“This is not the time for introductions,” Samuel said with a small bow, and retreated into the shadows on the other side of the road. When he was out of earshot, Many-Doves continued, speaking directly to Nathaniel.
“Chingachgook may have walked the path by now; he was injured or they would have taken him, too.” And then in a rush: “The judge fined them each a hundred dollars or a week in Anna’s pantry, but we didn’t have it, Nathaniel. Your grandfather wouldn’t let us use the gold—” Again an uncomfortable look toward Samuel Hench, but his back remained firmly turned. “And Bears said it was too dangerous to use the silver. He thinks that’s what they were hoping for, with this trick. So I came after you. Do you have that much cash?”
“There’s enough cash,” Nathaniel said. “But maybe not enough time. I’ll have to ride hard. I’ll wake MacIntyre and borrow a horse.”
Elizabeth said, “If we can borrow one horse we can borrow two.”
“Boots.” His fingers pressed so hard into her upper arms that she winced, but he held her gaze. “You can’t ride hard, you know that. Not astride, I won’t let you risk it.”
Flooded with frustration and disappointment, Elizabeth bowed her head. He was right; she could not risk a full day’s ride at the pace he would set.
“You and Many-Doves come with the wagon, and don’t dawdle. I’ll need you there.”
It was hard to swallow; it was hard even to breathe. Just weeks ago she had sworn she would not be separated from him again; it seemed that this place still had lessons to teach her. She could not put aside the image of Chingachgook, wounded and perhaps dying while his son sat in a makeshift gaol. She pressed Nathaniel’s hands, and nodded.
LI
Samuel Hench accompanied them as far as Fort Hunter, where they would cross the Mohawk. Standing at the bank of the river while they waited for the ferry, he offered to put off his business in Johnstown in order to see them home to Paradise.
“Thank you kindly, but we will manage very well,” Elizabeth said, too distracted and worried to go to much trouble reassuring him. To her relief, he did not take offense or argue with her; he simply went down the embankment to negotiate the crossing.
“The river is running fast,” Many-Doves observed. She had been very quiet since they set out at first light, talking only when Samuel Hench was out of earshot or when Elizabeth asked her a direct question. Whether this was worry for what was happening in Paradise, or a simple distrust of a man she did not know, Elizabeth could not tell. But she was right: the river was running fast. Elizabeth watched the ferryman, a Kahnyen’kehàka called Tall-Man, shake his head vigorously in response to Samuel Hench’s request. Elizabeth felt her stomach go hollow at the idea of a delay.
“If we can’t cross today—” she began. But Many-Doves handed her the reins and jumped off the wagon before she could finish her thought. Her plaits bumped on her back as she ran light-footed down to the ferry. Elizabeth could not hear what she said to Tall-Man, but she saw him listen to Doves and finally nod his head, reluctantly.
“I do not like it,” Samuel Hench said when Elizabeth had joined them there. “It is too dangerous. I promised thy husband that I would see ye safely across this river. He was worried about the crossing, and told me so.”
“There is no time,” Many-Doves replied curtly. She did not wait to hear his response, but went to help Tall-Man with the horses and wagon.
In a softer tone, Elizabeth said: “I thank you for your concern, but we must be on our way. My husband’s grandfather may be dying, and there is more trouble—”
The horses were letting out soft, high nickering. Usually biddable and good-natured, they had to be coaxed onto the ferry with hooves clattering hollowly. Samuel Hench left her to help. Elizabeth stood watching the river, ill at ease and unsure of herself.
But the winds stilled, suddenly, and the heaving of the ferry with them. Tall-Man let his sons ply their poles and work the drag line while he stood with a stern eye fixed on the river, as if this would make the waters behave. One hand he kept on the neck of Samuel Hench’s mare. The other rested lightly on the wampum belt crossed on his chest. Safely on the other side, he raised a hand to the sky as if to thank the winds.
“I believe you were very worried,” Elizabeth said to her cousin when they had the earth under their feet again.
“Thy husband told me of a dream having to do with a river,” he replied. And then: “Why dost thou look surprised?”
