Into the Wilderness (84 page)

Elizabeth
blinked at him, confused. "Pride?"

He—Who—Dreams
spoke up, his voice raspy with age but his tone not unkind. He spoke slowly,
switching back and forth between his own language and a melodious French.
"You call yourself teacher, and summon children to you. White children,
and black, and Kahnyen’keháka. But we ask, what do you have to offer our
children? You cannot make a moccasin or skin a deer. You cannot cure hides. You
know nothing of the crops, how to plant or tend them. You cannot turn your hand
to hunting, or show them how to track. You do not know the names of the moons
or the seasons, or of the spirits who direct them. Of medicines you know
nothing. And yet you call Kahnyen’keháka children to your school. You will
teach them to read and write your language. You will teach them of your wars
and your gods. You can teach them only to be white."

Blushing
hot with confusion and anger, Elizabeth struggled hard to hold on to her
composure. Nathaniel had taken her hand and she felt his tension, too, but she
was being tested and he could not help her.

The
sachem finished: "Bone—in—Her—Back, I wish you well, but we cannot send
our children to you. Instead, I say that you should send your sons to us, and
we will make men of them."

The men
were watching her, their eyes hooded and expectant. Elizabeth searched inside
herself for an answer to this man, for some way to make him understand. She
meant well; she had only the best intentions for those children who came to
her. Reading and writing were good and necessary skills, ones that would open
up worlds for them.

Other
worlds.

She
cleared her throat.

"Sachem,"
she began. "We are ignorant of your stories, that is true. Most of my
people are dismissive of your way of life. But it is also true that the
Europeans are here and will not be sent away." There was a surprised
murmuring, but Elizabeth continued, searching for the right words. "All I
can offer your children is a command of our language, and a knowledge of our
stories. It is through those stories that you can gain some understanding of
how we think."

"You
give us weapons to use against your own people," Spotted—Fox pointed out
to her in a very good English.

"I
would give your children a tool," Elizabeth said quietly. "What they
do with it once they leave my classroom I cannot determine."

The
sachem was looking hard at her, his face impassive but his eyes wide and
flashing with the speed of his thoughts. "If you stay with us for the
summer, we will teach you our stories, and you can teach us your own.

"I
thank you for this honor," she said. "But we have family at home who
wait for us. I will learn the Kahnyen’keháka stories from Falling—Day and
Many-Doves and Runs-from-Bears. And from Otter, who has already taught me
important lessons," she added, seeing the young man suddenly at the back
of the crowd of men.

"Otter
goes to fight with Little—Turtle against the treaty breakers in the west,"
said Stone—Splitter.

Elizabeth
glanced at Nathaniel, and he nodded. When she looked into the crowd again,
Otter had disappeared.

"Is
this your decision, then?" Stone—Splitter asked, his eyes moving between
Elizabeth and Nathaniel. "Do you leave us?"

"As
soon as we are ready to travel after the Strawberry Festival."

"And
what of Cat—Eater?" asked the sachem. "Will he travel with you?"

"No,"
said Elizabeth before Nathaniel could speak. "He does not."

"He
wishes to speak to you."

"We
will resolve our business with Cat—Eater before we leave," said Nathaniel.

Astonished,
Elizabeth turned to him. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. She swallowed
hard and settled back on her heels.

"First
it looks as though you have business to settle between yourselves," noted
He—Who—Dreams.

Elizabeth
went back to the Wolf long house on her own, because Nathaniel had more business
to discuss with the men. She was preoccupied and unsettled by the conversation,
and unsure of the answers she had given. Suddenly all the things she had taken
for granted about herself and her purpose in coming to this new place were
suspect. Torn by indignation and doubt simultaneously, she walked along lost in
thoughts, so that at first she did not hear the voice that called to her, and
then she did not recognize it. And when she did, she suppressed both a groan
and the strong urge to walk on as if she were deaf to her own name. But her
training, even now, was too deeply ingrained for such behavior. Slightly
light—headed, Elizabeth turned and found Richard sitting in the sun on a
blanket before the Bear long house

If
she had been thinking of some short and less—than—friendly greeting, it died at
the sight of him: this was a man with Richard Todd's voice, but he looked like
no one she had ever known.

If
she had thought Nathaniel thin, Richard was skeletal. Minus the great mass of
his red—gold beard his face was an unhealthy white. His strong nose stood out
like the spine of a supine bird, his cheekbones like arched wings. His cheeks
were sunken, and his lips cracked and scabbed.

Although
she had not intended to, Elizabeth approached him, noting that he smelled of
sweat and herbs but not of decay.

"My
wounds heal, slowly," he said, reading her mind, as well as the look in
her eyes as they traveled over him. His voice was softer than she remembered.
Perhaps the fever had broken his anger as it had broken him physically.

"Are
they treating you well?" she asked.

"You
and I have business to discuss," he answered.

Elizabeth
flushed suddenly with a particular memory. "Yes. Let us begin with the lie
you told in yet another attempt to keep me from my husband."

Richard
waved a hand dismissively, and made a mulish mouth.

"You
are here, are you not? You promised to answer my charges in a court of
law," he said quietly.

She
had begun to turn away, and now she turned back. "I did," she said.
"And I will. Before the sachem and his council, I will answer your
charges."

Richard's
pale cheeks flared suddenly. "I meant the court of the state of
New—York."

"But
you did not specify that," Elizabeth pointed out.

To
her surprise, Richard smiled.

"As
you wish it. We will lay this matter before Made—of—Bones and Two—Suns and
She—Remembers."

