Into the Wilderness (31 page)

When
Elizabeth had last seen Nathaniel this morning, he had been shivering with
exertion and cold, his face bloodied under the paint. But he had smiled when
she put the blanket around his shoulders, an ecstatic, ravenous smile, a smile
that steadied her in her resolution.

I'll come to you,
he
had whispered when Julian stood waiting impatiently, watching.
I'll come as soon as I can.

He
might not even be back from Barktown; perhaps he wouldn't be back for days.

Elizabeth
found the candle on her bedside table and went to the hearth. She crouched
before the banked fire and held the wick to the pulsing scarlet embers until it
caught, a single small flame. Then she sat there on the cold floor with her
arms around her knees and stared as it began to consume the mixture of tallow
and bayberry.

Tomorrow
she would go to the cabin. She would go alone, to see to the last preparations
for school. In two days she would teach her first class. All those children, in
her care. She recited their names to herself, in a rush: Ian and Rudy
McGarrity, Liam Kirby, Peter Dubonnet, Praise—Be Cunningham, Ephraim Hauptmann,
Obadiah and Elijah Cameron. And the girls: Dolly Smythe, Marie Dubonnet,
Hezibah and Ruth Glove, Henrietta Hauptmann, and Hannah Bonner.

He
would find her there; of course he would.

I
must sleep now, Elizabeth thought. Tomorrow, when I'm rested, tomorrow I'll see
Nathaniel. Sleep's the thing, she told herself firmly.

She
put the candlestick on the mantelpiece and went to her window. The moonlight
lay like a quilt of blues and pearl—grays over the woods and the hills,
painting the village in stark lines. Hidden Wolf rose like a protective
specter, silent but benevolent and watchful. Elizabeth followed the path with
her eyes as far as she could, and then imagined it where it disappeared into
the woods. Lake in the Clouds, in shadow.

Something
moved on the path, just a speck at first. She blinked, thinking she had
imagined it, but it was steady, as steady as a candle flame, growing larger. It
disappeared into shadow and then emerged again. Elizabeth stood utterly silent,
her fingers cramping on the windowsill as the speck grew into the indistinct
shape of a man. Another five minutes and the moonlight lay like a cloak on his
bare head and shoulders; a tall man, moving fast, silent as the woods.
Nathaniel.

She
held her breath as he approached the house, her heart beating loud enough to
wake everyone. Loud enough to wake the dead. Nathaniel stood below her window,
his face cast half in shadow, the moon picking out one cheekbone, one half of
his mouth, one eye.

He
raised a hand; she raised hers, held up one finger. He nodded, and disappeared
into the dark.

* * *

Silently,
Elizabeth closed the door of the sleeping house behind her and pulled her shawl
tight. She started at the long shape of her own moon shadow, flat and stark.
There was no sign of Nathaniel. She thought for a moment that she had imagined
him, dreamt the whole thing.

She
had almost walked past him when he reached out and caught her wrist, pulled her
up against the wall of the house. They stood there, shoulder to shoulder,
Elizabeth trying hard to calm her breathing, the candle flame shaking with the
beating of her heart. She followed him to the barn where he stopped to look at
her, his face all angles in the moonlight.

Wait,
he whispered.
She stood shivering, her hair breaking in waves around her shoulders like a
wild sea.

He
came back, gestured her forward.

The
horses shifted uneasily in their stalls. Elizabeth stood opposite the oxen and
felt their dull eyes on her, blinking, blinking, their great bulk radiating
pungent warmth. Nathaniel's hand pressing her wrist told her to be quiet. They
stood like that for minutes, until the animals grew tired of them and turned
inward once again. There was a bale of straw in an empty box.

The
candlelight jumped on the rough board walls, a small circle, as valuable as
gold in this darkness. Nathaniel took the candlestick out of her hand, his
fingertips touching her wrist, sliding over the beating of her pulse. Elizabeth
let it go with an indrawn breath.

When
he had found a secure spot for the candle on the tack shelf above their heads,
he sat next to her on the bale of straw. He bore the scars of the game: a crust
of blood over an eyebrow, a bruise on his cheekbone. His hair was tangled, his
cheeks stained dark with growing beard. She held on tight to her own hands,
which wanted to raise themselves and touch him, make sure that he was real,
that this was real.

"Talk
to me."

Elizabeth
told him. She told him about Richard's proposal, about the corner her father
had put himself in, about Richard's plan for Hidden Wolf. She told him about
her discussion with Mr. Bennett, most of it word for word. She talked and
talked in a low voice, feeling his eyes on her the whole time, but unable to
meet his gaze.

"And
there's this." From the pocket of her dress she drew forth a folded piece
of newspaper and put it in Nathaniel's lap. She watched the candlelight on his
face while he read.

* * *

WANTED. Any word on the whereabouts of
the old Indian Sachem Chingachgook, known also as Great—Snake or Indian John.
To settle a debt.

Jack Lingo. Leave a message at the
Trading Post, Stumptown.

* * *

He
rubbed the stubble on his jaw thoughtfully.

"Who's
Jack Lingo, and what does he want from your grandfather?" Elizabeth asked.

"He's
an old
voyageur,
" said
Nathaniel. "He wanders the bush causing trouble and looking for the Tory
Gold." He raised one brow. "Is that what you want to talk
about?"

She
swallowed hard.

"No.
I think we should talk about Richard."

"What
about him?"

Elizabeth
looked Nathaniel straight in the eye. "I wish you had told me. About
Richard's mother."

He
looked at her, surprised. "Would it have changed something?"

Elizabeth
wound her fingers in her shawl. "No. But it makes him easier to predict.
And to understand, with his mother buried on Hidden Wolf."

"My
mother is buried there, too."

