by Sara Donati
Her curiosity aroused, Elizabeth asked her students about these vague reports of Christmas excesses. They were eager to tell her about the Kaes family’s habit of a Christmas mummery, and Axel’s love of fireworks, all of which she had missed the previous year because the judge had given a party of his own. She wondered if she should join in, given the recent loss of her brother, and found that even Martha, so recently widowed, was planning to take part. Christmas was a time of games and playfulness, she told Elizabeth. It would sustain them in the long winter ahead. Elizabeth thought they could use a party; Falling-Day, Many-Doves, and Runs-from-Bears had left at the beginning of the month for a visit at Good Pasture, where Many-Doves’ first child would come into the world early in the new year. Elizabeth missed their company very much.
But by dark Nathaniel had not yet come home, and Hannah seesawed rapidly between resignation and disappointment. Liam, more stoic, sat quietly by the hearth cleaning traps. At eight, Elizabeth gave in and sent them down to the village.
“I want to wait for Nathaniel,” she said. “And the walk is a bit much for me, in this snow.”
With a significant look at the great mound of her middle, Hannah gave in with a grin.
Elizabeth followed the swing of the lantern until it disappeared into the wood, and then she closed the door firmly against the cold and turned back into the cabin. Only the dogs were left to her, and they slept in an untidy heap by the fire, uninterested in the fact that it was Christmas Eve. She made a tour of all three rooms, but as they had spent the late afternoon cleaning and making ready for the holiday, there was nothing left for her to do but to take up her book by the hearth.
At nine when the ache in the small of her back was no longer governable and a sharp kick to her liver set her teeth on edge, Elizabeth put down her book to pace the floor, noting as she did so that she had lost sight of her own feet. In the village more than one woman had taken silent measure of her girth and then raised a brow at the suggestion that the child was not due for another six weeks. But only Curiosity and Falling-Day had actually examined her, and as Elizabeth herself had not yet announced the fact that she carried twins, they too were silent.
She stopped before the hearth to examine the miniatures of Nathaniel’s mother and her own. Recently Elizabeth had been thinking more and more often of her mother, understanding for the first time how difficult it must have been for her to leave her homeland and raise her children alone in another country. She had been only twenty-five when she left Paradise. Five years younger than Elizabeth was now, she had chosen to leave her husband and travel pregnant and alone to England. In the spring, Elizabeth thought she might have a conversation with aunt Merriweather in which difficult questions would be asked.
With a careful finger, Elizabeth touched her mother’s likeness, tracing the brow and widow’s peak which she had inherited. She was fortunate in the women she had around her, but she wondered about this woman who was both so familiar to her and a stranger. If she would have approved of the life Elizabeth had made for herself; how she would have greeted her grandchildren, held them and rocked them. If they would have the blue eyes she had passed on to Julian’s son, or perhaps Nathaniel’s hazel eyes.
He should have been back hours ago; she could not pretend anymore that she was not worried.
Elizabeth picked up the likeness of his mother to study the high forehead and calm expression in the dark eyes.
“Where is your son so late on Christmas Eve?” she asked out loud, and then jumped back, startled, at a pounding on the door.
They came in with a great rush of cold air and loud noise that set the dogs to barking: Jed McGarrity’s fiddle arguing with the great variety of tin horns and penny whistles with which Elizabeth’s students were armed. There were shouted greetings and a great deal of laughter: Axel and Anna, Martha and the McGarritys, the Kaes girls trailing beaux, and most of the children of the village, many of them masked.
Elizabeth forced herself to smile, swallowing her disappointment. Hannah and Liam had brought the revelry up the mountainside for her; she could do no less than be cheerful for them. Hannah fairly capered around the room, her plaits flying in an impromptu dance to the fiddle music.
“Is that you, Ephraim?” Elizabeth’s laugh was genuine, now. It was not so much the mask that hid most of the pale little-boy face that shocked, but the fact that he wore an empty inkpot on the end of every finger of his left hand. These he waved and clattered in her face ferociously.
A volley of gunfire from the porch made her start up again and blanch, but Martha was at her elbow before she could even turn in that direction. “Just the Cameron boys,” she said. “They like to waste their powder on Christmas Eve.”
