The Endless Forest (67 page)

They talked about everything. He told her family stories, sad and funny and outrageous, about his grandfather Hawkeye, his own adventures on the mountain as a boy, the time in the militia before he was shot and captured. The time in the garrison at Nut Island. He talked about his injury, and gave her extracts to read from books on anatomy and medicine, so that she would have a better understanding of the damage to his shoulder, and what it meant.

He told her the story he had heard from Lily about Gabriel Oak and his grandmother. It was hard to believe that Elizabeth’s parentage was as unorthodox as Martha’s, but it made her feel closer to her mother-in-law.

“She should have been Elizabeth Oak,” Martha said, and Daniel looked directly surprised at that suggestion.

She told him more about the years she had lived alone with Jemima in the old mill house. Things she hadn’t allowed herself to think about
swam up out of the dark and Daniel listened while they sat together on the porch, his fingers laced through her own.

Elizabeth went to Albany and took Birdie with her, and for that week Martha went more often to Uphill House to help Jennet and visit with Lily. She sat with Nathaniel and Simon and Luke while they ate supper and listened to tall tales that made her laugh until her sides hurt and she wept tears.

Every third day Hannah came with her box of needles. Sometimes Birdie came along and sometimes Hannah brought her youngest, and Martha sat outside with him until Hannah had finished. Simon was a sturdy, cheerful child who was very serious about learning to crawl. Martha’s courses came again and for all her affection for the little people, she was relieved. She wanted to remember this summer exactly as it was; she wanted to keep Daniel to herself for a while at least.

In the normal course of things she would have spent a year or more learning about him before they ever entertained a serious thought about marriage. He would have come to call on her, and they would have gone for walks and buggy rides, and little by little they would have given in to the attraction between them. She said this to him and he laughed at the idea outright.

“You think either of us could have waited a year?”

“Well, yes,” Martha said. “Or at least, I could have.”

He raised one eyebrow, which was his way of calling her less than truthful.

“You have a high opinion of your powers of seduction,” she said.

“Oh, I would have had my work cut out for me,” he said as he pulled the brush down the length of her hair. “But I imagine we would have had a good time, both of us.”

It made no sense to argue with Daniel about these things—mostly, Martha admitted to herself, because he was more comfortable with the subject matter, and worse, he was usually right. And still, he did ask her thoughts and listen when she gave them. He valued her opinion, and he trusted her.

Martha understood the full measure of his trust the day he emptied his satchel out in front of her. Nothing there was much of a surprise: whetstone, handkerchief, string, compass, the stub of a pencil, a folding of paper covered with notes, and neatly trimmed newspaper clippings held together by a pin. The only item that gave her pause was a tightly
wound ball of yarn that smelled of lanolin. Before she could think to ask him about it, he had taken it up and begun to squeeze it rhythmically with his injured hand.

After a few minutes sweat appeared on his brow and ran in rivulets down his face, but his expression was resolute and he continued on, looking neither left nor right, looking at nothing at all except whatever goal it was he set for himself.

She wondered if anyone knew he did this, and what Hannah would say. In the end she only brought him a cup of water and a damp rag to wipe his face. It was an hour before Daniel came back to himself, and then he spoke to her about the window sashes they expected any day, and how good it would be to have the renovations to the house done.

The next day Hannah came alone, and Martha stayed close by to watch. Daniel stretched out on the table, bare to the waist, so his sister could work on his back and shoulders and on the arm that had never healed. She worked in companionable silence, only stopping now and then to talk to Martha about what she had before her, as if Daniel were the subject of an anatomy lesson.

For the most part Martha kept her questions to herself. She wanted to know if Daniel thought the treatments might be helping, if the pain came less often, if he was feeling hopeful. But now was not the time to ask such things; maybe there would never be a good time unless Daniel raised the subject himself.

Hannah left, and they went to the spot on the stream where Daniel had killed the timber rattler. They spent the rest of the afternoon in the sun, napping or talking. Sometimes Daniel read aloud to her while she made flower crowns for both of them and for Hopper, who was growing fast out of puppyhood but still insisted on chasing every insect and inspecting every rustle in the grass.