"Those
are the clan mothers," Elizabeth said, caught off guard and feeling
somehow that she had been outmaneuvered, but not quite seeing how.

He
spread out his hand, palm upward, to reveal a horrible wound, only half healed.
Elizabeth looked at it because she could not make herself look away.

"Of
course," said Richard. "This is not a matter of war, but of the
clans. It is for the clan mothers to decide. We will only go to the sachem if
they cannot reach a conclusion."

"Do
you think they will tell me I picked the wrong husband?" Elizabeth asked,
almost able to muster a smile at this idea. It was clear in what high regard
the village held Nathaniel, and how well disposed they all were—men and
women—toward him.

Richard
leaned his head to one side, looking suddenly tired. "I know this. I know
She—Remembers: for seven years I called her Elder Sister, and slept at her
hearth. I know that Made—of—Bones is Sarah's grandmother and held her very
dear. I know that she told Sarah to put her husband aside, because he could not
give her great—grandchildren to bring to the council fire."

"And
I know that Sarah refused this," Elizabeth said, wishing that she could
stop the shaking in her voice, but failing. "And that she did bear
Nathaniel children, in the end."

He
raised one reddish eyebrow. "Then you know more than Nathaniel does
himself. More than Sarah knew. The question is, who will they believe? You, the
O'seronni woman, or Irtakohsaks. Who has returned home to them."

"Against
your will," Elizabeth pointed out.

"I
beg to differ," he said slowly. "They have heard no such thoughts
from me."

"You
are bluffing," said Elizabeth.

"Let
us wait and see," Richard said, suddenly much paler. He swayed slightly as
he rose, and grabbed onto the wall of the long house Elizabeth watched without
extending a hand as he limped toward the door.

She
was still standing there when he had disappeared into the shadows.

More
tired than she could remember being since that day on the trail when Otter had
found her at Robbie's.
Elizabeth
wanted only the sleeping platform she shared with Nathaniel. And Nathaniel. But
he was still with Spotted—Fox and the others, and so she made her way back to
the long house and crawled alone into the pile of bearskins, falling asleep
even before she could consider removing her moccasins. She slept deeply, and
woke staring at the endless rows of dried corn hung in the rafters, ravenously
hungry.

She
sat up, and found Splitting—Moon directly before her. They were alone in the
long house with the exception of a very young child playing naked in the ashes
of a cold fire, singing tunelessly to herself. Outside there was a game going
on that seemed to involve the whole village. All except Splitting—Moon.

"Do
they play baggataway?"
Elizabeth
asked, her mouth sticky with dryness.

Splitting—Moon
nodded and handed her a bowl of water, which
Elizabeth
accepted gratefully. The younger
woman began to turn away.

"Splitting—Moon."
Elizabeth
used
the woman's Kahnyen’keháka name. Just her name, but it was enough to make her
pause. "Why do you watch me?"

For a
moment
Elizabeth
feared the woman would not answer at all, thus closing the door between them
for good. But a tremor moved her mouth, and a look of uncertainty came over her
face.

"Because
you have a magic that is new to me," she said finally. "I would like
to understand it."

Elizabeth
smiled, relieved. "I have no magic."

"But
you have bound Wolf—Running—Fast to you," said Splitting—Moon.

"I
married him,"
Elizabeth
said. "There is no magic in that, just—" She paused, lacking the
right Kahnyen’keháka word. "Bonne chance."

The
younger woman blinked at her, and then reaching out one finger, she touched
Elizabeth
's face. With
some effort,
Elizabeth
held herself very still while Splitting—Moon traced an invisible mask lightly
around her eyes.

"You
have bound him to you with his child," said Splitting—Moon. "Your
spirit is stronger than mine, stronger than Yewennahnotha's was. Neither of us
could hold on to his children."

Elizabeth
jerked with surprise; she felt her heartbeat leap and then settle again.
Yewennahnotha'. Sarah. She heard herself laugh, a startled sound.

"Where
do you get such an idea?" she asked, and then in response to
Splitting—Moon's blank look, she realized she had said this in English. In her
agitation, the Mohawk would not come to her and so she repeated herself in
French.

Splitting—Moon's
puzzlement cleared. She walked the small distance to her grandmother's hearth
to look through a large basket, and returned with a broken shard of mirror,
only as big as
Elizabeth
's
palm. "You wear the mask," she said, holding it up to her.

"I
am not with child,"
Elizabeth
whispered, but even as she said this, her mind raced. She was seeing herself
for the first time in weeks, her face unfamiliar with its sharper angles. Her
skin was simply brown from long days out of doors, she told herself, even as
she saw the faintly darker glimmering circling her eyes.

She
shook her head, closed her eyes, and willed herself to recall the last time she
had bled. She realized that she did not know the day of the week, or even what
month it was. The days and weeks slipped away from her as she tried to count
them. Five weeks? Six?

"I
do not think I am with child,"
Elizabeth
corrected herself, and with the realization that this thing might be so, she
knew it to be true. She sat back on her heels, and wrapped her arms around
herself, bent forward in an arch. Her whole body flushed with terror and joy,
and an overwhelming sense of the power and simple wonder: that she should be
capable of this thing that made her, once and for all time, Nathaniel's wife.

"You
did not know," Splitting—Moon said.

"No,"
said
Elizabeth
,
bringing up her head to meet Splitting—Moon's gaze. "I did not
realize." In the younger woman's eyes she found sympathy and joy, and for
those gifts she knew she would always be thankful.