by Sara Donati
“Oakmere sits on the edge of a great wood. Nothing like these woods—” she said hastily. “But still, for England very large, and old. And there are tales of the Green Man that the common folk tell. I believe it was one of the upstairs maids—a young woman called Maisie—who told it to Amanda one day, although Amanda herself denied that. She claimed to know nothing of it, only that she woke sometimes at night to see a man looking in her window. A man grown out of a tree, she said, with moss for a face and hair of oak leaves and fingers like sticks which he used to scratch upon her window.”
Nathaniel leaned in closer to her, and she took his hand to cradle between both of hers.
“Amanda was a flighty girl, very dramatic. But when she came to my bed at night to be comforted, I had no doubt that her fear was real.”
There was a mumbling from Joe, and they both looked toward him. When he had settled again, Elizabeth continued.
“I was five years older, you see, and it had always fallen to me to be the sensible cousin to all of them, but especially to Amanda. And I suppose I was well suited to that role. It was one thing that finally gave me some … presence in the family. I remember how strangely my uncle Merriweather looked at me, that first night that Amanda woke the whole household screaming and would not take comfort from her mother, nor from anyone but me. He looked at me as though he had never seen me before, and I suppose in a way that was true. He was never cruel to me, I was just …” She paused.
“You were invisible to him,” Nathaniel supplied.
She nodded, reluctantly. “And so they left it to me to convince Amanda that the Green Man was no more than a tale told at the hearth on a winter’s night to entertain. But it didn’t matter really what I said to her, she often ended up back shivering at my bedside in the deep of the night, when there was rain especially.”
“What happened?” Nathaniel asked.
“She married at eighteen, and moved away,” said Elizabeth. “When she had been married some weeks she came home to visit, and I asked her, when I had the opportunity to address her privately, how she was sleeping. I thought perhaps that she might even have forgot about the Green Man.”
“But she hadn’t.”
Elizabeth paused. “No. I remember quite clearly the expression in her eyes, resigned and a little sad. ‘He’s come along, too, Lizzie,’ she told me. ‘Along with the ponies and the silver. I suppose he is mine, and I must learn to live with him.’ ”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I’m not sure. I suppose I mean to say that we each of us have our personal demons, and that for some they are more … tangible than for others. And we carry them with us wherever we go, although we would much rather leave them behind.”
“And what demon do you carry with you?” Nathaniel asked, very quietly.
“I am tempted to claim that I have none,” she said, leaning against him and staring into the low fire. “But I fear you know me too well already to accept that.”
He brought her fingers up to his mouth and kissed them. His eyes rested on her face in a caress as warm and direct as his touch. “Listen, now, because I want you to hear me.”
In the night outside the shelter, there was a long, high howl, but Nathaniel’s gaze held her steady.
He said, “You’ll never be invisible again. Not to me, never to me.”
XXXIV
A strong man crying in his sleep was a difficult thing to face with equanimity, but Elizabeth sat with Joe and watched the pain gradually pull him into a reluctant consciousness. Half awake, he seemed to be unaware of them for the moment. Elizabeth was almost glad; she didn’t want him to know that Nathaniel had gone to fetch wood, thinking that it would distress him. She herself breathed a secret sigh of relief when he came back into the firelight with his arms full of the logs Joe had split and stacked. Nathaniel went out again because the water was low, this time carrying a torch and his rifle in the crook of his arm.
“You are very uncomfortable,” she said to Joe. “Tell me, is there anything specific I can do for you?”
His head turned back and forth on the cot with eyes closed. Elizabeth had dampened a square of muslin from her pack and she wiped his face, noting how dry his skin was. He did not sweat anymore, and there was no fever. She knew this could not be a good sign.
“Joe,” she said softly. “Do you have any message for us to take back to your people?”
He opened his eyes.
“It’s a poor joke,” he said, his tongue thick and his words indistinct. “To come so far and die of a scratch.”
“I wish I knew what I might do to comfort you,” she said. “I don’t even know any prayers of the Catholic church.”
