Into the Wilderness (109 page)

But
he could, he would, come looking for Hawkeye, and soon. And he would find half
the Hode'noshaunee nation here, as they had feared would one day be the case.
She put the thought away from her—what they had done tonight, and what it would
mean tomorrow—because now she was tired, she was tired to the bone and she
would think of her child first. Nathaniel came out on the porch behind her.

"Go
sleep," he said, his arms coming up from behind to encircle her, his chin
resting on the crown of her head. "I'll come fetch you when it's time. You
did good, Boots. Thank you."

She
nodded, leaning back against him.

"Your
father—”

“Tomorrow,"
he said, his mouth at her ear. "Sleep first."

Elizabeth
left
him to this family of his that was still a mystery to her, a connection woven
not of blood and muscle but common purpose. On her own porch, facing away from
the gathering, she found children sleeping wrapped in blankets. She stood for a
moment listening to their breathing, and watching the flicker of fireflies. A
Kahnyen’keháka woman she did not recognize sat on one of the rocking chairs,
nursing an infant.

Inside,
Curiosity was stirring the cook pot.
Elizabeth
took soup and corn bread from her. She could not remember when she had last
eaten, but she still felt strangely full, a fist in her belly and her throat
closed tight. She took the soup out onto the porch and then the women collected
the sleeping children and took them up to the loft, and Curiosity went back to
the other cabin.

Elizabeth
found Many-Doves and Hannah asleep in her bed. Hannah was fully dressed, her un
plaited hair scattered across the pillow. She lay down with them to wait.

From
the open window, there was the sound of singing and a water drum and a slow,
shuffling step toward the dawn.

"Mr.
Middleton, Billy Kirby here and Claude Dubonnet with him."

Julian
squinted up at Curiosity's oldest daughter. "I don't want to see anyone,
Daisy."

"Yes,
sir, so you said. But I don't think they'll go away on my word."

Daisy
blinked at him, her mouth folded in a tight line. Another woman who couldn't
tell the difference between a drunken man and one who was working on achieving
that state, but had not yet succeeded. Julian reached for his coffee cup, and
eyed the brandy bottle on the sideboard.

"Then
get your mother to deal with them." He took another swallow and then
stabbed halfheartedly at a sausage. "I'm not in the mood for their games
this morning."

She
stood there still, her face impassive. "My folks are up at Lake in the
Clouds," she said patiently. "Chingachgook died at dawn, so I don't
expect they'll be down anytime soon."

At
the door, Billy Kirby said: "The whole Indian nation is up there, too, to
bury the old bastard."

"Billy,"
said Julian with a sigh. "By God, man, can't you leave me alone? My head
hurts as bad as your face looks. Go home and sleep, why don't you, and let them
bury their dead."

Dubonnet,
face like a pickled egg, cleared his throat. "You were eager enough to
send us up there not so very long ago."

"Yes
well. I didn't anticipate you'd make a complete muddle of it when I made the
suggestion. My error, I suppose."

"We
didn't shoot anybody," Kirby said.

Julian
lifted up his hands in a gesture of dismissal. "I have no intention of
climbing that mountain to watch Nathaniel Bonner thrash you again, Kirby. Even
if he does have a more appreciative audience this time—"

"Hawkeye
was broke out of the gaol last night. I got an idea that it was your sister who
done it."

Julian
pulled up short, and then let out a hoarse laugh. "She was always too
clever by half. I should have known." He took a harder look at the two men
before him. The worse for wear, but dressed and armed as if they were going to
war. "Tell me you are going up there to arrest Hawkeye in front of every
Mohawk in New—York State."

Billy's
jaw worked like a saw. "And your sister, too. Soon as I got enough men
together, I'm going up there to do just that."

"By
God, you are either the bravest or the stupidest pair I've ever seen. There's
not enough men on the continent to pull that off," Julian said. "How
long do you think you'll keep the support of the men in the village if you try
to arrest my sister? And you've got no proof that it was her, do you?"

Billy
jerked the battered tricorn from his head and began to knead it compulsively. "Not
exactly. There's Jed McGarrity, but he ain't too talkative this morning."

Julian
snorted. "The judge will need more than your suspicions before he'll put a
woman in gaol."

Billy's
head jerked up, his eyes flaring. "Well, what about you, then? Your word
would do the job."

With
a quick motion, Julian emptied his coffee cup, and then put it down softly on
the table. "Don't count on it."

"Does
that mean you ain't coming with us?"

Julian
ran a hand through his hair. "I most certainly am not. I don't know why I
should worry about the two of you, you are more trouble than you are worth. But
let me point out that not only is discretion the better part of valor, it is
also a more promising strategy in this little war of yours."

Billy
scowled at him. "Talk plain, Middleton."

With
a groan, Julian heaved himself out of his chair. "All right, yes. How is
this: if you can put a harness on your impatience now and sit on your hurt
pride, you will have at least a prayer of getting what you want."

Dubonnet
looked thoughtful. "And if we don't?"

Julian
shrugged. "If you go up there now, Bonner will gut you and leave you for
the crows. Sheriff or not."

* * *

In a
great tidal wave of grief that took the summer day and heaved it into a new
shape, Nathaniel struggled from task to task until his grandfather was in the
ground. Working with his father and Runs-from-Bears, they dug the grave. The
faith keeper's songs and prayers provided a rhythm to work by.

