Into the Wilderness (17 page)

Otter
crossed the room, speaking in a low voice to the dogs, who were sniffing at
Elizabeth's skirts distrustfully. They fell into heap in front of the fire with
a great show of sheepish yawns.

Otter's
hand was chilled through, rough and not especially clean, but Elizabeth took it
without hesitation and made a determined effort not to wipe it on her
handkerchief once he had let it go. He was well grown; Elizabeth judged him as
tall as Nathaniel, because she had to look up at him in the same way. His side
hair was caught up in a plait secured with rawhide and studded with a single
feather. Elizabeth remembered vaguely seeing drawings of young warriors, but
Otter did not look at all like those representations: his head was not shaved
in whole or part, and there was not a bit of paint on his face. He had the same
deep bronze coloring as his sister and mother, but his dark eyes were much more
animated, and less guarded.

Hannah
tugged impatiently at Otter, pestering him for details of the hunt.

"You're
the one Nathaniel is building the schoolhouse for," he said to Elizabeth,
ignoring his niece. "Maybe you can teach this nosey one here some
manners." And he laughed and dodged as Hannah swiped at his ear.

The
adults stood laughing as Otter and Hannah wrestled. Their high spirits were
infectious; Elizabeth began to feel more relaxed than she had since Hannah had
come to fetch her. Then she looked up and saw Nathaniel standing across the
room in the open door.

He
smiled at her; her heart gave a sudden lurch, and then settled into a new
rhythm.

* * *

Elizabeth
found she had a ferocious appetite, and she concentrated on her food: there was
the turkey, which had been roasted over the hearth, squash, onions and beans
baked in molasses, and corn bread.

She
was surprised to find that there was no pressure to converse at the table, and
no awkward silences in the place of chatter. Otter told of trailing the moose
through snowdrifts until it was exhausted enough to give up and stand still
long enough to be shot. Elizabeth was very grateful that they did not expect
her to talk; she knew that the thoughts that ran through her head like a chant
were not things she could say out loud. Nathaniel sat across from her; she felt
his eyes on her, although she could not meet his.
Why do you watch me from the woods?

He
broke bread; she watched his hands, the long fingers, the muscled forearms.

Then
Many-Doves rose from the table to refill a bowl. Elizabeth looked up and saw
her sleeve brush Nathaniel's shoulder as she set more beans in front of him; he
murmured something and she laughed out loud. The look on Many-Doves ' face was
familiar to Elizabeth; if she looked in a mirror, she thought she would see the
same flushed smile. Stricken, she looked down at her plate.

"I
have plans for the school to show you," Nathaniel said to Elizabeth after
some time.

"Good,"
she said. "Splendid."

"There's
no hurry," Hawkeye said. "You've got all evening."

Elizabeth
looked up, surprised. "But my father will be expecting me—"

"You're
not going down the mountainside in this storm," said Nathaniel.
"We'll take you home tomorrow." The howling of the wind picked up as
if to agree with him.

"You
look grieved," said Otter. "You worried about your reputation?"

As
wretched and agitated as Elizabeth was, this still startled her. "Why
should I worry about my reputation? It's not as though—" She looked up at
Nathaniel and broke off.

Falling—Day
rarely spoke, but now she sent her son a withering look. "Impudent,"
she said. "She's worried that the judge will be feared for her."

"You're
safe here with us," Nathaniel said. "The judge knows that."

"She
can read to us!" Hannah cried out. "Like Granny used to. Would
you?"

"Why,
that's a fine idea," said Hawkeye, clearly pleased.

Elizabeth
looked around the table. Falling—Day, Many-Doves , and Chingachgook wore the
same placid expression. Elizabeth wasn't sure how to interpret it, although she
thought it wasn't directly disapproving.

Otter
was grinning.
 
"We'll make her sing
for her supper yet."

She
dared not seek out Nathaniel, and so Elizabeth began to gather the dishes
together. "I'd be pleased to read."

"First
there's apple grunt," said Falling—Day. "And then there's a moose to
be hung. Then there's time for play." And she sent Elizabeth a rare smile.

When
she could stand it no longer, Elizabeth lifted her head and found Nathaniel's
calm gaze on her. She was relieved to see no pity there, but perhaps some
sympathy, and a friendly openness that gave her great relief. Whatever his
relationship to Many-Doves , there was some room for her here, she thought. If
she could just stop dreaming of kisses that would never come.

"We'll
sit down with those plans," he said. "After the apple grunt."

With
a nod, Elizabeth busied herself with clearing the table. "Comfort me with
apples," she muttered softly to herself.

"You
are fond of quoting the bible," Nathaniel noted dryly, and Elizabeth
jumped so that the wooden dish in her hands clattered to the floor. She had not
realized he was so close. Her heart was beating so that she thought at first
she'd misunderstood him. Then she knew that she had not.

Bending
down to retrieve the dish, his hair falling forward to brush the floor,
Nathaniel had finished the verse for her in a soft voice: "For I am sick
of love."

Nathaniel
made it his business to see that Otter went with the older men to the barn to
skin and clean the moose and hoist the carcass into a tree, where it would be
safe from scavengers. He sent Hannah into the kitchen with Falling—Day and
Many-Doves to wipe dishes. When they finally had the great room to themselves,
he cleared the table and spread out a large sheet of paper, using small stones
to hold it down at the corners.

Elizabeth
stood off to the side, her fingers working in the fabric of her skirt, her head
inclined, considering him. He had the advantage, he knew that: everything she
felt made itself known on her face, in the tension of her shoulders. When he
gestured to the bench, she sidled over as if he were a dog known to bite.

