by Sara Donati
“Feeling rested, Boots?”
“Nathaniel, about before—”
He hushed her with a shake of his head. “Look at Lily, she’s determined to make the biggest splash.” Their tiny daughter had rolled herself into a human cannonball, hurling toward the water with her arms wrapped around her raised knees. Water rose in a halo around her and the boys let out an approving holler.
Elizabeth leaned back and let out a sigh. “Why must she make a battle of everything?”
“Because she’s your daughter.” Nathaniel rocked a little, pulling her with him. “It’s in her nature.”
“I wanted to say about earlier—”
He shook his head again, more forcefully. “Wait, Boots. Listen.” He rubbed his face against her head.
“I know you’re afraid. I am too. I wish I could promise you that no harm will ever come to them, but I can’t. Here or anyplace else, I can’t promise you that. But I’m willing to leave Hidden Wolf, if that’s what it’ll take to make you rest easy. We could move deeper into the forests, or out onto the Mohawk. We could probably scrape together enough money to buy a little farmstead, maybe near German Flats or downriver from Albany a ways. No matter what we do, Many-Doves and Bears will stay here at Lake in the Clouds so it’s not like we couldn’t come back if you decide you don’t like it wherever we end up.”
His arms hummed with a fine tension, as if he feared she might try to pull away. Elizabeth opened her mouth but no words came to her. Because she could not make sense of any of it, not of his calm or his meaning.
“Nathaniel—”
“Hush for now, Boots. You think it over and when you know what you want, you let me know.” He started to pull away, but she wrapped her hands around his lower arm.
“Nathaniel. What about Manny? Is he safe?”
“For the moment,” Nathaniel said, and she knew from his expression that no matter what question she thought to ask him, he would give her no information. Because he was hiding the worst of it. What had happened to Ambrose Dye and what exactly Manny was up to, those were things he didn’t want to tell her.
But she did have something to ask, and she surprised herself with it. “You don’t trust me, do you?”
“I trust you with my life, Boots. You know that.”
“You think I’m too unstable to trust with the truth about Manny.”
Irritation moved across his expression. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Elizabeth.”
She said, “Tell me about Jode.”
“Ah, Christ.” He ran a hand over his eyes. “What’s there to tell that you haven’t guessed already?”
“What’s there to tell? To begin, let me ask: How is it that Jode is here in the first place? Manny must have gone north looking for the Red Rock group, that’s the only way I can explain it to myself.”
“Well then you did guess it,” Nathaniel said flatly. “Manny went all the way to Good Pasture looking for his wife. It was Elijah who gave him the news about Selah. When he headed back this way, Jode followed him.”
“You’ve actually spoken to them then.”
Nathaniel said, “I spoke to them all. They’ll be headed west soon so we can all stop worrying.” He pulled away suddenly, and raised his voice over the rush of the falls.
“Children! There’s chores to do before dark.”
He left her to go back to the men around the fire, without even looking back. Afraid to look at her, in case she saw in his face what he thought he must keep from her; the rest of this business. The thought came to Elizabeth and ran up her spine in a shudder, as true as ice.
Most of the men were still out with the search party, Hannah discovered as they went from family to family, and all the women wanted news of what had happened at the mill. Richard, concerned only with examining everyone for symptoms of scarlet fever, grew more impatient with every visit.
“For God’s sake, woman,” he roared at Mrs. Hindle when she asked one question too many about the search party. “We’ve got eight cases of scarlet fever in this village and that boy sitting on your lap burning up with fever is one of ’em!”
Laura Hindle, ordinarily a plainspoken woman, first colored with indignation and then burst into tears, hugging her boy so hard that Hannah had to extract him before his mother caused some new harm.
