Into the Wilderness (24 page)

Instead
she showed Many-Doves all that had been done to turn the cabin into a
schoolhouse. The younger woman was so interested in the cabin and its
improvements, in the books and maps and pictures, that they had much to
discuss. She asked a number of very clear questions and paid close attention to
Elizabeth's answers.

After
some time, Many-Doves hesitated, and Elizabeth sensed a change in topic coming.

"Will
you go to Johnstown, then?" Many-Doves asked.

"I
don't really know," Elizabeth answered. "Why?"

Many-Doves
shook her head, and then, in another change of direction, she looked at the
window and her face broke into a smile. "Nathaniel," she said, just
as there was a knock at the door. "And Runs-from-Bears."

"I
promised to take you to see the foundation of your schoolhouse," Nathaniel
said by way of greeting.

"Hello
to you, too," said Elizabeth dryly. She was determined not to let a silly
smile compromise the friendly but detached air she was working so hard to
present. Her pulse was racing, though, and she had to resist the urge to touch
her handkerchief to her brow.

Nathaniel
inclined his head toward his companion without taking his eyes off Elizabeth.
"This is Runs-from-Bears."

"Many-Doves,"
said Elizabeth as Runs-from-Bears stepped forward and took the hand she
offered. "Is this the Uncle you mentioned?"

"They
call me Uncle because I come to call them to Midwinter Ceremony. Next week I
will be just Runs-from-Bears again."

He
had a friendly smile, but Elizabeth saw that it was not so much for her as it
was for Many-Doves , who was suddenly quite silent. It was hard to judge, but
Elizabeth thought he was perhaps thirty years of age. He had Otter's dark,
glossy skin and angular face, although he bore the evidence of a bout with the
pox, as well as a line of tattoos which stretched over the bridge of his nose.
Silver earrings dangled from both of his ears, and there were feathers braided
into his hair. Even in his layers of deerskin and fur, it was clear that he was
well built. On his person he carried an assortment of weapons: a long rifle,
hatchet and knife, and something that looked like a war club. In spite of his
easy manner and smile, the man looked as if he would be afraid of nothing in
this world. Elizabeth wondered if she would ever get an explanation of his
name.

"The
Uncle is whoever comes to call the Kahnyen’keháka to the Midwinter
Ceremony," Nathaniel explained.

"I
told her all about Midwinter," Many-Doves said impatiently. "So are
we going to look at the schoolhouse or not?"

"You're
not," said Nathaniel. "Falling—Day is waiting for you at home, best
get on back." Then he glanced at Runs-from-Bears and grinned, the first
time he had smiled since he came through the door. "You can show her the
way," he said, and added something in Kahnyen’keháka that made Many-Doves
push him sharply as she left the cabin.

* * *

"You
do like teasing people," Elizabeth noted to Nathaniel as they made their
way down the mountainside. "It's a weakness, I think."

"Is
that so? Well, Boots, it seems harmless enough to me."

"I
don't know if I like you calling me that," Elizabeth said, a little
peevishly. "Boots, I mean."

Nathaniel
glanced at her over his shoulder. "It suits you."

"But
I have a given name, and it's not Boots."

"A
person can have more than one name."

She
drew up short, surprised. "Is that so? How many names do you have?"

"Oh,
a handful."

There
was silence for a minute, and then Elizabeth could not resist asking.

"The
Kahnyen’keháka call me Wolf—Running—Fast," he said. "But my
mother—she called me Nathaniel."

"Well,"
said Elizabeth. "Then you'll understand that my mother gave me a name, and
it is not Boots."

"You're
right," Nathaniel agreed easily. "You earned that name yourself. The
Indians have names they bring with them into the world and names they earn.
Chingachgook calls you Bone—in—Her—Back."

She
stopped dead. "Bone—in—Her—Back?"

Nathaniel
nodded. "It ain't an insult."

Elizabeth
glanced up quickly but she could read nothing from his face.

"I
suppose not," she said, strangely pleased. They started on their way once
again. "And Boots is the best name you can find for me?"

"That's
an unseemly question for a lady," Nathaniel said with a bit of a chuckle.

"Someday,"
Elizabeth said, "you may come to regret this unfortunate propensity you
have for teasing. Have a care, you never know when you might find yourself on
the other end of that particular blade."

Nathaniel
stopped to hold aside a low—hanging branch for her. "And would that be you
wanting to show me what I'm missing?" he asked as she passed by him.

"Perhaps
sometime," she said, her chin tilted up, and then jumped as he let the
branch snap and catch her on the back.

But
it wasn't a day for irritations: the weather was beautifully clear, in a week's
time she would be teaching her first school, and Nathaniel's daughter was going
to be one of her pupils. Elizabeth wanted to talk to him about this, but she
didn't know how to bring up the subject without opening others she thought she
couldn't quite manage at the moment.

What do I want from Nathaniel?
Since he had first asked her that question two weeks ago, it was never long out
of her consciousness.

They
were making their way down the mountain on a path she hadn't known about,
moving through a large plantation of spruce and pine. Once again, Nathaniel was
in the lead, which gave Elizabeth an opportunity to observe him closely without
being watched in turn. At the moment, she thought, it was enough to be with
Nathaniel and to learn one more thing about him: he was a man who kept his
promises. It was enough to have him to talk to.

"Is
Runs-from-Bears Many-Doves ' intended?" Elizabeth asked.

Nathaniel
answered without stopping. "You saw that straight off, I guess."

"She
seemed . . . unsettled," Elizabeth said. "And that explains your
teasing. What did you say to him in Kahnyen’keháka?"

"I
told him to watch out, snow can burn as hot as kisses."

"Oh.
No wonder Many-Doves was put out. I take it that Runs-from-Bears is Wolf
clan."

