by Sara Donati
From beneath his rugs and furs, Julian stretched and yawned expansively and finally stood up to observe, peering over the driver’s box. Just then the hunters, doubling back, emerged from the trees not far from the sleigh. Julian followed their progress with sleepy amusement.
“Highwaymen in New-York State?” he laughed. “I thought we left that kind of thing behind us on the London Road!”
Elizabeth gave her brother a half smile. “Will you be serious, please. Surely you can see that those men are hunters. Natives, I suppose.”
Her father was holding a staccato conversation with Galileo as he rumbled around in the front of the sleigh, and then he turned to face his children with his own gun over his arm.
“Come on, Lizzie,” Julian said, making ready to leave the sleigh. “There are bandits at hand. We might as well join in the fun.”
“You will have to learn to look more closely, my boy,” said the judge. “Don’t you see anything worth your attention except hunters? Look where they’re heading. There! At the next bend in the river. That’s the biggest doe I’ve seen in two winters. And I’ve got a new musket, which I intend to put to good use.”
“Lizzie!” urged Julian again, gesturing toward her, but the judge shook his head.
“Stay with the sleigh,” he called to his daughter as he leapt down and sped off with Julian close behind. Julian sent her a look over his shoulder which she knew well: he was sympathetic, but unwilling to champion Elizabeth in her less ladylike pursuits.
Elizabeth was not surprised to be left behind; that was a woman’s lot. Then she remembered that this was not England, and that she might ask for—and do—things considered bold at home.
“Galileo,” she called up. “Can we move forward a bit so I can see what’s happening?”
“Might be dangerous, miss,” the man answered from the depths of his mufflers and wraps. “The judge don’t have a feel for that musket yet.”
“What!” Elizabeth laughed out loud. “Do you think he would shoot us?”
“Not on purpose, no, miss.” Galileo sat down again on the box. “But I don’t put much faith in that smoothbore of his.”
When it was clear that the man meant what he said and did not intend to move into firing range, Elizabeth began to gather her skirts together. “Well, then, I’ll go on foot,” she said firmly. Balanced on the side of the sleigh for the jump down, she paused as a double gunshot burst and then echoed over the valley, chased by the baying of the dogs.
“Did they get the deer?”
Galileo was standing again to calm the horses and he squinted in the direction of the shots. “Somebody got something,” he said slowly.
Elizabeth set off as quickly as she was able, but the deep snow reached over the tops of her boots, and her skirts were heavy. By the time she came within a few feet of the men she was flushed and overheated; pushing her hood of flannel and silk back onto her shoulders to feel the cold air on her scalp, she distinguished her brother’s voice over the rush of the waterfall. She recognized the tone he reserved for servants and she groaned inwardly. At the same time, although she did not know exactly why, she feared for his well-being.
The men fell silent as she approached. Even the dogs settled down immediately beside the hunters.
“Elizabeth, my dear,” said the judge. “I believe you would be more comfortable in the sleigh.”
Elizabeth glanced uneasily from her father’s friendly but distracted expression to her brother’s angry one, and then at the hunters, who did not turn to greet her. This discourtesy she took as a sign of their disapproval, but Elizabeth was determined not to be sent off like a child.
“Did you get the deer, Father?”
The judge shook his head. “No, I’m afraid I didn’t. Hawkeye—Mr. Bonner—got the doe, and I—well, I should have listened to Galileo. Most of my shot went wild but I’m afraid one ball did find a target—”
At that the two strangers turned toward Elizabeth. Surprised, she saw that neither of them—although dressed like natives, and wearing feathers in their unbound hair—were Indian. Then, with a wave of distress that left her unsteady, Elizabeth saw what her father had done.
A flower of blood blossomed freely on the younger man’s right shoulder. Elizabeth stepped toward him, but he stepped back just as quickly, to avoid her; surprised, she looked from his wound to his face. She saw lines and planes so strong that she was reminded of a stone sculpture, straight dark brows over hazel eyes, and a high forehead creased in—pain? Anger? And Elizabeth took in the fact that this stranger, this man, was both furious and in complete control, and that his attention was focused, exclusively, absolutely, on her.