“I am not surprised that Nathaniel should have a dream,” Elizabeth said. “Only that you should take his dream as literally as he does.”
Samuel Hench’s open, honest face went suddenly very still and grim. “Cousin,” he said. “If thou wilt survive in the wilderness, thou must take heavenly direction in whatever form it comes to thee.”
“But there is the river, behind us, and we are all whole and ready to move on,” Elizabeth pointed out, only somewhat discomfited at being taken to task.
Behind her, Many-Doves said: “There is always another river.”
The younger woman was looking at Samuel Hench with an expression which had lost much of its wariness and reserve. In return he inclined his head.
Elizabeth climbed up onto the wagon, and once seated, held out her hand to her cousin. “I will remember that, or I will try to. Thank you very kindly for your company, Cousin Samuel. I wish you good luck in your business endeavors in Johnstown …” She paused, and smiled.
His grip was firm and dry. “I will come to visit thee in Paradise, as promised.” The calm gaze held hers without wavering. For one moment she had a strong sense of her mother, and she released his hand only reluctantly.
Many-Doves spoke to the horses and they began to move away. Samuel Hench sat straight-backed and watched them go, the broad rim of his Quaker hat casting a shadow across his face so that she could not read his expression.
The weather threatened disaster: a strong rain would turn the roads to mud and add an extra day onto their journey. The wind sent the beech trees into a flutter of green and silver leaves. Overhead a hawk rose and fell on fitful breezes.
“If we push hard we can be there late tomorrow,” Many-Doves said after a long silence. “If you feel up to it.”
They had been eating from the provisions packed by Mrs. Vanderhyden, and there was a scattering of crumbs on her shoulder. Elizabeth brushed them away for her.
“Now you sound like Nathaniel,” she chided softly. “Will not even you trust me to rest when I need it?”
Many-Doves smiled. “You are not known for your kindness to yourself.”
“And neither is Nathaniel. And neither are you, for that matter. You do not faint away at what needs to be done simply because you carry a child.”
Many-Doves looked thoughtful for a moment. “I was not raised to faint.”
Elizabeth bristled. “I have never fainted in my life,” she said tightly. “I will not start now.”
“I would be surprised if you did,” Doves conceded.
“Then why must you coddle me so?”
As if Many-Doves were explaining the most obvious thing in the world to a small child, she said, “Because you carry Nathaniel’s son, and Hawkeye’s grandson, and Chingachgook’s great-grandson.”
She might have laughed at the absurdity of it, if it were not for the earnest concern so clear in the dark eyes that met her own. Elizabeth said, “Why is everyone so sure that this child is a boy? I would be just as glad of a daughter.”
“Of course,” said Many-Doves. “So would I. But I carry a son as well.”
“More dreams?” asked Elizabeth, torn between amazement and frustration.
“Of course.”
“Well, I surrender,” Elizabeth said, throwing up her hands. “I will continue to wonder, but please go ahead and think what you like.”
On the road that would take them through the Big Vly and on to the Sacandaga they passed isolated homesteads, sometimes in twos or threes. Twice they were stopped and asked for n
ews, which Elizabeth provided to the best of her ability. Many-Doves always sat silent during these exchanges, in spite of curious looks that came her way.
In the dooryard of a small farm on the edge of a marsh, a woman was hoeing a garden patch, her shoulders bowed under a straggling mass of gray-blond hair. From inside the cabin came the weak cry of a very young child; another leaned against the open door, dressed in a ragged shirt almost as grubby as the small face, too wan and thin to bear the weight of a smile. Even the corn in the field slumped its way around the house.
“You and I are very fortunate.”
Many-Doves nodded. There was nothing to add to this simple truth.
In a rush, Elizabeth said: “Since Samuel left us I’ve been waiting for you to tell me what happened at home. I wonder why you’re being so quiet about it. My imagination is quite running away with me.”
Many-Doves grimaced. “I did not see all of it, and can only piece it together for you.”
“Any information would be better than none at all.”
