Into the Wilderness
Page 206
Curiosity examined everything in great detail, keeping up a running conversation with Falling—Day while they discussed spinning wheels and scraping frames, cooking kettles and lamps. Elizabeth and Many-Doves spent this time unpacking the baskets of books, while Hannah flitted back and forth, alternately picking up volumes to look through them and then trying on Elizabeth's hats and making silly faces at herself in her hand mirror.
"Ooooh," she called out, opening a small trunk filled with Elizabeth's boots. She immediately began to tug at her moccasins, engaging a sharp comment from Falling—Day.
"Oh, let her." Elizabeth laughed. "I doubt I'll have much use for them anymore." She reached over and picked up a boot of fine deep—blue morocco leather, its neatly turned toe edged in brass. "They were never very comfortable," she admitted.
The sight of all her worldly belongings spread out around her on the plank floor of the cabin made the finality of her new situation clear as nothing else had, not even waking this morning in her own home with her husband next to her. She would never return to her father's home, or to her aunt's.
"The judge will be waitin' on his supper," Curiosity announced as if she had read Elizabeth's thoughts. "I had best be on my way. I expect we will see you at church in the morning?" This was addressed to Elizabeth.
"Is it Saturday? I hadn't thought about church," she admitted, wiping her brow. "Do you think—"
"Yasm, I think. It ain't the worst idea, showin' up at services. Get folks used to the sight of you. It's why we brung up your trunks this afternoon."
"What is your opinion?" Elizabeth asked Falling—Day, who was very quiet.
The older woman thought for a moment, her broad face giving away nothing of her feelings. "The judge is unlikely to be there, isn't that so, Curiosity? So I think that it would be best for you to go, otherwise they will say that you hide from them."
Curiosity laughed out loud. "This one never did learn how to walk away from an argument, but I guess they'll figure that out soon enough." She wiped her hands on her apron, and headed for the door. "Where have those men got to?"
Hannah jumped up to join her, so that Elizabeth's sun hat slipped forward over her face. Extricating herself, she offered to take Curiosity to the sheds where Galileo and Nathaniel were talking, and the two set out together.
"There's some of my soap in one of those baskets," Curiosity called over her shoulder on her way out the door. "And some other odds and ends. Now I expect to see you and that husband of yours tomorrow, you hear?"
"Come back soon," Elizabeth said, her throat suddenly tight with tears.
"Good friends are a great treasure," Falling—Day said just behind her.
"Yes, she is a good friend to me. To us." Elizabeth turned back into the cabin. "I wanted to thank you," she said. "For whatever part you had in all this—”
“It is good that you are here," Falling—Day said. "For all of us. And since my daughter has taken a husband, we needed more room.
"I am sorry to have missed your wedding ceremony," Elizabeth said to Many-Doves . "And I am sorry all of you could not be at mine. Was this to be your cabin?"
Many-Doves shook her head. "I belong at my mother's hearth," she said. "But you need one of your own. And I think that there will be much back and forth between the two, anyway." A smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. "Especially at mealtimes."
"I'm afraid that Nathaniel would starve before I learn how to cook properly." Elizabeth gestured over the piles of books. "Philosophers and playwrights are well and good, but I should have sent for a cookery book or two, as well."
Falling—Day smiled, setting Elizabeth more at ease. She was just wondering how to broach the complex topic of laundry when from the open door she saw Galileo and Curiosity appear from the sheds leading the packhorses, with Nathaniel close behind. He made a sign to indicate that he was going to see them a part of their way, and the women waved until the small party disappeared on the path.
Many-Doves left them, picking up a hoe on her way to the small cornfield that lay in the sunshine at the widest part of the glen, at the edge of the cliffs.
"There's a meal to cook before the men get back," Falling—Day announced in Hannah's direction. The little girl had been running around the cabin, dragging a frayed rope for Treenie to chase. In response to her grandmother's voice, she dropped her rope and the red dog collapsed in a tangled heap at her heels. She looked up at Elizabeth and then at her grandmother with pleading on her face.
"If you can spare her," Elizabeth said, "I would be glad of her help getting the cabin in order."
Falling—Day blinked, slowly, and then nodded. "If you want the child with you, yes."
Hannah let out a hoot of satisfaction and set out once more with the dog in pursuit.
Of all the Kahnyen’keháka she had come to know, Elizabeth found Falling—Day to be the most inscrutable. While she had shown nothing but kindness and generosity, there was a reserve about her that made it very difficult to speak up in the older woman's presence. Falling—Day's silences, while never edged with the same kind of disdain that women sometimes used to make their displeasure known, were absolute and impenetrable. Elizabeth wondered, as she had many times on the long journey home, about this woman who had left her mother's long house against custom and expectation to take her children to be raised in her husband's village, and then to a cabin in the wilderness, in isolation from other Kahnyen’keháka. She had seen her husband and sons killed, and carried on to raise Sarah, who had spent her life trying to be something she was not, and Otter and Many-Doves , who were unapologetically Kahnyen’keháka. This was the woman who had, by some accounts, rejected Nathaniel as a son—in—law, but had come to live with him to raise his child upon his mother's death.
