by Sara Donati
Elizabeth glanced at him. “Yes. It is my book.” She hesitated. “You are familiar with Mrs. Wollstonecraft’s work?”
“I haven’t read her volume,” Richard Todd said. “But I would like to.”
“Really,” said Elizabeth, her face averted. “I am surprised that her writings interest you.”
“Because I have slaves?”
“Because you have slaves.”
They were silent for a long moment.
“I inherited my slaves from an uncle,” Dr. Todd said finally. Elizabeth did not answer.
“There may be circumstances of which you can’t be aware, which would make you less severe upon me in this matter,” he added.
Elizabeth was a little engaged by his honesty; it was hard not to be. But she remained silent to see what else he might volunteer.
“When they are twenty-one, I will give them their freedom,” he added, clearly discomfited.
“Not on my account,” said Elizabeth.
“In part,” he conceded.
Elizabeth wondered if he was sincere, and decided to test him.
“Then do it today,” she said. “It would be a fitting thing to do on Christmas.”
“Does Mrs. Wollstonecraft write about slavery as well as women’s education?” he asked, changing the subject.
“She writes about liberty, which is relevant to all peoples.”
She caught his smile and stiffened.
“No!” he said, trying to catch her eye. “I was not laughing at you. I was just thinking how much like a schoolmistress you sound.”
“Like a bluestocking,” Elizabeth agreed. She stood and smoothed her skirt. “I am a bluestocking, Dr. Todd.”
“You don’t look anything like a spinster schoolteacher.”
“You needn’t make me compliments,” she said. “I’m not used to them and they won’t find an eager target.” Elizabeth was shocked but pleased that she could find it in herself to be so blunt, as blunt as she wanted to be. As blunt as a man talking to another man. But Richard Todd was not put off.
“That is very unfortunate,” he said calmly. “Because they are meant sincerely. You do not look like a schoolteacher.”
“You are wrong,” she said. “A schoolteacher is just what I am, and what I will always be.”
Her father approached them and Elizabeth panicked at the idea of carrying on this conversation with her father in attendance. In a moment she had excused herself and disappeared into the hall and up the stairs to her room.
The sounds of the party rose up to Elizabeth where she stood at her window. The winter night was very clear: the moonlight reflecting on snow let her see almost to the village. In a moment Elizabeth had made up her mind to steal away for a walk, and she made her way back down to the hall, where she quickly found her heavy cloak and mittens, pushed her feet into her sturdiest boots, and hurried outside.
The night was as cold as it was clear; almost full, the moon hung low over the mountain, shimmering silver-white and gray, illuminating the snow. Elizabeth breathed in deeply and wrapped the cloak more tightly around herself, pulling the hood up. Taking note of her direction, she set off on a small path through the snow, thinking to walk only ten minutes, to clear her head of the party and Richard Todd.
She knew men like him in England. The only difference between Dr. Todd and them, she was forced to acknowledge, was that in England men like the doctor—in possession of fortune and good connections—did not need to bother with young ladies past their prime. He was a confusing man; she could not reconcile his manner, which was pleasing, with what she knew about him. She thought again of her earlier conversation with her father and she almost despaired.
She had been walking for just five minutes on the path when she entered the first woods, and there she saw a solitary figure ahead of her. Elizabeth stopped and looked about herself, wondering what to think of a stranger out at this time of the night, when she recognized that it was Nathaniel Bonner walking toward her. Surprise lodged in her throat and slid down slowly to rest in her chest.
He stopped before her and nodded. “Boots,” he greeted her.
She bit down on the urge to grin at his name for her.
“Good evening,” she said. “I thought you would bring your father—and your daughter.”
If he was surprised at her mention of his daughter, Nathaniel did not show it. “They’re on their way to the party from our cabin, on the other side of the lake. I been out checking trap lines for hours.”
Elizabeth glanced back over her shoulder toward the brightly lit house, just visible from where she stood.
