Dawn on a Distant Shore (11 page)

"There's room
enough for one," said Moncrieff.

"We still got a
chance to get out of here," said Hawkeye. "Although I'll admit it
don't look good." He studied Otter for a long moment. "I have the
feeling she'll let you get away, if she can keep her father out of it. Ain't
that so?"

Otter nodded.
"Hen'en." Yes.

Hawkeye cast a glance
out the window. In Kahnyen'kehâka he said, "Listen to me. If it comes to
that, you slip away as soon as it's safe, and hightail it for Hidden
Wolf." He lowered his voice. "Send Runs-from-Bears back here with
gold."

Otter blinked his
understanding.

In a rush, Hawkeye's
voice lowered to a harsh whisper. "Tell Bears to stay clear of this Scotsman.
He don't need to know all our business. You understand why I'm talking to you
this way?"

The boy's face
stilled, and he nodded. Behind him, Robbie's expression was just as thoughtful.
Moncrieff started to speak, and thought better of it.

At the door to the
hidden stairs there was a light scratching and they all turned together.

"Giselle?"
came a hoarse whisper. "I hear you in there. Let me in, sweetings. It's Jonathan."
Quinn had found the hidden door at last, and lost his bluster in the process.

"Giselle,"
he pleaded.

As if she had heard
him call, Giselle's voice rose up from the front hall. Her playful tone was
gone. She was agitated, out of breath, and coming this way.

Nathaniel flung the
door to the hidden staircase open and grabbed an astounded Quinn by the epaulets
to drag him into the room.

"Wha--" was
all he could get out before Rab tapped him neatly over the ear with his rifle butt.
Otter caught him up as he collapsed onto Giselle's Turkish carpet and tossed him
onto the bed.

"There," he
said. "That's what he wanted anyway."

Giselle was very
close, shouting orders down the stairs. Outside, there were new voices in the garden.

Otter caught
Nathaniel's eye. Wordlessly, Nathaniel held out his rifle and his powder horn,
and Otter took them and climbed into the cubbyhole behind the mirror.

Hawkeye reached in and
pressed Otter's shoulder. "We're putting our trust in you, son. Don't
leave us sitting in that gaol any longer than you can manage."

They were away, closing
the door behind them and down stone steps, Treenie bringing up the rear. As
they reached the bottom, candlelight flooded the stairwell from above just as
the door below began to swing inward.

"Damnation,"
whispered Moncrieff.

"Oh, we ain't
that far, yet," said Hawkeye. "We'll live to fight another day."

Colonel George
Somerville, Viscount Bainbridge, lieutenant governor of Lower Canada, stood in
the doorway before them in a circle of lantern light. Pink George, as he was
known to his men and most of Montréal. He was in a muddy traveling cloak, his
thin face blotched with the cold, his eyes sparkling some deep satisfaction. At
his back was a whole unit of redcoats, bayonets at the ready.

A soft sound of
surprise from Giselle, above them.
Caught out at last
, Nathaniel thought.
And us with her
. If it weren't for Elizabeth waiting for him, he might
have found some humor in that.

"Gentlemen."
The lieutenant governor peered at them over the top of his spectacles, his chin
bedded on his chest.

Treenie growled, her
hackles rising.

Somerville raised a
brow. "Sergeant Jones," he said, one corner of his mouth jerking downward.
"Take the dog outside and shoot it. As for the rest of you, I hope you
enjoyed my daughter's little dinner party. There won't be another."

"Well, now,"
said Curiosity, bending over Daniel to peer into his face. "I'd say this boy's
eyes'll settle down to green any day." The baby waved his fist at her
nose, and she laughed.

"Not hazel?"
Elizabeth asked, regarding Many-Doves' son in the nest on her lap. Almost four
months old and a solid brick of a child, Blue-Jay smiled up at her. He had his parents'
black eyes, the same deep color as the halo of hair that stood out all over his
head.

