The Endless Forest (52 page)

S
ometimes, Elizabeth told herself, it made no sense to even try to sleep. Certainly after a day like this one she found it hard to imagine she might find any rest. It had been so full of emotion, so overwhelming, that it was stuck in her head like a melody.

The house had never seemed so small, though there was no one in attendance but family. It had to do with the little people, of course, who had not yet learned to temper happiness and excitement with common sense. Even Birdie had given in to it, the usual carefully maintained seniority over nephews and nieces left aside.

“It was a good party,” Nathaniel said. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, unlacing his moccasins. When she had no reply he glanced at her and his hair fell over his shoulder, black shot with silver.

She said, “I was thinking of Birdie. It won’t be very long before she leaves us too.”

He leaned over and kissed her. “I don’t know, Boots, but eight, ten years strikes me as a good while before we have to worry about that.”

“It will go by very quickly,” Elizabeth said.

“Only if you let it.”

“And I’m worried about Daniel.”

He stripped off his shirt and slid under the covers. With his head propped up on one hand, he studied her face.

“I cain’t recall the last time I saw him so happy.”

“Oh, I know he’s happy with Martha and she with him. It was a joy to see them together. But he was in pain this afternoon, you must have noticed.”

Nathaniel was quiet for a long moment. This was a conversation they had had many times over the years. She told him about the things that concerned her, and Nathaniel took it all in without providing false comfort.

“I wish he would talk to Hannah about the treatment Hakim Ibrahim has suggested.”

“He’s got other things on his mind just now,” Nathaniel said. He ran a thumb from her throat down between her breasts. She caught his hand and held it to her.

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t care to think much about that.”

He grinned. “I forgive you. With all that worry in your head, you got any room for Ethan?”

Elizabeth closed her eyes in the hope that would keep her husband from reading her thoughts.

“Boots.”

“Hmmm?”

“You’re not worried about Ethan and Callie?”

“How could I be anything else?”

She stayed just as she was while he blew out the candle and then settled down for sleep. For a moment she thought she had evaded the worst, but then he slid an arm around her and pulled her close so he could tuck her head under his chin.

“I’ll tell you what worries me,” he said. “I don’t know if it will help or hurt with Jemima.”

She sighed. “It makes my head spin to think about it. Nathaniel, did they seem happy to you, Ethan and Callie?”

He rubbed his chin against the crown of her head. “Depends on what you mean by happy, I suppose. They just may suit each other in ways that don’t make sense to you and me.”

“That’s a nice thought,” Elizabeth said. And it was enough of a comfort
that she could let her worries go, just now. In the sweet dark, tethered to her place in the world by Nathaniel’s voice and the sound of his heartbeat.

Simon said, “You need your sleep, Lily, and so do I.”

He reached beyond her for the candle, and she caught his hand to stop him.

“It’s your own fault,” she said. “You started the conversation. You asked me what I thought.”

He fell back against his pillow and blew a long sigh toward the ceiling.

“God above help me, so I did. All right, then. Now what toll is there to pay before we can sleep?”

Lily still had his hand in hers, and she smoothed it for a moment while she thought.

“You can explain Ethan to me.”

He let out a rough laugh. “Darlin’, I can’t even explain you.”

This surprised her. “There’s nothing complicated about me,” Lily said. “I have everything I want and need, and all my family are settled and happy. Do not make that face, Simon Ballentyne. I am happy for Daniel. I see now that Martha is the right choice.”

“Come out with it, lass, and say it.”

“All right. I was wrong about Martha. And I’m glad that I was wrong. But I am still confused about Ethan and Callie.”

He was silent for a long moment. “Tell me this,” he said finally. “Is there aught we can do but wish them well?”

Lily could think of nothing to say, and so Simon put out the light. She had begun to slide toward sleep when it happened.

“What?” Simon said. “Is there aught amiss?”

“Feel,” she said, and she put his palm on her belly. “As soon as I settle down to sleep, it starts. A tumbling, like a leaf in the wind.”

“Aye, well,” Simon said, rubbing gently. “It’s only when you’re asleep that wee blueberry can get a word in sidewise.”

Hannah came to bed in the last hour of dark, stumbling a little in her exhaustion.

“And?” murmured Ben.

“Mother and child both safe. A girl. Small but I think strong enough to survive.”

He reached for her. “You know, I think I could manage another girl,” and she rolled away, or tried to.

“Behave yourself.” She laughed and wiggled away.

“But why would I do that?”

“We’re not the newlyweds,” she said.

“Oh, but I feel like one. And so do you.”

He had her on her back and soon enough she was kissing him, long, deep slow kisses. In the dark she could make out only the shape of him, but her hands told her the rest.

“Come,” he whispered at her ear. “Come to me now and you’ll sleep all the better for it after.”

It was what he always said, even when she needed no coaxing. And he was right, she couldn’t deny it. She couldn’t deny him, or her own need. It blossomed with the touch of his mouth on her neck and the gentle bite at the curve where shoulder and throat came together.

She made a sound and he closed the space between them.

“Now let’s see,” he said. “Let’s see if I can remind you what you felt like as a bride.”

Under a setting moon two shapes swam in the lake under the falls high on Hidden Wolf. Slender and lithe in their youth and strength, they played together like otters and then disappeared behind the curtain of falling water.

In a fine bed made with linens that smelled of lavender, Callie Wilde started awake, her heart thudding.

