Into the Wilderness
Page 49
"You're right," Nathaniel agreed easily. "You earned that name yourself. The Indians have names they bring with them into the world and names they earn. Chingachgook calls you Bone—in—Her—Back."
She stopped dead. "Bone—in—Her—Back?"
Nathaniel nodded. "It ain't an insult."
Elizabeth glanced up quickly but she could read nothing from his face.
"I suppose not," she said, strangely pleased. They started on their way once again. "And Boots is the best name you can find for me?"
"That's an unseemly question for a lady," Nathaniel said with a bit of a chuckle.
"Someday," Elizabeth said, "you may come to regret this unfortunate propensity you have for teasing. Have a care, you never know when you might find yourself on the other end of that particular blade."
Nathaniel stopped to hold aside a low—hanging branch for her. "And would that be you wanting to show me what I'm missing?" he asked as she passed by him.
"Perhaps sometime," she said, her chin tilted up, and then jumped as he let the branch snap and catch her on the back.
But it wasn't a day for irritations: the weather was beautifully clear, in a week's time she would be teaching her first school, and Nathaniel's daughter was going to be one of her pupils. Elizabeth wanted to talk to him about this, but she didn't know how to bring up the subject without opening others she thought she couldn't quite manage at the moment.
What do I want from Nathaniel? Since he had first asked her that question two weeks ago, it was never long out of her consciousness.
They were making their way down the mountain on a path she hadn't known about, moving through a large plantation of spruce and pine. Once again, Nathaniel was in the lead, which gave Elizabeth an opportunity to observe him closely without being watched in turn. At the moment, she thought, it was enough to be with Nathaniel and to learn one more thing about him: he was a man who kept his promises. It was enough to have him to talk to.
"Is Runs-from-Bears Many-Doves ' intended?" Elizabeth asked.
Nathaniel answered without stopping. "You saw that straight off, I guess."
"She seemed . . . unsettled," Elizabeth said. "And that explains your teasing. What did you say to him in Kahnyen’keháka?"
"I told him to watch out, snow can burn as hot as kisses."
"Oh. No wonder Many-Doves was put out. I take it that Runs-from-Bears is Wolf clan."
"No, Turtle," said Nathaniel. "And a good thing, too. It's against the Kahnyen’keháka way to take a wife from your own long house It would be like marrying a sister."
"Does that mean—"
"I wasn't adopted into the Wolf clan," Nathaniel said. "It wouldn't have stopped me if I had wanted her. But I didn't." He glanced over his shoulder at Elizabeth. "So there never was a need to be jealous."
"I wasn't jealous!" she sputtered unconvincingly.
"Don't tie yourself in a knot, Boots," Nathaniel said easily, moving on. You can't pretend to me the way you do to the others."
* * *
Together with her father, Elizabeth had surveyed all of his property in the vicinity of the village. The judge had had a particular spot in mind on a piece of land too small to pact out to a farmsteader, but Elizabeth had immediately rejected it as too close to home. The site she wanted and had eventually persuaded the judge to relinquish for the school was on the side of the village opposite from home, about a half mile farther than the nearest farm. The path from the village wound through the woods along a stream which came down from the mountain, and then flowed into Half Moon Lake. At the juncture of the stream and the lake, a quarter acre of marsh spread out, reeds and grasses poking through the ice. On a rise between the marsh and the woods, in a natural clearing, Nathaniel had begun to build the schoolhouse.
"Yes," said Elizabeth softly as they came out of the trees. "This is exactly the right spot." And without hesitation, she strode to the foundation of her school.
"That elevation there gives you some shelter from the winds," Nathaniel pointed out as she walked around the shell of the building. He stopped near a great triangular stockpile of logs, their notched ends oozing sap.
"Water close by. It's a good walk home for you, though."
"That's the way I wanted it," Elizabeth said, distracted. Too pleased and excited to hold still, she leapt over the low beginnings of one wall and stood in the middle of what would soon be the main schoolroom.
She stood considering outlines of the rooms, one gloved hand against her cheek.
"Windows there, and there," she said suddenly, pointing. "And here," pivoting. "We need the early morning light."
"I ordered the sashes," Nathaniel said. "Although the judge ain't pleased at the cost."
Elizabeth smiled then. "I can imagine." She circled the second room with her arms crossed tightly around herself, and turned toward Nathaniel, her skirts swirling.
"This could be mine."
"Of course," Nathaniel said with one brow raised. "I thought that was the whole idea."
"No, no." She shook her head. "This—" She gestured around herself. "This could be mine. My home. Mine alone. This could be my hearth." She stopped in front of the foundation of the chimney. "My desk by the window. Bookshelves. A bed on that end—" She drew up short and laughed, a little self—consciously.
