Fire Along the Sky Fire Along the Sky

by Sara Donati

  “I'll be right there with you.” Curiosity was reading her mind, in the same way Elizabeth could sometimes read Lily's mind, or Hannah's. There was no need to list her fears; Curiosity knew them, every one.

  She said, “I got something I want you to think about.”

  Elizabeth raised her head. Curiosity would be eighty years old in the fall. Every year was carved into her face but her eyes were bright and full of life. Manny is coming home, Elizabeth remembered. Her son is coming home. That was right and good, and the tears that Elizabeth had been holding back began to leak over her face.

  Curiosity wiped her cheek with one thumb. “You worried about Daniel,” she said. “But listen to me now, Elizabeth. Right this minute you got to be thinking about you, what you need here and now. I'm thinking it would be good to have you living nearby, at least until this little girl you carrying come along. And I'm getting too old to be rushing up that mountain when I get the idea I want to see your pretty face.”

  “This house is filled to bursting,” Elizabeth said, surprised out of her melancholy.

  “Well, I wouldn't want you that close,” Curiosity said.

  Elizabeth hiccupped a laugh, and then another, and then they were laughing hard.

  Curiosity said, “I was thinking of the judge's place, standing there empty so long.” She looked at the kitchen door, propped open to let in the spring breeze. “If you and Nathaniel are of a mind to humor an old woman, I'm hoping you'll move into the village for a while at least.”

  Elizabeth couldn't remember the last time Curiosity had asked for any kind of favor, and this odd request, so unexpected, put her off balance for a moment. It made perfect sense in many ways, but even had it not, Curiosity had asked it of her and that alone meant that she must give it serious thought.

  “Many-Doves wants to go to Good Pasture,” Elizabeth said. “So she can be closer to Blue-Jay and Daniel. She hasn't said it in so many words, but I think she's only staying at Lake in the Clouds for me.”

  “Well, then.” Curiosity smiled and folded her hands on the table in front of her.

  “I don't know what Nathaniel will say.”

  Curiosity gave her a half-smile. “I do. You ask him right and that husband of yours would haul the moon out of the sky for you, and you know it. Especially in your condition.”

  “It would mean letting the fields lie fallow this year,” Elizabeth said, mostly to herself. “But there is enough money in the bank to buy what we need, certainly.” And in that moment she realized that she had already made the decision to leave Hidden Wolf.

  Deep in the night, the moon already set, Nathaniel let himself in and stood in the middle of the common room, and listened.

  He had built this house with his own hands, and he knew every board and joint. The sounds it made in the wind were as familiar to him as his wife's voice, and its smells as comforting. Wood smoke and beans simmering, wet wool drying, cornbread, lye soap. He breathed in deep and caught, just barely, the scent of his youngest son, though he could not say how he knew it for what it was.

  At the bottom of the stairs he paused, thought of going up to check on Gabriel and Lily and then stopped, feeling Elizabeth before he turned to see her, standing at the open door of their chamber. With her hair loose around her shoulders and her shawl gleaming in the night shadows she might have been one of Jennet's witchy women, or the spirit of some well-meaning woman, long gone.

  But it was Elizabeth's face and no one else's: heart shaped, with wide-set eyes. If he told her now how fine she looked to him she would blush and turn away, pleased and disbelieving still, after all these years.

  Nathaniel went to her, quietly, and touched skin, pale and soft and chill in the night air.

  “I've been waiting for you.” She was whispering, not because she needed to, but to draw him closer. He bent his head to her.

  “Come,” she said. “Come to bed.”

  “As soon as I wash.” He put his hands out like one of their boys, being inspected before he was allowed to sit down to supper.

  Elizabeth didn't even look. She put her hands on his, lightly, her thumbs stroking the tattoos that circled his wrists.

  “Never mind washing,” she said. “Come to bed, I have to talk to you.”

