Into the Wilderness
Page 164
They walked. For hours, they walked and Elizabeth talked to the red dog; it was the only way to keep her mind focused on the journey and off the cause of her errand. She was pushing hard, stopping only to drink at the river and relieve herself. Both of them ate on the go. Treenie disappeared on occasion, foraging ahead and loping back, almost puppy like with the remnants of a rabbit or groundhog on her muzzle. Red squirrels chattered and scolded above them, and there was the persistent drone of a woodpecker no matter how far they went.
The river meandered, but Elizabeth resisted the urge to make even the most obvious of shortcuts. With considerable luck, she might survive being lost in these endless woods, but Nathaniel would not. She walked harder, chewing tough chunks of dried rabbit and tossing Treenie the gristle. They were following a moose trail, fairly well marked; Elizabeth pulled up short in surprise to find a series of nests in the gentle hollows. Apparently turkeys had found the spot to their liking in spite of the traffic: each nest of twigs and dead leaves contained a large clutch of pale yellow eggs speckled brown. The hens were just out of sight in the underbrush, fussing furiously. Not hungry enough to rob nests, Elizabeth walked on without pausing. Treenie, not quite so fastidious in her appetites, hung back; a sharp word brought her to attention, and she slouched reluctantly past the easy meal.
By midday the air was growing heavier and hotter. Sweat trickled down her back and sides and glued her hair to her temples. When a swarm of black fly rose like a malignant cloud, Elizabeth thought with longing of the pennyroyal ointment and the bear grease, but she had left them behind for Nathaniel, as she had left almost all the provisions. She tied her kerchief around her nose and mouth and wiped the tiny black creatures from the corners of her eyes every few steps. Treenie's eyes and nose were circled with a trembling black mask; again and again she resorted to plunging into the river to find relief.
Eventually the river fed into a small, misshapen lake. Most of these lakes had no name, and in fact Elizabeth thought this one deserved none; it was too unpleasant a place. To her right was a vast tangle of dreary tamarack and cedar interspersed with deadwood, bracken, and thorny shrubs. To her left, the lake itself was ringed by dead trees, their stumpy bare branches looped with garlands of lichen. On the far side of the lake the river spread into the deep shadows of the swamp, where the only real color came from the birds—yellow warblers flitting like wayward sunbeams, a red cross bill sitting low in a black ash—and from the luxurious carpet of deep green moss and ferns that covered everything. The air shimmered with heat and flies.
"Here it is, Treenie," Elizabeth said, wiping the black fly from the corners of her eyes. "The worst of it."
She forced herself to sit on the edge of the river. While she recited to herself what Nathaniel had told her of the route, she ate, because she was hungry. Ravenously hungry, so that the last of the oats, all of the dried meat, the handful of beans disappeared in little time. This evening she would have to take the time to fish, or to snare. But first there was the swamp to be got around.
Keep your wits about you, Hawkeye had said to her so many weeks ago. I've still got my best stories to tell.
"I'll have a few of my own," Elizabeth muttered. She wished for Hawkeye, for Robbie, for Runs-from-Bears, even for her brother. Any way at all to be led.
"I'm frightened," she said aloud.
The dog looked up at her, panting, and then snapped irritably at the insects hovering about her head. With an impatient snuffle, she started off. Elizabeth followed.
* * *
Nathaniel woke with a start and reached for her, remembering even then that she was gone, off to fetch Robbie. Who would either dig his grave or cart him out of the bush; what it would be was not quite clear. Breathing was a necessary misery. Beyond that, he itched, and he was thirsty, and his bowels gripped.
"Breathe deep," Richard Todd said from the other side of the fire. "You have to force the bad lung open."
Nathaniel blinked and attempted to focus on the man. The sweat had drawn crevices in the grime on Richard's face, and his hair clung to his temples.
"You've got a fever," he observed, his own voice sounding hollow and hoarse in his ears.
"Leg's full of muck," Richard said. "Need to clean it out."
"Sorry I can't be of assistance."
Richard managed a hollow laugh. "I'll wager."
Nathaniel struggled up by holding on to the wall, and then hung there, coughing. No blood this time; that was good. When his vision cleared again he made his way out of the shelter and around the corner, where he squatted while the world around him faded in and out of focus. What he wanted to do was to get down to the lake and lie in the water, where it would be cool and he could listen to the loons. He could wait for her there on the island where they had last come together .. . yesterday? He shook his head, rubbing his eyes. The day before yesterday, in the evening.
He forced himself to three deep breaths, and then hauled himself to his feet where he stood, swaying. The wind was up and there was the smell of a storm in the air.
She would be halfway through the swamp now, if she hadn't lost her way. If the storm didn't overtake her, she would be out by sunset. If the storm didn't overtake her.
