The Endless Forest
Page 98
Why? Why him, why now? What was it she hoped from marriage to Daniel?
The first word that came to mind was not one she was proud of.
Safety. As Daniel Bonner’s wife she would be safe. She would belong. Jemima couldn’t hurt her anymore if she was married to Daniel Bonner.
But there was a great deal more to it than that. If asked, she would make herself say the rest of it, why she was drawn to him. Why she wanted him.
The way he looked at a problem from all sides and then came up with an answer that should have been obvious from the start. How impatient he got with a certain kind of talk, and the way he struggled to hide it so as not to offend. Out of courtesy and respect, or maybe simply because he knew how to pick his battles. His loyalty to his family, and the easy dry humor, the way he talked to his nephews and nieces.
How he dealt with Birdie, as prickly as she was, and as demanding.
“Your little sister,” Martha said aloud.
He grinned. “She’ll be insufferable.”
“I don’t see why she shouldn’t have some of the credit,” Martha said, and Daniel laughed aloud. Then he turned sharply toward the village, his head inclined.
“What?” Martha asked, pulling up short.
“Ben,” said Daniel. “And he’s moving fast.”
It seemed that Ben Savard could move very fast indeed when the need was on him; Martha barely had time to wonder what was wrong before he was in shouting distance. He ran loose-limbed and hardly seemed to be breathing hard.
He raised a hand in greeting and Daniel and Martha both returned the gesture, and then he was there. His shirt and face were damp with sweat.
“You barely had time to get to the village,” Daniel said. “You must have turned right around to come back.”
“What is it?” Martha tried to sound as calm as Daniel, but she heard the tremor in her voice. Ben looked at her and smiled, his odd blue-green eyes flashing against the dark of his skin.
“No need to panic,” he said. “But it would be a good idea if you turned right around and went back to your place, Daniel.”
And just like that they did turn around and start back. In those ten minutes of walking neither Daniel nor Ben said anything, and Martha thought she would scream with needing to know.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Ben took a deep breath and wiped his brow with his sleeve.
“I don’t like to bear bad tidings, but Martha, your mama came into Paradise not an hour ago.” It didn’t take long for him to tell the rest of it.
“She remarried?” Martha wondered why this possibility had never occurred to her. “And there’s a boy?”
“That’s the claim. We all thought you should stay here until they’ve got a sense of what she wants, and how to handle the situation. A couple of hours, maybe.”
Martha’s throat was so dry that she had to clear it twice before she could make her voice obey her. She said, “I can’t go down there at all. I don’t want to see her. Them.”
“I know that, darlin’,” Ben said. “It’s got to come as a shock. But just hold tight, can you do that? Any message you want me to carry down, Daniel?”
Martha saw none of her own surprise or unease on Daniel’s face. Instead he looked grim, even angry.
“No,” he said. “Just bring us word as soon as you know anything.”
And just that simply Ben was out the door and sprinted away, this time leaving the path to cut through the forest and down the mountainside.
“And now what?” Martha said.
“That’s easy,” Daniel said. “First we’re going to eat something, and then we’re going to sleep. Or you could sleep first. You look like you’re ready to collapse.”
There was a small silence that seemed to grow between them while Daniel took cornbread, ripe cheese, and some dried meat from the food safe. He put these things on the small table with its two chairs and then went into the workroom that ran along the back of the cabin.
Martha took a pinch of cornbread between her fingers and then let the crumbs sit on her tongue. She walked the short distance to the small chamber that opened off the far end of the room, and stood for a minute in the doorway.
A bed, unmade. Clothes hanging from hooks. A cold hearth. A Betty lamp on the mantelpiece, and a candle stub. A few books, well read.
From the window she could see Daniel at the pump. He looked around himself now and then in his usual watchful way. A knife sheath lay against his thigh, easy to hand. She wondered if that knife could stop a bear or a panther, and if he’d ever brought a man low that way.
You fought with the weapons you had to hand. Something her mother had told her so many times, without talking about her own weapons or how she had used them.
And now she was back. It was as if Jemima could somehow predict the worst possible moment to interfere in her daughter’s life. Another truth presented itself: Whatever plans Jemima had, they were already under way and nothing short of death could stop her.
The boy might be Martha’s brother. Her half brother, and Callie’s. She didn’t know how to think about that, or even how to stop thinking about it. If it was true, the boy was the only blood relation she had in the world beyond Jemima.
A shiver ran up her back and following close on its heels, the first tickle of nausea at the back of her throat.
She moved to the bed and took a moment to straighten the covers and tuck them. Then she stretched out on her side, her head bedded on the crook of her arm. Weariness rolled over her in waves so that she passed from waking to sleeping in an instant, unaware that she had crossed the threshold.
