Into the Wilderness (62 page)

It
belonged to no one, and never could; the mountains and the scattering of lakes
in greens and azures and the endless, ageless forests. The thought came to her
that it was a great vanity and self—delusion to believe that such a world could
be claimed, could be owned, by simply putting a name on it. She felt humbled,
and childish. And still, her anger was there and she did not know how to
resolve it. With her chin on her knees she looked down the mountain to where Nathaniel
sat by the lake.

He
was her husband, and he loved her. And it struck Elizabeth, very clearly, that
all along she had both depended on and resented him for his extreme common
sense. His clearheadedness had sometimes been irritating. But today there had
been another Nathaniel there, vulnerable and uneasy and defensive. Things she
had never seen in him before, things she didn't know how to cope with. She
wanted something from him that he didn't want to give, and she had pushed him
until he wouldn't be pushed anymore. Elizabeth realized how insensitive she had
been, and her cheeks colored with embarrassment. The urge to get up and go back
to Nathaniel was almost more than she could withstand. But she pressed her
forehead against her knees and counted to ten, and then to a hundred, forcing
herself to count slowly.

She
did want to know about Sarah. The young woman who had saved Nathaniel's life,
and the lives of her family. Who had turned to the man who had been responsible
for the deaths of her father and brothers, the massacre of her village, the
desecration of her home. Sarah, who had been dead for five years but who had
left a daughter behind, a bright, beautiful daughter. Elizabeth knew that she
must have the story in its entirety; she needed it for herself, and she owed it
to Hannah.

He doesn't trust you with her, not yet
.
That acknowledgment had hurt her pride, and she struggled now to come to a
quiet place with the truth of the matter. Nathaniel did not trust her
completely, and she would have to wait until he did.

From
the edge of the wood came the strident killy killy killy of a kestrel irritated
by intruders too close to its nest. She turned to see the vibrantly colored
bird swooping and fluttering. But there was no fox or squirrel. Instead there was
a stranger standing there with a coonskin cap in his hands. A man with a
beautiful smile and gold—brown eyes.

She
rose slowly to her feet and stood her ground, realizing even as she did that
she had purposely and foolishly disregarded Nathaniel's directions to stay
within shouting distance. She was without weapons and out of earshot. It did
not occur to her to ask him his name as he approached her. For months she had
been hearing stories of him; she would know Jack Lingo anywhere.

He
walked with the rolling limp that was his hallmark, one leg shorter than the
other. The fringe on his hunting shirt shimmied with it. The grin never left
his face, clean shaven and quite handsome. Fans of wrinkles at the corners of
his eyes gave him a kindly air. He was not very tall, but was elegantly built.
Even to her untrained eye he looked strong, the shoulders filling out his shirt
and straining at the upper arms.

A few
feet short of her, he came to a stop and bowed so that she saw that his hair,
luxuriant curls, was shot with white.

"Madame
Bonner," he murmured in a deep, gravelly voice. There were green flecks in
his golden eyes. He bowed from the waist, all politeness and condescension.
"Finally I make your acquaintance."

* * *

Nathaniel
slept in the sun, as he had wanted to do. Forced himself to lie there, to still
his breathing. To put thoughts of Sarah and of Elizabeth out of his head, and
to sleep. He woke instantaneously and reached for her, but his hand found the
more familiar shape of his rifle. He judged the time by the slant of the light,
and by the grumbling in his stomach. She would be back at Robbie's, waiting for
him with things to say. He did not relish the conversation, but he could not go
longer without seeing her.

Downwind
from Robbie's camp, Nathaniel heard the thunk of an axe and the occasional
pause. This part of the bush was as familiar to him as the country around
Paradise, and so were Robbie's habits. Nathaniel had hunted here with his
father every season while he was growing up, staying behind for long weeks to
learn trapping from Robbie. Hawkeye had been willing to leave Nathaniel because
Robbie knew the value of the business; Cora had let him go for other reasons.
She had been worried about Nathaniel's restlessness and hoped that the time
with Robbie would be enough to satisfy his need for adventure. A hope that had
not been realized.

Robbie
was known up and down the bush for his understanding of the beaver and their
ways, for his generosity and gentleness, and for his fair dealings with the
Hode'noshaunee. For thirty years he had traded with them, his furs for their
squash and beans and corn, for moccasins and hunting shirts big enough to fit
him, and for thirty years he had been knowingly and willingly underpaid. His
furs were the best to be had, and worth fortune season by season. But Robbie
had not a greedy bone in him and he was content with the arrangement, because
it released him of the need to go among men. Twice or three times a year he had
come to Paradise, to spend a few evenings at Cora's hearth. Since she had died
he had not even gone that far.

The
thought of Lake in the Clouds brought Nathaniel back to Elizabeth and Sarah. He
had lost his composure today about Sarah, something he hadn't done in many
years. Elizabeth had taken offense. He shook his head, knowing that he had
given her cause.

She
was so strong and so sensible that he forgot at times what it must be like for
her, how strange it all was. Looking back at those first days she had spent in
Paradise, he remembered admiring her for coping so well. That was when it had
started. With the tilt of her chin and the flash of her eyes and the curve of
her mouth, with the starch in her and her feistiness. The question was, could
she stand to see him for what he was? She demanded the whole truth, but he
worried that she would turn away from him, once she had heard it all.

He
asked himself something she had not asked, and that was whether it was her or
the land he had wanted more, wanted first. It was something he wondered about
from time to time, but he couldn't remember anymore what had come first.
Whatever had been in his head back then, the truth now was that he wanted her
more than he needed her. The having of her would keep him alive.

Nathaniel
came around a bend and heard a shout of laughter. Robbie, in the best of moods.
And Runs-from-Bears, laughing, too. They were sitting there at the fire,
cleaning a small deer, and deep in conversation. There was no sign of
Elizabeth.

