“Send it? How? From where? You can’t paddle it to Washington.”
“No, but we can to Astoria. We’ll put it on a steamer from there. Or a train.”
I gave him a doubtful look. “That canoe once held twenty men. And you mean to take it south in this weather with only Lord Tom and Daniel?”
“I don’t know that it would take all of us,” he said, releasing me, stepping back. “I’ll send your cave drawings at the same time, I think.”
I glanced at Lord Tom, who was taking off his coat and boots by the door, and then to the burlap bags beneath the stairs, the ones Junius had sneaked inside that held the Toke’s Point and graveyard skeletons. “What about those?” I asked in a low voice.
“I think they’d best go separately,” he said thoughtfully. “I’m still thinking how to do that. Where’s the boy?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. He—”
I stopped short at the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and suddenly there was Daniel, looking tousled and drowsy, softly lovely.
“Sleep the day away?” Junius asked.
Daniel raked his hand through his hair and ignored that. He sat at the table, and Junius did too, and Lord Tom came ambling over as I served dinner and the talk turned to the canoe, and I barely paid attention. Daniel said little, and he did not look at me. The fact that neither of us did much speaking did not seem to affect Junius at all. His excitement over finally getting the canoe was evident, and didn’t flag throughout dinner, nor after, when he and Lord Tom began to make plans. When I excused myself early to go to bed, Junius didn’t seem to notice. Only Daniel looked up and said, “Good night,” and I hurried to my room as if pursued. I readied for bed quickly. I left my hair down, and then I snuggled into bed and waited while the lamplight glowed softly gold. I heard the back door close—Lord Tom to his lean-to. I heard footsteps on the stairs—not Junius’s, and I deliberately inured myself to their sound, to the walk down the hall, the closing of a bedroom door. When I heard Junius’s steps, I was glad. Here, at last, the thing I waited for, and when he came in through the door I let him know I was still awake.
I watched him undress in the dim lamplight—surreptitiously, because he would not like the overtness of it.
He blew out the lamp and crawled into bed. His excitement over the canoe had translated as I’d known it would. He rolled to me, drawing up my nightgown, skimming my thighs and cupping my breasts. I wanted him close; I wanted to know I belonged to him, to undo the buttons on his long underwear and release him into my hand, to lift my hips to him, and hear him moan deep in his throat as he eased into me. I wanted to be overtaken. I wanted savagery. I wanted possession and passion, to grip him with all my strength and rock against him until his thrusting became frenzied. But I did none of those things. He hated it. He’d told me once it was the behavior of a whore. At seventeen, I had been ashamed, and still was, of the untowardness that made me want him that way. And so I let him lift my hips to his, and I bit my lip against the urge to rock and press and churn. His mouth found my throat, his hands tightened.
Junius groaned, and I thought no no no, not yet, but he pulled away, and I felt him hot and liquid against my stomach. He collapsed upon me, his breathing heavy and ragged while I throbbed and bit back a cry of frustration, and I was restless again, but I kept myself still. His arm tightened about my breasts. I lay there and listened to him fall into sleep and knew that I loved him, that I was happy. But I heard again the words from my dream, and I felt the brush of the charms about my wrist, the coarse splinter of the twine like a warning.
In the morning I dragged the brush through my tangled hair so ruthlessly it crackled and flew about my head, trying to ignore Junius’s whistling and his good humor as he dressed.
Finally, I snapped, “Will you stop? I’ve the headache.”
He turned from the window. “Why? Didn’t you sleep well?”
“Yes, I slept fine.” I put aside the brush and pressed my fingers to my temples.
Junius went on thoughtfully, watching me in the mirror, “I wish you would reconsider sending the mummy. We could send her with the canoe.”
I jerked up. “I’m not done with her.”
“But you’re not advancing with her either, are you?”
“I am—”
“Have you cut her open yet?”
