Into the Wilderness (90 page)

"That's
unfair," he said, the muscle in his cheek trembling dangerously. "We
are legally married,
Elizabeth
,
so it didn't seem to matter where the money came from."

"Oh,
really," she interrupted, her eyes flaring. "Completely
insignificant, was it?"

His
brow furrowed, he said: "I thought you'd be pleased to have the
schoolhouse, and your own money, too."

"No,
Nathaniel. You have the schoolhouse. You bought it and the land it stands on
with your money."

"To
give to you!" he roared.

"You
are impossibly dense!" she shouted, pushing at him with the heel of one
hand so that he stepped backward. His expression shifting from surprise to
anger, he stumbled and righted himself awkwardly, but she advanced on him
again.

"Had
you thought, had it not occurred to you, that perhaps I wanted to own something
of my own? That for once it would be welcome not to be given something, but to
claim it for myself?"

He
had that tic in his cheek, the one she had last seen when he held a bloodied
and helpless Richard Todd in his sights.

"So
you wouldn't mind accepting the schoolhouse as a gift from your aunt, but you
won't have it from me?" He laughed hoarsely. "More wisdom from Mrs.
Wollstonecraft?"

Elizabeth
raised her face to the darkening sky and let out a half scream of frustration. "You
vain, self—centered, thoughtless, bloody man!"

"For
Christ's sake, woman, I was trying to give you something you said you
wanted!"

"But
you had to take it away from me first, did you not? You are no better than
Richard Todd!"

Nathaniel's
head rocked back as if she had slapped him.

Horrified
at her own words and still angry beyond her experience,
Elizabeth
looked around herself wildly, as if
seeking help in the deepening shadows.

In
two long strides Nathaniel reached the pyramid of supplies and weapons on the
far side of the fire, and sweeping up his rifle in one hand, he jerked it up
toward her, stock first. His jaw was set like granite. "Looking for
this?" he asked sharply.

She
drew in a shuddering breath.

"Go
on," he said, dead calm. "Finish the job you started, if that's what
you think of me."

Elizabeth
stood very still, her fury suddenly spent: she could feel it running down her
body, dripping from her fingertips with each shallow beat of her heart.

Every
muscle in Nathaniel's arm stood out in relief, his fist strained white around
the barrel of the gun. His mouth was set in a line just as unyielding. Sudden
tears pricked behind her eyes and in her throat, a pain past bearing.

She
turned away and walked into the woods.

* * *

Robbie
was sitting near the fire whittling a new penny whistle when she returned, and
he met her with a look of such compassion and sorrow that she nearly lost her
resolve. She shook her head at him briefly. Nathaniel was stretched out on the
far side of the fire, a long shape under his blanket turned away on one side.
She knew he was not asleep; she could hear it in his breathing and see it in
the tension in his shoulders.

Elizabeth
stood at the edge of the small camp and hesitated. Robbie was watching her;
Nathaniel had not moved. She approached him and stood looking down.

"How
much did you pay my father's land agent for the land and the schoolhouse?"

"Three
hundred dollars," he answered, without looking up at her.

"That's
very dear," she said, surprised. "For such a small plot of
land."

He
was silent.

"I
will buy it from you," she said. "With my own money."

Nathaniel
sat up and slung his arms around his knees. The firelight played on his face,
bringing his cheekbones into high relief and drawing deep shadows on the
hollows beneath. There was not the hint of a smile about him. "Make me an
offer."

"I'll
give you the three hundred you paid for it."

He
grunted. "What profit is there in that?"

Elizabeth
thought for a moment. "Three hundred twenty—five."

"Four
hundred."

She
bristled. "Three hundred fifty dollars."

"Four
hundred," said Nathaniel, sticking a long blade of grass between his
teeth.

"That
is a thirty—three percent profit," she sputtered. "For an investment
of—”

“About
eleven weeks," he supplied.

Elizabeth
folded her arms across her chest.

"Three
hundred seventy—five dollars."

"Cash?"

"You
know I have no cash!" she fairly exploded. She lowered her voice with
considerable effort. "I will write you a note on the bank."

Nathaniel
looked thoughtful. "There's no paper or ink in camp."

Elizabeth
turned to Robbie, who held up both palms in a gesture to ward off any part of
the discussion.

"I
suppose we could write it out on buckskin," she said through clenched
teeth. "With my blood, if that's all that will settle this."

"No
need," Nathaniel said at last, one brow cocked. "Your word is good,
until we can draw it up legal, like. Three hundred seventy—five dollars plus
ten percent interest per week until you pay the balance in cash."

"That
is usury! It could be weeks until I can get to the bank." She knew she was
sputtering but could not stop herself. "You can't ask over a hundred
dollars a month in interest—”

“I
can," said Nathaniel. "But it's high, you're right. So I'll offer you
a straight cost of four hundred dollars, no interest."

He
raised a brow at her, mocking. Her wolf of a husband, flashing his teeth as if
he would eat her whole.

"Done,"
she said, in strangled tones.

Nathaniel
was up on his feet instantly, holding out his hand.
Elizabeth
took it reluctantly, as if it were
an ill—used handkerchief. But he held on to her, looking down into her scowling
face.

"Pleasure
doing business with you," he said dryly.

"Now
come to bed because I have things to say to you." His fingers trailing
over her palm.

