Into the Wilderness
Page 154
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Chapter 34
A strong man crying in his sleep was a difficult thing to face with equanimity, but Elizabeth sat with Joe and watched the pain gradually pull him into a reluctant consciousness. Half awake, he seemed to be unaware of them for the moment. Elizabeth was almost glad; she didn't want him to know that Nathaniel had gone to fetch wood, thinking that it would distress him. She herself breathed a secret sigh of relief when he came back into the firelight with his arms full of the logs Joe had split and stacked. Nathaniel went out again because the water was low, this time carrying a torch and his rifle in the crook of his arm.
"You are very uncomfortable," she said to Joe. "Tell me, is there anything specific I can do for you?"
His head turned back and forth on the cot with eyes closed. Elizabeth had dampened a square of muslin from her pack and she wiped his face, noting how dry his skin was. He did not sweat anymore, and there was no fever. She knew this could not he a good sign.
"Joe," she said softly. "Do you have any message for us to take back to your people?"
He opened his eyes.
"It's a poor joke," he said, his tongue thick and his words indistinct. "To come so far and die of a scratch."
"I wish I knew what I might do to comfort you," she said. "I don't even know any prayers of the Catholic church."
Suddenly he was much more awake, and there was something like a smile on his face; she then saw that it was a grimace. "I ain't Catholic."
"But—”
“She had me baptized, and she made me learn the prayers, and every morning there was mass to sing before the work started, but I ain't Catholic. Not inside."
"Yes," Elizabeth said softly. "Of course you are right. Are there other prayers you'd like to say, or perhaps the bible—”
“Don't need prayers," Joe said. "I need a new arm."
She thought he had drifted off again, when he spoke up softly.
"Do you know Johnstown?"
"A bit."
"I never thought I'd miss it, but I do." And then, after another long pause: "You know the new courthouse? Right across the street there's a blacksmith by the name of Weiss, Hans Weiss." His voice trailed away.
"Do you want a message delivered to this Hans Weiss?" Elizabeth prompted him.
Joe shook his head. One hand moved across the blanket and for the first time he touched Elizabeth, his fingers finding hers and wrapping around them, squeezing.
"There's a slave there, works the smithy. They call him Sam, but his name is Joshua. Big, strong man, 'bout thirty years old. I would much appreciate it if you could get word to him. Tell him I got this far, would you?"
She nodded, unable to speak.
"Tell him how sweet the water is up here, tell him that, too. And give him this." From under the blanket, Joe drew forth something not quite small enough to be hidden between his splayed thumb and finger. He pressed it into Elizabeth's palm, and closed his hand over hers.
"He'll know, when you give him that."
It was a single disk of glossy dark wood, unlike anything Elizabeth had ever seen. On the outer edges its carved geometric pattern was worn thin with handling. There was a hole drilled through the center, and in it a small stone had been wedged, perfectly round in shape but almost flat. A smaller hole near the edge was empty. In the dim light of the fire Elizabeth could make out nothing more of it, but while she tried, Joe fell back into sleep.
The morning came, and the night chill burned off quickly along with the mist on the lake. Elizabeth watched it break up and float gracefully into nothingness as she fished, crouched on the shelf of rock where they had thought to make camp. The woods seemed unusually quiet today, but she thought that it might be her imagination.
Nathaniel preferred fishing in the Mohawk way, with a spear, but she had more luck with the hook and line that Robbie had taught her to use, and which she kept wound into a ball in her pocket. Nathaniel had noted with some pleasure and perhaps a little surprise that she had a talent for this kind of fishing. With a bit of the stew meat as bait it didn't take long before Elizabeth had two fat trout on the line, thrashing angrily, the early sun rippling up and down their sides to spark the rainbow. With averted face and her mouth pressed hard, Elizabeth dispatched them one by one with a sharp blow of the head to the rock, as Robbie had shown her. With her knife she cleaned them in the lake, her chilled fingers moving fast. The clear waters clouded with the blood and then with a school of darting minnows with strangely enlarged heads, pleased to be let in on the feast. Elizabeth paused, thinking of a quick swim—the heavy smells of Joe's sickness hung about her and the lake, as icy cold as it was, would have been welcome. But she was uneasy here by herself, with thoughts of what might be happening at the camp. On the way she gathered sticks to build into a latticework over the cook fire. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation.
Joe was asleep again, deeper this time than before. He had roused only long enough to take a bit of water, Nathaniel told her. And he had asked for her. He seemed to be declining, slipping further and further away from them.
While they watched the trout sizzle, Elizabeth cooked some of the small store of oats into a thin gruel, in the hope that Joe would wake enough to take some nourishment.
"We need meat," Nathaniel said. "I'll go see what I can scare up. If you can cope."
Elizabeth was silent. Normally she would have sent him off without any qualms; she knew he would not go far and that he would be back in a few hours with a brace of rabbit or grouse, something they could manage quickly. In the meantime she would otherwise have bathed, washed out her things, or gone searching for wild onions and other greenery to supplement their meat. But this time would be different. Joe might well die while Nathaniel was away.