  All day long, on his way home, Nathaniel had been thinking of this moment, of the questions she would ask and the answers he must give her. What he wanted to do—the urge was strong in him—was to lie. It was not something he did often or lightly, keeping the truth from Elizabeth. And now she had things to say to him. She had waited up all night. He clasped her hands hard, harder than he meant to, and she drew in her breath.

  He said, “Is there bad news from Canada?”

  “No,” she said firmly. She shook her head so that her hair tumbled over her shoulders, black and silver. “No word from Canada, no bad news of Daniel. Come, come now, let me talk to you.”

  He stripped down while she climbed into bed and under the covers. When he joined her she put her hands on his cheeks and studied his face. Her breath was milky sweet and soft on his skin.

  “I guess you missed me,” he said, turning his head to kiss her palm.

  “I did. I always do. Nathaniel.”

  “Hmmmm?”

  She told him then in the way she had always shared this kind of news: took his hand and put it low on her belly, held it cupped there as if by touch alone he must understand what they had created, the two of them. Forehead to forehead they lay just like that, quietly, breathing each other in and out.

  “Are you unhappy?” It wasn't the first question that came to mind, but it was the most important one.

  “No,” she said. “Never that.”

  “Scared.”

  “To the quick.”

  “Aye,” he said. “It scares me too, but mostly it makes me happy, Elizabeth. You and me, we'll manage this. We've managed everything else.”

  “Yes,” she said, and drew a deep breath. By the time she had let it out, she was asleep.

  He should have followed her into sleep, weary as any man who had walked hard for a day. But his body hummed with movement still, and his mind with answers to the questions she hadn't thought to ask.

  In the morning she would remember. Sitting across from him at the table, she would ask while she ladled porridge. Lily would want to know, but she would wait for her mother to ask the question: What of Nicholas Wilde?

  He could put it out, plain and simple: he had tracked the man west and north, and at the end of the first day had found his horse, or the little that was left of it after the scavengers had finished. On the second day the trail had veered due north and he had followed it until he found what remained of the man.

  He could tell them all of the truth, or part of it, or none at all.

  What happened to Nicholas Wilde.

  Nathaniel could say: Jemima happened to him. Or: I lost his trail; I gave up. Or: he stumbled across a bear, over a cliff, into quicksand.

  He might say: I buried him proper and marked the grave, and that was true. But it would not satisfy Elizabeth, whose curiosity was endless, or Lily. Wilde had been her first love, after all, and a girl like Lily—he paused and corrected himself—a woman like Lily would hold on to that, for the rest of her life. No matter how Nicholas Wilde had disappointed her.

  The fact was, he had to keep the truth from them; but there was another, harder truth that went right along with it: Nathaniel wanted nothing more in the world than to tell Elizabeth the whole of it, to pour out the words and free himself of the pictures they built in his head. But he could not, would not, unburden himself like that. Not tomorrow, or the day after, or when she was safely delivered of this new child, or on his deathbed. It was his burden to bear, as the child was hers.

  Chapter 34

  Dearest Hannah and Jennet,

  For your latest letter, arrived just yesterday, we thank you. Any report is preferable to the work of the imagination. Of course we are glad to know that Daniel is able to
leave his bed for short periods of time. We trust that your next letter will bring more such news. I enclose a short letter for him.

  I expect that this letter will not reach you until well into the month of May and the beginning of warmer weather. We are sending a bundle of clothing I hope will suit you both, along with some fine-milled soap that cousin Ethan sent.

  You both know me well enough to realize that if I dwell on trivialities there must be some matter of importance to share that makes me anxious. Let me give you our news, in the manner of a journalist; that is to say, without embellishment.

  First, I am expecting a child, sometime in November. Your surprise can be no greater than was my own, but I trust you will take as much joy in this news as we do. I am easily tired but Many-Doves and Curiosity are well satisfied with my health.

