Into the Wilderness (61 page)

The
group of mismatched and poorly trained civilians, most of them with little
battle experience, could hardly be called militia. Nathaniel recognized one or
two of them from the distance. In that first day of following them the biggest
surprise had been the acknowledgment that these civilians, poorly outfitted and
provisioned, and led by nobody in particular, had been able to take Barktown
with enough stealth and skill to cut down some of the strongest and most
fearless of the Kahnyen’keháka warriors. Two things consumed him and focused
all his energies: catching up with his family and solving this mystery.

Both
had happened on that evening when he caught sight of them from a bluff over
their campsite.

Elizabeth
was leaning toward Nathaniel, concentrated completely on this story. She hadn't
interrupted him or asked any questions for quite a long time, but he could see
her growing impatience. "What? What is it?" he asked.

"They
were well treated?"

"They
didn't abuse the women, if that's what you mean," Nathaniel said. He could
see that this had been on her mind, for she settled back a bit, and some
tension left her.

"They
weren't bleeding or wounded, at least that I could see from that distance. But they
were well guarded, better than I thought they would be, an older man and a
bunch of women and children. It didn't fit together, none of it. The massacre,
or the taking of the hostages, or the sorry excuse for a militia. But then I
finally got sight of the man in charge, and things fell into place."

"Was
it someone you knew?"

"Never
saw him before. A slight man, didn't look much like a soldier at all, wearing
spectacles. Looked more like a schoolteacher."

She
made a sound of impatience.

"It
was Joshua Littlefield," Nathaniel said. "On his way to join Clinton
at Canajoharie."

"The
surgeon?" Elizabeth asked, and then something flooded her face,
understanding and a blank horror. "Richard." She leaned forward and
took his hands. "Richard was there. Richard told them about the village,
how to get to it, how to surprise them. Was it Richard?"

Nathaniel
nodded. "I hadn't caught sight of him till then, or maybe I did and I
didn't recognize him. I'd been living in Falling—Day's long house for two years
at that point. But there was Richard with Littlefield, and he was doing a lot
of talking. It was Littlefield who was leading the militia to Clinton's camp,
but it was Richard who was making the decisions."

"He
took them hostage," Elizabeth said.

"I
assume it was his idea," Nathaniel agreed. "Although I didn't figure
that out straightaway. Not until it was too late." A wariness came over
her face.

"I
thought if I could get to Richard, I could explain to him about Sarah, that she
was my wife, that those people were my family. That Sky—Wound—Round was under
Schuyler's protection. I wasn't thinking straight," he said, still now
after so many years feeling the shame of this, that he had made such an
elemental mistake in assessing his enemy.

"He
wouldn't listen?"

"He
had me arrested as a spy," Nathaniel said simply. "And he would have
seen me shot then and there if it hadn't been for Sarah."

* * *

Elizabeth
felt slightly nauseated and wished very much that Nathaniel would stop this
story. She dropped the hand that she had been holding and wished for a
handkerchief to wipe her face. Here was a Sarah she hadn't anticipated. A young
woman who had stood up to the men who held her captive. Capable of convincing
them that they would have Schuyler's wrath to deal with if they shot one of his
best and most valued negotiators and translators. Nathaniel could only tell her
about this in a disjointed way, he explained, because he himself had not heard
what Sarah had to say.

"Somebody
came up behind me and put a musket butt to my head, and that's all I remember
till the next morning. I don't know exactly what she said, but she scairt
Littlefield enough about Schuyler to put a stop to an execution."

"What
did Richard say to you?" Elizabeth asked. "How did he explain
himself?"

"Explain
himself? Richard Todd? He didn't have a thing to say. Stayed just behind us for
the rest of the march, watching to make sure we didn't try to run, and hoping
that we'd be so stupid. To this day I wonder if he really thought he could talk
Clinton into shooting me. He may have thought that; he was only eighteen at the
time but he had a way with men. I'm sure it was him who got the militia riled
up enough to attack Barktown, told them how to do it. Who else would know how
to do that, but a man raised by the Kahnyen’keháka? And he made it look like it
all came from Littlefield, that was the real genius of it. Whether or not he
thought he could see me shot at Canajoharie, he surely enjoyed watching us
march."

Nathaniel
had a picture of himself as he must have looked: Blinded by his own blood, with
his hands bound behind him, and wheeling, his head a flare of pain. It was the
sight of Otter walking in front of him that had kept him focused and able to
put one foot in front of the next. Otter with his back straight and his
five—year—old eyes sparking hate, so determined not to shame his grandfather or
his mother. Otter who had insisted on calling Richard "Irtakohsaks,"
Cat—Eater, to his face, and who had been whipped for it. He thought of the
Otter Elizabeth knew, and the one she didn't, and then he told her this story.
Her head snapped up in surprise when he had finished.

"It
was Otter, wasn't it, who shot at the horses that day, when we bolted?"

Nathaniel
nodded.

"This
is more complicated than I anticipated," Elizabeth murmured. "I am
presuming that Clinton believed what you had to say?"

"Aye,
once we got that far there was no question of hostages or executions.
Littlefield went to report to Clinton straightaway, and you could hear the man
bellow across the camp. He came thundering out of his tent and found us where
they had dumped us, and he spent an hour apologizing to Sky—Wound—Round and
trying to set things right. Gave us provisions and horses and sent us on our
way. Promised to punish the men who were responsible—something that never
happened, to the best of my knowledge. And he had the gall to send his
greetings to my folks. But he couldn't send us home to Barktown,"
Nathaniel finished. "Because there wasn't a home to go back to anymore.

"What
of Richard?"

