Into the Wilderness (69 page)

"How
long do you think it will be?"

He
shrugged. "Hard to say. He's strong, and he's fighting. But he's been
lying there for a while, and fever takes a lot out of a man. I expect he's
about burned out now, so maybe a day."

She
caught his eye; he knew she was thinking about Todd. It worried him, too, but
they couldn't leave the man to die alone.

"How
close behind us do you think Richard is?"

"Don't
know, really." He cleared his throat, and then tried again. "We have
done some backtracking, but he knows his way around and we leave a good trail.
Two days, I'd guess, if we set still. Maybe less."

She
digested this in silence, her hands moving automatically about the task in
front of her.

"I
don't want anyone killed," she said. "If it comes to that, then I
think we should go back with him."

Nathaniel
watched her work, but his real attention was turned to the forests around them.
He knew what she wanted; he didn't know if he could give it to her, and so he
promised her nothing at all.

Behind
them, there was a shifting and a groan from the shelter. They waited, tense,
and then stood when the singing started. The voice shaky at first, and then
settling a little into a fine tenor.

"Why,
that's Latin," said Elizabeth.

"Aye,"
said Nathaniel. "The Agnus Dci." And to her quizzical expression, he
finished: "From the mass."

"How
is it that you recognize the Catholic mass?" she asked, her brow creased
in confusion.

"Lots
of the Kahnyen’keháka are Catholic," Nathaniel said. "Not to mention
the Scots."

"But
not you," Elizabeth said. It was a tone he had never had from her: wary,
and put off.

"Oh,
aye, once I was," he said softly. "A long time ago."

There
was no time to explain any more, because the singing in the shelter had
suddenly stopped.

"We
had best introduce ourselves," Nathaniel said, brushing off his leggings.

"It's
the polite thing to do."

* * *

Elizabeth
had expected the man to be frightened, and uncommunicative.

Nathaniel
had told her that he was an escaped slave, and she anticipated that such a
person would be wary of strangers. Instead, he had a slow smile and he was
willing to talk, even eager. His language was accented in a way which reminded
her very strongly of Axel, which surprised her again. But she resisted the urge
to ask him questions.

The
first thing he did, after drinking two bowls of water and introducing himself
as Joe, was to apologize that he had no chair to offer her.

"Been
meaning to rig something," he explained. "But this sore arm of mine
has been keeping me from my work."

Elizabeth
glanced uneasily at Nathaniel, but he seemed to take this tremendous
understatement in stride. She herself could not bear to look at the arm for
long. It lay there tight and so swollen in its wrappings that she thought she
could almost see it pulse.

"What
happened?" Nathaniel asked. "Get your hand caught in a trap?"

He
nodded. "A few days back. But I expect I'll be up and about
tomorrow." His eyes turned to Elizabeth, their whites murky gray.

She
tried for what she hoped was an encouraging smile. "I've got some broth
cooking," she said. "You must be hungry. I hope you don't mind, we
added your dried meat to ours."

"Beholden
to you." There was something gracious about him that contrasted with the
nervous plucking of his fingers at the blanket. "But it's near dark,"
he pointed out. "And you should both be inside before."

"Before
what?" Nathaniel asked.

Joe's
head swung toward him in surprise. "Before the Windigo come."

"Windigo?"
echoed Elizabeth, turning to Nathaniel.

"The
stone men," said Nathaniel softly. There was a new expression in his eyes
that Elizabeth did not like at all.

* * *

Nathaniel
paced up and down while she scooped the thin stew into a bowl.

"He
seems so reasonable," she said in a low voice. "Does he really not
know he is dying?"

Nathaniel
ran a hand through his hair. "Hard to say."

Joe
was singing again, his voice hoarser now.

"Does
his mind wander from the fever?" she asked. "Is that why he
fears—what did he call them?"

"The
Windigo. No, that's not the fever. He was afeared of them before he got hurt—it
took a long time for him to do all this, these pits."

A
thought occurred to Elizabeth and she wiped a stray hair from her cheek as she
observed Nathaniel.

"You
believe him."

Nathaniel's
irritation was easily read from the way the muscles in one cheek jumped.
"I've never seen a Windigo," he said. "But yes, I believe
him."

"Well,
he is being pursued," she said. "Given what should happen if he were
caught, I suppose it is not surprising that his fears have blown out of
proportion." She held out a bowl to Nathaniel.

He
took it slowly. "Not all things lend themselves to rational
explanation," he recited. "Do you remember saying that to me?"

She
blushed. "I do. But that was about something else, something I had myself
experienced. And he's—his mind is wandering, from the poison in his blood. How
am I to credit the idea of giants covered with hair set on human flesh?" She
glanced toward the shelter.

"The
Hode'noshaunee and the others to the east, my grandfather's people, all of them
know of the Windigo who live in the bush."

"Has
your father ever seen one, or your grandfather?" Elizabeth asked, and then
looked away, embarrassed. Nathaniel was disappointed in her, and it made her
unhappy to see that on his face. "It does not signify," she said.
"He believes, and he is frightened. Perhaps we can put his mind to rest
for the little time he has left. I will try to remain open—minded," she
offered. "Although I will admit to you that it is hard, Nathaniel."

"Aye,
well," he grunted, tipping up the bowl and swallowing. "Let's hope
the evidence you'd need to convince you don't decide to come up and shake your
hand."

* * *

"I
was born on a farm on the Mohawk," Joe told her later, when he had taken
as much of the broth as he could hold, and in response to her gentle questions.
"German Flats, maybe you been down that way. Never learned no English till
old Sir Johnson bought me to work his mill, when I was maybe twenty. That was
more than forty year ago, but the Dutch ain't washed out of my mouth yet."

