Into the Wilderness
Page 82
"I expect him back in a day or two," Hawkeye repeated and then Elizabeth produced the nod he had been waiting for. She was glad that the women were otherwise occupied, gathered around the cot where Otter lay, examining his wound. Hannah was there, too, mesmerized by the contents of Curiosity's basket and asking questions about her poultice. Many-Doves reached in to adjust the dressing and Otter batted at her, scowling. Falling—Day and Curiosity were deep in conversation.
"How did it happen?" Elizabeth asked Hawkeye, hoping for a long story, one which would allow her her own thoughts while he related it. But Hawkeye was watching her closely, and she saw understanding and compassion on his face. That was very hard to bear, and she bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from asking that question which was running through her head.
"How do you think?" Hawkeye asked. "Somebody drew a bead on him when he warn't paying enough attention."
Elizabeth glanced at him from the side. "Has it been bad?"
He shrugged. "It's getting worse." And then, after a pause: "Nathaniel ain't took off for good, you know."
"I realize that." Elizabeth was unable to meet his eye. "I just wanted to thank him. For the schoolhouse."
"Is that so?" He took her by the arm and led her outside the cabin to the porch. The rush of the waterfall was louder than she remembered. Elizabeth let herself be shown to a rocking chair. She spread her skirts and folded her hands on her lap, and waited for this visit to be over so she could go home and worry in the peace and privacy of her own room.
"Nathaniel thought it would be best if he wasn't around for the next few days," Hawkeye said, surprising her.
"I see." Her tone was sharper than she intended; she was surprised to see Hawkeye smile in response.
"He made a point of taking leave from your folks yesterday, because then for example—then maybe they won't think of Nathaniel first."
Startled, Elizabeth looked up. "He told you?"
Hawkeye nodded.
She was relieved and embarrassed and glad and frightened all at once. "And do you—" She stopped, unable to say the word.
"It ain't for me to approve or disapprove," Hawkeye said softly. "I will say that I'm worried. I told him plain, I don't believe you realize how dangerous it is, what you're up to."
"I'm not afraid," she said clearly.
He grunted. "You should be."
"I trust Nathaniel to look after me."
His look was keen. "That ain't the point," he said. "And you know it."
They were silent together for a while. Elizabeth looked at Hawkeye, at the set of his jaw and the way his eyes narrowed when he looked away, over the glen. There was a calmness about him, but she thought she saw something else, just below the surface. A waiting. There had been an old colonel at home who came to call on aunt Merriweather, a veteran of the French and Indian wars, who had some of the same wariness. Elizabeth wondered if all old soldiers had this feeling of cautiousness about them.
"Nathaniel is very much like you." She was surprised to hear herself say this, but found that it was the right thing. His reservation slipped a bit, and he grinned.
"Aye," he said. "That he is."
"There's the story of how you stole into a fort under siege to rescue your wife and her sister."
"Well," Hawkeye drawled. "That ain't it exactly, but I suppose it'll do for a story."
"It was a dangerous thing to do," she pointed out.
Hawkeye shrugged. "Breathin' was dangerous back in them days."
"The point is," Elizabeth continued resolutely, "that you would do the same in his place."
He laughed out loud at that. "I would," he agreed reluctantly.
Elizabeth said, "My father is talking of starting for Johnstown on Wednesday. Can you get word to Nathaniel?"
Hawkeye walked to the far end of the porch, and looked off into the gorge and the falling water. Without turning back to Elizabeth, he said, "Such a pretty spring day. Maybe you should take a little wander."
The hair on her nape had begun to rise. She wasn't sure why; she knew exactly why.
"Hannah!" called Hawkeye, and then when the child appeared at the door, he spoke a few words to her in Kahnyen'keháka. Elizabeth, confused and still on edge, didn't follow anything of what he said. But she saw that Hannah was looking at her with a shy smile.
"Come," the child said. "I'll show you where the wild iris grow. They're up early this year."
Light—headed, Elizabeth rose. "I'd like that."
"I'll see Curiosity back home myself," said Hawkeye. "In case you're delayed."
* * *
To keep herself focused on thoughts other than their mysterious destination, and because she thought it prudent, Elizabeth tried to remark their path. Following Hannah, who was unusually quiet, they crossed from the glen over the narrowed gorge into the forest, where they passed through a carpet of anemone under a plantation of sugar maple and white birch not yet in leaf. Elizabeth saw that pieces of bark had been cut in neat rectangles from most of the birch trunks, and the sugar maple bore the signs of recent tapping.
They made their way up toward the backbone of the mountain, through stands of beech and maple interspersed with more birch and an occasional hemlock. Elizabeth had spent some of the difficult eight weeks learning about the forest from her students, and now she named the trees to herself. Occasionally she would ask a question, and Hannah would answer, naming the wild cherry for her, the yew, the trout lily which spread its strange yellow flower with mottled purple leaves in such profusion. She pointed to a porcupine's den and, calmly, the tracks of a bear in the mud. Hannah answered Elizabeth's questions without any of her usual elaboration, and after a while Elizabeth stopped asking. It was very cool in the wood, but she had begun to perspire.