“You missed the fireworks!” Anna announced, pushing a bowl of doughnuts into Elizabeth’s arms. “But they thought you might like the noise anyway.”
“Ah,” Elizabeth said. “How thoughtful.”
There was a new round of shouting outside. She moved toward the door with her heart high in her throat, hoping for the only Christmas surprise that seemed to matter now.
The door opened and the dogs took the opportunity to escape, howling into the night.
In the door frame was the large and familiar shape of Robbie MacLachlan, white-haired and blue-eyed, blushing the color of spring primroses. Beside him Treenie wagged her tail like a tattered flag.
The party turned in sudden silence to the door.
“Robbie MacLachlan,” said Elizabeth, stunned.
“Oh, no, miss,” breathed little Marie Dubonnet, her eyes wide with wonder. “That’s Saint Nicholas.”
When he had greeted everyone and convinced the younger children that he was not a Dutch saint, but only an old Scots soldier tired of his own company, Elizabeth drew Robbie into the workroom while the party carried on.
“What have ye done wi’ Nathaniel?” he asked, his broad face creased with good humor. “Dinna tell me that ye’ve misplaced your guidman agin, and on the Yule?”
Then he looked closer at Elizabeth, and his expression sobered. He stood back, and pulled his hat from his head.
“What is it, lass?”
Determined not to ruin Hannah’s Christmas Eve, Elizabeth pulled him farther away and into the shadows. Treenie followed, snuffling curiously at Elizabeth’s stomach and rocking her back on her heels in her enthusiasm.
“He went out to get a turkey, very early this morning. I am worried, Robbie.”
“Aye, and ye didna need tae tell me, for it’s written clear on yer face, as much as ye wish tae hide it.” He rubbed a hand over the white bristle on his cheeks, and then heaved a great sigh. “A few mair hours in the bush will no’ harm me. I’ll fetch him, aye?” He began to pull on his furs again, but then he stopped with a thoughtful look. “There’s no’ a chance o’ foul play? Where is Richard Todd keepin’ hisel’, these days?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “There is so much to tell you, I don’t know where to begin. Whatever is keeping Nathaniel, Richard has nothing to do with it—he followed Kitty to Johnstown this morning.”
“Did he? Luve-struck, is our Cat-Eater? Well. I’ll have the whole o’ the story later, lass. Let me be on ma way, sae much the sooner I’ll be back.”
“But you must be hungry.” Elizabeth remembered her manners quite suddenly.
“It’s no’ sae bad. Thirsty, though.”
“Robbie!” called Axel from the other room. “I’ve got the best of my schnapps here to warm your bones!”
The big man laughed out loud, with a half-apologetic glance toward Elizabeth.
“Aye, and wha’ Scotsman wad turn that doon, on sic a nicht as this?”
Then with an encouraging wink to Elizabeth, he leaned over to talk into her ear. “Dinna fash yer bonny heid, lass. I willna be long.” In three paces he had crossed the room to take the cup offered to him.
“Axel Metzler, ye’re a rare mannie tae brew nectar such as this,” he muttered, inhaling deeply.
The w
hole room seemed to shine with his energy, and Elizabeth was comforted although she could not say exactly why. He held the cup up to the room, and winked at her.
“Here’s tae us,” he bellowed. “Wha’s like us? Gey few, and they’re a’ deid!” And he tipped back the cup with a neat movement of his wrist.
“Good Yule!” he finished, wiping his mouth with his hand.
“Good Yule!” echoed around the room.
Then he whistled to Treenie and strode to the door.
“But where are you going?” Hannah called.
“Dinna fear, lassie. I’m the ill shillin’ ye heard aboot—ye canna be shut o’ me. I’ll soon be back.”
“Robbie!”
He turned toward Elizabeth, one brow raised in question.
“Did you bring any word—”
“O’ Hawkeye? Aye, lass. He’s well. Do ye set doon and put up yer feet, and rest. I’ll be back sae soon as I may”
· · ·
It was another half hour before the Christmas mummers and revelers had been sent on their way to serenade the rest of Paradise, and Elizabeth could collapse into the rocker before the hearth. Hannah plopped down beside her, her face flushed still with excitement and pleasure.