A strong man crying in his sleep was a difficult thing to face with equanimity, but Elizabeth sat with Joe and watched the pain gradually pull him into a reluctant consciousness. Half awake, he seemed to be unaware of them for the moment. Elizabeth was almost glad; she didn't want him to know that Nathaniel had gone to fetch wood, thinking that it would distress him. She herself breathed a secret sigh of relief when he came back into the firelight with his arms full of the logs Joe had split and stacked. Nathaniel went out again because the water was low, this time carrying a torch and his rifle in the crook of his arm.
"You are very uncomfortable," she said to Joe. "Tell me, is there anything specific I can do for you?"
His head turned back and forth on the cot with eyes closed. Elizabeth had dampened a square of muslin from her pack and she wiped his face, noting how dry his skin was. He did not sweat anymore, and there was no fever. She knew this could not he a good sign.
"Joe," she said softly. "Do you have any message for us to take back to your people?"
He opened his eyes.
"It's a poor joke," he said, his tongue thick and his words indistinct. "To come so far and die of a scratch."
"I wish I knew what I might do to comfort you," she said. "I don't even know any prayers of the Catholic church."
Suddenly he was much more awake, and there was something like a smile on his face; she then saw that it was a grimace. "I ain't Catholic."
"But—”
“She had me baptized, and she made me learn the prayers, and every morning there was mass to sing before the work started, but I ain't Catholic. Not inside."
"Yes," Elizabeth said softly. "Of course you are right. Are there other prayers you'd like to say, or perhaps the bible—”
“Don't need prayers," Joe said. "I need a new arm."
She thought he had drifted off again, when he spoke up softly.
"Do you know Johnstown?"
"A bit."
"I never thought I'd miss it, but I do." And then, after another long pause: "You know the new courthouse? Right across the street there's a blacksmith by the name of Weiss, Hans Weiss." His voice trailed away.
"Do you want a message delivered to this Hans Weiss?" Elizabeth prompted him.
Joe shook his head. One hand moved across the blanket and for the first time he touched Elizabeth, his fingers finding hers and wrapping around them, squeezing.
"There's a slave there, works the smithy. They call him Sam, but his name is Joshua. Big, strong man, 'bout thirty years old. I would much appreciate it if you could get word to him. Tell him I got this far, would you?"
She nodded, unable to speak.
"Tell him how sweet the water is up here, tell him that, too. And give him this." From under the blanket, Joe drew forth something not quite small enough to be hidden between his splayed thumb and finger. He pressed it into Elizabeth's palm, and closed his hand over hers.
"He'll know, when you give him that."
It was a single disk of glossy dark wood, unlike anything Elizabeth had ever seen. On the outer edges its carved geometric pattern was worn thin with handling. There was a hole drilled through the center, and in it a small stone had been wedged, perfectly round in shape but almost flat. A smaller hole near the edge was empty. In the dim light of the fire Elizabeth could make out nothing more of it, but while she tried, Joe fell back into sleep.
The morning came, and the night chill burned off quickly along with the mist on the lake. Elizabeth watched it break up and float gracefully into nothingness as she fished, crouched on the shelf of rock where they had thought to make camp. The woods seemed unusually quiet today, but she thought that it might be her imagination.
Nathaniel preferred fishing in the Mohawk way, with a spear, but she had more luck with the hook and line that Robbie had taught her to use, and which she kept wound into a ball in her pocket. Nathaniel had noted with some pleasure and perhaps a little surprise that she had a talent for this kind of fishing. With a bit of the stew meat as bait it didn't take long before Elizabeth had two fat trout on the line, thrashing angrily, the early sun rippling up and down their sides to spark the rainbow. With averted face and her mouth pressed hard, Elizabeth dispatched them one by one with a sharp blow of the head to the rock, as Robbie had shown her. With her knife she cleaned them in the lake, her chilled fingers moving fast. The clear waters clouded with the blood and then with a school of darting minnows with strangely enlarged heads, pleased to be let in on the feast. Elizabeth paused, thinking of a quick swim—the heavy smells of Joe's sickness hung about her and the lake, as icy cold as it was, would have been welcome. But she was uneasy here by herself, with thoughts of what might be happening at the camp. On the way she gathered sticks to build into a latticework over the cook fire. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation.
Joe was asleep again, deeper this time than before. He had roused only long enough to take a bit of water, Nathaniel told her. And he had asked for her. He seemed to be declining, slipping further and further away from them.
While they watched the trout sizzle, Elizabeth cooked some of the small store of oats into a thin gruel, in the hope that Joe would wake enough to take some nourishment.
"We need meat," Nathaniel said. "I'll go see what I can scare up. If you can cope."
Elizabeth was silent. Normally she would have sent him off without any qualms; she knew he would not go far and that he would be back in a few hours with a brace of rabbit or grouse, something they could manage quickly. In the meantime she would otherwise have bathed, washed out her things, or gone searching for wild onions and other greenery to supplement their meat. But this time would be different. Joe might well die while Nathaniel was away.
