by Sara Donati
“My father is not resigned,” she said, an acknowledgment rather than a question.
“Tae say the verra least,” Robbie agreed. “Lass, let me speak plain. I wadna fear yer faither’s anger ’gin it werena for yer brother. Taegither they will stop at naethin’ tae see their will done.”
“I must go see him.”
“Aye, that is a start. P’rhaps the idea o’ ye wi’ bairn will do some guid.”
Self-consciously, Elizabeth put a hand to her waist. She doubted her father would see her condition without being told; it was a thought she did not enjoy.
“Robbie,” she said slowly. “Why tell me this and not Nathaniel?”
He hesitated for a moment. “Lass, ’gin I had a son, I couldna love him mair than Nathaniel, do ye ken the truth o’ that?”
Elizabeth nodded slowly.
“He’s a rare mannie, is Nathaniel. Gey braw, and canty. But he’s got a bad habit o’ underestimatin’ men wha’ are weaker than he is. He hasna larned that weak men are tae be feared.”
She said, “You think he should fear my father?”
Robbie stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “Nathaniel thinks the judge a foolish auld man, no’ worth much troublin’ ower. But worse, he’s disremembered yer brother, and yer brother is nae man’s fool.”
A quick memory came to Elizabeth of Julian as a four-year-old, during one of the judge’s rare visits to England. She could almost feel the short fingers, sticky with marmalade, wound stubbornly in her skirts; he had torn the fabric before he could be dragged away to greet the stranger who was his father. That evening Julian had disappeared, and stayed away for two whole days, secluded in the depths of the kitchen cabinet where he could hear the news of the house and still be warm and have enough to eat when all had gone to their beds. Only the cook’s need of a rarely used jelly mold had uncovered him. When asked what he had been about, he had looked surprised that the adults could not see the sense of his plan. “I wished to make you unhappy,” he had said. “Not myself.”
“Julian is not stupid,” she agreed. “And he is incredibly stubborn.” She sighed. “Robbie, tell me truly what you think.”
“I think that with yer brother’s direction, a man like Judge Middleton is mair dangerous than Moses Southern. Southern may fool with yer traps and burn yer crops, but yer faither’s weapon is the kind that Nathaniel canna stan’ up tae.”
“The law,” said Elizabeth.
“Aye,” agreed Robbie. “The law.”
Hawkeye and Nathaniel both insisted on coming along, and so they set out immediately, in spite of a light rain. Elizabeth realized that her dislike of bad weather had been worn away as cleanly as her regard for many of aunt Merriweather’s social niceties. But still, she did not want to appear before the judge with straggling hair and so she wore her summer cape with the hood pulled down low, and gave up her moccasins for her old nankeen walking boots, solid and thick and suddenly much heavier than she remembered.
“The man won’t thank you for gettin’ him out of his bed,” Hawkeye observed, squinting up at the storm clouds.
“No, but at least we can be sure to find him in.”
Nathaniel grimaced slightly. “I’m not of a mind to go running after the man, Boots. When he wants to talk to us, he knows where we are.”
With Robbie’s concerns so vividly in her memory, Elizabeth said nothing. She hoped that Robbie was wrong about her father and his intentions. But more than that, she hoped that he had been wrong about Nathaniel’s unwillingness to see the dangers her father represented.
When they reached the river and passed over the small bridge, Hawkeye paused to look out over the water. “Ducks coming along,” he said with a small frown. “Another week or so, the fledglings will be ’bout ready to fly.”
“And should they not?” Elizabeth asked, made curious by his dire tone.
“Billy Kirby will be out here, egging on half the village,” replied Nathaniel.
At any other time, Elizabeth would have been intrigued enough by this strange answer to ask more questions, but as they approached her schoolhouse she found herself jumpy and at odds. On her first visit here in the last week the sight of the cornfield in rubble and ashes had made very clear the animosity they faced.
As they approached the building she relaxed. The new wood, hardly weathered in the few months, shone butter-yellow in the misting rain. Curiosity’s muslin curtains hung at all the windows, and there was no sign of mischief since she had been here two days ago with Hannah to bring more books and sweep. Automatically she felt for the reassuring shape of the key, which she kept always in her pocket. On Monday she would hold school again, although she knew she could count with assurance on only five students: Hannah, Anna Hauptmann’s two, and the McGarritys’ boys.