“You might not think so, when I’m done.” She paused to collect her thoughts. “I guess the simplest way to tell it is that Hawkeye and Chingachgook were fishing by torchlight on the lake the night you left for Albany. Hector and Blue got wind of a buck, chased him into the lake—and that’s how it came to pass.”
“Why were Hector and Blue left free to roam?”
“They weren’t. Somebody cut them free.”
“Somebody? Just tell me, tell me the worst and get it over with.”
Many-Doves shrugged with one shoulder, as if to dislodge something sitting there with claws dug in. “Hannah caught sight of Liam Kirby disappearing into the woods. The dogs already had the scent by that time and there was no calling them back.”
Dread was heavier than fear, and duller than anger. Elizabeth felt it settle into her stomach with searching fingers as she listened to the story. Two things became clear to her: it had not been a random chain of events that led to Hawkeye’s arrest, but a carefully laid plan; and it would not be easily undone or set right. Billy Kirby and Moses Southern and their cohort had somehow managed to lure Hawkeye into a trap that led straight to the mine: either they would have to produce silver to pay their way out of jail, or they would sit in Anna’s pantry, leaving the mountain open to exploration and the mine to discovery. Runs-from-Bears could not both protect Lake in the Clouds and keep an eye on the mountain. It was a worthy plan, and far beyond the powers of men like Kirby. Julian was behind it; of that there was no doubt. And if the judge had not taken an active part in besting Hawkeye, neither had he put a stop to its execution.
There was so much to be angry about that her thoughts collapsed in upon themselves and would not be called to order.
“Billy Kirby came up to the house later with a whole crowd of men to arrest them both. Hawkeye went out on the porch to meet them. Looked Billy straight in the eye and said it was a good thing the new sheriff had come to call, because some thief had snuck in and cut his dogs’ leads, and what was the law going to do about it?”
Elizabeth had to suppress a smile in spite of it all. Hawkeye would spit in the devil’s eye.
“That’s when the real trouble started.” Vertical lines appeared on either side of Many-Doves’ mouth, set in a downward curve. “Kirby asked Chingachgook if was he the one who shot the buck out of season, and of course he didn’t deny it.” She paused, and glanced at the darkening sky. “Chingachgook told Billy that it would have been disrespectful not to take an animal sent by the Great Spirit, one who came so peacefully. And he said he wouldn’t be locked up in an O’seronni gaol for taking a gift. Then he just turned his back on those men and walked away.”
Before Elizabeth could ask, Many-Doves shook her head. “They didn’t shoot him. Moses Southern took his rifle butt to the back of Chingachgook’s head and then, when he was down, he pulled his knife.”
“I assume Hawkeye was tied up by this time, or Moses would be dead now.”
“Moses is dead,” said Many-Doves calmly. “Your father shot him.”
They stopped to water the horses and let them graze. Elizabeth sat on the bank and put her bare feet in the cold running water; leaned down to scoop it into her cupped palms to drench her face and neck again and again.
“I think the judge just intended to slow Moses down,” Many-Doves said. “But he’s never been much of a shot, and that smoothbore of his—well, you’ve seen it before. A ball took Moses just over the ear. He died straightaway. Another ball hit Chingachgook in the side, passed right through.” And after a longer pause in which Elizabeth said nothing: “Nobody blames the judge, not even Martha. He was there to make sure things didn’t get out of hand. I guess Moses took him by surprise, and it got away from him.”
“You needn’t make excuses for my father.”
Many-Doves was not unnerved by Elizabeth’s anger. “If your father had not stopped Southern, Chingachgook would have died right there under his knife.”
“If my father had stopped the whole undertaking before it started, Chingachgook would be whole and safe.”
Many-Doves blinked in surprise. “Do you think that Great-Snake would rather die in front of a fire like an old woman?”
“I don’t know what he would want,” Elizabeth said bitterly, wiping her face dry with her skirt. “But I do know who has taken that decision out of his hands. My brother’s greed has exacted too high a price this time, and he shall have to account for it.”