She stopped dead. "Bone—in—Her—Back?"
Nathaniel nodded. "It ain't an insult."
Elizabeth glanced up quickly but she could read nothing from his face.
"I suppose not," she said, strangely pleased. They started on their way once again. "And Boots is the best name you can find for me?"
"That's an unseemly question for a lady," Nathaniel said with a bit of a chuckle.
"Someday," Elizabeth said, "you may come to regret this unfortunate propensity you have for teasing. Have a care, you never know when you might find yourself on the other end of that particular blade."
Nathaniel stopped to hold aside a low—hanging branch for her. "And would that be you wanting to show me what I'm missing?" he asked as she passed by him.
"Perhaps sometime," she said, her chin tilted up, and then jumped as he let the branch snap and catch her on the back.
But it wasn't a day for irritations: the weather was beautifully clear, in a week's time she would be teaching her first school, and Nathaniel's daughter was going to be one of her pupils. Elizabeth wanted to talk to him about this, but she didn't know how to bring up the subject without opening others she thought she couldn't quite manage at the moment.
What do I want from Nathaniel? Since he had first asked her that question two weeks ago, it was never long out of her consciousness.
They were making their way down the mountain on a path she hadn't known about, moving through a large plantation of spruce and pine. Once again, Nathaniel was in the lead, which gave Elizabeth an opportunity to observe him closely without being watched in turn. At the moment, she thought, it was enough to be with Nathaniel and to learn one more thing about him: he was a man who kept his promises. It was enough to have him to talk to.
"Is Runs-from-Bears Many-Doves ' intended?" Elizabeth asked.
Nathaniel answered without stopping. "You saw that straight off, I guess."
"She seemed . . . unsettled," Elizabeth said. "And that explains your teasing. What did you say to him in Kahnyen’keháka?"
"I told him to watch out, snow can burn as hot as kisses."
"Oh. No wonder Many-Doves was put out. I take it that Runs-from-Bears is Wolf clan."
"No, Turtle," said Nathaniel. "And a good thing, too. It's against the Kahnyen’keháka way to take a wife from your own long house It would be like marrying a sister."
"Does that mean—"
"I wasn't adopted into the Wolf clan," Nathaniel said. "It wouldn't have stopped me if I had wanted her. But I didn't." He glanced over his shoulder at Elizabeth. "So there never was a need to be jealous."
"I wasn't jealous!" she sputtered unconvincingly.
"Don't tie yourself in a knot, Boots," Nathaniel said easily, moving on. You can't pretend to me the way you do to the others."
* * *
Together with her father, Elizabeth had surveyed all of his property in the vicinity of the village. The judge had had a particular spot in mind on a piece of land too small to pact out to a farmsteader, but Elizabeth had immediately rejected it as too close to home. The site she wanted and had eventually persuaded the judge to relinquish for the school was on the side of the village opposite from home, about a half mile farther than the nearest farm. The path from the village wound through the woods along a stream which came down from the mountain, and then flowed into Half Moon Lake. At the juncture of the stream and the lake, a quarter acre of marsh spread out, reeds and grasses poking through the ice. On a rise between the marsh and the woods, in a natural clearing, Nathaniel had begun to build the schoolhouse.
"Yes," said Elizabeth softly as they came out of the trees. "This is exactly the right spot." And without hesitation, she strode to the foundation of her school.
"That elevation there gives you some shelter from the winds," Nathaniel pointed out as she walked around the shell of the building. He stopped near a great triangular stockpile of logs, their notched ends oozing sap.
"Water close by. It's a good walk home for you, though."
"That's the way I wanted it," Elizabeth said, distracted. Too pleased and excited to hold still, she leapt over the low beginnings of one wall and stood in the middle of what would soon be the main schoolroom.
She stood considering outlines of the rooms, one gloved hand against her cheek.
"Windows there, and there," she said suddenly, pointing. "And here," pivoting. "We need the early morning light."
"I ordered the sashes," Nathaniel said. "Although the judge ain't pleased at the cost."
Elizabeth smiled then. "I can imagine." She circled the second room with her arms crossed tightly around herself, and turned toward Nathaniel, her skirts swirling.
"This could be mine."
"Of course," Nathaniel said with one brow raised. "I thought that was the whole idea."
"No, no." She shook her head. "This—" She gestured around herself. "This could be mine. My home. Mine alone. This could be my hearth." She stopped in front of the foundation of the chimney. "My desk by the window. Bookshelves. A bed on that end—" She drew up short and laughed, a little self—consciously.