Jed and Nancy McGarrity had come up to Lake in the Clouds to tell her so, carrying a bushel of plums between them which they put down on the porch. Jed took off his battered cap and squinted sideways at her, his long, homely face set in a frown. There were flecks of red on his cheeks above his beard. “My Nancy’s pa didn’t take to me, either, when we got married,” he said. “And we done well enough, never caused nobody harm.” He nudged his wife, who had not looked up from her own dusty bare feet.
“We’d be pleased if you’d take the plums in payment for the summer’s schooling for our boys,” she said so softly that Elizabeth had trouble hearing.
“Ian and Rudy are welcome in my classroom,” Elizabeth had answered with all the dignity she could muster. She knew that these two, in their best dress and scrubbed to a shiny pink to pay this visit, would not understand her urge to hug them both in gratitude. “And thank you kindly for the plums. I am sure we will be glad of them in the winter.”
Now Elizabeth anticipated the first day of school with less trepidation, knowing she would have students, even if they were few.
They came around the corner and she felt Nathaniel jerk in surprise, pulling her out of her daydreaming. Over his shoulder she saw that some papers had been nailed to the door. Protected as they were under the eaves they had remained almost dry, but they flapped weakly in the wind.
Nathaniel put a hand on her arm, but she shook him off with a frown, and went up the three steps to the door. She tore the newsprint down with a jerk, leaving the nail behind. Turning slowly to Hawkeye and Nathaniel, she finally raised her head.
“Well?” said Hawkeye finally.
She cleared her throat twice. “From an Albany paper, dated yesterday.” And she read out loud:
REWARD
Today Secretary of the State Treasury Morris opens an inquiry into the matter of funds stolen more than Thirty years ago. In the aftermath of the siege of Fort William Henry and the subsequent Savage Massacre of the retreating British and Militia troops by French forces and their Godless Indian allies, a cask of gold coins was stolen from the Fort for transport to Montreal, but never reached its destination.
The Government of this State has claimed the fortune of some Five Thousand Guineas as payment and restitution for expenses and losses suffered by the Citizens of New-York in fighting France for George II.
Long believed Irretrievably Lost in the heart of the Wilderness, a reliable Source has reported a sighting of the unusual five-guinea gold pieces in recent circulation. Any report of these coins should be brought immediately to Secretary Morris at his offices in Albany. A Reward will be made to Persons contributing to the safe return of the monies to the State Treasury.
“Well, goddamn the judge for an old fox.” There was something of admiration in Hawkeye’s voice.
“What’s the other one?” Nathaniel asked.
Elizabeth read again, this time her voice wavering in anger:
MISSING PERSON
Sought: Any reliable word on the whereabouts and condition of Dr. Richard Todd of Albany and Paradise. He was last seen going into the bush some eight weeks ago near Fish House. Information should be directed to Judge Middleton of Paradise, concerned friend of
Dr. Todd, and representative of his affianced, Miss Katherine Witherspoon. Foul play is feared.
Elizabeth crumpled the newspaper in her fist. “It’s time to speak up.”
Nathaniel raised a brow in surprise. “I thought we were on our way to do that.”
“It’s time to speak up in public view,” Elizabeth said. “Or they will charge one or both of us with murder. Hawkeye, can you fetch my father to the trading post?”
Hawkeye grinned. “Trussed like a Christmas turkey, if need be.”
For a moment, Elizabeth thought. These men before her were so much alike not just in their appearance and posture, but also in their simple willingness to listen to her, and what she had to say. It was a great blessing, and she blinked a brief prayer of thanksgiving.
“Julian should be there, too,” said Nathaniel. “Your father didn’t come up with this plan on his own.”
She shot him a startled look; he knew her brother better than she had thought. “Yes, of course you are right.”
Hawkeye shrugged, wiping the rain from his face. “Shouldn’t be too much trouble.”
“Then I’ll go fetch Kitty,” Nathaniel said.
