The Vanishing Point (29 page)

***

She awoke to discover her arms were empty. Gabriel sat on the edge of the bed and held little Daniel, looking down at him while the baby stared up with his blue eyes. Something moved over Gabriel's face. He was utterly absorbed in his examination of the child, concentrating on him as though Hannah were no longer there.

"What are you doing?" The words slipped from her throat in a panicked gush. What was that look he was giving her son?

"His hair will be red." Gabriel spoke in a slow, perplexed voice.

It was true—shrill red fuzz already covered Daniel's head.

Hannah edged closer. "He takes after me." Without another word, she wrested the baby from him.

Not budging from his perch on the bed, Gabriel watched her
sink into the covers with Daniel. The look in his eyes, the graves by the river. As though sensing her fear, the baby cried. Bracing herself, she met Gabriel's eyes, staring him down. He glanced away and ran his hand over his face.

***

The following morning, after Gabriel had left to check his traps, Hannah crawled out of bed. She poured the creek water he had fetched into the kettle and heated it over the fire. With her last precious sliver of soap, she lathered her body and hair. Father said bathing in winter was courting death, but she couldn't bear the smell of her body any longer. She stank like a sickbed. Shivering over the wash pan, she scrubbed herself with a cloth, then rinsed out her soapy hair. All the while, Daniel lay nestled in her bed. She wouldn't think of putting him in that unlucky cradle.

After drying herself, she put on a clean shift and combed out her hair in front of the fire. When Daniel cried, she nursed him in the chair with the carved backrest, which she had never sat in before. She had never seen Gabriel using the chair either. He had told her it had been his father's chair, the master's chair, where no one else was allowed to sit. The backrest made nursing more comfortable. Her milk flowed easily now, her son's appetite summoning nourishment from her body. Yes, he would live. Stroking the red fuzz on his head, she blinked away tears. She didn't have the luxury of fear anymore. She would have to be strong, stronger than she had ever been.

When he was fed and sated, she tucked him back into the bed, then went to the chest of drawers. The top drawer contained her green cotton dress. It was more of a summer dress, from the weight of the fabric, but her old skirt and bodice had worn down to rags. Although her belly had shrunk back since the birth, there was a slackness in her abdomen that hadn't been there before. She was half afraid she wouldn't fit inside her new dress. The fabric was tight around her ribcage and belly, tighter still around her swollen breasts, but the snugness held her up, pulled her loose flesh together to fortify her.

It seemed impossible that she had once imagined dancing with Gabriel in this dress. Sweeping Daniel in her arms, she turned and swirled with him, her strong healthy boy. She would give her life to ensure that he outlived her and Gabriel both.

Having used all the water in the house for washing, she melted clean snow in the kettle and let it cool. Taking out the Book of Common Prayer, she laid it open on the table.

"I baptize thee in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen." She dipped her finger in the tepid water and traced a cross on his forehead. She prayed that God would smile upon her child. His soul was innocent and unstained, even if his parents were wretched and lost.

A
FTER THE ENDLESS
Bible reading, prayers, and hymns, and after the feast of wild turkey stuffed with apples and walnuts, Peter and Finn pushed the benches against the walls. James and Michael folded the trestle table. Once the floor was cleared, Jack played a jig on his wooden whistle with Tom accompanying him on the spoons, slapping them against his thigh. Reclining in his chair, Nathan smiled expansively and raised his hand as though in benediction. "Ah, let there be music. Let there be joy."

In recent weeks, he had recovered his health and high spirits. It seemed that the prospect of future grandchildren had aided his recovery. May tried not to blush when he peered hopefully at her waistline.

"I never imagined such merriment, sir," she said, pouring him another mug of cider.

The Irishmen performed the dances of their country, showing off their fancy footwork. Nathan clapped in rhythm, as did May, seated beside Gabriel, who did not clap along. His gaze was heavy-lidded. It appeared he had been forced to watch this spectacle too often. She wished she knew what to make of his moods. For about three weeks he had been happy and affectionate, doting on her, but lately he had gone sullen. Still, he had given her a pair of doeskin slippers, soft as butter on her feet. She tried to catch his eye and make him smile, but his gloom was too much for her to bear on this of all days. So she sidled over to Adele.