"No, ma'am,"
said Curiosity, flipping Daniel neatly as she wrapped him in flannel.
"Green, like new leaves on the sugar maple. And just as sweet, ain't that
so, baby?"

From the other room
came his sister's wail, as if this news did not suit her in the least. Elizabeth
started up from the rocking chair, but Curiosity stopped her with a look, and
dropped Daniel in her lap.

"You stay
put," she said. "You got a cabin full of women here to help out,
after all. I expect between us we'll see to Miss Lily."

"You needn't
coddle me, you know," Elizabeth called. But Curiosity simply flapped her
hand behind her as she left the bedroom.

Daniel blinked up at
her and cooed, all earnest concentration. Elizabeth answered in kind, and he
waved his arms enthusiastically, settling in for a good long talk. Of course Curiosity
was right: his eyes would be green, just as Mathilde's would be blue.
"Blue as the flaglily in May," Curiosity had declared, and thus she
had become Lily to one and all. Elizabeth's own solemn gray and Nathaniel's
hazel had somehow gotten lost between the two children, but their father was
stamped on each of them nonetheless, from the curve of their earlobes to the
shape of their toenails. Of herself Elizabeth saw very little in the babies,
with the exception of the curls that framed their faces.

Elizabeth yelped as Blue-Jay
tugged hard at her plait. Daniel was examining his own hands, as if to ask them
how such a task might be undertaken. In the other room Lily had settled down,
probably strapped into a cradleboard on Falling-Day's back, where all of the
babies seemed most content. Elizabeth studied the faces before her and blew
softly to ruffle their hair, earning crows of delight from both of them.

Nathaniel had not yet
seen the twins smile. He had not seen them since they were three days old.

It was against the
rule she had set for herself, but Elizabeth could not help counting the days
since he had started north. Soon it would be eight weeks --far too long, much
longer than he had anticipated. There was no way to know if he was on the road
home, or had ever arrived in Montréal, but her faith in his ability to do what
must be done was firm, just as he trusted her to see to their children's
welfare. And still, with every passing day she grew more unsettled, and
recently she had begun to dream.

The babies slept now
for longer periods in the night, and Elizabeth slept, too. She dreamt of snow.
The Windigo of the endless forests visited her dreams, their pelts crackling white,
stone men with eyes like wet raspberries. In her dreams there was always a
winding ice road that gleamed silver and black, but no trace of Nathaniel. And
that terrified her most of all.

Blue-Jay began to
squirm, and she shook herself out of the daydream. He was working his face into
the thoughtful expression that meant he wanted feeding. Elizabeth would have
put him to her own breast--just as Many-Doves sometimes nursed Lily or Daniel
so that Elizabeth could sleep for another hour--but the first real squawk
brought his mother to the door.

He squeaked and
chirped with impatience while she put aside the mending she had in her hands
and settled on the edge of the bed with him.

"You are well
named, my son." Many-Doves spoke Kahnyen'kehâka, as she always did when English
could be avoided. She gathered the boy closer to her and loosened her
overblouse.

The two women sat in
companionable silence for some time, listening to Blue-Jay's contented gulping.
There was the sound of new snow scouring the roof, and outside the thud of an
axe. It reminded Elizabeth that there were still men on Hidden Wolf, although
Falling-Day had banished Liam and Runs-from-Bears to the other cabin so that
the women had complete reign in this one.

Daniel was looking
decidedly sleepy, and Elizabeth shifted him to a more comfortable position, stifling
a yawn of her own.

Doves stroked her son's
cheek thoughtfully. "Runs-from-Bears wants to start north," she said,
seeking out Elizabeth's eye.

"Ah,"
Elizabeth said, relief and fear fluttering together under her blouse.
"What does Falling-Day think?"

"My mother dreams
of the ice road, but there is no sign of our men on it."

In another time, in
the life she once lived, Elizabeth would have been unnerved by this news that
she and Falling-Day were having such similar dreams. But in the past year she
had learned that reason and logic had boundaries.