Suddenly he was much more awake, and there was something like a smile on his face; she then saw that it was a grimace. “I ain’t Catholic.”
“But—”
“She had me baptized, and she made me learn the prayers, and every morning there was mass to sing before the work started, but I ain’t Catholic. Not inside.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said softly. “Of course you are right. Are there other prayers you’d like to say, or perhaps the Bible—”
“Don’t need prayers,” Joe said. “I need a new arm.”
She thought he had drifted off again, when he spoke up softly.
“Do you know Johnstown?”
“A bit.”
“I never thought I’d miss it, but I do.” And then, after another long pause: “You know the new courthouse? Right across the street there’s a blacksmith by the name of Weiss, Hans Weiss.” His voice trailed away.
“Do you want a message delivered to this Hans Weiss?” Elizabeth prompted him.
Joe shook his head. One hand moved across the blanket and for the first time he touched Elizabeth, his fingers finding hers and wrapping around them, squeezing.
“There’s a slave there, works the smithy. They call him Sam, but his name is Joshua. Big, strong man, ’bout thirty years old. I would much appreciate it if you could get word to him. Tell him I got this far, would you?”
She nodded, unable to speak.
“Tell him how sweet the water is up here, tell him that, too. And give him this.” From under the blanket, Joe drew forth something not quite small enough to be hidden between his splayed thumb and finger. He pressed it into Elizabeth’s palm, and closed his hand over hers.
“He’ll know, when you give him that.”
It was a single disk of glossy dark wood, unlike anything Elizabeth had ever seen. On the outer edges its carved geometric pattern was worn thin with handling. There was a hole drilled through the center, and in it a small stone had been wedged, perfectly round in shape but almost flat. A smaller hole near the edge was empty. In the dim light of the fire Elizabeth could make out nothing more of it, but while she tried, Joe fell back into sleep.
The morning came, and the night chill burned off quickly along with the mist on the lake. Elizabeth watched it break up and float gracefully into nothingness as she fished, crouched on the shelf of rock where they had thought to make camp. The woods seemed unusually quiet today, but she thought that it might be her imagination.
Nathaniel preferred fishing in the Mohawk way, with a spear, but she had more luck with the hook and line that Robbie had taught her to use, and which she kept wound into a ball in her pocket. Nathaniel had noted with some pleasure and perhaps a little surprise that she had a talent for this kind of fishing. With a bit of the stew meat as bait it didn’t take long before Elizabeth had two fat trout on the line, thrashing angrily, the early sun rippling up and down their sides to spark the rainbow. With averted face and her mouth pressed hard, Elizabeth dispatched them one by one with a sharp blow of the head to the rock, as Robbie had shown her. With her knife she cleaned them in the lake, her chilled fingers moving fast. The clear waters clouded with the blood and then with a school of darting minnows with strangely enlarged heads, pleased to be let in on the feast. Elizabeth paused, thinking of a quick swim—the heavy smells of Joe�
��s sickness hung about her and the lake, as icy cold as it was, would have been welcome. But she was uneasy here by herself, with thoughts of what might be happening at the camp. On the way she gathered sticks to build into a latticework over the cook fire. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation.
Joe was asleep again, deeper this time than before. He had roused only long enough to take a bit of water, Nathaniel told her. And he had asked for her. He seemed to be declining, slipping further and further away from them.
While they watched the trout sizzle, Elizabeth cooked some of the small store of oats into a thin gruel, in the hope that Joe would wake enough to take some nourishment.
“We need meat,” Nathaniel said. “I’ll go see what I can scare up. If you can cope.”
Elizabeth was silent. Normally she would have sent him off without any qualms; she knew he would not go far and that he would be back in a few hours with a brace of rabbit or grouse, something they could manage quickly. In the meantime she would otherwise have bathed, washed out her things, or gone searching for wild onions and other greenery to supplement their meat. But this time would be different. Joe might well die while Nathaniel was away.