“I’ll make you some tea,” Liam offered. It was a skill he had acquired after long tutoring, and one he was proud of. Elizabeth simply nodded.
“You’re worried about Pa,” observed Hannah. “He’ll be back.” She said this with such assurance and calm that Elizabeth had to smile. She was suddenly very tired, and content just to sit before the hearth and drink the tea that Liam pressed upon her. When they went off to their beds—Hannah to the sleeping loft, and Liam to his cot in the workroom—Elizabeth could not quite manage the energy to move. Although she did not mean to, she finally slept with the warmth of the fire on her face, and her hands spread protectively over her belly.
She did not hear the door open, some time later, nor did the familiar step wake her. Nathaniel stood looking down at her, wanting to touch the flushed curve of her cheek but loath to put even a finger on her, as cold as he was. She slept with her head bowed back. Her mouth was curved slightly in a near smile, so that he could see the glint of her teeth in the dim light of the dying fire. Her eyes moved rapidly behind lids as delicately colored as seashells. A good dream, then. One he did not want to disturb.
Nathaniel stoked the fire, and then he sat down in its warmth to watch his wife sleep. His stomach threatened loudly and his hands and feet had already begun to tingle painfully, but for the moment he could ignore all of that to study her in his own time.
There was a knock on the door and she started awake, her expression shifting from confusion and worry to joy as soon as she saw him. It was all the Christmas present he wanted or needed, to see how it pleased her to have him home. He brushed his mouth against her temple as he got to his feet.
“Nathaniel! What kept you so long?”
“I got disoriented.” He grinned, moving toward the door.
“Thank God for Axel’s fireworks. Now who could this be so late?”
“Robbie.”
“You were dreaming of Robbie?” Nathaniel asked, surprised.
“I was not dreaming,” she said, struggling up from the chair. “Robbie was here! He went out to look for you.”
There was another muffled rattle at the door.
Nathaniel pulled up, suddenly uneasy.
“Who is it?” he called, reaching for his rifle.
From the corner of his eye he saw Hannah’s head pop up over the rail of the sleeping loft. Liam had appeared in the shadows at the workroom door with a musket in his hands.
“Christ Almighty, man, will ye open the door afore I drop the bluidy great gomerel?”
Nathaniel threw up the bar and the door crashed open instantly to reveal Robbie strained forward, an unconscious man slung over his shoulder. He rushed into the room.
“Well, Robbie,” said Nathaniel, laughing. “Brought us a Christmas present, have you?”
“Nathaniel,” Elizabeth scolded softly, coming forward. But the corner of her mouth twitched.
“Is he dead?” called Hannah, already on her way down the ladder.
“Ach, no’ a bit o’ it. He’s fu’ o’ drink.” Robbie grunted as he deposited the limp form on the floor before the hearth.
The stranger was of middle age, dark haired and very lean of face, softly jowled. Nathaniel had never seen him before.
“—And p’rhaps froze a bit, forbye,” conceded Robbie. “But he willna die, lass. It wad take mair than a cauld wind tae kill a Scotsman the likes o’ this one.”
Nathaniel and Elizabeth looked up at Robbie at the same moment.
“Do you know him?” Elizabeth asked.
“Aye, I do. It’s no’ sae proper as he wad have it, but I’ll introduce him. This is Angus Moncrieff, factor and secretary to his lordship, Earl of Carrick. Or so he’s tolt me.”
He laughed in response to the blank look on their faces. “We’ll let him dry oot, shall we, and he can tell ye his own story. In the morning, I’m guessin’, by the look o’ him.”
But Angus Moncrieff, factor and secretary to his lordship, Earl of Carrick, was producing a low moan, and he began to stir.
“Hannah, he’ll want water,” Elizabeth said, sending the little girl scuttling off to the drinking bucket. Liam went to get blankets, and in a few minutes they had the stranger sitting up before the hearth, blinking at them all groggily. Then his gaze fell on Robbie, and his dark eyes narrowed slightly. He rubbed his head with one trembling hand.