Many-Doves was
watching her closely.

"When does Bears
want to leave?"

"Soon,"
Doves said. "Perhaps tomorrow."

Just after dawn
Elizabeth woke to the sound of a step on the porch and Falling-Day rising
hastily from her sleeping platform under Hannah's loft. Elizabeth's heart gave
a tremendous leap, and she ran, barefoot, her nightdress streaming behind her,
into the other room.

In the open door stood
Otter, healthy and whole, although his face was drawn and thin. Alone. Elizabeth
pushed past him into the gray early morning, unable and unwilling to believe
what her eyes told her. There was nothing but the March winter waiting for her,
the snow burning cold under her bare feet.

Nathaniel's rifle was
slung across Otter's back. She reached out to take the sling from his shoulder
and he let it go without a word.

She would know it
anywhere, even without the name carved in the stock. Deerkiller. How many times
had she seen it in his hands? She herself had fired it once, and that simple
act had sent her alone into the wilderness on a desperate race. Nathaniel would
no more leave this rifle behind than he would give up his sight or hearing.

Otter was talking to
her, but she could make no sense of it. Her blood was thundering in her ears. Elizabeth
shook her head, forcing herself to focus. She needed to hear him; she wanted to
run away.

He took her by the arm
and drew her into the cabin. "I bring you word from your husband, my brother,"
he said. "Listen to me. He is alive, he is well."

"Grandfather?"
asked Hannah, pulling on Otter's arm. "What of my grandfather?"

"He is well, too,
and sends his greetings."

From the cradle in the
other room came the howling of the twins, and with that Elizabeth found her
voice. "Why are they not here with you? Why do you have Nathaniel's rifle?"
But even without the expression on his face, she could see for herself what
must have happened. "He went to get you out of gaol, you and Hawkeye. It
went wrong, didn't it?"

Otter nodded.

"How long?"

"Somerville
arrested them on the first night of the full moon."

Three weeks. Elizabeth
swallowed hard. Nathaniel had been sitting in the garrison gaol for three
weeks; Hawkeye for much longer.
They are alive
, she reminded herself,
rubbing her cheek on the cold metal of the rifle barrel.
Nathaniel is alive.

Otter began to speak,
but his mother interrupted him.

"First you will
eat," said Falling-Day. "And then you will talk."

While Elizabeth and
Many-Doves went about the business of seeing to the children's needs, Otter submitted
to his mother's care. Falling-Day put a bowl of red corn soup in his hands and
watched him eat until it was empty. Then she stood Otter before the hearth and
stripped him down to the breechclout as if he were a boy of six rather than a well-grown
man of seventeen. Her examination was thorough, less than gentle, and
accompanied by detailed commentary on his behavior. Otter bore it all without
protest, perhaps because he was in pain, or perhaps simply because he was glad
to be home, at any price.

"Perhaps Giselle
Somerville taught him more about women than he was ready to learn," Elizabeth
whispered to Lily as she nursed. The baby wrinkled her forehead in agreement,
her small hand patting Elizabeth's breast as if to comfort her.

Three of Otter's
fingers were badly frostbitten, and Hannah was set to rubbing them with a piece
of flannel until they came howling back to life. But it was his feet that gave Falling-Day
real pause. Liam was sent to fetch Curiosity, and after a long consultation, Runs-from-Bears
sharpened a boning knife and they took off two small toes that were festering badly,
and beyond their combined skills. Through all of this Otter made no sound at
all, although there were beads of perspiration on his upper lip, and his hand shook
when he pulled at Hannah's plaits in an attempt to get her to smile.

Elizabeth knew without
being told how fortunate Otter was. A late blizzard had kept him trapped in a
snow cave for three full days; he was lucky to have survived at all. That he
needed food, and medical care, and sleep after hard days on the trail--these
things she understood completely, and still she struggled with the urge to
shake the story out of him.