by Sara Donati
“Don’t forget your dinner!” she called, and Elizabeth nodded in agreement.
· · ·
She would have forgotten her dinner, because the next crate of books was one with many fond memories. One by one she pulled out the Roman and Greek myths, the stories of the Germanic gods, spending some time with feckless Peer Gynt. Then she took up the plays that had so occupied and fascinated her as an adolescent: silly, love-struck Juliet; Henry V, which had made her want to masquerade as a boy and go off to war. Dr. Faustus, which still could send shivers down her spine, and Mrs. Behn’s The Rover, which made her smile.
“Lost in her books, as usual,” said Julian at the door, and Elizabeth looked up with a start.
“We’ve brought your dinner!” called Katherine Witherspoon, coming up behind him. Her cheeks were reddened from the cold and she laughed, knocking the snow from her shoulders and hood.
Elizabeth jumped up to take the basket from Julian, who immediately began to prowl the cabin, sticking his nose into corners and sniffing indelicately at the smell of the betty lamp.
“I suppose it will do, Lizzie,” he said. “For your little school. Although I can’t imagine being shut up here for hours at a time with a crowd of runny noses.”
“Will you stop,” Elizabeth said, unpacking Curiosity’s ham and cheese pie.
“I think it’s very nice,” Kitty said in a conspiratorial whisper to Elizabeth that was not meant to be missed by Julian. “I had my lessons at the table, from my father and from Richard, and this would have been much more jolly, I’m sure.”
“Oh, very jolly.” Julian snorted softly. “If they don’t slit each other’s throats.”
“Julian.”
“Sorry, Lizzie. I’ll try to look on the bright side for your sake.”
They sat down around the food, and ate. Conversation was handled primarily by Kitty and Julian, who laughed and talked of everything that was of no interest to Elizabeth at all. Kitty was very animated, and it occurred to Elizabeth that while she may have once had hopes of Richard Todd, she had now most obviously shifted her attentions to Julian. Which was a very sad thing, for Elizabeth knew her brother well, and was sure he would not attach himself to Kitty. If he ever married, it would be a move calculated to make him comfortable, something not possible with Kitty. She wondered if there was any way for her to make Julian aware of the dangerous game he was playing, and then she realized that he knew full well. It was only the danger that interested him, after all.
“When will you be starting up the school, then?” Kitty was asking.
“It is most kind of you to take an interest. I think I can call school to session on Monday next.”
“Oh, good,” said Katherine. “That’s good news, isn’t it, Julian? You see, your brother and I wanted to talk to you about going to Johnstown. It’s been two months or more since I’ve been, and I would like to see my friends the Bennetts, and see about fabric—”
“I can’t go away, not now,” interrupted Elizabeth.
“Oh, come along,” said Julian, waving a hand in dismissal. “You need a little holiday before you start in on teaching, don’t you think? A few days away might be just the thing.”
While she ate, Elizabeth considered, letting them talk about the trip without committing herself. It was clear that Julian considered this trip to Johnstown a necessity; he would go, whether or not she came along. If she did accompany him, she might be able to keep him from getting into trouble. When Julian had spent or lost his own funds, he would appeal to her, or write notes on his father’s credit.
Without her company, Kitty Witherspoon could not go to Johnstown, either. It was not possible for her to travel with Julian unaccompanied.
“I gather Father does not fancy a trip to Johnstown,” Elizabeth said. “Or you would not be asking me.”
“Oh, now you have struck me to the heart.” Julian grinned. “Of course I would ask you. Who else could keep me out of trouble? So you will come?”
There was a soft knock at the door, and thankful for this interruption, Elizabeth jumped up immediately as the door opened.
“Many-Doves,” she said, surprised and a little flustered. “Abigail. How nice to see you. Do come in.”
Julian rose as the young woman came into the room, but neither he nor Katherine came forward.
“May I—” began Elizabeth, and then stopped, wondering how best to introduce her.
Many-Doves pushed her hood from her head and stepped toward them of her own accord, offering her hand.
“Good day, Miz Katherine.”
Kitty nodded primly, her mouth turned down at one corner. In vexation at this interruption, or dislike, Elizabeth could not tell.
“My name is Many-Doves,” she said in her low voice, extending her hand to Julian. “But please do call me Abigail if you prefer.”
Elizabeth tensed, waiting for Julian’s reaction, and then looked into his face and was taken by surprise. Her brother was looking down at Many-Doves with a slightly puzzled expression. Absent from his face was any trace of hostility or amusement, two emotions which seemed to rule him at most times.
“Many-Doves suits you better,” he said, and he smiled as Elizabeth had not seen him smile since he was a young boy.
When Many-Doves had accepted the seat offered to her as well as a bit of their lunch, a sudden and awkward silence followed. Uncharacteristically quiet, Julian let Katherine and Elizabeth tend to the conversation without his assistance. Many-Doves seemed to be content to sit and listen, although her attention shifted constantly to the bookshelves.
More nervous and agitated than usual, Katherine continued to look to Julian for confirmation and approval after every statement or question, but Julian himself was distracted. He kept his eyes on a piece of corn bread, which he slowly dismantled, grain by grain. Katherine was forced to carry on by herself; she addressed her comments primarily to Elizabeth, but then seemed to consider, and turned to Many-Doves.
“Julian and I were just talking to Elizabeth about a trip to Johnstown. We were hoping that she would join us for a few days. She seems to think that her school will suffer if she calls it to session later than she hoped.”
“My family is going down the Sacandaga,” said Many-Doves, causing both Elizabeth and Julian to look up suddenly. “Tomorrow.”
“You are?” asked Katherine, amazed. “All of you?”