She felt him watching her, and was not surprised to have him read her thoughts.
“I don’t like it much either, Boots, but we have to eat. And we’ll be moving fast once we leave here. When he goes it will be quiet, you can be sure of that—he just won’t wake up.”
“He shouldn’t be alone,” she said more to herself than to Nathaniel, and he nodded his approval.
By late morning Joe had begun to come out of his sleep; she could tell by the twitching of his face and hands. While she sat next to him mending a rent in her leggings, he started awake, his whole body jerking, and then he reached involuntarily toward his ruined arm and cried out, a terrible sound.
“Shhh.” Elizabeth stood, and sat again, and stood, one hand to her mouth, wondering what she could do. “Shhh,” she repeated, and then something came to her from a school lesson long ago, learned over her books at Oakmere. She leaned in close to Joe, trying to ignore the smells rising from him, and crooned. “Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf.” Sleep, little one, sleep.
When he looked up at her his face was quieter; he seemed to be looking beyond her. “Nobody could mistake me for a child, Miz Elizabeth,” he said clearly.
She sat down heavily, wiping her own forehead with a trembling hand.
“You thought I was out of my head.”
“I thought you were disoriented.”
He grunted. “Same difference. Is there water?”
“Of course,” she said, flustered. When he had drunk, she sat with the bowl in her hands, not knowing what to say.
“You got that bijou I gave you?”
She produced it from around her neck; she had strung it there on the long silver chain with the silver and pearl pendant Nathaniel had given her, afraid that otherwise she might lose it.
“What is it?” she asked, curious. In the light the center stone had proved to be an opal, milky white except when the sun touched it, and then blazing in beautiful pearl tones.
“Made of wood from the fever tree,” Joe explained, reaching for it. She put it in his hand. “Come all the way from Africa with my mama.” He glanced at her, and then shook his head. “She hid it under her tongue all that time, thinking she would need good medicine on this side of the world where the devils roam. Trouble was, she didn’t have enough medicine for all of ’em.”
Suddenly he began to cough, a great raking cough that came up deep from his belly and convulsed him in pain. When it had passed, he fell back against the cot.
“In my lungs,” he said. “Don’t expect it’ll be much longer now.”
“I have some gruel,” Elizabeth offered, wishing for the ability to provide some other, some real comfort. “Would you like that?”
He blinked at her slowly. “Thank you kindly,” he said, already more than half asleep.
Nathaniel returned in mid-afternoon with three rabbits, two grouse, and a wild turkey, which he set to cleaning immediately in the hope that there would be time to smoke some of the meat to carry away. He moved fast and worked neatly, and when Elizabeth stopped to talk to him he was as pleasant and easy as ever, but he was worried. She could see it in the way the muscle in his cheek jumped, when he was quiet and thought her attention elsewhere. She worked with him and they talked of unimportant things, grateful for this quiet time while Joe slept. The weather was warm and Elizabeth began to sweat in the direct sun, but she didn’t mind this. It seemed a long time since she had been warm through, and she said this to Nathaniel.
“This is the warmest spring I remember since I was a boy,” he said. “That’s our good fortune, although it don’t seem that way to you right now.”
“I didn’t mean to complain,” Elizabeth said quietly.
Nathaniel sighed. “You ain’t complaining, and neither am I,” he said. “You’re mighty jumpy, Boots.” He was cleaning a grouse and looked around him for a place to dispose of the entrails. “Too bad there’s no dog,” he said. “But I expect a fox will be by for this soon as we turn our backs.”
“But there is a dog,” Elizabeth said. “Joe’s dog, I mean. He was out here when I got up this morning to start the fire.”
Nathaniel turned to her, his face puzzled. “I never saw him.”
She nodded. “A big red dog. Quite ferocious-looking, but he got up when he saw me and wandered off into the bush.”
“Did you ask Joe about him? Or did he say anything, ask about the dog?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I didn’t think to. Is it important?”
