Into the Wilderness (44 page)

The
original patent was produced and examined, and subsequently the judge took his
quill in hand and signed the deed of gift. Elizabeth and Mr. Bennett then
countersigned the document. Finally, it was witnessed by Mr. Witherspoon, who
had dropped in for the evening, and, with an especially notable flourish, by
Curiosity Freeman. They drank Elizabeth's health with Madeira. Without a trace
of suspicion, Mr. Bennett congratulated Curiosity on her doctoring, and
Elizabeth on her improved health.

A
single woman newly in possession of a good fortune, Elizabeth took her leave
from her father and his guests, and retired to her bed.

She
fell asleep. Deeply, utterly, completely asleep. Having feared that she would
jitter to pieces waiting for the house to quiet, Elizabeth courted disaster of
another kind. If not for Curiosity, she might have slept until morning.

But
Curiosity was there, and she came into Elizabeth's room deep in the night. She
brought with her a dark cloak, some bread and meat tied into a serviette, a cup
of hot tea laced with rum, and a key.

Silently,
Elizabeth held up the last object and raised an eyebrow in question. By the
light of the single candle, the stark, broad bones of Curiosity's face came
into relief; Elizabeth was glad to see her smile and become more familiar.

"The
sec’tary," she whispered. And then, with a hug and a look which admonished
and encouraged all at once, she slipped away, her white nightdress trailing
behind her in a long comma.

Her
father's secretary. of course. He would have locked the deed of gift up with
his other papers. Elizabeth closed her hand around the cold metal to steady her
shaking.

It
was easier than she imagined, getting down the stairs and into the study. There
wasn't any time to waste, but she didn't let herself think of that, or of
anything but the key and the lock and the documents she needed. Even when it
was open in front of her she didn't dare to stop and breathe easy; by the light
of her candle she sorted through the papers and found the ones she wanted,
thrusting the others back into the cubbyhole, barely looking at them. Then she
stopped.

She
pulled them out again, even as some other part of her mind screamed at her to
get out, to go.

There,
on cream—colored heavy paper, a handwriting she had recognized, but more than
that. Her own name. The letter from her aunt Merriweather, addressed to her.
And opened. The seal broken. In the flickering light the careful pen strokes
danced.

* * *

The fourteenth day of March, 1793

Oakmere

My dearest niece Elizabeth,

Never before in my life have I more
wanted those magical powers which no mortal can possess. It is only by
borrowing such divine gifts that I could transport this letter to you as
quickly as I would wish. Such is my concern for your welfare and future.

* * *

Elizabeth
crumpled the letter against her breast as if the paper could stop the erratic
beating of her heart. She dared not take the time to read the rest, or even to
think about what she held in her hand, and what it might mean. She stuffed the
letter into her pocket along with the deed of gift and the patent.

With
hands suddenly much more steady but a heart as cold and heavy as clay, she
locked her father's secretary and left his house, not bothering to take a last
look around her at the rooms which she had thought would be her home for the
rest of her life.

It
almost ended before it began.

Elizabeth
headed for the wood above the house, thinking of the shorter route to Hidden
Wolf by way of the north end of Half Moon Lake. This took her around the barn,
and there, where she had stood with Nathaniel two months ago, she walked into
Kitty Witherspoon.

They
paused, both breathing hard, like statues in the moonlight. Kitty's clothing
was disturbed; a white breast glinted between the edges of the bodice she
clutched in one hand. Her loosened hair hung in frowsy ropes to her waist. Her
complexion was gray, but her eyes glittered.

She
opened her mouth; whether to speak or scream, to greet or condemn, Elizabeth
never knew, because it was at that moment that Julian appeared at the open door
of the barn.

"Kitty
dear," he said, as if Elizabeth were not there at all, as if he were
talking to a wife across the dinner table. "Come away now."

He
considered Elizabeth for a long moment, one brow cocked. "Feeling better,
are we, sister?"

Then
he glanced over his shoulder at Kitty, and with a shrug that conceded a battle
lost, he disappeared into the dark.

April,
1793

The
night was close and very cool, dark but not dark; they moved through a world
cast in a million shades of gray. Elizabeth peered out from under her tent of
oiled buckskin, her curiosity dampened but not banished by exhaustion. She
balanced on the edge of sleep, rocked by the steady rhythm of the canoe as it
traveled down the Sacandaga.

It
was her first canoe journey, but there hadn't been any time to think about
that, to worry about it or enjoy the prospect. Keeping watch had been work
enough while the men retrieved the craft from its hiding place in the woods on
the edge of Half Moon Lake. They had all been tense. Even Hawkeye's usual
commentary had been replaced by brisk hand signals as he directed the loading.
It had seemed to Elizabeth that there couldn't possibly be room for it all,
furs and provisions and something that looked like a roll of bark, her own
small pack, the weapons, and more. But it had all fit, and in very short order.
And then without any discussion, Nathaniel and Runs-from-Bears had taken up
their positions, sitting on their haunches at either end of the canoe with
their paddles at the ready.

Hawkeye
had helped her into her place and walked out beside them until he stood in
water to his knees. For the first time since they had left Lake in the Clouds
he spoke to her, a few low words about the importance of keeping her balance,
and the fragility of the birchbark craft in which she sat. Then he put his hand
on Nathaniel's head, spoke a few words to Bears, and after a moment's
hesitation, he leaned forward to touch Elizabeth's cheek.

"I
still got my better stories to tell," he said. "So keep your wits
about you." And he pushed them gently off.