A half hour later, once again on their way, Elizabeth found herself seated across from two men to whom she had just been introduced in the briefest and most unusual manner. Dan’l Bonner—the one the judge called Hawkeye—was the focus of her brother’s attention. His son, Nathaniel, was utterly silent.
At the back of the sleigh, strapped quickly across the piles of luggage, was the deer; Nathaniel Bonner had only agreed to come into the village for medical treatment once the judge—over Julian’s protests—had acknowledged the Bonners’ rightful claim to the animal. Now Julian fumed, arguing in turns with Hawkeye and his own father. Nathaniel took no part in the argument, but neither did he miss a word; Elizabeth was sure of it.
Elizabeth found herself glancing up at Nathaniel far more often than she knew she should, and without fail she found him looking at her. Each time this happened, Elizabeth looked away and vowed not to look up again, but she could not curb her curiosity: this was a white man, dressed like an Indian, with a long earring of beaten silver dangling from one ear; she had heard him speaking to his father in a language which must be native; he was tall and lean and as menacing as a whipcord; one broad hand held the barrel of the long rifle in a manner which was both casual and deliberate. There was a serious wound in his shoulder which had been hastily stanched with her father’s handkerchief and Elizabeth’s own scarf, but it seemed to concern him not at all; and he was determined to look at her, and only her, without pause. This behavior—impertinent, and distinctly unseemly—so unnerved her that Elizabeth could not think of anything suitable to say to him in reproach.
“Father, I simply do not understand. The land on which the animal fell belongs to you,” Julian was saying.
The judge nodded. “It does. Right now we are just about in the middle of the original patent, which was about a thousand acres. Backs right onto the wilderness on the other side of Hidden Wolf Mountain.”
Elizabeth, who at that moment was glancing up at Nathaniel, saw a slight tremor in his face.
“Are you in pain, Mr. Bonner?”
Her brother turned toward her irritably. “My God, Elizabeth. It’s a minor wound. He won’t die of it.”
“No one has ever died of good manners, either, Julian,” Elizabeth said dryly. “You might try some for yourself and find out.”
This brought out a surprised grunt of amusement from Hawkeye, who shifted his attention from Julian for a moment to appraise Elizabeth.
“Then give him the doe as payment for his pain and suffering,” Julian continued. “But do not call it his. You cannot countenance poaching.”
“I have given Hawkeye and his son permission to hunt on my land, in perpetuity. In season, of course. That means that the animal is theirs. I wish they would sell me the saddle to roast for our dinner tomorrow—”
From the corner of her eye, Elizabeth noted how Nathaniel’s face grew still at this.
“—but if they will not, I cannot force them.”
“Mr. Bonner—Hawkeye,” Julian said, turning to the older man. “Will you at least concede that my father has a right to a portion of the meat—”
The judge began to protest, but his son insisted on finishing. “—as a token of goodwill?”
Julian’s behavior was shameful; Elizabeth could not deny this. But it was one thing to see all her brother’s
worst faults come to light, and quite another to see him do it in the company of strangers. If her brother could not feel the mortification which should be his, Elizabeth would. She tried to catch his eye, but instead she got the attention of Dan’l Bonner.
He was a man of about seventy years, with white hair touched with hints of his earlier black, and a deeply weathered face, but with a calm dignity and intelligence. His voice was deep and had a strange cadence, an intonation Elizabeth had not heard from any other American so far. He was, in short, intimidating in a way she had not anticipated from a backwoodsman. With a little regret for her brother, Elizabeth conceded Hawkeye Bonner’s superiority.
She glanced up, found Nathaniel looking at her again, and blushed as if he had read her thoughts.