When they left the Hindles’ small cabin, Hannah waited until she could be sure of her voice and then she said, “You’ll forgive me the observation, Dr. Todd, but you’ve got all the delicacy of an ox. Mrs. Hindle can hardly breathe for fear that Jock is lying out there in the bush scalped and his throat slit—don’t interrupt me, you know I’m right. In every one of those cabins the women and boys are listening to the wind in the trees and wondering if they can prime a rifle fast enough if the next war party comes for them. My uncle can’t come down the mountain for fear that somebody will shoot him in a panic.”
“There is no war party within five hundred miles of here, Hannah Bonner, and you know it!”
“Of course there is not. But they won’t believe that until their men are home safe. To shout at them because they are frightened and distracted is foolish and, worse, it will only panic them more.”
Richard stopped in his tracks and turned on her. “So we let fevered children fend for themselves while their mothers are pointing muskets at shadows? I have no patience with such foolishness.”
“Then let me deal with the mothers,” Hannah said, and she saw how he twitched at her tone. “Because you are doing more harm than good.”
“Next you’ll send me off into the bush to join the search party,” Richard blustered, but with far less energy.
“That is an excellent idea,” Hannah said. “Why don’t you do just that?”
“Maybe I will,” Richard shot back. “But the last call we’ve got to make is at the mill, and if anybody’s going to take a shot at you it’s bound to be one of the Kuicks. And right at this moment I’m tempted to stand aside and watch it happen.”
Given all the stories that Hannah had heard about the widow Kuick’s household, she stepped into the kitchen expecting to find servants and slaves working frantically, light burning in every room, halls seething with shouts and wailed outrage. Instead the house seemed deserted, oddly cool for a summer evening, empty enough that she could hear Becca’s mild voice echoing in the halls. The doctor was asking her about her mistress, and Becca was doing her best to answer.
There was no sign of Cookie. Anna McGarrity had put out the word that the new maid had left at first light without giving notice. A stack of dirty dishes on the table, the hearth smoldering down to its last cinder, a cat rubbed up against Hannah’s skirt and trilled a question.
“I don’t know where they’ve all gone,” she told him, a tomcat the size of a fat raccoon, the color of dirty linen. “Maybe they’re all down at the slave quarters. Shall we go have a look?”
The truth was, she was eager to be out of the house and the tom seemed to have no objection. He trotted alongside her like a dog, his tail pointing straight up to the sky.
The sound of the stream that fed the mill grew louder and then Hannah came around a corner and it stood before her, as still and dark as the house. The cat ran ahead around the corner and it was her turn to follow, more reluctantly now.
The building that served as both warehouse and slave quarters stood on a small clearing between the millworks and the overseer’s house, low and squat and still alive with light. Once on the porch Hannah hesitated, hearing voices raised in conversation: more of those greens and would you give me my and how long you think the doctor going to and White Tom where you been boy. The air was heavy with good smells: trout frying, corn-bread, hot milk.
Suddenly Hannah couldn’t remember why she had thought to come here, unless it was simply to get away from the cold kitchen at the mill house. She thought of going back again, of knocking on doors until she found Richard or Becca or Jemima. She thought of going home, just walking away into the forest and making her way alone
, as she had promised Elizabeth she would not.
The door opened and Cookie stood there, a cautious expression giving way to a smile.
“Miss Bonner,” she said, stepping backward and opening the door wider. “Now ain’t it good to see you. Come on in and set down to supper with us. We got plenty.”
“No sore throats here,” Levi said when Hannah had finished telling them about the events of the day. The cheerful mood around the table had sombered, but not gone completely.
Ezekiel winked at Hannah. “No strawberry tongue neither, but Moses here was complaining yesterday about a headache.”
“Because Malachi stepped on his head getting out of bed,” said Shadrach, a very large man with an exceedingly soft voice.
The widow’s seven slaves were sitting around a rough plank set atop barrels that served as a table, and each of them looked at Hannah with open curiosity and goodwill. If they were concerned about the scarlet fever they were hiding it well.