Every few days Martha went into the village to the trading post. It seemed now certain that no one would ever call it the emporium or anything but the trading post, regardless of how big a sign the Mayfairs nailed in place. She stopped to talk to almost everyone she met, and realized one day that she had lost her reserve. She was too busy to be shy, too happy to be self-conscious. Even the sight of Baldy O’Brien’s scowl couldn’t stay with her for long.

The only worry was Callie, who seemed ever more distant and
preoccupied. She and Ethan had begun building a new house in the orchards—far too big and fancy for Paradise, according to the O’Briens—with room for both the Misses Thicke and for Nicholas too.

Nicholas was so much a part of the village already that Martha wondered if he ever thought of his other life. The urge to ask him about that life she had been able to keep to herself. So many questions that had to go without answer.

When Nicholas was not off exploring with Adam and the rest of the little people, he followed Ethan around asking questions. Ethan had always been good with children and he had endless patience; he answered Nicholas calmly no matter how often the question had been asked and answered.

To Martha it seemed that Ethan was better with the boy than Callie, who was always on guard. The circles beneath her eyes darkened and the wit that had made her conversation so lively rarely showed itself. She had no interest in talking about the new house or the orchards or anything, really. Unlike Nicholas, who was eager to tell every detail.

To Daniel Martha said, “Nicholas can show you where the windows in his room will be. He wants a dog, and snowshoes, and a hammer of his own. And Callie promises him everything he asks for.”

In the first fragrant quiet after sunset they were sitting on the porch with a smokepot downwind to keep the blackfly at a distance. It would be Martha’s favorite time of all, if not for the blackfly. Even the pennyroyal ointment she had from Hannah only worked in part. When she grumbled Daniel threatened to tie her down and smear her from head to toe with bear grease, his own way of coping when he went into the bush.

Daniel said, “I was hoping Callie would calm down after a bit.”

“Is Ethan concerned?”

He looked at her, surprised. “I haven’t asked him, and neither should you. They’ll work things out between them.”

“Or they won’t.”

He didn’t protest. For a long minute his thoughts seemed very far away, and then he surprised her. “Have you heard Nicholas singing with Levi when he’s helping in the orchard?”

Martha sat up in her surprise. “Nicholas can sing?”

He pulled her back to rest against him. “Ma mentioned it to me. She
said he has a pure tenor voice, clear as ice. According to Levi the boy can sing harmony to any tune, even ones he never heard before. It’s a natural talent, seems like. To make up for other things.”

It explained why Levi seemed less distant around the boy and less suspicious in general. When Callie’s father had been alive, there had always been singing in the orchard. It made Martha glad, and it made her deeply uneasy.

Daniel said, “Are you going to tell me what has got you so worried? Does it bother you that the boy can sing?”

“Yes,” Martha said. “My mother can sing, and so could Callie’s father. It was the only thing they had in common.”

“Were you doubting Jemima’s claims about the boy’s parentage?”

“I suppose I was,” Martha said. “The tighter Callie holds on to the boy, the more I want to draw away. What is she going to do when Jemima comes to claim him?”

“Maybe she won’t come back for him,” Daniel said. “Maybe she really did mean to dump him here for you and Callie to take care of.”

But Martha remembered the look on Jemima’s face when she spoke about the boy. The obvious pride, and something that was as much like love as Jemima could produce.

“She’s coming back,” Martha said. “Like a bad penny. I can feel it in my bones.”

Callie Wilde Middleton had just brought the workmen their dinner when she saw Lorena walking toward the cider house with a basket over her arm. Her pace was slow and she held herself like a queen, as if she owned everything she saw around herself. As if, Callie had heard said in the village, butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

Lorena visited every day, and sometimes more than once. Callie had been ready to raise the subject to Levi when Ethan made a remark at supper that changed her mind.

“Did you notice Levi is smiling again?”

Callie had noticed. It was so unexpected that at first she had wondered if his bowels gripped him.

“I think he’s pleased about the way the orchard is coming back from the flood.”

