Into the Wilderness

by Sara Donati

  “So everyone tells me,” Elizabeth said. “But I see the evidence of it, in her son.”

  He smiled at that. “Aye, so ye must, tae hae marrit the man. Ne’er took a wife, mysel’, for the only one wha’ wad hae suited me had been lang syne acquent wi’ Hawkeye by the time I met her. Forbye, her faither wadna hae looked kindly on me, wi’ me bein’ nought but a common sodjer. Mind you, ’gin Hawkeye hadna seen her first—” His color sputtered like the flame of a poorly cleaned wick. “But wha’ am I thinkin’? I’ll fetch ye sumthin’—wad ye care for a wee bit o’ ale? Yon venison is ripe for the eatin’. Come and set yersel’, lass. No, bide a while, that log’s no’ a suitable place.” He stood scratching his head for a moment and then walked over to the woodpile. After a moment’s consideration, he went down on his knees to heft a stump which Elizabeth would not have been able to span with both arms. It was as high as her knee, and it made a considerable thud when he set it on the ground. Then he fetched a fox pelt from the cabin and spread it neatly.

  “You’ll set better so,” he said with a shy smile.

  After quite a bit of back and forth, attention to the fire, and concern for Elizabeth’s comfort, they were finally settled around the pit with bowls of stew, Elizabeth on her makeshift throne and the men with their legs stretched before them. Robbie insisted that she take his only spoon, a great scooplike affair carved of wood which looked quite reasonable in his own tremendous fist but dwarfed Elizabeth’s. The stew was hot enough to burn her mouth, but she ate the fresh meat with great pleasure. Runs-from-Bears showed his usual abstemiousness, eating quickly and then leaving them to go back to work on the hide, close enough to hear without taking part in the conversation. Robbie ate slowly, although Elizabeth wondered that he managed at all between his solicitous concern for her comfort and the stories he had to tell of Cora and how he had met her when she was visiting her father.

  “I couldna bring masel’ tae like the man—a better officer you couldna find, but he was as crabbit as an auld witch. Noo, there was a mannie wi’ gey few pleasantries aboot him. Yon yin had a glower that wad frichten a magistrate.”

  “But you would have overlooked sour looks, I expect, for Cora,” Elizabeth pointed out, smiling both at his easy pragmatism and the way it suited his language, so broad and throaty, r’s rolled and t’s swallowed with a distinct Scots hiccup. It would have set her own brow on high a few months ago, but she had lost many of those preconceptions that she brought with her from England.

  “Aye, and muny times ower, for her sake.”

  When Elizabeth had had her fill she listened quietly with the empty bowl in her lap, asking questions now and then but mostly content to let Robbie’s memories take her along with him.

  “And she brought a fine son into the world, and he grew up into a fine man, and noo he’s yer own. But here ye sit, lass, and while I’m pleased tae hae your company, I’m wonderin’ where he is, that new gudeman of yours, and why he’s sent ye into the bush this way. Bears just said there was trouble.”

  For all his blushes, there was a keen intelligence to Robbie MacLachlan and Elizabeth thought he would see through partial truths quite easily. It was clear to her that Nathaniel trusted this man implicitly, and beyond that there was something about him which set her at ease. He was looking at her now with a quiet expectation, good humor and understanding on his broad features.

  “There is a dispute,” she began. “About some property, and who has a right to it. It belongs to me, and now to us, but there is someone else who believes he has a prior claim. Nathaniel is in Albany, to resolve the question.”

  “But he was worrit for ye, otherwise he wadna hae sent ye awa’ from him.”

  She nodded. “The other party is fairly insistent on his claim.”

  “A claim tae ye, or the lan’?”

  “Both,” she said.

  He grinned. “Aye, weel. He’s no’ daft. There’s nae truth to his claim?”

  “I have legal title and I am legally wed,” Elizabeth said. “But he will not accept either as truth.”

  Robbie shook his head. “There’s nane sae blind as he wha’ winna see.”

  Bears had looked up from his work; Elizabeth felt his attention on her and sent a look his way, but he was not ready to speak.

  “This person has threatened me with a warrant to appear before the magistrate in Albany,” Elizabeth concluded. “And as I did not care to be forced, here I am.”

  Robbie MacLachlan’s anger had a color all its own, a deeper, more vibrant red that flowed down to mottle the soft flesh of his neck.

