Into the Wilderness
Page 135
It belonged to no one, and never could; the mountains and the scattering of lakes in greens and azures and the endless, ageless forests. The thought came to her that it was a great vanity and self—delusion to believe that such a world could be claimed, could be owned, by simply putting a name on it. She felt humbled, and childish. And still, her anger was there and she did not know how to resolve it. With her chin on her knees she looked down the mountain to where Nathaniel sat by the lake.
He was her husband, and he loved her. And it struck Elizabeth, very clearly, that all along she had both depended on and resented him for his extreme common sense. His clearheadedness had sometimes been irritating. But today there had been another Nathaniel there, vulnerable and uneasy and defensive. Things she had never seen in him before, things she didn't know how to cope with. She wanted something from him that he didn't want to give, and she had pushed him until he wouldn't be pushed anymore. Elizabeth realized how insensitive she had been, and her cheeks colored with embarrassment. The urge to get up and go back to Nathaniel was almost more than she could withstand. But she pressed her forehead against her knees and counted to ten, and then to a hundred, forcing herself to count slowly.
She did want to know about Sarah. The young woman who had saved Nathaniel's life, and the lives of her family. Who had turned to the man who had been responsible for the deaths of her father and brothers, the massacre of her village, the desecration of her home. Sarah, who had been dead for five years but who had left a daughter behind, a bright, beautiful daughter. Elizabeth knew that she must have the story in its entirety; she needed it for herself, and she owed it to Hannah.
He doesn't trust you with her, not yet. That acknowledgment had hurt her pride, and she struggled now to come to a quiet place with the truth of the matter. Nathaniel did not trust her completely, and she would have to wait until he did.
From the edge of the wood came the strident killy killy killy of a kestrel irritated by intruders too close to its nest. She turned to see the vibrantly colored bird swooping and fluttering. But there was no fox or squirrel. Instead there was a stranger standing there with a coonskin cap in his hands. A man with a beautiful smile and gold—brown eyes.
She rose slowly to her feet and stood her ground, realizing even as she did that she had purposely and foolishly disregarded Nathaniel's directions to stay within shouting distance. She was without weapons and out of earshot. It did not occur to her to ask him his name as he approached her. For months she had been hearing stories of him; she would know Jack Lingo anywhere.
He walked with the rolling limp that was his hallmark, one leg shorter than the other. The fringe on his hunting shirt shimmied with it. The grin never left his face, clean shaven and quite handsome. Fans of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes gave him a kindly air. He was not very tall, but was elegantly built. Even to her untrained eye he looked strong, the shoulders filling out his shirt and straining at the upper arms.
A few feet short of her, he came to a stop and bowed so that she saw that his hair, luxuriant curls, was shot with white.
"Madame Bonner," he murmured in a deep, gravelly voice. There were green flecks in his golden eyes. He bowed from the waist, all politeness and condescension. "Finally I make your acquaintance."
* * *
Nathaniel slept in the sun, as he had wanted to do. Forced himself to lie there, to still his breathing. To put thoughts of Sarah and of Elizabeth out of his head, and to sleep. He woke instantaneously and reached for her, but his hand found the more familiar shape of his rifle. He judged the time by the slant of the light, and by the grumbling in his stomach. She would be back at Robbie's, waiting for him with things to say. He did not relish the conversation, but he could not go longer without seeing her.
Downwind from Robbie's camp, Nathaniel heard the thunk of an axe and the occasional pause. This part of the bush was as familiar to him as the country around Paradise, and so were Robbie's habits. Nathaniel had hunted here with his father every season while he was growing up, staying behind for long weeks to learn trapping from Robbie. Hawkeye had been willing to leave Nathaniel because Robbie knew the value of the business; Cora had let him go for other reasons. She had been worried about Nathaniel's restlessness and hoped that the time with Robbie would be enough to satisfy his need for adventure. A hope that had not been realized.
Robbie was known up and down the bush for his understanding of the beaver and their ways, for his generosity and gentleness, and for his fair dealings with the Hode'noshaunee. For thirty years he had traded with them, his furs for their squash and beans and corn, for moccasins and hunting shirts big enough to fit him, and for thirty years he had been knowingly and willingly underpaid. His furs were the best to be had, and worth fortune season by season. But Robbie had not a greedy bone in him and he was content with the arrangement, because it released him of the need to go among men. Twice or three times a year he had come to Paradise, to spend a few evenings at Cora's hearth. Since she had died he had not even gone that far.
The thought of Lake in the Clouds brought Nathaniel back to Elizabeth and Sarah. He had lost his composure today about Sarah, something he hadn't done in many years. Elizabeth had taken offense. He shook his head, knowing that he had given her cause.