Nathaniel shrugged, but he looked thoughtful. “Don’t know,” he said. “Just strange that he wasn’t here when I first come up. Maybe he was off hunting for himself.”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth agreed. It occurred to her that any dog of Joe’s would have tried to come into the shelter at night, to sleep nearby. She asked Nathaniel if this was true, and he nodded. “That’s what I was thinking,” he agreed.
While they built up a smoky fire and set the strips of meat to slow-cook over it, Elizabeth thought it through.
“Perhaps it was a stray,” she said. “Run off from somebody else.”
“Could be.”
“I did see a dog,” she snapped then, and he raised a brow.
“Hold on, there. I never said you didn’t.”
“But you’re thinking it. You think I imagined the whole thing. Or that it was—that I saw something … unreal.”
“To tell you the truth, I hadn’t been thinking along those lines. But you are, Boots. So tell me what’s on your mind.”
“No,” Elizabeth said firmly. “There’s nothing to tell. There was a stray dog in the camp in the morning, and now he’s gone.”
Nathaniel looked at her for a good time.
“Come out and say what you’re thinking,” Elizabeth said finally.
He shrugged. “Robbie has a blessing.”
Elizabeth was struggling to be reasonable, and failing. “I’m not sure what relevance that has to the topic at hand,” she said, knowing how petty she sounded.
“Then listen,” Nathaniel said, and his voice went into another register, light and with a rhythm that was not his own:
I wish ye the shelterin’ o’ the king o’ kings
I wish ye the shelterin’ o’ Jesus Christ
To ye the shelterin’ spirit o’ healin’,
To keep ye fra’ evil deed and quarrel,
Fra’ evil dog and red dog.
Elizabeth stood up abruptly, holding her bloodied hands away from her. “It was not an evil dog, it was a perfectly nice one, although it did smell distinctly of skunk. Could not have been more real. Now if you’ve had enough fun at my expense, I’m going to see how Joe is doing.”
Nathaniel stood up to intercept her, catching her shoulders with the heels of his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said with a half grin. “I won’t tease anymore.”
>
She hesitated. “I still must go look in on Joe.”
“But you’ll come back?”
“Eventually,” said Elizabeth.
They had a tense afternoon, focused as they were on Joe and his needs, and the chores, and getting provisions ready. Nathaniel hummed along when Joe sang the mass, and this set Elizabeth’s nerves even more on edge. She checked on Joe in the late afternoon. He roused himself enough to drink a sip of water, but he seemed barely to know her. Elizabeth sat watching him for a while, and then she went out to pace the little clearing up and down, making wide curves around the pits. Nathaniel had climbed down into one of them to pull up the stakes, which he threw on the fire one by one.
Elizabeth stopped suddenly, turning toward her husband. “I’d like to bathe.”
He inclined his head. “What about your foot?”
“I’ve been walking on it all day without discomfort,” she said. “And I smell. Come down to the lake with me.”
Nathaniel shook his head. “I want to get two more of these cleaned out first,” he said. “If we’re going to leave tomorrow—”
“Are we leaving tomorrow?” asked Elizabeth.
He met her eye, and then nodded. “I would guess we are. And I don’t think much of leaving these for somebody to fall into.”
“Nathaniel, I know we don’t have a lot of time, but please come along,” she said, trying not to wheedle but not quite succeeding. She had an urge to be away from the clearing, but she did not like herself for it.
“You go on ahead,” Nathaniel said. “I’ll follow in a bit.”
She turned almost before he had finished speaking, but turned back reluctantly.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t leave him.”
“I think he’ll be fine for an hour,” said Nathaniel. “I’ll check in on him before I come down.”
Elizabeth set off quickly and in just a few minutes she was standing on the lakeshore. It was a beautiful afternoon, sunny and clear, and there was no sign of blackfly anywhere, just the squabbling of blackbirds and the melting, flutelike song of a hermit thrush. With impatient fingers she undid her ties and stripped down to her shift, wrinkling her nose at her own smell. Once again she wished, fruitlessly, that she had not used the soap she had brought along so quickly.
