Into the Wilderness
Page 207
"I should like very much to have Hannah spend some time with me," Elizabeth confirmed, struggling with the urge to look away from Falling—Day's steady gaze. "She has her first home with you, but I hope that eventually she will be equally comfortable in both cabins. Your mother was very worried about her upbringing in the Kahnyen’keháka way. I wanted you to know that I will not interfere."
There was a subtle shifting in Falling—Day's expression. "The only way to bring Squirrel up truly as a Kahnyen’keháka woman would be to send her to my mother's hearth."
"Oh, no." Elizabeth tensed in her surprise. "You don't want to send her away—”
“I did not say that," the older woman interrupted gently. "She is Nathaniel's child, and she must learn to live between two worlds as he does. It would be wrong to send her away from him, just as it would be wrong to let her forget my daughter, her mother. Do you agree?"
Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, I do."
"And when you hold your own child in your arms? Will Squirrel still be welcome at your hearth?"
Elizabeth felt her face flooding with indignation, but the older woman held up a hand to keep her from speaking.
"I offend you. But I speak the truth: it would be better for her to stay with us if she cannot be sure of her welcome once this new child arrives."
After a long silence in which she knew herself never to have been so closely observed, Elizabeth said: "Nathaniel has given me many gifts, but none is so precious to me as his daughter. My own child could not be more loved."
"Bone—in—Her—Back," Falling—Day said in the Kahnyen’keháka language. "You are a strong woman. You have shown yourself to be braver than most, and a true friend. And you bear Wolf—Running—Fast children who will bring great joy to this family." She hesitated, her brown eyes probing deeper. "I will trust you with the care of my granddaughter, but I will watch you."
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Elizabeth answered. "And I will need your help."
There was a flash of satisfaction on the older woman's face, and Elizabeth was struck suddenly by her resemblance to Made—of—Bones. She pointed this out.
Falling—Day blinked. "All women are alike when they fear for their children," she said. "Kahnyen’keháka or O'seronni, when a mother rises to defend her own she is like sister bear."
There was the sound of Hannah's high, lilting laughter.
There's nothing more dangerous or meaner than a crowd of stupid men.
Elizabeth thought of Jack Lingo, and there was a familiar tingling, the sparking of nerves all the way to her fingers. At the time, standing over his bloodied body, she had thought that she would never again be able to raise a hand in anger, but now she knew that she was capable of more, and perhaps worse.
"Yes," she agreed. "That is a lesson I have already begun to learn."
Chapter 46
When they had been home almost a week, Elizabeth left the cabin in the early morning to fetch water and found Robbie and Chingachgook sharing a pipe on the porch. Robbie was dressed for travel.
"Oh," she said. The prickling in her throat wouldn't allow any more of a greeting.
"Aye, lassie, it's time that I was awa'. Dinna fash yersel', Boots. Ye've no' seen the last o' Robbie MacLachlan."
Robbie was the only person besides Nathaniel to call her Boots, and the simple affection in his voice brought her dangerously close to tears. It had been just three months since she had come to know the old Scot, but she could hardly imagine being without him.
"Grandfather," she said to Chingachgook. "Is there nothing we can do to convince Robbie to stay in Paradise?"
Chingachgook's smile moved his face into a mass of wrinkles in which his dark eyes almost disappeared. "I have known this man for many years," he said. "It is not an accident that my people gave him the name Wind—Walker."
Nathaniel came out onto the porch and Elizabeth caught up his hand, squeezed it hard.
"Robbie is leaving."
He nodded. "I thought he might, soon."
"What about the old schoolhouse?" she asked. "Couldn't he have it for his own? It's in good repair."
Before Nathaniel could reply, Robbie spoke up.
"Ach, weel." He sighed, and shifted his rifle sling to a more comfortable spot on his back. "I canna deny but it's a temptation. I will make ye a promise, lass. Should this winter be as unco' hard an' lonely as was the last, then I will come tae hide in yon wee cabin, 'gin ye still care tae see the likes o' me on Hidden Wolf."
"You're always welcome," Nathaniel said.
"We'll look for you in the spring," Elizabeth added, smiling now.
Robbie took leave of Nathaniel and then Chingachgook, grasping the old man by the hand and the lower arm.
"Great—Snake," he said, with a sad smile. "Will I see ye again, auld friend, 'gin I come in the spring?"
Chingachgook gave him a thoughtful look. "The Maker of Life is good," he said, putting one huge, rough hand on Elizabeth's arm in the gentlest of touches. "I hope to see my great—grandson before he calls me to the Council Fire. But don't wait too long, my brother, I think he grows impatient and will not be put off very long."