Ethan had a look he used sometimes, not exactly sharp but certainly clear. As if he could see into a person’s head to the worst things hidden in the deepest corners.

“It might have to do with that,” Ethan said in his usual even way. “But I’m wondering if it has to do with Lorena. You don’t like that idea?”

Callie often found herself guessing at the answer Ethan wanted to hear from her, because he seldom gave her any obvious clues. His tone left Callie with only two choices: to say nothing at all, or to tell the truth, which must disappoint even Ethan.

The truth was that Callie didn’t want any outsiders talking to Levi. Not so long ago he had gone for weeks at a time talking to nobody but Callie herself. Now he spoke every day with Ethan, because, she had to remind herself, the marriage meant that Ethan was the legal owner of this land and everything on it, and as such, he was Levi’s employer. To Callie’s surprise and satisfaction, Ethan had paid Levi’s back wages—two years’ worth, since the last half-decent harvest—and had begun paying him every week on Friday, seeking him out wherever he was to put the money in his hand and spend a few minutes talking.

Levi was smiling these days, but it didn’t necessarily have to do with Lorena or with wages or even with the fact that for the first time they had the tools and supplies they needed. Callie believed that Levi was smiling about the Bleeding Heart tree, hidden away in the nursery. Callie found herself smiling too, when she thought of it.

Just yesterday she had gone at sunrise to see for herself, and found that she was afraid to even touch the green fruit no bigger than walnuts.

Levi said, “All we can do now is pray.”

It wasn’t like Levi to depend on anybody but himself. She couldn’t ever remember him talking about God, or anything to do with religion. Callie wondered if it was Lorena’s influence, but she bit her tongue.

Levi scratched his jaw with a thumbnail and looked over her head to the orchard.

“I have got to ask you a question that maybe ain’t none of my business.”

“Go ahead.”

“Your husband don’t know yet about the Bleeding Heart?”

She had known this subject would come up sooner or later, but still
she was at a loss. “I keep meaning to tell him,” Callie said. “But I can never get started. I know I am being superstitious.”

“You got reason to be touchy on the subject,” Levi said. “Maybe it’s best to wait until he can taste the fruit for hisself.”

“Have you—” She almost stopped herself, but then pushed on. “Have you told anybody?”

His level gaze gave away nothing, not surprise or hurt or anger. “No, I have not,” he said. “But then, I ain’t got a wife. I wouldn’t hold it against you if you told Ethan about it.”

Now Nicholas appeared out of the cider house door and came hopping and jumping down the hillside toward her, his face alight with pleasure. Callie found herself smiling at that, the simple sight of her brother running through the orchard in summer.

He never slowed down, launching himself into her arms so that she dropped the empty basket and laughed out loud.

“Nicholas,” she said. “Slow down.”

“Where are you going? Can I come along? Do you want me to carry the basket? What did you bring the workers for their dinner? It smells like beef-and-kidney pie. I like pie, but I like fritters better. Lorena made fritters for Levi’s dinner. And she let me have one too. Lorena makes the best fritters, Levi said so too, and so would you.”

“I don’t know that I can remember all those questions,” Callie said. “But let me try. I’m going to see Lily with a message from Simon; yes, you certainly can come along if you like; it was indeed steak-and-kidney pie; and if you fill yourself up with fritters, you won’t want a proper dinner,” Callie said.

That made Nicholas laugh out loud. “I could eat fritters until my stomach stuck out to here.” He touched fingers in front of himself as far as his rounded arms would reach. “And I’d still eat dinner. Wait and see. Oh, there’s Friend Abigail, do you see her? She’s got the longest plaits of all the girls at school and she smells of soap.”

Conversations with Nicholas were like this; he rattled on telling stories at a nonstop pace. Callie wondered if he had always been like this, so full of joy and open to the world, or if that was something new.

She said, “Nicholas, do you miss Boston?”

His brow wrinkled as if he wasn’t quite sure how he should answer. “I like it here,” he said.

“Good, I’m glad. But you must have friends there who you miss.”