But
the plans intrigued her; once she had settled over them, she lost some of the
terrible drawn look that had come over her face when he spoke to Many-Doves .
She had no cause to be jealous of his wife's sister, but he didn't tell her
that straightaway. Nathaniel liked the idea of her being jealous; it gave him
some hope.

Nathaniel
began to explain his drawings to her, hoping to put her at ease.

"Two
main rooms," he said. "In between, a storage room and a hall, for
wraps and such."

"Two
rooms?"

Nathaniel
nodded. "Eventually there will be enough children for two. And in the
meantime, if you want a place of your own, away from your father, you'll have
one."

She
reached out and touched the plans. "Heat?"

"A
double hearth on the center wall, facing either way. There's no shortage of
wood; you can have the schoolboys chop and stack for you.

Elizabeth
wrinkled her nose.

"What's
wrong?"

"In
England, woodsmoke is rare, but you can't get away from it here."

"Is
it unpleasant to you?"

She
shook her head. "No. It's much better than coal."

"Just
one more thing to get used to."

There
was a way she had of raising one eyebrow when she was surprised.
"Yes."

They
talked for a good time about the schoolhouse; she asked about practical things:
coat hooks, washstands, bookshelves, desks, blackboards. She told him about
schools she had visited in England, what was wrong with them, and what right.
How important she thought fresh air and light were, and how many window sashes
she thought she needed. Nathaniel listened to her voice grow more confident,
encouraging her now and then but mostly happy to let her talk.

"So
you're not headed back for England. just yet," Nathaniel said, leaning
back.

Elizabeth
bent her head over the plans, the lamplight shining white on the part in her
hair. "Well, no," she said. "Not just yet, at any rate."

Her
hands were narrow and very white, the oval nails glowing pale pink. She held
them flat on the table. Nathaniel resisted the urge to touch the delicate
pulsing of a vein where it negotiated the curve of her wrist.

"Well,
then," Nathaniel said. "Tell me what you meant about your father
being cash poor."

Elizabeth
looked up, surprised. "Oh, well, I thought that would be clear enough.
He's overextended himself in his investments and he's thinking of taking a
mortgage on the land itself. If I marry Richard and bring my share of the
property with me, Richard will settle his debts."

Nathaniel
looked thoughtful.

"Richard
would never sell you Hidden Wolf."

"No,"
Nathaniel agreed. "Richard has an uncommon appetite for land. And what
about your brother?"

Her
smile was sour. "Julian is part of the reason there's a shortage of cash.
He had to be bought out of his debts, you see. He used up all his inheritance
from our mother—and it wasn't an insignificant bequest, either. Then he started
writing notes, and soon the damage was done. But hopefully he will have little
opportunity to misbehave here. Although it's not his idea of Paradise."

Elizabeth
hesitated. "This is a very comfortable house," she said, "but
small, isn't it, for so many—" She stopped.

"You've
never seen a long house he said. "Whole families together, a couple of
generations, sisters and all their young. The Hode'noshaunee don't think
anything of it. The Iroquois, as the French call them," he added, when he
saw her blank look. "Or sometimes you'll hear them called the Six
Nations."

"But
you didn't grow up in a long house Elizabeth pointed out.

"No,
I grew up right here. My father built this cabin when he married my mother. But
I have spent some time in a long house And you're right, it's feeling kind of
small these days."

Elizabeth
was tracing the outline of the schoolhouse with one finger, and refused to look
up at him.

"Next
summer, if things go as planned, we'll build another cabin. Many-Doves is full
of plans for it." Nathaniel paused. "But her husband will build
it."

She
was not going to ask or comment, he could see that. Nathaniel began to regret
teasing her.

"She's
getting married in the spring."

"Oh?"
Elizabeth blinked slowly. "How nice for her. In the spring?"

"Or
maybe the summer," he confirmed, grinning.

"And
when do you think the schoolhouse will be finished?"

"Well,
I hope the snow lets up some soon, otherwise it will be longer than I thought.
But I would guess, late April. You wanted to get started, I know. But there's
this snow, and the need to be hunting."

She
glanced at the pelts on the walls.

"Aye,
well." He wondered how much of the truth she could stand. "We were
well provisioned, in the fall, even for three or four more people. But that
changed."

Elizabeth
ran her hands over the school plans. He could see that she was intensely
curious, but also that she had more self—control than most.

"Late
November, we were down in the village and somebody broke in."

The
eyebrow rose again.

"Shut
the dogs in the smokehouse, took every bit of dried and smoked meat, and the
few furs we had at that point. Mostly we spend the fall hunting for winter
stores, and the winter trapping for pelts, so it weren't so much the fur they
were after. I guess we're lucky they didn't take the corn or the beans, or it'd
be much harder going."

Her
mouth fell open. "Who would do such a thing?"

Nathaniel
shook his head.

"I've
got my suspicions, but there's no way to prove it.
Why
is the more important question."

She
turned her hand over on the table and wiggled her fingers. It was as close as
she could come to hurrying him along.

"There's
laws now against hunting out of season."

Elizabeth's
back straightened. "If you can't hunt—" She paused. "And your
provisions are gone—"

"There's
nothing to do but go."

"Why
the furs?" Then she held up a hand, not needing his answer. "So you
couldn't buy what you needed. Somebody is trying to force you out."

He
nodded, watching new emotions move on her face. Disbelief and then,
reluctantly, belief. And on its heels, outrage.

"That's
why you want to buy the mountain. Can you hunt if you own it?"