Into the Wilderness (22 page)

"Of
course I care," Elizabeth cried, taking the book from Curiosity. "But
my father will stand in my way at every turn."

A smile
from Curiosity was a rare thing, but she produced a grin.

"You
listen here, Elizabeth," she said. "I been keeping house for your
father for longer than you been pulling air, and my menfolk have run his farm
for him just as long. We know him better than you do. Let me tell you—this
ain't the worst idea ever come to you. Put a fright into him, see what good it
bring. I'll have Galileo and Manny tote your trunks up here, and the judge'll
be sweatin' so as he'll need to take off his hat or die of the heat."

Elizabeth
laughed in spite of herself, a little bark of amusement.

Curiosity's
eyes were narrowed, and she pursed her lips.

"You
go on an laugh. But you listen, too. Sit up here on them trunks and listen to
your daddy pacin' up and down the house wondering what stars he could pull out
of the heavens to keep you here. Wondering if there's a ladder long enough.
Thinking about it hard."

"My
father," said Elizabeth, "is made of the same fabric as my uncle
Merriweather and every other Englishman I've ever come across. He cannot see my
point, because he cannot see me. Do you realize that, Curiosity? He sees me as
a—commodity. The person I am, that person is invisible to him."

"Lord,
yes," Curiosity said. "But you come a long way, child. Don't stop now
when the blind man just about ready to have his eyes opened for him."

"What
is the use?" Elizabeth muttered. "He will never apologize."

Curiosity
flapped her apron impatiently. "Is that what you want most in this world?
Lord above. Tell me, are those few words more important to you than your
schoolhouse, or your get—up—and—go, or the lock he threatenin' you with? Wake
up, child. The man is at your mercy, don't you see that?" She sat down
with a great thump, and began taking books out of Elizabeth's hands to stack them.
"I forget sometime that you a maiden lady. But I got a feeling you ain't
without some understandin' of how the menfolk think. You consider what your
daddy wants from you, and what you want from him, and how you gonna come out on
top."

"You
make it sound like a horse trade."

"It's
all a horse trade, when you got men to reckon with. White, black, or red. I
expect even the yellow men ain't much different. All made by the same
God." Curiosity stood and headed for the door.

Elizabeth
got up to follow her but Curiosity shooed her back into her room.

"Now,
you sit there and read for the afternoon, and let him think you up here
packin'. See if he don't come round to a boil by the time I put the ham on the
table, ready to give you whatever you can think of to ask for."

And
she disappeared down the stairs.

Elizabeth
was still standing on the landing when Curiosity called back up to her in a
tone which would carry out to every room in the house.

"Yes,
Miz Elizabeth," she called. "I'll send up them trunks directly."

* * *

When
Julian found his way home for dinner the judge met him at the door in a frantic
frame of mind. After listening to his father's story, Julian reluctantly agreed
to try his hand at talking reason into Elizabeth. But she refused to admit her
brother and would not answer a single one of his questions. Finally bored with
the whole affair, Julian went down to table.

"Well,
you've done it now," he said to the judge, helping himself to potatoes.
"When she gets like this there's no moving her."

The
judge picked distractedly at his food. He was truly unhappy about the idea of
losing Elizabeth. He was very fond of her, in spite of her strange and
sometimes dangerous ideas. And her absence would make many practical problems
almost impossible to resolve.

From the
sideboard, Curiosity watched the judge closely, which did not do anything to
help his appetite. The judge and Curiosity were old adversaries: she ran the
household the way she believed it must be run, and he thought it his duty to
cross her on occasion. It was an ongoing irritation to him that she
outmaneuvered him with so little effort, in ways he did not quite follow. The
feeling of always being out thought and by a Negro woman, no less, was vaguely
unsettling, when he let himself dwell on it. But because the judge was so
dependent on Curiosity's excellent care and skill, and particularly fond of her
biscuits and gravy, he didn't allow himself to consider these things in any
depth.

"What
exactly did you say to Elizabeth?"

"I
told her she shouldn't have gone up Hidden Wolf without my permission."

"Ah."
Julian ate for a while in silence. His own appetite was excellent, and the ham
was exactly to his taste. "That may be technically true, Father. But it is
certainly not the way to endear yourself to Elizabeth."

"But
she can't leave," the judge said miserably. "If she doesn't marry
Richard, I shall have to sell the land to him outright."

Julian
glanced at Curiosity. "Perhaps we should discuss this later."

The
judge was slightly puzzled by Julian's unwillingness to talk in front of
Curiosity. It had always been his fashion to discuss business in front of her,
and sometimes with her: she was as closemouthed a creature as he had ever
known, shrewd, but discreet. Thinking back, the judge would have been hard—pressed
to recall an occasion on which he had ever seen her speak to a human being
outside the family or guests at the table, or to give bad advice, when asked.
He was about to pay her this compliment within his son's hearing when Curiosity
herself spoke.

"Good
afternoon, Miss Elizabeth," she said softly, and the men rose from their
places with such suddenness that their serviettes dropped to the floor. There
was silence for some minutes while Curiosity offered Elizabeth each of the
dishes.

"All
packed?" Julian asked.

Elizabeth
cast him a cool look. "Almost."

She
allowed Curiosity to fill her plate. "Curiosity," she said.
"Would you kindly inquire of Galileo whether or not he would be free to
take me as far as Johnstown tomorrow? I am sure I can hire someone to escort me
to Albany from there."

"Before
we get Galileo all in a lather," Julian said, leaning back in his chair to
sip at his wine, "Father wonders if there is anything he can say or do to
keep you here in Paradise.

