Into the Wilderness
Page 162
Richard was pale, his forehead beaded with sweat.
"You must tell me what to do," she said to him. "You must."
Blood welled from between the fingers pressed over Richard's wound. "Give me something to dress this leg of mine first. The muscle is badly torn."
"Your leg can wait," she said. "Tell me what to do for him."
Nathaniel gasped, his eyelids fluttering. Elizabeth looked at the blood bubbling from his chest with every breath, at his face, tinged blue with the effort to breathe, and then into Richard Todd's eyes, filmed with a different kind of pain, long hoarded and treasured. She leaned toward him and brought her eyes within inches of his.
"Listen to me," she hissed softly. "You will tell me how to bind this wound. You will do that, and do it clearly and without delay. Because if he dies, then I will gladly sit here and watch you bleed to death. Do you hear me?"
There was a flicker of something in his eyes. Surprise. Perhaps respect. Richard Todd hesitated while the sound of Nathaniel's labored breathing punctuated the silence. At length, he nodded.
* * *
Elizabeth had never been so tired in her life, and yet she knew that she dared not sleep. She could not afford to sleep. On either side of the shelter, with the makeshift fire between them, Richard and Nathaniel were alternately dozing or in need of her attentions. It was just hours since the events of the morning, but it felt to her like years.
She went outside, desperate for fresh air, and sat down for the first time in what seemed to be days. But there was no escaping it; if she closed her eyes it all played itself out in her head again. The feel of the rifle in her hands, the way it had jerked to life as Richard reared up. The sound of Nathaniel's laborious breathing, louder than any gunshot. It would be with her for the rest of her life. Elizabeth put her head on her knees, willing herself to cry, wanting to scream, to be done with this terrible anger. With a sudden heave, she brought up everything in her stomach, her whole body coated in a cold and sticky sweat. When the retching finally stopped, she raised her head and found the red dog sitting across from her.
"You," she said flatly.
It thumped its tail twice and then went down to the ground. The dog observed her calmly. There was still the smell of skunk about it, and Elizabeth could see burrs caught in the tangled deep red coat.
"I'll have to go for help, you know." Saying it out loud made it real, and she was overcome with fear at the idea. But there was no other way. They could not stay here; she could not nurse them and hunt for them and keep them and herself alive. She needed to get them out, and neither of them could walk. It would be weeks, she thought, in Nathaniel's case. If ever.
She jumped up, wiping her mouth on her sleeve, and the dog rose, too.
"I have to find my way back to Robbie's, and there's no time to waste, she said. The dog thumped its tail in agreement.
* * *
Nathaniel was propped against the wall of the shelter on a bed of blankets and balsam branches. She had tried stretching him out, but his breathing was least labored when he sat upright. Now he opened his eyes and looked at her steadily. His color was very bad, but she smiled at him, and brushed his hair away from his face.
"I suppose I will never live this down," she whispered.
He caught her hand and squeezed it tight. On the other side of the fire, Richard was awake and listening, but there was nothing she could do about that.
"Listen, Nathaniel," she said, leaning toward him. "I've filled the big kettle and the bucket with water, you can reach them, right here. Are you listening?" When she had his attention, she pointed it all out. The dried meat and beans, the ammunition and his rifle and knife. Richard's weapons as well, all within Nathaniel's reach and out of Richard's, at least until he was well enough to move. There were enough provisions to hold them both for three days; four, perhaps.
She dared not look at him, and so she glanced up at the roof and the hole he had torn in it on that evening they first came across Joe. Could it have been less than two days? "I've brought in Joe's woodpile, all of it. Richard will have to manage the fire, but I expect he'll be able to. You must stay warm."
Nathaniel squeezed her hand again. "Elizabeth."
She turned her face to him.
"It was an accident," he said. "Don't tear yourself up so."
She shook her head, hard. "There's perhaps five hours or so of light today to walk by. I could be to Robbie's by the day after tomorrow, in the morning."
"Take the compass," he said, and began to cough. He crossed his arms over his chest and the pain shook him. Elizabeth waited until it had passed.
"I've got the compass, and food enough," she said. "And I remember the way, I'm sure I do."
The muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed. "It's faster," he said, "if you skirt the swamp."
Elizabeth hesitated, and then set her face in what she hoped were calm lines.
"Yes, all right. The swamp at the outflow of Little Bear?" Between them, they worked through the route until she could recite it to his satisfaction.
Nathaniel squeezed her hand. "The musket," he said. "Load it with shot. Keep it primed."
Elizabeth shuddered at the thought of ever firing another gun, but she nodded.
"Watch—" He coughed, his face contorting. "Overhead." For panthers in the trees, she thought. The skin across her shoulders rose in goose bumps.