"I'll willna tarry, come spring," said Robbie. "I remember Nathaniel's naming ceremony, muny years sync, and I wa dna miss his son's, no' for a' the deer in the wood."
There was a subtle shifting in Falling—Day's expression. "The only way to bring Squirrel up truly as a Kahnyen’keháka woman would be to send her to my mother's hearth."
"Oh, no." Elizabeth tensed in her surprise. "You don't want to send her away—”
“I did not say that," the older woman interrupted gently. "She is Nathaniel's child, and she must learn to live between two worlds as he does. It would be wrong to send her away from him, just as it would be wrong to let her forget my daughter, her mother. Do you agree?"
Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, I do."
"And when you hold your own child in your arms? Will Squirrel still be welcome at your hearth?"
Elizabeth felt her face flooding with indignation, but the older woman held up a hand to keep her from speaking.
"I offend you. But I speak the truth: it would be better for her to stay with us if she cannot be sure of her welcome once this new child arrives."
After a long silence in which she knew herself never to have been so closely observed, Elizabeth said: "Nathaniel has given me many gifts, but none is so precious to me as his daughter. My own child could not be more loved."
"Bone—in—Her—Back," Falling—Day said in the Kahnyen’keháka language. "You are a strong woman. You have shown yourself to be braver than most, and a true friend. And you bear Wolf—Running—Fast children who will bring great joy to this family." She hesitated, her brown eyes probing deeper. "I will trust you with the care of my granddaughter, but I will watch you."
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Elizabeth answered. "And I will need your help."
There was a flash of satisfaction on the older woman's face, and Elizabeth was struck suddenly by her resemblance to Made—of—Bones. She pointed this out.
Falling—Day blinked. "All women are alike when they fear for their children," she said. "Kahnyen’keháka or O'seronni, when a mother rises to defend her own she is like sister bear."
There was the sound of Hannah's high, lilting laughter.
There's nothing more dangerous or meaner than a crowd of stupid men.
Elizabeth thought of Jack Lingo, and there was a familiar tingling, the sparking of nerves all the way to her fingers. At the time, standing over his bloodied body, she had thought that she would never again be able to raise a hand in anger, but now she knew that she was capable of more, and perhaps worse.
"Yes," she agreed. "That is a lesson I have already begun to learn."
Chapter 46
When they had been home almost a week, Elizabeth left the cabin in the early morning to fetch water and found Robbie and Chingachgook sharing a pipe on the porch. Robbie was dressed for travel.
"Oh," she said. The prickling in her throat wouldn't allow any more of a greeting.
"Aye, lassie, it's time that I was awa'. Dinna fash yersel', Boots. Ye've no' seen the last o' Robbie MacLachlan."
Robbie was the only person besides Nathaniel to call her Boots, and the simple affection in his voice brought her dangerously close to tears. It had been just three months since she had come to know the old Scot, but she could hardly imagine being without him.
"Grandfather," she said to Chingachgook. "Is there nothing we can do to convince Robbie to stay in Paradise?"
Chingachgook's smile moved his face into a mass of wrinkles in which his dark eyes almost disappeared. "I have known this man for many years," he said. "It is not an accident that my people gave him the name Wind—Walker."
Nathaniel came out onto the porch and Elizabeth caught up his hand, squeezed it hard.
"Robbie is leaving."
He nodded. "I thought he might, soon."
"What about the old schoolhouse?" she asked. "Couldn't he have it for his own? It's in good repair."
Before Nathaniel could reply, Robbie spoke up.
"Ach, weel." He sighed, and shifted his rifle sling to a more comfortable spot on his back. "I canna deny but it's a temptation. I will make ye a promise, lass. Should this winter be as unco' hard an' lonely as was the last, then I will come tae hide in yon wee cabin, 'gin ye still care tae see the likes o' me on Hidden Wolf."
"You're always welcome," Nathaniel said.
"We'll look for you in the spring," Elizabeth added, smiling now.
Robbie took leave of Nathaniel and then Chingachgook, grasping the old man by the hand and the lower arm.
"Great—Snake," he said, with a sad smile. "Will I see ye again, auld friend, 'gin I come in the spring?"
Chingachgook gave him a thoughtful look. "The Maker of Life is good," he said, putting one huge, rough hand on Elizabeth's arm in the gentlest of touches. "I hope to see my great—grandson before he calls me to the Council Fire. But don't wait too long, my brother, I think he grows impatient and will not be put off very long."
"I'll willna tarry, come spring," said Robbie. "I remember Nathaniel's naming ceremony, muny years sync, and I wa dna miss his son's, no' for a' the deer in the wood."