"How did it happen?" Elizabeth asked Hawkeye, hoping for a long story, one which would allow her her own thoughts while he related it. But Hawkeye was watching her closely, and she saw understanding and compassion on his face. That was very hard to bear, and she bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from asking that question which was running through her head.
"How do you think?" Hawkeye asked. "Somebody drew a bead on him when he warn't paying enough attention."
Elizabeth glanced at him from the side. "Has it been bad?"
He shrugged. "It's getting worse." And then, after a pause: "Nathaniel ain't took off for good, you know."
"I realize that." Elizabeth was unable to meet his eye. "I just wanted to thank him. For the schoolhouse."
"Is that so?" He took her by the arm and led her outside the cabin to the porch. The rush of the waterfall was louder than she remembered. Elizabeth let herself be shown to a rocking chair. She spread her skirts and folded her hands on her lap, and waited for this visit to be over so she could go home and worry in the peace and privacy of her own room.
"Nathaniel thought it would be best if he wasn't around for the next few days," Hawkeye said, surprising her.
"I see." Her tone was sharper than she intended; she was surprised to see Hawkeye smile in response.
"He made a point of taking leave from your folks yesterday, because then for example—then maybe they won't think of Nathaniel first."
Startled, Elizabeth looked up. "He told you?"
Hawkeye nodded.
She was relieved and embarrassed and glad and frightened all at once. "And do you—" She stopped, unable to say the word.
"It ain't for me to approve or disapprove," Hawkeye said softly. "I will say that I'm worried. I told him plain, I don't believe you realize how dangerous it is, what you're up to."
"I'm not afraid," she said clearly.
He grunted. "You should be."
"I trust Nathaniel to look after me."
His look was keen. "That ain't the point," he said. "And you know it."
They were silent together for a while. Elizabeth looked at Hawkeye, at the set of his jaw and the way his eyes narrowed when he looked away, over the glen. There was a calmness about him, but she thought she saw something else, just below the surface. A waiting. There had been an old colonel at home who came to call on aunt Merriweather, a veteran of the French and Indian wars, who had some of the same wariness. Elizabeth wondered if all old soldiers had this feeling of cautiousness about them.
"Nathaniel is very much like you." She was surprised to hear herself say this, but found that it was the right thing. His reservation slipped a bit, and he grinned.
"Aye," he said. "That he is."
"There's the story of how you stole into a fort under siege to rescue your wife and her sister."
"Well," Hawkeye drawled. "That ain't it exactly, but I suppose it'll do for a story."
"It was a dangerous thing to do," she pointed out.
Hawkeye shrugged. "Breathin' was dangerous back in them days."
"The point is," Elizabeth continued resolutely, "that you would do the same in his place."
He laughed out loud at that. "I would," he agreed reluctantly.
Elizabeth said, "My father is talking of starting for Johnstown on Wednesday. Can you get word to Nathaniel?"
Hawkeye walked to the far end of the porch, and looked off into the gorge and the falling water. Without turning back to Elizabeth, he said, "Such a pretty spring day. Maybe you should take a little wander."
The hair on her nape had begun to rise. She wasn't sure why; she knew exactly why.
"Hannah!" called Hawkeye, and then when the child appeared at the door, he spoke a few words to her in Kahnyen'keháka. Elizabeth, confused and still on edge, didn't follow anything of what he said. But she saw that Hannah was looking at her with a shy smile.
"Come," the child said. "I'll show you where the wild iris grow. They're up early this year."
Light—headed, Elizabeth rose. "I'd like that."
"I'll see Curiosity back home myself," said Hawkeye. "In case you're delayed."
* * *
To keep herself focused on thoughts other than their mysterious destination, and because she thought it prudent, Elizabeth tried to remark their path. Following Hannah, who was unusually quiet, they crossed from the glen over the narrowed gorge into the forest, where they passed through a carpet of anemone under a plantation of sugar maple and white birch not yet in leaf. Elizabeth saw that pieces of bark had been cut in neat rectangles from most of the birch trunks, and the sugar maple bore the signs of recent tapping.
They made their way up toward the backbone of the mountain, through stands of beech and maple interspersed with more birch and an occasional hemlock. Elizabeth had spent some of the difficult eight weeks learning about the forest from her students, and now she named the trees to herself. Occasionally she would ask a question, and Hannah would answer, naming the wild cherry for her, the yew, the trout lily which spread its strange yellow flower with mottled purple leaves in such profusion. She pointed to a porcupine's den and, calmly, the tracks of a bear in the mud. Hannah answered Elizabeth's questions without any of her usual elaboration, and after a while Elizabeth stopped asking. It was very cool in the wood, but she had begun to perspire.