  “Forced?” he said very softly. “No, I’ll no’ accept that. And neither wad Nathaniel.”

  “He didn’t,” Elizabeth agreed. “It was unpleasant.”

  “Aye, lass, that I can weel imagine. Who is the blaggart?”

  Runs-from-Bears cleared his throat. “Irtakohsaks,” he said.

  Robbie started at this name, turning away from Elizabeth.

  “Irtakohsaks? Cat-Eater?” he asked, incredulous. “Then I mun take it back, he is a bluidy daft bugger, is Cat-Eater.” His color flared. “Ye’ll excuse my rough tongue, lass. I’ve been too long wi’ only masel’ for company. But Cat-Eater! And it canna be other than Hidden Wolf he’s wantin’.”

  Bears nodded.

  “Cat-Eater,” Elizabeth echoed. “Is that Richard’s Kahnyen’kehàka name? I’ve never heard it before.”

  “And you won’t use it to his face, not unless you’ve got a musket primed in your hand,” said Bears with one of his rare grins.

  “Cat-Eater. You wadna think it tae look at him, wad ye, the coof that he’s become. Aweel, I’ll hae the tale in peace this e’en, but I’m sorry tae say I hae work tae do.” He stood with a great groan. “Ye’ve been four days i’ the bush, as I understan’ it, and I’ll miss ma guess if ye wadna like some hot water and a wee bit o’ time tae yersel’.”

  Elizabeth paused. “Hot water?”

  He nodded solemnly. “Oh, aye. I see Bears kept the best for a surprise. Come this way, my dear, and see. And bring your things, ye’ll have need o’ them.”

  The cabin was built not onto the side of the mountain, Elizabeth realized as soon as she stepped in past the great pelt at the door, but into it. The room she found herself in was very small, and practically empty; a small barrel, some dried meat and other foods hanging from rafters, pelts stretched on racks, but otherwise no sign of habitation. No place to sit or sleep at all, no hearth. But there was a great wooden door of an unusual shape, carved to fit the natural opening in the wall of rock. Robbie gave it a push, and it swung silently inward. Then he ducked and disappeared inside. There was some rumbling, followed by a spark of light which grew into a steady small flame in the open doorway. Robbie’s head and shoulders appeared, a small lantern of pierced tin in one hand. He gestured her forward, his color flushing bright.

  Elizabeth followed him gamely through a chain of small caves crowded with his things, the tools of his trade, primarily, but also less expected items: a small bookcase, filled to bursting; an open box filled with seashells—Elizabeth looked again, unwilling to believe her eyes, but there they were; and hung on one rock wall, a small but exquisite oil painting of a horse in a peeling gilt frame. She saw these things as the small circle of light bobbed past with Robbie’s step, and then they disappeared again into the dark. Ahead of them was the persistent sound of dripping water, and a heavy, mineral-laden smell. Elizabeth could not see far ahead of herself, for Robbie’s great expanse of back blocked the way. There were a number of natural chambers, some empty, and some set up as living or storage space. He showed her one with a narrow cot which she could use for her own, and then moved on to the next.

  “There’s light here, in the day, d’ye see? The spalt in yon wall isna so verra great that the beasties could get it, but the fresh air is a fine thing. And wi’oot it I couldna cook here in the winter.”

  Elizabeth saw that there was in fact a cleft in the ceiling of the natural cham
ber before them. It crested like a moon, with a wide center tapering at both ends. On the swept rock floor there was evidence of a small fire pit.

  “O’ course, this isna a guid spot tae set when it’s raining,” Robbie conceded. He looked thoughtful. “Tell me, lass, what name does Nathaniel hae for ye? Does he call ye Lizzie?”

  “My brother calls me Lizzie, but Nathaniel has got into the habit of calling me Boots.”

  Robbie’s laughter echoed in the caves. “Boots? Aye, and it suits ye weel. Did ye ken that the newest and youngest officer in any Tory regiment is called Boots?”

  “I wasn’t aware,” Elizabeth said with a dry smile.

  He set off again through the corridor. “Boots. It’s no’ sae bad as Lizzie, dinna ye think?”

  Elizabeth did agree. “By whatever name you care to call me, Robbie, I am finding it increasingly warm the farther back we walk. Do you sleep here in the winter?” She had begun to perspire.

  “Aye, as the season moves along, so do I.” He nodded. “By January I’ve settled doon back here.”

