when I need it?"

Many-Doves
smiled. "You are not known for your kindness to yourself."

"And
neither is Nathaniel. And neither are you, for that matter. You do not faint
away at what needs to be done simply because you carry a child."

Many-Doves
looked thoughtful for a moment. I was not raised to faint."

Elizabeth
bristled. "I have never fainted in my life," she said tightly. "I
will not start now."

"I
would be surprised if you did," Doves conceded.

"Then
why must you coddle me so?"

As if
Many-Doves were explaining the most obvious thing in the world to a small
child, she said, "Because you carry Nathaniel's son, and Hawkeye's
grandson, and Chingachgook's great—grandson."

She
might have laughed at the absurdity of it, if it were not for the earnest
concern so clear in the dark eyes that met her own. Elizabeth said, "Why
is everyone so sure that this child is a boy? I would be just as glad of a
daughter."

"Of
course," said Many-Doves . "So would I. But I carry a son as
well."

"More
dreams?" asked
Elizabeth
,
torn between amazement and frustration.

"Of
course."

"Well,
I surrender," Elizabeth said, throwing up her hands. "I will continue
to wonder, but please go ahead and think what you like."

On
the road that would take them through the Big Vly and on to the Sacandaga they
passed isolated homesteads, sometimes in twos or threes. Twice they were
stopped and asked for news, which Elizabeth provided to the best of her
ability. Many-Doves always sat silent during these exchanges, in spite of
curious looks that came her way.

In
the dooryard of a small farm on the edge of a marsh, a woman was hoeing a
garden patch, her shoulders bowed under a straggling mass of gray—blond hair.
From inside the cabin came the weak cry of a very young child, another leaned
against the open door, dressed in a ragged shirt almost as grubby as the small
face, too wan and thin to bear the weight of a smile. Even the corn in the
field slumped its way around the house.

"You
and I are very fortunate."

Many-Doves
nodded. There was nothing to add to this simple truth.

In a
rush,
Elizabeth
said: "Since Samuel left us I've been waiting for you to tell me what
happened at home. I wonder why you're being so quiet about it. My imagination
is quite running away with me."

Many-Doves
grimaced. "I did not see all of it, and can only piece it together for
you."

"Any
information would be better than none at all."

"You
might not think so, when I'm done." She paused to collect her thoughts. "I
guess the simplest way to tell it is that Hawkeye and Chingachgook were fishing
by torchlight on the lake the night you left for Albany. Hector and Blue got
wind of a buck, chased him into the lake—and that's how it came to pass.

"Why
were Hector and Blue left free to roam?"

"They
weren't. Somebody cut them free."

"Somebody?
Just tell me, tell me the worst and get it over with."

Many-Doves
shrugged with one shoulder, as if to dislodge something sitting there with
claws dug in. "Hannah caught sight of Liam Kirby disappearing into the
woods. The dogs already had the scent by that time and there was no calling them
back."

Dread
was heavier than fear, and duller than anger.
Elizabeth
felt it settle into her stomach
with searching fingers as she listened to the story. Two things became clear to
her: it had not been a random chain of events that led to Hawkeye's arrest, but
a carefully laid plan; and it would not be easily undone or set right. Billy
Kirby and Moses Southern and their cohort had somehow managed to lure Hawkeye
into a trap that led straight to the mine: either they would have to produce
silver to pay their way out of jail, or they would sit in Anna's pantry,
leaving the mountain open to exploration and the mine to discovery.
Runs-from-Bears could not both protect
Lake
in
the Clouds and keep an eye on the mountain. It was a worthy plan, and far
beyond the powers of men like Kirby. Julian was behind it; of that there was no
doubt. And if the judge had not taken an active part in be sting Hawkeye,
neither had he put a stop to its execution.

There
was so much to be angry about that her thoughts collapsed in upon themselves
and would not be called to order.

"Billy
Kirby came up to the house later with a whole crowd of men to arrest them both.
Hawkeye went out on the porch to meet them. Looked Billy straight in the eye
and said it was a good thing the new sheriff had come to call, because some
thief had snuck in and cut his dogs' leads, and what was the law going to do
about it?"

Elizabeth
had to suppress a smile in spite of it all. Hawkeye would spit in the devil's
eye.