The girl fingered May's sleeve, marveling over the delicate embroidery. For Christmas, May had decided to wear her wedding gown, the finest thing she possessed. Adele had threaded green ribbons in her hair and curled her locks with iron tongs. The girl wore a band of dark gold velvet around her throat. May had found the velvet ribbon in her trunk. No doubt Hannah had tucked it in as a surprise, but the color suited Adele better. Instead of her usual workaday smock, Adele wore May's russet Sunday gown from home. They had taken in the seams and shortened the hem. The dress transformed Adele from a child to a young woman, the fitted bodice showing off her slenderness. Adele kept looking down, smoothing the skirt with her hands. May imagined how the full skirt would swirl out if Adele allowed one of the men to give her a turn around the floor.

"Do you dance?" she asked.

Adele shook her head.

Nathan laughed. "In this house only the men have ever danced. Adele refused every invitation."

The girl did not smile.

May touched her hand protectively. "Leave her in peace, sir." She whispered in Adele's ear. "But the music is cheerful, do you not think?"

She clapped her hands to the thunder of dancing feet. It was intoxicating to watch the men leap so high that their heads nearly touched the ceiling. They, too, were decked out in their best—Nathan had given them their new clothes for the coming year. She and Adele had sat up late stitching the breeches and shirts. Of all the dancers, James was the most graceful and jumped the highest. His eyes kept meeting May's. She had to blink and look down to her lap lest she give herself away.

Glowing with exertion, he stepped forward and bowed. "Will you dance, Mistress Washbrook?"

Did he presume too much? She turned to her husband. "Mayhap Master Gabriel wishes to claim the first dance."

Before the boy could protest, she pulled him to his feet. They had a turn around the floor, her steps weightless in the new slippers, but Gabriel dragged his feet like an old gelding. Had no one ever taught him to dance a simple reel? "This way," she tried to instruct him, but it was hopeless. When the song ended, he threw himself back on the bench and looked as miserable as ever. Did he expect her to placate him by forgoing the dance altogether? They had little enough festivity in this godforsaken place. She certainly wasn't going to allow him to spoil her Christmas.

When in a pleasant temper, Gabriel could be so sweet, and as long as he remained sweet, she enjoyed giving him pleasure. It was a comfort, after all, to share a bed with another body, to stroke his smooth chest in the dark, feel his heart beneath her hand. But her husband did not move her the way James did. If she wanted to conceive a child, she needed a lover who could stir her passion to its depths. A man and not a boy. She would not allow herself the humiliation of a barren marriage.

Her duty to her husband put behind her, she let James take her hand. Tom played a fast tune. The room blurred as James swung her in his arms until she was weak with laughter. How she longed for him. In dark midwinter with snow on the ground, it was difficult to find a place for their trysts. Lately they met in the tobacco barn. Afraid that someone might burst in, they had taken their privacy by lying together in an empty hogshead. Dancing with him, she struggled not to kiss him with her cider-sweet mouth.

Beaming at them both, Nathan clapped to the tune, which went faster and faster until she was too dizzy to stand. James's arm around her was the only thing that kept her upright as she panted.

"Not fair to keep the lady to yourself." Patrick took her hands, his eyes traveling over her bosom. In the wild dance, she had lost her neckcloth. While they danced to a slower tune, he gripped her too tightly, but she was too happy to care. Then Peter cut in. Since she liked him better than Patrick, she smiled and watched the color spread over his cheeks.

"Happy Christmas, Mistress Washbrook," he stammered. Laughing, she looked at Nathan. "Do you wish to put a stop to this, sir?"

"Christmas only comes once a year," he replied, raising his cider mug. "For one night, let us be merry."

After she had danced with Peter, James claimed her again. He turned her around and around. As they spun, the faces of those watching seemed curiously disembodied. Nathan grinned and drank his cider. Adele gazed at her with solemn eyes. Then Finn led her in a country jig. Clumsier than his brother James, he kept stepping on her feet. She danced with James, Peter, and Michael in turn until her hair came loose from its ribbons and combs. When Patrick tried to cut in, she pulled away and called for James.