“Yes, we need Kitty,” agreed Elizabeth. “Affianced of Dr. Richard Todd.”
“By God.” Hawkeye laughed out loud, slapping his leg. “And I was starting to fear that you two had lost your spunk out there in the bush.”
Nathaniel came up the steps, crooked a finger under Elizabeth’s chin, and turned her face up to his. “You feeling up to this?”
“Oh, please.” She grabbed his wrist and held it away from her. “Nathaniel, it would be dangerous to let this foolishness grow out of all proportion.”
There was a satisfied flashing in his eyes. Her plait was gone, subjugated into a neat roll on the back of her head, so Nathaniel settled for tugging on her earlobe.
“Just as you say, Boots. So let’s get a move on.”
“Wait,” Elizabeth said. “I’m confused about something first.”
Nathaniel glanced at his father, who shrugged.
“If you paid my father’s agent for this schoolhouse with the five-guinea pieces, then he must be the ‘reliable source’ referred to here.” She held up the crumpled newspaper. “But if so, my father would have to turn those coins over to this Mr. Morris. I cannot imagine him so set on punishing me that he would willingly hand his money over to the Treasury.”
Hawkeye squinted up at her. “You’ve got a keen eye for detail, woman, and you know your father pretty well. I don’t doubt you’re right; he wouldn’t want to hand over the gold, if he had it.”
“But of course he has at least some of it.” She was overcome with a sudden sense of dread. “Nathaniel. You did pay my father for this land with the gold?”
Nathaniel said, “Let’s go inside.”
The schoolhouse smelled of raw wood and beeswax and the great bunch of wild lilies Hannah had arranged in a vase. An errant moth bumped sleepily against the closed window, which provided a view of the marsh and the lake, pretty even in the rain. The sun struggled to break through, touching the forest here and there tentatively. But Elizabeth’s whole concentration was on Nathaniel. She pushed back her hood, and looked him straight in the eye.
“You did pay my father for this land with the Tory Gold?” she repeated.
“Not exactly, Boots,” said Nathaniel. “Couldn’t risk putting those coins into circulation. Once Chingachgook made up his mind to spend the gold, he gave us leave to spend what we needed to get the mountain—”
“But not to hand over the coin, because that would have brought the treasury down our necks,” continued Hawkeye. “But then it turned out there wasn’t time to melt the gold down before you two took off for Albany—”
“Because we left three days earlier than expected.” She finished his thought for him, remembering quite clearly the hurried, hushed conversations between the men when she had come to Lake in the Clouds in the middle of the night. Another thought occurred to her.
“You knew about my father’s debts to Richard Todd, or you wouldn’t have been planning on taking the gold with us when we left.”
Hawkeye said, “We had a pretty good idea. Your father don’t exactly keep his troubles close to the vest.”
The tic in Nathaniel’s cheek was fluttering hard. “Are you angry?”
“I’m too confused to be angry yet.” Elizabeth walked to the other side of the room, and then back again, deep in thought. The men watched her, while they dripped rainwater onto the polished floor.
“There is a very obvious question. If you did not use my aunt’s gift, or Chingachgook’s gold, what bought this place, then, and paid off Richard Todd?” Her voice strained high and then broke. “The mythical gold mine on Hidden Wolf?”
Nathaniel ran a hand through his hair in the way he had when he was trying to puzzle through a problem, and the dim light caught his earring with a spark. Spinning silver in a heavy elongated drop. Similar in design to the one Hawkeye wore, similar to the mass of silver and copper necklaces and bangles and kneebands all the Kahnyen’kehàka wore.
“There is a mine,” she said, sitting down heavily.
“Well, not a gold mine, at any rate.” Hawkeye’s tone bordered on the apologetic.
“Copper? Silver? Diamonds?” She was close to hysterical laughter.
“Silver,” said Nathaniel. “The Kahnyen’kehàka knew about it before the Europeans came.”
She drew in a deep breath. “Aha. Since you could not risk the gold guineas, you took the silver when we left for Albany, and traded it for cash. Which in turn paid the debts. How long have you been mining the silver exactly?”
Nathaniel blinked. “Ten years, maybe.”