“It would be best if you stayed out of the village then,” Hannah said. “What we’re dealing with here is a catching sickness. I’ll leave some sore throat tea just in case, and some willow bark, too, for fever.”
“That’s kind of you,” said Cookie. “But you know that generally Curiosity or Daisy come up here to see to us when we need doctoring.”
“Daisy’s likely to be very busy for the next few days with the sickness in the village,” Hannah said. “And Curiosity’s not back yet. If you think you’re coming down with the canker, you send for me.” As soon as she said it, Hannah realized that she had offered them help that they could not accept; that the widow would not let them accept.
“That’s Mr. Kuick’s horse I hear.” Cookie turned toward the window. Her tone was mild but her expression gave away more. “He ain’t stopping at the house.”
“He’s headed this way, and in a hurry,” added Levi.
All the men got up from the table together and went to the windows.
“Look like the whole search party is back,” somebody murmured. “Lot of commotion down in the village.”
“Is there anybody with Mr. Kuick?” Hannah must ask the question that no one else seemed willing to voice.
Cookie turned. “He’s alone,” she said, not even trying to hide her relief. “And empty-handed.”
Isaiah Kuick’s horse stood in front of the mill, dripping lather, its head hung low. For the first time Hannah saw something of concern on Cookie’s face, but whether it was for the animal or for the man who had left it here in such condition she could not say.
“Mr. Isaiah?” Cookie called from the open door. “Mr. Isaiah? Come on out here, will you please?”
The doorstep was wet, and Hannah crouched down to convince herself that it was water and not blood that Isaiah Kuick was trailing behind him.
The building was full of echoing sounds: the rush of the stream on its way down the mountain to the Sacandaga, the rhythmic rattle of the water flume against its braces, the creak and moan of timber walls and wooden gears, the whistle of the wind in the air vents.
“Mr. Isaiah? We don’t got no light with us, so you come on out here now. You say something, Miss Bonner. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”
Hannah said, “Mr. Kuick, this is Hannah Bonner. Are you injured?”
The pale oval of his face came toward them out of the dark, swaying as if he were full drunk.
“I’ll look again,” he answered in a hoarse voice. “One more time.” And he turned and disappeared back into the shadows.
“Are you looking for the overseer?” Hannah called after him. “There’s been no sign of Mr. Dye here today, isn’t that right, Cookie?”
The older woman had crossed her arms across her waist. She nodded. “No sign of him at all.”
Hannah called, “You are unwell, Mr. Kuick, won’t you come and let Dr. Todd see to your needs? He’s at the house with your mother.”
The only reply was a harsh laugh, so close that Hannah jumped.
He had come out of the building on the other side and circled around to stand behind them. His cloak was sodden, and his hair trailed wet over unshaved cheeks. In the evening light his face seemed to glow, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy. He stood there swaying slightly, all his attention on Cookie.
Very suddenly he stepped forward and slung his arms around her to bury his face in the curve of her shoulder. His whole body heaved and shuddered. “He’s gone, Cookie,” he whispered. “He’s gone for good.”
Cookie patted his back and rocked. “It’s all right, Mr. Isaiah,” she said softly. “It’s all going to be all right now. We got to get you some dry clothes and something hot to drink. You chilled right through to the bone.”
She looked at Hannah over Isaiah Kuick’s trembling shoulders, her eyes as cool and cold as the water that dripped from his hair onto her face.
She said, “They’ll find Mr. Dye and he’ll come home, wait and see, just as good as ever. You just wait and see.”
Well past midnight, Hannah found her way into the kitchen at the mill house and stood disoriented and disheartened and unable to remember what she needed.
Becca Kaes sat up suddenly from a pallet by the banked hearth, and Hannah let out a small cry of shock and surprise, stepping back.
“Becca,” she hiccuped, pressing a hand to her throat. “You put a fright into me.”
She had gone to school with Becca Kaes, a good-hearted girl with her mother’s kindly ways and her father’s laugh. On her face now there was nothing but worry and fearfulness.
