Into the Wilderness (130 page)

"And
take your granddaughter from your care?"

Falling—Day
picked up her sewing again. "I will cope, as my mother did when I took my
family and left her fire."

"You
trust me with her."
Elizabeth
smiled, finally.

"Hen'en,"
said Falling—Day. "You have earned my trust."

* * *

Curled
around the universe that was her children, Elizabeth wanted and needed to
sleep, but found herself unable to calm her thoughts. She lay contemplating the
view from the window: the shoulder of mountain crowded with fir and pine,
somber green dusted now with white. Above that, a wedge of sky the color of old
pewrer. Another storm was coming.

What
Falling—Day had told her of Richard and the raid on Barktown was almost more
than she could reconcile with the tales she had heard from Nathaniel and Otter.
The more she thought about it, the more confused she became: each of them told
the story with complete conviction. In the end, she thought, perhaps they were
all right. The stories of what had happened to each of them in those bloody
days of the revolution were a web they wove together; the truth scuttled back
and forth between the delicate strands of memory, and could not be pinned down.
Where Richard fit into the whole was unclear;
Elizabeth
thought that she might never know,
unless he himself told her. And it would be a long time before she was
comfortable enough to have such a conversation with Richard Todd.

They
might not even be here a year from now.
Elizabeth
lay back, and tried to imagine another life, a new start. A year ago she had
been alone; now she had a husband; in another year she would have Hannah and
two infants to care for.

Sarah
had borne twins. Nathaniel had buried Hannah's brother with his own hands. She
had tried again, and he had buried his second son in Sarah's arms.

Not this time.
Elizabeth
whispered it
aloud in the empty room: it was a promise, and a vow.

By
the end of October, Lake in the Clouds was adrift in snow; Elizabeth, healed
enough to be bored but still unable to read or write for long periods, began to
chafe at the narrow boundaries of the cabin; and Richard Todd had begun to
court Kitty Middleton in earnest.

Nathaniel
gave in gracefully on a clear afternoon and took her to the trading post. In
the familiar cramped space filled with powerful smells of damp wool and burning
tobacco and fermenting ale,
Elizabeth
heard the details of the courtship from Anna Hauptmann and Martha Southern as
they measured great stacks of newly woven linen.

"Every
day this week he's been up there in the parlor, driving Curiosity near out of
her mind," Anna told her.

She'll
take the broom to the doctor one of these days," predicted Martha.

"Has
Kitty spoken to you about Richard?"

"Kitty
ain't been down here since the first snow," said Anna. "The child's
got an appetite, and she can't get far away."

The
perfectly round and bald head of Martha's youngest popped up out of the feed
box where she had settled him, as if he had been called. He smiled at
Elizabeth, displaying two tiny teeth.

"It's
Daisy who comes by these days, most oft. On her way to the smithy, don't you
know." This was accompanied by the grin and wink Anna reserved for matters
of courtship. "Kitty herself don't go out much, as I understand it. Except
for the occasional sleigh ride." The generous mouth twitched at the corner
as Anna struggled with the urge to say more.

"The
judge don't care for those sleigh rides much," said Martha. "If the
sour look on his face is any indication."

From
nearer the hearth, Charlie LeBlanc spoke up. "I think you women are being
unfair," he said. "Richard ain't doing nothing wrong. If she don't
want his sleigh rides, she'll send him on his way."

Anna
dropped a bolt of cloth with a soft thud. "Some men don't budge so easy as
you, Charlie."

Jed
McGarrity coughed loudly into his fist. "Aw, Anna. The boy's got a point.
Maybe Kitty likes Richard coming around. Maybe she's lonely."

"It
is high time we called on her, in that case," said
Elizabeth
.

* * *

Dutch
Ton was waiting for them in front of the trading post, swaddled in bearskin and
his unmistakable smells. The shy, dark—toothed smile he gave her from under the
brim of his old tricorn could not make him smell any better, but
Elizabeth
swallowed hard
and tried to smile back.

"It
were a bad fall," he said, as if he were picking up a conversation which
had been interrupted just a few minutes before. "You better now?"

"Much
better, thank you."

With
fingers the color of charcoal he began to search through the sparse beard
thoughtfully. Then he touched the patch over his eye.

"He's
better off dead. Old Lingo were mean."

"Yes,"
Elizabeth
agreed.

"I
come to bring your pretties," he said, shuffling one boot against the
frozen ground. "Did you get 'em?"

"My
wedding ring, yes." Elizabeth held up her hand. "And the hair clasp. Thank
you very much."

"I
come to tell you about a man, too," he said. "But I forget his name. He's
looking for you all."

Nathaniel
seemed to come suddenly awake. "Was it my father? Did he have a message
for me?"

"No."
Dutch Ton shook his head. "Funny—talking man from across the water, asking
about Hawkeye. Met him when I come through Fish House. He hired a scout and
went off to find Robbie, see if he knew where your pa might be."

Elizabeth
would
have put her hand on Dutch Ton's sleeve if she could have forced herself past
the smell. As it was, she tried to smile kindly.

"What
did this man say that he wanted with Hawkeye?"

The
big trapper shrugged. A blank look stole over his face, to be replaced suddenly
by a guileless smile. "The Earl of Carrick," he announced.

"Who?"
Elizabeth
asked, dumbfounded.

"That
were his name. The Earl of Carrick. And he were lookin' for Dan'l Bonner, or
for somebody called Jamie Scott."