"Did
Clinton punish him, do you mean? No. He hadn't done anything but put ideas in
Littlefield's head, and Littlefield was the one who caught the trouble. When we
left Canajoharie the last I saw was Richard standing there, scratching his
chin, watching us ride away. But then at least I knew the truth about
him."

"And
what is that?"

He
reached out to her, took her hand in his own. She looked at it, strong and
brown and capable of so much, of gentleness and affection and of harder things,
when it was called for.

"Richard
Todd is determined to take everything I ever had or ever wanted away from
me," Nathaniel said.

Sarah
, thought
Elizabeth. She was standing between them; Elizabeth could almost see her.
Nathaniel was thinking of Sarah, who waited to play her part in this story.

"Tell
me the rest," she said. "Tell me about Sarah."

To
her surprise, Nathaniel dropped her hand and stood up to look out over the
lake. "You're avoiding your swimming lesson."

"I
want to know about Sarah," Elizabeth said, a little surprised at him. He
was looking down at her with an impatience she hadn't anticipated. He didn't
answer her; she could see a muscle fluttering in his cheek.

"Nathaniel?"

"What?"
he asked sharply. "What do you want to know about Sarah? She was my wife,
and she left my bed for Richard Todd's. Isn't that enough to know?"

Shocked,
Elizabeth rose to face him. She felt herself flood with anger and embarrassment
and then with more anger. She cleared her throat. "But—”

“I'm
damn tired of questions," Nathaniel snapped. "Maybe we could get to
the end of them one of these days?"

Elizabeth's
hands were trembling, and she pressed them against her sides under her arms.
"You have been telling me all along that I need to know this story."

"Well,
you don't," he interrupted, his face suddenly blank and unreadable.
"You're a clever woman," he said. "But there's a blindness in
you for some things, Elizabeth. There's no easy answers here. Nothing I can
tell you about Sarah to make it all clear to you. She's dead, let's leave her lie
in peace."

"But
what about you, what about your peace?"

He
grimaced. "Well, I suppose I've got some coming to me now, maybe. Or at
least I will once Todd has been dealt with and the Wolf can't be taken away
from me anymore."

"I
see," Elizabeth said tightly. She was turning away, pulling on her
clothing, jamming her legs into her leggings and yanking at the ties.
 
"As long as you've got Hidden
Wolf."

"Where
are you going?"

"For
a walk."

"You
can't run off."

"I'm
not running off." she said hoarsely. "I am going for a walk. You seem
to need some time to yourself, and so do I."

Suddenly
his anger left him visibly, flowed away from him like a breaking fever. They
stood there almost nose to nose, each breathing heavily. Sweat ran down
Nathaniel's face, although they stood in shadow.

He
said, "I had one wife who ran away, and I wasn't counting on another
one."

Elizabeth
blinked in surprise at this. He was afraid, Nathaniel was afraid of telling her
what she wanted to know. It made her curious and angry and sad, all at once.

"Nathaniel
Bonner," she said quietly. "It is you who don't want to talk to
me."

He
was mute, his jaw working in a tight circle as he stared at her. Nathaniel
leaned in toward her then, his face a mask. "Maybe you're sorry you took
me, then," he said. "Maybe you're wondering if you should have
listened harder to Todd."

Elizabeth
drew herself up. "I didn't want Richard Todd, I never did. And I'm not
taking his side here, or Sarah's. Do you understand that clearly? For as long
as you have known Richard he has been trying to gain advantage over you.
Unfairly, and in ways which are insupportable." She took a deep breath.
"I do not need to know the details of what went on between him and Sarah.
But I am very distressed by the fact that you don't trust me enough to tell me
the whole story and let me decide for myself—”

“Decide
for yourself? Decide what? If I was at fault, if I drove her off?"

She
shook her head slowly, and then began to turn away, but Nathaniel took her by
the arm, held her there where she did not want to be.

"Goddamn
it, I listened to you and now you listen to me. I can tell you another truth,
Elizabeth, and it's the one that should concern you most. I wanted you from the
first and I want you now, and that has nothing to do with Sarah or with Todd or
with anybody in this world but with you, and me."

"I
want some time on my own," she said, not meeting his eye.

"It
ain't safe."

"I
managed well enough while you were gone," she said sharply, pulling away.
"I can manage now."

He
hesitated. She could feel him thinking, and then suddenly he stepped back.

"I'll
wait for you here," he said at last, his voice sounding as strange and
hoarse as her own. "Don't go out of shouting distance."

She
nodded without looking at him, and set off into the woods.

Once
she was lost, there was nothing to do but admit it to herself. Elizabeth had
been walking uphill for what must have been an hour when she stepped out of the
woods and found herself on the edge of a meadow; it wasn't until then that she
realized that she had bypassed the turning which would have led her back to
Robbie.

There
would be a price to pay for her preoccupation, but she could not contemplate
that at the moment, not when she saw what she had in front of her. The world
lay revealed, in a way it hadn't been since she had gone into the bush with
Runs-from-Bears. There was an expanse of mountain meadow in tender greens and
patches of unfurling bracken, spotted with blossoming goats beard in gaudy
yellow. The edge of the meadow was framed by a low wall of sedge grass, and
beyond that the rolling hills gave way to the mountains.

And
on it all, light and shadow moved in a complex dance, the clouds throwing down
great ragged fists of deep indigo to be swept suddenly away by slanting shafts
of sunlight. Every touch of moisture on every evergreen needle seemed to spark.
The world was layers of glowing color and light and a soft, warm breeze like a
caress against her face. Elizabeth sat down, simply, and with her knees tucked
under her chin and her arms wound round her legs, she let herself take it in.