The first word that came to mind was not one she was proud of.
Safety. As Daniel Bonner’s wife she would be safe. She would belong. Jemima couldn’t hurt her anymore if she was married to Daniel Bonner.
But there was a great deal more to it than that. If asked, she would make herself say the rest of it, why she was drawn to him. Why she wanted him.
The way he looked at a problem from all sides and then came up with an answer that should have been obvious from the start. How impatient he got with a certain kind of talk, and the way he struggled to hide it so as not to offend. Out of courtesy and respect, or maybe simply because he knew how to pick his battles. His loyalty to his family, and the easy dry humor, the way he talked to his nephews and nieces.
How he dealt with Birdie, as prickly as she was, and as demanding.
“Your little sister,” Martha said aloud.
He grinned. “She’ll be insufferable.”
“I don’t see why she shouldn’t have some of the credit,” Martha said, and Daniel laughed aloud. Then he turned sharply toward the village, his head inclined.
“What?” Martha asked, pulling up short.
“Ben,” said Daniel. “And he’s moving fast.”
It seemed that Ben Savard could move very fast indeed when the need was on him; Martha barely had time to wonder what was wrong before he was in shouting distance. He ran loose-limbed and hardly seemed to be breathing hard.
He raised a hand in greeting and Daniel and Martha both returned the gesture, and then he was there. His shirt and face were damp with sweat.
“You barely had time to get to the village,” Daniel said. “You must have turned right around to come back.”
“What is it?” Martha tried to sound as calm as Daniel, but she heard the tremor in her voice. Ben looked at her and smiled, his odd blue-green eyes flashing against the dark of his skin.
“No need to panic,” he said. “But it would be a good idea if you turned right around and went back to your place, Daniel.”
And just like that they did turn around and start back. In those ten minutes of walking neither Daniel nor Ben said anything, and Martha thought she would scream with needing to know.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Ben took a deep breath and wiped his brow with his sleeve.
“I don’t like to bear bad tidings, but Martha, your mama came into Paradise not an hour ago.” It didn’t take long for him to tell the rest of it.
“She remarried?” Martha wondered why this possibility had never occurred to her. “And there’s a boy?”
“That’s the claim. We all thought you should stay here until they’ve got a sense of what she wants, and how to handle the situation. A couple of hours, maybe.”
Martha’s throat was so dry that she had to clear it twice before she could make her voice obey her. She said, “I can’t go down there at all. I don’t want to see her. Them.”
“I know that, darlin’,” Ben said. “It’s got to come as a shock. But just hold tight, can you do that? Any message you want me to carry down, Daniel?”
Martha saw none of her own surprise or unease on Daniel’s face. Instead he looked grim, even angry.
“No,” he said. “Just bring us word as soon as you know anything.”
And just that simply Ben was out the door and sprinted away, this time leaving the path to cut through the forest and down the mountainside.
“And now what?” Martha said.
“That’s easy,” Daniel said. “First we’re going to eat something, and then we’re going to sleep. Or you could sleep first. You look like you’re ready to collapse.”
There was a small silence that seemed to grow between them while Daniel took cornbread, ripe cheese, and some dried meat from the food safe. He put these things on the small table with its two chairs and then went into the workroom that ran along the back of the cabin.
Martha took a pinch of cornbread between her fingers and then let the crumbs sit on her tongue. She walked the short distance to the small chamber that opened off the far end of the room, and stood for a minute in the doorway.
A bed, unmade. Clothes hanging from hooks. A cold hearth. A Betty lamp on the mantelpiece, and a candle stub. A few books, well read.
From the window she could see Daniel at the pump. He looked around himself now and then in his usual watchful way. A knife sheath lay against his thigh, easy to hand. She wondered if that knife could stop a bear or a panther, and if he’d ever brought a man low that way.
You fought with the weapons you had to hand. Something her mother had told her so many times, without talking about her own weapons or how she had used them.
And now she was back. It was as if Jemima could somehow predict the worst possible moment to interfere in her daughter’s life. Another truth presented itself: Whatever plans Jemima had, they were already under way and nothing short of death could stop her.
The boy might be Martha’s brother. Her half brother, and Callie’s. She didn’t know how to think about that, or even how to stop thinking about it. If it was true, the boy was the only blood relation she had in the world beyond Jemima.
A shiver ran up her back and following close on its heels, the first tickle of nausea at the back of her throat.
She moved to the bed and took a moment to straighten the covers and tuck them. Then she stretched out on her side, her head bedded on the crook of her arm. Weariness rolled over her in waves so that she passed from waking to sleeping in an instant, unaware that she had crossed the threshold.