It
was just over a year since they had buried his mother. Behind him, Nathaniel
could sense the shape of her grave. He imagined her as he always did, with her
arms held out in welcome. The others were waiting for Chingachgook, too. Those
who had gone before: his first son, who had died in battle, the wife who had
borne him. Sarah, with the child in her arms. They would welcome Chingachgook,
who would walk tall and strong among them. He had gone to this homecoming
gladly.

Standing
at the grave in which they had put him to rest, Nathaniel wondered where his
grief had hidden itself. He envied his father, and Falling—Day, and the very
rattles that Bitter—Words raised over his head, for their ability to send a
voice into the heavens. He could not; his words had been taken from him. He
could not even find them for Elizabeth, who stood beside him quietly, her gray
eyes like bruises in her pale face.

One
by one, men came forth to speak over Chingachgook. White and red, they had
fought and hunted beside him; they wore their years as openly and proudly as
their battle scars. In Mahican and Kahnyen’keháka and Onandaga and English,
they offered their memories. The old warriors wished Chingachgook a good
journey, and counted his days in words as clear and hard as wampum beads. Axel
spoke, too, and the judge, a roaring mumble of regret and self—pity that made
the faith keeper stare and the Kahnyen’keháka look away in shame for him.

Elizabeth
swayed, and Nathaniel put an arm around her. She would ever surprise him, this
wife of his. Her eyes moved over him, searching his face as her hands had
explored his wounds, lightly, knowingly. He had wondered if she could bear
these many hours of leave—taking; he had forgotten the depths of her strength.
One day it would be his turn to walk this path, and then she would stand here
with their children beside her, and she would find the words to tell the story
of his days. She would outlive them all to tell the tale. He would see to it.

* * *

By
sunset it was over, and the Kahnyen’keháka started to slip away in small groups
over the ridge of the mountain. Once, Many-Doves told
Elizabeth
, there would have been days of
storytelling and prayers, but no more. The Hode'noshaunee who survived in this
part of the world had learned to live in the shadows. The villagers went, too,
the judge last of all, lingering until Curiosity took him aside and spoke plain
words.
Elizabeth
watched him go from her window, debating and rejecting definitions of charity
and duty in her head, her arms wound tightly around herself.

It
was good to be alone again.
Elizabeth
took her place at the long table in Hawkeye's cabin with real relief. Hannah
was to her left and Nathaniel to her right; Falling—Day sat across from her,
with Many-Doves and Runs-from-Bears. Hawkeye was at one end of the table; at
the other end, Chingachgook's place was empty.

They
ate of fresh venison and beans and squash, and Elizabeth remembered suddenly
the first meal she had had at this table, in the dead of winter. They had
feasted on the turkey Hawkeye had won from Billy Kirby, and Nathaniel had shown
her his plans for the schoolhouse. She had wondered then if she could ever be a
part of such a family, if there might be room for her here. Now she could not
imagine living without these people.

She
put her hand on Nathaniel's leg, lightly, and he covered it with his own.

At
the head of the table, Hawkeye was watching them, his face drawn.

"Nathaniel,"
he said, pushing his plate aside. "You and Bears and me need to have a
talk and then I'll be on my way."

Beside
Elizabeth
,
Hannah tensed suddenly.

"Where
are you going, Grandfather?" She spoke Kahnyen’keháka, a sign of her
distraction.

"Over
the hills and far away," he said with a kindly smile. "I'll bring you
back a treasure or two."

The
women sat silently, with eyes fixed on Hawkeye. They
knew it would come
to this
,
Elizabeth
thought. From the beginning, they knew.
All
day they have been preparing for more than one leave—taking
.

But
she could not be silent, not for Hannah's sake, not for her own.

"Is
this really necessary?"

"Aye,
lass, I fear so." Hawkeye looked down at his hands where they rested on
either side of his plate. "Otherwise they'll be by, looking for me. And I
won't spend another night in their gaol."

"But
they have what they want, if they drive you away." Beside her, Nathaniel
shifted, but he did not try to quiet her.

"Not
quite. You're still here, all of you. You'll just have to carry on without
me." He glanced at Hannah's stricken face. "For the time being."

Abruptly
the child rose and walked over to her grandmother. "Make him stay with
us," she said in a whisper.

Falling—Day
put a hand on Hannah's shoulder, and closed her eyes briefly. "Your
grandfather goes to look for your uncle Otter," she said, in an even tone.
"When he finds him, we will all be together again. You must wish him a
successful journey."

Hannah
looked hard into her grandmother's eyes, and then toward Many-Doves .
Many-Doves nodded firmly, and in response the child's shoulders slumped.

Elizabeth
turned to Nathaniel, and saw two things: that this new loss was inevitable, and
that the weight of it was almost more than he could bear.

* * *

She
put Hannah to bed and read to her by the lamp; a luxury for both of them. In
the pool of light, the little girl's skin seemed as smoothly polished and
glowing as amber. Pausing between pages,
Elizabeth
found it hard to look away from her face. Such a pretty child, with a willful
beauty that mesmerized and frightened all at once.
Elizabeth
forced her attention back to the
story. Tonight, though, Hannah could not be distracted with tales of the
Arabian Nights
.

"Will
you and my father go away, too?" she interrupted.

Elizabeth
closed the book.
We are not going
anywhere
, she wanted to say. But she knew that to sacrifice the truth in
the name of comfort would be a mistake with this child. She said, "There
are some things I can't be sure of but I do know that we could not be a family
without you. If we must go in the end, then we will all go together."

From
the small window under the eaves, she saw that the sky was crowded with stars.
Somewhere in the night Hawkeye was moving north on foot by their light alone.