She was so strong and so sensible that he forgot at times what it must be like for her, how strange it all was. Looking back at those first days she had spent in Paradise, he remembered admiring her for coping so well. That was when it had started. With the tilt of her chin and the flash of her eyes and the curve of her mouth, with the starch in her and her feistiness. The question was, could she stand to see him for what he was? She demanded the whole truth, but he worried that she would turn away from him, once she had heard it all.
He was her husband, and he loved her. And it struck Elizabeth, very clearly, that all along she had both depended on and resented him for his extreme common sense. His clearheadedness had sometimes been irritating. But today there had been another Nathaniel there, vulnerable and uneasy and defensive. Things she had never seen in him before, things she didn't know how to cope with. She wanted something from him that he didn't want to give, and she had pushed him until he wouldn't be pushed anymore. Elizabeth realized how insensitive she had been, and her cheeks colored with embarrassment. The urge to get up and go back to Nathaniel was almost more than she could withstand. But she pressed her forehead against her knees and counted to ten, and then to a hundred, forcing herself to count slowly.
She did want to know about Sarah. The young woman who had saved Nathaniel's life, and the lives of her family. Who had turned to the man who had been responsible for the deaths of her father and brothers, the massacre of her village, the desecration of her home. Sarah, who had been dead for five years but who had left a daughter behind, a bright, beautiful daughter. Elizabeth knew that she must have the story in its entirety; she needed it for herself, and she owed it to Hannah.
He doesn't trust you with her, not yet. That acknowledgment had hurt her pride, and she struggled now to come to a quiet place with the truth of the matter. Nathaniel did not trust her completely, and she would have to wait until he did.
From the edge of the wood came the strident killy killy killy of a kestrel irritated by intruders too close to its nest. She turned to see the vibrantly colored bird swooping and fluttering. But there was no fox or squirrel. Instead there was a stranger standing there with a coonskin cap in his hands. A man with a beautiful smile and gold—brown eyes.
She rose slowly to her feet and stood her ground, realizing even as she did that she had purposely and foolishly disregarded Nathaniel's directions to stay within shouting distance. She was without weapons and out of earshot. It did not occur to her to ask him his name as he approached her. For months she had been hearing stories of him; she would know Jack Lingo anywhere.
He walked with the rolling limp that was his hallmark, one leg shorter than the other. The fringe on his hunting shirt shimmied with it. The grin never left his face, clean shaven and quite handsome. Fans of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes gave him a kindly air. He was not very tall, but was elegantly built. Even to her untrained eye he looked strong, the shoulders filling out his shirt and straining at the upper arms.
A few feet short of her, he came to a stop and bowed so that she saw that his hair, luxuriant curls, was shot with white.
"Madame Bonner," he murmured in a deep, gravelly voice. There were green flecks in his golden eyes. He bowed from the waist, all politeness and condescension. "Finally I make your acquaintance."
* * *
Nathaniel slept in the sun, as he had wanted to do. Forced himself to lie there, to still his breathing. To put thoughts of Sarah and of Elizabeth out of his head, and to sleep. He woke instantaneously and reached for her, but his hand found the more familiar shape of his rifle. He judged the time by the slant of the light, and by the grumbling in his stomach. She would be back at Robbie's, waiting for him with things to say. He did not relish the conversation, but he could not go longer without seeing her.
Downwind from Robbie's camp, Nathaniel heard the thunk of an axe and the occasional pause. This part of the bush was as familiar to him as the country around Paradise, and so were Robbie's habits. Nathaniel had hunted here with his father every season while he was growing up, staying behind for long weeks to learn trapping from Robbie. Hawkeye had been willing to leave Nathaniel because Robbie knew the value of the business; Cora had let him go for other reasons. She had been worried about Nathaniel's restlessness and hoped that the time with Robbie would be enough to satisfy his need for adventure. A hope that had not been realized.
Robbie was known up and down the bush for his understanding of the beaver and their ways, for his generosity and gentleness, and for his fair dealings with the Hode'noshaunee. For thirty years he had traded with them, his furs for their squash and beans and corn, for moccasins and hunting shirts big enough to fit him, and for thirty years he had been knowingly and willingly underpaid. His furs were the best to be had, and worth fortune season by season. But Robbie had not a greedy bone in him and he was content with the arrangement, because it released him of the need to go among men. Twice or three times a year he had come to Paradise, to spend a few evenings at Cora's hearth. Since she had died he had not even gone that far.
The thought of Lake in the Clouds brought Nathaniel back to Elizabeth and Sarah. He had lost his composure today about Sarah, something he hadn't done in many years. Elizabeth had taken offense. He shook his head, knowing that he had given her cause.
She was so strong and so sensible that he forgot at times what it must be like for her, how strange it all was. Looking back at those first days she had spent in Paradise, he remembered admiring her for coping so well. That was when it had started. With the tilt of her chin and the flash of her eyes and the curve of her mouth, with the starch in her and her feistiness. The question was, could she stand to see him for what he was? She demanded the whole truth, but he worried that she would turn away from him, once she had heard it all.