“Junius, I would have to take her completely apart,” I protested, twisting on the bench to face him, trying not to think of yesterday, of my effort to do what he wanted. “Her knees...her arms...I...it’s very difficult...and I wanted to draw her first.”
“It’s been weeks since you did the wash. Butter hasn’t been made in days. There’s dust on everything—”
“There’s always dust on everything.”
“You seem preoccupied, Lea.”
I frowned at him. “Because I’m not making butter?”
“No, it’s not that, it’s...” he trailed off with a sigh. “I’ll give you until I get back from Astoria. If you haven’t cut into her by then, I’ll assume you can’t and send her to Baird. Is that fair enough?”
In panic, I said, “Fair? No, of course not. You said if I got you the canoe I could keep her. You promised.”
“For a time,” he reminded me. “The truth is, you’ve been worrying me lately, sweetheart. And I think that mummy is the reason you’re not yourself.”
“The mummy?” I laughed bitterly. “That’s hardly scientific, June. And I’m fine.”
“Then prove it. Cut into her.”
“All right, I will,” I snapped.
“By the time I return,” he said. “We’ll go as soon as there’s a break in the weather. Hopefully in the next day or so. We’ll be gone at least two weeks. That should give you plenty of time.”
I gave him a mutinous glare, but I didn’t argue. I was too angry. I didn’t want to say something I would regret.
“I’ll leave Daniel here with you. He can help you with it.”
“Leave Daniel?” I forgot my anger in dismay. “But...won’t you need him?”
“Lord Tom and I should well handle it. And I don’t want you here alone.”
“I’ve been here alone a hundred times.”
“Yes, but not with the whole bay knowing you’ve got a mummy.”
“There haven’t been any gawkers for days. I think they’ve lost interest.”
He stepped over to me. “You said he made a good assistant. Now’s your chance to use him. Besides, we’re due for a schooner. You’ll need help with the oysters. And this will give the boy the time he needs to get his story. Then perhaps he’ll be on his way.”
“I thought you didn’t trust him.”
“I don’t. Not with the mummy, anyway.”
I opened my mouth to tell him about yesterday morning, about my suspicions. But then I wondered what exactly I would say. That I’d surprised Daniel trying to look at her? And perhaps I had misjudged it. He’d seemed so unfazed...I settled for, “Then I can’t think why you’d want to leave him with me.”
“Because he seems more than willing to protect you.” Junius laughed shortly. “Even, it seems, from me. He’ll take care of you, Lea. Now I don’t want to hear another word about it.”
To protest further would make him question me, and I didn’t understand myself well enough to answer him. But I could not lose my dread. I glanced down at the bracelet I wore. I thought of Bibi’s words: You will need it now he is here.
CHAPTER 14
DARK AND FAMILIAR, close walls and an open door that let in the smell of sun-warmed grass and dirt. A floor of packed mud beneath my bare feet, a bed of hides and fur that had been pushed aside in the warmth of summer.
And there, on the floor, a child. Playing and gurgling, drawing pictures on the dirt, and my love for her was full of pride and longing and fear.
Fear most of all.
I felt him coming, a growing storm. I grabbed her up; she squirmed and protested in my arms, and I buried my face in her chubby neck
and breathed deep the scent of dirt and milk and knew I must hide her. I must hide her, but there was nowhere to go, and I could not run fast enough or get away. The clouds darkened—the light snapped out. Too dark to see, and I held her so tightly in my arms she whimpered and I murmured Quiet darling, and we’ll play a game of hide and seek. Quiet, darling. Quiet. The wind screamed; the door slammed shut.
Too late. Too late. He was here.
And suddenly my arms were empty.
She was gone.
I woke to a sadness so full and terrible and pressing I could hardly breathe. It was a weight on my chest, all around me, keeping me awake, staring unseeingly into the night, until Junius finally stirred and rose from bed and dressed. It wasn’t until then that I started to cry, and then I could not stop, and he came down beside me, leaning over me as I turned from him, his hands on my shoulders, his voice taut with worry. “What is it, Lea? What’s wrong?”
