The Endless Forest (30 page)

“We’re losing the light,” said Luke and so they went on. Martha resisted the urge for one look back at the cabin and concentrated on keeping up with the others, now that they were in the woods again and the way was growing steeper.

A nightjar called and its mate answered, and Martha’s skin rose in goose bumps all along her spine.

Daniel stood out of sight in the woods for no other reason than to watch Martha Kirby.

The party passed single file on the narrow path, Luke up ahead, Ben at the rear, Ethan in the middle, all of them carrying their rifles cradled and ready. Ben looked up to the spot where Daniel stood out of sight, and for a moment Daniel was sure he had been sensed if not seen. But if Ben knew he was not willing to show himself, he also knew why and was not in a hurry to draw attention to Daniel’s odd behavior.

Because it was odd. He had come right out and made his interest in Martha clear at the dinner table, after all. He had startled himself, speaking up so early when it was clear that Martha was interested but not ready, not yet, to consider him. His own interest, the depth of it, unsettled him. Now Daniel watched Martha, who walked the path through the woods with the easy stride of someone who had grown up on this mountain. Contained within herself, but aware of everything. As she moved away Daniel told himself she could be anyone. Any woman running an errand, a basket on one arm and another on her back, the very last of the sunlight tracing her shape, gilding the curve of her shoulder. The light caught her hair and set the red in it to sparkling.

He had yet to kiss her. There was nothing more between them than some teasing and a few conversations that he remembered word for word. And the fact that some nineteen years ago he had come upon her mother and father coupling in the light of day, in the hour she was conceived, as Lily had reminded him.

When they were gone far enough ahead that he could no longer hear them, Daniel got up and followed.

B
irdie knew she was being unreasonable, but she was out of sorts, though she had tried hard to hide it all day. The little people had all been put to bed—though by the thumping that came from overhead, she was sure they were far from asleep—and she was allowed to stay up, which was a very good thing. On the other hand, it seemed she would never be old enough to go to ice-out at Lake in the Clouds. Today she had asked Da when she might be asked along and he had put his hand on her head and rocked it back and forth.

“Why such a hurry to grow up?”

She tried Lily instead.

“How old do you think I’ll have to be?” she asked. Too late she realized that her sister was likely feeling very low herself. She had missed a lot of ice-out parties and now she was going to miss another one.

“Oh, someday,” she said easily. “When you’re old and gray and you have grandchildren of your own.”

In spite of herself, Birdie had to smile at such an odd idea. She decided she had been shirking the job of keeping Lily occupied and distracted,
except she did seem to be in a better mood. It was right that she was at home, but Birdie did miss the long afternoons together.

“I think you and I are a great deal alike,” Lily said.

“And what am I like?”

Lily looked out the window and studied what she saw there for a moment. “Not easy. Certainly not complaisant. At odds with the world, and always fighting your way forward. Birdie, I am not scolding you. Those are good qualities in a woman who has dreams for herself. I wish the same for my daughter, though at times I’m sure I’ll wonder what I was thinking.”

Birdie sniffed, mollified. “How do you know it’s a girl?”

The question seemed to catch Lily by surprise. “I’m not sure. It just feels to me as if it must be.”

“Is it worth not going to the ice-out party?”

“I think so,” Lily said. “The ice-out party and much more. And you know, I like the idea of some time with just you and Ma and Curiosity.”

“That’s good,” Curiosity said as she came into the parlor. “’Cause that’s just what I had in mind.”

Curiosity said, “I been thinking about this all day, just the four of us. Here’s your mama with the tea.”

“Gingerbread,” Birdie breathed happily. “Oh, gingerbread.”

“We got to have a little party of our own, don’t we?” Curiosity leaned over and tugged on Birdie’s plait.

It took a moment to pass the teacups and plates, and then there was silence while proper attention was paid to the food. Birdie looked through her mother’s drawing exercises while she ate, and held each one up to make a comment or ask a question.

“You see,” Elizabeth said to her. “I am struggling, but I think I grasp the concept. Lily is a good teacher.”

Lily swallowed and said, “Ma, you’re the teacher. You and Daniel. I don’t have the patience.”

“You’re patient when you’re drawing,” Birdie said. “You concentrate so hard I think you wouldn’t notice if the roof fell in.”

“That’s different,” Curiosity said. “That’s Lily’s gift. Handed down from your daddy, Elizabeth.”

The silence that followed was so sharply defined, Elizabeth imagined
she could hear the beat of her own heart. Everyone was looking at her. Birdie with some confusion, Lily with dawning surprise. Curiosity sat, her hands folded in front of her, nothing of fear or hope in her expression. Elizabeth had been waiting many years for Curiosity to raise this subject, but now that it was here she felt a trickle of fear at the back of her throat.

“What?” Birdie said, looking between them. “What?”

Elizabeth took a sip of tea to steady herself, and then she put the cup down on the table.

“Is it time?” She wanted to look away, but she forced herself to hold Curiosity’s gaze.

“I think so,” Curiosity said. “High time.”

“What are you talking about?” Birdie said, her voice rising. “Lily, what are they talking about? Time for what?”

Lily smiled at her. “Curiosity is going to tell us about Gabriel Oak. Isn’t that right, Curiosity?”

