Into the Wilderness (131 page)

Richard's
gaze shifted away from Nathaniel. "Yes. I'd ask you to let her make up her
own mind."

"Kitty
is a mother and a widow," said Elizabeth. "Her view of the world has
changed, I think, even without any help of mine."

"I
noticed," said Richard. "But you managed to put the idea of going to
England in her head, you and your aunt Merriweather."

Elizabeth
crossed her arms in front of herself. She wanted to hold on to the excitement
and relief of the past few minutes, but Richard could still agitate and
irritate. She was tempted to give him what he promised without discussion, but
then she feared also that to start off with less than honesty was to doom this
uneasy truce.

"Pardon
my confusion, but I cannot quite be sure who it is you are courting. Is it the
Kitty you left alone and without word for the entire summer, or is it my
brother's widow and the mother of my father's heir? Perhaps you have given up
on the mountain to go after a bigger prize."

Richard's
head snapped back and the color rose on his cheeks.

"Kitty
has changed," he said. "But you haven't. If you were a man, I'd call
you out for that."

Elizabeth
grabbed Nathaniel's arm to keep him where he was.

"Do
you mean to point out that I cannot be diverted from the issue at hand? Let me
promise you this much: I will not exert undue influence on Kitty, or lie to
her, if you will promise likewise. If in the end she decides to go to
England
, you
will not hinder her. If she decides to stay, I will not try to change her mind.
If your intentions are honorable, then I cannot see how this agreement could
displease you."

Richard
hesitated, the thoughts sparking vaguely behind his eyes. His gaze rested
briefly on Nathaniel, and then shifted away.

"Done,"
he said hoarsely.

"We'll
hold you to it," Nathaniel said.

Richard
hefted himself back into the saddle. "It's not my half of the bargain that
worries me," he said. "It's your wife's." And he wheeled his
horse away, and was gone.

"He
plans to marry Kitty before the year's out," Nathaniel said.

Elizabeth
was not sure of that, but she thought it would not be wise to say so at this
moment; Nathaniel's irritation was too close to the surface. "You may be
right," she said. "But I think Kitty has a surprise or two in store
for him."

Nathaniel
grunted softly. "Let's hope she leads him on a chase out of
Paradise."

Elizabeth
picked up her skirts and took his arm once again. "That is one wish that
you may actually see fulfilled."

* * *

They found
Kitty not at rest, but in the kitchen with Curiosity and her daughters. The
baby was in a cradle near the hearth burbling softly to himself, completely at
ease with the great deal of noise and laughter that filled the room. Kitty
stood at the long table, her arms elbow—deep in bread dough.

Curiosity
put down her spoon with a thump and came toward them like small storm. "You
ain't got no more common sense than a home—struck cow, walkin' here in that
snow. Sit down by the fire and I'll bring you some tea. Your head ache, don't
it? Nathaniel, what was you thinking?"

"Short
of trussing her like a calf, she couldn't be stopped, Curiosity."

"She
is single—minded," Kitty supplied, wiping her hands on a piece of
sackcloth.

"I
hope that is sufficient discussion of my character deficiencies," said
Elizabeth
, taking the
seat that was pressed upon her.

There
was a great deal of rushing around and talk as the walkers were stripped of
their wet shoes and garments. Curiosity presented them with toweling to dry
themselves, tea and plates of cake, and bits of the day's news: Ethan had slept
through the night for the second time in a row, which explained Kitty's clear
eyes and high spirits at least in part. Manny had cut his hand at the mill, and
would not be able to work for a week or more. Joshua Hench and Daisy would be
married on New Year's Day, and the judge had offered them the parlor for the
ceremony. There was a letter from aunt Merriweather which must be read aloud,
as it was addressed to
Elizabeth
as well as Kitty. It included the story of her meeting with Abigail Adams, a
woman Aunt found to be both overworked and overpraised.

The
baby began to fuss, and Daisy swooped down to snatch him up and deliver him to
his mother's lap. Kitty settled in a rocker on the far side of the hearth with
the boy at her breast, carrying on an animated conversation with Polly about
his recent growth of dark hair.

"Did
you see,
Elizabeth
?"
she called. "His eyes are such a bright blue now, and Curiosity says they
will stay that way."

On
her way out the door with a pile of laundry, Curiosity paused. "He got
your mama's eyes, Elizabeth. Clear as the heavens."

The
baby let out a belch many sizes too large for such a small person, and Kitty
laughed out loud. "I hope he will have some of her delicacy of manner,
too."

Elizabeth
said, "I think motherhood agrees with you, Kitty."

"Yas'm,
that it does." Curiosity winked at them, and then disappeared down the
hall.

Flushing
with pleasure at this praise, Kitty bent her blond head over her son's dark
curls and looked up again only when Polly and Daisy sat down to their spinning
nearby. Nathaniel leaned over to whisper in
Elizabeth
's ear.

"Richard
has a battle before him," he said softly. "And he has none of the
right weapons."

"Why
do you say that?" she asked, truly amazed.

He
gestured with his chin to the three young women, deep in a conversation that
wove in and out of the rhythmic clatter and whirr of the spinning wheels.

"She's
never had a home like this, with women around her. Do you think she'll give up
Curiosity and this kitchen for Richard and feathered bonnets? Even your aunt
might not be able to get her away, in the end."

"It
is true I have never seen her so much at ease. Is it not strange, Nathaniel? A
year ago I could not imagine ever leaving
Paradise
while Kitty could not wait to get out, and now—" She hesitated.