"I
didn't mean he had a better claim. Just that it makes me see him a little more
clearly."

Nathaniel's
watchfulness eased a bit. "It's not just his ma that draws him to Hidden
Wolf you know. It's more complicated than that. It has to do with Sarah."

"I
don't know if I want to hear this right now," Elizabeth said, dropping her
gaze. Sarah was one subject she had not anticipated in this discussion, one
subject she had been pushing away from herself firmly for days.

"Never
underestimate the force of a blow to a man's pride," Nathaniel said.
"Or what he might do to see it set right. Richard wanted Sarah, once upon
a time. And now he wants you."

"Well,
I'm very sorry for his early trouble and loss," Elizabeth said. "But
I can't marry him to salvage his pride, and I won't marry him and watch him
turn you off Hidden Wolf. And he won't buy it, either, not if I have my
way."

Finally,
a grin. "I'm right glad to hear that," Nathaniel said. "But what
did you have in mind?"

"I
could just pay my father's debts, but it would mean all of my savings,"
Elizabeth said. "And in a few years' time he'd most likely be living
beyond his income again, or making bad investments—"

"And
there'd be no more funds to bail him out," Nathaniel finished.

She
nodded.

“So.”

Elizabeth
glanced around. The candlelight cast a meager oval; it painted Nathaniel's face
in quiet tones, softening the strong lines of his face. He was looking at her
with infinite patience, and something more, something she had been hoping for.
She drew in a deep breath.

"I
will let Richard court me," Elizabeth said slowly. "Until my father
is sure enough of me to sign the deed of gift. That will have to be done in
Johnstown, before Mr. Bennett, as magistrate. And then—" She swallowed
hard.

"And
then?"

It
took every bit of courage in her, but she met his gaze. "We could marry.
You and I—" She pushed on, stumbling, her voice cracking.
"Immediately. At that moment all property I own becomes yours. And that
would include Hidden Wolf of course."

His
face was utterly blank.

"You
want to stay single," Nathaniel said evenly, his face masked. "You've
told me that any number of times."

"Your
memory does me no good service." Elizabeth tried to strike lighter tone,
but she was unable to control the trembling of her voice, or even to meet his
gaze directly.

Nathaniel
was watching her closely, something on his face she couldn't quite place. Fear?
Anger?

"I
don't want your charity."

"This
is not charity!"

"What
would you call it, then? You want me to marry you so you can give me your
property. What did you intend to do about the taxes?"

Elizabeth
blinked. "Pay them."

"Aye,"
said Nathaniel hoarsely. "You intended to pay them. There's a word for
what you're asking me to be, but it ain't exactly polite."

Shocked,
Elizabeth drew her hand away. "I was thinking of you—"

"Goddamn
it, woman," Nathaniel hissed. "It's not your pity I want."

"No,"
Elizabeth said, lifting her chin to meet his gaze, her own eyes blazing.
"You want justice. And you said—you said that you wanted me, too. But
perhaps that was just talk."

He
jumped up, towering over her; she stood to meet him, her fists balled at her
side.

"And
what about you? What about what
you
want?" He was full angry now, his hands on her shoulders, hard, pressing.

Elizabeth
felt her heart melting like the candle wax felt it running down to her feet.
She pushed his hands away.

"If
you weren't such an idiot, perhaps you'd see what I'm trying to tell you!"
she spat out. "This is for me, too. Do you think I'm fool enough to throw
everything away, to hand over everything I own"—she swallowed,
hard—"for no reason? I had come to the conclusion that I'd be better off
as your wife than my father's daughter—but now I wonder."

She
stood breathing harshly, her chin jutting up toward him, watching him with eyes
that dared him to doubt her. He stared back.

"You
realize what we'd have to do? Marry on the run and disappear long enough that
he can't petition to have the marriage annulled, or the deed?"

"Yes."
Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, yes. I thought of that."

He
drew back and looked at her hard as if she were some new creature he had never
seen before. His temple was beaded with sweat in spite of the cold.

"Do
you want to be my true wife," he said, "or is this a marriage on
paper you're proposing, a lie?"

"Oh,
Nathaniel," Elizabeth said, suddenly miserable. "That's not what I
had in mind, no. But if you don't want me you'll have to say so and perhaps
there's some other way to stop Richard."

He
moved toward her, and then he hesitated.

"Forgive
me for my bluntness," he said hoarsely. "But I'm asking you now to
tell me what it is you want, in no uncertain terms."

"I
want you," whispered Elizabeth, blinking hard. "I want you. And if
there's some way to set things right with you and yours in the process, then
that's all the better."

Nathaniel
took her hands and drew her down to the bale of straw. Elizabeth felt his whole
frame trembling.

"I
told you," he said softly, his mouth against her hair. "I told you
once that you only had to ask. I just wasn't sure what you were asking."

"I
was afraid, too. You never said what it was exactly you wanted from me. You
still haven't said it."

His
fingers moved on her temple. "You want the words. I guess that's fair,
seeing as how I made you speak up."

"It
would be a help," Elizabeth admitted. "It's hard to propose marriage
without any assistance at all. At this moment I can almost feel sorry for
Richard."

Nathaniel
laughed softly at that, and tilted her head up so he could look her in the eye.

"It's
what you want. You're sure?"

She
nodded.

"Well,
then." The muscles in his throat flexed as he swallowed. "I ain't got
much to offer except Lake in the Clouds, maybe not even that—"

"And
Hannah," Elizabeth supplied.

"And
Hannah. And a life you weren't born to, and a lot of trouble to start
with—"

"And
your father," she interrupted again.

"And
my father. Elizabeth." He took both her hands, turned the palms up to kiss
them and then pressed them to his chest. She could feel his heart beating, a
slow, rolling thunder.