"You must tell me what to do," she said to him. "You must."
Blood welled from between the fingers pressed over Richard's wound. "Give me something to dress this leg of mine first. The muscle is badly torn."
"Your leg can wait," she said. "Tell me what to do for him."
Nathaniel gasped, his eyelids fluttering. Elizabeth looked at the blood bubbling from his chest with every breath, at his face, tinged blue with the effort to breathe, and then into Richard Todd's eyes, filmed with a different kind of pain, long hoarded and treasured. She leaned toward him and brought her eyes within inches of his.
"Listen to me," she hissed softly. "You will tell me how to bind this wound. You will do that, and do it clearly and without delay. Because if he dies, then I will gladly sit here and watch you bleed to death. Do you hear me?"
There was a flicker of something in his eyes. Surprise. Perhaps respect. Richard Todd hesitated while the sound of Nathaniel's labored breathing punctuated the silence. At length, he nodded.
* * *
Elizabeth had never been so tired in her life, and yet she knew that she dared not sleep. She could not afford to sleep. On either side of the shelter, with the makeshift fire between them, Richard and Nathaniel were alternately dozing or in need of her attentions. It was just hours since the events of the morning, but it felt to her like years.
She went outside, desperate for fresh air, and sat down for the first time in what seemed to be days. But there was no escaping it; if she closed her eyes it all played itself out in her head again. The feel of the rifle in her hands, the way it had jerked to life as Richard reared up. The sound of Nathaniel's laborious breathing, louder than any gunshot. It would be with her for the rest of her life. Elizabeth put her head on her knees, willing herself to cry, wanting to scream, to be done with this terrible anger. With a sudden heave, she brought up everything in her stomach, her whole body coated in a cold and sticky sweat. When the retching finally stopped, she raised her head and found the red dog sitting across from her.
"You," she said flatly.
It thumped its tail twice and then went down to the ground. The dog observed her calmly. There was still the smell of skunk about it, and Elizabeth could see burrs caught in the tangled deep red coat.
"I'll have to go for help, you know." Saying it out loud made it real, and she was overcome with fear at the idea. But there was no other way. They could not stay here; she could not nurse them and hunt for them and keep them and herself alive. She needed to get them out, and neither of them could walk. It would be weeks, she thought, in Nathaniel's case. If ever.
She jumped up, wiping her mouth on her sleeve, and the dog rose, too.
"I have to find my way back to Robbie's, and there's no time to waste, she said. The dog thumped its tail in agreement.
* * *
Nathaniel was propped against the wall of the shelter on a bed of blankets and balsam branches. She had tried stretching him out, but his breathing was least labored when he sat upright. Now he opened his eyes and looked at her steadily. His color was very bad, but she smiled at him, and brushed his hair away from his face.
"I suppose I will never live this down," she whispered.
He caught her hand and squeezed it tight. On the other side of the fire, Richard was awake and listening, but there was nothing she could do about that.
"Listen, Nathaniel," she said, leaning toward him. "I've filled the big kettle and the bucket with water, you can reach them, right here. Are you listening?" When she had his attention, she pointed it all out. The dried meat and beans, the ammunition and his rifle and knife. Richard's weapons as well, all within Nathaniel's reach and out of Richard's, at least until he was well enough to move. There were enough provisions to hold them both for three days; four, perhaps.
She dared not look at him, and so she glanced up at the roof and the hole he had torn in it on that evening they first came across Joe. Could it have been less than two days? "I've brought in Joe's woodpile, all of it. Richard will have to manage the fire, but I expect he'll be able to. You must stay warm."
Nathaniel squeezed her hand again. "Elizabeth."
She turned her face to him.
"It was an accident," he said. "Don't tear yourself up so."
She shook her head, hard. "There's perhaps five hours or so of light today to walk by. I could be to Robbie's by the day after tomorrow, in the morning."
"Take the compass," he said, and began to cough. He crossed his arms over his chest and the pain shook him. Elizabeth waited until it had passed.
"I've got the compass, and food enough," she said. "And I remember the way, I'm sure I do."
The muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed. "It's faster," he said, "if you skirt the swamp."
Elizabeth hesitated, and then set her face in what she hoped were calm lines.
"Yes, all right. The swamp at the outflow of Little Bear?" Between them, they worked through the route until she could recite it to his satisfaction.
Nathaniel squeezed her hand. "The musket," he said. "Load it with shot. Keep it primed."
Elizabeth shuddered at the thought of ever firing another gun, but she nodded.
"Watch—" He coughed, his face contorting. "Overhead." For panthers in the trees, she thought. The skin across her shoulders rose in goose bumps.