“I see ye beat me here, MacLachlan.”
Elizabeth’s head jerked up in surprise. Nathaniel could see the calculations going on behind her eyes, and the questions quickly multiplying, at odds with her impulse to be polite.
“Aye,” said Robbie. “But no’ by much. Yer scout will hae broucht ye down the Canada, and here was I, hopin’ tae give these people some preparation for yer news.”
Moncrieff had sat up, and he shook his head to clear it. “I must thank ye, man. The scout is still back in the village tavern drinking that devil’s brew—”
“Schnapps, aye,” Robbie agreed. “And ye decided tae come up here by yersel’. Ye’re no’ the first tae misjudge Axel’s schnapps, Moncrieff.”
“I fear I’ve come a long way to make a verra bad first impression,” said the man gruffly. He looked around him, and started visibly at the sight of Nathaniel. “You’ll be Daniel Bonner’s son, Nathaniel?”
When this was confirmed, Moncrieff held out a hand. “I hope ye’ll pardon the intrusion, so late and all. But I was anxious to make yer acquaintance.”
“Maybe we should set at the table,” Nathaniel suggested. “Before we get to the reason for your visit. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t eaten all day.”
Elizabeth could not quite stop examining the stranger from Scotland, or wondering why a man of some means and education would have spent a year looking for Hawkeye. He had started in New-York and worked his way upriver, looking for clues but finding none until he came into the Albany area just three months past. Elizabeth had a difficult time curbing her curiosity while the men ate, filling themselves with huge amounts of bread, leftover stew, Anna’s Christmas doughnuts, and the apple pie Elizabeth had made as a small present for Nathaniel. He winked at her over his spoon, and she rubbed her hand along the long line of his back as she went by.
They wanted Robbie’s news of Hawkeye, but Nathaniel had already silenced Hannah’s questions on this with a small shake of the head: not in front of the stranger. Not until they knew his purpose. Moncrieff, on the other hand, could have talked but seemed content to eat. He was of middle height with a narrowness to him, from forehead to shoulders, but with strong hands and dark eyes that were both keen and intelligent. Once, Elizabeth thought, he had been a very handsome youth: even now there was something about the way he held himself that set him apart.
Moncrieff seemed to have recovered fully from h
is earlier difficulties. Enough, at any rate, to ask about ale and to look both surprised and disappointed to find there was none. Elizabeth filled his cup with cider as quickly as he could empty it, in the hope of giving him reason to go out of doors so that they might have a few minutes alone.
In the meantime they gave Robbie news of the village, and the things that had passed over the summer and fall. Moncrieff listened as closely as Robbie did, but his commentary was limited to an occasional raised brow.
“Had I known, Nathaniel, I wad hae stayed. Ye’ve had a hard time o’ it.”
“We would have been glad of your help,” Nathaniel conceded with a grim smile. “But we managed.”
“Aye, ye always do.” He cast a shy glance at Elizabeth’s shape, and smiled. “There’s guid news, too, for which tae be thankful on the Yule.”
“That there is,” Nathaniel agreed, following the line of his gaze.
“Wait!” Hannah cried, jumping up so suddenly that she sent her empty cup clattering to the floor. And then she disappeared into the shadows underneath her sleeping loft, to appear again with her hands behind her back. She ran back to Robbie, and stood before him with a tremendous smile.
“Wha’ have ye got there, lassie? A surprise?”
“Aye, a surrrrprise,” she agreed, happily mimicking his burr. “Close your eyes and don’t touch, please.”
After a bit of teasing, he complied. Hannah produced one of the pairs of spectacles purchased in Albany, and with a conspiratorial grin in Elizabeth’s direction, she slipped them carefully onto Robbie’s face, hooked them gently behind his ears, and stood back with a triumphant cry.
Robbie touched his fingers carefully to the metal frames.
“Open your eyes!” Hannah demanded, thrusting a book into his chest.
The blue of his eyes blazed sharply, magnified by glass and perhaps by a little dampness. Elizabeth blinked hard, herself, seeing the look on his face.