Nathaniel
ran a thumb over her cheekbone. "Are we going, then?" His eyes with
all their complexity of light and dark, and the greens and golds and browns of
the great north woods. His gaze held her firmly bound to him, as firmly he had
held her in his arms and would hold her again, in common purpose, in sorrow and
joy.

"I
don't know," she murmured, catching his hand against her face. "I
truly do not know."

Whether
they stayed in
Paradise
or went, it did not
matter, not really. Not if she could look up and find him there.
Mine
, she thought simply.
Mine
.

Christmas,
1793

He
was lost.

Not
more than five miles north of Hidden Wolf on lands he had roamed and trapped
and hunted all his life, Nathaniel couldn't deny that he had lost his way, and
on Christmas Eve. At his feet there was a spattering of blood in the snow, and
the glassy stare of the buck that had brought him so far afield. He had won the
battle of wits and persistence, and he had lost: to pack the deer out he would
need to butcher it first, and there was no time.

In
the trees above and behind him he was vaguely aware of a restlessness. Drawn by
the smell of blood, the wolves that often followed at a distance when he hunted
without the dogs—as he did today—edged closer, eager enough that they might
soon risk the rifle. Nathaniel neither feared the pack nor begrudged them the
meat that he would have to leave behind; game was plentiful this season. His
irritation was only with himself, for letting the chase get the better of him
when he had come out with nothing more than Christmas turkey in mind.

Out
of habit and training, he reloaded his rifle and then he straddled the buck.
With quick and economical movements of his knife he took the saddle to roast
for tomorrow's dinner, his nostrils flaring at the coppery rush. The mist of
his breath mixed with the steam from the open cavity.

The
cloud cover that had swallowed the sun was moving down the mountain slope,
quietly devouring the snow—choked pine and white cedar so that even the
constant chirp and fuss of the red polls was dampened. Nathaniel swung his pack
and rifle into place and began to climb upward anyway, the icy snow crackling
underfoot. To walk hard was the only way to keep warm without building a fire,
and to walk uphill toward the ridge was the only hope he had of getting his
bearings. If the cloud cover broke. If the storm held off.

Elizabeth
had
taught school this afternoon, but she would be at home by now. Waiting for him.
From up ahead Nathaniel heard a white owl call. Twilight on Christmas Eve, and
time to be home.

* * *

Given
the losses that both the Middleton and Bonner families had suffered in the past
few months, it was only seemly that they keep a quiet Christmas. This was how
her father had announced to Elizabeth that he and Kitty were accepting an
invitation to spend the holidays with Mr. Bennett and his wife in
Johnstown
. Curiosity and
Galileo were to go with them, because Kitty wished it so. Mr. Witherspoon would
go too and would not be missed, he assured
Elizabeth
:
it seemed that Christmas was the very worst time to try to preach Christ in
Paradise
.

Her
curiosity aroused,
Elizabeth
asked her students about these vague reports of Christmas excesses. They were
eager to tell her about the Kaes family's habit of a Christmas mummery, and
Axel's love of fireworks, all of which she had missed the previous year because
the judge had given a party of his own. She wondered if she should join in,
given the recent loss of her brother, and found that even Martha, so recently
widowed, was planning to take part. Christmas was a time of games and
playfulness, she told Elizabeth. It would sustain them in the long winter
ahead. Elizabeth thought they could use a party; Falling—Day, Many-Doves , and
Runs-from-Bears had left at the beginning of the month for a visit at Good
Pasture, where Many-Doves ' first child would come into the world early in the
new year.
Elizabeth
missed their company very much.

But
by dark Nathaniel had not yet come home, and Hannah seesawed rapidly between
resignation and disappointment. Liam, more stoic, sat quietly by the hearth
cleaning traps. At eight,
Elizabeth
gave in and sent them down to the village.

"I
want to wait for Nathaniel," she said. "And the walk is a bit much
for me, in this snow."

With
a significant look at the great mound of her middle, Hannah gave in with a
grin.

Elizabeth
followed the swing of the lantern until it disappeared into the wood, and then
she closed the door firmly against the cold and turned back into the cabin.
Only the dogs were left to her, and they slept in an untidy heap by the fire,
uninterested in the fact that it was Christmas Eve. She made a tour of all
three rooms, but as they had spent the late afternoon cleaning and making ready
for the holiday, there was nothing left for her to do but to take up her book
by the hearth.

At
nine when the ache in the small of her back was no longer governable and a
sharp kick to her liver set her teeth on edge, Elizabeth put down her book to
pace the floor, noting as she did so that she had lost sight of her own feet.
In the village more than one woman had taken silent measure of her girth and
then raised a brow at the suggestion that the child was not due for another six
weeks. But only Curiosity and Falling—Day had actually examined her, and as
Elizabeth
herself had not
yet announced the fact that she carried twins, they too were silent.

She
stopped before the hearth to examine the miniatures of Nathaniel's mother and
her own. Recently
Elizabeth
had been thinking more and more often of her mother, understanding for the
first time how difficult it must have been for her to leave her homeland and
raise her children alone in another country. She had been only twenty—five when
she left
Paradise
. Five years younger than
Elizabeth
was now, she had chosen to leave her husband and
travel pregnant and alone to
England
.
In the spring,
Elizabeth
thought she might have a conversation with aunt Merriweather in which difficult
questions would be asked.

With
a careful finger,
Elizabeth
touched her mother's likeness, tracing the brow and widow's peak which she had
inherited. She was fortunate in the women she had around her, but she wondered
about this woman who was both so familiar to her and a stranger. If she would
have approved of the life
Elizabeth
had made for herself, how she would have greeted her grandchildren, held them
and rocked them. If they would have the blue eyes she had passed on to Julian's
son, or perhaps Nathaniel's hazel eyes.