“Hannah,” she said, coming forward in a tangle of blanket. “Is it true about Eulalia Wilde?”
How strange, to have forgotten Eulalia Wilde in such a short time. Hannah blinked and blinked again, but the gritty feeling behind her eyelids stayed.
She nodded. “Yes. She had a bad infection that passed into her blood.”
Becca drew in a breath and let it out in a sigh. “Lord rest her. She was my good friend. And Nicholas?”
“He has the canker rash,” Hannah said. “But he’s strong, and I think he’ll survive.”
Becca sat down heavily on a stool by the trestle table. After a moment she seemed to collect herself and she smoothed her hair away from her face.
“I’m afraid to ask about my sister and her boys.”
Hannah sat down next to her. “Molly’s in a bad way. The boys are strong and I think they’ll all pull through.”
“I would go to her if the widow would—” Becca began and Hannah cut her off with a shake of the head.
“Of course you would. But your mother is with her.”
Becca pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and rubbed her nose with it.
“I suppose I should go look in on the widow,” she said in the same voice she might have proposed cleaning out the stable.
“The doctor said that she should sleep until morning,” Hannah said. “I don’t think you need bother.”
At that Becca looked directly relieved. “Would you like some tea, or something to eat? It is such a long time since you and I have talked. The widow …” Her voice trailed away. “You know how the widow is.”
“Yes,” said Hannah. “I know about the widow. Thank you for the offer of tea but what I really want is to go home. Do you think I could ask one of the men from the mill to walk with me up the mountain?”
Becca jumped up so suddenly that the dirty dishes on the table rattled. “Oh my, I clear forgot to tell you. There’s somebody waiting for you, it must be hours now. An Indian. Not the Indian who—” She paused. Her tone was apologetic and slightly irritated, as if she resented even having to think about what had happened in the parlor the night before. “A friend of your family’s, and I forgot to tell you,” she finished.
A new wakefulness sparked in Hannah and she realized that she had been hoping for exactly this news. “I’ll say good night then.”
“Wait!” Becca stepped forward. “What about Mr. Kuick?”
“Cookie is with him,” H
annah said.
“Is it the canker rash? Is he very ill?”
Hannah said, “It is the canker rash and a lung fever both. He is very ill indeed.”
Hannah was too tired to be startled, and she barely glanced at Strikes-the-Sky when he stepped out of the shadows behind the stable and fell into step beside her. She was glad of the dark, and glad of the fact that there was just enough light from the moon to make a lantern unnecessary. She was glad of Strikes-the-Sky, too, for giving her the things she needed most: comfort and companionship and protection without explanations or questions.
As they walked she felt the day begin to peel away from her, layer by layer. Fevered children, frightened mothers. Isaac Cameron sputtering wild-eyed about Indian ambushes while Hannah cut the festering flesh from a burn on his hand gone bad. The slender shell that had once been Eulalia Wilde. Bump’s kind face and the doctor’s furious one, a bloody scalpel in his hand. That death should dare so much. Nicholas Wilde, torn in two by grief. Daisy Hench squeezing out a cool rag to ease the fever that burned in three of her four children, her eyes fixed on the healthy one, waiting. All of them, waiting.
Sometimes Strikes-the-Sky walked beside her and sometimes, when the path was narrow, before her. She watched him, tall and strong and everything that she was taught to admire in a man. His skin a deep copper shade, deeper and truer than her own.
As if she had called his name he looked at her over his shoulder, the egret feathers laced into his scalp lock lifting and turning in the breeze.
She asked the question that she feared most. “Is there sickness at Lake in the Clouds?”
“No,” he said.
He might have said not yet, but he had not. Somehow he knew that those words would displease her. Satisfaction and irritation fought for the upper hand: that he would know her so well after such a short time. That he should know her so well.
She said, “You should go away from here while you are still healthy. Back to your people.”