“And you take it out …?”
“Bears takes it out one canoe trip at a time.”
His tone was calm, but his eyes were hooded with worry.
“Let me see if I understand,” she said, quite softly. “My aunt Merriweather’s gift, those two thousand pounds, that has not been touched?”
“It’s earning interest.”
“And there is the output from the mine, which is …” He shrugged. “I’d say there’s maybe twenty thousand dollars by now.”
“Nineteen five,” corrected Hawkeye. “But it ain’t ours, not really. Bears looks after it, sees to it that it gets distributed among the Kahnyen’kehàka. What we borrowed from the silver money in the spring we’ll pay back—when you two go to Albany you can take care of that, too.”
“I see. With the gold, I presume. There are one thousand five-guinea gold pieces?”
“Closer to fifteen hundred,” said Hawkeye, grinning now.
With an incoherent sound of surrender, Elizabeth put her face in her hands. After a long minute, she looked up.
“I married for money.”
Nathaniel glanced at his father, and then at her. “It looks that way, Boots. Do you mind very much?”
She laughed. “I’m not sure. I will have to become accustomed to the idea before I can say.” She found her handkerchief and wiped her brow with it. “If my father or brother should find out about the mine—”
Hawkeye grunted. “It would get loud around here,” he said. “And it might complicate things in Albany, down the line.”
“Of course we must go to Albany, soon, to settle our agreement on this place …” Elizabeth paused to look around herself. “But how is that relevant?”
Nathaniel said, “There’s still that bench warrant issued for you. The mine would make things look suspicious.”
Elizabeth came to stand in front of him, so that she had to raise her head to look into his eyes. She was close enough to feel the heat of him. “Did you marry me to get this mine, Nathaniel Bonner?”
“I did not.” He met her gaze without flinching.
“Is there anything else you have not told me about? Land-holdings in Albany? A peerage in Scotland?”
He shook his head.
“So.” She looked between
them. “You two did manage to deceive my father in this, that much cannot be denied. He could legally claim the profit from the mine before title was transferred—”
“But only legally,” said Hawkeye. “The way I look at it, the money that’s come out of that mine is part of what should have been paid to the Kahnyen’kehàka for the land.”
Elizabeth looked at them, dressed simply in worn buckskin, with work-hardened hands. They did not live easy lives; they had not profited personally from the mine. There was nothing of greed in what they had done, but there was something of pride.
“Yes, I see your point,” she said finally, and there was a soft flicker in Nathaniel’s face: relief, and gratitude.
“And given the fact that my father found it within his heart to publicly accuse me of murder …” Elizabeth held up the newspaper. “I cannot find it in mine to be outraged for him.”
Nathaniel held out his hand to her. “Then let’s go and settle this business.”
“One thing more,” she said, holding back.
The men froze.
“With the gold and the silver, there will be quite a lot of cash available to us. I will have a say in how it is spent.”
Hawkeye glanced at his son, and then nodded. “That’s fair enough.”
“Then let us go,” said Elizabeth, pulling up her hood. “It promises to be an eventful day.”
XLVII
Elizabeth found Anna’s trading post just as she had left it: crowded with men, and overwhelmed with the smells of human sweat, tobacco and wood smoke, wet wool and bear grease, pickled onions and drying venison. The walls were still covered with signs and advertisements, and Anna was in her usual place behind the counter, rummaging head and shoulders deep in a cubbyhole. Poised at the open door, Elizabeth saw the assembly turn their attention to her and fall silent, one by one. With her cape wrapped around her and water dripping from the brim of her hood, she made sure to meet every eye she could catch. There were only ten men, half of whom she could name. But no sign of Axel, or of Jed McGarrity, the two she would have most liked to have seen.
Leaning on the back wall, his arms crossed on his chest, was Moses Southern. He was half-turned toward the much smaller Claude Dubonnet, who for Elizabeth would always first be Dirty-Knife, although she could not call him that. He had straightened up to stare at her from the newspaper he had spread out over the pickle barrel. Elizabeth thought briefly of offering to read it out loud to them, for she had no doubt what it was that had captured their interest. More of Julian’s work, she was sure.