"Did
you stay with Johnson long?" Nathaniel asked.

Joe
squinted in Nathaniel's direction. "Thirty years, near to. When he died,
Molly sold me to a widow woman in Pumpkin Hollow." He had been talking
easily, looking back and forth between Elizabeth and Nathaniel, but suddenly he
looked away from both of them, out into the open. "Could I have more
water?" he asked.

There
was some vague memory stirring in Elizabeth, but she couldn't quite bring it
forth. She held the bowl of water for Joe as he lifted his head.

"It's
sweet, the water up here," he said when he had finished drinking.
"Land of plenty," he added. His lips were cracked and discolored with
fever, but he smiled weakly anyway.

"There's
a pretty sunset," Elizabeth said. She could see it above the trees, all
cinnamons and crimsons. The storm had sputtered and then blown away. Tomorrow
would be fine and clear. She thought of telling him so, and then hesitated,
thinking of what the day would bring.

When
she looked down at Joe, his head had dropped back on the cot. "Night
comin' on," he whispered. "Time to be indoors. They come in the
dark."

She
waited, and he took this as encouragement, turning his head toward her.

"Saw
the first one over by that big pine, when I settled in here some weeks ago. If
there was still snow on the ground you could see his tracks. Scared him off
with a torch, that time." He worked the fabric of the blanket between his
fingers. "Eyes red as raspberries."
 

"What
do you suppose he wanted?" Elizabeth asked. She was very aware of
Nathaniel just behind her as he fed the small fire.

Joe
had begun to blink drowsily. "You think I'm a crazy old man."

"No,"
Elizabeth protested feebly.

He
laughed softly. "Well, I'm old enough. But I saw what I saw."

Nathaniel
had brought in a small sawed—off log from Joe's woodpile and upended it, and it
served as a sort of stool at the head of the cot. Elizabeth sat there now, and
leaned toward Joe. "Tell me, if you like. I'm truly interested."

"Are
you? You got that look about you like that young Father Mansard, wondering what
trouble I got up to. And looking forward to my confession, see how to set me
straight with the Lord."

She
had to laugh. "I've never been compared to a priest before," she
said. "But I assure you that my interest is real."

"You
should be interested," Joe said in a tone that was almost fatherly. It
made Elizabeth suddenly wonder about his family, if he had had one he left behind,
and what worries they had for him. But his gaze turned toward the deepening
dark of the sky in the doorway, and it was troubled.

"They
play games with you," he said softly. "Like to scare people. Come
close and throw things, run away. Like children set on mischief, throwing
rotten apples at a man sweating in the field 'cause they know he cain't run
after 'em." He paused, his thoughts very far away. The silence went on
until she wondered if he was falling asleep. When he spoke, Elizabeth started
at the new strength in his voice.

"In
the night sometimes, I hear them moving around. But they don't like fire."

"How
could any people survive winter in the bush without fire?" Elizabeth
asked.

In
the growing dark she could still clearly see the surprise on his face.
"The bear do," he said. "The bobcat and the rest, anything with
enough of a fur coat."

"So
this creature is not a man?"

There
was a faint smile on his face. "I see you, Miz Elizabeth. You more and
more like that Father Mansard, that Jesuit. You want to talk logic, and I'm
talking Windigo. My skin ain't the same color as yours, and you see that, and
you believe it. But if I tell you there's another kind of man, with enough of a
pelt to live in this bush in the winter, then you sit back and get a frown line."

"You
think they sleep through the winter?" Nathaniel asked from behind
Elizabeth.

"Never
said that. Don't know. All I can say is that in the night I seen them here,
usually a big male, but once there was two of them. Chunking things at me, and
howling. And I drove them off with fire."

"Perhaps
they meant you no harm," Elizabeth said.

Joe's
face contorted. "I wonder if that very same idea is going through the
rabbit's head when the shadow of the owl falls over it." Another wave of
deep sleepiness moved on his face, but he kept her gaze firmly in his own.
"They like to play with folk, scare 'em. But don't be fooled, these ain't
no fairy folk. Will you keep that in mind?"

Elizabeth
wanted to assure him that she would indeed, but he had slipped away suddenly
into sleep. When Nathaniel spoke behind her, she jumped.

"I'll
set up in here."

She
didn't protest.

* * *

By
the light of the fire they dozed, and woke and then dozed again. Joe talked in
his sleep, mutterings that couldn't be followed. Once Elizabeth rose to go out
of the shelter and relieve herself, and when she came back, Nathaniel was
sitting up with his arms slung around his knees, staring into the low flames.
She stood looking at him for a moment, the strong profile lit by the fire, his
eyes hooded with worry. There was grass caught in his hair, and she went to him
and took it out.

He
caught her wrist and pulled her down next to him.

"When
she was a girl," said Elizabeth, "My cousin Amanda would come into my
bed at night because she feared the Green Man. Did your mother ever tell you of
him?"

When
Nathaniel shook his head, she sighed. "I think that for many years I have
put the story out of my head quite willfully."

"Tell
me."

Elizabeth
took a minute to gather her thoughts. "Oakmere sits on the edge of a great
wood. Nothing like these woods." she said hastily. "But still, for
England very large, and old. And there are tales of the Green Man that the
common folk tell. I believe it was one of the upstairs maids—a young woman
called Maisie—who told it to Amanda one day, although Amanda herself denied
that. She claimed to know nothing of it, only that she woke sometimes at night
to see a man looking in her window. A man grown out of a tree, she said, with
moss for a face and hair of oak leaves and fingers like sticks which he used to
scratch upon her window."