"Where
is she?" he asked, without stopping to greet them.

"She's
a wee thing, that lass of yours, but surely ye havna lost her betwixt the lake
and here, have ye, man?" Robbie was grinning, but he saw the look on
Nathaniel's face and his face went blank.

"Kát—ke?"
Bears asked—When?—even as he stood and reached for his rifle.

"Two
hours," answered Nathaniel.

"She
headed up mountain."

They
split up to look for signs. Of Elizabeth, or of Jack Lingo, or of the two of
them together. There was no time or need to discuss the matter. All three men
knew Jack Lingo and what he was capable of, Robbie had cleaned up after him on
more than one occasion. Nathaniel and Bears had heard stories from Hawkeye,
told in a low voice out of the women's hearing.

The
fist in his gut, low and tense, reminded Nathaniel of the morning of his first
battle, at Bemis Heights. When the fog still lay over the land and all was
still, thousands of men quiet, waiting for the killing to start. He pushed away
the thought of his own foolishness. He could not afford that now, not until
this was resolved. He would not think of the worst, because it would unman him.

He
ran upmountain, his rifle cocked and loaded and primed, ready in his hands. He
could reload at a dead run, but he knew that if he needed to use it and failed,
she would be dead already, and his life over. Jack Lingo was a formidable
enemy.

Nathaniel
ran hard, light—footed and focused, stopping now and then to listen and then
run again. He wanted to be the one to pick up the trail. Unbidden, the feel of
her came to him, her skin pressed to his, and her smell; he frowned and sought
a prayer instead, any prayer. But Christian or Kahnyen’keháka, nothing came to
him except the memory of her, how she felt to him.

Ahead
he saw the forest give way to the upper meadow and he stopped. Looked harder
around himself, and found her. Her heel print. Seeing it, its orientation, he
knew the way she had come here, how she had traveled bearing east when she
should have kept on north. Not that it mattered anymore; the outline of her
foot was flanked by another print. A man's foot, with a drag to it.

Nathaniel
stopped to listen, and hearing nothing, walked to the edge of the meadow where
he saw the small huddled form of his wife.

* * *

It
was uncomfortable sitting with her back to the beech tree. Not so much because
of the bindings; she could not free herself but they were not excessively
tight, either. But she itched, and she could not scratch. Soon, she thought,
she would have to shout. She had waited for as long as she could bear for
Nathaniel to come and find her, but it seemed a very long time indeed. Perhaps
Robbie would hear her, if Nathaniel didn't. Perhaps she could convince him to
keep this to himself. She was mortified at her own foolishness.

She
looked up and saw Nathaniel at the edge of the wood. A great flood of relief
and gratitude filled her, but before she could call out to him he had faded
back into the shadows and disappeared.

For a
while, she was patient. He must believe that she was in danger, that she was
being watched. He couldn't know how innocent the whole thing had been, how
politely Jack Lingo had spoken to her. Nathaniel was worried for her
well—being, when all he need do was come and cut her loose so she could pass
along Lingo's message and they could get on with things. Her stomach rumbled
and her face itched abominably and the kestrel which had warned her—or tried to
warn her—of Jack Lingo's approach had rewarded her stupidity by perching above
her to void in a bright orange streak down the front of her overdress. She had
borne many indignities for her thoughtless behavior, and she was ready to own
up to her mistakes and to carry on. But still Nathaniel didn't come. Her
irritation increased with the itching of her nose.

He
startled her in the end, speaking to her from behind even as he cut her bonds.

"Swimming
would have been a far sight more pleasant," he said.

"No
doubt," she agreed, rubbing her wrists. When she could turn she saw his
frown, and she answered him with one of her own, although she would have
preferred touching him.

"I
began to think you wouldn't come back at all."

"The
thought crossed my mind."

"Oh,
very amusing." She pursed her mouth. "He did me no real harm, if
you're worried about that."

He
cocked one eyebrow. "I don't expect you'd be so feisty if he had."

"He
was very gentlemanly," she said.

"Then
you're the first to think so," Nathaniel said, frowning.

"Most
women who have made his acquaintance ain't seen that side of him." He
turned away. "Let's go back," he said, and started off without
looking at her. He was definitely in a bad humor.

"I
was the one accosted," Elizabeth said lightly. "You needn't be so
short with me."

Too
late, she saw the error of this. He swung around on her, his face all thunder.
"By God," he whispered. "You can be a stupid woman, Elizabeth.
Do you have no idea what he might have done to you?"

"He
did nothing except bind me to that tree," she countered. "And tell me
a number of quite fantastical stories. I don't like to be called stupid. I may
have been foolish to have walked so far—”

“Foolish,
aye. And stubborn and thick headed and plain ignorant, for good measure."
The muscles in his throat were working hard. "And if you ever decide that
you must defy common sense again then you won't have to worry about being
called stupid, because you'll be dead or hurt so bad you won't give a
damn." And he reached out his left arm and pulled her in to him, buried
his face in her hair.

"Promise
me," he said. "Promise me you won't do that again."

Chastised
finally and thoroughly, Elizabeth nodded.

They
stood like that for a moment, listening to each other breathe.

"Don't
you want to know what he had to say?" she asked. "He gave me a
message."

"Not
now, not here," Nathaniel said, letting her go. "He may still be
around."

* * *

There
was a fallen tree, its dark, crumbling trunk sprouting great layers of pale
mushrooms like a scaly beard. On it, Runs-from-Bears perched nonchalantly.
Elizabeth was glad to see him, but he spoke directly to Nathaniel. It appeared
that Jack Lingo's trail had been picked up and he was off the mountain, headed
north.