“Your brother was not with the men who came to Lake in the Clouds.”
“But he was, he was there. You could not see him, but his spirit was there. He put the smell of silver in their noses, and cut them loose. And he did not care who got run down in the hunt.”
Many-Doves chirruped softly to the horses and they raised their heads from grazing. They needed a longer rest, but the women were anxious now to get back to Paradise and see this thing to its end. With the wagon juddering over the well-worn trail, Many-Doves finally spoke. “It is not greed that rules Julian.”
Elizabeth had never before heard Many-Doves use her brother’s name; it was an act of intimacy and ownership that surprised her almost as much as what was to come.
“A man with no center will try to fill the void that rules him. You call this greed—”
“You surely are not excusing Julian’s behavior!”
As if Elizabeth had not interrupted, Many-Doves said: “He is dangerous because he does not know how to help himself, except to take from others what can never do him any good.” Many-Doves sent Elizabeth a sliding glance. “Did you know what name my mother gave him?”
“I did not know that you and Falling-Day spoke of my brother at all.”
“She calls him Ratkahthos-ahsonthènne’.”
Struck silent, Elizabeth let the rhythm of the jostling wagon sway her from side to side. He-Seeks-in-the-Dark.
They rode in silence for the rest of the day, Elizabeth pushing with her feet against the splashboard until her knees ached. They came to Barktown when the sky had turned to bruised purples over the cranberry marshes. From the stores in the wagon they made presents to Sky-Wound-Round, tobacco and dried meat. At his council fire they told the story of Chingachgook, and the path that stood before him. But sleeping that night on a platform under the arched roof of the Kahnyen’kehàka longhouse, it was not the old man Elizabeth dreamed of, but her brother as a young boy, singing himself to sleep in the dark.
The first person she saw at Lake in the Clouds was one person she did not wish to see, did not care to see ever again: her father. The judge stood on the porch of Hawkeye’s cabin in the twilight, staring into the waterfall. He did not seem to hear them coming, although the exhausted horses lifted their heads to whinny with excitement at the idea of fresh hay and rest. He simply stood there. Her father, usually so meticulous about his person, was unshaven. His clothes, rumpled and splashed with mud. When he finally turned his head toward her, she saw that his eyes were sunken and red-rim
med.
“Daughter.” The muscles in his neck moved beneath the soft folds of flesh. His voice was hoarse with disuse, or liquor. Or perhaps both, she thought.
“Father.” Elizabeth climbed the porch and reached for the door.
“Wait.”
She obeyed; and chided herself for it.
“It was an accident,” he said. “I admire Chingachgook above all men, I was trying to save his life. You must believe me.” And then, in response to her silence, as deep as the dusk: “I wouldn’t have thought you so cruel.”
She drew in a ragged breath, all anger and frustration. “If you need forgiveness, then it is not from me. Where is Hawkeye?”
The judge turned his face from her. “He has three days left on his sentence.”
“But Nathaniel—he paid the fine, did he not? Was not your sentence a hundred dollars or seven days?”
“The sentence was a hundred dollars and seven days. As set out by law.”
“Well, then, if you truly want to be forgiven, you must commute his sentence.”
The judge’s face contorted. “I would, daughter. If I could.”
“No, Father. You could, if you would. But you will not risk the anger of the villagers. Is that right?”
“I am bound by the law,” he said, two patches of red rising on his cheeks.
“How convenient. Now if you will excuse me.”
Many-Doves came around the corner from the barn just as the door opened. Runs-from-Bears held out one hand toward her and she ran up the porch steps and into his arms. Elizabeth slipped past them with her head averted, but she could not help but hear his soft murmuring.
Curiosity stood on the far side of the main room, working a pestle and mortar. Falling-Day was at the hearth with a ladle in her hand. In the middle of the room was a cot, on which Chingachgook lay, his hands folded on his stomach. His face was turned from her, but his chest rose and fell fitfully.
On the edge of his cot, Hannah perched with a book in her hands. Her voice broke off in mid-sentence when she looked up.