  Second, Nathaniel and I have decided, after long deliberation and discussion, that we will live in the village until this child is come. We have already taken up residence at my father's house. It is a drafty place and the hearth smokes when the wind comes from the west, but Nathaniel and Simon have undertaken repairs and improvements and I believe we shall be very comfortable here. Certainly it is convenient to be so close to the work at the new schoolhouse, and a great comfort to be only a short walk from Curiosity. Her Lucy is come to cook and look after the house, and Callie and Martha are here most days too, all of them carrying out Curiosity's injunction—with surprising tenacity—that I am not to take up anything heavier than a quill.

  Lily, too, has been excessively considerate and kind, and much more even tempered, but whether my condition or Simon Ballentyne deserve the credit for that transformation is unclear to me. Or perhaps it is simply the move into the village, as Lily is very pleased to be closer to the old meetinghouse. When she has finished with her share of the housework she goes there, every day, to draw and paint.

  Third, and this is a circumstance that will be clear to you already, as your aunt brings you this letter: Many-Doves has decided to remove to Canada until her son and my own are free and on their way home. Annie is gone with her. All this has put Gabriel in a very poor mood indeed. The solitary comfort in all this is the fact that there will be no corn to weed this summer.

  And now. How I hate the need to write down the details of the tragedy in the village.

  Jemima Wilde is run away and her husband disappeared into the bush. Nathaniel tracked him for two days and then came home none the wiser. Before he went away Nicholas brought Curiosity an apple sapling and a letter writ in his own hand and witnessed by Mr. McGarrity, giving her care of his Callie until he comes home.

  I do not think we will ever see him again. Such a terrible waste, it hardly bears contemplation.

  As far as Jemima is concerned, I confess that I had not realized the depth of her anger, nor how far it would drive her. By the time she had finished with Nicholas, he lost his daughter, his unborn child, his livelihood, the orchards he worked with such dedication and passion, his reputation, and his self-respect.

  Because this beast, at which thou criest out,

  Suffers not any one to pass her way,

  But so doth harass him, that she destroys him;

  And has a nature so malign and ruthless,

  That never doth she glut her greedy will,

  And after food is hungrier than before.

  The orchard and farm have been sold to a Mr. Stiles, originally of Maine, who is a part-time farmer but a full-time missionary, and came to us determined that our souls must be saved. If he were simply a dull man, I could wait for him to tire of the recalcitrant Yorker temperament, but every day I see new evidence of a devious and supple mind. Because he has no meetinghouse he has taken to preaching in the middle of the village, where it is difficult to avoid him. If there were not other things of greater importance to occupy me, he would be a worthy opponent.

  This letter is already two and one-half sheets, close-written, and Gabriel asks for a little space, thus I leave you, Your loving E.M.B.

  Dear Sister and Cousin. Annie is gone to Canada to help rescue our Daniel and Blue-Jay and here am I, feeding bad-tempered hens. There may be no corn to weed this year but there is cabbage and pompkin and beans in the kitchen garden and when they sprout weeds who will be sent to pull them? Lily paints and draws and makes eyes at Simon, who teases her and calls her Grumpy when he thinks no one will hear him, and she frowns at him and smiles, all at once, though I should get my ears boxed if I called her such a name. If that's what love is about, then it's a silly business, say I, and one I want no part of.

  All in all things are in a sorry state here and I hope you come home soon and bring Daniel and Blue-Jay and Annie too. And if there are more stories like the runaway porkers for Jennet to send, it would be a comfort to me in my misery.

  Your brother and cousin, Gabriel Bonner

  Chapter 35

  Of the many adjustments that moving into the village required of them, the one that was hardest for Elizabeth was something that not even Nathaniel, with all his reservations, had thought to warn her about.

  Not many rumors were robust enough to survive the hard walk up Hidden Wolf. At Lake in the Clouds they had been sheltered from the gossip and quarrels that circled the village like a fever passed hand to hand.

  But now they had moved into the house where Judge Middleton had held court. The villagers, many of whom had come to Paradise as his tenants, were in the habit of bringing the judge all their disagreements. His word was final in matters as diverse as property boundaries, the digging of wells, naming dogs, and marital squabbles.

