Into the Wilderness
Page 169
Elizabeth watched the sun track through the sky, feeling the skin on her nose and across her cheekbones burning and stretching with the heat. Lingo would not allow her to change her position; he walked with her to the edge of the forest when she relieved herself, turning away slowly after a disquieting moment when he seemed to be set on watching her.
She guessed the hour to be three in the afternoon when they fell asleep. Lingo sat against a sapling with his rifle cradled across his lap, his ankles crossed and his chin on his chest. Dutch Ton, twice his width, lay spread—eagle in the meadow grass with his mouth open to the sky, the ginger stubble on his face glistening with saliva. Elizabeth watched them breathing for a long time, and then she simply stood up and began to walk away.
When she had reached the edge of the wood, a rifle shot clipped a tree branch just above her head. Lingo had caught up to her before she could even think of running. Without a word, he wound one fist in her hair and yanked her back to camp. She would not yell, though she could not stop the tears that welled up at the pain.
This time he did not banter politely as he bound her. The rope was old and sticky with some substance Elizabeth could not—and did not want to identify He pulled a loop tight around her left wrist, and tied the other end to his belt. Then he fell with a grunt back down to the ground, scratching the crotch of his breeches intently. He laughed out loud when she looked away.
"What do you think, has he grown tired of her?" he asked Dutch Ton. "It is hard to imagine, looking at her. But then again perhaps she is unresponsive."
"She can read," Ton pointed out. "A teacher."
Lingo spat into the fire.
"We might shave her head," he said thoughtfully, leaning over to touch a curl where it lay on Elizabeth's shoulder. "No scars, after all. But a clear message."
She jerked away. Some time ago she had decided that it would not serve her in any way to involve herself in a discussion with either of these men, and so she bit her tongue and fought hard to keep her face calm. With each passing hour that became more difficult.
Lingo had uncorked the bottle and drank again, deeply.
I am not thirsty, Elizabeth chanted to herself. I am not thirsty.
He leaned toward her on one elbow, held out the bottle. She pressed her mouth into a hard line and blinked, slowly.
Lingo lowered the bottle, but stayed stretched out before her, staring up at her face. There was graying stubble on his face now, and a network of wrinkles at his eyes and the corners of his mouth. The skin on his neck was loose and soft.
"You are older than you first appear," Elizabeth said out loud, surprised at the creakiness of her own voice, unused now for hours.
His expression hardened, and he snorted softly. Then with his mouth pursed and his elegant brows drawn together in a tight vee, he lifted one hand with a slow and deliberate motion and encircled her ankle with it. She could feel the heat of his palm through the soft leather of her moccasin, the length of his thumb, the firm pressure of four fingertips.
When Elizabeth was suffused with color, he smiled, and let her ankle go.
* * *
At nightfall the men made a small fire and cooked a hen turkey Ton had snared. Lingo threw Elizabeth a piece of charred meat.
"So, how long do you think it will take for Todd to die without medical attention?" he asked in a jovial tone. "Perhaps he is dead already and your troubles about the mountain are over. You would owe me a debt, then."
Dutch Ton had been sucking on a bone, and the face he held up in the firelight glistened with fat. He looked between Elizabeth and Lingo with his usual perplexed gaze. She caught his eye, and held it until he blinked and looked away. He had brought her water earlier in the evening, enduring Lingo's ridicule. Elizabeth had hopes of him.
"It is very rude of you to deny me conversation," Lingo said, sighing. "Ton here has such a limited view of the world."
"Have you had any more letters from your sister?" Elizabeth asked Ton.
Lingo raised his voice. "Of course, maybe Todd and Bonner are both dead. In which case you will need consolation in your grief. You would prefer Ton's .. . assistance to mine?"
"If you still have that letter," Elizabeth persisted, "I would very much like to look at it again."
"She is trying to seduce you, Ton. Tell her she needn't work so hard at it."
Elizabeth was glad of the twilight, hoping that it masked her heightened color. Dutch Ton was staring at her and she managed a prim smile. "The letter?" she repeated.
"Don't have it no more," he said. "Didn't need it, once it was read to me."
"Oh, what a pity," Elizabeth said lamely. "Then perhaps you could tell me something about yourself."
Lingo laughed softly. "Oui, Ton. Tell her about the day down at the schoolhouse, and how close you came to killing her husband."
Elizabeth started. Ton had dropped his gaze and was poking at the fire with a stick.
"Five good beaver pelts," said Lingo. "That's all it took to have him shoot your precious husband. But of course, he failed to kill him and never collected."
In her cold fury Elizabeth said, "I didn't realize that you were quite that lazy. To have a simpleminded man fight your battles for you."