Hawkeye finished his perusal of Julian and then spoke to the point. “First off,” he began, in his low, steady voice, “I was hunting in these woods long before your father set claim to them—”
He held up a large and callused hand to ward off Julian’s interruption.
“You want to tell me what I already know, that the judge paid good gold for this land when it was took away from the Loyalists and auctioned. I won’t argue that with you—now. Not right now. You want me to sell your father the doe as a gesture of goodwill, but this ain’t a matter of goodwill,” Hawkeye finished.
“What is it a matter of, then?” Julian asked with one brow raised.
“Hunger,” said Nathaniel, speaking for the first time since he stepped into the sleigh.
At that moment, they came to a halt in front of a house built of timber and stone and Elizabeth looked up in surprise. They had driven through the settlement of Paradise and arrived without her taking in even the smallest detail of her new home.
The judge took the opportunity to interrupt the argument at hand. “Well, there is a meal waiting for us now, and no one will leave this house hungry today. But first we need Richard to look after Nathaniel’s wound. Galileo! Have Manny see to the luggage, and go after the doctor yourself. We need him straightaway.” The judge helped his daughter from the sleigh, and then he turned to the hunters and smiled. “We’ll have your needs addressed immediately,” he said, and started for the house, with Hawkeye and her brother close behind.
Elizabeth was left alone with Nathaniel Bonner. She hesitated, searching for something to say.
“Never mind if you’re going to make excuses for your brother, miss. Don’t bother yourself.”
“I was going to ask you if you have a large family to feed, Mr. Bonner.”
For the first time, Nathaniel smiled at her. “I’ve got no wife, if that’s what you mean.”
It was the smile that set her temper flaring and her heart beating unevenly, Elizabeth told herself. She must forgive him his uncivil manner, and his forwardness, but the smile was more than she could rationalize.
“It makes little difference to me whether or not you are married, Mr. Bonner.”
“We don’t stand on such ceremony here. Call me Nathaniel. You’re a spinster woman, no?”
Elizabeth’s mouth fell open in surprise, but then she nodded. “I am unmarried, and content to remain so.”
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “Are you now? And is your father as content to have a spinster daughter as you are to be one?”
This was too much. “Mr. Bonner, you are too familiar—”
“Am I?” he said, and smiled again, this time with something akin to kindness. “Or just too honest?”
“Not that it’s any of your concern, Mr. Bonner, but my father respects my wishes and would never try to force a husband on—a spinster daughter—when I have no need or desire for one.” Satisfied with this speech and her own logic, Elizabeth thought that Nathaniel Bonner must now desist.
“And what do you desire?”
The question took Elizabeth by surprise. I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that, she thought, and then in an attempt to hide her confusion, she turned toward the house.
“We should go in,” she said. “My father has called for a surgeon. He truly wants to put things right with you.”
Just as suddenly as Nathaniel Bonner’s smile had come, it left.
“We’ll see how much your father wishes to put right, miss,” he said, and he started for the house.
Her father’s housekeeper was a long and very wiry black woman with a thin face framed by layers of calico. She took one look at Nathaniel’s bloody shoulder and disappeared into the far end of the house, a loud and pointed monologue trailing along behind her. Elizabeth was left to find her own way to her room.
When she had located it and closed the door behind her, she found herself suddenly exhausted. There was a fire in the small hearth, and she gratefully fell into the chair before it, barely looking around herself at the furnishings. She noted that the windows faced east, but for the moment she could not rouse herself to go look out, although she had wondered for months what kind of view she might hope for. With trembling hands she removed her traveling cloak and hood.
Self-pity and whimpering, Elizabeth observed with a frown. This is a fine start you’re off to, my girl.
She drew three deep breaths and with a suppressed sigh she rose from her warm spot before the hearth to walk to the dresser.
“You may be a spinster,” she told her image in the mirror over the washbasin, “but you needn’t be unkempt. You will start by making yourself presentable and finding your own way to the dinner table.”