An oil lamp cast a soft circle of light over the bed. Why had she gone to bed by lantern light? And what was this room? A carved mantelpiece with a mirror above it, a garderobe, a table covered with a white cloth on which sat a brace of good beeswax candles, a chaise longue.

And a man asleep on it. Ethan Middleton.

He was breathing deeply, shoulders rising and falling, and his face turned to the wall.

A solid, dependable man, who kept his promises. Who had married her for no reason she could see but his kindness and generosity and friendship. Because he was lonely, and had seen the same in her.

He had presented her to his family, as was right and proper, and they had welcomed her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her new husband had no brothers or sisters, but he had cousins. Cousins who loved him and would love her for his sake. They treated her as if she had always belonged, and could never belong anywhere else.

From across the room he had smiled at her, and she smiled back while the children fussed over her, bringing her dolls and toys to admire, the littlest ones climbing into her lap. Telling her stories about their games and adventures. They asked about her apple trees, and she told those few stories she had.

She had not told Ethan about the Bleeding Heart. Out of superstition. Out of fear.

The adults brought her tea and refilled her plate and asked her questions about things that interested her. Everyone took pains to make her feel wanted and welcome. Everyone except Martha, who had once been her only family and was now just one of many.

Martha sat on the other side of the room and was surrounded, just as Callie was surrounded, by children and adults. The only difference, as far as Callie could tell, was that Martha had a puppy on her lap. In fact, the children seemed more interested in the puppy than anything else.

When it came time to say good night, she and Ethan had left the horses in the stable and walked the path through the woods, down the hillside, to his house. To her new home. Just as Martha had gone with Daniel to his house in the strawberry fields.

Callie slept in a fine bed by herself. Her husband had gone to his own narrow bed cheerfully, without complaint, and fell straight away to sleep.

What had she been dreaming about, to wake in such panic? Her whole body was damp with sweat and her heart still raced, and how silly that was. She was safe and well fed and comfortable and tomorrow she would be the same, and the days after that, for the rest of her life.

She wondered if Martha disliked sharing a bed, and how well she slept in it.

F
orce of habit woke Daniel at first light. Sunlight filtered through the joints of the closed shutters along with the vaguest hint of a breeze; a perfect May morning.

What came next he didn’t need to think about; every school morning looked like the last. Get up and dressed, eat whatever there was to eat in the larder, wash and scrape the bristle from his face, rinse his mouth with salt water, and head out for the schoolhouse at a trot, using that time to work through the day’s lesson plans.

In the normal course of things he would have been impatient to get back into the classroom after the long break forced on him by the flood and its aftermath. But normal had shifted on its axis, and Daniel wondered how he could best shift himself to suit.

Beside him Martha slept deeply, curled on her side away from him so that he could count the knobs of her spine. Next to her his own skin seemed so dark, and the contrast still took him by surprise. So many things about her surprised him.

There was a small whimpering and then the puppy wiggled out from under the sheet to look at him sheepishly.

“How did you get up here?”

The tiny tail thumped twice in response.

“Lie down with dogs, wake up with fleas,” Daniel reminded him. “You’ve got a basket to sleep in. Best get used to it.”

The puppy yawned and tucked himself up against Martha, unconcerned with Daniel’s tone, and clearly very pleased with himself.

He could let Martha sleep on. Write a note and go off to teach. Tomorrow would be soon enough for her to start with the younger students, he’d tell her. But it would mean leaving her alone and that went against every instinct he had, given the situation with Jemima. Short of locking her in the cellar, sooner or later Martha would come face-to-face with her mother, and the best he could do was to make sure that when it did, he was right there.

And it was high time he got back to the classroom. He had to go, and so she had to come along with him. It was the plan they had made and they would hold to it, no matter how peaceful she looked sleeping. Or how distracted the process of waking her up turned out to be.

That was the most pressing reason for wanting to wake her, but plain common sense and good manners held him back. He was not a boy of seventeen anymore; he could control his base instincts and leave her be. But that didn’t mean he wanted to get out of bed, not quite yet.

He leaned over and put his chin on the shelf of her shoulder and resisted the urge to slip his arms around her.

“Time to get up, teacher.”

She couldn’t have roused more quickly had he poked her with a pin. Her expression was almost comical, but then again her anxiety was real and so Daniel bit back a smile.

He said, “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

She sat up and the vaguest hint of a wince crossed her face. Daniel cursed himself for an immoderate fool and vowed to leave her in peace for at least a full day.

“Of course not,” she said. “You realize I know nothing of teaching, and I will most probably make a muddle of it.”

“Most likely,” he agreed.

She pinched him and he yelped.

“Are you sure you want to start a wrestling match right now? Because I could go without breakfast, but you are going to need your strength.”

“I don’t know about that,” Martha said. “I intend to race you down to the village, and to win. You had best eat hearty.”

She made him laugh. That was the biggest surprise, how easily she made him laugh, and how often.

The children were waiting by the time they got to the schoolhouse. Daniel could read their mood from a long distance, and this morning there was a lot of excitement barely being held in check. Last night they had promised the nieces and nephews that Hopper would be attending school with them, and Martha realized now that the puppy was a wonderful way to divert at least some of the excitement from herself.

“Eager,” Martha remarked.

“Curious,” he answered.

“Fair enough,” she said. “I’m curious myself.” But she kept casting glances up the lane toward the Red Dog that said quite clearly how nervous she was, and for more than one reason. They had talked about this at length, and her position was clear: She would not seek out Jemima, but neither could she hide. When the time came, they would cope with it.