Before she realized what he was about, Lingo had reached across the fire. He used the back of his hand rather than his fist, but still Elizabeth's head rocked back and she tasted blood in her mouth. The blow echoed in her head.
She guessed the hour to be three in the afternoon when they fell asleep. Lingo sat against a sapling with his rifle cradled across his lap, his ankles crossed and his chin on his chest. Dutch Ton, twice his width, lay spread—eagle in the meadow grass with his mouth open to the sky, the ginger stubble on his face glistening with saliva. Elizabeth watched them breathing for a long time, and then she simply stood up and began to walk away.
When she had reached the edge of the wood, a rifle shot clipped a tree branch just above her head. Lingo had caught up to her before she could even think of running. Without a word, he wound one fist in her hair and yanked her back to camp. She would not yell, though she could not stop the tears that welled up at the pain.
This time he did not banter politely as he bound her. The rope was old and sticky with some substance Elizabeth could not—and did not want to identify He pulled a loop tight around her left wrist, and tied the other end to his belt. Then he fell with a grunt back down to the ground, scratching the crotch of his breeches intently. He laughed out loud when she looked away.
"What do you think, has he grown tired of her?" he asked Dutch Ton. "It is hard to imagine, looking at her. But then again perhaps she is unresponsive."
"She can read," Ton pointed out. "A teacher."
Lingo spat into the fire.
"We might shave her head," he said thoughtfully, leaning over to touch a curl where it lay on Elizabeth's shoulder. "No scars, after all. But a clear message."
She jerked away. Some time ago she had decided that it would not serve her in any way to involve herself in a discussion with either of these men, and so she bit her tongue and fought hard to keep her face calm. With each passing hour that became more difficult.
Lingo had uncorked the bottle and drank again, deeply.
I am not thirsty, Elizabeth chanted to herself. I am not thirsty.
He leaned toward her on one elbow, held out the bottle. She pressed her mouth into a hard line and blinked, slowly.
Lingo lowered the bottle, but stayed stretched out before her, staring up at her face. There was graying stubble on his face now, and a network of wrinkles at his eyes and the corners of his mouth. The skin on his neck was loose and soft.
"You are older than you first appear," Elizabeth said out loud, surprised at the creakiness of her own voice, unused now for hours.
His expression hardened, and he snorted softly. Then with his mouth pursed and his elegant brows drawn together in a tight vee, he lifted one hand with a slow and deliberate motion and encircled her ankle with it. She could feel the heat of his palm through the soft leather of her moccasin, the length of his thumb, the firm pressure of four fingertips.
When Elizabeth was suffused with color, he smiled, and let her ankle go.
* * *
At nightfall the men made a small fire and cooked a hen turkey Ton had snared. Lingo threw Elizabeth a piece of charred meat.
"So, how long do you think it will take for Todd to die without medical attention?" he asked in a jovial tone. "Perhaps he is dead already and your troubles about the mountain are over. You would owe me a debt, then."
Dutch Ton had been sucking on a bone, and the face he held up in the firelight glistened with fat. He looked between Elizabeth and Lingo with his usual perplexed gaze. She caught his eye, and held it until he blinked and looked away. He had brought her water earlier in the evening, enduring Lingo's ridicule. Elizabeth had hopes of him.
"It is very rude of you to deny me conversation," Lingo said, sighing. "Ton here has such a limited view of the world."
"Have you had any more letters from your sister?" Elizabeth asked Ton.
Lingo raised his voice. "Of course, maybe Todd and Bonner are both dead. In which case you will need consolation in your grief. You would prefer Ton's .. . assistance to mine?"
"If you still have that letter," Elizabeth persisted, "I would very much like to look at it again."
"She is trying to seduce you, Ton. Tell her she needn't work so hard at it."
Elizabeth was glad of the twilight, hoping that it masked her heightened color. Dutch Ton was staring at her and she managed a prim smile. "The letter?" she repeated.
"Don't have it no more," he said. "Didn't need it, once it was read to me."
"Oh, what a pity," Elizabeth said lamely. "Then perhaps you could tell me something about yourself."
Lingo laughed softly. "Oui, Ton. Tell her about the day down at the schoolhouse, and how close you came to killing her husband."
Elizabeth started. Ton had dropped his gaze and was poking at the fire with a stick.
"Five good beaver pelts," said Lingo. "That's all it took to have him shoot your precious husband. But of course, he failed to kill him and never collected."
In her cold fury Elizabeth said, "I didn't realize that you were quite that lazy. To have a simpleminded man fight your battles for you."
Before she realized what he was about, Lingo had reached across the fire. He used the back of his hand rather than his fist, but still Elizabeth's head rocked back and she tasted blood in her mouth. The blow echoed in her head.