  His death had left a great gap in the village, one that was filled inadequately and reluctantly by Jed McGarrity. Jed had never wanted to be constable and was always looking for a replacement. Elizabeth had done him a great favor, unawares, by presenting herself as another ready source of wisdom.

  “Ben Cameron was here today,” she told Nathaniel on their third evening. They were having a supper of milk and bread and berries in the kitchen, which seemed empty after a day of visitors.

  “Let me guess,” Nathaniel said. “The fence.”

  “Indeed. He wanted to talk to you, but settled in the end for telling me the whole story. As if I had never heard it before.”

  “And you said?”

  “I gave him tea and gingerbread and told him he'd need to consult a lawyer. He went away with a full stomach, but unsatisfied.”

  “I hope you've got more gingerbread,” Nathaniel said. “Tomorrow Ignaz Hindle will be here to tell his side of the story.” He worked his shoulders to loosen the muscles. “Who else was here?”

  “Anna, complaining about Mr. Stiles. Missy Parker, complaining about Anna and making not quite veiled remarks about Lily and Simon. Mr. Stiles, wanting to read the Bible to me. Horace Greber, asking me to write to Mariah and ask her to come back home. Half my students, it seemed to me, at one point or another. It was looking a bit like a meetinghouse until Gabriel chased them all away.”

  Nathaniel laughed out loud at that. “That's my boy.”

  “I think I shall have to post visiting hours,” Elizabeth said, a little ashamed of the whining tone in her voice. “Or perhaps just station Gabriel at the door with a musket.”

  “That would suit him,” Nathaniel said. And: “Where is he?”

  Elizabeth poured more milk into her tea. “Curiosity is giving him his supper. I even sent Lucy to help Daisy set out her seedlings, I was that eager for some quiet.”

  “Missing the mountain,” Nathaniel said.

  Elizabeth nodded. “More than I imagined.”

  “We can move back.”

  Curiosity had brought one of her cats as a welcoming gift, a huge tabby with tufted ears who had promptly given birth to ten kittens in a basket of Elizabeth's good linen. For a long moment she watched as the mother tended her newborns, one eye on the spot where Nathaniel's hunters sprawled senseless in front of the hearth. Then she shook her head. “It's for Curiosity's peace of mind as much as my
own, Nathaniel.”

  He nodded at that, resigned. “And where's Lily?”

  “I suppose she's walking with Simon.”

  Nathaniel grunted into his cup. “That's one word for it.”

  Elizabeth gave him a severe look. “Nathaniel Bonner,” she said. “If you are unhappy with this state of affairs, then I suggest you talk to your daughter and her young man. Perhaps you will have more success than I.”

  Her short temper wasn't a surprise—Nathaniel recalled the early months of her other pregnancies too well to expect anything else—but he knew from hard experience that it would do no good to try to mollify her when she was sick to her stomach. The evenings were the worst. Other women were uneasy in the morning and got it over with; Elizabeth carried it with her all day and into the twilight. Now she was pale, her upper lip beaded with sweat. Soon she would bring everything up that was on her stomach—which wasn't much, by the look of the plate in front of her—and then fall into an exhausted sleep.

  Nathaniel wiped berry juice from his chin. “No need to bite my head off. I ain't criticizing.”

  “No, but you aren't helping either.”

  “Maybe so. But I have given the whole business some considerable thought.” He leaned across the table to put a hand on her wrist. “I got an idea that may settle your worries without stepping too hard on the girl's pride.”

  “Does it involve bloodshed?”

  He laughed at that. “No more than it did when you and me were getting around to tying the knot.”

  A horrified look crossed her face. “Nathaniel, you won't encourage them to elope. You wouldn't.”

  “Hell, no,” Nathaniel said. “What I got in mind has to do with giving Lily the chance to change her mind, if that's what she needs to do.”