"No,
Turtle," said Nathaniel. "And a good thing, too. It's against the
Kahnyen’keháka way to take a wife from your own long house It would be like
marrying a sister."

"Does
that mean—"

"I
wasn't adopted into the Wolf clan," Nathaniel said. "It wouldn't have
stopped me if I had wanted her. But I didn't." He glanced over his
shoulder at Elizabeth. "So there never was a need to be jealous."

"I
wasn't jealous!" she sputtered unconvincingly.

"Don't
tie yourself in a knot, Boots," Nathaniel said easily, moving on. You
can't pretend to me the way you do to the others."

* * *

Together
with her father, Elizabeth had surveyed all of his property in the vicinity of
the village. The judge had had a particular spot in mind on a piece of land too
small to pact out to a farmsteader, but Elizabeth had immediately rejected it
as too close to home. The site she wanted and had eventually persuaded the
judge to relinquish for the school was on the side of the village opposite from
home, about a half mile farther than the nearest farm. The path from the
village wound through the woods along a stream which came down from the
mountain, and then flowed into Half Moon Lake. At the juncture of the stream
and the lake, a quarter acre of marsh spread out, reeds and grasses poking
through the ice. On a rise between the marsh and the woods, in a natural
clearing, Nathaniel had begun to build the schoolhouse.

"Yes,"
said Elizabeth softly as they came out of the trees. "This is exactly the
right spot." And without hesitation, she strode to the foundation of her
school.

"That
elevation there gives you some shelter from the winds," Nathaniel pointed
out as she walked around the shell of the building. He stopped near a great
triangular stockpile of logs, their notched ends oozing sap.

"Water
close by. It's a good walk home for you, though."

"That's
the way I wanted it," Elizabeth said, distracted. Too pleased and excited
to hold still, she leapt over the low beginnings of one wall and stood in the
middle of what would soon be the main schoolroom.

She
stood considering outlines of the rooms, one gloved hand against her cheek.

"Windows
there, and there," she said suddenly, pointing. "And here,"
pivoting. "We need the early morning light."

"I
ordered the sashes," Nathaniel said. "Although the judge ain't
pleased at the cost."

Elizabeth
smiled then. "I can imagine." She circled the second room with her
arms crossed tightly around herself, and turned toward Nathaniel, her skirts
swirling.

"This
could be mine."

"Of
course," Nathaniel said with one brow raised. "I thought that was the
whole idea."

"No,
no." She shook her head. "This—" She gestured around herself.
"This could be mine. My home. Mine alone. This could be my hearth."
She stopped in front of the foundation of the chimney. "My desk by the
window. Bookshelves. A bed on that end—" She drew up short and laughed, a
little self—consciously.

Nathaniel
was leaning easily against the logs, but his eyes followed her every move.
Elizabeth's hood had fallen back and stray hair clouded around her flushed face
in damp tendrils. Her eyes snapped with energy and satisfaction, and Nathaniel
wondered how long he could keep his word to her and not touch her without
invitation.

"Well,"
he said. "Why not?"

She
did laugh then, out loud. "A lady living alone?"

"If
that's what you want most in the world, Boots."

She
turned away suddenly, and spoke to him over her shoulder. "Can you imagine
my father's reaction?" Suddenly she startled him: she crossed through the
foundation and came up to stop in front of him and grasp both his hands in her
own.

"This
is enough for right now," she said. "And I have you to thank."

Nathaniel's
earring twirled in the sunlight when he shook his head.

"No
need to thank me," he said gruffly. "It's work I was hired to
do."

"Thank
you anyway, and thank you for Hannah," said Elizabeth. "I am so
pleased that she'll be coming to school."

"That
was Falling—Day's doing," said Nathaniel. "I left the decision up to
her."

Elizabeth
lifted her chin and grinned at him. "Is that so?" she said. "Is
that what you want me to believe?" She dropped his hands and stepped back.
"Well, let me tell you something, Mr. Bonner. You can't pretend to me like
you do to the others."

Nathaniel
reached out to grab her but she slipped away. "Oh, no," she said.
"You promised."

"Not
only are you teasing me," Nathaniel pointed out, "but you are
flirting most outrageously. Hardly the behavior I'd expect from you."

Elizabeth
drew up in surprise and the truth came to her with nothing more than a little
glide of recognition. What she wanted from Nathaniel was simple: she wanted him
near her, because she had fallen in love with him. She was looking up at him
with all this showing clearly on her face, when there was the brief clap of
igniting gunpowder from the forest. Elizabeth registered the flash at the
corner of her eye and then a sudden surge of air against her cheek as the
bullet flew past her to find another target.

Nathaniel
let out a grunt of surprise, pitched forward to grab Elizabeth, and fell to the
ground, pinning her underneath him. His solid weight pressed her into the snow
from foot to shoulder; his blood was warm on her cheek.

The
world went hazy for a moment. When her vision cleared Elizabeth realized that
Nathaniel was looking at her. She closed her eyes, letting waves of relief and
nausea wash over her. He rolled away, but stayed low to the ground.

"Are
you all right?" she asked. "Are you shot?"

"Just
a graze," he said, touching his face.

Elizabeth
grabbed his hand to pull it away. There was a shallow red furrow bleeding
freely, about an inch long. A few grains of powder were embedded around the
wound like a scattering of pepper.

"Somebody
shot at you," she said, stunned. Then she leapt to her feet and started
toward the forest.

Nathaniel
was so surprised that at first he could not credit what he was seeing:
Elizabeth marching forward barehanded in pursuit of a man with a rifle. With a
low curse he launched himself after her and caught her by the wrist to drag her
down behind the partial wall of the schoolhouse.