  They had come to the end of the corridor, which widened into a cave just tall enough for Robby to stand in. The walls shimmered wet in the light of the lantern and then flared bright as he set his flame to a torch set in the wall. The floor was even, but about five feet from where they stood it sloped away suddenly into a dark pool of water, fed by a trickle down the far wall. In the small space before the pool began there was evidence of Robbie’s long habitation of this place. A cot, neatly made, shelves, a rough table.

  “It is a fine wee bit o’ water, this.” He turned to Elizabeth with one brow raised. “Can ye swim?”

  She shook her head, feeling her hair beginning to curl and stick to her dampening face and neck.

  “Aye, I feared so. Nathaniel must teach ye, then, for it’s nae good, not knowin’ how tae swim in the bush.”

  Elizabeth’s face fell. The sudden and unexpected gift of a hot bath in complete privacy was something she could not easily relinquish.

  “Noo, lass. Ye’ll hae your bath. Just take care that ye gae nae further than the rope.” He picked up a coiled line which lay on the ground with one end knotted securely to a bolt in the wall, and gave the other to Elizabeth. “The floor drops oot, sudden, and we’ll no’ hae accidents wi’ Nathaniel Bonner’s new wife.”

  He looked around himself. “There’s drinking water there in the jug, for the spring water isna pleasant, for a’ it’s a fine tonic. Be sure and drink, lass, for ye’ll sweat here like ye’ve ne’er sweated afore. And nae more than a few minutes in the water, the first time, until ye’ve had a chance tae accommodate yersel’ tae the heat. Will that serve?”

  It did serve. When Elizabeth had the cave to herself, she undressed in the small light of the lantern, and then with some hesitancy immersed herself in the warm water. Elizabeth took her minutes and more, and then reluctantly emerged to wrap herself in the rough blanket Robbie had left for her. She had meant to take the opportunity to wash her linen, but once on the edge of the bed, tingling from the pleasure of the soaking, her muscles loose and her hair wrapped around her head, she fell into a good and restful sleep, and she stayed there for many hours.

  “Do ye ken where ye are?” Robbie asked. He stepped back from Elizabeth and looked around himself, as if he were as unfamiliar with this part of the world as she was. “Do ye ken north fra’ south?”

  They were on their way down to the river to fish, and after just a day in his care, it was clear to Elizabeth that Robbie was as much a teacher as Runs-from-Bears. Their progress was slow, for he found it necessary to point out to her everything edible in their path. Now, in reply to his question, Elizabeth studied the sky, what she could see of it. There was no hope of determining the position of the sun. With a bit of an apologetic smile, she shook her head at Robbie.

  “That,” he said, his brow furrowing, “willna do. Ye must be able tae set off richt if ye dinna want tae gang agley.” He was slipping more and more into Scots as the day went on. Elizabeth sometimes had trouble understanding him, but thus far he had always been aware when she became confused, and then he repeated himself as he did now. Slowly, saying exactly the same thing.

  “You know,” Elizabeth decided to point out to him. “Perhaps it’s a big enough challenge learning Kahnyen’kehàka right now, without adding Scots to my lesson plan. As much as it would interest me—” she added hastily, seeing his raised brow.

  “Aye, and weel ye should learn Scots, ma dear,” said Robbie. “For there’s nae better tongue for settin’ a man rieht. Cora could make her men wither an’ wilt wi’ it when the mood was on her, though she could talk English wi’ no’ a trace of the Scots when she chose—which was seldom the case, sae lang I kent her. Nathaniel can be a feisty de’il betimes, and ye’ll hae need o’ Scots enough tae put him in his place.”

  “No doubt!” laughed Elizabeth. “But at the moment, don’t you think it would be sufficient if I learned north from south?”

  Robbie scratched his head thoughtfully. “Aye,” he said finally. “Ye’ve the rieht o’ it, lass. And p’rhaps makin’ a Scots woman o’ thee is no’ the best thing tae be doin’. Ye’ve done weel for yersel’, so as ye stan’.” He walked over to a pine and ran a large fist down its branch, coming away with a few needles. These he held out to Elizabeth.

  “Take the straightest, stoutest one there. Aye, that’ll do.”

  Elizabeth wondered what good a single pine needle might be when she was lost in the bush, given the fact that there were millions upon millions of them around her, but she thought it best to bide her time.