* * *
Treenie moved along with a certainty and steady enthusiasm that buoyed Elizabeth's spirits. She followed the dog closely over hummocks of fern—covered moss and around deep pools of water. Where she waded, Elizabeth jumped; her moccasins were already wet through, but she could not quite make herself stomp knowingly through murky waters. Her affection and appreciation for the dog grew with every damp mile.
The river meandered, but Elizabeth resisted the urge to make even the most obvious of shortcuts. With considerable luck, she might survive being lost in these endless woods, but Nathaniel would not. She walked harder, chewing tough chunks of dried rabbit and tossing Treenie the gristle. They were following a moose trail, fairly well marked; Elizabeth pulled up short in surprise to find a series of nests in the gentle hollows. Apparently turkeys had found the spot to their liking in spite of the traffic: each nest of twigs and dead leaves contained a large clutch of pale yellow eggs speckled brown. The hens were just out of sight in the underbrush, fussing furiously. Not hungry enough to rob nests, Elizabeth walked on without pausing. Treenie, not quite so fastidious in her appetites, hung back; a sharp word brought her to attention, and she slouched reluctantly past the easy meal.
By midday the air was growing heavier and hotter. Sweat trickled down her back and sides and glued her hair to her temples. When a swarm of black fly rose like a malignant cloud, Elizabeth thought with longing of the pennyroyal ointment and the bear grease, but she had left them behind for Nathaniel, as she had left almost all the provisions. She tied her kerchief around her nose and mouth and wiped the tiny black creatures from the corners of her eyes every few steps. Treenie's eyes and nose were circled with a trembling black mask; again and again she resorted to plunging into the river to find relief.
Eventually the river fed into a small, misshapen lake. Most of these lakes had no name, and in fact Elizabeth thought this one deserved none; it was too unpleasant a place. To her right was a vast tangle of dreary tamarack and cedar interspersed with deadwood, bracken, and thorny shrubs. To her left, the lake itself was ringed by dead trees, their stumpy bare branches looped with garlands of lichen. On the far side of the lake the river spread into the deep shadows of the swamp, where the only real color came from the birds—yellow warblers flitting like wayward sunbeams, a red cross bill sitting low in a black ash—and from the luxurious carpet of deep green moss and ferns that covered everything. The air shimmered with heat and flies.
"Here it is, Treenie," Elizabeth said, wiping the black fly from the corners of her eyes. "The worst of it."
She forced herself to sit on the edge of the river. While she recited to herself what Nathaniel had told her of the route, she ate, because she was hungry. Ravenously hungry, so that the last of the oats, all of the dried meat, the handful of beans disappeared in little time. This evening she would have to take the time to fish, or to snare. But first there was the swamp to be got around.
Keep your wits about you, Hawkeye had said to her so many weeks ago. I've still got my best stories to tell.
"I'll have a few of my own," Elizabeth muttered. She wished for Hawkeye, for Robbie, for Runs-from-Bears, even for her brother. Any way at all to be led.
"I'm frightened," she said aloud.
The dog looked up at her, panting, and then snapped irritably at the insects hovering about her head. With an impatient snuffle, she started off. Elizabeth followed.
* * *
Nathaniel woke with a start and reached for her, remembering even then that she was gone, off to fetch Robbie. Who would either dig his grave or cart him out of the bush; what it would be was not quite clear. Breathing was a necessary misery. Beyond that, he itched, and he was thirsty, and his bowels gripped.
"Breathe deep," Richard Todd said from the other side of the fire. "You have to force the bad lung open."
Nathaniel blinked and attempted to focus on the man. The sweat had drawn crevices in the grime on Richard's face, and his hair clung to his temples.
"You've got a fever," he observed, his own voice sounding hollow and hoarse in his ears.
"Leg's full of muck," Richard said. "Need to clean it out."
"Sorry I can't be of assistance."
Richard managed a hollow laugh. "I'll wager."
Nathaniel struggled up by holding on to the wall, and then hung there, coughing. No blood this time; that was good. When his vision cleared again he made his way out of the shelter and around the corner, where he squatted while the world around him faded in and out of focus. What he wanted to do was to get down to the lake and lie in the water, where it would be cool and he could listen to the loons. He could wait for her there on the island where they had last come together .. . yesterday? He shook his head, rubbing his eyes. The day before yesterday, in the evening.
He forced himself to three deep breaths, and then hauled himself to his feet where he stood, swaying. The wind was up and there was the smell of a storm in the air.
She would be halfway through the swamp now, if she hadn't lost her way. If the storm didn't overtake her, she would be out by sunset. If the storm didn't overtake her.
* * *
Treenie moved along with a certainty and steady enthusiasm that buoyed Elizabeth's spirits. She followed the dog closely over hummocks of fern—covered moss and around deep pools of water. Where she waded, Elizabeth jumped; her moccasins were already wet through, but she could not quite make herself stomp knowingly through murky waters. Her affection and appreciation for the dog grew with every damp mile.
