Into the Wilderness (29 page)

"Kitty,"
Elizabeth tried, and was rewarded with a sullen look. "Please tell me why
you are angry with me."

The
younger woman never turned her gaze away from the men. "But I'm not angry
with you in the least," she said tonelessly.

Irritated,
Elizabeth was tempted to let Katherine stew in her jealousy, but then she
recalled how the scene in Mrs. Bennett's parlor must have looked to her.
I might as well try honesty
, she
thought,
for it could do no more harm.

"Kitty,"
she began again. "Richard made me an offer of marriage yesterday
evening."

A
tremor ran over the other girl's face, followed by a quick flow of color, but
she didn't speak.

"I
didn't accept him," Elizabeth said. As irritating as Katherine could be,
the urge to offer her some comfort was strong. She knew that it would be
short—lived, if her plans came to fruition, but for the moment she wanted to
help, if she could.

"Oh?"
Katherine examined her mitt. "But I'm sure you will, the next time he
asks."

"Why
do you think that?" Elizabeth said. "I haven't shown him any
encouragement."

Katherine's
head turned toward Elizabeth in a slow, steady arc. Her blue eyes glittered,
not with tears so much as anger and vexation.

"I
suppose you are going to tell me that you want to remain a spinster," she
said with a small, bitter smile. "Your father may believe that—your
brother seems to. But I don't believe it for one moment."

Elizabeth's
first urge was to protest that she did intend to stay single. That she had no
intention or will to marry. The arguments for spinsterhood came to her easily;
she had been perfecting them for almost ten years. But she could not tell Kitty
what she was thinking; she was too young and too much involved to be trusted.

"I
don't believe that Richard and I would suit at all," Elizabeth said
gently.

Katherine
gave a very unladylike snort. "Suit? You wouldn't
suit?
What does that have to do with it?"

"I
hope it has something to do with it," Elizabeth responded. "If two people
are to live together." She had the distinct impression that Katherine was
hurt by Richard's offer to Elizabeth, and, nonsensically, affronted by
Elizabeth's rejection of him.

"I
don't see that you can be so fussy, it's not like you have other suitors at
your door. I would think Dr. Richard Todd would be a fine enough husband for
you.
"

She
meant to hurt Elizabeth's feelings, that was clear, and in fact Elizabeth was
amazed and a little dismayed to find that Kitty disliked her so very much. But
more than that, she was relieved.
Thank
God
, she thought.
Thank God, she
really has no idea about Nathaniel.

"You
and my father are of one mind on this," Elizabeth said quietly. "I
wish I were so sure. Tell me," Elizabeth said, leaning toward Katherine
suddenly and grasping her hand. "If you love Richard, why are you showing
so much interest in my brother?"

"Because
Richard is very good at getting what he wants," Katherine said miserably,
turning her face away, but allowing Elizabeth to hold her hand.
 
"And Richard wants you."

* * *

"Surely
we can spare an hour and still be home before sunset," Julian was saying.

Richard
glanced at the sky and back toward the sleigh, and resettled himself in the
saddle. "The temperature's dropping," he pointed out.

"Well
it won't bloody well matter to us, will it? We aren't the ones chasing a ball
around on the ice barefoot. I'd like a chance to win back some of what I lost
the day before yesterday."

The
wind rose around them, riffling the grasses over the frozen marsh, but Julian
seemed oblivious to the weather.

"It's
a damn exciting game, this lacrosse," Julian added. "I don't wonder
the Indians call it Little Brother of War—a full—fledged battle couldn't make
men move as fast, I'd warrant. I bet Lizzie would like to see it."

Richard
had been letting Julian ramble on, but now he laughed. "I can't imagine
that."

"You
don't know her very well, do you?" Julian said dryly. "Lizzie was the
most awful tomboy. Drove the aunt distracted, pulling her out of trees and off
horses. She was a better jumper than I ever was, until Merriweather found out
and put a stop to it. And then she'd go off for walks and be gone for the
day."

"Elizabeth?
Your sister?" Richard shook his head. "I can't see it."

"Oh,
yes, she's a great one for sport, at least she was until she started reading.
Although I don't know what she'd make of the dancing."

Richard's
face stilled. "You were at the long house for the dancing?"

"I
spent the whole day. Don't look at me like that, old boy. Who wouldn't be drawn
in, with all the drums and that singing, the men leaping around with those
masks—makes your skin rise. I enjoyed it, all except the prayers. They do seem
to drag on, Christian or heathen. Say——" He turned in the saddle toward
Richard. "Is it true what they say about the women?"

Richard
kept his gaze focused on the horizon. "What do they say?"

Julian
grimaced. "As if you didn't know. They tell me old Sir Johnson had wives
in every Mohawk camp. A generous people, if you get my meaning."

"That
was years ago," Richard said dismissively. "Generosity wears thin if
it's taken advantage of."

"Oh,"
said Julian. "Damn shame." Then he glanced back at the sleigh, and
waved.

"Was
there somebody in particular caught your eye?"

Julian
shrugged. "Well, you've got to admit that Bonner's sister—in—law is a rare
one. Never seen the like. Many-Doves , they call her. At the dancing—"
Julian broke off, and cleared his throat.

Richard
sent Julian a sideways glance. "I thought your interests were
elsewhere."

"Kitty,
you mean?" Julian asked, recovering his good humor with a grin. "I
doubt much will come of that."

"And
why not?" Richard asked, in an affronted tone.

"Oh,
well, the same reason you gave up on her, I suppose— Don't look at me like
that, it's common knowledge, after all. She's a nice enough girl, but there's
no money, is there? And that father of hers—a bit of a bore, too, if the truth
be told."

