Into the Wilderness (129 page)

"Boots,"
he breathed.

"I
cannot fly," she said, very clearly.

"But
you can, lass. You're flying now. Don't give up."

She
scowled at him even as her eyes fluttered shut and she fell away to sleep
again, suspended in his arms above the world.

* * *

Elizabeth
woke for short periods over the next day, sometimes talking or answering
questions, sometimes without seeming to see any of them. When she began to turn
her head and pluck at the furs in her struggle up toward the world again,
Nathaniel fetched Hannah and kept her there.

"Can
she hear me?"

"I
think so. Talk to her."

Hannah's
face contorted with the challenge of it. Then she leaned forward.

"Grandmother
has been feeding you willow—bark tea," she said. "For the ache in
your head."

"Tell
her to make it stronger,"
Elizabeth
muttered, one eye cracking open.

Hannah
grinned broadly. "I will," she said. "I'll go now and fetch it
for you."

"No,"
Elizabeth said, raising her hand an inch off the blanket. "Wait." Her
tongue came out to trace her lower lip.

"What
is it, Boots?" Nathaniel caught her hand.

"Tell
me," she said. "Tell me about the baby."

He
squeezed her hand. "The child is unharmed. We've been telling you so all
along."

Elizabeth
drew in one long, shuddering breath. "Good," she whispered. "Nathaniel,
I saw, I think I saw—”

“Dutch
Ton. Aye, he's in the village waiting to hear how you are. He brought you
these."

From
the table he took the gold band that had once been his mother's, and the silver
hair clasp he had given
Elizabeth
as a wedding present. He put them in her hand. After a long moment, she looked
up at him.

"He
meant no harm?"

"It
looks that way."

"Good,"
she said again, her eyes drifting shut. Then they struggled open again and she
gestured him closer.

"That
dream you had in Albany," she whispered. "I shouldn't have doubted
you."

He
put her hand to his cheek, and said nothing.

When
she was sleeping soundly again, Nathaniel left her to Hannah's watch. The women
gave him food, and then he went to clean up and see about fresh clothes. Most
of the well—wishers and curious had drifted away when
Elizabeth
had first shown signs of waking,
but he found Axel on the porch, nursing his pipe, and the judge.

"Tell
me about Todd," Nathaniel said. He stood quietly until Axel had finished.

The
judge was looking pale; he had lost some weight.

"Maybe
you should go along home," Nathaniel suggested. "You need some
sleep."

He
shook his head. "Not until she's well again."

Nathaniel
drew up, surprised. "That could take weeks, man. She knows you've been
here and that you're worried. And there's Kitty and your grandson down there to
look after."

The
judge ran a trembling hand over his face. "I never spent enough time
listening to her."

His
agitation suddenly deflated, Nathaniel looked harder and saw clearly what he
had missed, in his preoccupation with his own troubles. In the last month the
judge had become an old man.

"She
would send you home herself if she could," Axel said kindly. "She
wouldn't want you to get sick, waiting here."

The
judge looked up at Nathaniel, hopefully.

"That's
true," Nathaniel said, and he saw the relief on the man's face.

"Maybe
later today," he said thoughtfully.

Nathaniel
nodded, and went off to find Liam, who was oiling traps in the other cabin for
Runs-from-Bears. He asked the same question and got a longer,
less—clear—but—more—detailed story of what had gone on at the gorge, and
Richard Todd's role in it.

"I
should have gone in after her," Liam concluded.

"Not
with that leg," Nathaniel said, absently. "And Doves was there. If it
weren't for the knock on the head,
Elizabeth
could have managed on her own anyway. But goddamn it, to be beholden to Richard
Todd don't sit well. I guess I'll have to go look him up."

"He
said to tell you that he'd be calling on Kitty."

"Did
he? Looks like his judgment still ain't any better than his timing."

"I
don't know what you mean."

Nathaniel
shrugged. At the door, he turned back with a thoughtful look. "It means
he's still Richard Todd. It means, watch your back."

* * *

Elizabeth
came fully awake to the first snow. Suddenly afraid that she had slept for
weeks instead of days, she was distraught until Falling—Day told her that it
was no more than mid—October, in spite of the waves of fine—grained snow which
beat against the window.

"I
might think I was still dreaming, if it weren't for the ache in my head,"
Elizabeth
said, accepting
a cup. When she had taken her willow—bark tea and some broth, Falling—Day
helped her see to her needs, and then got
Elizabeth
settled against the bolsters, wrapped again in the blanket of pelts.

"How
long will this dizziness last?"

Falling—Day
lifted one shoulder and inclined her head. "Another week, perhaps until
the next moon."

"Oh,
dear."
Elizabeth
closed her eyes." The children will be very disappointed to have school
put off again."

"I
think they're just glad to have you alive," Falling—Day said, sitting down
to pick up a basket of sewing.

For a
good while,
Elizabeth
was content to lie quietly and listen to the peaceful and familiar sounds of
the fire in the hearth and the soft shuffle of moccasins in the other room.
Nathaniel would be out hunting with Runs-from-Bears. She could hear Hannah and
Liam talking; there was rising tone of outrage and a small laugh in response.

"Did
you think I was going to die?" The question had been asked before she
fully knew her own intention, but Falling—Day did not seem surprised. She
looked up from the overdress she was piecing together.

"I
worried, at first," she said finally. And then she put her sewing down and
laid her hands flat on her knees. Her eyes were very dark when they settled on
Elizabeth
's.