“A dream,” I managed. “A dream about a child. She...she disappeared.”
“I see.” His voice was heavy with exhaustion. His hands left my shoulders. “Lea, for God’s sake, not today. There’s a break in the rain. Lord Tom and I have to leave.”
“Then leave.” I sat up, wiping my tears away. “Don’t let me keep you.”
“You’ve had dreams before.”
“Not like this one.”
“You have.” His expression was soft and kind. “Just not in awhile. I thought you were done with all that.”
I tried to gain control of myself, to harness the melancholy, to push it back into the place I kept it, locked away, solidly hidden. But the dream stayed, the past not so far away, waiting, held in mist. Just a dream, I told myself. Nothing more.
Junius sighed. “Well, I suppose we could wait another day.”
“No,” I said, shaking away the sadness, forcing a smile. “No, it’s all right. I’m all right. Don’t let me keep you.”
“Perhaps you can cut into that mummy today. That would distract you.”
I nodded, though I knew that would only make everything worse. “Yes. Perhaps.”
I forced myself to rise, to wash, to dress. I made breakfast with the specter of the dream dodging in and out of my vision—the child there, just over my shoulder, a dirt floor, pictures in the dust. I blinked it away.
Junius said again, worriedly, “We can wait another day, Lea.”
I shook my head. “No. You should go.”
Daniel frowned. “Is something wrong?”
Junius looked at me as if asking my permission, and I didn’t give it, and he looked back at his son with a sigh. “Nothing, boy. Just...keep a close eye on your stepmother, will you? Can I trust you to do that?”
Daniel glanced at me. “Of course.”
“Good.” Junius’s sigh was heavy. “Well then, we’d best be off.”
I walked Junius and Lord Tom to the beach. Junius said, “Remember what I said about the mummy, Lea. Don’t delay. We won’t be that long, and I...I think it will help.”
I nodded. I glanced at the sky, clouds gathering upon clouds, all colors of gray. A storm coming in. Darkness and wind and fear. A door slamming shut. “Promise me that if it storms you’ll get off the water.”
“You’re all right?” he asked me again. “You’re certain?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”
Lord Tom’s gaze fell to the bracelet at my wrist. “Kloshe nanitch.”
Be careful. I nodded and glanced away. Then Junius gave me a final kiss and the two of them started off down the beach. I stood there and watched until they were too small to see, and I was cold and shivering in the wind, and then I turned back to the house.
Daniel was sitting on the porch, staring out at the river. As I came up the stairs, he asked, “Are they gone?”
I nodded.
“Two weeks—is that what you said?”
“Or longer. It depends on how quickly they make it down the coast.” I glanced at the sky. “And if the weather holds. And how long it takes to hike back.”
“Well, I’m at your disposal. Tell me what I can help you with.”
“I’ll let you know.” I went to the barn, grateful when he did not follow me.
There, I tried to draw her, but my dream kept intruding—when I looked at her, I saw it again, vividly, as if she’d summoned it, and yet—that was absurd, wasn’t it? But then I began to remember things, things from the dream, the hair that fell forward to blur my vision as I grabbed up the child—reddish brown, the color of molasses taffy, and my bare feet had been brown and small, not mine. I knew then that the dream was hers, just as they’d all been, that it was her fear and sadness I felt, and she’d wanted me to feel it.
The realization startled me. It was impossible, I knew. Only a fancy. Not fact. But it didn’t matter what I told myself, my certainty that the dream was hers didn’t fade. I didn’t understand it. I was afraid, and I didn’t know if that fear was hers or my own, and that was the most disturbing thing of all.
Who are you? What do you want from the world?