Quickly, Elizabeth washed her face and neck in cool water and then in rapid movements took out the pins which held her hair in place to shake her hair free. Uncoiled, it flew around her like an unruly veil, as deep as the night and rippling to her waist, falling from a widow’s peak to frame a heart-shaped face, a strong, dimpled chin, an overgenerous mouth, and widely spaced light gray eyes ringed with darker gray, the same gray as the linen of her dress. Quaker eyes, her mother had always called them, affectionately. Now this thought of her mother helped Elizabeth, and she looked around herself. Perhaps her mother had brushed her hair before this very mirror in the cabin on the mountain the judge had built for her when they were first married.
With a start Elizabeth realized that her bags were not yet in her room, and that there were no brushes or combs on the dresser. She opened the door, hoping that Galileo’s son might have been too shy to knock when they brought up the trunks, but the hall was empty. There was nothing to do but go and find her things.
Smoothing her rumpled traveling dress as best she could and praying that she would run into no one, Elizabeth made her way downstairs but found that the foyer was empty of people and luggage. She was confronted with a half circle of closed doors, the far one of which, she reasoned, led to the kitchens.
Finally, irritated at herself for her hesitance, she knocked and then opened a door, and found her father’s empty study. The next door opened into the dining room, with a table set for an expansive midday meal, but also empty.
Growing impatient, Elizabeth opened the third door and found herself in the parlor.
Nathaniel Bonner was sitting directly before her on a low stool in the light of the window, stripped to the waist. Another man, tall and very broad, hovered behind Nathaniel’s shoulder with a bloodstained rag in one hand and a scalpel in the other. At the far wall, on a stool next to the fire, the housekeeper worked over a mortar and pestle while Hawkeye watched with a critical eye. All four looked up at Elizabeth in surprise.
Even in her mortification, Elizabeth had to notice how different the two men were: one fair, with great masses of red-gold beard, and dressed expensively in linen and wool; the other dark and lean, dressed only in leather breechclout and leggings, his naked chest smooth and muscled. Then Elizabeth realized that she was looking at a stranger—a grown man—without a shirt, when she had never seen even her brother in such a natural state. She felt herself flooding with color.
Surprise crossed Nathaniel’s face; he sat up and opened his mouth to speak but Elizabeth had
already begun to spin away, sending her hair around her into a whirl. She slammed the door shut behind her, her face burning, and ran back toward the stair, where she bumped full force into her father and brother.
“Elizabeth!” the judge said, startled. “Are you quite well?”
“Really, Lizzie,” her brother chimed in, straightening the lace stock at his neck. “Look at you. What a sight you are.”
Elizabeth scowled. “If I knew where my things were, Julian, I would not be here in the hall offending your sensibilities.”
The judge put an arm around her shoulders. “Go back to your rooms, my dear. I’ll send someone along with your bags right away so that you can change for dinner. Richard is here, and he’s anxious to meet you, so put on something pretty.”
The tone of this request, coaxing and unfamiliar, made Elizabeth pause in her flight up the stairs. “Richard?”
Her father smiled. “Richard Todd—I’ve written to you of him. You must have seen him just now, tending to Nathaniel. He is anxious to be introduced to you.”
And Elizabeth remembered, suddenly, those words she had heard just minutes before: Is your father as content to have a spinster daughter as you are to be one?
“It seems the sights of the sickroom were such that she didn’t notice the doctor,” Julian was saying as Elizabeth disappeared up the stairs. At any other time, she would have responded to her brother’s impertinence, but now, suddenly uneasy, she wanted nothing more than to get away.
II
The housekeeper was called Curiosity Freeman, and Elizabeth soon understood how she had earned her first name. When Galileo brought up her trunks and valise, Curiosity came along—to help Elizabeth get settled, she said, but it was clear that there was more than baggage on her mind.
“How many times the judge will get himself into mischief with that smoothbore, I hate to think,” she began without preamble. Over Elizabeth’s protests, Curiosity lifted and moved the trunks without catching her breath or losing her train of thought.