“I didn’t see them. Maybe I just missed them.”
“The party didn’t amuse you, then?”
She turned away so that he couldn’t see her face; she thought she could not hide her unhappiness from him, and she was uneasy and shy.
“I should go back,” she said. Then, suddenly resolute, she faced Nathaniel.
“Well, I must be honest enough to admit to you that you were right. About my father. About his plans for me.”
“Richard Todd,” said Nathaniel flatly.
“Yes, Richard Todd.” Elizabeth drew in a shaky breath. “I don’t know why I am telling you this. Two days ago you were a stranger to me.”
He was silent.
“Yes, I do know,” Elizabeth corrected herself. “You have been honest with me, and I find that honesty is as hard to come by here as it was in England.”
Nathaniel looked toward the house and then back to Elizabeth, who stood with her face averted toward the woods.
“Are you too cold to walk for another few minutes?”
They set off down the path the way he had come. It wound through the woods for a quarter mile and then crossed a frozen stream. Here they sat on tree stumps in a small clearing. The night was very quiet, all the sound in the world seemingly drawn into the blanket of snow. Elizabeth heard her own breath and saw it in a hazy cloud before her.
“Todd is a smart man,” Nathaniel said. “His uncle left him considerable money, and land. I have known him to deal straight with every white man who comes his way.”
Startled, Elizabeth did what she had been studiously avoiding: she looked directly into Nathaniel’s face and she saw that he was sincere. Why he should be promoting her connection to Richard Todd was unclear to her, and it caused her considerable distress to think she must take up this argument with him.
“I came to this country to live a life unavailable to me in England,” Elizabeth said shortly. “I have no intention of marrying Richard Todd.” She lifted up her chin and laughed, a trembling laugh. “There are many things I want to ask you, because somehow it seems to me that you are the only one who will tell me the truth of things.” Her smiled faded away. “But none of it may matter, after all.”
“Why is that?”
She stood and pulled her cloak more tightly around her. “Because I think I shall be going back to England.”
Nathaniel looked up at her from his perch on the stump. “Why is that?” he asked again.
“Because,” Elizabeth said. “Because I will not be bullied into a marriage I want no part of. I may as well go back, at least I know what to expect there.”
“Is it just this marriage you want no part of,” Nathaniel said, “or are you set against marriage altogether?”
“I don’t see what difference that makes,” Elizabeth whispered. And then: “Marriage would mean that other things—other things which are important to me—would no longer be possible,” she said. “Married women have no control over their lives.”
Nathaniel thought of pointing out to her that she had little control over her life, although she was not married, in spite of her money, but he stopped himself. Instead, he stood abruptly. “Let’s go back,” he said. “It’s too cold for both of us.”
He waited until Elizabeth had started down the path and then followed her. She walked firmly, taking quick but delicately placed steps; her back was straight.
There was more about her to admire than he dared admit to himself. He wondered where things would go from here: she might not have any interest in Richard Todd, but her high color, her agitation, the way she spoke and looked at him, made him think that she was not as committed to a chaste life as she thought she was.
At the slope of the riverbed Nathaniel took the lead and waited on the other side. He watched while Elizabeth stepped carefully over the slippery wooden logs which served as a makeshift bridge. She started up the bank, holding her skirts up high. She was almost to the path when she lost her balance and began to slip.
Nathaniel leaned forward and caught her smoothly, his hands just above her elbows. He steadied her, and then pulled her gently up the bank. When they were on even ground, he released her, but he stayed where he was, with his head bowed over hers. They were so close that his hair brushed against her hood.
Elizabeth looked down at her feet. She wondered, confused, why she should be so disappointed that he had let her go. There was something strange happening to her, something completely unexpected, something tremendously exciting. She had thought herself immune to these feelings, and now she found that she was wrong.
“I have a question for you.”
“Yes, Mr. Bonner?” She did not raise her head.
