The Endless Forest (36 page)

“Fine and good,” said her good-sister Hannah. “But what of the fairy tree?”

“I’ve had my turn,” Jennet said. “What of Susanna?”

All heads turned to the young woman who sat beside Blue-Jay with her hands folded in her lap. She had a pretty smile, but she seemed reluctant. Martha could understand that very well. It had just occurred to her that she might be called on too.

“I’ve got another idea,” said Susanna. “I will sing for thee.”

Later Martha would remember the singing as her favorite part of the
evening. It started slowly, but then one song led to another and everyone joined in. Sometimes Hannah or Susanna sang harmony, and sometimes all voices fell away to leave someone singing alone for a moment.

Beside her Daniel was as enthusiastic as all the rest of them. He had a steady, strong baritone that could be heard clearly among the other voices. It pleased Martha greatly, and it came to her that she had missed this kind of music. In the city there had been recitals and concerts and dozens of young ladies eager to show off their skills at the pianoforte, but rarely had anyone sung like this. Just for the joy of it.

She had no intention of singing herself, though she had a good voice. An excellent voice, her music teacher had told her more than once, and how sad that she chose not to use it. While other young ladies got up to sing after dinner, Martha only listened politely and tried not to notice the dropped notes and sour turns.

Jemima had a good voice, and so Martha preferred to pretend that she did not.

And then suddenly it was over. Susanna was directing people to beds and pallets, and Gabriel and Annie were at the door, saying good night. Runs-from-Bears and the visitors from Good Pasture had already gone.

“You’ll be comfortable here,” Daniel was saying.

Martha couldn’t hide her surprise. “You’re leaving?”

“It’s the hayloft or the road for me,” he said, smiling. “I prefer my own bed, and it’s not so far.”

For a moment she wasn’t sure what to say. The thought foremost in her mind—that she didn’t want him to go—that could not be spoken aloud. Or the next thought, that she would rather go back to her own little house than stay here without him—

“I’m away home,” said John Mayfair. “I can see Martha back to the village, if she’d rather go.”

There was a silence that lasted two heartbeats. In that time Martha saw something come over Daniel’s face, irritation followed by—jealousy? That seemed unlikely, but whatever was there, at least John understood. He stepped back. “But then I have to go now, and that may not suit thee—”

Many pairs of eyes were on Martha as John Mayfair took his leave.

Then Hannah said, “You could just mark your territory the way the wolves do, brother.”

There was a burp of laughter that swelled into something much bigger.
Daniel laughed too, embarrassed now, which suited him far better than surly jealousy.

“I can take you into the village,” Daniel said. “We have to talk about school on Monday; we could get that out of the way.”

“It’ll be dawn before you get back to the strawberry fields,” Ben said.

“I’m a good walker,” Martha said, and with that the matter was settled.

He knew the mountain. He knew every trail on the mountain, and a dozen ways to get from Lake in the Clouds to his own homestead. Even going the fastest way it would take close to an hour to get Martha to her own front door, and by that time it would be light enough that somebody would see them. The sensible thing would be to take the most direct route, along the ridge and down.

Daniel turned the opposite direction, and within a couple minutes they were deep in the forest.

Martha went along willingly enough, yawning now and then until they had worked up a good pace. Twenty minutes of hard walking without hesitating; more proof that she was at home here. That she belonged.

He stopped to check on her. It was very dark, but Daniel could still see the shape of Martha’s face quite clearly, and it was tilted up toward him.

“You worried about getting lost?”

“Of course not,” she said. Not in a talkative mood, probably regretting passing up the warm spot in front of Susanna’s hearth.

“Did you like the party?”

She glanced up, surprised or maybe just plain suspicious that he would be making small talk right here and now. Daniel didn’t understand it himself.

“Yes,” she said. “I did. Thank you.” And: “Where exactly are we? For all I know I could be walking over a cliff face.” Her tone was pricklish.

He said, “I’ve got that feeling myself.”

