Into the Wilderness (72 page)

"That
blessing of Robbie's," she said. "What was there in it about
healing?"

"
‘To you the sheltering spirit of healing,’“ he recited.

Elizabeth
turned her face up to the sky.

"Amen,"
she said. "Godspeed."

The
morning was wet and cold and inhospitable, but there was no time to waste.
Nathaniel dug the grave, the shovel rasping hard in the unwilling earth while
Elizabeth packed their gear, tucking the newly dried and bundled meat in every
available space. She worked in the wet because it did not seem right to be in
the shelter where Joe lay, where they had sat with him through the night,
sleeping fitfully.

She
paused to warm her damp hands over the sputtering fire. Nathaniel was working
hard, and she watched him for a moment, secretly. It seemed inappropriate,
somehow, the joy she took in the sight of him—given the task at hand. But it
was difficult to look away. There was such concentration in him, such focus. He
would do what must be done and do it simply and well. It made her own dread and
unease seem immature and silly. But still, it was almost inconceivable, the
idea that they would lay Joe to rest in that simple hole with nothing to
shelter him but the earth itself. There was no time to make him a box to lie
in, even if there had been the tools to make such a thing as a coffin.

Nathaniel
paused to wipe the misting rain from his face with the sleeve of his shirt. He
smiled at her, a grim smile but an encouraging one.

"I've
got everything ready," she said. "Shall I—" She looked over her
shoulder toward the shelter, and paused.

"I
ain't quite that far yet," Nathaniel said. "If you feel like washing
go on down to the lake, we can take care of him when you get back."

She
nodded, unable to talk.

He
hefted the shovel again. "Take your time," he said. "There's the
pits to finish."

They
were both anxious to be gone, but she couldn't help him with much of what he
needed to do first. And so she left him there, nervously, but glad to be away
from the clearing.

The
forest sagged with the rain, each leaf dripping, rivulets running in to streams,
streams running down to the lake. She followed them, and was surprised to find,
when she came out from under the canopy of trees, that the rain had stopped.
Later in the day the sun might manage to burn off the haze, but right now
Elizabeth stood on the lakefront and felt as if she had stumbled on some
fairyland: mists floated over the surface of the water so that the island
disappeared and reappeared, in what seemed to be an almost willful manner. The
sounds of the forest and the birds echoed and swelled and faded only to come
again, and Elizabeth was reminded of early mornings at home in her girlhood
bed, when she rose and fell on the tide of sleep, content to coast between the
muted colors and sounds of her dreams and the day that coaxed her awake.

Cupping
her face to her hands, she drank and then sat, strangely without energy. She
thought of stripping down to wash. It seemed a foolhardy thing to do; she could
not imagine simply walking into the lake and swimming, blinded in the mists
with no sense of direction. But she was sticky with perspiration and meat
drippings and she knew that they would be moving fast for two or perhaps three
days, stopping only when it was no longer light, with little hope of time or
opportunity to bathe. And so she settled down on the bank and washed herself
systematically and as well as she could without stripping down. The sleeves and
neckline of her shirt would dry soon enough.

As
she watched, the mist cleared suddenly, revealing the curved end of the lake
and the table of rock with its overhang. For the first time since the previous
afternoon, Elizabeth thought of the red dog. It had been sitting just there,
not twenty feet away from her, and it had remained there while Nathaniel swam
toward her, walking off into the bush while they had been occupied with each
other. On a sudden whim she wiped her wet hands on her leggings and stood,
tossing her plait over her shoulder.

Elizabeth
scrambled over the boulders, bumping her knee as she climbed onto the platform
of rock. Then she stood, looking down at the smooth gray slab. There was
evidence of their short stay in the ashes of their fire and a scattering of
sweet flag, but nothing else that she could discern. Still, Elizabeth
persisted, walking slowly with her gaze turned downward. If the dog would not
show himself, a single print would be enough to point out to Nathaniel. She did
not take the time to ask herself why it was so important to prove to him what
she knew to be true.

The
sheltered rock face was dry and clean, but at its edge where it turned downward
and disappeared into the dirt, rain dripped from the overhang and pooled. There
the earth had turned to an expanse of mud, crisscrossed with the delicate
prints of small birds. She jumped off the slab and felt the clay like mud give
slightly under her weight. It felt tacky underfoot, and she looked behind
herself and saw her own prints, already filling with water at the outer edges
of the heel. Intent now, she walked a little farther.

At
first she didn't really believe what she saw. She had wanted this, yes, but it
was hard to credit anyway: not one paw print, but a whole line headed into the
underbrush. Not a cougar, or a deer or any of the others that Nathaniel had
taught her to recognize, but a dog, and a large one. For a minute she stood
staring into the shadows under the overhang, thinking about going back.
Nathaniel would need help with Joe.

Later,
she could not even say why she had gone on, what had been in her mind except
the vague feeling that she had missed something important. Something that
Nathaniel would not have missed.

There
were puddles of water, here and there, among the dog's prints. Strangely
shaped. Four of them, at an even interval. Elizabeth looked at them, and felt
her pulse double even as her thoughts slowed down to a preternatural slowness;
then she recognized them for what they were. Footprints. Human footprints.

They
were much bigger and deeper than the dog's prints; perhaps that was why she
hadn't seen them immediately. Elizabeth crouched down and she stared, harder
than she had ever stared at anything in her life. And two thoughts came to her:
they were fresh; and they could not be Nathaniel's. He had not come down to the
lake since the rain began.

There
was a tightness in her throat which exploded in a rush of blood and snapping
nerves. In an instant she was running, her thoughts flashing as quickly as her
feet as they flew over the rock face.

