Into the Wilderness (11 page)

"Why
is that?"

She
stood and pulled her cloak more tightly around her. "Because I think I
shall be going back to England."

Nathaniel
looked up at her from his perch on the stump. "Why is that?" he asked
again.

"Because,"
Elizabeth said. "Because I will not be bullied into a marriage I want no
part of. I may as well go back, at least I know what to expect there."

"Is
it just this marriage you want no part of?" Nathaniel said, "or are
you set against marriage altogether?"

"I
don't see what difference that makes," Elizabeth whispered. And then:
"Marriage would mean that other things—other things which are important to
me—would no longer be possible," she said. "Married women have no
control over their lives."

Nathaniel
thought of pointing out to her that she had little control over her life,
although she was not married, in spite of her money, but he stopped himself.
Instead, he stood abruptly. "Let's go back," he said. "It's too
cold for both of us."

He
waited until Elizabeth had started down the path and then followed her. She
walked firmly, taking quick but delicately placed steps; her back was straight.
There was more about her to admire than he dared admit to himself He wondered
where things would go from here: she might not have any interest in Richard
Todd, but her high color, her agitation, the way she spoke and looked at him,
made him think that she was not as committed to a chaste life as she thought
she was.

At
the slope of the riverbed Nathaniel took the lead and waited on the other side.
He watched while Elizabeth stepped carefully over the slippery wooden logs
which served as a makeshift bridge. She started up the bank, holding her skirts
up high. She was almost to the path when she lost her balance and began to
slip.

Nathaniel
leaned forward and caught her smoothly, his hands just above her elbows. He
steadied her, and then pulled her gently up the bank. When they were on even
ground, he released her, but he stayed where he was, with his head bowed over
hers. They were so close that his hair brushed against her hood.

Elizabeth
looked down at her feet. She wondered, confused, why she should be so
disappointed that he had let her go. There was something strange happening to
her, something completely unexpected, something tremendously exciting. She had
thought herself immune to these feelings, and now she found that she was wrong.

"I
have a question for you."

"Yes,
Mr. Bonner?" She did not raise her head.

"Will
you please say my name?" he said with an intensity which caused gooseflesh
to rise on her arms.

She
hesitated. "Nathaniel."

"Look
at me and say my name."

Elizabeth
looked up slowly.

Nathaniel
saw in her face an overwhelming confusion. He saw that she had never stood like
this with a man, that she had never imagined doing so, and that she was
flustered and even a bit frightened, but not unhappy to be here with him.

"What
did you want to ask me?"

"How
old are you?"

Elizabeth
blinked. "Twenty—nine."

"You've
never been kissed, have you?" The white cloud of his breath reached out to
touch her face. His hands jerked at his sides but he kept them where they were.
Now she would tell him to mind his own business, and he could put this woman
out of his head.

"Why?"
said Elizabeth, raising her eyes to his with a critical but composed look.
"Do you intend to kiss me?"

Nathaniel
pulled up abruptly and laughed. "The thought crossed my mind."

Her
eyes narrowed.

"
Why
do you want to kiss me?"

"Well,"
Nathaniel said, inclining his head.

"You
seem set on going back to England, and the Mahicans say that you should never
return from a journey the same person.

"How
very thoughtful of you," she said dryly. "How
benevolent
. But please, do not discommode yourself on my
account." She began to turn away, but Nathaniel caught her by the upper
arm.

"Now
I for one hope you don't rush off." he said. "But I want to kiss you,
either way.

"Do
you?" she said tersely. "Perhaps I don't want to kiss you."

Elizabeth
was afraid to look at Nathaniel directly, for how could he not see the doubt on
her face, and the curiosity? And what would that mean, to let him know what she
really thought, how confusing this all was to her? To tell a man what she was
truly thinking—this was a thought more frightening than any kiss could be.

"I
didn't mean to get you mad," Nathaniel said softly.

