Fire Along the Sky
Page 13

“And if you are right? What must he give you?” Hannah leaned forward a little. “Will you have him marry you?”
Jennet flushed such a deep color that it looked as if she had been struck by a sudden fever. “Do you think I'd have him like that, on a wager?”
“I think you love him now as you loved him when he left Carryck,” Hannah said. “I think you mean to have him.”
Jennet did not seem to take offense, though a fine tremor fluttered in the muscles of her cheek.
“It's true that your brother will not admit he loves me, yet—”
“Yet,” echoed Hannah with a smile.
“—but the day will come. Not even Luke Bonner can run from the truth forever, and after so many years I can wait a wee longer,” Jennet said firmly. “I am his fate and he is mine, just as you and Strikes-the-Sky were fated for one another.” She touched a finger to the hollow of her throat in a distracted way.
“It's all right,” Hannah said. “I like to hear his name spoken.”
“Oh, I'm glad,” Jennet breathed. “For I'd like to hear your stories, and I will tell ye mine.”
“First you must tell me what Luke wagered.”
Jennet shrugged. “Just this: should I have the right of it, he will speak to me no more of going home to Carryck without him.”
There was a longer silence.
“Say what's on your mind, cousin,” Jennet said with a faint smile. “We must have honesty between us, you and I.”
“All right, then. What if I tell you that I am well and that I am recovering from my losses. Will you really go home without an argument?”
Jennet's gaze was severe and unwavering. “I will say it again: you will have honesty from me in all things, and I ask you for the same. If you do not need me here you have only to say so. I will set off for home tomorrow.”
“Oh, I need you here,” Hannah said. Her throat was suddenly swollen with unshed tears. “I didn't know I needed you until I saw you, but I do.”
Jennet's smile was bright and genuine and so welcome that Hannah had to pinch the web of flesh between thumb and finger to keep herself from weeping.
“You want me to stay?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “I would like you to stay. But have you thought that Luke will be going back to Montreal without you?”
“Aye, he'll go,” Jennet said. “And then he'll come back again, because he must. When he comes back to me of his own accord the time will be right.”
“I can see that you believe that with your whole heart,” Hannah said. “But has he spoken to you—”
“Of love?” Jennet's throat worked. “Once, long ago. The day he left Carryck to go home to Canada, just a week before I was to wed Ewan Huntar. He said, ‘He's the husband your father wanted for you' and I—” She paused. “I called him a coward, and other things I dinnae like to remember, and all the while he stood there as uncaring as a stone in the rain. But then he kissed me.”
“Not a brotherly kiss, then.”
Jennet drew in a shuddering breath. “He kissed me as a man kisses a woman he loves.”
“And still he left.”
“Aye,” Jennet said, rubbing her cheek with the back of her hand. “He left. The last thing he said to me was, ‘I can't stay and you can't go, and what cannot be changed must be borne.'”
“So,” Hannah said.
“So I married Ewan as my father wished and my mother insisted and I lived ten years with him and then he died, and I came to find Luke. And he was glad to see me, he couldna hide it for all he tried. Now.” Jennet jumped up and went back to the window. “It's time we went down to the village and joined the party. There's a great kettle of something.”
“Beans and squash most probably,” Hannah said.
“And there's Lily too, the poor wee thing. I've not had the chance to talk with her, but I think she has a secret or two to share. Perhaps we can make her smile again.”
“Ask her to show you the meetinghouse,” Hannah suggested, getting up from the cot. “And you'll have your answer, and her smile.”
Elizabeth walked down to the village with Jennet, who was so full of questions and observations and plans that in a matter of minutes she found herself laughing. Jennet must know the names of the birds and trees, the smell of every flower; she asked about Hidden Wolf and then wondered out loud how long she would have to wait before she saw the wolves who gave the mountain its name. When they were close enough to the village to hear the bagattaway game her pace picked up, along with her questions.
While Elizabeth explained the game she watched Jennet's face: round of cheek and flushed with excitement under the wild tousled curls bleached almost white in the summer sun. She had been a lively child, quick of wit, and she had grown into a vibrant and curious woman. The question was not why she had left her home in Scotland, but how she had waited so long.
From the pasture where the game was under way a young male voice rose up in a wild yipping cry.
“Gabriel,” said Elizabeth.
“You remind me of my mother when you talk about your sons,” Jennet said. “Pride and fear always at war with each other. My mother always claims that boys are far easier to raise than girls, but she must be wrong about that.”
“How do you come to that conclusion?”