Richard
squinted into the sky, over the horizon, and found everything more worthy of
his gaze than Julian. "Take a care," he said gruffly. "She's tenderhearted."
Without looking Julian's way, he asked quickly: "Has she said anything to
you?"

"About
you?" Julian shook his head. "Not a word, but she looks at you when
she thinks nobody's paying heed. I expect she's giving Lizzie an earful. She's
in a foul temper this morning, after catching the two of you last
night."
 

"Nothing
happened," Richard said, scowling.

"But
not for lack of trying, eh?" Julian laughed again. "I wish you good
luck, at any rate. You'll need it with Lizzie." He pulled up suddenly. "There
it is. Barktown."

"I
see it," Richard said shortly.

Julian
raised himself in the saddle to get a better look at the small group of cabins
huddled around a single bark long house in the distance. "That's all
that's left of the great Mohawk nation.

"Those
aren't just Kahnyen’keháka," said Richard, his eyes moving over the
throngs of people. "Every Iroquois in this part of the state comes to
Barktown for Midwinter. They've got no long houses of their own anymore. There
couldn't be more than forty Mohawk here, most of the time."

"So
why are these ones still here, then?"

"Because
Sky—Wound—Round was the only one of the Kahnyen’keháka sachems who sent his
boys to fight with the colonials. Which is a shame," Richard said grimly.
"Because if he had stayed allied with Brant and the Tories, he would have
had to move his people north, and there wouldn't be a Mohawk left in
New—York."

There
was a flicker of surprise on Julian's face.

"Moses
Southern tells me you lived with the Mohawk for years."

"So
I did. What of it?" Richard's face had grown suddenly still.

"Well,
then, you must know a damn sight more about lacrosse than I do. Your advice
would be helpful when I lay my wager. Hold on," he said, ignoring
Richard's protest while he turned his horse. "I'm going to talk to the
girls about this."

* * *

Elizabeth
bounced up and down on her toes and stretched to get a better view over the
heads of the crowds lining the playing field. Lacrosse, Julian had called this
game. It was like nothing she had ever seen before.

Fourteen
men dressed in nothing more than breech clouts barefooted, their hair dressed
with feathers and their faces painted, pounded up and down over the frozen
marsh, steam rising from their sweating bodies. They ran and collided and
struggled and ran again, their sticks flailing wildly. Each of them had his
entire attention focused on the net that held the ball. It might as well be
July, Elizabeth thought, for all the attention they paid to the weather.

All
around the playing field Indians stood in groups, their heads moving in tandem
as they followed the game. They did not look to be enjoying it, exactly;
Elizabeth thought they might watch a battle from a safe spot with the same
intensity and focus. The only playfulness she could see came from the children,
who dashed up and down the embankment following the game, brandishing smaller
sticks of their own, shouting to each other, evading the grasping hands of
mothers and aunts.

There
were whites as well, standing well apart, talking among themselves and laughing.
They seemed to be mostly hunters and woodsmen, much like the men of Paradise.
One of them was staring at Julian, Elizabeth noted with some discomfort. He was
a great barrel of a man, a trapper by his dress. She didn't wonder that they
knew him here; it was obvious that he had spent an entire day earlier in the
week. What trouble he had been brewing she could only guess at.

"My
father would not approve," Kitty said for perhaps the fourth time. "I
should not be here."

Julian
took her elbow in one hand and Elizabeth's in the other. "I'll talk to
your father, Kitty," he said, pulling them along, barely able to mask his
excitement. "This way," he said. "Over here, you'll be able to
see better."

Elizabeth
followed her brother to a knoll, but kept her eyes fixed on the game. Now they
were close enough to the field to smell the sweat as the players thundered
past. With a little start she recognized Otter, his stick held across his body
at an angle as he ran full—out for the goalpost. Wood clashed on wood as the others
dodged and struck, trying to dislodge the ball from his net. He feinted left
and then with a neat twist sent the ball flying toward the other side of the
river, where another player leapt to scoop it out of the air with a flick of
his stick.

"How
do you know who plays together?" Katherine asked. The excitement of the
game was having some effect on her, although she still scowled.

"You
can't," Julian said. "They don't mark themselves as Wolf or Turtle.
You'd have to ask one of the Indians." He was looking over the crowds as
he spoke.

"Wait
here," he said suddenly. "I'll be back in just a moment."

"Julian,"
Elizabeth said in a low voice.

"I'm
just going to look for Richard," he mumbled as he stalked off.

"Don't
be long," Katherine called after him, stepping in closer to Elizabeth.

"Remember
your promise!" Elizabeth added, to which Julian waved a hand over his head
without turning back. She realized that Julian's vow was long broken, and
prayed that he wouldn't write scrips when his cash ran out. More uneasy than
ever, she let her gaze wander once again through the crowds. There was no sign
of Nathaniel anywhere; she could only hope that he would see her here on the
knoll. She felt slightly dizzy with the tension of it all, and wished that they
hadn't stopped.

"Do
you know any of them?" Katherine asked with a sideways glance.

Glad
of this distraction, Elizabeth turned her attention to the game.
"There—that player, the very tall one who just passed the ball, that's
Runs-from-Bears, from the Turtle clan."

The players
had thrown themselves into a ferocious huddle in pursuit of a ground ball. With
a grunt of satisfaction, one—a smaller man, but sleek and flexible—managed to
get the ball into his net and lope off with the others close on his heels.

Elizabeth
tried not to stare at the players, at their naked chests or the hard—muscled
thighs which flashed from under the breech clouts as they ran. Mr. Witherspoon
certainly would not approve; she imagined the long and tedious sermon he might
preach, and hoped that Kitty would keep this outing to herself at home. But it
was a very strange situation for two single women to be in; the specter of Aunt
Merriweather's outraged face rose and was quickly put away.