"Ooooh," she called out, opening a small trunk filled with Elizabeth's boots. She immediately began to tug at her moccasins, engaging a sharp comment from Falling—Day.
"Oh, let her." Elizabeth laughed. "I doubt I'll have much use for them anymore." She reached over and picked up a boot of fine deep—blue morocco leather, its neatly turned toe edged in brass. "They were never very comfortable," she admitted.
The sight of all her worldly belongings spread out around her on the plank floor of the cabin made the finality of her new situation clear as nothing else had, not even waking this morning in her own home with her husband next to her. She would never return to her father's home, or to her aunt's.
"The judge will be waitin' on his supper," Curiosity announced as if she had read Elizabeth's thoughts. "I had best be on my way. I expect we will see you at church in the morning?" This was addressed to Elizabeth.
"Is it Saturday? I hadn't thought about church," she admitted, wiping her brow. "Do you think—"
"Yasm, I think. It ain't the worst idea, showin' up at services. Get folks used to the sight of you. It's why we brung up your trunks this afternoon."
"What is your opinion?" Elizabeth asked Falling—Day, who was very quiet.
The older woman thought for a moment, her broad face giving away nothing of her feelings. "The judge is unlikely to be there, isn't that so, Curiosity? So I think that it would be best for you to go, otherwise they will say that you hide from them."
Curiosity laughed out loud. "This one never did learn how to walk away from an argument, but I guess they'll figure that out soon enough." She wiped her hands on her apron, and headed for the door. "Where have those men got to?"
Hannah jumped up to join her, so that Elizabeth's sun hat slipped forward over her face. Extricating herself, she offered to take Curiosity to the sheds where Galileo and Nathaniel were talking, and the two set out together.
"There's some of my soap in one of those baskets," Curiosity called over her shoulder on her way out the door. "And some other odds and ends. Now I expect to see you and that husband of yours tomorrow, you hear?"
"Come back soon," Elizabeth said, her throat suddenly tight with tears.
"Good friends are a great treasure," Falling—Day said just behind her.
"Yes, she is a good friend to me. To us." Elizabeth turned back into the cabin. "I wanted to thank you," she said. "For whatever part you had in all this—”
“It is good that you are here," Falling—Day said. "For all of us. And since my daughter has taken a husband, we needed more room.
"I am sorry to have missed your wedding ceremony," Elizabeth said to Many-Doves . "And I am sorry all of you could not be at mine. Was this to be your cabin?"
Many-Doves shook her head. "I belong at my mother's hearth," she said. "But you need one of your own. And I think that there will be much back and forth between the two, anyway." A smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. "Especially at mealtimes."
"I'm afraid that Nathaniel would starve before I learn how to cook properly." Elizabeth gestured over the piles of books. "Philosophers and playwrights are well and good, but I should have sent for a cookery book or two, as well."
Falling—Day smiled, setting Elizabeth more at ease. She was just wondering how to broach the complex topic of laundry when from the open door she saw Galileo and Curiosity appear from the sheds leading the packhorses, with Nathaniel close behind. He made a sign to indicate that he was going to see them a part of their way, and the women waved until the small party disappeared on the path.
Many-Doves left them, picking up a hoe on her way to the small cornfield that lay in the sunshine at the widest part of the glen, at the edge of the cliffs.
"There's a meal to cook before the men get back," Falling—Day announced in Hannah's direction. The little girl had been running around the cabin, dragging a frayed rope for Treenie to chase. In response to her grandmother's voice, she dropped her rope and the red dog collapsed in a tangled heap at her heels. She looked up at Elizabeth and then at her grandmother with pleading on her face.
"If you can spare her," Elizabeth said, "I would be glad of her help getting the cabin in order."
Falling—Day blinked, slowly, and then nodded. "If you want the child with you, yes."
Hannah let out a hoot of satisfaction and set out once more with the dog in pursuit.
Of all the Kahnyen’keháka she had come to know, Elizabeth found Falling—Day to be the most inscrutable. While she had shown nothing but kindness and generosity, there was a reserve about her that made it very difficult to speak up in the older woman's presence. Falling—Day's silences, while never edged with the same kind of disdain that women sometimes used to make their displeasure known, were absolute and impenetrable. Elizabeth wondered, as she had many times on the long journey home, about this woman who had left her mother's long house against custom and expectation to take her children to be raised in her husband's village, and then to a cabin in the wilderness, in isolation from other Kahnyen’keháka. She had seen her husband and sons killed, and carried on to raise Sarah, who had spent her life trying to be something she was not, and Otter and Many-Doves , who were unapologetically Kahnyen’keháka. This was the woman who had, by some accounts, rejected Nathaniel as a son—in—law, but had come to live with him to raise his child upon his mother's death.