“Will you please say my name?” he said with an intensity which caused gooseflesh to rise on her arms.
She hesitated. “Nathaniel.”
“Look at me and say my name.”
Elizabeth looked up slowly.
Nathaniel saw in her face an overwhelming confusion. He saw that she had never stood like this with a man, that she had never imagined doing so, and that she was flustered and even a bit frightened, but not unhappy to be here with him.
“What did you want to ask me?”
“How old are you?”
Elizabeth blinked. “Twenty-nine.”
“You’ve never been kissed, have you?” The white cloud of his breath reached out to touch her face. His hands jerked at his sides but he kept them where they were. Now she would tell him to mind his own business, and he could put this woman out of his head.
“Why?” said Elizabeth, raising her eyes to his with a critical but composed look. “Do you intend to kiss me?”
Nathaniel pulled up abruptly and laughed. “The thought crossed my mind.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Why do you want to kiss me?”
“Well,” Nathaniel said, inclining his head. “You seem set on going back to England, and the Mahicans say that you should never return from a journey the same person.”
“How very thoughtful of you,” she said dryly. “How benevolent. But please, do not discommode yourself, on my account.” She began to turn away, but Nathaniel caught her by the upper arm.
“Now I for one hope you don’t rush off,” he said. “But I want to kiss you, either way.”
“Do you?” she said tersely. “Perhaps I don’t want to kiss you.”
Elizabeth was afraid to look at Nathaniel directly, for how could he not see the doubt on her face, and the curiosity? And what would that mean, to let him know what she really thought, how confusing this all was to her? To tell a man what she was truly thinking—this was a thought more frightening than any kiss could be.
“I didn’t mean to get you mad,” Nathaniel said softly.
“What did you mean to do, then? Have some fun at my expense, but not so much that I would actually notice that you were making a fool of me?”
“No,” he said, and Elizabeth was relieved to see all trace of teasing leave his face. “I’d like to see the man who could make a fool of you. I meant to kiss you, because I wanted to. But if you don’t like the idea—”
She pulled away from him, her face blazing white. “I never said that. You don’t know what I want.” Then, finally, she blushed, all her frustration and anger pouring out in pools of color which stained her cheeks bluish-gray in the faint light of the winter moon.
“So,” Nathaniel said, a hint of his smile returning. “You do want to kiss me.”
“I want you to stop talking the matter to death,” Elizabeth said irritably. “If you hadn’t noticed, you are embarrassing me. Perhaps you don’t know much about England—I don’t know why you should, after all—but let me tell you that there’s a reason I am twenty-nine years of age and unkissed, and that is, very simply, that well-bred ladies of good family don’t let men kiss them. Even if they want to be kissed, and women do want to be kissed on occasion, you realize, although we aren’t supposed to admit that. To be perfectly honest with you”—she drew a shaky breath—“I can’t claim that anyone has ever shown an interest in me at home—at least, not enough interest that this particular issue ever raised its head. Now.” She looked up at him with her mouth firmly set. Her voice had lowered to a hoarse whisper, but still she looked about the little glen nervously, as if someone might overhear this strange and unseemly conversation. “You’ll forgive me if I question why you would be thinking of kissing me.”
“It’s a wonder,” Nathaniel said. “How purely stupid Englishmen can be. Scairt off from a pretty face—don’t you scowl that way, maybe nobody ever thought to tell you before, but you are pretty—because there’s a sharp mind and a quick tongue to go along with it. Well, I’m made of tougher stuff.”
“Why—” Elizabeth began, sputtering.
“Christ, Boots, will you stop talking,” said Nathaniel, lowering his mouth to hers; she stepped neatly away.
“I think not,” she said. “Not tonight.”
Nathaniel laughed out loud. “Tomorrow night? The night after?”
“Oh, no,” Elizabeth said, trying halfheartedly to turn away. “I cannot—pardon me, I must get back.”