“No, not all.” Many-Doves was suddenly uncomfortable, as if she had said too much. “Hawkeye and his father will stay behind to—” There was a slight pause in which Elizabeth imagined many things. “To look after the traps.”
“What reason is there for all of you to travel so far in the winter?” asked Julian, speaking for the first time, but keeping his gaze fixed on his plate.
“The Uncle has come to announce the Midwinter Ceremony,” Many-Doves said, although she did not explain what she meant by the Uncle. “We’ll go to the longhouse of the Turtle on the Big Vly.”
“How long will you be gone?” asked Elizabeth, feeling something strange and hollow when she thought of Nathaniel being away.
“Five days, I think, altogether.” She turned to Elizabeth. “What I came to say was that Hannah will not be here if you plan to start school next week, but my mother gives me leave to say that we will come the week after.”
Katherine was trying not to frown; the result was a strange half contortion of her face which Elizabeth might have found comical under other circumstances.
“Are you planning on coming to the school, as well?” she asked incredulously, looking between Many-Doves and Elizabeth.
Since her discussion with Nathaniel in this cabin two weeks before, Elizabeth had not mentioned to anyone the possible involvement of Hannah and Many-Doves in her school. But now it was clear that Nathaniel had not forgotten, that he had kept his promise and spoken to Falling-Day. He would send his daughter to her school. She was flooded with a range of feelings: satisfaction, relief, and thankfulness. And she realized that he
had given her something valuable: his trust. That was the message Many-Doves brought with her.
“Abigail has agreed to be my assistant,” Elizabeth said, confident that she would not be contradicted.
“Oh, really?” Katherine said coolly. “What do you think of that idea?” she asked Julian directly.
Julian’s eyes flickered past Many-Doves toward Katherine and then to Elizabeth.
“Well, if it means that Elizabeth will come along to Johnstown because her assistant isn’t available to begin school next week, I suppose that there are some significant advantages to the arrangement, however … unorthodox it may be otherwise,” he said, sounding more like himself than he had since Many-Doves had arrived.
Elizabeth kept Many-Doves with her when Julian and Katherine left, in spite of Katherine’s unhappiness with this arrangement. She wanted to ask her in more detail about the decision to let Hannah come to the school, but once they were alone she did not know how to broach the subject.
Instead she showed Many-Doves all that had been done to turn the cabin into a schoolhouse. The younger woman was so interested in the cabin and its improvements, in the books and maps and pictures, that they had much to discuss. She asked a number of very clear questions and paid close attention to Elizabeth’s answers.
After some time, Many-Doves hesitated, and Elizabeth sensed a change in topic coming.
“Will you go to Johnstown, then?” Many-Doves asked.
“I don’t really know,” Elizabeth answered. “Why?”
Many-Doves shook her head, and then, in another change of direction, she looked at the window and her face broke into a smile. “Nathaniel,” she said, just as there was a knock at the door. “And Runs-from-Bears.”
XIII
“I promised to take you to see the foundation of your schoolhouse,” Nathaniel said by way of greeting.
“Hello to you, too,” said Elizabeth dryly. She was determined not to let a silly smile compromise the friendly but detached air she was working so hard to present. Her pulse was racing, though, and she had to resist the urge to touch her handkerchief to her brow.
Nathaniel inclined his head toward his companion without taking his eyes off Elizabeth. “This is Runs-from-Bears.”
“Many-Doves,” said Elizabeth as Runs-from-Bears stepped forward and took the hand she offered. “Is this the Uncle you mentioned?”
“They call me Uncle because I come to call them to Midwinter Ceremony. Next week I will be just Runs-from-Bears again.”
He had a friendly smile, but Elizabeth saw that it was not so much for her as it was for Many-Doves, who was suddenly quite silent. It was hard to judge, but Elizabeth thought he was perhaps thirty years of age. He had Otter’s dark, glossy skin and angular face, although he bore the evidence of a bout with the pox, as well as a line of tattoos which stretched over the bridge of his nose. Silver earrings dangled from both of his ears, and there were feathers braided into his hair. Even in his layers of deerskin and fur, it was clear that he was well built. On his person he carried an assortment of weapons: a long rifle, hatchet and knife, and something that looked like a war club. In spite of his easy manner and smile, the man looked as if he would be afraid of nothing in this world. Elizabeth wondered if she would ever get an explanation of his name.
“The Uncle is whoever comes to call the Kahnyen’kehàka to the Midwinter Ceremony,” Nathaniel explained.
“I told her all about Midwinter,” Many-Doves said impatiently. “So are we going to look at the schoolhouse or not?”
“You’re not,” said Nathaniel. “Falling-Day is waiting for you at home, best get on back.” Then he glanced at Runs-from-Bears and grinned, the first time he had smiled since he came through the door. “You can show her the way,” he said, and added something in Kahnyen’kehàka that made Many-Doves push him sharply as she left the cabin.
“You do like teasing people,” Elizabeth noted to Nathaniel as they made their way down the mountainside. “It’s a weakness, I think.”
“Is that so? Well, Boots, it seems harmless enough to me.”
“I don’t know if I like you calling me that,” Elizabeth said, a little peevishly. “Boots, I mean.”
Nathaniel glanced at her over his shoulder. “It suits you.”
“But I have a given name, and it’s not Boots.”
“A person can have more than one name.”
She drew up short, surprised. “Is that so? How many names do you have?”
“Oh, a handful.”
There was silence for a minute, and then Elizabeth could not resist asking.
“The Kahnyen’kehàka call me Wolf-Running-Fast,” he said. “But my mother—she called me Nathaniel.”
“Well,” said Elizabeth. “Then you’ll understand that my mother gave me a name, and it is not Boots.”
“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’kehàka?”
“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’kehàka way to take a wife from your own longhouse. 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.
