Into the Wilderness
Page 284
"She would send you home herself if she could," Axel said kindly. "She wouldn't want you to get sick, waiting here."
The judge looked up at Nathaniel, hopefully.
"That's true," Nathaniel said, and he saw the relief on the man's face.
"Maybe later today," he said thoughtfully.
Nathaniel nodded, and went off to find Liam, who was oiling traps in the other cabin for Runs-from-Bears. He asked the same question and got a longer, less—clear—but—more—detailed story of what had gone on at the gorge, and Richard Todd's role in it.
"I should have gone in after her," Liam concluded.
"Not with that leg," Nathaniel said, absently. "And Doves was there. If it weren't for the knock on the head, Elizabeth could have managed on her own anyway. But goddamn it, to be beholden to Richard Todd don't sit well. I guess I'll have to go look him up."
"He said to tell you that he'd be calling on Kitty."
"Did he? Looks like his judgment still ain't any better than his timing."
"I don't know what you mean."
Nathaniel shrugged. At the door, he turned back with a thoughtful look. "It means he's still Richard Todd. It means, watch your back."
* * *
Elizabeth came fully awake to the first snow. Suddenly afraid that she had slept for weeks instead of days, she was distraught until Falling—Day told her that it was no more than mid—October, in spite of the waves of fine—grained snow which beat against the window.
"I might think I was still dreaming, if it weren't for the ache in my head," Elizabeth said, accepting a cup. When she had taken her willow—bark tea and some broth, Falling—Day helped her see to her needs, and then got Elizabeth settled against the bolsters, wrapped again in the blanket of pelts.
"How long will this dizziness last?"
Falling—Day lifted one shoulder and inclined her head. "Another week, perhaps until the next moon."
"Oh, dear." Elizabeth closed her eyes." The children will be very disappointed to have school put off again."
"I think they're just glad to have you alive," Falling—Day said, sitting down to pick up a basket of sewing.
For a good while, Elizabeth was content to lie quietly and listen to the peaceful and familiar sounds of the fire in the hearth and the soft shuffle of moccasins in the other room. Nathaniel would be out hunting with Runs-from-Bears. She could hear Hannah and Liam talking; there was rising tone of outrage and a small laugh in response.
"Did you think I was going to die?" The question had been asked before she fully knew her own intention, but Falling—Day did not seem surprised. She looked up from the overdress she was piecing together.
"I worried, at first," she said finally. And then she put her sewing down and laid her hands flat on her knees. Her eyes were very dark when they settled on Elizabeth's.
"You have never asked me about my daughter."
Elizabeth felt herself flushing with surprise. "I did not wish to intrude on your memories."
Falling—Day turned her face toward the window. When she turned back, there was a remarkable disquiet to her expression.
"Sometimes, it seems to me that she cannot be very far off. That if I call to her, she will come. She has been very strong in my mind these last days. She died at the first snow, did Nathaniel ever tell you that?"
"No," Elizabeth said softly. "He has never told me about her death, except that she died in childbed, and the child with her. And that his mother and Curiosity were here."
"And Cat—Eater. You do not like to say his name."
Elizabeth shrugged, unable to deny that this was the truth.
Falling—Day said, "When I came out of the forest and saw him and Many-Doves bent over you, and the blood on his hands—I expected for moment to see her there, on the ground. I was not with her when she walked the path, but I saw her go in my dreams."
Once Elizabeth would have had no response because the Kahnyen’keháka reliance on dreams for information and understanding of the world had troubled her. Now her doubts were more about her own narrow view of things.
When Falling—Day saw the willingness to listen in Elizabeth's face, she nodded.
"Cat—Eater was at Sings—from—Books' side when she died. He could do nothing for her. But he could help you, and he did."
"You are trying to tell me something," Elizabeth said. "I don't understand."
"Then I will speak clearly. Perhaps it is time to make peace with him."
Elizabeth smoothed the pelt under her palm again and again. "Why do you say this to me instead of Nathaniel?"
Falling—Day raised a brow. "Because you might listen to me, and you might make your husband listen to you."
"Your opinion is very important to Nathaniel."
"Not in this matter," Falling—Day corrected her. "I did not stand up for him when my daughter turned to Cat—Eater, and he has never forgotten that."
Elizabeth had a question which she thought she must ask, or forever regret the lost opportunity.
"You encouraged Sarah to go to Richard? This is hard to understand, given the role he played in the attack on your village, and the death of your husband and sons."