“Back to England?” he asked, one hand moving down until he clasped a mittened hand. “Or just back to your father?”
Nathaniel saw Elizabeth jerk in surprise. She looked up at him sharply, her eyes sparkling. At first he thought she was angry again, then he saw that it was more complicated than that: she was furious, but not at him. Not at this. This almost-kiss, the idea of it, had released something in her.
“It isn’t right that my father misrepresented things to me, that he brought me here under false pretenses, that he made plans for me that I want no part of.”
“You don’t want Richard Todd,” Nathaniel prompted.
“No,” Elizabeth said fiercely, and her eyes traveled down to focus on his mouth. “I don’t want Richard Todd. I want my school.”
“I will build you a school.”
“I want to know why you’re so angry at my father, what he’s done to you.”
“I’ll tell you that if you really want to know,” he said. “But someplace warmer.”
“I don’t want to get married.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Then I won’t marry you.”
Her eyes kept darting over his face, between his mouth and his eyes, and back to his mouth, the curve of his lip. He saw this, and he knew she was thinking about kissing him. Nathaniel knew that this was a conflict for her, one not easily reconciled: she did not want marriage, and in her world—in this world—there could not be one without the other. This struggle was clear on her face, and as he expected, training and propriety won out: she was not quite bold enough to ask for the kisses she wanted. This disappointed him but he was also relieved. He didn’t know how long he could keep his own wants firmly in hand. And this was not a woman who could be rushed.
“I want … I want …” She paused and looked down.
“Do you always get everything you want?” Nathaniel asked.
“No,” she said. “But I intend to start.”
Elizabeth let Nathaniel turn her back toward the house. Her hands and feet were icy, her cheeks chafed red with the cold, but she was strangely elated, her head rushing with possibilities. She felt that she could face her father now and that she must, she would, have her way. She had no intention of mentioning Nathaniel to him, of what ha
d passed between them, although she recognized, she knew, that this was not over. She knew that it had just begun, and that it would take her places she could not yet imagine. It frightened her, how far she had come in just a few days, but it was also deeply exciting.
A strange thought came to Elizabeth: if her father would not give her what she wanted, Nathaniel might help her take it. He was a man such as she had never known before, and she wondered if he could be a part of her life and not an obstruction in it. She cast a wondering and speculative sideways glance at him, and shivered.
When Elizabeth stepped into the parlor with Nathaniel close behind her, she drew back in surprise, and her immediate plans for a private conference with her father were forgotten.
Most of the guests were gone. The few who remained were silent, their attention focused on the judge, who stood before the hearth with Hawkeye and two people Elizabeth had never before seen: a very old Indian and a young child. The judge was talking to the Indian, his head bent in a deferential and concerned manner. Elizabeth could not estimate the Indian’s age: his form was still straight, but there was little flesh on him and a significant stoop to the wide shoulders. There was nothing fragile about the man, as was the case with most very old people; in contrast, it seemed that age had dried him to the toughest kind of leather.
Nathaniel drew in a surprised breath and then he moved past her to join this group. “Chingachgook,” he said, and he bowed his head before the old man. “Muchómes.”
The old man murmured in reply, reaching for Nathaniel’s hands. His smile pleated his face into long folds that swallowed all the severity and distance in his expression.
Hawkeye spoke to the old man in the same language and Nathaniel replied to both of them as if they were alone in the room. Elizabeth realized that Richard Todd had come to stand next to her and she looked at him to see if he followed any of the conversation.
“Mahican,” he said to her in a casual tone. “He calls Nathaniel his grandson.”
Elizabeth was confused and a little shocked, but she could not ask for more details. Instead, she turned her attention to the child, who had stepped closer to Nathaniel. She was very striking, with hair like black walnut and eyes not quite so dark as those of the old man. But her skin was the glossy color of old honey, and her highly arched cheekbones left no question that she was Indian, in spite of her calico dress and the matching ribbon which secured the long braids which reached down her back.