"What
did you mean to do, then? Have some fun at my expense, but not so much that I
would actually notice that you were making a fool of me?"

"No,"
he said, and Elizabeth was relieved to see all trace of teasing leave his face.
"I'd like to see the man who could make a fool of you. I meant to kiss
you, because I wanted to. But if you don't like the idea—"

She
pulled away from him, her face blazing white. "I never said that. You
don't know what I want." Then, finally, she blushed, all her frustration
and anger pouring out in pools of color which stained her cheeks bluish—gray in
the faint light of the winter moon.

"So,"
Nathaniel said, a hint of his smile returning.

"You
do want to kiss me."

"I
want you to stop talking the matter to death," Elizabeth said irritably.
"If you hadn't noticed, you are embarrassing me. Perhaps you don't know
much about England—I don't know why you should, after all—but let me tell you
that there's a reason I am twenty—nine years of age and unkissed, and that is,
very simply, that well—bred ladies of good family don't let men kiss them. Even
if they want to be kissed, and women do want to be kissed on occasion, you
realize, although we aren't supposed to admit that. To be perfectly honest with
you"—she drew a shaky breath—"I can't claim that anyone has ever
shown an interest in me at home—at least, not enough interest that this
particular issue ever raised its head. Now." She looked up at him with her
mouth firmly set. Her voice had lowered to a hoarse whisper, but still she
looked about the little glen nervously, as if someone might overhear this
strange and unseemly conversation. "You'll forgive me if I question why
you would be thinking of kissing me."

"It's
a wonder," Nathaniel said. "How purely stupid Englishmen can be.
Scairt off from a pretty face—don't you scowl that way, maybe nobody ever
thought to tell you before, but you are pretty—because there's a sharp mind and
a quick tongue to go along with it. Well, I'm made of tougher stuff."

"Why—"
Elizabeth began, sputtering.

"Christ,
Boots, will you stop talking," said Nathaniel, lowering his mouth to hers;
she stepped neatly away.

"I
think not," she said. "Not tonight."

Nathaniel
laughed out loud. "Tomorrow night? The night after?"

"Oh,
no," Elizabeth said, trying half—heartedly to turn away. "I cannot
pardon me, I must get back."

"Back
to England?" he asked, one hand moving down until he clasped mittened
hand. "Or just back to your father?"

Nathaniel
saw Elizabeth jerk in surprise. She looked up at him sharply, her eyes
sparkling. At first he thought she was angry again, then he saw that it was
more complicated than that: she was furious, but not at him. Not at this. This
almost—kiss, the idea of it, had released something in her.

"It
isn't right that my father misrepresented things to me, that he brought me here
under false pretenses, that he made plans for me that I want no part of"

"You
don't want Richard Todd," Nathaniel prompted.

"No,"
Elizabeth said fiercely, and her eyes traveled down to focus on his mouth.
"I don't want Richard Todd. I want my school."

"I
will build you a school."

"I
want to know why you're so angry at my father, what he's done to you."

"I'll
tell you that if you really want to know," he said. "But someplace
warmer."

"I
don't want to get married."

He
raised an eyebrow. "Then I won't marry you."

Her
eyes kept darting over his face, between his mouth and his eyes, and back to
his mouth, the curve of his lip. He saw this, and he knew she was thinking
about kissing him. Nathaniel knew that this was a conflict for her, one not
easily reconciled; she did not want marriage, and in her world—in this
world—there could not be one without the other. This struggle was clear on her
face, and as he expected, training and propriety won out: she was not quite
bold enough to ask for the kisses she wanted. This disappointed him but he was
also relieved. He didn't know how long he could keep his own wants firmly in
hand. And this was not a woman who could be rushed.

"I
want ... I want" She paused and looked down.

"Do
you always get everything you want?" Nathaniel asked.

"No,"
she said. "But I intend to start."