She danced with all the men except the musicians and Nathan, who shook his head and sighed about his age. The time had come to give her attention to Gabriel again, see if she could coax him out of his sulk, but his spot on the bench was empty. He was nowhere to be seen.

***

Head ducked down to shield his stung face from the wind, Gabriel labored uphill, his dogs racing around him. The declining sun cast a bloody shimmer on the snow. With each step, he sank to his knees. No one had seen him slipping out of the house, least of all his wife. That was the measure of how insignificant he had become. He had not been able to stomach another second of watching her dance with the men, with her head thrown back in delight, face and bosom flushed. Dancing in the slippers he had made her himself. If he confronted May, she would merely fix him with her big blue eyes, smile her false smile, and tell him not to worry his head about a thing.

He wasn't man enough for her. His father had always told him he wasn't man enough. James, Father's favored one, had stepped in to take his place. He hated his father for the way he had sat there and cheered her on while she floated in James's arms. It wouldn't surprise him if they had Father's blessing.

He was nothing, nothing. Neither his father nor his wife would deign to treat him as anything more than the muck beneath their feet.

Stopping to catch his breath, he watched Rufus, the top dog, wrestle one of the younger dogs into submission. Each animal fought for its position in the pack, and so it was, too, with men and women. James had bested him. Rather than be at the bottom, he preferred to break away from them all, become the lone wolf. He pushed onward, determined to reach the top of the hill, the stand of poison ivy, glittering with frost. The little clearing with the beech tree at its edge where it had happened, where James had propped May against the tree and taken her standing up, as if rogering some harlot. Shaking with rage and cold, Gabriel unsheathed the knife from his belt. The last rays of sun glanced off the blade as he drove it home.

Cast out of his home on Christmas Day. They had robbed him of his bachelorhood, his innocence, his wife, but they wouldn't take these woods away from him. They would not dare to sully his last refuge. He carved the letters of his name into the bark to prove that he still existed.
Gabriel.
He would mark this place, claim it as his own, his lawful inheritance. The trees would remain long after Father passed on, his name engraved on them. The Gabriel woods. The forest would remember him even if everyone else dismissed him.

The New Year brought a blizzard and a snap of deep cold. Midwinter was the worst time for tempers, all eleven of them cramped together, the servants' quarters having no hearth. Some nights the Irishmen slept body to body in the attic, where they at least had the heat from the chimney. Adele slept on a pallet near the fire.

On Sunday morning, everyone crowded around the table for morning prayers. Though Adele and the Irishmen were Catholic, Nathan would tolerate no papist nonsense. Everyone must sit
with clasped hands while he read from the Bible and the Book of Common Prayer.

The Christmas festivities already seemed like a distant memory. On this cold January morning, May could see her breath inside the house. She wore her dress of blue worsted wool, two underskirts, her scratchy wool stockings, a neckcloth with a woolen shawl over it, and a linen cap. Though she had chosen her clothes for reasons of warmth rather than modesty, she imagined she must look every inch the sober Puritan goodwife.

Adele squeezed onto the bench. Because she was from the Sugar Isles, winters were particularly hard on her. While the Irishmen complained of the heat in summer, Adele shivered through the cold months, teeth rattling, as though the chill would do her in. She wore the Sunday dress May had given her, with two shawls wrapped around her.

May struggled not to doze as Nathan read a long passage from Proverbs.

As snow in summer and rain in harvest, so honor is not fitting for a fool.

Like a flitting sparrow, like a flying swallow, so a curse without cause shall not alight.

A whip for the horse, a bridle for the donkey, and a rod for the fool's back.

Head bowed, May made herself stay awake by thinking about spring, when she could plant the seeds Hannah had given her. Her attention wandered down the table to James. Their eyes met for an instant before she lowered her gaze to her clasped hands, her work-worn fingers with the dull gold wedding ring.