Falling—Day blinked at her. "Cat—Eater never raised his hand to any Kahnyen’keháka."
The judge looked up at Nathaniel, hopefully.
"That's true," Nathaniel said, and he saw the relief on the man's face.
"Maybe later today," he said thoughtfully.
Nathaniel nodded, and went off to find Liam, who was oiling traps in the other cabin for Runs-from-Bears. He asked the same question and got a longer, less—clear—but—more—detailed story of what had gone on at the gorge, and Richard Todd's role in it.
"I should have gone in after her," Liam concluded.
"Not with that leg," Nathaniel said, absently. "And Doves was there. If it weren't for the knock on the head, Elizabeth could have managed on her own anyway. But goddamn it, to be beholden to Richard Todd don't sit well. I guess I'll have to go look him up."
"He said to tell you that he'd be calling on Kitty."
"Did he? Looks like his judgment still ain't any better than his timing."
"I don't know what you mean."
Nathaniel shrugged. At the door, he turned back with a thoughtful look. "It means he's still Richard Todd. It means, watch your back."
* * *
Elizabeth came fully awake to the first snow. Suddenly afraid that she had slept for weeks instead of days, she was distraught until Falling—Day told her that it was no more than mid—October, in spite of the waves of fine—grained snow which beat against the window.
"I might think I was still dreaming, if it weren't for the ache in my head," Elizabeth said, accepting a cup. When she had taken her willow—bark tea and some broth, Falling—Day helped her see to her needs, and then got Elizabeth settled against the bolsters, wrapped again in the blanket of pelts.
"How long will this dizziness last?"
Falling—Day lifted one shoulder and inclined her head. "Another week, perhaps until the next moon."
"Oh, dear." Elizabeth closed her eyes." The children will be very disappointed to have school put off again."
"I think they're just glad to have you alive," Falling—Day said, sitting down to pick up a basket of sewing.
For a good while, Elizabeth was content to lie quietly and listen to the peaceful and familiar sounds of the fire in the hearth and the soft shuffle of moccasins in the other room. Nathaniel would be out hunting with Runs-from-Bears. She could hear Hannah and Liam talking; there was rising tone of outrage and a small laugh in response.
"Did you think I was going to die?" The question had been asked before she fully knew her own intention, but Falling—Day did not seem surprised. She looked up from the overdress she was piecing together.
"I worried, at first," she said finally. And then she put her sewing down and laid her hands flat on her knees. Her eyes were very dark when they settled on Elizabeth's.
"You have never asked me about my daughter."
Elizabeth felt herself flushing with surprise. "I did not wish to intrude on your memories."
Falling—Day turned her face toward the window. When she turned back, there was a remarkable disquiet to her expression.
"Sometimes, it seems to me that she cannot be very far off. That if I call to her, she will come. She has been very strong in my mind these last days. She died at the first snow, did Nathaniel ever tell you that?"
"No," Elizabeth said softly. "He has never told me about her death, except that she died in childbed, and the child with her. And that his mother and Curiosity were here."
"And Cat—Eater. You do not like to say his name."
Elizabeth shrugged, unable to deny that this was the truth.
Falling—Day said, "When I came out of the forest and saw him and Many-Doves bent over you, and the blood on his hands—I expected for moment to see her there, on the ground. I was not with her when she walked the path, but I saw her go in my dreams."
Once Elizabeth would have had no response because the Kahnyen’keháka reliance on dreams for information and understanding of the world had troubled her. Now her doubts were more about her own narrow view of things.
When Falling—Day saw the willingness to listen in Elizabeth's face, she nodded.
"Cat—Eater was at Sings—from—Books' side when she died. He could do nothing for her. But he could help you, and he did."
"You are trying to tell me something," Elizabeth said. "I don't understand."
"Then I will speak clearly. Perhaps it is time to make peace with him."
Elizabeth smoothed the pelt under her palm again and again. "Why do you say this to me instead of Nathaniel?"
Falling—Day raised a brow. "Because you might listen to me, and you might make your husband listen to you."
"Your opinion is very important to Nathaniel."
"Not in this matter," Falling—Day corrected her. "I did not stand up for him when my daughter turned to Cat—Eater, and he has never forgotten that."
Elizabeth had a question which she thought she must ask, or forever regret the lost opportunity.
"You encouraged Sarah to go to Richard? This is hard to understand, given the role he played in the attack on your village, and the death of your husband and sons."
Falling—Day blinked at her. "Cat—Eater never raised his hand to any Kahnyen’keháka."