Elizabeth
let Nathaniel turn her back toward the house. Her hands and feet were icy, her
cheeks chafed red with the cold, but she was strangely elated her head rushing
with possibilities. She felt that she could face her father now and that she
must, she would, have her way. She had no intention of mentioning Nathaniel to
him, of what had passed between them, although she recognized, she knew, that
this was not over. She knew that it had just begun, and that it would take her
places she could not yet imagine. It frightened her, how far she had come in
just a few days, but it was also deeply exciting.

A
strange thought came to Elizabeth: if her father would not give her what she
wanted, Nathaniel might help her take it. He was a man such as she had never
known before, and she wondered if he could be a part of her life and not an
obstruction in it. She cast a wondering and speculative sideways glance at him,
and shivered.

* * *

When
Elizabeth stepped into the parlor with Nathaniel close behind her, she drew
back in surprise, and her immediate plans for a private conference with her
father were forgotten.

Most
of the guests were gone. The few who remained were silent, their attention
focused on the judge, who stood before the hearth with Hawkeye and two people
Elizabeth had never before seen: a very old Indian and a young child. The judge
was talking to the Indian, his head bent in a deferential and concerned manner.
Elizabeth could not estimate the Indian's age: his form was still straight, but
there was little flesh on him and a signiricant stoop to the wide shoulders.
There was nothing fragile about the man, as was the case with most very old
people; in contrast, it seemed that age had dried him to the toughest kind of
leather.

Nathaniel
drew in a surprised breath and then he moved past her to join this group.
"Chingachgook," he said, and he bowed his head before the old man.
"Muchomes."

The
old man murmured in reply, reaching for Nathaniel's hands. His smile pleated
his face into long folds that swallowed all the severity and distance in his
expression.

Hawkeye
spoke to the old man in the same language and Nathaniel replied to both of them
as if they were alone in the room. Elizabeth realized that Richard Todd had
come to stand next to her and she looked at him to see if he followed any of
the conversation.

"Mahican,"
he said to her in a casual tone. "He calls Nathaniel his grandson."

Elizabeth
was confused and a little shocked, but she could not ask for more details.
Instead, she turned her attention to the child, who had stepped closer to
Nathaniel. She was very striking, with hair like black walnut and eyes not
quite so dark as those of the old man. But her skin was the glossy color of old
honey, and her highly arched cheekbones left no question that she was Indian,
in spite of her calico dress and the matching ribbon which secured the long
braids which reached down her back.

She
had moved up next to Nathaniel and stood close enough to touch him; in response
he reached down without looking to cradle the child's head in one large hand.
There was a sudden lull in the talking and the little girl's voice came clearly
to Elizabeth, although she did not understand the language.

Richard
Todd made a small sound and Elizabeth turned to him. "Mohawk," he
said. "She calls Nathaniel
rake'niha
,
'my father.’ Mohawk was her mother's language. The Kahnyen’keháka are
matrilineal, you see.

"Kahnyen’keháka?"
Elizabeth's tongue stumbled on the strange word.

"Kahnyen’keháka
is what they call themselves, it means "People of the Flint." Mohawk
is an outsider name for them. They don't like it, but it fits."

"What
does it mean?"

The
corner of his mouth jerked downward. "Man—Eaters."

Elizabeth
focused, trying to absorb this information. She had heard the rumors of cannibalism;
all of England had, but she lent them little credence. She was more interested
in the role of women in the tribe, but of such things no one talked. But most
of all, Elizabeth did not understand how Nathaniel could have a grandfather who
was Indian. There was no doubt that his daughter was Mohawk—Kahnyen’keháka,
Elizabeth corrected herself. It followed quite logically from that fact that
his wife, who had died in childbed, whom he still mourned, if Katherine
Witherspoon was to be believed—must have been Indian. It was all very
confusing. She had never known anyone who married outside his own race; in her
world, to marry even a Frenchman or an Irishman was a social disaster of
immense proportions. In England, a man of good family who married outside his
own race would be ostracized and shunned for the rest of his life. The lady and
her children would be invisible to any polite society, isolated and ignored.