Behind
them Robbie rustled, and spoke softly to Treenie.

"No,"
Elizabeth
said.
"Not tonight." She looked off into the darkening woods, and would not
meet his eye.

"Then
I'll say it now, like this. I shouldn't have said that, about what happened. I
ain't holding a grudge."

She
nodded.

"I
apologize."

"Thank
you." She hesitated. "You are nothing like Richard Todd."

"Thank
God," he said, with a grin. He still held her hand. "Will you come to
bed now?"

"No,"
she said, shaking her head.

Nathaniel
took her chin between his fingers and turned her face up to his. She met his
gaze reluctantly. He was frowning, the straight brows drawn together. Then he
let her go.

"Please
yourself, then."

Without
a backward glance, she walked to the other corner of camp, and rolling herself
in her blanket, she lay down.

Above
Elizabeth
's
head, the clouds closed in over the stars. There was the soft sound of the
water on the shore and the ticking of the fire. Inside her there was a ticking,
too; she wanted her husband. She wanted to draw him down to her and make him
sweat, bring him into a fever of trying to please, because he had hurt her. The
look on his face when he held out the rifle to her—it was not something she
could bear to think about for long.

She
wanted him to come to her and wipe it away, but there was Robbie, and more than
Robbie, there was her pride.
Elizabeth
put the corner of the blanket in her mouth and bit down hard.

She
rolled onto her side and covered her ears, but she could not block out the
melody or the words of Robbie's fine, deep baritone:

Oh the summertime is comin'

and the trees are sweetly bloomin',

and the wild mountain thyme

grows around the bloomin' heather.

will ye go, lassie, go?

She
was heavy—eyed with wanting the refuge of sleep, and yet she could not quite go
where she wanted to be. Long after Robbie's song had faded away, the words
echoed in her head.
will ye go, lassie,
go?

On
the other side of the camp, Nathaniel lay as awake as she was. She could see
him, the way he sought her out, the whites of his eyes flashing toward her like
a beacon calling her home. With a small grunt of effort, she turned on her side
so as not to have to look at him. Between herself and the fire, Treenie lay
like a great hissing log, wheezing in her sleep.

The
bullet graze on her haunch was healed now.

I ain't holding a grudge
.

Hot
tears welled up in her eyes and she squeezed them shut hard to banish them.
Pushing against a wall of hurt and indignation, she forced herself downward
toward sleep.

A
shuffling. She opened her eyes to see Treenie sitting up, her ears pricked
forward and her head cocked at an angle.
Elizabeth
watched silently, as the dog trotted toward the shadowy curtain of the forest
and froze, a low hum issuing from her throat. She moved forward in liquid
steps, the growl escalating slowly.

Elizabeth
felt
the hair on her nape begin to rise. She glanced at the great mass of Robbie,
snoring softly in his tattered bearskin blanket, and then, without moving her
head, at Nathaniel. There was no indication that he heard anything; he lay with
one arm bent under his head as he often slept, his face in shadows.

Treenie
still advanced, her whole form compacted now into one tightly wound muscle.
Elizabeth
felt herself go
slightly dizzy with fear, staring into the darkened forest.

She
cleared her throat, a small sound that woke no one.

It
might be wolves, although they had not seen any signs of them while they were
canoeing down the lakeshore. None of the large cats would attack them like
this, in a group around a fire, and bears disliked wood smoke.

Treenie
could not manage a pack of wolves on her own.

Elizabeth
called to Nathaniel, softly, and then finally, on her hands and knees, she
moved toward him as Treenie moved toward the wood.

* * *

He
was awake at the dog's first shifting, but he lay as he was, listening. As he
had been taught to do, as he had done for all of his life, he threw his senses
forward into the dark, feeling the shapes there by their sounds. No need yet to
reach for his rifle.

When
she started toward him, he almost raised a hand to stop her, but then
hesitated. Behind
Elizabeth
's
back, the dog had come to a halt and waited, her head cocked. In the flickering
light of the fire, Nathaniel could see her shape change as she relaxed.

Elizabeth
did
not see the red dog turn back, nor did she see Robbie rise, and taking his gun,
slip into the shadows. Her face was a study in concentration.

"You're
awake," she whispered. "Didn't you hear—"

She
glanced over her shoulder, and started at the sight of the red dog at rest by
the fire, head on her paws.
Elizabeth
sat up, supporting her weight on one arm.

"Traitor,"
she whispered.

The
dog's tail thumped.

Nathaniel
held up the corner of his blanket. "Now that you're here."

He
saw her thinking it through.

"Please."

The
small scowl still firmly in place, she joined him. She lay on her side with her
back to him, her body tensed.

"What
do you think it is?"

Nathaniel
shrugged. "Don't know," he said. "Robbie will deal with it."

"What
if it's your Windigo?"

He
paused. "Not in this part of the bush," he said, brushing stray hair
away from her neck. Her smells were strongest here, at the hairline and the
crown of her head. He resisted the urge to bury his face in the soft skin between
shoulder and ear.

Robbie
came back into camp and made no comment about the change in the sleeping
arrangements. "Naucht bu' wolves," he said, seeking out Nathaniel's
gaze for a long moment. "They've found easier prey in yon beaver pond, and
wilma bother us this night." But he spent some time building up the fire
before he returned to his blankets.