  “Now,” said Robbie. “Wha’ we need is a bit o’ silk.”

  “Oh,” said Elizabeth. “I have a silk ribbon, but it’s back with my things.” The thought of the ribbon she had worn in her hair for her wedding made her stop suddenly.

  “Nathaniel’s on yer mind,” said Robbie. “It stands writ on yer face. Well, lass, if it’s iny comfort at a’, there’s nae man whose word I trust more, unless it’s his faither.” He cleared his throat. “And if ye’ll permit me an observation, he’s done weel for hisel’, has Nathaniel. He deserves a guid woman, and I’m glad tae see him wi’ one.”

  “Do you think he was lonely?” asked Elizabeth, and was surprised at herself, to have spoken this question out loud.

  But Robbie did not seem surprised. “His good fortune is, he need be lonely nae longer.”

  Elizabeth looked down at the pine needle lying on her palm. “Did you know Sarah?” she asked, and felt her throat swell with this, with the saying of the name which preoccupied her to such a degree.

  “I did.” Robbie hesitated, and then began to rumble about in the pouch on his belt. At length he pulled out a handful of bullet patches, which he stirred with his thumb.

  “Silk patches are the best thing when your target’s far off an’ less than willin’ tae stan quiet,” he explained. But he looked up from his palm at Elizabeth thoughtfully.

  “Sarah was a comely lass,” he said softly. “But she was no’ the rieht wife for Nathaniel.”

  The pale yellow silk looked very out of place between his two thick fingers.

  “It’s ten year or more since I put this bit of silk by, thinkin’ someday I might have need o’ some careful shootin’. So, my dear, listen noo, and closely. Stroke the needle gently with the silk—that’s right. We want it tae bristle. Let me see yer face. Wha’ e’es ye’ve got, lass, the color of the sky when the gloamin’s fadin’ fast. Noo, rub your finger on yer forehead, there, where there’s a sheen. Wha’ ye must do, and gently, mind, is tae stroke the oil fra’ yer finger onto the needle. Can ye manage? Lovely.”

  They stood with their heads bent over Elizabeth’s palm.

  “The Kahnyen’kehàka women are an unco’ strong race,” said Robbie. “Stronger than will suit most men.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “Nathaniel certainly knew enough about the Kahnyen’kehàka. That couldn’t have been a surprise to him. And he doesn’t se
em to be afraid of strong women.”

  She realized how defensive she had sounded, but Robbie’s smile was understanding.

  “Aye,” he said. “His mither was a strong woman, and he found one agin in ye. But there’s nae denyin’ it, the Kahnyen’kehàka women take things in their own hands the way ye wadnae think tae do.”

  Elizabeth thought of Richard’s claims, and she stilled suddenly.

  “It runs contrary tae everythin’ ye’ve been told aboot rieht and wrong,” said Robbie. “But I’ve no’ a question that ye’d find satisfaction wi’ the Mohawk way yersel’, if ye had tae live it.”

  “I doubt that,” Elizabeth muttered.

  “Oh, but think,” said Robbie easily. “Ne’er a man tae run yer life. The longhouse ye live in belongs tae your mither, and one day may be your own tae do wi’ as ye see fit. The bairns are yours, and the gettin’ o’ them—” He paused and flushed.

  “As a marrit woman, perhaps ye’ll permit me tae say more than I should. The gettin’ o’ bairns is a woman’s business, ye see, among the Kahnyen’kehàka. She may take a man and he may suit her weel, but if he doesna, then she can turn tae another and nae one will say her nay. Includin’ her own man.”

  Elizabeth looked up at him, shocked.

  “A man would not tolerate such behavior,” she said.

  “But ye’re wrong there, lassie. A Kahnyen’kehàka wad thole it, an’ ye’ll look far and wide i’ the world for a better race o’ men, braw and bonnie. Noo mind, I’m no’ sayin’ that he wadna dislike it. Kahnyen’kehàka are prideful people. But it is their way, or it was, before they scattered and left their hamelands.”

  He turned his attention to the pine needle. Plucking a single white hair from his head, he made a loop of it between thumb and forefinger. This he offered to Elizabeth, and she took it.

  “Slip it under the wee needle so ye can lift it, and wha ye must do, lass, is tae let the needle float on the top o’ the dub in yon dail stump at your knee. The water, ye ken, poolin’ there. Mind noo, if it goes under we mun start afresh.”