Not fact. I swallowed hard, looking back at the drawing. Fact was this drawing, the science of capturing her exactly. I buried myself in it until my uneasiness disappeared in detail, until I was so focused on getting every nuance of her that I lost track of time. It wasn’t until I heard a noise in the doorway that I looked away from her to see Daniel standing there.
He stepped inside. “You know it’s getting late.”
Beyond him, the short-lived autumn dusk was moving into dark. I glanced back down at her and realized how dim the lamplight was, how hard it was to see. “Oh. I didn’t realize.”
He came over to me. “May I?” He held out his hand, and I gave him the notebook. He perused the page. “You’re so good at this. You’ve captured her exactly. She looks so...real. Almost alive.”
“She’s not finished.”
“No, I can see that.” He handed it back to me, and then he stood there, obviously ill at ease, which was strange. I didn’t know what to make of it. “You’ve been out here all day. Aren’t you tired of her?”
“I don’t think I could be,” I said.
“Have you discovered anything new?”
I shook my head. “No. She’s mesocephalic—I know that much—though it doesn’t tell me anything really.”
“Not roundheaded or long, but in between,” he mused.
I was surprised he knew what it meant, and my suspicions rose again. “It doesn’t mean she’s not Indian.”
“Nor that she is.”
“Yes.” I sighed. “Junius will be disappointed. He wanted certain proof.”
“It’s good for him not to get everything he wants.”
I gave him a sharp look. “He’s your father and my husband. I won’t hear talk against him. Not while he’s gone.”
His smile was small. “Does that mean you’ll hear it when he’s around?”
“He can defend himself then.”
“Because you won’t defend him.”
“Because I don’t know how,” I said. The melancholy came over me again, and I put my notebook down. “I don’t know what excuses will serve, Daniel. And I don’t want to be the one to make them.”
“That’s honest enough.”
“And I don’t know what you want from him, or what would appease you,” I went on. I felt tired, burned out, the dream pressing.
“Perhaps nothing.”
I nodded. I touched her hair, smoothing it with a finger.
He said, “What is it you see in her? What fascinates you so?”
“I don’t know,” I said quietly, which wasn’t a lie. “I suppose I feel she has something to say to me. To me alone. And in my dreams—” I broke off, startled at what I’d been about to reveal to him.
“Your dreams?” he urged.
I shook my head. “It’s nothing.”
“You dream about her?”
I shrugged. “Now and then.”
“More than now and t
hen, I think,” he said.
That startled me too, that he should see that, that I’d somehow revealed it.
“What happens in these dreams?” he asked.
“I see her life,” I found myself saying. “And her death. I told you, I’ve a good imagination.”
He gave me a considering look that made me glance away. I felt like a fool for saying anything at all. I hated how he led me, how easily I told him things.
“You had one last night,” he said. “A nightmare, I think.”
I looked at him in surprise. “How do you know that? Did Junius tell you?”
“No. It’s obvious. You’ve seemed...sad all day. Though not frightened.”
“It was a different dream than I’d had before,” I said. “There was a child in it. She had a child. And she was trying to protect it. And it was taken from her anyway.”
“No wonder you’re sad.”
“Yes. And I don’t think I can be good company tonight.”
He took hold of the edge of her dress, rubbing the cloth between his fingers. I watched him, mesmerized by the movement of his fingers.
He looked up at me, and his eyes were dark in the dim light; I could not read the expression there, but I felt how discomfited he was. “It’s late,” he said again. “Will you come inside? We can be bad company together.”
His words made me smile a little.
“Ah,” he said. “There’s the first smile I’ve seen in days.”
“Don’t do that,” I said.
“Do what?”
“Try to charm me. I wish you’d stop. It makes me wonder what you want from me.”
“What I want,” he repeated softly. He looked down again at the mummy, drew his hand away.
I said, “I’ve been wondering—the other day, at Stony Point—were you serious about stealing that basket? Would you have done it if I’d asked?”
He winced. “Stealing isn’t the word I’d use.”
“Would you have?”
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