With
a satisfied nod, his errand finally completed, the big man pulled his hat down
firmly over his brow and muttered a farewell. He turned and shuffled off,
without further discussion.

"He
cannot have understood correctly," Elizabeth said, mostly to herself. "What
would a Scots earl be doing in the bush, looking for your father? And how does
he come to know of the name you use in the Albany bank?"

Nathaniel
rubbed a finger over the bridge of his nose. "God knows," he said,
looking distinctly uneasy. "Maybe this earl is looking for the gold,
too."

Elizabeth
stared after Dutch Ton, and as if he felt the weight of her gaze, he turned
from the edge of the wood and waved.

"I
wonder if we'll see him again."

"Oh,
I expect so," Nathaniel said. Then he tugged lightly on her arm. "Are
you still of a mind to call on Kitty today?"

"I
am," she said, shaking herself slightly. "Perhaps my father will know
something of this earl."

The
path up through the woods toward the judge's had been broken, but the snow was
still wet and heavy. After minutes, Nathaniel stopped to peer down into her
flushed face.

"We
should have ridden. We'll borrow a horse to get you home."

"Don't
fuss, Nathaniel. The exercise does me good."

He
made a sound in his throat that was somewhere between reluctant acknowledgment
and reservation.

"Richard
may well be there," she said. "It cannot be put off forever. I must
thank him for his help."

Under
her hand, Nathaniel's arm tensed. "I know what we owe him," he said. "What
I don't know is how Kitty fits into his plans."

"Falling—Day
thinks he has changed," Elizabeth said, watching his expression from the
corner of her eye. "He spent time with his brother. Perhaps he has come to
terms with some of what plagues him."

He
laughed without a bit of humor. "Here he comes now," he said. "You
can ask him."

Richard
had appeared from around the very turn where, not so very long ago, his team
had bolted with
Elizabeth
in his sleigh. Now he pointed his gelding's head toward them and approached at
a walk.

Elizabeth
felt
Nathaniel go straight and silent, all of his energy flung forward. She knew if
she looked at him she would find his expression wiped clear of all emotion,
only his eyes flashing a warning. On Richard's face there was the same wariness
and reserve: they faced each other over
Elizabeth
's
head as tense and silent as wolves.

Richard
slid down from his saddle and stood there, slapping one palm lightly with the
reins.

"If
you're on your way to see the judge, he's gone to call on Mr.
Witherspoon," he said. He pulled his hat from his head and ran a freckled
hand through the mane of hair. "If it's Kitty you're interested in, I'm
told it's her rest time." He focused on Elizabeth. "You're better?
The wound healed clean?"

"Thank
you," Elizabeth said, not quite sure how to respond to this neutral tone. "I've
been by your place twice," said Nathaniel stiffly. "Didn't find you
in. Came to thank you for your help."

"I
am in your debt,"
Elizabeth
added.

Richard
raised a brow. Snow was settling on his hair; a rivulet of water ran over its
brightness and down his forehead, but he did not move to brush it away. "You
made me a promise once."

Until
this moment,
Elizabeth
did not realize how much she had hoped Falling—Day had been right about
Richard. Full of dread, she said: "I did as I promised. I appeared before
the court, and answered the inquiries put to me. The court did not decide in
your favor."

"I
am aware of that," Richard said, one corner of the thin mouth turned
downward.

"But
you are determined still to try to take what is not yours,"
Elizabeth
said.

Richard's
head came up slowly. The frenzied anger that had been so much a part of him in
the bush and at Good Pasture seemed to be gone. "The mountain is
yours."
 

Nathaniel
stilled beside her. "After all these years, it comes down to that? Why
should we believe you?"

Richard
only blinked, a decidedly Kahnyen’keháka blink, the kind of blink she got from
Runs-from-Bears.

"You
said you'd bury me on the mountain, when my time comes."

Nathaniel's
eyes were fever—bright. "I remember."

"That's
all I'm asking. I won't go back to court on the mountain if you'll give me that
much."

The
column of muscles in Nathaniel's throat moved visibly. "Hannah is my
daughter," he said. "I want to hear you say so."

Richard
thrust out his chin, his head jerking back. His whole frame went still, and
Elizabeth
was overcome by
a dread so palpable that she suddenly found it hard to stand. Nathaniel's hand
steadied her, but his gaze never wavered from the man in front of him.

"Hannah
is Sarah's daughter," Richard said. And then: "Hannah is your
daughter."

Elizabeth
leaned into Nathaniel and felt a tremor pass through him. On his face was the
same disbelief and relief that must be on her own.

"In
that case, if all you're asking is burial rights on the Wolf, then I'll give
you that. And gladly." He was clenching and unclenching his right fist;
Elizabeth
wanted to grab
it and thrust it toward Richard, to see their hands sealed around these words
that had passed between them.

"That's
all I'm asking of you," Richard said. "But I'll ask Elizabeth a favor
in payment for the good turn I did her."

"Settle
the business between you," Elizabeth said. "And then you and I can
talk."

When
Nathaniel put out his hand, Richard met it without hesitation. Elizabeth could
not look away from the sight of two strong hands clasped. Whether he was to be
trusted, that was still a question that could not be answered with any
certainty. She was consumed with curiosity about what had transpired in
Montreal
between this man
and his brother, but she thought she might never know. On an audible sigh,
Elizabeth
said:
"This business you have with me. Is it about Kitty?"