"You
have never asked me about my daughter."

Elizabeth
felt herself flushing with surprise. "I did not wish to intrude on your
memories."

Falling—Day
turned her face toward the window. When she turned back, there was a remarkable
disquiet to her expression.

"Sometimes,
it seems to me that she cannot be very far off. That if I call to her, she will
come. She has been very strong in my mind these last days. She died at the
first snow, did Nathaniel ever tell you that?"

"No,"
Elizabeth said softly. "He has never told me about her death, except that
she died in childbed, and the child with her. And that his mother and Curiosity
were here."

"And
Cat—Eater. You do not like to say his name."

Elizabeth
shrugged, unable to deny that this was the truth.

Falling—Day
said, "When I came out of the forest and saw him and Many-Doves bent over
you, and the blood on his hands—I expected for moment to see her there, on the
ground. I was not with her when she walked the path, but I saw her go in my
dreams."

Once
Elizabeth
would have had
no response because the Kahnyen’keháka reliance on dreams for information and
understanding of the world had troubled her. Now her doubts were more about her
own narrow view of things.

When
Falling—Day saw the willingness to listen in
Elizabeth
's face, she nodded.

"Cat—Eater
was at Sings—from—Books' side when she died. He could do nothing for her. But
he could help you, and he did."

"You
are trying to tell me something," Elizabeth said. "I don't
understand."

"Then
I will speak clearly. Perhaps it is time to make peace with him."

Elizabeth
smoothed the pelt under her palm again and again. "Why do you say this to
me instead of Nathaniel?"

Falling—Day
raised a brow. "Because you might listen to me, and you might make your
husband listen to you."

"Your
opinion is very important to Nathaniel."

"Not
in this matter," Falling—Day corrected her. "I did not stand up for
him when my daughter turned to Cat—Eater, and he has never forgotten
that."

Elizabeth
had
a question which she thought she must ask, or forever regret the lost
opportunity.

"You
encouraged Sarah to go to Richard? This is hard to understand, given the role
he played in the attack on your village, and the death of your husband and
sons."

Falling—Day
blinked at her. "Cat—Eater never raised his hand to any
Kahnyen’keháka."

"Nathaniel
believes that he caused the attack."

"I
know what Nathaniel believes," Falling—Day said. "But I was there,
and he was not. Cat—Eater saved Sky—Wound—Round's life. He saved my life, and
Otter's.

"Otter
sees things differently."

"Men
do, for the most part. Boys almost always see things as simple when they are
not.

"Richard
saw you bound like animals and marched down the road. And then he tried to have
Nathaniel shot."

Falling—Day
paused to gather her thoughts.

"I
do not deny that his hatred for Nathaniel was real and that he would have acted
on it. You must ask Richard about these things if you want the whole truth—and
I think that you should ask. I can only tell you about my daughter, who loved
both of these men. I encouraged her to follow her heart."

"Follow
her heart?"
Elizabeth
asked, almost bitterly. "I don't know what that means."

"I
think that you do. Is this the life your family wanted for you, or the one you
took for yourself?"

There
was a small silence.

"And
did Sarah take your advice?"

"Among
our own people, it would not have been necessary for her to choose between
these men. But they are neither of them true Kahnyen’keháka, and they could
neither of them bear the idea of the other, or believe that her heart was so
large. So they made her choose. In the end she stayed with Nathaniel and bore
him a daughter."

She bore him a daughter.
Elizabeth
wondered if she had misunderstood.

"Hannah
is Nathaniel's child?"

The
older woman lifted her chin, her dark eyes suddenly severe. "Hen'en."
Yes
.

"You
know that Richard claims Hannah as his own. Why have you never told Nathaniel
the truth?"

"My
words cannot open his eyes. He must see this truth for himself."

Elizabeth
sat back with a small gasp of surprise. "That is cruel."

Falling—Day
spread her hands out in front of her. "Is it? Perhaps. Perhaps not."

"But
you want me to encourage him to make peace with Richard."

"I
think it is possible now, and it would be good. If we are to stay here."

"Perhaps
we will not," Elizabeth said slowly. "You know that Nathaniel has
told me it is my decision to stay or go and find another place to make a life
for ourselves. Will you tell me too to follow my heart?"

"I
will," said Falling—Day. "As you will one day tell Hannah, and the
daughter you carry now."

Elizabeth
's
head snapped up, and Falling—Day laughed out loud.

"You
are thinking of Chingachgook's dream of a great—grandson," she said. "But
he did not look hard enough. He also did not feel what I feel. Here." She
put the flat of her hand high on the left side of Elizabeth's stomach. "And
here." She did the same on the other side, but lower. "Two heads, two
heartbeats. A grandson for Hawkeye, and another granddaughter for Cora."

"Twins?"
Elizabeth asked, staring at her own belly as if it might speak up. Then her
expression of surprise faltered and was replaced by distress.

"Nathaniel
will be out of his head with worry."

"Then
do not tell him yet," Falling—Day said.

Elizabeth
lay back, her palms resting lightly where Falling—Day had touched her. "I
don't know if I should be overjoyed or just worried."

"The
first will do for now," Falling—Day said. "You'll worry enough, in
time. But listen now, for I will give you my best advice. Decide what kind of
home you want for yourself, for your husband and your children, and if that
means you must go away from here, then you must go."