Curiosity's
excellent food all tasted exactly alike to Elizabeth: every biteful was dry and
tasteless in her mouth. But she forced herself to eat, one steady forkful after
another, a pause to cut her food, and onward. She felt her way cautiously,
aware that she was walking an unknown and dangerous path, and that everything
she wanted was at stake. When she thought she was enough in control, she raised
her eyes to her brother.

"Father
knows exactly what it would take to keep me here," she said. "But he
is clearly unwilling to abide by the promises he made me before we came.
Thus," she said, still not looking at her father, "I will go back to
my aunt and uncle Merriweather. Life may not be as exciting there as it is
here, but at least the restrictions which I must live with are not misrepresented."

The
judge's mouth fell open in astonishment. "What I have done to deserve this
contempt?" he asked. "Except worry for the welfare of my
daughter?"

"Your
worry is not for me," Elizabeth said, finally addressing her father
directly. "Or, more accurately, it is only indirectly for me. If you were
truly concerned for me, it would matter to you what I want for myself. But it
is only what you want for me—from me—that concerns you."

She
put her hands in her lap to steady them. The thrill of telling her true feelings
without considering good manners or the propriety of what she had to say was
intoxicating. With more calm than she felt, she met her father's horrified
gaze.

"But
I am arranging for your schoolhouse! At considerable expense, I might add, when
cash is at a premium!"

"Only
after I questioned your good word in front of your friend," Elizabeth said
calmly. "And in the meantime I have no place to begin my work."

"There
is not a spare bit of space in the village which would suit your
purposes," the judge said. "Is that not true? Ask anyone. Ask—ask
Curiosity!" He turned to the woman, who stood in front of the sideboard
with her hands crossed in front of her.

"Isn't
it true, Curiosity, that there's no suitable space for Miss Elizabeth's school
at the moment?"

"Not
in the village," she answered, with a nod. "But," she added,
causing the judge to tense and turn toward her. "Of course, there's the
old homestead. That might do."

Elizabeth's
head snapped up in surprise. Curiosity looked back at her impassively.

"The
old homestead!" Julian turned to his father, astonished. "What old
homestead is that?"

"Up
Hidden Wolf just before the strawberry glen," said Curiosity when the
judge could do nothing more than sputter. "A cabin, just. But in good
repair."

"My
father clearly doesn't wish me to teach school," Elizabeth said. "Or
he might have suggested the cabin before now."

The
judge finally found his voice. "That's not true!" He was flushed,
torn between outrage that Curiosity should betray him thus, and the need to
pacify Elizabeth. "The cabin is too old and rough for Elizabeth's
purposes, or I would have mentioned it."

"I
see," Elizabeth said. "Are you saying that if the cabin meets my
needs, and I am satisfied with it, you will give it to me until the schoolhouse
is built?"

There
was a silence as the judge struggled to find the right answer. He looked back
and forth between his children, and then at Curiosity. "If that will keep
you here," he said finally. "Yes."

"That,
and one other thing," Elizabeth said, clasping her hands tightly together
under the table.

The
judge looked utterly beaten. Elizabeth almost took pity on him, and then she
felt Curiosity's sharp eyes on her, and knew that she had to take advantage
now.

"I
will choose my own friends, and go my own way, on my own terms," she said.
"Without interference from you. Of any kind."

Julian's
ever—present grin had disappeared, and he glanced at his father uneasily, but
the judge was focused on his daughter.

"What
gives you such authority?" he asked, but in a weary tone.

"I
give it to myself. I take it for myself." Elizabeth said. "Aren't you
familiar with those words, Father? ‘It is necessary to the happiness of man
that he be mentally faithful to himself.’"

The
judge glanced up, a spark of his old temper in his eye. "I will give you
what you want, on the condition that you stop quoting that frightful woman to
me!"

Elizabeth's
level gaze met her father's.

"I
am very pleased to hear that we can come to an agreement. I would be very sorry
to leave your household."

"Then
the deal is done," the judge said, his voice hoarse, turning to his plate
for solace.

"But—"
Elizabeth continued, and he froze, his knuckles clutching white on his fork and
knife.

"—that
was not Mrs. Wollstonecraft."

"It
wasn't?"

"No,"
said Elizabeth with a smile. "It was Tom Paine.
The Rights of Man
."

"Miz
Elizabeth, I think Washington could've made good use of your talents,"
wheezed Henry Smythe as he dropped a crate of books on the floor. "I'm
sure you could have found some boots and blankets while we was freezin' on the
Potomac back in '76." His tone was dry, but he smiled at her kindly, and
Elizabeth understood that this was a compliment of the highest order.

"Well,
then," she said, "perhaps you'd be willing to lend a hand with the
firewood? We mustn't have your grandson's fingers too cold to hold a
quill."

"It
ain't cold in here now," observed Anna Hauptmann when Henry had closed the
door behind him. She was hanging curtains and she looked over the cabin from
her perch on the step stool. "Wouldn't have thought you could get so many
bodies together in this little place."

Elizabeth
looked around herself with a great deal of satisfaction. It was true: after
just two weeks the cabin's transformation was almost complete. Jed McGarrity
was making the final structural repairs with the help of his two boys. Isaac
Cameron and his sons were putting the finishing touches on bookshelves and a
blackboard while Charlie LeBlanc and two other men hammered boards into tables
and benches. Martha Southern had come up to sweep the floors and cover them
with an assortment of rag rugs.

Behind
the cabin, another group of men were constructing an outhouse, chopping and
stacking wood, and clearing a path to the stream which would provide water for
the school.

"Now
all you need is the children," observed Anna, casting a significant glance
down at Martha Southern.