Another hour, at least, and Martha’s energy began to flag. It would be light soon and that would mean a whole twenty-four hours without real
sleep. She had no regrets, she told herself. Not even this long hike through the forest in the dead of night.

When the trail got steep and muddy Daniel reached back to take her hand. They might have been sister and brother, Martha thought as he led her along the trail. His hand was hard and warm and his grip no-nonsense, and wasn’t she a foolish twit for wanting something else? What exactly was she hoping for? He had already kissed her—kissed her twice—and that was supposed to be enough for any girl of good family. More than enough. The thing was, and she could admit this to herself at least, that she had once thought she didn’t like kissing. Teddy’s kisses hadn’t suited her at all, dry and rough and hard, but Daniel went about it in a whole different way.

He was saying “Watch your step,” but too late, she had already lost her footing. He caught her up before she could hit the ground and set her back on her feet.

“We seem to do this a lot,” he said. He was smiling; she could hear it.

“I am normally quite graceful.” And, “What I mean is, I usually am able to stay on my feet.”

“I knock you off balance.”

She stiffened, but managed to count to three. “If you prefer to think of it that way.”

That made him laugh out loud.

She scowled to herself. “Where are we now?”

He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her to face away from himself. “North.” Another gentle push. “West.” And another, so that she was directly facing him. “South.”

Martha realized it was light enough now to see his shape. “Five minutes at this pace and we’re at the strawberry fields. Or that way”—he turned—“and we’ll be in the village in twenty. But it’s steep.”

“It’s almost a sheer drop,” Martha said. “I grew up on this mountain too, remember. I thought you wanted to see the sunrise. Which way is that?”

“East,” he said, and her hand came up of its own volition and pushed him.

“All right.” He laughed. “All right. That way.”

“You said that was the trail to the strawberry fields. Or is it Eagle Rock you’re thinking of?”

—

Daniel saw the idea come to her, too late.

Of course she would jump to the conclusion that he was taking her to Eagle Rock. He cursed himself for his lack of foresight because he was very sure of one thing: He would not take Martha Kirby there. Not now, not ever, if he could help it. Eagle Rock would always make him think of Jemima on a hot summer’s day when he and Lily had been Birdie’s age. Jemima with her clothes pulled open and splotches of color on her exposed breasts, and the smell of sex on her, as pungent as tar. Liam Kirby had slipped away, but Daniel had seen him too, the copper flash of his hair in the sun. His daughter’s hair was a deeper color, but it flashed too when the sun touched it.

She took a step back as if she feared him suddenly.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Daniel said. “Nothing at all. But there’s not time enough to get to Eagle Rock.”

He leaned forward and kissed her, a fleeting kiss meant to reassure, but the curve of her lower lip fit exactly between his, and what was there to do but kiss her properly? Pull her up against him and kiss her like he meant it. Because he did. God help him, he was completely besotted.

For the smallest part of a second she was stiff, and then she relaxed against him and a little sound came up out of her throat, surprise and pleasure. Whatever she had been doing with that idiot of a fiancé, this was new to her, and she liked being kissed as much as Daniel liked kissing her.

When he let her go they were both gasping. She pressed the fingers of one hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with surprise, but nothing of unhappiness there. The beginning of a smile, more like.

“The sunrise from my front porch,” he said. “We can still get there in time if we hurry.”

Now she was smiling, but still trying to hide it. She managed a nod. Daniel took her hand and set off for home.

In the first faint wash of light they passed through stands of beech and ash, witch hobble and ferns just beginning to curl up out of the earth, and came then to the stream that separated the woods from the meadow.
Daniel crossed it in three steps almost without looking, and Martha followed his path from rock to rock, her skirts firmly in hand. She was determined to stay on her feet. Such focused attention had another benefit: She had no time to ask questions of herself, or answer them either.