“Gabriel Oak?” Birdie’s forehead creased and for a moment she looked so much like her infant self, determined to make sense of the world, that Elizabeth’s heart ached. The story Curiosity wanted to tell them—needed to tell them—was one Birdie might not understand fully, but it was right that she was here. The four of them, together.

Elizabeth wondered if Curiosity’s choice of time and place had mostly to do with Lily, whose discontent over Daniel’s growing attachment to Martha Kirby she didn’t even attempt to hide. Her concern for her twin was such that she might do more harm than good, though she could not see that, just now. Why Gabriel Oak should be relevant was not at all clear, but Elizabeth had a strong feeling about this. Curiosity’s stories were carefully timed.

She cleared her throat. “Birdie, you must let Curiosity talk without interruption. She is going to tell us the story of why my mother left Paradise and went to England.”

“What does that have to do with Gabriel Oak?” Birdie said.

“Everything,” Curiosity said.

“Do you know this story already, Ma?” Birdie was looking at her sharply, her tone both surprised and offended at the idea that she had not been told something of such clear value.

“I think I do,” Elizabeth said. “Over the years, I think I have worked it out for myself. But I don’t know any of the details. We must let Curiosity tell us.”

C
uriosity began:

Back then things was a lot different.

Only a few families, and the wood come right down to the marsh in most places. In those days the Mohawk was still strong and the other tribes too, hadn’t none of them give up the fight. The only reason the settlement survived at all was Hawkeye. He was on good terms with the Mohawk and just about everybody else, except the Huron and they didn’t come this far south. Hawkeye had him a reputation. Those that didn’t like him were sore fearful of making him angry, and so the tribes made a circle around this little village, for a few years at least.

You know the first thing I saw, when we came into Paradise? It was your man, Elizabeth. Three years old, and so full of life, you had to smile just to see that boy. We come out of the woods—the forest came all the way down to where the trading post stands today, back then, oh, yes. We come out of the woods and there was Half Moon shining in the sun, bright enough to make your eyes water. Somebody was chopping wood, and there was birdsong all around, and the air smelled so good you
would want to eat it. To all that came the sound of a little child laughing. You know that laugh the little ones got, so full and deep you got no choice but to laugh along with ’em? And there was Nathaniel rough-housing with Maddie. With your mama, Elizabeth. They were playing some game with pinecones and did she have that boy wound up?

She was the prettiest thing I ever saw, was Maddie. Wasn’t much to her, you understand. Built small, but oh she was tough. She could work all day in the field and never once slack off. I never heard her complain. That morning she had just washed her hair and left it free to dry, and it floated around her like a cloud, as if those curls had someplace else to be. I can see her still when I close my eyes, how she smiled at us so open and free, and she come and took my hands in both of hers. She looked me in the eye, the way she did when she had an idea somebody needed help. Real direct. Not nosy, you understand. Not forward. She had the clearest eyes and ways of looking, I have never seen the like since. And she said how happy she was to see us but most especially me, because there wan’t any other woman her age to talk to.

You cain’t know what a shock that was. A white woman talking to me like that, like I was just the same as her. I am ashamed to say that I thought at first maybe it was a joke. Me and Leo talked it through for a long time, trying to understand how things could be so different here than they was back in Pennsylvania.

The judge came along just then. I say the judge because I cain’t think of him no other way, but back then he was just Mr. Middleton. Alfred. He cut a nice figure as a younger man, not big but right nimble, and with a fine head of fair hair and a good smile. He was proud to show us the house he built for his bride, for your ma, Elizabeth. I could show you just where it stood if we was to walk down to the lake together. There was the main cabin, three rooms—which let me tell you, was a palace back then—and windows with glass in them just about wherever you looked. There was a smaller cabin out back; the judge give that to me and Leo. All the years after, whenever I got so mad at the man I was ready to walk off, I remembered what it was like, that day.

I don’t know can you imagine it. Just a week before we was slaves, and that day we had a place to call our own. Where nobody could come in without knocking, and we could sit quiet in the evening, talking or studying. I set myself to learning to read just as soon as we got settled in, and Maddie helped me. Then when I had the trick of it, I taught Leo.

I know, I am wandering all around this story like a lost calf. Ever since you come to Paradise I know you been wondering why I ain’t ever told you about that first year. I kept it back too long, and now I ain’t sure how to go about the telling of it.

I will say something you know already about your mama. Maddie was the sweetest, most loving soul the good Lord ever put on this earth, and hardworking? She hardly slept, from what I could tell. She could be sharp when it was called for, but never spiteful. Many times I heard her tell the judge that he was acting in a way that wasn’t proper, but she said it so soft and sure not even Alfred Middleton could take offense. She say, Alfred, it ain’t right to take advantage of the trappers who don’t speak English. And he say, Maddie, of course you are right. They may figure it out one day and take their furs elsewhere. And she would sigh and shake her head, like you do sometimes yourself, Elizabeth, when you frustrated or disappointed.

The judge just could not see Maddie for the woman she was. He loved her to distraction, but he never did understand her. If she asked something solid of him, soap from Johnstown or a paper of pins, he jumped right up and made sure she had it. But there were other things she needed and she couldn’t ask for, and truth be tolt, those things she wanted, he didn’t have to give. He wan’t the man she wanted him to be.