She
knew that Richard must be ahead of her. He would want to deal with Nathaniel
first if he intended to take her back to Paradise against her will. Elizabeth
caught a painful breath, half sob, half curse, and launched herself into the
bush, catching her foot on a root and falling hard, pulling herself up with a
wrench to move on. She felt like a lumbering cow without speed or grace,
stumbling once and then again, scrambling ineffectively in wet leaves, pulling
herself forward, soaked already to the skin with the dripping of the trees.
With the sound of her own breathing blocking out all else, she made a halfhearted
attempt to turn her toes inward and run on a narrow track as Nathaniel had
taught her to do.

It
could not have taken more than two minutes for her to reach the clearing, but
she got there winded and unable to do anything else but clutch her arms to her
heaving ribs and struggle for breath. Elizabeth paused in the damp shadows of a
stand of white pine and tried to hear past the pounding of her heart in her
ears. It began to rain again, in earnest now.

Something
was different, but it took a few seconds for her to realize what it was: the
empty grave had been filled in a high arc of fresh earth. Nathaniel had buried
Joe without her.

She
wiped the rain from her face and tried to gather her thoughts. From where she
stood, there was no immediate sign of him. To walk into the clearing went
against everything he had taught her, but he could be lying there out of sight,
his head laid open to the rain, while Richard stood over him and waited for her
to stumble in.

At
that moment Nathaniel appeared in the doorway empty—handed—she had time to
wonder where his rifle was—and Richard came out of the bush at the far edge of
the clearing with his own gun to his shoulder and his sights on her husband.

Nathaniel
was turned in her direction and saw her first. Surprise and sudden awareness
flashed across his face; he tensed and disappeared back into the shadows as
Richard called out.

"Bonner!"
he bellowed. "Show yourself!"

"Richard
Todd," Nathaniel called back in an easy tone. "Still showing up where
you're not wanted, I see." Elizabeth could make out Nathaniel quite
easily. He was gesturing with his chin in a hard motion for her to move away
into the bush.

"I'll
have to tie you up," Richard said. "Or shoot you. Take your choice.
Either way you're going back to Paradise."

Nathaniel
was gesturing to her more forcefully, but Elizabeth only clasped her arms
closer around herself and shook her head.

"That's
a fancy trick you got in mind," Nathaniel called back, frowning at
Elizabeth.

"I
guess they'll hang you for killing her," Richard called. "I won't
mind watching."

For a
moment Nathaniel's face froze and then something like real amusement passed
over it. He laughed out loud, but Elizabeth was overcome with indignation.

"Cain't
say that I'm sorry to disappoint," Nathaniel said. "She's alive as
you and me."

"That
grave says different," Richard called.

It
was then that Elizabeth saw the rifle leaning up under the lip of the door, on
the corner farthest from Richard and out of his line of vision. Nathaniel
needed his rifle now; that thought went through her head very clearly, and
without taking the time to think any further, Elizabeth lowered her head, and
ran.

She
dodged the pit between herself and the shelter, not hearing, not daring to
listen to the voice raised in surprise behind her. With one hand she grabbed
the rifle and then dove, headfirst, into the open doorway, casting the gun away
from her as she did, hoping that it wasn't primed. She was vaguely aware of
Nathaniel catching it as she hit the ground with her shoulder.

There
was a scream from outside the shelter followed by a muffled gunshot. Elizabeth
rolled and was up on her feet instantaneously, looking around herself for
Nathaniel, but finding instead only the empty room and the stripped cot.

The
second scream was louder, and drew her out of the shelter with jerk. Elizabeth
stood just beyond the open doorway, looking into a scene that made no sense.

Nathaniel
stood with his rifle sights trained downward. His hair hung in wet ropes down
his back, and rain poured over his face, but his concentration was complete.
With a terrible rush of awareness Elizabeth realized why he was aiming into the
ground.

"For
God's sake, man," bellowed Richard, his voice cracking high and hard.
"Get me out of here!"

Elizabeth
began to move past Nathaniel, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her up short.
"Wait," he said. And then, to Richard: "Where's your
rifle?"

From
the pit where he sprawled, half in, half out, Richard's voice came loud.
"It went off, you heard it. Even if I could reach it I couldn't reload.
It's at the bottom."

Elizabeth
pulled away from Nathaniel and walked forward, slowly. The rain was cold but
she was flushed from head to foot. Then she reached the edge of the pit, and
stopped. "God above," she whispered, turning to Nathaniel with a hand
pressed hard to her chest. "We have to help him."

Richard
had been running when he went into the pit; he had gone down with one leg
outstretched and the other bent, and the first stake had taken him through the
fleshy part of the lower leg. The bloody broken end of it thrust up through the
fabric of his legging. He craned his head to look up at them, his eyes wild
with pain and fear. Elizabeth saw that he had tried to catch himself by
flinging out an arm; the second pike had pierced his right hand.

She
felt her stomach slowly clench and then turn in on itself pushing up. With a
hiccup, she turned away and was sick. Nathaniel supported her while she
retched. Miserable, Elizabeth turned to him, drawing the back of her hand
across her mouth. The focused set of his face calmed her.

"This
is going to be messy," he said. "But I can't get him out of there
without your help."

"Elizabeth!"
She looked down at Richard, reluctantly. There was blood, but not so much as
she had feared. She watched in amazement as he reached with his free hand
inside his shirt. Then he was holding something up toward her, a rumpled piece
of paper, sticky with blood and pockmarked with rain, the ink running.

"Take
this," he gasped.

"Don't,"
said Nathaniel behind her.

But
it was too late; she had leaned forward and taken it from him. "What is
it?"