The meadow was just coming to life, clumps of new-growth grass rising up to remind her of a badly shaved chin. Somewhere nearby a frog was singing to itself. Among the tumble of rocks thick with moss, she caught sight of the first trillium and Solomon’s seal shoots, violets and jack-in-the-pulpit. In a matter of days the woods and fields would be full of spring flowers, and there would be livestock grazing in the strawberry fields, the Bonners’ horses and Curiosity’s goats and cows. One of Curiosity’s grandsons would have the job of driving them back and forth from pasture to town and watching the flock during the day. You couldn’t leave animals on the mountain unattended unless you meant to provide for every wildcat, bear, and wolf. Martha realized that she was babbling to herself, and that she was so nervous—so excited—that her hands were trembling.

“Here,” Daniel said. Martha looked up and realized they had come to his place. A small homestead like an island in the meadow. Not made of split logs but framed and shingled, a house that would not look out of place in Johnstown. There was a covered porch along the side that faced the valley. “No dogs?” The Bonners always had dogs, smart and well trained.

“Bounder died,” Daniel said. “The day of the flood I buried him under that beech sapling. I’ll be looking for a pup soon.” He opened the door and stood aside to let her pass, but Martha pretended she didn’t see. She sat down quite deliberately in one of the two chairs on the porch. He laughed softly and went in without her.

“We can’t see the sunrise from inside,” she called.

He was back in a moment with an armful of blankets.

“It’s cold sitting still. Take a couple of these.”

And so they sat, side by side, wrapped in blankets and watched the sun’s light first seep and then pour over the horizon, bringing color back into the world. Shades of gray gave way to every kind of green. The moon, still visible, rested on the long spine of the mountain called Walking Wolf.

“It’s so—pretty is too small a word,” Martha said. “I don’t think there are words to describe this.”

He smiled at her. There were lines at the corners of his eyes, the green of the forest in high summer. His hair was still a shambles, determined to curl though it lacked any length. He had his mother’s hair and much of her expression, but otherwise he was Nathaniel Bonner’s son through and through. Not just his face and build, but the very way he held himself when he was at rest. He was the picture of good health, but for the left arm in its sling, tight against his chest.

She said, “Are you in pain?”

It wasn’t a subject she had meant to raise, but the question was there between them and couldn’t be ignored. He looked away for a moment and then back. The muscles along the line of his jaw clenched and then relaxed.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It was a rude question.”

“Not rude,” he said. “Took me by surprise, though. My mind was someplace else entirely.” He leaned forward until their noses were almost touching. “Just about right here.”

He was smiling. A slow smile, but cheeky.

“You are very sure of yourself. Or me.”

“Is that so?” His breath touched her face. He had been chewing on something, some herb that made his breath sweet. “You saying I’m mistaken about what’s happening between us two?”

Martha considered herself braver than most girls her age, but now her hands were trembling so that she had to fold them together. This was the last thing she expected when she came home to Paradise. It had happened so fast, but there was no denying it.

And he smelled so good. He smelled of evergreen and wood smoke and herbs, and of something else; maybe it was only himself, his own smell.

“That what you’re saying?”

“No—”

He leaned forward just that last inch, inclined his head, and caught her mouth before she could finish her thought. It was a tentative kiss, one that came with a question. She let herself be drawn in and he broke away for the smallest moment to look at her, his composure intact, but his breath coming faster.

Martha reached out and touched his hand with her own and in response he brought it up to cradle her head and pull her back to him. Then everything was gone but the kiss, deep and true. His tongue
touched hers and a shudder ran down her spine. Martha heard herself make a sound and she saw that it had pleased him. He smiled against her mouth and then drew her back down into the kiss.

At some point—when she couldn’t say—that same hand had come around to cup her throat and then it moved to her shoulder. Fingers trailed down, tracing the curve of her breast. She caught it and held herself away.

He raised a brow.

“What
is
happening between us?” It came out in a coarse whisper.

The question distracted him enough to make him sit back. It was full light now and as far as she could see, trees were lit up like candles at the first touch of the sun. Her heart was pounding, for fear of what he was going to say.

He leaned forward and touched his forehead to hers.

“Why don’t we just get married?”