The
canoe slid down the lake and past the village in just thirty silent strokes of
the paddles. She counted, holding her breath. There was nothing to do, no other
way to help. Right then, every nerve in her body alive and jumping, Elizabeth
had believed that sleep would never again be possible. But an hour later, she
settled enough to allow her to rest her weight against the pelts that separated
her from Runs-from-Bears.

Blinking
sleepily, Elizabeth watched the riverbank, the looming shapes of trees, the
wide expanse of grassy marshes which stretched sometimes as far as she could
see on both sides of the river in a forest of gray—silver grasses rippling in
the wind. The only constants were the running river and the tightly controlled
swing of Nathaniel's arms as he paddled. Behind her she could hear, if she
tried hard, the slice of the paddle as Runs-from-Bears matched his rhythm to
Nathaniel's lead. In the end, the sounds of the night and the river and her own
exhaustion conspired to lull her away.

The
river curved and turned on itself again and again, sometimes smooth, more often
rushing white; she dreamt of it as a great snake beckoning into the woods, its
ancient scaled back glimmering in deep greens, sapphire—blues, golds and
tarnished silvers. Then she woke, still full dark, to find that they had pulled
up to the bank. Nathaniel had to raise his voice over the steady trill of
crickets to be heard.

He
had warned her, while they were still up at Lake in the Clouds, about the
portages. There were three, he had explained to her while he filled his powder
horn to the brim and did the same for his bullet pouch. The first would be the
easiest. She would need to help carry the provisions and gear. He didn't ask if
she could or would, he simply told her what needed to be done. It was not a
situation either of them had anticipated, and there was no discussion
necessary.

The
sky was filled with stars so bright it was hard to look at them. In this light,
Nathaniel's face seemed stern, almost angry. He helped her out from her spot
between the bundles, letting her go as soon as she stood on the bank.

At
her feet a fat frog glistened in the moonlight. It let out a deep croak, and
leapt into the river with a splash. Elizabeth felt the spongy give of sphagnum
moss through the soft soles of the moccasins she had put on in such haste,
along with a doeskin overdress and leggings which Many-Doves had offered. She
had let the women dress her as if she were a child, so distressed had she been
at the necessity of this deception. Now she was glad of it; the air cured
leather felt strange against her skin, but it was comfortable and warm in the
night chill, and she could move in it freely. Elizabeth patted her chest to
feel the crackle of the papers she had secured there.

She
accepted the shoulder pack Runs-from-Bears gave her, and stood patiently while
he adjusted it. It was a considerable weight, but slung as it was at that spot
on her back where she could best bear it, she felt as if she could walk for as
long as necessary.

"Sata'karite
ken?" he asked her. Are you well, do you manage? She pivoted, surprised,
to see him smiling at her in a kindly way.

She
nodded. "Wakata'karite."

"Many-Doves
said you are a good student," he said, and turned back to his work.

Nathaniel
unloaded the canoe and strapped on a considerable shoulder pack of his own
while Runs-from-Bears stacked the bundled furs in a tower as high as his ear.
Elizabeth watched as he slung a line around it and then placed one broad
leather loop around his chest and a narrower one against his forehead. When he
stood up, the long pack of furs stretched down the full length of his back.

Then,
in a movement so fast that she could barely follow it, Nathaniel simply leaned
over the canoe, gripped it on either side, and flipped it up to hang suspended
above his head like a long and absurd hat.

That
was the beginning of the first portage. They walked through the near dark for
an hour until they found the river again, and the process reversed itself. By
that time Elizabeth's knees were wobbling so that she was glad just to crawl
into her spot. Before the canoe was back in the pull of the river, she was
asleep.

* * *

She
woke gradually the next time, aware of the awkward way she slept with her head
hard to one side. The sun was coming up, and it was raining, but she was too
sleepy to find the oiled buckskin and pull it over herself. And the noise. She
swatted feebly around her head as if to shoo it away. Then she felt Nathaniel's
hand on her cheek and she started and sat up suddenly, dislodging bundles from
her lap.

The
falls were someplace ahead of them, not in sight. Elizabeth wondered at how
loud they could be at what must be a considerable distance. It wasn't rain that
caused her hair to curl, but the fact that the air was dense with mist. This
was the one he had warned her about, the portage to circumvent the waterfalls
and rapids the Kahnyen’keháka called Hard—to—Get—Around. They had four miles to
walk through the bush, with a full load of furs and provisions and the canoe.
As tired as she was, as much as she feared what lay ahead, Elizabeth welcomed
the challenge. She was determined not to disappoint him.

But
then, she wondered if she had done that already; displeased him somehow. He was
so quiet. Since they had been on the water he hadn't said a word to her, hadn't
once smiled, hadn't touched her except when she needed his help.

They
went through the routine once again and then they set off on a well—trodden
path. The river quickly dropped away, and the sound of the falls lessened.
Elizabeth breathed deeply, glad of the exercise and the feeling that she was
doing her part. They had moved fast on the water and this was slow, but she was
expending her own energy now and that felt right. Every step took her farther
away from her father and Richard Todd. She thought of the unread letter next to
her heart and set her jaw a little harder.

Just
when the pace of the march had begun to wear on Elizabeth, they stopped. There
was a little clearing surrounded by scraggly pines, hard—packed earth and a
well—used fire pit testifying to its ongoing use to travelers. Elizabeth hoped,
although she would not ask, that they would rest here, and in fact Nathaniel
flipped the canoe gently to the ground at the edge of the clearing.

"Best
look after your own needs now," he said quietly as he took the pack from
her shoulders. "Don't go too far, and don't use any leaves you can't put a
name to."